Sharon Shannon's latest album revolves around her philosophy that 'music is a way of living well', she tells Eileen Battersby
It seems like a long time ago, it seems like yesterday. But nine years have passed since I last interviewed musician Sharon Shannon. She was then 26, becoming famous, looked 15 and had just performed at the Montreux Jazz Festival in France as well as having given a 1994 St Patrick's Day concert at the White House for the then-US president, Bill Clinton.
She was also on her way to a week-long tour of Canada, followed by a further two weeks of performing across the US. With one album behind her she was also at work on her second, Out The Gap.
Now, nine years on, with a new album, Libertango, released this week, her hair is shorter, she still doesn't read formal music, has retained her Co Clare accent, is very famous and has played everywhere, with many fine musicians including the British violin virtuoso, Nigel Kennedy - now Kennedy. The new album has already been winning airtime and the catchy opening track, The Whitestrand Sling, written by mandola player Peter Browne, is guaranteed to ease even gridlocked motorists into a state of stoic acceptance.
A clever variation of it is later used in a witty rap piece, performed by Marvel, that brings the album to a close. In between are tracks that include vocals from Sinead O'Connor, Pauline Scanlon and a remastered version of Libertango, sung by the late, great Kirsty MacColl. "We'd recorded this before on a previous album, but I never thought it had been given full justice . . . we added the bass and the fiddle. It was emotional for us. I thought Kirsty was a brilliant singer and a wonderful person. It was very sad, but we have her here on this."
Widely regarded as a musician's musician who is just as happy playing as a session artist than as a soloist, Shannon is one of the most important practitioners of Irish traditional music; not only because of her magical rapport with the button-accordion, or squeeze box, that bulky looking, somewhat intricate, storyteller of an instrument also known as the melodeon, Shannon is a traditionalist who also looks beyond her own tradition, and in doing so has opened immense possibilities without even a hint of radicalism.
Of the thousands of tunes she has learnt and played over the years, there is a fair number of pieces from other parts of Europe as well as Canada - particularly French Canadian - and the US. Not that she sees herself as an internationalist - "I just love music, I love tunes, our own, the ones I've known all my life, and the others, ones from all over the world."
She is likeable, friendly and devoid of torment, at peace with herself and with the world about her. Within a couple of minutes of speaking with her, life seems a better bet than it was before she arrived. There is nothing of the tortured artist. Her smile remains big and genuine, her hazel eyes still don't miss much yet remain kindly. Little over five feet tall, she looks fit: "I walk for at least an hour a day." How about rehearsals? "When I was young I would practise for hours. When I first started playing the fiddle, I'd spend about seven hours at it. Now, I do a lot less, but if a day goes by without any playing at all, I'd be angry with myself."
Now 35, she looks more mature, a young woman instead of a girl, just years younger than her calendar age. Interviews and fanfare still leave her a bit nervous, she would rather talk about her three dogs; three dogs, but no children as yet. Dogs, horses and music are her pet subjects. "My family always kept horses, I grew up with them." The family farm is at Ruan, near Corrofin, Co Clare, on the edge of the Burren. "Could you put Ruan into the article, it always comes out Corrofin and the people at home get on to me, asking 'Why didn't you mention Ruan?'"
The only time she looks weary is when she refers to the ordeal of touring. Shannon enjoys performing; playing music is life to her, but she does not like the travel. "I am a home person, I like being in my own house. The idea of getting up to be at an airport at six in the morning and off on one flight to get another, to arrive somewhere else 14 hours later is, well . . ." and she shrugs, dread at the thought.
Home is Galway city, "in the middle of things" with a small cottage in the countryside on the road to Dublin, not Connemara. Most of the tracks of the new album were recorded at her cottage and while she detests travelling, she certainly enjoys the business of recording. "I like playing, there's nothing better than a good session. That's how I began. All those informal sessions in local pubs." For her atmosphere is one thing, pressure is quite another. Neither then, nine years ago, nor today, with many more experiences and achievements, does she suggest that she is driven or ambitious.
Perhaps it's from interviewing classical musicians and singers, but there is always reference made to performing at a famous venue, or competing in a particular competition. Shannon never set goals, and never says "I'd love to fill Carnegie Hall" or "I want to sell a million discs." She laughs at her lack of ambition. "I enjoy myself. I love playing. It's great to be playing with musicians and making good music. And I do well enough to have a good living from it. But I'll be happy when the touring part of it ends, and I can stay at home concentrating on recording and writing. I enjoy the writing."
When I had first met her, she took me into the recording studio and explained the process. She has the knack of making the complicated appear perfectly logical. A similar approach was used when it came to explaining the technicalities of the accordion: "It's the same principle as the mouth organ." Singers have a major role in Libertango. She laughs: "I love singing. I can't sing myself, but I'd stand barefoot in the snow to listen to a singer."
Singers are given a showcase here. Aside from the MacColl track, there are two songs from Sinead O'Connor. Anachie Gordon is a traditional Scots song about a young girl ruined by loving the wrong man. It is a grim tale and acquires maximum pathos from O'Connor's distinctive plaintive raspy warble. Having offered to record it for Shannon, O'Connor then volunteered another track, The Seven Rejoices of Mary, a chant she had heard through Nóirín Ní Riain and the Glenstal monks.
Considering the strength of the vocal content, Shannon seems to have deliberately taken a back-seat role on the album. The observation leaves her unbothered. "It's important to let the singers have the stage." Included among the vocals is a particularly powerful peace song, An Phailistin, which laments the suffering of the Palestinian people. Shannon had heard an Irish-Egyptian family perform it in Galway and invited them to record it with her.
If there is a criticism of Libertango as a collection from a fan of accordion music, it is that there is not enough Sharon Shannon. Still, that warm, evocative accordion sound comes through, subtle and tuneful.
She also plays fiddle and low whistle. "I'd always played the tin whistle. That's what I began music with. The low whistle - it's a lot bigger. I saw it in a shop and thought I'd have a go. It took about 20 minutes, but I got the hang of it. And you know, I'd say to anyone who can play the tin whistle, they can play it. You don't need huge hands. It's a good sound, like a concert flute."
This is a diverse and imaginative new collection, following the format of The Diamond Mountain Sessions, released three years ago. Libertango, the first on her own label, The Daisy Label, was also fun to record. "Definitely one of the most painless. The band is smaller now. There's been just the four of us during the past 18 months. It makes it tighter musically." Her sister, Mary, also performs on the album, and Shannon has never lost sight of the fact that her Co Clare family background not only influenced her music, it created it. It also gave her choice. "We were all let choose our instrument." Eachof the four Shannon children is a musician: "We all played the tin whistle, then Garry moved on to the concert flute, he and Majella teach music and Mary, the youngest and myself, the third, we play in the band."
Always quick to acknowledge she is but one of many fine Irish accordion players, and she lists off the names, such as Josephine Marsh, Dermot Byrne, Seamus and Brendan Begley from Dingle, she also mentions the great Co Donegal fiddler, Tommy Peoples. "He has had a huge influence on me." She seems unaware she has a pretty big presence herself.
Shannon has become a musical influence. She has revitalised the accordion, has introduced an international dimension in an Irish context. There is an energy, generosity and a love of life about her playing.
Intent on directing me towards the final rap track on the album, she says: "Listen to the words, listen to the words." It's about a philosophy of living life well. Of enjoying it and being content. She seems to be abiding by it. "Music is a way of living well," she says, as a statement of fact, not opinion.