Songwriter Mark Geary on his debut Irish gig and the country’s increasing level of ‘cruelty and grift’Mark Geary: 'It seems we live in a time where being working class is viewed in certain sections of our society with suspicion.' Photograph: Patrick Glennon Sun May 17 2026 - 06:00 • 4 MIN READI was born in Holles Street, Dublin, and I grew up in Castlebyrne Park, a corporation estate just off Newtown Park Avenue. It’s on the south side of Dublin, but there’s a funny kind of Dublin map where there’s Glenageary, but there’s Sallynoggin, there’s Killiney, but there’s Ballybrack. You’re looking at wealth, but you’re not in it. I was friends with Glen Hansard, Mic Christopher, and all of that crowd, but while they were busking and starting to make a name, I was kind of hiding in my bedroom. Not that I didn’t have ambition, I just didn’t know how to do it. A neighbour of mine, a drummer called Robbie Brennan, who had been in the band Stepaside and had played with Phil Lynott and several other well-known Irish musicians, got me a gig in the Purty Kitchen in Dún Laoghaire. I showed up with my guitar in a black bag, and I had written out what I’d say, how I’d introduce the songs. My God, it was horrific. I was diabolical. I was out of tune and in a state of panic. That was the level I was at.Moving to New York was a very easy decision because my brother Karl was there and his Sin é cafe was in full flight. There was such a scene around it: Jeff Buckley was there, Bono and Edge were hanging out, and there I was, hiding in my bedroom. This was the time of the Morrison and Donnelly visas, and I remember Karl calling me, telling me that, just for shits and giggles, he had put my name in for a visa, a Green card. Basically a lottery. My name came up. I sold two guitars to buy a one-way ticket, and three weeks later, I landed in the madness of early ‘90s New York. And I mean madness. In my biography, it sounds as if I went to New York to further my career. I didn’t. I went because I was looking at graffiti in Dublin saying would the last person out of Ireland please turn out the light. There was nothing here for me; it was dead. I left in desperation. My first night in New York, Karl sent a buddy of his, One-Eye Johnny, to collect me from JFK airport. He shows up in a pickup truck with Louis, his pitbull. Johnny said he had a couple of stops to make along the way into the city. We’re making stops, alright, but they were drug drops. Each time he stopped, he’d say to me: “Hold on to Louis, he doesn’t like people, he doesn’t like cops.” I remember telling myself to act as if I knew what was going on. Act as if I needed to be there. Just act. Just pretend. I told myself that at some point, the city would start to feel like a comfortable suit. Mark Geary: 'I landed in the madness of early 1990s New York. And I mean madness.' Photograph: Patrick Glennon I started to write about home, and I began to understand what an expat was. The Pogues had just released If I Should Fall from Grace with God, and it destroyed me in the best possible way. Also, I began to hear compliments for the first time: “Oh, my God, you’re from Ireland! I love your accent. I love your shoes. I love you.” The friendliness of questions like, “Wow, where are you from?”My sense of being Irish now is at a healthy level, but I have sensed changes in the country, and they include cruelty, a grift, and a money-at-all-costs cynicism. My kids are at the age I was when I left Dublin for New York, and unless you have a gig that’s paying you a lot of money, or four jobs, you can’t live in the city. I can’t live in Dublin [I live in Kildare now], and I have a career; I work all the time, and I travel for work. The bedsit world of characters has been squeezed out. I go to New York, and it’s the same thing. It seems we live in a time where being working class is viewed in certain sections of our society with suspicion. What happened to working your week and expecting that you could afford a home, to feed your family, and educate your children? I come from a large family. Dad was a bricklayer, and mum raised all of us. Happy, decent, hard-working, smart and funny, and everyone around us was the same. How have we been dictated to and have a Government policy that seems to favour the hedge fund managers and vulture capitalists? Are we really believing they have our best interests in mind? The cruelty and the grift – how can that be good for a country? They say to pay attention to how a country treats its young and its old ... I really feel we have failed in a society that allows such things to happen.In conversation with Tony Clayton-Lea. Mark Geary’s EP, Antebellum, is out now. He plays Coughlan’s in Cork, on Thursday, May 21st. IN THIS SECTION