I was nom­i­nated for the Mer­cury Mu­sic Prize, but didn’t win: Fionn Re­gan

The Irish Times - Friday - The Ticket - - Cover Story -

Fionn Re­gan is a singer­song­writer from Bray, Co Wick­low. In the past year, he has played around the world, from Strad­bally to San Fran­cisco. His 2006 album The End of His­tory was short­listed for the Mer­cury Mu­sic Prize. Here’s his take on the year. It ex­plains ev­ery­thing. Well, sort of High­light/head­light: Within a year, we saw the chap­ters we dreamed of in the ditch as­sem­bled in the open. Low­light/dy­namo light: As Charles Bukowski said: “There may not be a lot of light but it sure beats the dark­ness”, which mir­rors a say­ing I heard at home re­cently: “You can curse the dark or strike a match.” If you are up a stair­case and the stair­case sub­sides, stay there. A glow­ing plat­form will present it­self. Mer­cury Prize: I found out the news of nom­i­na­tion by car­rier pi­geon. I felt like a light­house keeper at a wed­ding; the im­age-cap­tur­ing de­vices, jump­ing through flash­bulb hoops. The Mer­cury Prize is like a draw­bridge across a moat. It gives you a stage, points a flash­light at you, and when it hits you, you have to be pre­pared to waltz. On the night, I ar­rived by rope lad­der and left through a trap­door. Tour­ing: The sails take a glo­ri­ous ham­mer­ing, but to stay in the har- bour is to sleep with the loom­ing threat of rust.

We have trav­elled the world al­most non-stop this year, some­times dig­ging tun­nels with a tea­spoon, nav­i­gat­ing cor­ners in a wheel­bar­row, bal­anced on a shoe­string, then fi­nally we moved from blan­kets on floor­boards to ei­der­down on mat­tress springs and were met by open-armed rooms singing word for word. We gave it gale force, full cylin­der, raised the roof beams, they came into the storm with us.

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