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This week I found myself thinking of Sinéad O’Connor as the calendar reaches the time of year she died. Small memories — a cuppa, a Fig Roll, a shared joke — surfaced immediately and stayed with me.
Moments in Dalkey and Vicar Street
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I remember sitting outside her house in Dalkey, drinking tea and eating Fig Rolls, the kind of ordinary comfort that lodges in the mind. Once, as we passed a pub, I introduced her to Russell Crowe — they had never met and hit it off straight away.
There was also a quieter, sweeter memory: introducing Sinéad to my mother just before she went on stage at Vicar Street. She delivered a performance that night that left us all breathless — a reminder of a voice and presence I expected to hear for many years.
The news of her death landed on me with a kind of brutal finality. I still miss her dry humour and the laconic way she understood a troubled world. Truthfully, it has made listening to her music difficult; the ache of missing her is deeper than I anticipated.
Shock in the Q102 office
That sense of being struck by sudden loss returned on a Wednesday morning when I arrived at the Q102 office and was told a breaking story: a fatal motorbike crash in Dublin’s Strawberry Beds involving a man reported to be in his fifties. The name doing the rounds was Glen Hansard.
Hearing it felt unreal. I needed a moment to steady myself. Glen and I had known one another in various ways for about 30 years. Friends had urged me to see his band, The Frames, at the Purty Loft in Dún Laoghaire in the early 1990s. From the first gig it was clear he was a singular frontman.
A long career and a consistent presence
I followed his journey from a standout appearance in The Commitments to internationally acclaimed albums with The Frames, and then to the film Once — the Oscar that followed and the stage adaptation that reached a global audience.
Over the years our paths crossed on television and radio whenever he appeared to promote an album, support a cause or lead a tribute. He was always impeccably polite and professional.
I admired Glen’s commitment to social justice and his visible support for charities working with people who are homeless. His annual Christmas Eve busk became a vital fixture in the music calendar, and last December he even took that tradition to London as it expanded its reach.
One moment that now sits with me is a conversation on The Late Late Show a few years ago, when he spoke about the excitement of becoming a father for the first time. Thinking of his partner and young son now fills me with sorrow.
Legacy and condolences
Glen led a full and creative life. He leaves behind a body of songs, poems and stories that will endure. My thoughts are with his family, his bandmates and his many fans who are still processing the loss of another vital, talented voice taken far too soon.
May he rest in peace.
