WAVE UP TO THE SHORE
In 1972 Barry Moore wrote a song called WAVE UP TO THE SHORE.
Not his first song, but it had something.
He did some gigs, wrote some songs; and in 1987 he boarded a plane for New York, and Luka Bloom was born.
Riverside was released in 1990 on REPRISE Records.
It was followed by THE ACOUSTIC MOTORBIKE AND TURF.
During the early 1990s the life of writing, recording and touring took off.
The US, Australia, Germany, Holland, Belgium, Switzerland, and The UK are frequent destinations for Luka’s songs.
As well as his own touring, he has performed at some of the great festivals:
Pinkpop(Holland) Roskilde(Denmark) Torhout\Werchter(Belgium)
Newport Folk Festival(US) Byron Blues Festival(Australia) Glastonbury and Cambridge (UK).
And most of all, he regularly sings all over the island of Ireland, where he lives in County Clare.
Since 2000, Luka has been releasing his own songs and music via www.lukabloom.com
17 independent albums in total, as well as a book of photographs and some lyrics called HOMEPLACE.
In 2022, Luka was singing Wave up to the Shore at home one afternoon. He suddenly realised it was 50 years old. This resulted in a triple cd of 50 songs from the past 50 years. Reworkings of songs written and learned since 1972.
It is called WAVE UP TO THE SHORE and is available from www.lukabloom.com
In mid February 2020, I walked into Windmill Lane Studios in Dublin, with Steve Cooney, Robbie Harris, and Jon O’Connell.
Brian Masterson was driving the desk, assisted by Sarah Branigan.
We had about 14 songs I had written over the previous 2 years.
In February 2020 terms like ‘Covid’, ‘Social distancing’, ‘lockdown’ were not in my vocabulary.
We sat and played together for 2 days in this wonderful theatre of recorded music that is Windmill.
And to be honest some magic happened.
These 3 top men.
Little or no rehearsal.
Trust, and good vibrations.
When writing these songs, I wanted the canvas to be open, the story unfinished.
So, with no ‘arrangements’ in mind, we just played.
And we knew after 2 days, that there was perhaps some magic here.
Then the lockdown happened within a few weeks.
I decided to proceed with the music, even though the world was suddenly closing down.
I asked Jon to add some electric guitars and vocals, and some keyboards.
I asked Adam Shapiro to play some fiddle.
And then I spent a few weeks seeking out the voice of a woman, to complete the story of Bittersweet Crimson.
The moment I heard the voice of Niamh Farrell, I knew she must write the final chapter.
And thank God she agreed to do it.
At the time of the recording, she was (and is) working in a Dublin hospital.
In the time of Corona, we know what this means.
I felt so honoured that Niamh agreed to record the songs for me, with so much pressure in her non-music work.
Niamh and I have yet to meet in person, and yet she went to Brian’s home studio one day and just graced these songs with her pure voice and spirit.
From the moment I wrote the first song ‘Can we Stay’; I knew this record would be special. And so it is.
A record for 2020.
Lorcan Walshe painted the cover of the package and the booklet, and Myriam Riand designed the artwork.
On July 20th, Bittersweet Crimson will be available to buy ONLY from www.lukabloom.com – download or CD.
2016 was a challenging year in the world. People respond to changes in different ways. since mid 2016 the world has seemed an angrier place.
I decided to go quiet. These songs arrived and became a refuge for me. Songs have always been a place of refuge for me.
Some times they help me understand the world; accept the world. Sometimes they help me escape the world.
mostly, I just love songs. Writing them. Singing them. Alone. Big hall; small club. It’s all good.
And so it was that REFUGE came into being in mid 2017.
In raw times I decided to keep the record raw.
The wonderful John Fitzgerald at Lettercollum Recording Studio, Timoleague, County Cork, recorded the songs.
Brian Masterson mastered the record.
Steve Averill designed the package.
And the great Tim Goulding contributed his beautiful mandala for the cover image.
George Karbus photographed the guitar.
I love singing these songs.
It was December 2012. I made the move to the people’s Republic of North Clare in the West of Ireland. Wind and rain howling all around me, it felt apocalyptic and wild, and I loved it.
A visitor to Clare since 1973, I never really felt the Winter wind before.
In three short years I have come to love this time of warm fires and slow tunes.
There is no hurry, because it is down time. Even the Wild Atlantic Way cannot entice big numbers to come. And so we go quiet. We play with and for, each other.
This inspired The January Blues.
The song FRÚGALISTO I owe to Fergal Smith and all the good people of Moy Hill Community Garden.
They are all half my age and they are teaching me about life, as we face into a challenging future for our children and grandchildren.
I could talk about all the songs, the North Clare baby boom that inspired Jiggy Jig Jig; the dream of being a surfer in middle age in Give It a Go…
But it is best to just hear the songs, and see what they mean for you.
The last song is Wave up to the Shore.
I wrote it in 1971, when I was 16. Pat Colgan was my English teacher then.
Pat, and his wife Margaret encouraged me to write songs. I thank them both from the bottom of my heart. It took many false starts, and 44 years to finally record this song.
My nephew Gavin sings it with me.
Lettercollum House in Timoleague, County Cork gave me the best recording experience of my life I believe. And with the musicians and singers who ventured to West Cork, we took our time, and stepped up to the songs.
Some days, Billy the Alsatian sat at my feet when I sang. I just knew everything was fine in this world. And it is.
Thank you everyone.
The first person I handed FRÚGALISTO to was my good friend David Donohue, a writer and singer of songs. He put pen to paper and this is what he wrote:
Last year I watched Luka Bloom from backstage stage as he played his new song, Australia to a captivated audience in the town hall, Thomastown. To watch from there was to glimpse both the audience and the man responsible for their communal engagement in one snapshot – to witness the ‘deal.’
On stage was a man pouring out his heart in a love song as profound and direct as the classic The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face. The audience had never heard the song before. From the opening line, ‘Three years is a long long time to miss someone you love,’ to the final word of the chorus, ‘Australia,’ the longing inflicted by the twin obstacles of time and distance on a love profound was felt by everybody in the crowd who had ever felt. If the flood waters which recently destroyed this beautiful hall had risen at that moment, they would have found their entry barred by the forcefield of communion between the truth teller and those who know that it’s the truth.
I’m always happy if a collection of songs boasts even one great song because a great song can lift a record in the same way that Luka lifted the room that night. But Luka’s new album, Frúgalisto has more‘classic’ soul to bare and more love to share than the haunting Australia .
Warrior asks the fighter to ‘be easier on yourself’. It’s almost all that ever needs to be said about war and the war monger marching toward the inevitable death of his own soul.
The January Blues breezes along until it catches, and celebrates ‘the cold wind blowing through the night into the light of day.’
No Fear Here reaches out to the ‘wounded and abandoned little Irish boys and girls’ with the words, ‘I want to build a home you want to come back to.’
Oh Sahara maps a journey from loves of the past to the acceptance that must come with age for peace to pervade the heart. ‘The love that Sabina gave me was to help me be alone.’ It’s shudderingly beautiful.
Isabelle and Lowland Brothers take us from the untainted nature of pre-war Flanders to the same landscape tainted with ‘blood and mud the screaming…’. Lowland Brothers ends with the pained plea,‘hold my hand and promise me this will never happen again.’
Luka’s is a life lived through words carried by melodies given life by a frighteningly generous heart. His path is, as he says in ‘Oh Sahara’ the song of man.
A song written over forty years ago, Wave Up To The Shore, is the perfect bookend for Frúgalisto. Here, a teenage Luka, fearing the loss of all things earthly, is numbed by the reality of the gravity of decay.
It’s like an acknowledgement, an end of movie ‘credit’ for a journey in song that ultimately spawns acceptance of ‘what has been and gone’ while offering continuing gratitude for what is – the Burren landscape of his current home, to the delights of giving it a go on a surfboard, the joys of cycling into town for a hot pot of coffee or tea.