And he told this story
of the old singer and the tape recorder:
of how the old man listened to his own voice
while fierce anxiety turned down his mouth
until he heard his strengthening voice
move into life again.
Then sat with concentration till the song was over,
flung his cap on the floor between his boots crying,
‘I’ll never die!’
Another night Seán sat down at the piano
when we were drinking poitín and pints of stout
and played the tune to me for the first time,
that air of pride and loss,
of the sharp love that has accepted loss.
And in his hands our deadly lasting sadness
became acceptable
so I was moved to tears,
not drunk but steady.
I cried,
and when he finished cursed him saying, ‘You bastard,
you took me by surprise’.
He stood up with his fingers round my arm
smiling and laughing;
pleased with my understanding,
more pleased by his power,
most deeply pleased by music
by the thing itself.
One afternoon he said,
‘A man should dance on his own floor’.
And he danced.
Seán Lucy
Acknowledgments
Introduction
1.Early Life in Adare
2.To School in Cork
3.Classicist or Musician?
4.Radio Éireann
5.Gael Linn
6.The Abbey Theatre and Ceoltóirí Cualann
7.True Love in Hard Times
8.Ó Riada the Composer
9.Ó Riada and Irish Traditional Music
10.Seán Ó Sé and Ó Riada
11.Ó Riada as Writer
12.Cúil Aodha
13.Ó Riada’s Film-making
14.Death of Ó Riada
15.Which Seán Ó Riada?
Appendix I: Ó Riada and Acton
Appendix II: Music by Seán Ó Riada: Sources
Bibliography
The author is happy to acknowledge the assistance he received from the following during the preparation of this book:
Louise Verling, Peadar Ó Riada, Rachel Ní Riada, Walter Verling, Seán Ó Sé, Ronnie McShane, Seán Lucy, Gerard Victory, John Montague, Dónal Casey, Éamonn de Buitléar, Lally Lamb de Buitléar, Fr. J.J. Greehy, Dónal Ó Liatháin, Riobárd Mac Górain, Seán Mac Réamoinn, Venetia O’Sullivan, Treasa O’Driscoll, Fachtna Ó hAnnracháin, Paddy Murphy, Helen Ó Canainn, Liz Cranitch, Seán Mac Mathúna, Áine Uí Chanainn, An tAthair Pádraig Breathnach, Dónal Ó Mathúna, Aloys Fleischmann, Roy Hammond, Fr White, Billy Browne, John Cagney, An tAthair M. Ó Crualaoi, Joe Terry, Noel Campbell, Seán Ó Tuama, John A. Murphy, Seán Ó Coileáin, Gloria McGowran, Garech de Brún, Edward Delaney, Marie Whelan-Powell, Pat Lucy, Seán Ó Baoill, Louis Marcus, Seán Ó Mórdha, An tAthair Donncha Ó Conchúir, Larry Egar, Brian Lynch, lan Lee, Gareth Costelloe, Thomas Kinsella, Tony Canniffe, Kathleen Barrington, Bridget Doolan, Colm O’Sullivan, Dave Owens, Claire Goggin, An Br. Ó Ceallaigh, Br Paul Donovan, Seán Ó Cíomháin, Séamus Ó Cíomháin, Tomás Mistéil, Michael Bradley, Bene McAteer, Brian Jack, Paddy Ring, Nicholas Carolan, University College Cork, RTÉ, Gael Linn, Claddagh Records, Farranferris College, The Abbey Theatre, The Irish Times, Irish Examiner for photographs.
Ireland of the 1950s, isolated from Europe and still recovering from the effects of the Second World War, lacked much in self-esteem. But those same 1950s were Seán Ó Riada’s twenties – when his burgeoning talent had all the energy of a fiercely burning star. That star was first manifest to the general public when he composed the film score for the film Mise Eire, which became hugely popular. It was followed by other film scores, large orchestral works, songs, masses and the formation of his own traditional group – the model for the plethora of modern groups that travel the world and who may not even be aware of their real origin. Seán’s intense life and talent were destined to burn themselves out far too soon. He died at forty.
I have interviewed scores of his friends, acquaintances and members of his family to piece together this story of his life, for Seán showed different sides of his multi-facetted personality to different people. No single person knew the complete Seán Ó Riada.
I knew him as a friend with whom I could play a few tunes and as a colleague in University College Cork, throughout the last seven years of his life. For the last three of those years I was a student of his in the Music Department and took over his Irish music lectures for some years after his death. However, it is only now that I feel I have glimpsed the complete Ó Riada, for Seán was much more than a great musician.
My story is what we call in Irish cloch ar a charn – another small stone on the monument to his memory, his music and to the work of art that his life was.
CHAPTER 1
EARLY LIFE IN ADARE
Seán Ó Riada was born under his English name of John Reidy in Cork on 1 August 1931, notwithstanding the fact that the family lived in Adare, County Limerick at the time. His mother had had a series of unsuccessful pregnancies before this, so it was decided that she should go to the Erinville Hospital in Cork for the birth. The new baby, the first child of Julia Creedon and Seán Reidy, was their only offspring until 1935, when his sister Louise was born in the Croom Union. In later years, when Julia felt her daughter might be getting a little above herself, she would remind her jokingly that it was in the Union she first saw the light of day. The fact was that Julia was in charge of the maternity unit in the hospital at the time.
Both of young Seán’s parents were of farming stock. His father hailed from Kilmichil in west Clare and was a member of the Garda Síochána, stationed in Adare in the early days. His great-grandfather was a stone-mason and there was at least one local headstone of his with a Latin inscription. He signed his work S. Ó Riada – a name that his great-grandson would not adopt for many years yet. The Reidys were a musical family and Seán knew that his grandmother, on his father’s side, could play the concertina. He never knew her, as she died young. His father could play the violin and often had a tune with the well-known Clare fiddler, Patrick Kelly.
Ó Riada’s mother was from Droim Riabhach in west Cork. She was the youngest of eight children and her mother died giving birth. Julia, whose mother could play both piano and harmonium, was musically talented, with a good ear, and could play a tune on nearly any instrument. In her youth she had taken violin lessons from a travelling fiddle teacher who visited a house in the district regularly.
Seán’s son Peadar tells a story of the time Julia tried to play a tune on his Clarke’s tin whistle and didn’t do very well. Unknown to Peadar, she spent the next few weeks practising and then one evening she asked him to sit down, so that she could play a few hornpipes for him on the whistle. To his surprise, she played them very well indeed, but then put down the whistle and never played it again. She had done what she wanted to do – to show him that if he could play the instrument, she could do the same.
Julia always regretted she never had professional training in music and, on discovering that her son had music in him, she decided to have him properly trained. She had missed an opportunity in her youth to go to university, when she was a nurse. The chief surgeon in the hospital was keen that she should attend University College Cork to train in medicine, but her own father would not hear of it. As it happened subsequently, Seán’s father was just as conservative when Louise wanted to go to University, but Julia saw to it that the younger generation would not lose their opportunity.
So it transpired that young Seán would cycle the nine miles from Adare to Limerick every Saturday to take piano, organ and violin lessons. His violin teacher was Granville Metcalfe and Van de Velde his organ teacher. Louise could not remember, when I interviewed her, who taught her brother piano. By the time Louise began violin lessons, Julia had arranged that Metcalfe would come regularly to their house in Adare, where he would teach other local students as well.
Julia believed that one should read printed music as one would read any other book: on every visit to Limerick she would bring back a bundle of music for her children – which explains why Seán and Louise were always excellent sight-readers. For them, playing or singing new music was a mixture of fun and pleasure – never a chore.
As a six-week old baby, Seán became very ill, almost to the point of death. His mother, thereafter, was very solicitous for his health and worried about him continuously if she did not know where he was. On her son’s journeys into Limerick for lessons, she would allow a certain time for cycling, an hour, perhaps, for his music lessons, half an hour for his reading in the locals bookshop (where he perfected his speed-reading techniques!) and half an hour for his cycle ride back to Adare. If Seán was more than five or ten minutes late, she would be out on the road, anxiously awaiting his return.
Seán’s son Peadar remembers lodging with his granny, in her house off College Road, when he was a student at UCC. Julia would allow him eight minutes to get from the Music Department to her home after his lectures. She and her husband would be waiting for him, if he were more than a few minutes late. She took her responsibilities to her grandson just as seriously as she had done for her own children.
Seán and Louise had a strict upbringing, for Julia was a strong character who would not put up with a task badly done. Her word was law and she had to be obeyed. They dropped everything when their mother called and Julia accepted no excuses. She was extremely proud of her son and was not shy about telling him that he was talented. The young Seán attended the Christian Brothers’ primary school in Adare and some of Julia’s former neighbours remember her boasting that he was the cleverest lad in Munster! Who would gainsay that now?
There was always a certain strain in family matters which was due to fear – the mother’s fear for her child. Seán had appendicitis at the age of nine, which was not properly attended to and which turned to peritonitis. He was very near death again and was only saved by a four-hour operation. Julia’s protective instincts were reinforced by this new danger to her son.
Julia’s husband, Seán Reidy, was a quiet, welcoming man. His chief joys were to fish in the river, for he was an excellent fisherman, or sit by his own fireside, reading a book or playing the fiddle. He never raised a hand to his son and valued peace highly, especially at home. Daily mass and communion were the norm.
He was a sergeant in the gardaí, but was not interested in further promotion. A sergeant’s pay in those days was not great and the family were not well-off. It was often suggested to him that he should apply for promotion, the implication being that he would get it, for he was good at his job, but he did not want the additional unnecessary stress that it would bring. He had his own way of maintaining the rule of law in Adare: he didn’t go looking for late drinkers in the pub but usually appeared on the street, talking to his friends, just after closing time. That was the signal to the pub owners that it was time to shut up shop. There was a story that one of them tended to delay closing until he’d heard a knock on the back door in a certain rhythm. That was the final warning!
Seán Reidy was a brave man. He had been a republican in Clare in his youth but that was never mentioned after he joined the Gardaí. He was badly wounded on one occasion when, totally unarmed, he tried to persuade an armed youth who was involved in a robbery to submit and hand over his gun. The gun was fired and the brave sergeant was lucky to escape with his life.
But Seán Ó Riada regarded his father as weak and his mother Julia as the strong partner, though that was too simplistic a view of the situation. However, it is not inconceivable that this was the reason why Seán, in later life, became quite a stern father to his own children.
CHAPTER 2
TO SCHOOL IN CORK
Seán left primary school in Adare in 1943 and enrolled in St Finbarr’s College, Farranferris, Cork, in September of that year. On the same day, another young lad entered the college and they were put into the same class, Junior Three, the class for the best students. They had just two years of study before sitting for their first public examination, the Intermediate Certificate of the Department of Education.
The classmate was John Joe Greehy, who was to become a very well-known scripture scholar in later years. Like Seán, he was the son of a sergeant in the Gardaí and they lived in Kilmallock in County Cork. They had something else in common, as both mothers wanted their sons to continue their piano studies in Farranferris. John Joe had already taken some examinations of the Royal Irish Academy of Music.
Their piano teacher was Aloys Fleischmann, whose son Aloys, destined to become Professor of Music in UCC in later years, had already gone through Farranferris as a student. Fleischmann senior was an excellent teacher who had come from Germany to take up the post of organist in St Mary’s Cathedral. In his early years at Farranferris, Seán practised piano assiduously under the direction of Herr Fleischmann and attended Willie Brady’s violin lessons in Cork. He also took organ lessons in the cathedral from his piano teacher.
Some of Seán’s classmates remember him as a sensitive, musical person, with creative tendencies. Most of them saw him as being different from themselves – an outsider. He was intellectual – they knew that - and scholarship was important in Farranferris in those days. But sport was very highly regarded, particularly hurling, and Seán did not shine in that department. Among the students the game was of paramount importance and a lack of ability on the hurling field was more significant than any amount of brains.
Seán played in one internal match and did not impress. In fact, in his frustration, he lost his temper and struck an opponent a considerable blow with the camán. His failure at hurling further isolated him from his fellow students.
Farranferris was a boarding seminary for the diocese, though that did not mean that all of its students were destined for the priesthood. A large percentage did, however, proceed to Maynooth or one of the other clerical colleges, as those who wished to join the priesthood in the diocese of Cork and Ross were obliged to attend Farranferris for a minimum number of years.
There was a high standard of Greek and Latin taught in those days, as Maynooth set high store by the classics. The teachers of those subjects in Farranferris were Doctor (later Canon) Connolly and Father Michael Roche. Their best students attained a high standard – none better than Seán and his friend J.J. Greehy.
Greehy remembers that the College had not won a hurling cup for some time and that it was Seán Ó Riada who gained their only trophy, by getting first prize at Feis Maitiú in the Shanahan competition for violin. He won a number of competitions in those years. Evidently the President of the College, Canon T.F. Duggan, complained to Seán about a report in the papers after he had won the Shanahan Cup. ‘Why didn’t you say you were attending Farranferris College, instead of saying you were from Adare?’ asked the Canon. Seán did not answer him, but merely shrugged his shoulders. Some of Seán’s classmates remember Father Roche teasing the hurling boys in the class. ‘You all march out,’ said he, ‘with drums beating and flags flying – and then back you come with empty hands, trailing your flags after you. But look at Reidy there, who slipped out the gate with his violin tucked humbly under his arm – and wasn’t he the one to bring back the cup!’
One of the teachers who understood Seán’s talent was the priest An t-Athair Tadhg Ó Murchú. He used to hold special evenings in the College on Sundays, when he would teach songs in Irish and have students perform. Ó Riada, playing violin, instead of piano, was the normal accompanist on these occasions. A student of those days, now Father Ó Crualaoi, remembers assisting on accordion. Ó Riada also often played the organ at mass in Farranferris.
The students were sometimes permitted to go to concerts in Cork – not a common procedure in city schools at the time. They were allowed out to recitals of the Cork Symphony Orchestra, which was, of course, conducted by Aloys Fleischmann, who, as well as being an old boy of the College, was also the son of their music teacher.
Canon Connolly, who presented regular Sunday night concerts in the Palace Theatre in MacCurtáin Street, asked Ó Riada to play there. This was a big occasion for the lad, as the usual artists were well-known names in the city. There was a big audience of Cork people and students in attendance. Some of Seán’s classmates remember that he was playing classical music on the violin until he realised that his listeners were not really paying much attention, so he changed to céilí music and got huge applause. After that night Seán’s stock soared in Farranferris and even though he was still a loner, his talent was recognised by all.
After completing the Inter Certificate examination, Seán decided to go on to his senior studies, rather than repeating a year and doing the examination again, something common at the time, as his mother wished him to prepare for the Leaving Certificate Examination. Students repeated the Inter Cert in the hope of getting a public scholarship, which would increase the college’s reputation as an educational establishment. Even though J.J. Greehy remained in fourth year to repeat the examination, he was given the privileges of a senior student. One of those privileges was being in an upstairs room, far away from the packed dormitories. The two friends shared a room from then on.
J.J. Greehy remembers that Seán used to discuss everything with him – not only the events of the day in the outside world but all about the books he was reading – and he was an avid reader. He would often suggest that Greehy should put an unusual twist into an essay for the English teacher, or perhaps slip in something funny or sarcastic, for a laugh. Even then, Greehy remembers thinking there was a bright future in literature or a connected discipline for Ó Riada, who had a phenomenal memory and intellect, and whose general conversation was so far above his fellow students that they failed to make sense of it.
Even in those days, Seán had begun to question authority, whether it came from the Church, the State, or the school. He had little regard for the conservative spiritualism that surrounded him and constantly questioned why he should have to confess regularly. Matters like these were under frequent discussion by the two friends in the upper room and J.J. Greehy (who was later to be President of Clonliffe College) freely acknowledges that Ó Riada had a considerable influence on him in matters of religion and nationalism.
Notwithstanding Seán’s complaints about religion, either he himself – or more likely his mother, on his behalf – harboured thoughts of the priesthood, as he left Farranferris in 1947 to go for a year to St Munchin’s College in Limerick. This was a necessary step for aspiring priests of the Limerick diocese, which was the diocese in which the family resided.
His Farranferris classmates of those days do not remember Seán having any special interest in the Irish language, though every student in the College spoke Irish well, due to the teaching of An t-Athair Tadhg Ó Murchú. Many spent part of their summer holidays in the Kerry Gaeltacht, in a small house, known as the bothán, organised by the same priest. Strangely enough, Ó Riada never did.
It was An t-Athair Tadhg, many years later, who invited Seán to spend a period in his new hostel, which replaced the original bothán – Brú na Gráige. Seán’s visit to west Kerry was destined to effect a major change in Ó Riada’s subsequent life.
CHAPTER 3
CLASSICIST OR MUSICIAN?
When asked once by a foreign musician what he had studied at University, Seán’s reply to his interviewer was ‘Classics!’ It was only partly true.
He entered University College Cork in 1948 and began his First Arts course with Irish, Greek, Latin, English and Music as his subjects. He passed his First Arts examination, attaining First Honours in Music.
In the academic year 1949-50 he took Greek and Latin in Second Arts and registered for First Music in the B. Mus. course, having been granted permission by the President to so do. He failed Greek and Latin in the summer examinations and did not take up his available option of repeating them in the autumn. He did, however, get Second honours in First Music. He was unable to continue with the BA course, but took Second Music that year and eventually completed his B. Mus. with Second Honours in 1952.
Professor Fleischmann often told me that it was not as a result of study that Seán achieved his B. Mus., as he rarely did the musical exercises set out by the professor. Not only that, but he often did not show up for his lectures. It would not have been so noticeable in other circumstances, but he was Fleischmann’s only B. Mus. student, and the poor professor, living in Passage West at the time, used to cycle to Cork to give his lecture, only to discover he had no student! Not unnaturally, this led to more than one serious confrontation and the professor remembers his student crying when he realised the enormity of what he had done. Fleischmann always said that Seán got the B. Mus. through sheer talent, but he maintained that Seán was the cleverest and most musical student he ever had.
Seán Lucy, who was later to become Professor of English in UCC, first encountered Seán in the autumn term in 1950. Both were seasoned students by this time, but had not previously met, though they had been in the same Latin class in the previous year.
There was a group of friends in UCC at the time – male and female students, who met regularly to discuss affairs and drink coffee in the college restaurant, known as ‘The Rest’. Ó Riada was to become a member of the group later and even though the marriages of Lucy and Ó Riada resulted from acquaintances made in those days, there was no obvious romance in the group: they were much more interested in the Dramatic Society, in films or in trips to the countryside. The original members included Pat Kennedy, who was later to marry Seán Lucy, Helen Maloney, a medical student, Dónal Murphy, who was studying engineering and Seán Lucy. Pat knew Marie Whelan, who was to marry the High Sheriff of Cork, Collins-Powell. A friend of Marie’s, Ruth Coughlan, became a member of the group and was eventually to marry Seán Ó Riada.
In autumn 1950 a new member, unlike the others, joined the group. He was Ultan McEligott, who had come from Canada to study philosophy under Professor James O’Mahony. McEligott was older and more mature than the others, with habits they found a little strange. He was fashionably dressed and had an apartment of his own: he did his own cooking, whereas the other students were all lodgers in digs. He had wine on the table at mealtimes, was a good talker with a fine sense of humour and, all in all, added much status and sophistication to the group.
Ultan and Seán Lucy were in the Savoy restaurant one day, when an argument arose between Ó Riada, who had come to their table, and Lucy. It resulted from a discussion on religion and the existence or non-existence of a next life. McEligott and Lucy were surprised to find that young Ó Riada was not what they would regard as a normal Catholic, but a follower of Sartre and a believer in black French existensialism. He didn’t seem to go along with normal metaphysics, but claimed that the absurd was at the heart of everything.
Eventually Lucy and McEligott rose to leave, as they wanted to be rid of this talkative student. They were surprised to find that he was following them, hoping, perhaps, for further argument or at least a continuation of the discussion. Lucy remembers being very dissatisfied on that occasion, either with Ó Riada and his opinions, or even with his own part in their argument.
Some days later, he accosted Lucy in the quadrangle and, half shyly and half aggressively, asked him if he would listen to some music of his. They went to a music room over the President’s office and Ó Riada sat down at the piano and began to play. Lucy remembered the music as being vaguely like that of Debussy, with long silvery runs that would remind you of a summer morning on a stony beach – all clean and bright. Lucy reckoned their friendship began when he told Ó Riada that he liked it very much.
Seán Lucy was a well-known figure among the students in those days, as he had already published poetry and short stories. Ó Riada was satisfied that someone like him thought his music good and, more importantly, thought the young composer had talent. Lucy remembered being convinced that Ó Riada had in his heart and soul the real thing – genius.
Ó Riada joined the group after this and soon he and Ruth Coughlan became an ‘item’. Various students of the time to whom I have spoken remember Ó Riada as a bit of a loner, who did not talk much about himself or his background, but who was important in the social life of the college, as he played piano regularly at dances in the Rest and in a number of dance-halls in the city. Ruth Coughlan and Pat Kennedy were regular patrons of these functions.
From 1949-52 Ó Riada inhabited two very distinct worlds – the academic life of the University, and the world of pop, jazz and dance music, which he practised assiduously outside his B. Mus. course.
Billy Browne, whose band played regularly for dances in the Arcadia ballroom in Cork, was looking for a pianist and Ó Riada was recommended to him for his group, Billy Browne and his Music. The bass player in the band, John Cagney, told me that he was the person who recommended the student, who was then invited to their regular Monday night practice. It did not matter what music was put in front of him, he was able to perform it expertly. Billy remembers that he was particularly keen on jazz and, as far as Browne knew, had no interest in Irish music.
Ó Riada spent a few years playing with the band in Cork, Kerry, Tipperary and Waterford. They played mostly for dances in those days, with, perhaps, a few Sunday evening concerts in either the Palace or the Capitol. They would normally play for two or three dances a week.
Billy told me that in later years, though Seán was working in Dublin, he used to come into Billy’s shop in Academy Street, Cork, sometimes to buy seed for his garden. On one such occasion they had a long chat about old times and when Seán went out, a girl who was working for Billy said to him: ‘I didn’t know that you were a friend of Seán Ó Riada.’ ‘I’m not,’ said Billy, ‘I never met him.’ ‘What do you mean?’ she replied. ‘Weren’t you talking to him there now and hasn’t he just gone out of the shop?’ ‘Of course not,’ said Billy: ‘That’s John Reidy who used to play with us in the band years ago.’ ‘Well,’ she said, ‘look at the telly tonight at eight o’clock and you’ll see I’m right.’ That was how Billy Browne discovered that his John Reidy was the famous Seán Ó Riada.
Billy remembered the first arrangement of dance music that Seán provided for the band. It was Summertime, he thought, but it was far too complicated for the average dance band, though it would have been a very good concert piece. As a piece for dancing, however, it was a failure.
Billy praised Ó Riada highly as a pianist who could do an excellent solo spot in the interval of a dance or as a jazz pianist with drum accompaniment. He had no doubt Seán could earn a living at that kind of music and he remembers him as a shy person. He was always at his ease in chatting to the other musicians and enjoyed the banter when they were going to or coming from gigs by car. He kept himself apart and drank little.
Billy admitted they were not aware that they had a genius in their midst. ‘We were all young then and we weren’t looking for a genius – all we wanted was a pianist who could play the notes the way we wanted them and he could certainly do that!’
Billy advised me to go and talk to John Cagney – the man who had first recommended Ó Riada to him. It seems that Cagney and other musicians had a weekly jazz session in Gregg Hall on the South Mall. One night John noticed a thin young fellow sitting alone – watching and listening. John spoke to him after the session and when he heard that he was a music student who could play piano, he invited him to his home, which was just across the road. John asked him to play something and was amazed at the excellence of his playing. ‘Thank God he was not playing over there tonight,’ he said to himself.
Cagney had a small group who played for parties, weddings, army dances, etc., Among the group were Dónal Casey from Cobh, Pat Mitchell on drums and John Cagney on bass. Ó Riada sometimes sat in with them on piano and they were all impressed with his arrangements. Cagney told me that the young student could arrange music for any kind of musical group, though he admitted his music could be difficult and complicated. ‘His talent started where the rest of ours finished.’ Cagney had a story about the time Seán was accompanist to an English tenor who was to sing in the Savoy in 1950 or 1951. The poor man had a cold and was very worried about the high C he had to sing in one of the arias. He confided his fears to Seán as they were about to start the concert. ‘Don’t worry your head about it,’ said Seán. ‘I’ll transpose it down to B and you’ll be alright.’ He did and everything was great. The tenor kept telling people that nobody else could have done it on first sight, as Seán had.
There were a few sessions in Cagney’s house at which Bobby Lamb, recognised as one of the world’s best trombonists, was present. Lamb and Ó Riada were playing together for the first time and Cagney remembers Ó Riada, before he started, joining his hands so that the fingers interlaced and then bending them to make his fingers crack loudly. ‘Well Bobby,’ he said, ‘what will we play – jazz, pop or classical?’
Cagney felt very strongly that Lamb’s skill had a considerable influence on Ó Riada and, equally, Lamb learned much from Seán, who spent some six months lodging in Cagney’s house in his first year at UCC. Cagney’s mother listened to them often and tried to induce them to do something with Irish music in modern attire. Though they did not do this at the time, the family liked to think that Mrs Cagney may have had some influence on both Lamb, who composed Clann Lir later and maybe even on the composer of Mise Eire.
John Cagney told me that he felt Ó Riada was more of a working musician than an academic and he had no doubt that Seán should have continued as a top composer, rather than returning to the University as an academic in the 1960s as he lacked inspiration in that situation.
Seán Ó Sé told me about a drummer, Joe Terry, who hailed from Albert Road in Cork and played with Ó Riada in Parknasilla Hotel in the summer of 1951. Their small group comprised Bill Brierley, piano, Denis Cronin, saxophone and clarinet, Joe Terry on drums and Ó Riada on violin. Full board was provided for the musicians, with first-class meals and every day free until night time, except for an hour between four and five, when afternoon tea or coffee was served for the guests, to music from the quartet – a soothing mixture of pop and light classics.
Joe played every summer at Parknasilla but Ó Riada spent only one season there. The two of them shared a room and Joe remembers Seán doing a lot of study.
They would play for dancing in the hotel from 9pm until midnight. The music was not arranged specially for the group, but Brierley played from a piano version and the other three would busk along as best they could. Joe remembers that Ó Riada had occasional solos in the afternoon session, but in the evening it was all in together, playing gently, since that was what the hotel owners wanted.
Ó Riada did not play piano with the group, as Brierley was the official pianist. He was very particular about his status in that regard and would not consider allowing anyone else usurp him. However, on wet days Seán had a habit of staying indoors and playing the piano for his own enjoyment. Gradually, it became known that there was a real master at the piano and people began to come in regularly to listen. But after a few wet days, the piano was locked to prevent the emergence of a second pianist. It was only opened subsequently for the evening sessions.
Seán played for some time with a short-lived group known as The Kamble Kombo, directed by Noel Campbell. They first came together as a trio – Barney Mulgrew on saxophone and clarinet, Ó Riada on piano and Noel himself on guitar. Noel told me they gave the group that title because it was short, snappy and small enough to fit on their music stands, as they were all readers of music. Noel knew that Seán was an excellent pianist and a good reader, which was why he invited him to play with them. He also hoped that Ó Riada might do some arrangements for the group – which he did. Noel showed me an arrangement of Small Hotel which Seán had done. It was one of a number that included the Irish national anthem which, in those days, was always played after the last dance of the evening.
Their first gig was at Christmas in the Grand Hotel in Crosshaven, organised by Kevin O’Shea. Noel remembers Seán smoking Sobrani cigars with a gold seal. In keeping with his French style, he would wear a dark beret on such occasions. Ó Riada did not think much of standard band arrangements: he preferred South American music like samba, rumba and cha-cha. The band sometimes played such music, with Seán leading on piano and the rest following.
Back at UCC some students of the time remember Seán as unkempt, grubby and unhealthy looking; white-faced, tall and thin, dressed in black and seeming to model himself on the Joycean French style. As far as he was concerned, The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Ulysses were holy books. Seán Lucy remembers him as volatile, introspective and unpredictable. His mood could change in a moment from happy and carefree to one that was bitter and even hostile. In argument he always preferred to win than to find a real answer and his somewhat superior and overbearing approach often made him enemies.
In aesthetic matters, however, Lucy felt that Ó Riada was nearer to McElligot and himself artistically than he was in matters of religion. Both were interested in modern poetry, especially that of Ezra Pound, and in other modern developments in the arts in general. Above all his other interests, Ó Riada seemed to be on a higher plane when he played piano – as if he had gone into another world, where no one could get to him.
During spring 1951 Seán Lucy and Pat Kennedy fell in love and were more or less inseparable, until Pat finished her BA and left UCC in the autumn. In that period Lucy and Ó Riada did not have much contact but this changed in the academic year 1951-52, when both were in their final year. Ruth Coughlan and Ó Riada were together much of that year and the three friends often had meals together in Ruth’s father’s home. In this period, Lucy was helping Ruth with her English course. The three enjoyed wonderful times of music and chat.
Sean Ó Riada at his 1952 B. Mus. Graduation.
It was a friendship that was to continue long after they left UCC – right up to the tragic deaths of both Ruth and Ó Riada.