Last November we sadly said goodbye to a well loved character and champion of Irish culture, Martin A. Egan. Musician, author, artist, poet, raconteur and most importantly a friend- Martin had many strings to his quare aul bow. In a special tribute to his life and work, we’ve compiled reminiscences from friends, family and musicians who felt his influence and his loss with equal impact. Pop the kettle on and have a cup of tae in his honour.
“I first met Martin Egan when Planxty played on The Aran Islands in 1972. He sailed out to Kilronan with Mary Coughlan and a Ferry-full of Galway listeners. We met more often when The Meeting Place in Dorset Street became the hub of our music scene. He would be there with his battered guitar always ready for action. When Martin moved to Dingle I used visit him in his wee cottage near Annascaul. There we’d sing and rant and rave ’til dawn. Great parties. Just the two of us. We both came to the end of Gargle Road around the same time. Subsequently we shared more sober times. He invited me to open an exhibition of his paintings in Tralee. Powerful pictures, I often thought he should have painted on… instead he moved on… in and out of songs, poetry, agit-prop and storytelling. Martin forever moving on… but always with an eye and ear for those who might need a helping hand. We talked regularly and I miss him. He sang a 100 songs down the phone to me and always encouraged me in my own work. Martin said it as it was for him, not everyone could handle that. Over 43 years we shared, laughed, sang, drank tea and never fell out. Yeah… I miss Martin.” Christy Moore
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“I met and began working with Martin around 2009, launching into the first recording sessions of – amongst other material – what would become his final album, A Man In Full, on which appears the song “I Lived On An Island Once”, the definitive studio version of which is here available to be heard publicly for the first time. Sadly, Martin died before this – fully completed – album could be properly released and reached – within his own lifetime – the audience which it truly deserves.
Whatever form Martin’s art took – be it as music, as writing, or as painting – it was always the genuine expression of a true individual possessed of a vibrant vision and unique voice engaged in an endlessly ruthless process of self-education and self-development. Entirely unwilling to compromise, working with Martin could be challenging at times. However, it could never be said that Martin was anything other than entirely honest, with himself most of all.
As I listen now to “I Lived On An Island Once”, what strikes me is that to describe this music would be to describe Martin himself. Like nothing and no-one else. Bringing out the best in those he worked with. Characterised by a remarkable honesty which has, behind the pain, a most profound unconditional love at its core: an endless sea of serene stillness, beyond any sense of separation, into whose infinite embrace Martin has been absorbed into eternity.” Brian Conniffe (Nurse With Wound, Patrick Kelleher’s Cold Dead Hands, Catscars, Tenro)
“Martin is at peace at last, life was tough for him. He was a such a big ball of kindness, compassion and rage.
A deeply sensitive Artist, he was like a Bard who arrived here straight from another time. He felt acutely the mixed blessing (and carried the burden) of being born with an Artist’s eye in what was then a very stifled and repressive country. He was a sharp and fearless truth-teller but compassion and playfulness tempered every thrust.
There was never any small talk with him and from our first to our last meeting we went straight for the big stuff.
One of Martin’s great gifts was his generosity, he was always safe and encouraging company for us fledgling artists who’d fallen out of our nests and were finding our wings. He was one of my earliest champions. His enthusiasm and encouragement were sunlight to my young green leaves and I will always be grateful to him for that. The world is a quieter place without him. He is missed.” Colm Mac Con Iomaire (The Frames)
“I knew Martin through my Plague Monkeys bandmate Donal O’Mahony. Martin had been a long-time friend of Donal’s father, Finbar, and he came to many of our early gigs. Over the ensuing decade or so I would meet him often, ambling about the streets of Rathmines usually, near his home of many years in Portobello. Almost always carrying a bag of books or tapes or CDs, he might have been taken for a cultured hobo, but he was known to just about every musician of the time. In the main, because he took a great interest in young songwriters and gave them his unerring support. He would always have a wise word or two and a long list of meritorious grumbles about the state of the industry. He knew firsthand the vagaries of an artist’s luck and lot but he was never mean-spirited toward his fellow artist travellers.
In recent years, I met Martin again – ambling through Ranelagh as it were. It was at a very difficult personal time in my life and we caught up over a lengthy walk. He was in a period of transition himself, having finally been given notice on his old apartment, and was about to move to new housing in Kimmage. He was also engaged in an emotionally taxing research project into a history of clerical abuse in his own family, back in the family seat in Tipperary. This was not long before a sequence of severe symptoms urged him to seek medical consultation, which revealed the shocking news that he had a number of advanced cancers.
I visited Martin regularly while he was in St. Luke’s for treatment and took him out to dinner locally while he was well enough. His spirit was as formidable as ever and in the early days of his treatment he looked better than he had in my time of knowing him. Streamlined you might say. He was open about the prognosis given him by his consultants but railed against the fear and frustration that sometimes threatened to consume. I know this because he was open about that too. Once or twice on the phone he had to break from speaking to recover his emotions but years of personal counselling and group therapy had made Martin an incredibly resilient person. He had more than his share of tragedy in life, but as a true artist had always mined his experience for the benefit of his artistic output. And he was by no means done with that, which is the greatest tragedy – A Man In Full is the first of a trilogy of albums Martin had planned, and even in his final weeks he was positive about getting well enough to complete it.
Still, there is a true wealth of material left to us in all of his writings and visual art, which is still being sorted through by kind friends and caring family who, like those contributing to this article, want to support his legacy. For me that is very important, but I also want to underline the value he brought to me as a person, especially in those latter months of his life when, for whatever reasons, having been long-time distant associates, we grew closer. Just after he passed, I wrote a song dedicated to Martin (a fellow Aquarian) that I intend to record soon, but for now I will offer the lyrics in tribute:
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Is it an Aquarian thing to wield the truth like a razor
And not to wound, but to remove every trace of deceit and taint of bullshit?
Take the whole damn rock and hold it to the light
See the flaws embedded there
Who said that life would be easy?
Honour is a difficult code where fools are not suffered gladly
It takes its toll, excavating the face of mankind in its scarred beauty
Take the whole damn rock and hold it to the light
See the gold deep in the core and roar
Now that is a rare thing
And the ones that you read and the ones who read you know a couple of things
The accounts of the soul are not tidily kept, they are not loss-adjusted
And when you told them all to go to hell it was said with love
Take the whole damn rock and hold it to light
Find the gold deep in the core and roar
Now weren’t you the quare thing
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RIP Martin A Egan. You were a mighty quare thing and the world was all the richer for having you in it.” Carol Keogh (The City Fathers, The Plague Monkeys, The Natural History Museum, The Tycho Brahe)
“For a songwriter and poet it seems that Martin’s enduring legacy will be his stories. The fireside rambles he used to go on, oftentimes without a fireside in sight. No artist could be mentioned without Martin having had some encounter with them. Like the time Lemmy made him a honorary member of the Hells angels, or his encounter with Mick Ronson. Frequently the artist in question turned out to be belligerent or wrongheaded, and need to be put back in their box. Who better man than Martin for that job?
Working with him was like listening to his stories. Sometimes a song would take a left turn, a verse could be shortened by half a bar, because of the urgent need to get into the chorus. He kept me honest. It was that beautiful, instinctive freedom he took to the studio when we recorded A Man In Full, allowing the musicians almost free rein, as generous with his music as he was with his stories. Within the freedom we thrived, we created something vital and true. His lyrics, suffused with darkness and hurt, understanding and forgiveness. Occasionally tangential, often confrontational, never compromised or compromising. Like the man himself.
When he entered hospital, he said the same to me about the doctors. Their problem was they didn’t know a diagnosis should be presented as a performance. It mattered to Martin how the news was delivered, almost more than the news itself. Cancer didn’t scare him, he told me. He’d had a good life, amassed some half decent stories and whatever was next, he was going to look it in the eye and take it as it came. No better man.” Dara ‘Dip’ Higgins (The Jimmy Cake)
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“I did not work with Martin on anything musical he was my brother and a writer.
I was closer to Martin in the last decade of his life via, believe it or not, Social Networking as we both were night owls. Time for more TAE.
He was a supporter of my fights and rants online about the thieves that we both encountered in our careers, and would tell me on many occasions that there are those who have talent and there are accountants. Unfortunately both need each other, only the accountant thinks the musician is an idiot.
Martin’s music, lyrics and storytelling could have been told by a man twice his age, he always seemed to be able to correct any Irish historic fact and sometime – but not often – in that vast mind of information there was some confusion yet he would promptly accept his error…
I had lost touch with Martin but heard the odd story: he was in Dingle, or was seen in Newcastle West where a family with one foot in London were once, at the end of the ’50s when I was born. He was tracing his family and finally settled in Inch or Anascaul, and my mother wanted to see Martin. I had luckily been close with the band U2 who were kindly employing my services after my business partner and first wife emptied my bank account. The trip was a wonder to me, seeing Martin performing traditional Irish music and reading his poetry, and as we walked a few streets it seemed everyone in the town knew Martin Egan. The good news was he was a sober musician and poet, a road I was yet to go down myself… It was a few years later I heard he had written some songs and well known Irish artists were happy to work with him, I was already a fan of Clannad, Mary Black, Sinead O Connor, The Hothouse Flowers and was proud to drop my brother’s name here and there. I had myself played with Phil Lynott on Cathleen (A Beautiful Irish Girl) on the Philip Lynott Album and Yellow Pearl, the TOTP theme tune, and Martin did the same. People often said “oh, Martin Egan is your brother, he often says you played with Phil with a bit of pride”… We were both proud of each other’s very different musical and creative outputs… Over the last 20 years Martin would jump on a train, boat, or plane as often as he could for family occasions and was polite and a good man to have around. His day was packed with meetings and he would pass out rather than fall asleep at the end of the day, and I would wake to find him off out again. He loved life so much he had to pack as much in as he could into each day…
When he posted on his Facebook page, “According to the consultants I have three months to live ‘cos I am too weak to do chemo”, I spoke to my brother and sisters and it was true. He really did have three months to live. I spoke to Martin, sent him a few bob as we all did, he was ordering deliveries as “the food was SHITE”, he said… Loving every meal … We spoke on the phone and his spirits were high. He was just pissed off, he had so much more he had wanted to do, it was like watching a movie on DVD and the thing gets stuck… I don’t want this to end… I need an ending… Martin Egan, it will never end: your music, your words, and the memories many people have, and even your Facebook pages will continue… To be continued.” Rusty Egan (Visage, Rich Kids, Skids, Dramatis)
“Martin arranged my 2001 show at Whelan’s, which was a brilliant night. It’s clear that every event he worked on, every project he worked on, were subject to the enormity of his passions and generosity. He worked very hard to make things happen for other people, and from what I could see, without too much concern for his personal benefit. I felt very lucky he extended his goodwill to me, and I can only imagine how many countless others feel the same. Rest well, brother.” Ken Stringfellow (The Posies, Big Star, R.E.M.)
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“I’ve been listening to Martin’s new album for over a week now, and I got totally depressed ’cause I knew I couldn’t ring him and tell him what a great contemporary classical eulogy to life his new work is. I would’ve been on the phone for an hour or two listening to him lilt giddily over every topic that came to mind ’cause he’d be in great form, I know this ’cause I had many a moment like this over the years with him. Martin was like a mentor to me, he was like a human version of the internet, always inspiring when the chips were down, and full of sage advice when the cup was overflowing, and you were in danger of sabotaging yourself. He was never judgemental although he did reserve his scathing humour for those who were craven. Martin is one of the great poets, a man for all seasons, whims and fancies, a man who faced the roar of life head on like a punk Martin Hartnett.
I miss you Martin A. Egan, your dreams are made of treacle.” Fearghal McKee (Whipping Boy)
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“Martin A. Egan was my friend for many years, a friendship that greatly enriched my life.
If I was asked to describe Martin where would I start… He was witty, outspoken, deep thinking, candid, hilarious, inspirational, irreverent. In my dealings with him, I was always impressed by his honesty. That honesty permeated his work and his life. He was caring, generous, sensitive and a thoroughly decent man.
Martin was a man who felt and expressed emotion very openly and deeply. Belly laughs with him could be followed very swiftly by him bursting into tears. He fought darkness and demons and was particularly impacted by the deaths of his children. That struggle informed a degree of his painting, his songs and his poetry.
We met for ‘Tay’ regularly over the years, and more often than not during the course of our meeting, he would regale people at adjoining tables, waitresses and anyone else that was around with his charm and repartee. He was a great conversationalist and would strike up conversations with people on the street, in coffee shops and anywhere else he encountered them. People warmed to him immediately, he exuded sincerity and humanity and people sensed that.
When we didn’t meet there were long phone calls. When he rang, he would always ask what you were working on, encourage you and offer his opinions. He had this immense caring side and considering the darkness he encountered on his own journey, it was all the more valued and respected by myself and many of his other friends. He would always then talk about what he was working on, the latest music he was listening to and the books and poetry he was reading. He would often recite a new poem he had written or send it in a message. He introduced me to – and gave me a great appreciation of – people like Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs, Charles Bukowski amongst many others. If there was something bothering him that week, he might go off on a rant for a few minutes but it always ended up with a laugh and a call for ‘More Tay’.
He had an uneasy relationship with technology, when I asked him about something he was to email me, he said it wasn’t possible as he had thrown the computer out the window the previous evening (except he used a more colourful adjective).
He was a bard in the truest sense of the word, a talented and diverse artist who was meticulous in his work. When he got the cancer diagnosis last July, the first thing he said to me was “I’m not going anywhere, I have two albums and three books to finish.”
The first album A Man In Full (of what was to be a three album project) is a piece of work which I consider to be a masterpiece. It is such a great shame that he didn’t live to complete the other two albums. It was a project that he pursued with passion, focus and enthusiasm and I think it would have really illustrated the depth and brilliance of the man. Alas, it was not to be.
He was the finest of men. A true bohemian artist in every sense of that word and with all the associated frustrations that such a life involves. In the final months, he couldn’t partake of his beloved ‘Tay’, I hope he’s making up for that now and regaling them all on the other side. His work and his legacy lives on. I miss him as a very funny man who I shared many happy hours with, an artist who was a true maverick but most of all a dear and trusted friend.” Tommy Keane (Dublin Uilleann Piper)
“I first met or should I say, saw, Martin Egan in the summer of 1995. He stood alone, centre stage in Whelans singing a song called ‘Why Don’t You Fix Me?’ I watched intrigued as he spat words into the microphone with a rapaciousness bordering on the uncomfortable (for the audience, not him). To say that here was a man who wore his heart on his sleeve does not go far enough.
Over the next 20 years, I got to know Martin very well: we’d often while away an afternoon discussing the merits or otherwise of various literary or musical works, but never sport, though he did admit – when pressed – of having a soft spot for tennis. Always striving towards an artistic goal, Martin did not have it easy but sought refuge within his work, where I believe he found an inner calm which may not have been present earlier in his life.
A man of great expression and soul he valued his friends above all else. Not without bugbears, he disliked with a passion cyclists on the pavement (he unseated a few) and the lack of common courtesy in everyday society: if anyone did not show a modicum of politeness, Martin was quick to pull them up on it. I miss him.” Will Merriman (The Harvest Ministers)
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“Martin’s passing affected me in a way that was disproportionally large considering the nature of the relationship I had with him (in the mundane sense of the word). We had a bond, certainly but we never worked together (as we hoped we might) and would never have relied on each other personally. I have had to reflect on these feelings and try to make sense of them.
As a self-defined artist, as a Renaissance thinker, as an uncompromising force, I believe Martin embodied qualities that seem to be ever more thin-on-the-ground in our current situation. More than the man, I mourn the passing of Attitude (with a capital ‘A’); I mourn the spirit of wide and magical speculation; I mourn the end of the story of Martin’s attempt to grasp something far beyond reach. I considered Martin a guarantor of those qualities in the successive generations of artists he took so much interest in (myself included). It feels to me like a cornerstone has been removed from our foundation, hence the need to think, and write these few words, about it.” Diarmuid MacDiarmada (composer and performer)
“I first met Martin Egan strolling down Dingle Main Street sometime in the late 1980s when Hothouse Flowers were touring the Gaeltacht areas, and we connected over many cups of tea in Benners Hotel about the power of song. He was a passionate wordsmith and I was only beginning to wake up to the idea of the craft of songwriting in my own musical world.
He showed me reams of lyrics in his inimitable barely legible handwriting, that literally jumped off the pages of the school copy books that contained his writings, and when he subsequently asked me could I set some of his words to music I didn’t hesitate… It was the start of a series of songwriting master classes that enriched my life and that I will never forget.
When he moved from Dingle to Dublin a few years later we used to get together every Monday and write songs, and during the mid ’90s when my band was on hiatus and I was going through a tough time, it was an absolute lifesaver. He became a teacher, a brother, a mentor and a pal and was the man who fanned the embers back into flames for me at a time when I really needed it. We became friends for life.
I trust time will grant me the opportunity to revisit our work and send it up and out to the skies where it belongs… To where Martin now resides. Thank you Martin.” Fiachna Ó Braonáin (Hothouse Flowers)
Martin Anthony Egan 1952-2015. Rest in Peace.
Photos from Martin’s personal collection and portraits by Loreana Rushe.
