“You can be Bono or you can be, I don’t know… Conor Oberst or whoever; it’s all about good songs. At the end of the day, that’s how history is going to remember you.”

Wishful thinking, I sigh to myself, as Glen Hansard earnestly lays out his theory. Ask Stevie Nicks and Lindsay Buckingham whether history has forgotten about the backstory behind Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way,” to take only one example.

But although classic-rock radio DJs delight in retelling the story of rock’s most famous intra-band romantic breakup, plenty of people don’t know or care what “Go Your Own Way” is really about. On the other hand, an audience of millions watched the birth of the romance between Hansard and his partner in The Swell Season, Markéta Irglová. Once, the hit romantic movie they starred in and for which their duet “Falling Slowly” won the Oscar for Best Song, wasn’t a true story when it was filmed, but by Oscar season it had become pretty damn close — Irish singer/songwriter busks on the streets of Dublin, meets and collaborates with Czech singer/pianist, then they fall in love.



The sequel — in which they ended their two-year relationship, stayed friends and made another musical collaboration —played out in headlines, not movie theatres, but whatever its stars might prefer, it was a sequel nonetheless. Now the audience has a new album, Strict Joy, to pore over for clues, and I have a man and a woman sitting across from me on a couch in a hotel suite, whose pitch for why you should pay attention to them is that history is going to remember them for their songs.

When I ask about writing credits on the new album, Irglová explains matter-of-factly, “Glen’s the main writer and always has been. He wrote most of the songs and the album. I wrote two, ‘I Have Loved You Wrong’ and ‘Fantasy Man’; we co-wrote the lyrics first. But most of the songs that we sing are written by him.”

Hansard interjects, almost apologetically. “That’s not actually strictly true. I mean, I did write the songs, but Mar’s influence is always felt. Whenever I bring a song to her, it invariably changes just by virtue of the fact that she comments. Mar would be the person I let closest, I think that’s the best way of putting it. You know, if I have something that I’ve created, her opinion would mean more than anyone else’s. It may change the fabric of what something is.
“There’s definitely still collaboration, but I guess because we’re not living under the same roof, there’s less of that, ‘come here, I have this idea, put on the kettle, let’s spend an hour at this.’ But actually, she still has a huge amount of influence.”



This is the closest Hansard gets to directly referencing their breakup. The past 24 hours have included a secret show at the Dakota Tavern, followed by going to see U2 at the Rogers Centre, and today, the press. At the Dakota show, when Hansard found his battered old guitar clashing with the club’s not-quite-in-tune piano, he invited Irglová to share his mic, and his chair, putting her almost in his lap and bringing an already riveting show into top 10 territory. Today, their rapport is comfortable but cool; whatever happened between the end of their relationship and the making of Strict Joy, they’ve somehow found a way to do what few former lovers ever manage — to put the genie back in the bottle. You could interpret Strict Joy as a breakup record, but the wonder of it is that you don’t have to.

“As pompous as it sounds, we never really set out to make Strict Joy,” Hansard explains. Having just finished touring behind the Once soundtrack, the group (including members of Hansard’s long-serving band, The Frames, which had come to include Irglová even before the film) had been considering several recommended producers, though the job ultimately went to Peter Katis. “We had five days off and we were getting close to the time when we’d have to start thinking about going into the studio again, so we decided we’d try this guy out. And he was up for doing it. He’s a lovely fella. And [his studio is] in his house, so it’s pretty relaxed. We went up there and spent five days, and Mar cooked every day — Mar’s an amazing cook — and we recorded five songs, and it was so easy.”

Where much of the Once soundtrack was full of angst, Strict Joy is the oasis of relative calm that comes after a torrid love affair’s initial storm. Hansard’s not blowing smoke about Irglová’s influence. The quiet, determined manner of the 21-year-old neophyte has had a salutary effect on the 39-year-old career musician’s previously unstoppable passion, adding a new dimension to his songwriting. The ruggedly shimmering “High Horses” is a testament to restraint, holding back its chargers until the very end; “Love That Conquers” is anchored by a rambling, hypnotic circular guitar figure that could have been written by Nick Drake; even the single, “Low Rising,” cools Hansard’s plaintive lyrics (“I wanna sit you down and talk / I wanna pull back the veils and find out what it is I’ve done wrong”) with a cushion of horns and a gentle rhythmic undercurrent, like a boat rocking gently in still water.



Hansard grins slightly, dispelling the anxious look that often dominates his face. “For some reason, when you’re in a rock band, so much of what you listen to is very intense. Songwriters are always trying to write songs that are trying to get deeper or clearer into your angst. Actually, a whole new voice has come up. I discovered reggae a couple of years ago, and it really changed everything.”

Really?

“Yeah,” he mischeviously replies. “I never really liked reggae, ever. Reggae was a music I just didn’t get, and I discovered it and I was like, fuck. It was like a light going on, you know? Suddenly music doesn’t have to be miserable.”

Irglová could have told him that. “I Have Loved You Wrong,” one of her songwriting contributions to the album, turns a heartfelt apology on its head, making its plea for forgiveness almost into a hymn, one that accepts the inevitability of sin as par for the course. It’s a simple but compelling debut, one that shows her growing confidence.

When I bring up an old interview where she said she might one day go get a nine-to-five, Irglová bristles slightly. “What I meant was that I never grew up with an idea that I was going to do this. The music found me, as opposed to me chasing it and trying to pursue it. And I think that’s the best way for it to happen, in a way.

“I was thinking of working in a café and learning Irish. And you know, nowadays I think I might go back to college, when I get the chance. It’s not that I’m here doing the music and thinking of going back to, or getting a nine-to-five job, it’s more the fact that I’m just open to whatever is to happen, whichever way I’m taken. I think it’s exciting not knowing, and just holding positive expectations of the future, and being at peace with the mystery that life is.”

“And then,” Hansard interjects, having already followed that particular story to the end, “the choice becomes, do I want to? Because this is something that definitely has come up for us — for me, it’s all through hanging out with Mar. I gave my life to this; I did deals with God, I did deals with the Devil. You know, as a kid, I said, I’ll suffer great unhappiness, I just want to be a musician. You know, I said that shit, just like, praying. Saying, ‘I don’t care if I never get married, if I have a miserable life, just let me be good.’ Because I wanted so much to be in the world of the Bob Dylans and the Van Morrisons, I wanted so much to live that life. And now that I am essentially living that life, I’ve realized that it is amazing and it is incredible that it can come to you. But at the same time, I’m also, and very much through Mar’s influence, open to the idea of not being a musician as well, at some point. Music will always be part of my life, but the day-to-day fabric of my life doesn’t necessarily have to include touring. Or even writing songs, you know. And that’s very liberating.”

For Hansard and Irglová, the narrative arc of Once ended a while ago, the dialogue long since having gone from scripted to improvised. It’s also gotten better, more true to life. They can leave the stage any time they want, and at some point, they just might. They seem to agree that the band will, in Hansard’s words, “come to a natural end” at some point in the distant future. He says, “I’m more and more liking the idea of being at home. I did carpentry this summer, made a table for my mother. One of the best things I’ve ever done. It was really amazing.”

Right now, though, their partnership’s low, steady flame doesn’t need any stoking. She’s still invested in bringing his songwriting to life (“when you approach a song, it’s really important to be sensitive to the song, especially if it’s a quiet or intimate song. To not crush it or overload it with too much, just kind of be felt”) and he’s still full of admiration for her musicianship (“Mar’s always been really great at lighting the song. If you imagine the piano as a candle or whatever, she just lights it really well. That’s the reason I had been so attracted to her playing”). And when Hansard explains how “Low Rising” was partially inspired by their taking part in a jam session up at The Band drummer Levon Helm’s farm in Woodstock, New York, and their subsequent, growing admiration for original rock ’n’ rollers like Bobby Charles, they share a wide, knowing smile.

“To see guys that really know what they’re doing makes you go, ‘shit.’ If that’s what getting old is about, bring it on.”

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