Glen Hansard

My post content

The first time I saw Glen Hansard was in 2018. Just before the lights went out, the woman next to me at the rail asked if it was my first time seeing him. I told her it was. She said, as the lights dimmed, "It's going to change your life."

The first time I met Glen Hansard, he signed a picture I took of him. I told him that my mother was born in Ireland and he asked me where. I told him Enniskillen and he asked me if I'd ever been. I told him I hadn't so he told me all about it. I don't remember what exactly he said about it because I was so in my head about Glen Hansard telling me about my mother's birthplace. I do remember him telling me I must go.

The second time I met him, he signed another picture for me. I told him we'd met before (it had been three years) and I reminded him I told him that my mother was from Ireland. Almost before I finished the sentence, he said, "Yes! Enniskillen! Have you been yet?" I told him I hadn't. "I told you you had to go! You must go!" "I'm spending all my money on shows." He got that twinkle in his eye and said, "Fair point" and smiled at me before going into the venue.

I saw him (solo and with The Swell Season) six times. Every single time it was magic. Every single time something amazing happened.

He invited to the stage to perform a woman from the audience who had told him that she sang Falling Slowly to her children at night and he teared up listening to her sing his song.

He invited tourists from Brazil to join him onstage.

He invited a woman from the audience who played the Marketa role from Once in the touring company to sing with him.

He invited his friend to come up on stage and read a poem he'd written for his wife's birthday while the band played Into The Mystic behind him.

In the middle of his set, he invited a pair of buskers he'd seen earlier in the day to the stage to sing a couple songs and said their tip jar was at the merch stand (it was full when I left).

He let a little boy (10 years old?) pick some of his set list one night with his requests.

Right as we were coming out of Covid, he was singing a quiet song and the people in the bar were talking so loudly that he stopped and invited them to shut the fuck up. The audience erupted into cheers. After that, you could hear a pin drop. He stopped singing and listened to the silence and said with a smile, "Isn't that better?"

Now he's silent. It's not better...it feels like torture.

Rest in peace, Glen. You changed my life.

Ni bheidh a leithead aris ann.