Once More Onto the Beach, Dear Friends

Three weeks from now, it will be all over. But not yet. Not yet.

For now, it’s all in high gear. Lines are being polished, blocking is being finalised, props are being begged, stolen, and borrowed-never-to-be-returned. Nerves are tingling (that may be just me) and stresses are moderate with a forecast of higher to come.

Yes, folks, it’s rehearsal time again. For the third year running, Castlebar Musical and Dramatic Society have asked me if I could offer a play for their annual fundraiser two night run. At the start of the year, I wasn’t sure I could manage it, given that I couldn’t even manage to work my legs or hands terribly well. But things have got better and here we are, new play, brilliant new director, fabulous cast, amazing singers, and we stand ready to entertain you once again… if you will let us.

These theatre evenings are fundraisers for the CMDS annual musical production and I can’t help but take some quiet pride that last year’s two sold out nights might have helped in some small way to teleport the Society to the dizzying awards achievements of this year’s show. 

Their stunning production of ‘We Will Rock You’ garnered 8 AIMS National Award Nominations,  which resulted in Chris McLaughlin winning Best Male Singer, Caoimhe Halligan winning Best Female Singer and nominations for - Best Director: Donna Ruane, Best Visual, Best Technical, Best Choral Singing,  Best Ensemble and, of course, Best Overall Show

And I think I might have helped a little. Now I get to think I might help again.

My newest and possibly my best play, Achill Sound, will have its World Premiere on Thursday 1^st October at our beloved Linenhall Arts Centre, we will do it all again on Friday 2^nd October and then go to the pub, which might be even better than a World Premiere. You choose.

I approached my bucket-list of actors for this play to take part in it and, jammy git that I am, they said yes. There are a number of great people who I couldn’t squeeze into the action this year (you know who you are). Just know that I love you like family and will be rattling my brain for ways that we can get into rooms together again soon. But, for this year, we have Donna Ruane, Eamon Smith, Vivienne Lee, Ronan Egan, Eithne McGrail and Eimear Philbin. I mean… come on!

As if that wasn't enough, three of CMDS’ very best singers have each agreed to perform a song as part of the evening. Each of the songs mean something to me personally and each of the songs will also slide into the play in some strange and obtuse way. But, before that last part happens, Caoimhe Halligan, Ewa Cieślak, and Nicole Scott will sing the songs live. I, for one, can’t wait.

And then we have Kenn.

In previous years, I have generally directed the plays myself, always and forever with the amazing support and experience of Donna Ruane, who directed so many of my plays over the years. But these events are Donna’s chance to do some actual acting (which she loves to do ‘cos she’s great at it). She does plenty of directing all through the rest of the year as we know (Best Director nomination, see above).

But this year we all have Kenn. Have I mentioned him?

Kenn McLaughlin has come to live among us here in Castlebar and he has arrived, from Houston, Texas, with decades of experience and success in the Theatre World. Kenn is our director this year, allowing Donna to focus on her performance and me to stop pretending I know what I’m doing.

Kenn attended the previous two years productions and, thanks to some kind matchmaking from Eamon Smith, we three got to sit down together over multiple coffees and talk theatre. And, out of that, under their encouragement, Achill Sound, a fledgling script before we all met, has grown some wings and is getting ready to dive right off the cliff on October 1^st. Kenn is the kindest, most life-affirming fella and I recommend you all have coffee with him as soon as possible. The care and consideration he has brought to the rehearsal room (as well as a reassuringly firm hand) has been something to see and I’m glad they've let me in to see it.

Add to this heady brew Deirdre Lee on Music Direction, George Bernard Gallagher on Production for The Linenhall, all of the Linenhall Staff, Sandra and Declan Gibbons on Stage Management and (where on earth would we be without her?) Anne Marie Gibbons on Everything Else.

But what of the play, Ken. Why ‘Achill Sound’ and will the people of Achill ever speak to you again after it has been on? Well, I hope so. I love Achill for the magical place it undoubtedly is and that place and this title has been ringing around in my head for the best part of fifteen years now. If some of the things that happen during the play aren't entirely salubrious, well, that’s no fault of any real people. It’s all down to those slightly odd folk who continually live in my head, rent free.

I don’t want to say too much about what happens in the play. I’d rather you come along for the ride on either the Thursday or the Friday. I think I can say that whatever else it is, it won’t be boring. In previous years I have been pleased to make you, the lovely audience, laugh a little. I’ve even managed, to my unending delight, to make some of you cry a little. This year, I rather hope to add an extra reaction into the mix. I want to try to make your jaw drop a little and I want you to maybe mutter quietly to yourself, ‘Did they really say that?’ or ‘Are they really going to do that?’

What I will say is that the play tells the story of one woman who drives around alone in deepest Mayo carrying-out a survey on Rural Isolation who one day meets someone with the potential to change her life forever. I hope the play ends up having a little to say about the potential loneliness of some rural lives and I hope it has even more to say, in my own deeply unexperienced way, about how challenging it can sometimes be to be a professional woman in the year 2026. But mostly I just hope it entertains you in all those ways I mentioned above.

Achill Sound, a Castlebar Musical and Dramatic Society Production and Fundraiser, (in association with Big Splash Productions) will be at the Linenhall Arts Centre on the 1^st and 2^nd October 2026. Booking on www.thelinenhall.com or 094 90 23733. 

People are generally very kind and supportive of our creative endeavours so please, if you’d like to see it, book very soon.

In three weeks it will be all over...

Eek!

Last Apollo’s New Album - I'll Walk Towards you

A short post, this week, just to note and commemorate the fact that Last Apollo’s first album ‘I’ll Walk Towards You’ was released on Friday last and is now out in the world.

It’s a full-scale release too, Vinyl, CD, the lot. The guys had a launch in Spindizzy Records in George’s Street Mall on Friday and what better way to go public with this new release?

I have a really warm place in my heart for this record. As you probably know, I have known Lucy Rice and all the band members for a long time (one of them for an even longer time) and, while that may give me some vested emotional interest in seeing them do well, that’s not at all the point.

The point is that my knowing them has allowed to get an insight into the level of care and passion and love than has gone into the creation and playing of the music and the bringing to fruition of this album.

I’m not trying to flog it to you, that’s not where I’m coming from.

I would like you to have a listen, if you can find the time. It’s on Spotify and Bandcamp and lots of places where you’ll access your music. Although it’s probably not the ideal medium, I think the YouTube link is sweet because it has lots of interesting video material to go with the music. Here’s a link to that:

YouTube Link

I wish Lucy all the guys every success with the new album. I’ve seen their friendship and their art grow and coalesce over the years.

As a bit of a story teller myself, I know the main thing is for the story to be out there and heard and enjoyed. I think it must be much the same for the music.

It's out there.

Hear.

Enjoy.

One Moment, Please

The other evening I was at the station meeting Sam off the 5.35pm train. He was coming from Dublin for a few days, which is always good. I was early so I walked up and down the platform once, as I am wont to do, and then I went back out to the front car park to lean on the stone wall and listen for the train.

On the way to the wall, I met the retired station master who must still live in the little house by the platform. He was wielding a large sweeping brush with intent and I jokingly raised my hands and said, “I surrender, don’t do it.” We both had a laugh at that and then briefly discussed how ‘close’ the evening was, which is West of Ireland parlance for the humidity one feels sometimes before a storm arrives.

I moved on to the always-locked gate in the stone wall that separates the car park from the platform and I leaned on the chest-high structure and gazed up the track. The air was ‘close’ but not unpleasant.

And that’s when I had one of those moments that I have sometimes. Several of them have actually occurred at the train station when waiting to meet someone off the train. I think that’s because it’s a curious few moments of ‘limbo’ where I have nothing else to do and nowhere else to be. It’s a rare status and it sometimes invites reflection in.

Anyway, I didn’t have a blackout or a fall or anything weird or troubling like that. All that happened was that I became aware, in quite a heightened way, that I was alive in that particular moment and at that particular time…

(MUM!!! Ken's gone Nut-Nut again!!)

No, calm down, I’m sure we all do it from time to time. I know I do. It’s just a momentary realisation that this moment wasn’t here a moment ago and will be history in another moment. So, you know, you look around, take it in, try to file something away from it.

It’s a bit like when you’re watching a movie on the telly and you want a cup of tea so your pause it for a minute and, suddenly, the movie is reduced to one frozen image on the screen. Back in VHS days, the frozen image would have been a blurry hazy mess. But, these days, it’s likely that it is one perfect snapshot from the entire cacophony of images that make up the film. The other evening, I was watching ‘Maverick’ on some TV channel. You know, the one with Mel Gibson and Jodie Foster. Pure popcorn hokum, obviously, but interesting to me because it was written by William Goldman, who is the GOAT in my opinion. Even with this throwaway entertainment, you can see him straining at the leash, trying to milk some golden moments and turnarounds from the available material. Anyway, in the middle of it all, I wanted a break so I paused it. And the image than froze on the screen was an almost-perfect one of a cowboy sitting by a campfire at sunset with the rays of the sun streaming through the trees behind him and he all in silhouette. It was quite something.

The point is, I wouldn’t have even noticed that image if I hadn’t frozen the show for that moment.

So, back there at the train station wall, I had nothing better to do and nowhere else to be so I took a beat and noted that this was the moment that it was. Not the previous moment, nor some moment yet to come, but this very moment.

I put my hands on the top of stone wall and it was cool to my compromised touch on that ‘close’ evening. How many decades had that wall stood here? How many people had waited at this wall for someone beloved to arrive on the train? How many people had caught a final glimpse of someone as the same train whisked them away forever?

This was the thought in the moment. There were other elements to the moment too; the birds gathered in the trees, the trees themselves, threatening to change colour to pipe in the Autumn, the cars and the people in them. Everything. A moment. Just a moment.

I suppose you could call it mindfulness. I don’t ever fully understand what that is. I looked  up  this 'moment' thing and there is a sort of a word for it, though I don’t think it appears in any of the formal dictionaries.

Ambedo - A state of deep, quiet immersion in small present-moment details.

There’s a song in a musical, ‘This Is My Moment.’ I think it’s from Jekyll and Hyde. Maybe it’s about his big moment, when he’s got the potion in his hand and he’s about to knock it back for the first time. I haven’t a clue, to be honest. I’m just shooting the breeze.

Whatever it’s about, it wasn’t what I was about at the train station the other evening. That thing at the station wasn’t ‘my big moment’. It was just one in a long string of thousands of moments, paused, acknowledged, picked up, briefly inspected, considered, and set back down.

Nothing wrong with that, I reckon.