Séamus Moran
speaker
47 appearances
1 recordings
1 series
first heard Jul 2026
last heard 26 Jul
Séamus Moran’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
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recordings per month · last 12 monthsRecordings per month over the last 12 months — 1 in all, peaking in Jul 2026 with 1.
Appearances
There's a pub in Dingle called The Mighty Session.
It's at the bottom of Main Street and next door to the Dryad Beog, a pub that has hosted many a Mighty Session over the years.
And I was lucky enough to attend what I believe was the mightiest of them.
On the morning of August 10th, 1996, this Mayo man found himself in Dingle Mart for the agricultural show.
While my Kerry farming relatives did have several fine specimens entered in competition, our main interest was in our two young nieces, who were going to be taking part in an Irish dancing display.
The mart was thronged, the air humming with the music of gossip, agri-chatter, huckster-patter, fiddlers and box-players.
The tunes were spirited, lively and rhythmic, the air's traditional and recognisable jigs, reels and horn-pipes.
The fragrance of perfume, candy-floss and freshly-baked apple-tarts mingled with the pungent odor of cow-dung and sweat.
The morning had everything we loved about Dingle.
The weather too was pleasant and warm, so by lunchtime I'd worked up a bit of a thirst.
The girls having displayed their prowess and the animals having strutted their stuff in the various show rings, I headed to the Dredbyog for a cold, refreshing pint.
Having worked my way through the crowd of animated drinkers and settled at the bar, I became aware of the music that was wafting from the furthest corner, where the window looked out onto Main Street, the session corner.
My foot was jigging, my head was bobbing, my fingers tapping on the countertop.
Then I noted a quality to the music that was unique, exceptional even.
I could hear instruments that wouldn't normally be heard at an afternoon session on Agricultural Show Day.
There were arrangements too, pushes and riffs that were not generally part of the traditional music lexicon.
I lifted my pint, craned my head and shuffled away from the counter to get closer to the source of this enticing music.
And the first thing I noticed was a big, upright double bass being played by a rangy, handsome, long-haired man in an open-necked shirt and an unmistakable groove.
Surely that couldn't be Trevor Hutchinson of the Waterboys.
No sooner had I confirmed my suspicions than I heard the whine of a familiar dobro.
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