Glen Hansard

Woke to the news that Glen Hansard had passed away in the night. A motorcycle crash outside of Dublin. He was only 56 years old.

Actor, bandleader, solo artist, raconteur. A man filled to the brim with Irish soul. A man with a fiery Gaelic heart. I once described him as my generation’s Van Morrison, and I meant it. They call it the “yarragh”, the primal, soulful eruption in a singer’s voice where language falls away and raw feeling takes over. Van had it all to his caucasian-self. Until Glen Hansard came along.

He got his start busking on Dublin streets, and despite all his success, he somehow never lost that ground under his feet.

“We are all mortal”, as JFK reminded us. But we don’t expect these types of things. We don’t expect a generational talent to be plucked off his bike in the wee hours of the morning. I’ve lived and loved with Hansard’s music for decades. In all its guises. With his band the Frames. With his duo the Swell Season. And the wealth of solo material. Hansard could be tender, or sing like he was possessed by the furies. He was, by all accounts, a compassionate and generous man. Waterboys singer Mike Scott said Hansard "made your dreams come true".

That may be the best thing of all. That not being engraved on his tombstone would be a missed opportunity.

‘Tis a cruel world. The best are taken, and the worst are left to fester. At least it seems that way these days. It’s been a slog lately, and it was artists like Glen Hansard who made it less so.

And if I may be so selfish…..I don’t want these people to live forever. But I do want them to outlive ME.

*****

The world is filled with people of no value. No soul. No spark. The type that would steal the busker’s bills and coins. Narcissistic. Cruel. Dangerous. Ignorant. Often these people slither to the front of the line, and what we see reflecting back at us is our worst selves. Too many become transfixed by this gaze. It invites them to cut corners, to discard whoever is in the way. To climb the mountain to punch the echo. They collectively become a group that cannot feel the lash on somebody else’s back. Only when their own blood is drawn will they howl. They are easy to break because they were born with cracks. I am tired of these people.

Glen Hansard was a VALUABLE man. He added value to the world. He did not kick down. His songs overflow with empathy and grace. But I cannot help but feel that we are running low on his kind. We can no longer assume that he will be replaced. Now that he’s gone, there’s another tiny hole. And all of these tiny holes will one day fill the Albert Hall. When that happens, whatever this is down here will bust. The bad guys will have won.

*****

I’m a local guy. I remember local things. Everything is brought home. There’s a scene in the 80s Paul Schrader film “Light of Day”, which starred Michael J Fox and Joan Jett as rock and roll siblings. Their on-screen father, played by our very own Jason Miller, loses his wife to illness. In the hospital hallway he gently whispers to his son, “What am I gonna do now?”, and it’s a truly lovely moment. That scene played in my head this morning. That sort of bewilderment in the face of something that’s not supposed to happen.

How many times have we been faced with that moment over these last few years? And asked that same question….

Of course we know the answer. Keep on keeping on. If that hole cannot be filled, at least ensure that what we lost remains wherever the memories that make us smile are stored.

Get older, but try not to feel older. If you can manage this, you’ve got a fighting chance, son.

*****

So yea, all of this from losing an Irish singer. It seems silly that I feel this way on the other side of the ocean. But great art crosses borders with impunity. We feel the way we feel. I never did drugs. Music is my drug. My supply has just dwindled. This makes an addict nervous.

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice
You've made it now

I wish there was a place we could meet when we’re done here. It’s a lovely thought, heaven. Oh the jam sessions we could have. But I suspect that this is all there is, so it’s best to cling to what you love, just in case.

It’s best to listen to the songs now.

In a bit….

—tf