Ahead of her first Irish tour, during which she performs as part of a duo, Mama Kin- that’s Danielle Caruana to her Mum & Dad- spoke to us about the importance of the great outdoors to her writing process, incorporating her colourful family history into her songs and her curiosity about Irish folk music and storytelling.

Originally published by Entertainment Ireland. To read the original, please click here.

GROWING UP as she did in a family full of natural performers- musicians and magicians, no less- Mama Kin (Danielle Caruana) couldn’t help but join the family business. On ‘The Magician’s Daughter’, her fourth record, the Australian singer- songwriter has made a lush, warm- sounding, summer career full of layers of musical arrangements.

PC: The Magician’s Daughter is such pleasant- sounding album, reminiscent of the good old days of analogue tape recording. How did you achieve that sound on the record?

MK: I have Jan Skubiszewski to thank for the sound of the record. He’s visual person. He goes for deep sound that has great width and depth to it, and that has so many dimensions. That’s what struck me with the sounds that he was getting early on in the process. For this record, more so than the last record, I brought in songs to the band that were raw as I didn’t want anyone to interpret them as we might live. I wanted them to understand them as stories for which we were painting a picture. Jan had a visual aesthetic to how he recorded; this sense of depth and width to what we wanted to achieve.

What kind of records were you listening to during the writing and recording of the album?

I was listening to Joan As A Policewoman, and I was also listening to Laura Marling; I was trying to get that atmospheric sound that she creates. I was also listening to this great compilation record called Saturday Night Fish Fry, a compilation out of New Orleans, which I was listening to mostly for drum grooves and sounds. It’s a really old- school, New Orleans record. All the drum takes to sound like loops, but there’re too many fills and too much flair for them to loop. Between those two very broad extremes was the record that I wanted to make.

You mention New Orleans: Nick Cave has often spoken of the thin line between the rugged, physical landscape of Australia and that of America. How much of that comes through on the record? There are undertones of Americana throughout ‘The Magician’s Daughter’…

I think that feel is probably coming to my brother, Michael, who plays keys on the record and is a huge musical influence on me. He’s 17 years my elder, so I’ve had his musical sensibilities embedded on me all of my life. He’s heavily influenced by artists like Stevie Wonder, Dr. John, Ray Charles: that’s his world of music. So I think that when we mix that sensibility with my love for artists like Gillian Welch, Aretha Franklin, Bonnie Raitt. We have the same musical language even though we’re approaching the song from different places. So making music with him is inspiring.

As for the physical landscape…I’m always tapping into that sense of open space, that harsh dynamic in our country. It’s interesting, though: Michael lives on the east coast, where we’re from, and I’ve lived on the west coast of Australia for about eight years. I am very much shaped by my environment.

How important is the outdoors to you during the writing process? From listening to the record, I get the feeling you’re not sitting indoors, staring at screens…

It’s hugely important: I’m the kind of person that if I wasn’t getting my daily injections of nature that I wouldn’t be able to create anything. So there’s a sense of almost dead calm, that space that nature affords me in my life. ‘Red Wood River’, for example, was written after I’d gone on a camping trip by a river and I had all these visual ideas of being swallowed by a river; what is it to be inhaled by a river? These were all things that triggered how I write.

So the relationship between nature and natural places and us as humans to be creative is so completely intrinsic that I think it could be a problem with the next generation of kids that are coming, though, which is why my parental philosophy is very much embedded in minimal screen time, how are we expressing ourselves, learning to be on your own…we’re such a stimulus addicted generation. I feel myself reaching for my phone even though I don’t need it! Seeing that relationship play out with children is frightening.

You come from a long line of musicians, with four of your siblings working as professional musicians. Has it ever gotten competitive or it very much collaborative?

Quite the opposite! I had a long time of not sharing my music as I didn’t think that I was good enough. My brothers were always encouraging me, asking me where I was in the development of my songs. At the first whisper that I would develop my songs, they were proactive in helping me. In fact, when I was playing my first shows on my first tour, my brother sat in on the rehearsals on some of the songs and in the space of one rehearsal he ended up playing on 90% of the set and since then we’ve been playing together.

Taking my songs to him was scary but enlivening. He breathed new life into the songs that no- one else could have breathed because of how I know him.

And when you’re at home, writing and demoing new songs, do you work mostly on your own or do you work collaboratively with your husband (musician John Butler)?

Sometimes, primarily when we’re co- writing. But writing for me is a very private, solo experience. And I don’t ever want to share until I’m totally sure of what it is that I have, and I think that doing that too early can be a very damaging thing. You need the shape of the song to come out before you can have someone else add there perspective to how they see it. The song has to get to a certain point of maturity before I start showing it to someone else.

Are you always able to judge when the song is complete and when you are ready to share the song with other musicians?

I know when to ask for feedback! As far as knowing when it’s ready? Yeah, I think I have a good sense of when it’s ready. In the song- writing process, I can feel when a section is too long or too short. The recording is harder for me, though. I had an interesting experience with ‘The Magician’s Daughter’ in that when we finished adding all the layers and getting that lushness of sound, we were getting ready to tour the first single. Before we set out to tour, my brother injured himself in a motorbike accident, so he couldn’t come out on the road. So I went on tour as part of a duo, which is how I’ll be playing these shows in Ireland.

I was petrified having spent months crafting all these layers and arrangements and then having to rely on the rhythmic, bare bones of the song, on stage, during the tour. I can’t wait to that again on these Irish shows because it proves whether or not the songs still stands on their merit.

Did you find that stripping down the songs to their bare bones limited your choices as a performer or did you find it empowering?

It encouraged me to dig deeper: I had to dig deeper regarding my singing, regarding my playing, regarding the delivery. It made me work more with the subtleties of the song. When you’re playing in solo or duo form, you have to create a space where people cannot resist but walk into. It’s a very different practice. I love the feeling of being on stage with a band and having that collective energy, but I also like the feeling of being on stage on my own and having to hold that energetic space and play with it between me and the audience. I’m honoured that I think that my songs work in both settings.

Is the dynamics of solo shows demanding? Solo / Duet performers such as Richard Thompson, Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy and Gillian Welch have mastered it…

Gillian Welch is incredible. Both she and David Rawlings are so completely present to the song. When Gillian sings a song she is so in that song that you can’t help but be there with her: there’s nowhere else that you could be. She fills the room with the presence of the song, which is why I find performing so addictive. You have an hour and a half to share your ten or twelve stories with strangers in a room and somehow, within that dynamic, you have to find a place where, all of a sudden, this thing is intimate- where songs of mine such as ‘Red Wood River’ or ‘Cherokee Boy’ connect and people see themselves in the songs. But that can only happen when you fill the room with your song; you fill that space.

That’s part of the reason why the record is called ‘The Magician’s Daughter’: it’s alchemy to in this art form and to be able to do what it is I do. I love it, but I take it very seriously and you have to be able to sit in the centre.

Familial relationships play a big part in your music: your brother plays in your band, the album is titled in tribute to your mother and you’ve written about your grandfather who was a professional magician in post- WW2 Malta. Some artists have caused rifts in their own families for delving their family history for creative purposes and sharing that history with an audience: has that ever been a problem for you?

It was never a question. As a family we were always very musical, so everything we did was articulated and punctuated through music: there was no separation between my family and my musical life: to separate the two would be like losing a child. I can’t fathom it. Interestingly, I’m the only one in my family who writes the way I write: I’m the only storyteller in my family.

On my first record, I wrote a song called bitter tears, which is about my father’s relationship with his father. It was in me to write that song: my dad’s relationship with his father affected his relationship with me, so of course, I felt that I had to write that song. But, I took it to him to show it to him and get his feedback. He said, “Stop, stop, stop: tell me the words.” When I read him the lyric, he was shocked and asked me if I intended to play the song in front of an audience. I told him that I did, and he let it go. I played it, live, on some shows, but the next time he saw me play he specifically asked me not to perform the song. I was so shocked as I thought that I had been writing the song for him as a gift. But I understood that there was discretion there for him that there wasn’t there for me. For me, my music is my vulnerability, and that’s why it’s powerful; for him vulnerability isn’t powerful: it’s the kind of thing that he avoids. It was an exciting process.

How aware are you of the storytelling telling traditions and the folk traditions of Irish music and Irish culture?

Not as much as I’d like. I did once travel across Australia with a girl from Dingle, so I get the sense of humour, the incredible importance of music, the importance of oral storytelling tradition. My third time here, the time that people are willing to invest in engaging in a yarn. We meet in a lot of ways, the Australians and the Irish.

There’s a strong musical connection, too: Steve Cooney has lived in Ireland for some time, now, and he’s brought something unique to the Irish music scene. Shane Howard, an Australian artist, has solid ties with Ireland and he’s always travelling back and forth, and his work with Mary Black brings him over and back. There’s also the Port Fairy Folk Festival, which this year featured Glen Hansard and Lisa O’Neill, who I think is just great. So when I see these performers, I see what it is that I like to bring to my shows: this dedication to the song, to the story and commitment to delivering it fiercely. I get the same thing with Kila, so I have a great deal of respect and admiration for the culture.

So what can expect from the shows on your Irish tour?

There’s always been three or four territories outside of Australia that I’ve always wanted to play. I’ve chosen them precisely as I feel that they are the territories that will understand stories and get what the back story is about to a song. The Irish, I feel, have a real grittiness to their culture, to their way. And yet it’s surrounded by great wit and comedy, and I think that’s exactly what I try to do. I attempt to get into the dirge of the human condition and add some humour.

What you can expect, I hope, is someone telling stories, being honest. I don’t take anyone coming to a show, lightly. There’s so much anyone could be doing on any night in Dublin so for someone to choose to buy a ticket for one of my shows, I’m on the stage to repay that debt. I don’t take audience attendance lightly. I expect them to leave feeling affected.

Originally featured in the print edition of the Irish Post, February 8th, 2014

THE BUILD of a heavyweight champ, the heart of a saint, the soul of a gritty street- poet; Despite his connection and understanding of his hometown, Damien Dempsey isn’t your average Dubliner.

The Donaghmede native- who has lived for spells in New York and Kilburn- darkens the door of the Library Bar in the Central Hotel on Exchequer Street, a quiet enclave in the heart of Dublin city centre, his 6 foot 2 inches frame clad entirely in black, save for a sandy- colored flat cap.

Dempsey conducts himself like a pro and pleasantries are exchanged ahead of what is his first engagement in an afternoon of press interviews in support of his ‘Best Of’ compilation, which collections 15 years of highlights.

Softly spoken and considered in his answers, Dempsey’s pregnant pauses after answers portray an image of someone who understands the responsibility that come with being in his position as a singer- songwriter who has, over 15 years, reflected the ever- changing nature of Irish life…

PC: I’d like to ask you, firstly, about John Reynolds, who’s been on this 15-year journey with you and with whom you have collaborated extensively. When did ye first meet and how was it that you hit it off?

DD: I met him at a house party in London. I was doing a gig in London- supporting The Hothouse Flowers in Shepard’s Bush Empire in 1999. It’s going to be great to be going there and doing my show- it’ll be like the 33^rd county, that night! Anyways, I went to a house party after The Hothouse Flowers show with Fiachna Ó Braonáin from the Hothouse Flowers. I didn’t know anyone there, so I just stayed in the kitchen. You go to a house party, where I’m from, you put beer in the fridge…it’s gone!!! People on the rob! So I just stayed in the kitchen keeping an eye on the beers. And you always get a good chat in the kitchen; you’ve got a bit of quiet away from everything else that’s going on in the living room. John was in the kitchen cooking up food, and we just got chatting away.

He said to me: “I’ve got a little studio upstairs” and he brought me up. It was in his bedroom. I had no idea that he was such a great drummer or that he had produced some of Sinéad O’Connor’s big records; he never said it to me.

I think I was in the Shepard’s Bush Empire, again, the next night, and he said that he was going to come down and take a look at me. He came down and, afterwards, I asked him what he thought of the show. “The sound wasn’t great”, he said. He said he asked the sound- man to turn it up a bit, but the sound- man wasn’t even there during at the desk; some of them care, some of them are arseholes.

So the same night, the Flowers were staying at the Columbia Hotel, so we all went down there. I remember John Hurt and all was there and a few other heads. The guitar was going round, and someone said “here, give it over to this fella: give him a shout”. And we sang, and the whole room stopped and all; John saw me then and thought “wow…that’s it.” I didn’t meet him much, then, during that night, but it was during that night that he heard me properly, and he thought: “Jesus…this guy’s got something.”

I went back to Dublin and, about a month later, John gave me a call out of the blue. I heard this cockney accent on the phone and thought…what the fuck? “It’s John, from London. Y’know, from the house party?” I thought “what the fuck is he doing ringing me (laughs)?” I thought “Has something been robbed from the house and did he reckon it was me?!!!” He goes on, anyways: “Listen, I was just wondering if you’d like to come over to my bedroom studio in London and lay down some tracks?”

So I went over. I didn’t realize he was the producer that he was and that he had worked with so many big names; I just thought that it was a part- time thing for him. I had nothing else going on, so I went over, stayed for a week and just put stuff down- whatever good songs I had at that time.

PC: And how where the songs coming along at that time: thick and fast?

DD: Yep. I had a glut of songs- about 26, 27 in all. I only had one record out- They Don’t Teach This Shit in School- so I had a load of other songs waiting to go. I stuck down my strongest songs; he thought they were brilliant, and he went mad over them.

I left the songs with him, and he said: “Leave them with me and I’ll see what I can do with them; let me work on them.” He sent me on a cd with Sinead O’Connor, Brian Eno, Caroline Dale, Claire Kenny and all playing over it and when I heard it, I was crying. I couldn’t believe what he’d done with the songs.

PC: There’s a massive leap in the sound of that second record…

DD: You’re right, there is a leap regarding sound. And the voice, too; John brought my voice up. The voice on the first album is a bit dull and muffled. The headphone mix wasn’t right. I was so shy in the studio that I couldn’t hear what they were doing. I didn’t have the balls to say: I’m singing anymore until I can hear myself. I didn’t know to keep one part of the headphone on the ear and the other off the ear so that I could hear myself sing. So a lot of things that got done on that first record kind of just went over my head for the sake of getting it done. I had so little say in anything because I was so nervous.

PC: There’s always been a strong reggae influence that’s come through, particularly that of Bob Marley, in your music. Where did that come from?

DD: When I was growing up in the 80’s in Dublin, Reggae and SKA were huge in Dublin- it was the main music that people were listening to, rather than rock or trad. It was always reggae on the ghetto blasters in the parks, in the fields.

Bob Marley was similar to Luke Kelly: They were singing for the downtrodden, I suppose. The war up the north was raging at that time, too, and you had people fighting for their civil rights. And Marley was talking about Jamaicans fighting for their rights. There is a link there. And when Marley came to Dalymount Park in July 1980, his music spread like wildfire through Dublin.

PC: Speaking of the north…one of the most recent events that brought your native Donaghmede into the press was the assassination of Donaghmede local Alan Ryan, the former Real IRA chief in the south. The subsequent IRA- style funeral procession that went through the main street of Donaghmede made the font pages of the national papers and was commented on by Minister Alan Shatter.

DD: Em…(long pause, laugh) I don’t know how to answer that…I have to be careful; I see some of these heads in the shopping centre…haha…that’s a tough one…I don’t think the funeral impacted all that much on the community though having said that, I’m not out there looking for a job, so I don’t know. I think that the address “Donaghmede” might have a bit of a name for itself, now, and it might be harder for younger people to get a job.

After Alan Ryan had got shot, people in Donaghmede were very much on edge. They were waiting for the Real IRA’s retaliation for Alan Ryan’s murder.

PC: Is it fair to say that you’d be happier seeing young fellas joining Donaghmede Boxing Club rather than the Real IRA?

DD: Yeah, sure. I think that politics is the only way that their goal is going to come about. I think cross-community activity and getting to know the Loyalists and building bridges with the Loyalist community is only that anything is going to change; bringing those people together. The days of the gun are over and dead in the water- that’s my view. A lot of them [Real IRA] are of the mindset that Padraig Pearse’s way is the only way: that “Ireland unfree shall never be at peace” and a lot of them are going by what he said.

Certainly, it’s [Alan Ryan’s murder / funeral] has left house prices in Donaghmede. There have been other murders in Donaghmede, too, unrelated to the Real IRA: gang related stuff, drugs related stuff- mostly cocaine. I don’t know why it happens in Donaghmede and not in some of the surrounding areas. But I still live there, and I feel that there’s an awful lot better than bad in the community: there’s a great spirit amongst the people there. I find it’s a very friendly place and the neighbors and the people look out for each other. I didn’t find that when I was living in the city. There’s a great sense of community in Donaghmede and, hopefully, it stays like that.

PC: You lived in Kilburn, some years ago. How did you feel like an Irish person in Kilburn?

DD: I loved Kilburn. I found it to be very diverse, especially up the High Road, where you can just sit in a café and watch everyone go by. And didn’t find that many Irish people there, except in the bars where you would find older fellas- guys who went over in the 40’s and 50’s Young Irish people in London aren’t going to Kilburn like they used to; they seem to be scattered all over London, which is fine, but I think when the older generation when over to Kilburn- to a specific place- people probably looked after each a bit more.

I did a show for the Aisling Centre over there, where we raised a hundred grand. Finbar Furey was there, Dermot Desmond gave something like a hundred grand on the night- small change! I’m working with the Camden Irish Centre, doing a couple of gigs there, and they were trying to get the Irish community together, which as I said is scattered. A lot of them [that are scattered] wouldn’t have a sense of Irishness or Irish history. Maybe it’s the way it’s thought in schools…we’re not taught the real history of Ireland.

And, now, for the Junior Cert, history is not going to be a compulsory subject, which I think is a fucking travesty. The history of Ireland gives us a sense of why we are who we are, why we like we think, know? And to see the similarities that we have with other colonized people around the world.

PC: What aspect of Irish history stimulates you the most; the period that should be taught to Junior Certs?

DD: (long pause) Around 1798 / 1916 / War of Independence. The Cromwellian War, 1641 rising…The Battle of Clontarf…the time before that where there was a seat of learning. People used to come from all over Europe to send their kids to college in Ireland- the monks of Clonmacnoise and all. And the Brehon Laws, which are never taught in school. The Brehon laws were much fairer laws than what we have now: you see the law nowadays, and they favour the wealthy. The wealthy never seem to go to jail for all the white collar crimes. You see what’s gone on here [Anglo Irish, Seanie Fitz, etc.] how many of them went to jail? The Brehon laws brought down High Kings in Ireland. If a High King did you wrong, there’d be a hunger protest on his doorstep and the rest of the community would boycott him; they’d blank him.

PC: 2013 marked the centenary of the 1913 lockout and we’re steadily approaching the centenary of 1916. Do we celebrate our history as we should? I felt there was very little done, last year, in the way of public commemorations of the centenary of the lockout…

DD: There was very little done. I don’t think kids don’t know about James Connolly or the lockout; they’re not being taught in school, passionately, about who these people were, I don’t think. It’s not in the history texts. We’ve just been homogenized. American culture and the Internet has gripped young people. And people wonder why Irish people aren’t out protesting on the streets.

And you see now that fluoride has been in Irish water since the 50’s. It’s been tested, and experts have found that fluoride makes you docile- maybe it’s the water (laughs)! In most European countries, fluoride has been taken out of the water as it’s seen as toxin waste.

So I’m going to make a stand, now, when they try to charge me for water: take the fluoride out or you’re not getting my money. I’d be part of the anti- fluoride campaign and the campaign to take the fluoride out of the water. It’s poison and it the proof is there: it lowers the IQ in children, it makes you docile, it makes you sick. Experts have made comparisons have been made with the six counties where fluoride isn’t in the water and the difference in the levels of sickness, dementia is off the charts.

PC: Just to go back to the point you made about Irish history and how the significance of Irish history has been lost on the younger generation: If you were to go into a class- full of Junior Certs- who are not being taught history- and you were to play them three Damien Dempsey songs that encapsulate you passion and interest in Irish history and your sense of Irish identity, what would those songs be?

DD: ‘Colony’, ’Chris & Stevie’, because it’s about being proud of who you are, whether you’re rich or poor, black or white, Catholic, Protestant, Jew, whatever…and maybe…’Sing All Our Cares Away’…(long pause again…) yep, I think them three, just show kids how singing is therapeutic, know?

PC: ‘Ghost of Overdoses’ is such a vivid song. Our relationship with drugs in Ireland is quite strange: alcohol has always been a problem across every social stratum; heroin has been a huge problem, broadly speaking, for the working classes since the 70’s / 80’s and cocaine was the drug of choice for those who benefitted most from the Celtic Tiger. Does it surprise you that you were able to write ‘Ghosts of Overdoses’?

DD: No, not all. When you’re at people in the inner city, you think “They’re my people.” They go back thousands of years and look at the state of them; that could have been me, there, if my family had stayed in the inner city; if my family had stayed in Ballymun flats, that could have been me. When I was 12, all of my friends were doing what they could to get out of their heads- sniffing glue, gases, acid…if I had stayed there, I could have ended up on heroin.

I’ve one cousin who’s on the heroin, now, another cousin who died of the heroin: it’s fairly close to me. I think the past is still with us now. People say “colonization: that’s in the past”. I think it has affected us, mentally, and I think we [the Irish] still have a lot of demons- Irish men, in particular. I think women are a bit stronger, but Irish men are very vulnerable. Look at the huge suicide rate that we have here. We’re the first generation to come out of the Catholic Church: the power that they had, even when I was a kid, was huge. So we’re only after breaking out of that. And the north was huge in the 80’s and 90’s. We’re the first generation that has seen the skeletons come out of the cupboard. You don’t just get over that stuff overnight: all that shit that has gone on over centuries and centuries, from the Roman Catholic Empire to the British Empire. We’re only just trying to come to terms with all that stuff now. I think we all need counseling- we should be probably be all getting free counseling!

You look at the suicide rate: stuff is being passed on from generation to generation in the Irish psyche. I think’s why we’re so crazy for the drink and drugs, and we have the highest rate of alcoholism.

PC: What’s coming after the ‘Best Of’? Are there any artistic ambitions that haven’t been fulfilled, yet?

DD: A couple of duets, maybe. I have another album bubbling up, now, which should out next year. There’re two new songs on the best of a song called ‘Happy Days’.

The next record is taking on an influence from Latin America. I find the history of Latin America fascinating. But I’m also trying to write a song about how in 1966, in Australia, these Aboriginal Australians walked off this place called Wave Hill- they were all stockmen, like cowboys. They were being paid a pittance and being paid much lower wages that the whites. They walked off, and they had a strike for nine years until 1975. They tried to double the wages, and they said: “No: we want our lands back”. The Gurindji people, they were called. A liberal government got into power in 1975 with a fella called Gough Whitlam. There’s an iconic picture of Whitlam pouring land with a fella called Vincent Lingiari, and that’s when the Aboriginal Land Rights Movement took off, and they started to get some of the lands back. So I’m writing a song about that: the anniversary is in 2016. So I might go down and do a gig in Wave Hill. It’s way up in the Northern Territory.

So I’m trying to write more about the world- have a more global scope rather than just focusing on Irish stuff. That said, I’ll be writing about some Irish focused stuff. Bullying is a big one at the moment, particularly online bullying. Kids are bullying other kids with texts and online messages. I want to write a song that gives a voice to those kids that have been affected by cyber bullying.

PC: So Shepard’s Bush is going to be coming up soon. What can fans expect?

DD: Well, the place will be hopping, I’ll tell you that now! It’s been a dream of mine to headline Shepard’s Bush for a long time. I always maintained that someday I’d go back there and headline. I supported the Hothouse Flowers there, Sinead O’Connor, The Frames.

I’m just going to enjoy these next few years, instead of thinking “I wish I were up here, I wish I had that audience, I wish it were easier, financially…” I’m just going to cherish what I have. I’ve worked hard to get where I am, so anything else is a bonus. I’d like to get the music to more people. I don’t necessarily want more fame, more money…I just want to get the message to more people.

It’s All Good: The Best of Damien Dempsey is out on February 17th.