A poetic celebration of the man’s life and work.
Last month saw the release of The Lucid, a posthumous album in the name of late Mayo musician Conor Walsh.
A talented and popular composer from Swinford, Walsh passed away suddenly in 2016.
He had been working on material at the time, which finally saw the light of day with the help of collaborators and friends in the form of The Lucid.
Three years on from his passing, those close to Walsh have come together again to pay further tribute with the video for ‘Bars’, inspired by the artist’s love of fishing.
“Conor was an avid fisherman and a lot of his music is inspired by the organic rhythms and textures that you find in nature,” said director Brendan Canty.
“We spoke many times about collaborating on a video but it never happened. So getting the opportunity to finally create something with him posthumously was an incredibly therapeutic and humbling experience.”
As Canty points out, the video for ‘Bars’ presents a “postcard” from the rivers and banks where Walsh fished, and the spaces that he left behind.
“When sharing the idea with his mother Marie, I told her about some footage Colm Hogan (cinematographer) had filmed of swallow murmurations along the same river and how I intended to use that in the video,” explained Canty.
“She told me that Conor’s friend Erin Fornoff wrote a poem for him titled ‘Murmuration’ after he passed. It was a lovely coincidence. I think it’s fitting that the poem is included alongside the video.”
You can find that poem below. But first, take some time for ‘Bars’ and the bold work of the late Conor Walsh.
Clip via Conor Walsh
Murmuration for Conor Walsh
by Erin Fornoff
He traced the lines of familiar road, the half-thought drive west through thick darkness, a cascade of melody from the blue-lit radio like some glorious exhale from the speakers.
It is a devotion pulling like a prayer. Alert now, almost there, he braked to a stop as a stag stood in his high beams on the two-lane.
Unstartled, it seemed to square itself in the aquarium glare of the lights; unapologetic, poised for flight, poured with an unknowable kindness.
He turned his key halfway, like a decision. It is bending to the task until the notes breathe. It is standing before a powerful stillness and listening.
He opened the door and stepped out onto the yellow line. The stag, a still monument, antlers branched and soaring, did not blink its wet eye.
Interrupted in their crossings, they shared a caught sigh, notes rising in low murmuration from the stereo. He breathed. It is the choice to yoke yourself to what you love.
In the current-charged dark, moving slow, he reached past the pinging of the door and twisted the radio knob. He turned that floating music up.
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