Two days after I’ve interviewed him in an upmarket London hotel, Snow Patrol singer Gary Lightbody sends me a 9am text message: “Hello there, sir. Was great to see you again the other day, brief as it was. Could I give you a call when you’ve a minute about something? Whenever suits today.”

Usually it’s me looking to talk to multi-platinum-selling rock stars rather than the other way round, but I’m not really surprised to hear from the 32-year-old Irish rocker. In fact, I’m surprised it took him this long. That text was in the mail from the moment he’d dropped his guard during the interview, and told me something I knew he’d fret about later and probably want to retract.
I text back, affirmatively, and about 100 minutes later he calls from Berlin, where the promotional duties for Snow Patrol’s soon-to-be-released fifth album, A Hundred Million Suns, are continuing at a hectic pace.
“I’ve just got a few minutes between interviews here so I can’t talk long,” he says, apologetically. “Look, I’m really sorry to be a pain in the hoop, but it’s just I’m a little worried about that thing we spoke about. Em... I understand that this is out of order to ask and, of course, I also understand you have the right to go whatever way you like with it...” His Northern Irish accent trails off into a loaded silence.
It’s a hard one. The quotes are there on tape. It’s of public interest. But what we talked about – what we are talking about – is essentially private. Do I play the hard-nosed hack and tell him to stuff it? Or do I say ‘it’s OK – your secret is safe with me’?
Ten minutes later, he sends another text: “You’re very kind for even listening to me. Thank you.”
As I said, Lightbody’s a true gentleman... and a charmer.

Rewind 48-hours or so. Your Hot Press correspondent arrives into The Trafalgar Hotel in central London on the first Tuesday afternoon of October, 2008, all set to meet the frontman of the band of the moment. But I’m quickly informed that there’s a schedule problem. Something’s fucked up, everything’s now running late, and Snow Patrol have to fly to Austria this evening. Regrettably but unavoidably, my allocated interview time with Gary Lightbody has been shaved down to less than half-an-hour.
This is doubly frustrating, because I’m not even as au fait with the new album as I’d like to be. Fearful of internet piracy, Polydor had refused to give out any advance copies. Instead, a couple of days ago, they gave me a link to the company website and a password that allowed me to access a special un-downloadable listening link.
After five casual listens, the wildly ambitious and occasionally epic A Hundred Million Suns was really starting to grow on me (as this parish’s Peter Murphy rightly pointed out in his favourable review last issue, “Repeated plays will yield the true nature of the beast”). But when I went to hear it for the sixth time, a computerised voice repeatedly informed me, “You have exceeded the preview limit.” Eh? Preview limit?
But there you go. “Limited access!” appears to be the war cry of the cash-strapped contemporary music business. Rather than complain, I order two Bloody Mary’s on Polydor’s tab and sit sulking in the hotel bar. One of the band’s aides approaches with a compromise: would I like to speak to lead guitarist Nathan Connolly while I’m waiting for Gary? “Of course I would,” I say, “where is he?”
It turns out that Nathan is sitting about 10 feet away from me, and has been ever since I arrived (despite the black leather jacket and stubbly goatee, I’d thought he was another record company guy). I’m not the first journalist to observe that, for all their millions of international album sales and sell-out tours, Snow Patrol are probably one of the most anonymous rock acts around. In a curious way, they’re famous for not being famous. Everybody knows their songs, but not their faces.
It’s not something the band themselves are unaware of. When the 27-year-old, Belfast-born guitarist joins me, he laughs when I confess that I didn’t actually recognise him. “That’s not exactly surprising,” he says. “Nobody ever recognises us.”
Does it bother you or do you see it as an advantage?
“It’s definitely something we prefer, but I’m not sure it’s an advantage,” he muses. “It’s an advantage in your personal life. ‘Playing the game’ is the wrong expression, but I think it’s helpful in a way to have a face or faces to put with the band – whether that’s one or two people. I don’t think it hurts the band to have that. I don’t mean we’re gonna turn into media whores and get snapped being thrown out of the Metropolitan. I know for a fact that’s not gonna happen. But maybe we shouldn’t be so elusive – though, again, a lot of that wasn’t out of choice. So to answer your question, I think there’s a balance. It’s nice not to be harassed.”
Of course, all that could be about to change if A Hundred Million Suns fulfils industry expectations...
It says a lot about where he’s coming from that Nathan chooses to respond to that observation from a creative rather than commercial perspective: “There’s expectations, yes, but other people’s expectations are nothing compared to the pressure we put on ourselves. We know what we have to do, are supposed to do, but that’s not gonna necessarily have a big influence on what we should or shouldn’t write. We wanted to not repeat ourselves, but we also wanted to keep the essence of what we’re about – melody and great songs. At least in our opinion!
“We wanted to prove to ourselves more than anybody, really, that we were capable of more. And I think that really sums up the whole record. I think we’ve got the best elements of what we were before and we’ve taken that and added a little something new to make something that we’re very, very proud of. And I hope people will give it a chance. This is more of a grower.”
Needless to say, he’s dying for it to come out: “We’re incredibly happy with this album,” he enthuses. “It’s kind of a weird period because we’re talking about it, but still waiting for it to be released. We finished it at the end of August, but we’ve been living with the mixes and rehearsing ever since. It’s like being in limbo, because the single [‘Take Back The City’] isn’t even out yet. It’s just getting played at the minute. So it’s just a very bizarre time – it’s really exciting, but I think we’re all kind of bored of waiting for it to come out.”
Formerly a member of obscure Northern Irish indie rockers File Under Easy Listening (or F.U.E.L.), Nathan joined Snow Patrol at Lightbody’s invitation in the winter of 2002, the year before the recording of their third album, Final Straw. His guitar skills were integral to both that breakthrough record and to 2006’s seven-times-platinum phenomenon Eyes Open. However, first formed in Glasgow in 1994, the band had already been together for almost a decade before that. Listening to this son of a (retired) Belfast preacher man talk, it’s obvious that he’s only now really beginning to feel like a fully-paid up member.
“Snow Patrol is my priority, my love and my passion. Not that it wasn’t before, by any means. How do I put this right? Between the recording of the last two records and the recording of this one, I’ve come to understand that I am integral to this band – as we all are – but I’m comfortable with the fact that I’m integral to this band and have my role to play. And I am in love with this band.”
Following a lengthy period touring Eyes Open here, there and everywhere, and a subsequent six month hiatus, the band first began working on this new album in Galway earlier this year.
“Galway was really just us writing and rehearsing,” he explains. “But not just that – we’d had six months off. We’d still seen each other obviously, but before that we’d spent 20 months in the mayhem and circus that is rock and roll touring. Obviously that was fantastic, but it was more about getting back in a room again and almost relearning how to write with each other. We were very tight from touring, obviously, but we’d been playing the same songs. We hadn’t been jamming or writing or making suggestions of songs for maybe two years.”
After a couple of months tuning in and turning on in the west of Ireland, the band dropped out and shifted operations to Grouse Lodge Studios, Co. Westmeath, where they were joined by long time producer Garrett ‘Jacknife’ Lee (who, in addition to producing the last two Patrol albums, also counts the likes of REM, U2 and Bloc Party amongst his illustrious clients). Nearly two months of recording in the Westmeath countryside were then followed by a final intense period of work in Berlin.
“We started in Grouse Lodge, the idea being to start someplace that was familiar. We’ve recorded there before and we’ve got great affection for that place, but I think we were there seven weeks and it was just slightly too long. It was just so isolated, you know, you’re in the countryside. It was good for us last time because we needed it, but I think this time the change maybe should have come sooner. But having those seven weeks in Grouse Lodge made Berlin even more special.”
How much of the album was written in Galway before you started recording?
“A lot of it was, but some of it wasn’t. I guess it was half and half, really.”
How do you write the songs?
“Generally Gary will bring in an idea – a verse, chorus and melody – and we’ll go from there. He works on the lyrics alone. Basically he’s good at it so there’s no point the rest of us trying to fuck it up! But there are moments when we come up with stuff together. When we were rehearsing in Galway, it was just me and Gary sitting in a room one night messing around, and we came up with the riff for ‘Engines’. And the song got written there.”
Do the band always know what Gary’s songs are about?
“No, not necessarily,” he shrugs. “Most of the time we don’t ask. His lyrics on this album are without a doubt his best yet, just outstanding. Sometimes you’ll hear a line or part of a verse and go, ‘I think that might be about that’. You might even know that it could be about that, but we never bring it up or talk about it. Not because we aren’t allowed to or he doesn’t want us to bring it up with him, but it’s just the way the dynamic is. It is what it is. We can take from the songs as much as anybody what we think it is.”
Is Snow Patrol a democratically run unit?
“Honestly, yes it is,” he says, nodding earnestly. “Obviously certain people have certain roles and take control of those aspects more. Especially this time round where we’ve all sort of found our niche within the band – what they’re good at or what they’re working at. Obviously those roles can change at different times. But we all make decisions as democratically as possible.”
What’s the last big internal fight the band have had?
“There’s never really been any big barneys. There’d be a discussion rather than a fight. But it’d be simple stuff. One person wants a song on the record and someone else prefers another song, but there’s nothing really that serious that it’ll come to blows. Those days are behind us.
“Like, when I first joined they were still fighting a bit. I understand it was even more intense earlier. I’m sure they had their moments. But for me, I joined this band when they had management but didn’t have a record deal. Believe it or not, for me, it was a step-up. At least it was a band that were working and releasing records. It seemed like the right direction for me – and it obviously was.”
Was the decision to go to Berlin to finish the record taken because the countryside was getting to you all?
“No, no – we’d already planned to go there before Grouse Lodge. Garret had always wanted to work there and had suggested it to us. There’s so much history to Hansa – U2 and Bowie are the main two, I guess. Most of us are big U2 and Bowie fans, so when it was suggested to us we were aware of what Hansa meant. I think we all jumped at the chance.
“So we knew we were gonna go there, but I don’t think we were really prepared for what was gonna happen when we got there. It was just a shift in the record. Not that we weren’t confident but there was just added confidence when we got there. Everything seemed to just gel.”
Were there many changes made to the songs?
“Maybe not so much changes, but additions. For me, Berlin was the turning point as far as guitars go. Just my confidence level.”
As a guitarist, did you discuss recording in Hansa with U2’s Edge?
“I’ve actually never met the man,” he admits, looking ever so slightly embarrassed.
But didn’t Snow Patrol support U2 on the American leg of their Vertigo tour?
“Weirdly enough he was the only member I didn’t meet when we were on the Vertigo tour. The Edge is one of my influences and heroes so it would obviously have been great but, for whatever reason, it didn’t happen. But I mean, we were all very much aware of what Hansa represents – Achtung Baby! and all the rest. We went to see the room that Heroes was recorded in. I guess subconsciously stuff seeped in and it’s maybe somewhere on the record. Maybe something like ‘Daybreak’ is a little Bowie-esque. But it wasn’t intended. Ha, ha!”
The epic last track on A Hundred Million Suns clocks in at over 16 minutes long (actually, it’s really three different songs neatly segued and stitched together). Nathan explains that ‘The Lightning Strike’ actually came together in Hansa: “I think the three parts of that song were all recorded in Berlin so they were connected more than some of the other songs, in the sense of being able to join them together. We were basically debating which ones to put on, and the idea was suggested about joining them together.
“We talked about it with Garrett and the management, and the idea of having those three song titles as one long title didn’t really work so we decided to name it something else. But it certainly wasn’t our original intention to create our magnus opus, if that’s the way to describe it. I hope people aren’t frightened off by it. In my head, I still very much view it as three songs that are part of this whole piece of work and, although there are similarities, each song is very different in pace and melody.”
The Polydor rep approaches to tell me that Mr. Lightbody is awaiting me in a room upstairs. Just before I go, I ask Nathan what’s been the biggest moment so far of his six years of Snow Patrolling?
“It’s an obvious one, but the homecoming gig last September in Bangor with 30,000 people was pretty hard to top,” he replies, with a soft smile. “It was one of the last things we did and it was a perfect end to 20 months on tour. At the minute it’s pretty hard to shake. But that’s a live thing. The recording of this album... Berlin, for me, I enjoyed every second of it. I’d never have said that about the studio before. At this point in time, those are the two best things.
“But the new album, too. We were all into this to make something that’s a cohesive record, just one thing, which I think we’ve done more than we ever have before. We’ve said that about every record, but I think this time I actually believe it. Ha, ha!”

When I enter Lightbody’s hotel room, he’s just finishing off another interview, chatting about the Large Hadron Collider with the journalist. The singer has reportedly discovered a hitherto unexplored love of science (thus the new album title, named after a ghost story by Japanese author Lafcadio Hearn, which alludes to our insignificance in the universe) and today he’s even wearing a T-shirt with a Kids For Science logo emblazoned on the front.
He’s also a serious musical trainspotter and, rather embarrassingly, I ask him if Kids For Science is the name of some obscure indie band.
“No, it’s not a band,” he laughs. “It was the only clean t-shirt I had this morning. It’s like a school programme. I guess when the adults are stupid enough to wanna try and teach creationism in schools, the only way to go is for the kids to rebel by studying science. But anyway it’s great to see you again, Olaf. How are you getting on?”
We’ve actually only met once before, one drunken March night in Sheridans on the Docks while the band were rehearsing in Galway, but he greets me like an old friend. Actually, at the time we’d hatched a plan to do an interview in the rehearsal rooms – sort of a snapshot of the development of an album – but, perhaps wisely, the management vetoed the idea. But, anyway, here we are now. Time is tight so we get straight to business...
From the album’s opening track ‘If There’s A Rocket Tie Me To It’, it’s obvious that Lightbody has seriously progressed as a songwriter: “Two weeks later like a surplus reprieve/I found a hair the length of yours on my sleeve/I wound it round and round my finger so tight/It turned to purple and a pulse formed inside.”
“The lyrics were pretty much done before I went in, which is a first for me,” he explains. “There were a couple of songs that we wrote in the studio, obviously, that I needed to finish – and it took quite a lot of time, actually. I really struggled over the lyrics. Even though I thought most of the songs were finished I never quite allow them to be finished until the last day of recording. I’ve seen me rewrite a whole song and sing it again before we finish. So this time was no different.
“But I wanted to give the impression of much more depth this time, that there was like a back story or a future... something that was happening in a maelstrom, really. And I didn’t think that just writing out of stream of consciousness was gonna quite cut it this time round.”
The lyrics for the album’s second song ‘Crack The Shutters’ read like a Pablo Neruda poem [“You cool your bedwarm hands down/On the broken radiator/When you lay them freezing on me/I mumble can you wake me later”].
“No, I’ve never read him,” he says, with a puzzled frown. “Actually I wasn’t reading any poetry when I was writing these songs. Like, I’m reading fuckloads all the time – mostly novels and science books. But I used to write poetry when I was a kid. It wasn’t particularly good poetry. And Seamus Heaney has always loomed large in my legend, and I felt very much in the shadow of him. But these lyrics, I think it’s much more natural poetry – if it is poetry – than I’ve ever written before. There’s a lot more use of the elements as a metaphor and things like that.”
Nathan just told me downstairs that the rest of the band often don’t know what your songs mean.
“Well, we don’t sit down and have discussion groups,” he smiles. “This is the first time that every different member of the band has come to me at some point and said, ‘I love the words’, and talked about a song in particular and how they get what I mean. Because before it was almost like a taboo thing.”
Why was that?
“I think because we lived through everything together, and because the songs were so honest, they knew what they were about. So they probably didn’t wanna come to me and go, ‘Hey! Let’s talk about that thing you fucked up? Remember the time you fucked everything up? Cool! You decided to write a song about it! Yeah!’ So I guess they didn’t wanna rub salt in my wounds. But this time around because the songs are so much more positive, it’s kind of an open door for them to come to me and talk about it.”
It’s certainly true that these songs are far happier and more positive than anything he’s ever come up with before. Notoriously protective of his private life, he declines to say if he’s writing about a specific relationship.
“I guess it’s concentrating on the happy times in relationships, rather than doing the post-mortems that I’m more prone to,” he avers. “I was determined that this record was going to be a positive one. Six records now – between Reindeer Section and Snow Patrol – where it’s all been about relationships breaking down. So it’s about time. Ha, ha!”
Last year you told an interviewer that, at the age of 25, you were an angry, frustrated and fucked-up young man. It goes without saying that your life has improved immeasurably since, but when’s the last time you totally lost your rag?
“I’m trying to think... I don’t really have like big temper tantrums - anymore. I used, when I was in my early twenties, to fly off in a rage, but I haven’t had one in years. I get sort of frustrated sometimes – this impotent kind of ‘AAARRRGGHH!’ Like we’re in London at the moment and if I ever have to endure Oxford Street or anywhere around that area of town at rush hour. I walk in and there’s just people banging into you ...
“It’s funny, but it’s rudeness more than anything that makes me angry – and inevitably rude myself. Unfortunately the only end to it for somebody to say, ‘OK, I’m not gonna be rude’. But I try to be the bigger man, but when you hold the door open for 100 people during an afternoon’s shopping, there’s gonna be a point where you snap because 100 people haven’t said ‘Thank you’. You know... [shouts angrily] I’M NOT THE FUCKIN’ DOORMAN!!! So there’s moments like that.”
You’ve obviously made a few quid in the last few years. What kind of stuff do you buy during an afternoon’s shopping?
“Records and books. Clothes and trainers and things I only buy when I’m properly falling out of them [indicates a rip in his jeans]. I don’t drive so I don’t own a car. I’ve my own house in Glasgow now, which I’m delighted by, as are my parents. So that’s all I need. All they ever wanted for me was a roof over my head, and I kind of never understood the significance of it until I actually had one. It really does change you. You feel calmer, in general, when you get home and close the door behind you, knowing that nobody’s gonna come around and evict you.”
You once had to sell off your entire record collection to pay the rent, didn’t you?
“Fuckin’ hell – that was heartbreaking,” he sighs, shuddering at the memory. “I had to sell a vinyl collection, most of which I can’t get back. That’s the most heartbreaking thing about it. If I had the time I’d sit on Amazon and I’d stay there until I’d tracked them all down, but I just don’t have the fuckin’ time. You know, I have most of them back on CD – and much more besides. So music and books are really the only things that I spend my money on. Oh, and films. Cinema is my other passion, really.”
It must have been a real buzz doing the Spiderman III soundtrack, then?
“The Spiderman III thing was like a childhood dream come true. All of our 10-year-old selves were going [giddily] ‘Yes! Do it! Do it! Do it!’ Because we owed it to ourselves when you’re given an opportunity like that to just go, ‘Yes! Fuck it!’ Because who cares what anybody thinks? It’s like a fringe benefit of whatever success you’ve achieved and it’d be churlish to say no to it.
“Plus I’ve an email from [director] Sam Raimi in my email file, which I will cherish for a long time. Geeky fan-boy that I am. Even going to the premiere and things like that. I mean, we don’t do the red carpet thing if we absolutely don’t have to, but that whole period was just really a lot of fun. And it should be fun. You should let yourself enjoy yourself. There’s no point being a martyr. Christ!”
Snow Patrol have recently signed up with Q Prime, the management team responsible for the careers of acts like Muse and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Given that they’re set to turn your band into a global brand, are you worried that your cherished anonymity will be gone in the near future and you won’t be able to walk down the street?
The singer pulls a shocked face: “It does worry me. It didn’t worry me until you just said that. Ha, ha! No, I’d like to think that people come to our gigs simply for the music – you know, they come because they feel connected to it. The individuals in the band don’t really matter. It’s not essential that you know us. The lyrics are about things that we’ve all gone through – good or bad – and people just sort of position themselves in the song. Why then would they need to know what I was going through when I wrote it, or what I’m doing right now?”
Come on, Gary! Surely you’ve done it yourself with other bands?
“Oh, I have – absolutely. It’s not essential information is what I mean. I’m utterly obsessed by loads of bands and I see myself as a music fan as much as a musician... [pauses] So I wouldn’t begrudge more people knowing more about us, but I do like our privacy.”
Has there been a Snow Patrol book yet?
“No. Sure, what would you write?”
It’s probably inevitable that there’ll be a band biography in the near future ...
“Well yeah, I suppose,” he worriedly concedes, before brightening up. “But I’ll write it. The honesty ends in the lyrics, I’ll write a complete fabrication. Ha, ha!”
You have a regularly updated blog on your website, but do you keep a private journal as well?
“No, I used to keep a journal. I mean, I write all the time. I suppose it is like a journal. I have notepads and notepads full of stuff, trying to just get the stuff out of my brain because it’s like there’s a furious sort of Middle Ages football game going on with someone’s head in there, and you constantly hear the stampeding of people’s feet. And there’s just too much. So I try and purge the crazier stuff from there. I’d like to do some other writing, but I don’t think there’s a book in me. I don’t think I’ve got the concentration span for a book. Maybe comics or cartoons. That’s what’s going on in my head most of the time.”
Last year, immediately after Snow Patrol played the Live Earth concert, keyboardist Tom Simpson was arrested for failing to turn up in court on drug possession charges. So are you a hedonistic bunch?
He looks slightly unhappy at the question, but answers it anyway: “It’s hard on the promo trail – and I know this from experience – when you’ve got this kind of punishing schedule. As my father would say, ‘That’ll fuckin’ harden you!’ Though he wouldn’t use the word ‘fuck’– I just threw that in for comic effect. But it’s hard to wake-up everyday with a hangover and talk sensibly about anything. And it’s certainly impossible for me to do gigs anymore with a drink in me, or even in me from the day before.”
Even one drink?
“No, my throat just goes. I mean, everything is psychological. It’s the physical manifestation of our insecurities, but it’s just this thing that happens now when I have a drink. The first thing I do is say, ‘Oh fuck, my throat will be bad now’ – and you’re lost. So I just don’t. From four weeks ago, I stopped completely and I won’t drink again until after Christmas, and then I’ll stop drinking for all of next year probably. We’ll be touring pretty much constantly.”
Do you practice yoga or anything like that?
“I’ve tried various things. I tried yoga for a bit, but I don’t have the concentration for it. I know that it’s supposed to be helpful in quieting your mind and stuff, but I find that my mind gets so loud that I’d almost have to take a mallet to my head. So I just go to the gym and try to be as active as I possibly can. I have this nervous energy that carries me around anyway, that’s always been with me, so I just flame out mostly.”
Maybe because you’re a songwriter, your mind only works in three-minute bursts?
“That could be it!”
Do you think you might suffer from ADD?
“I dunno. I don’t think I have a problem focussing when I do put my mind to it. We worked really hard on this record – well, every record we’ve worked hard on – but this record especially had our full attention. But I think once the record is done and then you have to go into a mode of multitasking pretty much straightaway – promo and videos and artwork and endless emails everyday. Then my brain just gets into a rhythm of, as you say, three or four minute bursts of concentration, and it sort of carries you along. I think I’m better at multitasking these days, but you’ll have to ask everyone else if that’s true.”
A polite knock comes at the door and a PR person sticks their head in. It’s time for Gary to leave for Heathrow. “Please just give us five more minutes,” he says.
You’re obviously pretty busy at the moment ...
“It’s really starting to kick off. We’ve got a day of press in Austria and then we’re off to Berlin. We’re doing Jools Holland next week so we’ll be rehearsing for that immediately afterwards. Then the single’s coming out.”
Actually, you’re the band who killed off Top Of The Pops, aren’t you?
“We killed Top Of The Pops, yeah,” he admits. “We were the last live band ever to perform on the show. There was a tribute show the week after, some kind of ‘Best Of’, so we were on the penultimate show as the last live band. So sorry about that everybody!”
What’s the story with your side-project ‘Listen... Tanks!’?
“It’s me and Garrett. There’ll be others involved. It’s a much more antiquated sound in many ways. Choral. The best way I can describe it is like Russian submarine music. It’s like the stuff you’d hear if you were tied to the bottom of the ocean and a submarine went past and everyone was going, ‘Ooo-eee-ohhh, ohhhhh’.”
That’s the song from the freemasons episode of The Simpsons!
“Oh yeah. When Homer joins the Stonecutters. Ha, ha! So that’s one of them. And then there’s various other things that I’m involved in. Other stuff in the pipes.”
What’s the best lesson you’ve learnt over the past few years?
“Never quit. Ha, ha! That’s a good question, actually, I haven’t thought about this. It’ll take a bit of thought. Sorry, I feel a bit hurried by this door. But... try not to take it all too seriously. I think I wasted a lot of time taking things too seriously, and a lot of energy. A lot of my energy was expended worrying about stuff.”
What – love stuff or music stuff?
“Both, really,” he shrugs.
Bono once wrote the lines “Every artist is a cannibal/Every poet is a thief/All kill their inspiration/And sing about their grief.” Can you empathise with that sentiment?
“What do you mean?” he asks, puzzled.
Well, do you think you deliberately fucked up your old relationships in order to have something to write about?
“No, not at all,” he says, shaking his head and looking mortified at the suggestion. “I’m certainly not premeditated in anything I do – and I don’t think it’s even a subconscious desire. I just don’t want to believe that that’s what happened. I think that my love of the band is so all-consuming that it’s very hard for someone to compete with it. Like, I don’t give them enough time. But I’ve been in relationships before – and one that this album talks about – where it worked in tandem with being in a band. You know, it was nourishing and it didn’t conflict with my life.”
The door opens and the stressed-looking PR person re-enters. “Gary, you’re going to miss the flight!”
“Sorry just two more minutes!” he pleads. “Two more minutes! I’m trying to get something out here!”
The door closes and he turns back to me. “I just don’t wanna believe that I did it on purpose. I would hate myself if I did. And I’ve already wasted far too much time hating myself.”
Did you ever consider going into therapy?
“No. It’s typical Irish mentality. You know, therapy is for losers – or wimps. It’s sort of like the more Americanised view of the world is like you have two drinks and you need to go into rehab. I think I have all I need in my life, and people around me who’re amazing – everyone in the band, there’s some amazing friends, we’ve a great crew, record company guys, management.
“Everybody around us, if needs be, could say ‘no’ to any particular question that we might ask or any particular demand we might have. So they don’t enable any kind of outlandish behaviour at all. There are no ‘yes men’. And we wouldn’t want anybody that was like that in our midst. Sometimes, I mean, fuck, they simply have to say yes because it’s the right thing to do! They’re not saying no to every question! But you want people that challenge you around you. You need people that are smart people with the same proclivity for love that we all have. You don’t want people that just follow on behind you and... you lead everyone into the fuckin’ fire.”
Unless, of course, it’s into the fire of a 100 million suns.