I heaved a shuddering sigh about Ireland today. There is heaviness all around, from my family home to the gym and shops across the city. We lost someone today, one of those rare people who made the phrase ‘the best of us’ perfectly appropriate; No exaggeration or shallow words.
Glen Hansard was truly the best of us.
For those who are not familiar, Glenn was the founder and frontman of The Frames, one of Ireland’s most influential rock bands. He won an Academy Award in 2008 and a Grammy Award five years later. These are the accolades that will make headlines this week and hopefully attract new eyes and ears to listen, learn and benefit from their work. But those who know Glenn know that these are not the things that best describe who he was.
His voice, his music, have defined a sound for Ireland over the last three decades. It never seemed strange, but it embodied the core of this thing we call Irishness. A hearing-impaired person half a world away could tell you that his songs were Irish.
That’s what he gave to the world, to Ireland, but on a personal level he gave even more.
Glen founded Christmas Eve Busk, a group of Irish musicians to aid the Dublin Simon community, and raised over €2 million. It would be better to say that they inadvertently set it up, because it was unintentional. In 2010, Glenn stood alone in Grafton Street, Dublin, cycling down the road for charity. No platform. no warning. They inspired some big names like Bono, Damien Rice, Hozier and Dermot Kennedy to join in the following years. He was a pimp through and through; The energy with which they sang brought the busiest street to a halt at the busiest time of the year.
If you’ve never heard a man sing like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, you’ve never heard Glen Hansard. Those who have heard it have also received a gift from Glenn, because after listening to it, it changes your perception of how powerful, emotionally violent music can be. At least it did for me; Growing up listening to Glenn inspired me to pick up the guitar and sing, which led me to cross a continent on my bus ride, but meeting the man along the way.
At the Prague airport, more than a decade ago, on my way back home after attending the funeral of a close friend to resume my exploration of bus travel, I ran into Glenn waiting for his luggage at the carousel. He was on his personal journey, unaware of the public or media. We talked about what was going on in our lives long after the belt stopped crying. The most memorable advice he gave me was “Sing what you love, and people will come.” Of course, this was just about driving, but I’ve applied it to a lot more, and it still doesn’t suck. He almost immediately made me feel like I knew him, and that’s not an uncommon story for people who have met the musician.
You may have noticed that I’m referring to him as Glen rather than Hansard, which would be the correct way to speak professionally. An unexpected error that gave rise to an idea not too dissimilar to the one that started this piece. If I had to be crowned a man of the people, a man for the people, I couldn’t find a higher head than Glenn to wear it with. And I highly doubt she would have minded me calling her by her first name; I dare to think he would have been happy with that. Glen Hansard lost his life in a motorcycle crash at the age of 56 on Wednesday morning, but his music lives on, so please give it a listen today.
