Mary Coughlan is highly contrary and a lot more besides. She has also emerged as 'The Voice' of '85 through her spirited live performances and her recently-released debut album "Tired And Emotional".
Molly McAnailly Burke investigates...

In the late seventies, Mary Coughlan was a housewife and mother of three who knitted for spare cash and could occasionally be persuaded to sing at parties when she was three sheets. She comes from no musical family, studied no instrument at school, and had no consuming interest in the traditional music scene  that dominated her home town of Galway. More a professional partier, who buzzed around the crack like a wasp to a honey jar, Mary earned much social notoriety by virtue of her high public  profile. Brazen and devil-may-care, she  could be relied upon to say, and do, the  things that other people only imagined.

"Believe it or not, though, I was shy about singing. Painfully so", recounts Mary, trying to  recall the incidents leading to her nearly over-night plunge into the late-night music  world. Long time friend and musical mentor Eric Visser was the catalyst. Eric, who has  been putting out an album a year with his  highly successful continental band Flairk had shifted his base from Holland to Galway  in the mid-seventies. Known for both twelve string and sitar, Mary and I recalled those  smoke-filled Knocknacarra evenings when  Eric's droney eastern-inspired instrumental  solos would drift like the fog from Salthill  strand. Galway has been a haven for foreigners  since the Lynches and de Burgos chased out  the O's and Mac's some five hundred years  ago, and to this day it has a curious tolerance for the exotic. Mary O'Doherty Coughlan, however, is as Irish as a P.A.Y.E. strike, and  just as determined.

Two and a half years ago Eric Visser asked  Mary if she'd like to try singing some songs he  had written. Just for the crack, like. Mary was  chuffed, and after working out a small set, they decided to enter a talent competition in a  Salthill nightclub. Among the numbers was  Eric's highly innovative tango version of  "Nobody's Business" and the Nancy-Friday-like  fantasy "Beach" song, lyrics by Eric's Irish  wife, Anto.

"It was my first time on stage" recalls Mary," and I was terrified. But my confidence  began to soar as Eric and I won every night,  through all the heats . .. to be beaten at the  post by someone singing "Silver Threads and  Golden Needles." She laughs now, consider ng how preposterous the whole shebang was in the first place, but at the time she had less of a sense of humour. Stories have it that Visser, sniffing smugly as he was handed the second  place trophy, tossed it to Mary who stomped  it to bits on the stage. The now-glued-together  icon of injustice sits on the window-sill of  Mary's young ones, who play `talent competition' with it.

It's easy to become well-known in Galway  — too easy, perhaps. Local entrepreneur Olly `na-Gigs' Jennings set them up with a string of successful supports throughout the summer and autumn of '84, notably a highly acclaimed Leisureland gig with the Flying  Pickets. But Galway has a fame ceiling as low  as a Corporation flat, and it's also notorious  for underpaying the supports. (More about that  in another article, threatens the last of the Battleaxe De Burgos). Additionally, business abroad had necessitated Eric's return to Holland, and guitarist Gerard Coffey was drafted as replacement on very short notice.  Luckily Gerard, whose versatility has stretched  from classical to bluegrass, was a veteran of  those oul' Knocknacarra sessions and knew Eric's and Mary's material intimately. Aiming  for a band, or at least another keg to balance  the boat, the two pulled in Moral Philosophy student Declan Gibbons to add more lead riffs. They flirted with titles like "Blue Heaven" and "Broke At The Ritz", doing  Leon Redbone covers and Billie Holiday amongst Eric's continental jazz.

But the Galway Syndrome loomed large. A  teensy puddle with too many musical frogs is  a haven for venue operators and a torment to  serious musicians facing shilling shortages.  Gerard and Mary separately recounted to me  how they attempted a residency at a trendy  Galway pub. "The place was so packed they  had to lock the doors", says Mary. "At the end  of the night they gave us thirty quid. We couldn't be bothered, even though we'd had a  poster made up and everything".

Trying to take things into their own hands, the band attempted to establish themselves in a  cabaret atmosphere in Salthill — candles on the  tables, dim lights, thick smoke, you got it. But  whether it was over-exposure, or the difficulty  of getting city residents to trek out to the salty  suburbs in midwinter, they packed it in after  three weeks. Mary chalks it up to the lack of a  suitable inner-city venue. The music pubs of  Galway tend to cluster like mussels towards the  Claddagh end of the city, and most nights are  so crowded the dead could stand at the bar  'til closing time.

Fortunately, Dublin had begun to take notice. Declan Sinnott brought them up for a  string of Meeting Place gigs, and counselled  Mary to consider a shift to Dublin, where she  was likely to take off like a shot. But the big  break came from Siobhan McHugh and the  "Sounds Promising" program. February '84 had  the RTE switchboards jammed with people  wanting to know the identity of this remarkable new singer. "Meet Me Where They  Play The Blues", an obscure New Orleans jazz  piece from the Forties, was selected for "Pick  Of The Week", where it came to the attention  of Gay Byrne. From there on it was the Late,  Late, The Music Show, and Exhibit A . . . a  veritable snowball on speed.

"These were very tasty productions", remarks Mary, "and I started getting offers left,  right and centre. It was tormented, because with  the kids as well as Gerard's other commitments,  I really couldn't consider gigging regularly  outside of a fifty mile radius of Galway". And  she had great reluctance to leave her own dear  Galway Bay.

What to do next? Things were getting confusing. Declan Gibbons had opted out,  Gerard was getting edgy about committing himself to travel. "I didn't want to get into the  Galway pub gig grind — it's a dead end. But  otherwise it was back to the knitting. And not  being able to take advantage of offers from  Dublin was frustrating" recalls Mary. A highly but as the spring softened, Eric Visser reappeared on the scene, like the lark in  the morning. He had big plans for an LP  featuring Mary, and the recording began almost  successful string of Sunday morning sessions  in Leyden's of Ennis was the only highlight of  this period — "he let us keep all the door  money", sighs Mary, in fond memory. But  otherwise things had gone slack. Eric was  still away, and she was broke.

A phone call from Terry O'Neill put the  fizz back in the soda; two Freddie White  supports, one at the Olympia. Smash hits, both.  But the reality of the lifestyle behind the true  blues singer's delivery began to take a toll on  Gerard, and he handed up his notice. Well I  remember that chill predawn hour as the two  of us sat tensely in the get-away car waiting for  Mary to come out of the Olympia. She had  disappeared into the inner sanctum of dressing  rooms and could not be located. When she did  come out, it seemed ill-advised to question her  too closely. "I'm gettin' tired of sippin' wine  and watchin' it bubble/sometimes our dreams fall out of line and land us in trouble/  but honey if you're yearnin'/there's a fire still  burn in'/meet me where they play the blues...".  Mary returned to Galway, a voice without a  venue, in the wake of rave reviews. Gulls  cried over Salmon Weir Bridge.

The Hot Press - overnight. Eric, a perfectionist with very  specific ideas, put Mary through the mill as  only a true Professional can. "I was all night in  the studio", says Mary, with bottles of Dutch  gin to keep my vocal tone at the right  atmospheric level: quiet, moody, melancholic.  That wasn't a hard emotion to fake. I crawled  home through the dawn, got the kids up for  school, and tried to catch a few hours sleep  before starting all over again". "Tired and  Emotional" was the title Mary chose for the  record.

The tension set in as the rough mix made  the rounds of record companies. Everyone  liked it, but there were marketing problems.  In Ireland, you're supposed to fit Rock, Folk,  Trad or Country. Blues is News, a hot potato.  The smokey spud was finally buttered by the `Mystery' label, distributed by WEA, and  should be seeping through the airwaves even  as we speak. Something new and highly  charged is on the scene: late night mystery  music, but All Ours. The flame haired Mary,  in her black beaded gown and voluptuous  frame, is New Orleans, 1930, reincarnated in Shantalla, Galway.

The future glints like a pearl in a freshly opened oyster. Mary has left her beloved home town to perch like a dove among the Gaybos and Bill Grahams of Howth, and has been seen gigging with  saxophone wizard Keith Donald and others of  the ilk. Her daughters, Aoife and Olwyn take  her phone messages, pester her to be in on time, and have their own special set of  requests when she's on stage: "Strange  FROOOT, mammy!". An eerie choice for  children, but there you are.

Hot Press presents Up Close & Personal, a live series with the artists behind seminal Irish albums at The Grand Social. Sunday October 3rd we sit down with Mary Coughlan, to discuss her legendary debut album 'Tired and Emotional', which sold an astonishing 100,000 copies in Ireland. Mary will interviewed by Hot Press contributing editor Paul Nolan, one of the magazine’s most outstanding writers and contributors. Limited tickets are available here.