Fíoruisce is a new departure for John Spillane, who has had a long and successful career as a singer, songwriter and presenter. Described as a folk opera, it is strongly influenced by his Cork roots and his advocacy for the Irish language, as well as building on his long involvement with traditional and folk music. For this ambitious and extended work, he has recast (and Gaelicised) the story ‘Fior Usga’, which was collected and published by Thomas Crofton Croker in his Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland (1825–28). The piece also draws on other sources influential on Spillane: the work of Seán Ó Tuama, the stories and myths of An Fhiannaíocht (the Fenian Cycle), and the writings of Peadar Ó Laoghaire. The libretto is predominantly in Irish, with English songs that are mostly narrative and fill out or summarise parts of the storyline.

While a lot of new composition in instrumental traditional music explores narrative or commemorative themes, fewer works have attempted to bring together newly composed traditional songs, drama, and music within the context of an overarching story. There is the precedent of Siamsa Tíre, which has a long history of integrating traditional song and dance within dramatic productions, and An Taibhdhearc in Galway has also hosted a number of music dramas and operas in Irish. More recently, Shauna Carrick’s Tír na nÓg appeared in 2022, and a folk opera by Stephen Johnston, Biddy Early, was produced in Kinvara. Other works that might be mentioned include Donnacha Dennehy’s The Hunger (2019), which integrated original music and sean-nós songs sung by Iarla Ó Lionáird; Neil Martin’s Sweeney (2018); and Mícheál Ó Súilleabháin’s Fill Arís. Spillane’s folk opera is thus somewhat of a pioneering work, in that it is entirely newly composed, but in what can be described as a contemporary traditional idiom.

In his libretto, Spillane stays reasonably close to the original story, adding some additional context and some new characters. The tale (and opera) tells of King Corc, whose palace contains a spring of the purest water, open to and enjoyed by all in the region. He resents this and, fearful of losing the water, blocks it off from the people. During an extravagant feast given for fellow nobles, the king is asked for water, and he orders his daughter, Fíoruisce, to fetch it in a golden chalice which he has had specially made. Although she is unhappy to do this servant’s task, she agrees to go once the young prince she has been dancing with accompanies her. In Spillane’s version, the prince reveals his identity as Mananaan Mac Lir (a god of the sea), and causes the spring well to overflow, as a judgment on the King’s selfishness. The palace is quickly submerged, creating the Lough in Cork city, and Corc and his retinue are condemned to remain there for eternity. 

An impressive roster of singers has been brought together for this project, including two recipients of the TG4 Amhránaí na Bliana award, Eoghan Ó Ceannabháin (in the role of King Corc) and Nell Ní Chróinín (as the bard Milbhéal), and a BBC Radio 2 Folk Singer of the Year, Ríoghnach Connolly (Queen Éadaoin). Sligo singer Niamh Farrell takes the title role of Fíoruisce, and Spillane himself plays the prince, Cian. The accompanying music makes full use of quite a small and eclectic ensemble, including Aisling Urwin (harp and vocals), Alan Doherty (flute), as well as percussion, bodhrán, cello, and Spillane’s guitar. The most distinctive sound is the adharc (bronze-age Irish trumpet) of Billy Mag Fhloinn; at times this (and perhaps additional programming) creates deep rhythmic drones, similar in sound to a didgeridoo.

Imaginative touches
There is an impressive variety in the writing throughout the work, and perhaps ‘folk opera’ might create the wrong impression for casual listeners. Some scenes, like the overture, ‘Tobairín’, and the ‘Fadó’ numbers, are chiefly in song or ballad form, although within these there are often imaginative and original touches, like the irregular jig rhythms in the refrain of ‘Tobairín’. The longer dramatic scenes are more complex and often contrast a sean-nós style of recitative and dialogue with rhythmic choruses or extended solo parts. For instance, ‘Rí’ is predominantly in a free-rhythm sean-nós style; the bard Milbhéal (Ní Chróinín) heralds the arrival of the king, followed by brief refrains of ‘Síosaigí roimh Corc’ (‘Bow down before Corc’), before this melody is varied by Spillane to set the scene in his verses. The more extended ‘Aon Láthair’ introduces a number of themes which recur throughout the opera. One of these is a jig song where Corc asks about his (non-existent) faults in order to boost his ego; the second is an eerie melody with unusual glissandos sung by Fíoruisce, where she foresees the drowning of the castle. A climactic extended scene is ‘Dún an Dún’, where long recitative-like sections sung by Corc and Éadaoin (separated by dramatic cello glissandos) are combined with more rhythmic jig passages.

Two ‘Foolsongs’ (sung with gusto by Liam Heffernan and Giordaí Ó Laoghaire) provide humour and energy within the structure of the tragedy. These are full of wordplay, mockery, rap-like delivery, and nonsense vocables. These two crosáin (fools or jesters) appear regularly in the background of several of the numbers; these might be more effective in a live setting, as on the recording they tend to be quite indistinct and unclear, and don’t really add anything to the texture. In the third act, I particularly enjoyed the two related dance-based songs which relate to the feast. Both ‘Fleadh’ and ‘Rince’ are in a free-wheeling slip jig tempo, with related tunes. These scenes have the most effective ensemble work (elsewhere much of the material is delivered by solo voices), with sparkling contributions from the harp and flute. In ‘Rince’, the spirited dancing is suddenly interrupted, leading to an ominous chorus of ‘Níl in aon rud ach seal’ (‘Nothing lasts forever’), again foreshadowing the tragic ending.

Mastery of the sean-nós style
One of the fascinating things about the work is how the different singers bring their own idiomatic styles and sounds to the different roles. Eoghan Ó Ceannabháin and Nell Ní Chróinín (who is underused) get the chance to show off their mastery of the sean-nós style. Ó Ceannabháin goes much further than this though and has great fun with the role of Corc, sounding suitably despotic, unhinged and self-important as he bellows out lines of recitative, or dares his retinue to find fault with him in the extended call-and-response section of ‘Aon Láthair’, where he revels in the description of being ‘an rí is fearr fén ngréin’ (‘the best king under the sun’). By contrast, Niamh Farrell’s part as Fíoruisce is less ornamented, perhaps because her vocals are often garbed in reverb, emphasising her mysticism. Ríoghnach Connolly draws on her wide range of styles in her role of Éadaoin, and Spillane is the most ‘folk-like’ in his singing, particularly when accompanying himself on guitar. Musically, the tunes and songs don’t stray too far from their traditional and folk models, although there is an elasticity and freedom in how the rhythmic sections are written. Similarly, the harmonisation is generally quite conservative but also effective, and Spillane wisely uses a variety of drones to anchor the recitatives and the passages in a sean-nós style. There is more complexity in the instrumental arrangements, with Urwin in particular using a wide variety of harp techniques across the work. Much credit must also be due to the producer Brian Casey for contributing to these textures: the closing scenes in particular benefit from the additional electronics and processing.

Assessing this as an opera or musical drama is tricky given that it is only currently released as an audio recording, and there are no stage performances currently planned, although some of the songs will be performed on an upcoming tour. In its current form, I found that parts of the work are quite static, in both the setting up of the scenes and characters, and in the various recaps and summaries which interrupt the flow. Some of the scenes built on repetition or call and response structures might also work more effectively on stage. The same might be true of the role of the fools, which really lacks a visual dimension where their undercutting and mockery of the main cast could be obvious. While there are many effective dramatic scenes, the climactic ‘Lochmhaidhm’ is a little underwhelming in its current audio version, although the two aftersongs could work very effectively as standalone pieces.

For a work based on a legend collected in Victorian times, Fíoruisce has many contemporary resonances. The closing of the well suggests the increasing control, ownership and exploitation of natural resources – Spillane himself mentions how it reflects the attempt to introduce water charges in Ireland. Corc’s insecurity and self-regard might also be read as a commentary on the expansion of autocratic, populist and authoritarian rule globally. His mistreatment of the people has parallels with increasing inequalities and the rich-poor gap, and the damage wreaked on populations through oppressive policies, loss of civil rights, and austerity. These resonances underline the enduring power of myths and legends to have relevance for and to speak to contemporary audiences. The effectiveness of the work in this regard owes much to Spillane’s ambitious vision, his creation of an authentic musical voice, and the committed performances he has elicited from his singers. There is a lot to admire in this work, and hopefully it might get the live production that it deserves in order to fully realise its concept as a work for the stage.

Visit www.fioruisce.ie.

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