Myles O’Reilly on The Beautiful Road with Rónán Ó Snodaigh

Rónán Ó Snodaigh & Myles O’Reilly are our Artists of the Month. They recently released their new album, The Beautiful Road (reviewed here), on which Thomas Blake concluded:

…That is perhaps the greatest achievement of O’Reilly and Ó Snodaigh. They have crafted a collection that works on multiple levels at once: The Beautiful Road is a calmative, a sonic balm in times of literal and metaphorical noise, but also a reminder of the verve and the life that can still exist in music. It’s an exceptional feat.

In this guest article, Myles O’Reilly recalls some of those magical moments experienced at a “quaint cabin, isolated from the world’s noise…where boundaries between reality and imagination blur”.

Myles O’Reilly on The Beautiful Road

Through the murky darkness, the car’s headlights sliced through a green grassy streak ahead, casting fleeting glimmers on the branches and hedgerows that brushed past. In the back seat, bulky instrument flight cases lurked like shadowy passengers. The woodland passage at Twilight was eerily magical, as if Mother Nature herself was holding her breath, awaiting our arrival.

We reached Riverhaven Log Cabins at dusk. A remote log cabin refuge nestled in the heart of Roscommon was to become our recording haven. Three days of music-making awaited, the first of two week-long sessions. Upon arriving and lifting our recording equipment out of the car and into the cabin, five songs yearned to be captured, ensnared within a complicated dream catcher of sound cards, microphones, and preamps. Standing ready, instruments tuned, with a flick of a switch, the recording ritual began.

Rónán, a master songwriter and maestro of multiple percussive instruments, had an entire symphony of toys in his bags, enough bells, chimes, and drums to fuel our imaginations. Some compositions he revealed had been dwelling in the recesses of his mind for eons, waiting for the stars to align. Others were raw and untamed, mere verses and choruses recorded on his phone, begging for their moment to shine. And there were those instrumental musings, born from the environment, the mood we were creating, and where we were happily navigating uncharted territory.

In that quaint cabin, isolated from the world’s noise, music flowed as if the dam was broken. All of our thought power for each lap of the moon could be dedicated to our craft. Time melted into the ether, and we lost ourselves in selfish sonic reverie. No interruptions, no distractions. Just us and our instruments. Melodies and rhythms that excited our ears. Not forgetting momentary pauses to be creative in the kitchen. To replenish and recharge. Stepping out regularly to gaze at the waters of Lough Key and the woodlands surrounding us, another plate of our favourite fuel in hands: bacon, eggs, black pudding, and bread, to which the last track on the album now serves as an ode.

Rónán and I generally did our technical work during the day. We would build the skeleton of every song. Record a guitar track first. Draw the full body of each piece. Enough for us to dress. Each evening dusk arrived accompanied by a shroud of fog from the lake. As darkness enveloped us, we lit a fire, opened a bottle of our finest holy water, and unleashed our more playful spirits. As we dressed songs, they took on lives of their own. My part of the process was to imbue each song with celestial sensibilities. Obsessing over reverbs and delays. Creating suitable dreamy vessels for Rónán to ride. Typically I would have my WA87 microphone, a studio workhorse, armed at all times. There’s a lot of distant stereo microphone placement. When Rónán played percussion, Bodhrán, Bells, Brushes… they became instruments within the larger instrument of the wooden walled living room. I enjoyed utilizing Rónáns breathy voice as an anchor in the mixes and letting the peripherals space out as wide and roomy as possible. We aimed to create an atmosphere with each song that could transcend the confines of the space, inviting the stars to partake. To test that it worked, every few hours, we stepped outside and listened back from the porch, looking up, beers in hand, mostly always smiling from ear to ear.

Our quest to create this album did not end in Roscommon. A second phase, as equally important as the first, directed us to Camus Farm in Clonakilty. Another round of musical mayhem. Four more songs needed to be captured, raised and nurtured. Debbie and Vic opened their doors, and we gladly surrendered to the embrace of their generous loft space. Barefoot and free, sitting on the edge of the Atlantic, we surrendered again to the stars.

Accumulating the songs we hastily and without hesitation committed to tape, a particular sound became apparent to us—a high-frequency pattern of rhythms. We recorded in two locations where that sound has always been a constant and a familiar blanket. Leaves blowing in the trees over our heads at Lough Key. The ocean swell sounding over our heads in Camus Farm’s Barn—comforting and soothing naturally high-frequency patterns. Rónán also believes his rhythmical responses were not only holding a mirror to that but a subliminal reaction to an increased level of similar but more intrusive ambient “white noise” caused by traffic, machinery, and other unpredictable sounds arising from a post-pandemic return to frenzied norms. He had been enjoying leaning more towards experimentation with the same tones but those far more comforting to human ears, those mastered by the elements. The wind, the rain, the sea. Sounds that hugely inspired him to deploy a generous variety of natural sonic elements, including bells, breaths, brush-stroked rhythms. My focus was equal to the vastness surrounding us at both locations. If there’s anything new I brought to The Beautiful Road, it’s an even greater sense of letting go. A look at that view once we’re both just that bit higher up the mountain.

“The Beautiful Road” is a testament to the darkness and light that reside within us all. A journey through the wilderness, where creativity and inspiration dance hand in hand, and the boundaries between reality and imagination blur, but it is also a travelling companion. On the cover stands a silhouette of a small bronze figurine sculpted by Rónán’s mother, the late and highly revered sculptor Cliodhna Cussen. At first sight, it seemed to bear an Ó Snodaigh likeness. Whereas, in fact, the figure represents the 17th-century bard ‘Dáibhí Ó Bruadair.’ He was one of the last and most significant Bards (Gaelic poets) from the Ó Dálaigh bardic school in Munster—an ideal companion with whom to walk The Beautiful Road.

Order The Beautiful Road via Claddagh Records here.