Clannad
3Arena Dublin
★★★★☆
For a band whose sound has been variously described as ethereal and otherworldly, Clannad have a distinct capacity for producing music that’s grounded in the strongest sense of place. Moya Brennan and her brothers, Ciarán and Pól, had planned to mark their 50th anniversary in 2020, but stages went dark, but there was something deeply fitting about the fact that they performed their farewell Dublin concert in 2023, the 50th anniversary of the release of their debut album.
This was a performance marked by poise and precision. Moya Brennan took quiet, unassuming possession of centre stage from the get go, with a delicate reading of Buachaill ón Éirne, from their 1985 album, Macalla. Her voice, deliciously wraithlike and woven like a skein through the lyrics, carries traces of a lifetime of performance, but its essence is still what it was when she first took to the stage at Letterkenny Folk Festival as a teenager.
Those instantly recognisable close family harmonies underpinned dTigeas a damhsa, Moya’s delicate vocals offering a reminder of the timelessness of these songs, juxtaposed against the fleeting nature of any artist’s relationship with them.
Clannad have always drawn deep from the well, and yet made songs and tunes from the tradition their own in a way that drew listeners who might otherwise have passed that tradition by. This concert was a glorious reminder of the depth and breadth of their legacy, writ large across a robust two and a half-hour performance.
Beauty & the Beast review: On the way home, younger audience members re-enact scenes. There’s no higher recommendation
Matt Cooper: I’m an only child. I’ve always been conscious of not having brothers or sisters
A Dublin scam: After more than 10 years in New York, nothing like this had ever happened to me
Patrick Freyne: I am becoming a demotivational speaker – let’s all have an averagely productive December
There was a certain poignancy to the fact that Pádraig and Noel Duggan, the twin uncles of Moya, Ciarán and Pól, and founding members of Clannad, have both died. Their absence lent a certain lonesome quality to the opening songs. And yet it was a fitting reminder of the family ties that lay at the heart of this band.
A keen sense of regeneration was there too though, as the opening songs gave way to a glorious revisiting of Clannad’s immense back catalogue, ably supported now, by Moya’s daughter and son, Aisling and Paul Jarvis, along with two percussionists, guitarist Anto Drennan and saxophonist Mel Collins.
Spooling photographs of concert programmes, press interviews and festival posters during the interval chronicled Clannad’s musical life with a heady mix of nostalgia and tenderness. The second half of the performance swung from a mesmerising Dulamán to In a lifetime (Aisling Jarvis taking on the vocals originally sung by Bono with a quiet, unshowy confidence), Níl sé ina lá and so much more.
An unquenchable generosity of spirit suffused this performance, Moya’s harp bringing delicious detail, especially to Carolan’s Eleanor Plunkett. Ciarán’s double bass was a revelation, adding depth and form wherever needed, and Pól’s flute was a further reminder of how the roots of the tradition soared skywards in the band’s countless inventive arrangements of old songs, and in their own compositions too.
A very fine way to say goodbye: still in love with the music, and intent on getting to the heart of every song.
