Interview: Glen Hansard
Glen Hansard was already on his way to earning EGOT status before he decided to venture into solo waters. The Dublin singer, songwriter and guitarist has fronted the seminal Irish rock band The Frames since 1990, and during the past nine years, he’s released three acclaimed full-length indie-folk albums with pianist and creative partner Markéta Irglová as The Swell Season. Along with Irglová, he starred in—and wrote original music for—the film Once, which earned him both an Oscar trophy and a Grammy nomination. Then, he watched as that story turned into a hit Broadway musical. Once’s success launched Hansard’s second career as a decorated actor, and his credits now include a variety of movies and television shows, including Parenthood. In 2012, he finally launched a solo career with Rhythm And Repose, and this fall, he issued another record under his own name, Didn’t He Ramble.
However, despite sold-out shows and numerous accolades, his sophomore album offered its own set of challenges. “The more I hang on to the vision of the song that I have in my head, and the more that dictates my vision in the studio, the longer and tougher it is going to be to make the album,” he says of Didn’t He Ramble. After a false start, Hansard crafted the record with a few close friends, including indie-rock utility man Thomas “Doveman” Bartlett. “If I can put a cast of great musicians together around me and just let go, and let the song find its own voice, then something magic is allowed in. But the magic stops the more I hang on to my visions.”
It’s been about three years since you released your solo debut, Rhythm And Repose, and during that time, you actually worked on an alternate version of Didn’t He Ramble that was left on the cutting-room floor. When did this set of songs start taking shape?
As a writer/musician, it’s very difficult to describe when work begins and ends, but whenever I finish an album, there are always a few songs that I think I’ll keep for the next record that inevitably get lost. They die on the vine. The pattern I’ve noticed in my own creative process is that, as you near the release or the completion of an album, there’s a period where the eld goes solemn—nothing will grow.
My initial thought was that I should book a studio and go in with the best fucking jazz band I can find, which was Brian Blade & The Fellowship Band. I went in and just prayed that magic happened. [Laughs.] And then, I basically got food poisoning that week, and at the same time, my body was so stressed from the touring that I just realized, “Man, I’ve got nothing.” We did a whole version of this album in its infant form and nothing came out of it. That was a steep learning curve for me, and I realized that the best way I could rescue this batch of songs is through a little rest. [Laughs.] So I took some time, really sat down and wrote.
What steps did you take to resurrect the project after realizing that you almost needed to start from scratch in the studio?
We hit about 50 or 60 percent of the songs that ended up on Didn’t He Ramble during those initial sessions, but then I went off and spent some time working on little pieces with engineer Pat Dillett and Thomas Bartlett in New York. They were really fruitful sessions where it was just me and Thomas playing the piano and guitar— we would go in and spend afternoons fleshing out some ideas I had. That was probably the most creative part of the process.
But then, I had a very honest conversation with Thomas, who was the producer of the record, and he sat me down and said, “Glen, I love you, man. You’re one of the great musicians that I’ve worked with, but I’ve got to tell you—this is no good. These songs aren’t there. You need to figure out what you’re doing. I don’t know if you’re tired, or what’s going on, but you’re just not there.” That was a tough thing to hear, but I really appreciated it because it meant that I could go and really focus on the songwriting. If you call someone a friend, then that gives them not only the right but also the responsibility to be straight with you. If you see a friend fucking up or you see a friend being a bit lazy or a little lost, then it’s your duty to point that friend in the mirror and say, “I love you, but you’re way off.” And so Thomas gave me the gift of honesty in the middle of the session, and it made this a better record because it meant I could go o and truly focus on what was important—the words and the intention of the tunes.
Looking back on this set of songs, can you point to any specific intentions or lyrical themes that tie the record together or make it stand apart from your other releases?
I decided I wasn’t going to write love songs for this album because I wasn’t in a “love song place” anyway. I was in a very cool and easy place with myself. As a songwriter, the words “heart” and “love” are very useful, and they’re very common, but I decided to limit myself with this record and not use those words. So I set myself a few parameters. And really, what was different with this record from other records was that I would really work on the lyrics on this album. I gave myself a harder time, let the songs be as simple and pure as possible in their message. I made sure I could stand behind every lyric because if you don’t mean it, then it’s not good enough, and then you need to work on it more.
Thomas has been a steady presence throughout both of your solo albums, and when you were based in New York, you often performed together at Greenwich Village jam sessions. How did your working relationship develop?
I met Thomas in a bar in Austin, Texas, during SXSW about 10 years ago, and I was immediately attracted to him. I walked up to him and I said, “It’s St. Patty’s Day. I’m Irish. I’m going to buy you a drink.” I didn’t know him, but it turned out he liked my band, so we ended up having a conversation about music.
When you’re in the studio, and you’re recording, it’s a very delicate process. Essentially, what you’re trying to do is to coax something natural into a cultural environment. It’s like standing in your room and seeing a bird outside in your garden—a little hummingbird— and he’s flitting from tree to tree, and you are somehow trying to coax that bird into your living room and onto your coffee table. And how do you do that? It’s kind of a strange, miraculous, weird, awkward move—you need to get yourself into the position to allow nature to enter the situation.
In addition to Thomas and Pat, you ended up bringing a number of other musicians into the mix, including The Dubliners’ John Sheahan, Sam Beam, Sam Amidon and your former Frames bandmate David Odlum. When did you draw them into the fold?
On this session, I went to France and I did a little bit with Dave, who’s a wonderful producer, just because France was closer to Dublin. I didn’t want to keep on making the trip to New York or Chicago every time. I don’t record at home because I really believe that home is where you rest, cook and sleep. I love my work, I’m excited by recording, but I’m one of these people who never learned how to record myself. I don’t get involved at all in the technical land.
I got some great advice when I was 22 from Chris Blackwell from Island Records, and he basically just said a very simple thing: “Always treat Ireland as your home. Never treat Ireland politically.” He said: “This advice won’t make any sense right now because you’re essentially a nobody in Ireland. You’re unheard of. But I guarantee that, one day, this advice will mean something, so don’t treat your home country politically. When you go home, go home and rest. Keep all your business outside of your home.” And I thought it was fantastic advice. When I get home now, I plant vegetables, I cook for my mother. I have friends over. My home life is completely non-musical.
Even though you’ve written for various mediums, you only have two albums under your own name. What differentiates a Glen Hansard solo song from a Frames song?
It has to do with the groove—the bass line or the guitar line. Bands love an interesting riff. Bands love when the drummer hits and the guitar gets super angry. It’s a band song because we’re all excited by the music, and then, you just stick some words on it. In my solo work, I could care less about the music or if it sounds interesting. What I’m interested in is that it has a feel. With The Frames, we’re all into different music—interesting music. But the problem with bands is they’re always looking for something interesting, whereas sometimes, the most beautiful thing in the world is the most banal thing in the world. Sometimes, the simplest song will slay the room.
An interesting groove and a fascinating guitar line might entertain a few young lads, but it’s not necessarily that interesting at the end of the day. So what I’ve found as a solo artist is that I’m less concerned with what’s interesting and more concerned with what’s true in terms of the intent of the song.
It has been several years since you’ve recorded with The Swell Season or The Frames. Are you working on any new material for either of those projects?
No—oh, no. The Swell Season is a simpler band in terms of how it operates, which is when Markéta and I are hanging out together. And when Markéta and I aren’t hanging out together, there is no Swell Season. I don’t think that band is necessarily going to do anything else. If we do, then it will be because Markéta and I are hanging around together, and we’ll see what happens. It’s that simple. I’m so happy for Markéta—her career, her life and what she has going on—and if we ever got together and played a few songs, then we could easily call it a Swell Season album. But Swell Season albums were essentially a solo album of mine and a solo album of Mar’s coming together.
The Frames is a little more complicated because I’ve been with these guys since I was a child. I definitely am interested in making new music with The Frames. But what I’m not interested in is going in and being a nostalgia act—playing all these songs from 15-20 years ago. What’s interesting is going in and making a record that doesn’t necessarily sound like any Frames record that came before. That would be appealing. And that’s something that I hold a special place in my heart for.
