For someone who says (with a knowing chortle) that his Irish background is "mostly self-built", the bluegrass/country singer and multi-instrumentalist, Tim O'Brien, certainly isn't reticent about promoting his roots. A quest for Irish beginnings by visitors has long been regarded by the more cynical of us as an exercise in rose-tinted nostalgia (latterly tapping into an association with a culturally rich and economically successful country), but in Tim O'Brien's case it's the real thing. His great-grandmother (surname Gillespie) was from Donegal, while his great-grandfather was born in Co Cavan and left there for America in 1851. O'Brien's quiet obsession with the exact whereabouts of any known relatives was kick-started by his fascination with immigrant situations - with the need to preserve one's culture in a new world, as well as what drives people to leave their country. "When I reached a certain age I got to thinking that, gee, when my great-grandfather came to America it was only 150 years ago," he remarks, his tone halfway between a soft grizzle and a hard drawl.
"When you think about it, that isn't too far back. When I was younger, when I was learning fiddle tunes, I was just interested in Irish music, but I never really considered what my great-grandfather did or what he was like. So you look back as you get older, and I'm seeing my kids grow up and wondering not only about the future, but also reaching further back. Certainly, going to see my great grandfather's birthplace was a catalyst. It's a humbling thing to see how simply he must have lived and what he came to the US for."
O'Brien documents his experience of seeing his great-grandfather's birthplace in a narrative-driven track on his 1999 album, The Crossing, a stirring fusion of bluegrass, country and Irish-Americana. The twisting linguistic technique of Talkin' Cavan is part-Dylanesque travelogue, part ruminative inner dialogue. Not a word of it, says Tim O'Brien, is a lie.
"I really did go into the hardware store I sing about. I was trying to find some O'Briens around Kingscourt and I found none, and no one knew anybody. I found out later that the last O'Brien died in 1970, and he was about 70 years old. I'm surmising that he was the last in the line of succession from my great-grandfather's father. Anyway, he died childless and left the farm to a friend of the family. My great-great grandmother's name was Weldon, so I was looking for some of them. South of Kingscourt there was a shop called Weldon Hardware, and I went down there and told the man behind the counter that it was possible I was related to him. His response was not particularly enthusiastic, which I suppose is what you would expect.
"I think Americans come over to Ireland expecting to be embraced. I didn't, so when he reacted that way I thought, sure, why would he care about me or what our possible family connection is? It's so distant. And yet it was good to see people living around the place where my great-grandfather was born, and imagine what his life would have been. In a different situation, I could have standing on the other side of that hardware store counter.
"It's interesting to go to Cavan, which is not a tourist spot - at least not the place that I went to. Most of the places I visit in Ireland are the hustle-bustle places or the coastal tourist spots. People in Cavan were a little bit suspicious about someone walking around asking questions. There are small towns in the US too where outsiders are rare - they kinda wonder what you want. But, you know, I met some nice people there, too. Yet when I went back to the States and finished the song and sent it around to the people who were going to play on the album, they said that Cavan people can be stand-offish and tight with their money. At least that's the stereotype. It's like saying you're from West Virginia - it's a distinction without honour. Maybe."
O'Brien (born in West Virginia, by the way, just in case readers from Co Cavan are feeling in any way aggrieved) has been left to his own devices by major record companies for some time. Through bluegrass band Hot Rize, Western Swing combo Red Knuckles & The Trailblazers and his sister Mollie, Tim O'Brien has been releasing albums for over 20 years, mostly on the independent bluegrass/country label, Sugarhill. He regards himself as lucky to be signed to a record label that is "happy not to sell huge amounts". That said, there was a time in the late 1980s when corporate Nashville regarded O'Brien as a potential radio country star. Signed to RCA, he was all set to ride into the sunset with Garth Brooks, Randy Travis and Alan Jackson. Both RCA and O'Brien wanted it to work, but it didn't.
"It's funny," he begins, t at all amusing, "because I made a record I really liked and nobody knew what to do with it. They decided to put it on the shelf - they didn't know how to sell it. Then came label administration changes and I went through the process of a couple of years of getting interest from the label again, and recording again. They started doing marketing research on the album and they got cold feet. After that I just picked myself up and headed in my own direction."
Once he lost the desire to be a "country radio guy", O'Brien eventually settled into the Nashville songwriting community, a growth area of resources, publishers, booking agents and a strong alternative movement that he is proud to be a part of. He has lived in Nashville for over three years and readily admits that it's a good place to be, "even as a bluegrass or folk artist". Yet O'Brien - through his own experiences, at the very least - is wary of the way in which the corporate side of the business operates.
He knows that virtually all the money made in Nashville (and indeed the music business) is made within a very narrow format. "It's restrictive and an artist is held prisoner by the way they look and sound," he says. "That's the nucleus, and everything outside that is, to a greater or lesser degree, rebelling. There are a lot of people playing in Nashville who make original and forward-looking roots music. They're not noticed too much by the mainstream corporate record companies, but they're doing pretty well, despite the fact that there's an awful lot of attention given to making that one big buck, that one big payoff. But most of us realise that's not what we want to do. We don't want to travel 250 days a year, and we don't want to play a certain kind of music just because it will sell.
"Sure, there is a fast track here but there's a slow track going at the same time. I like the slow track. I get to stay home and see my kids most days. I travel at the weekends and come back. It's a pretty good life."
Tim O'Brien plays Dublin's HQ Hall of Fame on Sunday January 16th
