Moncrieff: “Music became a vessel for me to express things that were too big to put into words..."

You would never know that the chaos of George’s Street is just a heartbeat away, with the Drury Street hipsters and the Arcade hustlers in kinetic collusion along the red terracotta-lined streets. Inside this converted Victorian complex – with its exposed wooden beams and walls lined with famous Warner Music faces drenched in the shifting afternoon sunlight – it’s as tranquil and bright as its occupant, Moncrieff.

The Waterford singer settles into a denim-clad chair, eyes gleaming from a recent in-store gig at Golden Discs down the road at Stephen’s Green. A few days ago, Moncrieff – also known as Chris Breheny – released his debut album, Maybe It’s Fine. Less than a week later it would reach No.1 in the Irish abum charts. Today, he’s been running around like a mad thing, but his excitement seems to override the exhaustion.

“I’m all over the shop, in a really good way,” he tells me. “This experience is something I’ve never had before. I’ve had this debut record in the bank for nearly a year. There was so much overthinking and changing, and now it’s out!”

Once upon a time, he was singing back-up for pop superstar Adele, and later went on to win the Choice Music Prize Song of the Year for his hit single ‘Warm’, which also earned him plaudits from the oracle of music up-and-comers Elton John. All of this – and a couple of EPs – informed the making of Moncrieff’s first LP.

The art of the debut is often to define the artist’s voice and frame their sound, though Moncrieff’s mission is to never follow convention. As such, Maybe It’s Fine treads a genre-defiant line of self-discovery. The album offers a sampling of the many sounds that suffuse Moncrieff’s world, from Italo pop and disco to gospel and soul-inflected textures.

“I wasn’t going for any specific genre,” Moncrieff offers. “The sound of this album mimics my listening patterns. One day, I’m playing rap, and the next it’s Adrianne Lenker. What’s more important is the story I’m trying to tell.

“Which is about my twenties,” he adds, “and you’re a million different people in your twenties. It’s a period of constant change. Some of these songs were written five years ago, and I’ve come back to them and changed them around.”

He teases out the thought further.

“Maybe It’s Fine follows an arc from being a teenager who was lost in the world to finding my way, often through the lens of relationships,” the singer continues. “It wouldn’t be one of my records if I wasn’t singing about being upset after a break-up. But I think, honestly, the songs that really speak to me are full of humanity.

“I mean, I love a clever little lyric – who doesn’t? But there’s something special about a really simple lyric that makes you feel something. I keep coming back to Adrianne Lenker for some reason. I love her song ‘Anything’, especially the line ‘I don’t want to talk about anything’. It’s like what you’d say before bursting into tears. It’s simple, yet so profound. I want people to feel the same way when they hear my music.”

Moncrieff.

MALE STEREOTYPE

For some artists, the journey towards making music is informed by an undying love for the craft. For Moncrieff, it was largely a means of survival. Following the death of his brother and sister, nearly two years apart, a teenaged Breheny struggled to articulate his grief. And yet, through a teeth-gritting need for expression and a total lack of other options, Moncrieff started making music.

“Music became a vessel for me to express things that were too big to put into words as an 18-year-old,” he reflects. “I’ve been following that path ever since, just trying to explain how I’m feeling about things through music. I don’t consider myself to be a gifted songwriter, you know, the Bon Iver kind that crafts ten songs in a cabin in the woods and presents them to the world. My method is to keep writing until I find something that’s good.”

The timing of Moncrieff’s entrance to music was fortuitous, too, as Breheny was in the midst of starting a new chapter after leaving secondary school. As a teenager, he found it difficult to deviate from the norm. With secondary school in the rearview mirror, he started re-evaluating the power of toxic masculinity over young lads.

“I grew up doing everything, from painting to all sorts of sports,” he says. “I just wanted to do everything all the time. Then going from that to an all-boys secondary school with 1,300 students and a massive sporting history, it was risky to express yourself in any way that wasn’t in sport, or wearing a certain type of clothing, or keeping your feelings hidden. That was my first real experience with the male stereotype.

“For a long time, I went along with it because I just wanted to fit in. But as I grew up and started making music, I just cared less. I began to understand a bit more the societal expectations that myself and other boys were plagued by back then. Where I’ve landed is that if masculinity is about being brave or courageous, then what’s braver than expressing the truest version of yourself, regardless of any fucking arbitrary social code?

“So I’m going to dye my hair if I want to. I’m pretty sure this shirt I’m wearing is from the women’s section of a charity shop. I’ll get some banging nail art done if I want to. But I’ll also play hurling and drink pints. And none of that affects my masculinity in any way. I’m very happy with who I am. I don’t think any of these things are an expression of my sexuality or my masculinity. It’s just what makes me happy.”

CAT-CALLING WOMEN

The contrast between the expectations of masculinity and how Moncrieff defines it features heavily on Maybe It’s Fine. On the album cover, a sweat-drenched Moncrieff seems fresh from a match, donning his hometown hurling kit and dusty boots.

Upon closer look, a single pearl earring dangles beside a black eye and the singer’s faded pink hair. This juxtaposition is even more apparent on songs like ‘Float’, which details the singer’s struggle for self-acceptance as he croons, ”I might be a man but I need to be loved / If I could give that to myself that’s enough.”

In defining masculinity, the confessional vulnerability of Maybe It’s Fine offers a refreshing alternative.

“I only have my definition of masculinity, and I think it’s different for everyone,” says Moncrieff. “I definitely know what it isn’t. It’s not confined to wearing a certain type of clothing, or cat-calling women or not talking about how you feel. I do think there’s an element of strength to it. I find men who are vulnerable and open to be incredibly strong.

“It seems a lot of men are always trying to be stoic and tense. In sport, coaches will always tell you that if you’re tense, you’re setting yourself up for injury. The same logic works for emotions. I see a lot of men suffering with their own rigidity. You have to be flexible and malleable to open up.”

• Maybe It’s Fine is out now. Moncrieff performs Live at The Breakwater in Wexford on 7 August and Live at the Docklands in Limerick on 9 August.