Seated across from respected Cork songwriter Mick Flannery in Dublin’s Library Bar for a good ten minutes, it’s now become apparent from his distracted gaze that something interesting is going on over my shoulder. Hushed, thoughtful and quick to portray himself as “moany” ‘til this point, there’s a glint in his eyes, a smile on his lips. He moves close to let the journo in. “There’s two people doing interviews for a tour company behind you,” he whispers. “They’re hiring tour guides. They’ve been there all morning. But there’s three buckos to the right who’ve come in absolutely tanked. They’re hammered!” True enough, I turn to catch sight of one man stumbling towards his ‘interview’. Mick giggles. “Here we are! He seems well-prepared. Oh jesus, howya... the two girls are talking to him.” A moment’s commotion
before Mick deadpans: “And... they’re not going to hire him!” The demon drink strikes again. Even managing to scupper minor economic recovery. As for our dealings, it seems better off we stick to the coffee. With Flannery’s third album, the assured and typically heartfelt Red To Blue about to be released, there’s plenty to cover in a lucid manner. Of course, a sober early afternoon with Mick Flannery is quite far removed from the images his albums thus far have conjured up. A gifted writer with a growl of a voice, his songs suggest late nights in bars slumped over pianos. Influence-wise, he’s long been lost to the Bukowskis and Waitses of the world. Does that boozy portrayal sit well with him? “It’s not too far from the truth really,” he smiles. “The lads in the band call me ‘thirsty’! I don’t know if there was ever a ‘persona’ or... what would you call it? A stereotype. A vibe. But, you know what? And this doesn’t do anything to take away from the point – a hangover is actually quite a good time to write a song. It’s that hopeful twilight zone between the end of the hangover and the start of the next evening, realising you’re okay. There’s a moment of clarity. ‘I can do something here!’”
Flannery’s been doing something of note for a solid five years now. Reared on a farm outside Blarney, the trained stone mason found Nirvana before finding his own musical gift, and has since earned a Choice Music Prize nomination and gone platinum in Ireland. He loves the creative process, he loves playing. But, famous for his retiring nature and bouts of stage fright, he’d prefer to steer clear of any attention. “Some things don’t suit me,” he nods. “Like hype. I can’t remember what radio station it was for, but this DJ rang me and said, ‘Mick, let’s do a little interview, because you’re doing a gig locally at the end of the week.’ I said that would be perfect. So he told me it would be two seconds before he started to record. He
pressed record and goes...” At this point, Flannery’s endearingly soft Blarney lilt goes full, obnoxious transatlantic disc jockey: “‘MICK, YOUR RISE TO FAME HAS BEEN CATEGORISED AS ASTRONOMICAL! HOW DOES THIS MAKE YOU FEEL?!” He laughs, then sighs. “It was funny how this guy who had been talking normally to me two seconds early had transformed. A beast of fucking hype. I was going, ‘Fuck this’. It was so stupid, all I wanted to do was hang up the phone.” The weary yet refreshingly honest way he talks, the 28-year-old could hang up the guitar any time now. The touring hamster wheel has been getting him down. Live dates supporting Red To Blue this year will be arranged more sparingly. For his health more than
anything. “It’s been a while since I’ve been doing three in a row. It was a circular thing we got stuck in. Three days on, three days off, three days on... over a year-and-a-half. It just made no sense. It wasn’t even making us any money. It was just some form of weird existence. And I’d rather not be trying to milk something for more than it’s worth. Let’s just do a couple of gigs, do a couple of good ones. Let’s not get pissed all the time’. “If I was to do that for a living for the rest of my life I’d probably be dead by 40, I’d say. Or else one of those guys who just...” He shakes his head sadly. “No, I can’t say that. But you can burn out...” The attention, the touring, all things he’ll have to negotiate if his new record is met with the acclaim it deserves. He knows himself. Still, he’s compelled to create. Written and recorded over a two year period, the follow-up to White Lies is a little more countrified and his most coherent collection. “Overall it was good craic. There was times where it was frustrating because I felt lazy. I felt like I wasn’t getting anything done and that it had been too long between albums.
I’m always tipping away at something but I wouldn’t say I’m prolific by any means. I tend to lack lyrically. They only come to me sporadically. And sometimes you just beat something into submission! “Christian [Best] produced it and did a lot of the engineering on it. He’s a good friend of mine, we get on well, so there’d be a good atmosphere in the place. We did it in his house, which isn’t far from my own, meaning you’re more comfortable. It also means I can have a few cans and if I want to leave I can just walk home!” He’ll doubtlessly win plaudits for his efforts once again but he remains his own biggest critic. He wasn’t pleased with the way the last album sounded (“I wasn’t a huge fan of my own voice, though I never am. I hate the fact that I have so much of an American twang”) and is quick to abandon strong tunes if they become too stale to him. “I’d a lot of songs. A lot of them got forgotten, because they were
old. I wanted a group to fit together in some kind of fashion. I’ve shown friends of mine some of the stuff and they’d give out to me – ‘How can you leave that song off and then put that other piece of shit on the album?! For fuck’s sake!’" It becomes clear that Flannery prefers to work alone. People bring distractions and compromise. He’s never longed for that ‘band as a gang’ thing. “No, I suppose not,” he agrees. “Would you call it selfishness or the fact I wanted to be free?” Freedom means much to him. He also sounds like he’s plotting his escape. When our conversation turns to hopes or aspirations, he speaks enthusiastically about the southern states of America. He’s had success at the International Songwriting Competition in Nashville, but he feels like he has unfinished business there. His love for the US hasn’t waned then? “No, I’ve probably gotten worse! I went back again last May to Nashville. The accent gets me, like.
The Southern drawl makes everything so relaxed. I met this great fella over there. We were staying with him, his wife and kids. He came home one evening and said, ‘Boys, I got myself a new hit!’ He used to play songs during the day. So he comes up to us with this cooking torchand starts singing about making ‘some mutha-fucking crème brûlée!’ Everything was the job to him, so enthusiastic and full of life.” Songwriting is big business over there. Would Mick be happy becoming a nine-to-five writer for other artists, to get on that conveyor belt? “I’d be happy enough if I’d something to live for. If I had a nice dog maybe. I can’t say I have anything against it, but I fear that all the stuff I come out with is very personal so maybe that couldn’t be applied to everyone.” Where does he seem himself this time next year? The singer rubs his beard and thinks, but not for as long as you’d expect. “I’ve always tried and always failed to set up some semblance of roots somewhere abroad. I think I’m going to go for it properly just once. Just live somewhere for a year. Go back to Nashville. Just to see. It’s probably a good place for someone like me to go.” His eyes start to twinkle. “There’s a lot of stone work to be done up there!” Red And Blue is out now. Mick Flannery plays Dolan's, Limerick (April 20).the Cork Opera House (22) and the Olympia Theatre, Dublin (27) as part of an Irish tour.