Daoirí Farrell dazzles Dún Uladh

“Usually when I see you, you’re sitting in the corner of my living room,” I said nervously, as the great Daoirí Farrell, who until then had existed only as a cluster of particles within my TV set, sat across the table from us.

They say it is unwise to meet your heroes, and, though it would be feigned sycophancy to call the Dublin ballad singer a ‘hero’ of mine, he certainly looms large in the world of music which I love.

In my opinion, Daoirí is one of the most authentic, natural and raw folk performers Ireland has produced in my lifetime.

Okay, art is subjective, and music might lie in the ear of the listener, but I defy anyone to open themselves up to Daoirí without being affected.

But, if my word carries no weight for you, talk to Christy Moore, Donal Lunney, Andy Irvine, or basically any of the old guard of popular Irish trad and folk music – and they will tell you the same thing.

‘Daoirí’s the man’, is roar from the boys. Needless to say, during the many hours I have spent listening to Daoirí over the years, I never imagined the day would come when he and his bouzouki would sit just a table’s width away from me.

But here we are, and there we were.

“Alroight den, Emmet, you just tell me where you want me,” said Daoirí, as he ambled towards our table in Dún Uladh’s gracefully-aging front bar.

With a disarming eagerness to help, Daoirí took a seat at the far side of the table.

“Roight, so what’s the plan?” he asked, with a smile.

At nine o’clock, the hazy lights of Dún Uladh were due to fall upon the Dub, when 300 attentive eyes would settle on him.

However, from half five to whatever time he decided to oblige us, he was all ours.

I asked him about how he got into Irish music, idols and inspirations, his favourite songs, and what all he knew about one of his most popular ballads, ‘The Creggan White Hare’.

“Irish music was the stuff that I grew up listening to,” said Daorí, citing, like many others, early exposure to the popular acts of the ‘60s and ‘70s as being beginning of his intense, lifelong interest in Irish music.

Daoirí’s father, Dessie, travels with him wherever he plays.

If Daoirí is a one-man-band, Dessie is manager, roadie, groupie and critic all rolled into one. A gregarious wee man, it is not hard to see where Daoirí got his ability to chat from.

“My Da tells me that when I was a baby, I could not sleep without some sort of Irish music playing, whether it was The Bothy Band, Planxty, The Dubliners, or something,” Daoirí told us.

We spoke with him for about half an hour, and a video of the interview will soon be available on our WeAreTyrone Facebook page.

So, instead of me transcribing the whole thing, you can listen the man himself there. But, for now, we’ll flash forward to the moment Daoirí took to the stage, following a fantastic show from a young group of mighty musicians called Bronsa.

In all his humble glory, he sauntered up to the mic, his beautifully crafted bouzouki in hand.

“How’s it going everyone?” he said, by way of introduction. “It’s great to be back in Tyrone.”

Over the couple of hours, Daoirí played ‘The Mickey Dam’, ‘The Foggy Dew’, ‘If Ever You Go to Dublin Town’, ‘A Pint of Plain’, ‘The Valley of Knockanure’, ‘Sonny’s Dream’, ‘Clasped to the Pig’, ‘The Galway Shawl’, ‘The Creggan White Hare’, and a feed more clinkers.

Sometimes rousing, rasping and full of drive, Daoirí delivered tunes like ‘The Mickey Dam’ and ‘The Foggy Dew’ with a controlled aggression befitting of his subject matter.

But, just as Daoirí caused hairs to stand like troops to attention, he also demonstrated an ability to touch his audience with tear-summoning tenderness.

With his unique take on ‘Sonny’s Dream’ – a song I thought I was fed up hearing – he put me back in touch with painful essence of the story of a young man who sacrifices his own freedom to spare his mother a life of loneliness.

Putting melodies to the poems, ‘If Ever You Go to Dublin Town’ and ‘A Pint of Plain’, Daoirí succeeded in bringing the beautiful verse of both Flann O’Brien and Patrick Kavanagh to people who otherwise may never have heard them.

And, to finish the evening off, Daoirí gave us his masterful version – and maybe the definitive one – of ‘The Creggan White Hare’. A mysterious song that originates from rural Tyrone, and tells a tale in which myth and reality mingle side-by-side.

I could go on heaping praise on each song that Daoirí sang, but there are a finite number of pages in this paper, and words on this page.

So, suffice to say, the show was brilliant, and the future of Irish folk seems bright and prosperous as long as it rests on the broad shoulders of people like Daoirí.

His newest album is called ‘The Wedding Above in Glencree’, and is an excellent piece of work.

Get it – and a make sure you see the man himself whenever you get the chance.