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Núria Graham

Musician

“In Ireland I’m looking for ANSWERS I can’t find here”

The Vic-born singer, guitarist and composer acknowledges her Irish roots in her new album ’Marjorie’

There’s a part of me with a lot of questions... and I still don’t know where the answers are
It’s easier for me to talk about myself if it’s based on other characters I’m a very nostalgic person, but one who looks forward and strives to find answers

It was sup­posed to be such a quiet year that she was even plan­ning to use it to start study­ing hu­man­i­ties. How­ever, Núria Gra­ham (Vic, 1996) was then re­cruited as a gui­tarist – and com­poser – by Amaia, of Eu­ro­vi­sion Song Con­test fame. She also began work­ing on what has with­out doubt be­come the most suc­cess­ful record of her short but in­tense ca­reer: Mar­jorie (El Segell). The record­ing, which she com­posed alone on the piano, and which has un­der­tones of Ca­r­ole King and Burt Bacharach, is an ac­knowl­edge­ment of her Irish roots that also be­comes a form of self-ac­knowl­edge­ment. She pre­sented Mar­jorie in Barcelona and Girona in March and was to per­form it in Vic and Mataró in April, until the coro­n­avirus pan­demic meant the dates had to post­poned.

What’s your con­nec­tion with the west coast of Ire­land?
I’ve spent many sum­mers there; we al­ways went there on hol­i­day with my fam­ily. You could make a film about the vil­lage where my aunt and her fish­er­man hus­band live, which is at the end of the world, on the At­lantic coast. There are a lot of faces there that seem as if they are part of the land­scape.
Why make a record about your Irish roots now?
I never in­tended to make a record about Ire­land. But then I wrote Mar­jorie, which was the name of my grand­mother from Ire­land, who I never met, and I re­alised that my imag­i­na­tion, sub­con­sciously, was al­ready there. Then came Con­nemara and No re­turn­ing, a song that my Irish uncle com­posed when he was my age.
What led you to write about a grand­mother you never met?
Many peo­ple have said to me: “You’re just like your grand­mother!” She suf­fered a lot and would often be seen by the win­dow at night wait­ing for my grand­fa­ther to come home from the pub. And then one day, I found my­self smok­ing a cig­a­rette by the win­dow feel­ing that suf­fer­ing that is so typ­i­cal of love. I saw my re­flec­tion and re­alised I was falling into the same trap. Also, when I started at 16, Mar­jorie was going to be my stage name. I even ad­ver­tised a show under that name. And now I’ve made this record, which is the one that rep­re­sents me most, the one that’s most “Núria”, I found it made sense to call it that.
Why is it the record that rep­re­sents you most?
The pre­vi­ous one was about a more spe­cific mo­ment, the re­sult of darker times. This, on the other hand, is a record where I think I make peace with many things.
What are you look­ing for in Ire­land?
When I had fin­ished writ­ing the pre­vi­ous album (Does it ring a bell?, 2017), one of the first things I did was to go and spend a cou­ple of weeks there alone. While I was there I asked my­self ques­tions about my way of life, which is still a mys­tery to me, and some­times, as I said, I can see my­self re­flected in sto­ries my aunt told me about my grand­mother.
Is hav­ing Irish roots a pri­mary source of artis­tic ma­te­r­ial for you?
Yes, be­cause, al­though I feel at home when I’m in Vic, I also no­tice that I’m miss­ing some­thing, and I don’t quite know what it is. This has es­pe­cially started to hap­pen to me in re­cent years. There’s a part of me with a lot of ques­tions and I still don’t know where the an­swers are.
They make good music in Ire­land.
When I was lit­tle I re­ally fed off it. And being a great one for nos­tal­gia, it makes me cry a lot. Thin Lizzy, for ex­am­ple, were from Crum­lin, my fa­ther’s neigh­bour­hood, and we’ve al­ways been big fans at home. When I was lit­tle, there was al­ways a tape of theirs play­ing in the car.
’Mar­jorie’, ’Hazel’, ’Shirley’... you’re fond of ti­tles with a name...
Yes, the other day I was doing the reper­toire for the up­com­ing con­certs and I thought: “Hey, it looks like I’m tak­ing the class reg­is­ter!” It’s eas­ier for me to talk about my­self if it’s based on other char­ac­ters, I guess.
Who is the per­son in the song ’Con­nemara’?
My aunt’s neigh­bour, who I never met. It’s about a sui­cide, but seen from the im­ages this per­son sees through the win­dow, which were, in fact, the same ones I saw from my room. It over­whelms me a lit­tle, this song. I would never have thought I would write about that.
Is writ­ing about death a way of show­ing re­spect for it?
Well, death re­ally scares me, but I had to get closer to it be­cause my Irish grand­fa­ther died when I was record­ing it and I went to the fu­neral. I wasn’t look­ing for it, but it’s been like giv­ing this whole facet of my Irish life a big shake-up.
And yet it doesn’t seem to be a pes­simistic album.
No, not in terms of its sound. I think it’s brighter and more op­ti­mistic than the pre­vi­ous one. But it is a nos­tal­gic record, be­cause, as I told you, I’m a very nos­tal­gic per­son, but one who looks for­ward and strives to find an­swers.
And do you find them?
No, but at least I’m look­ing for them. I’m not just sit­ting feel­ing sorry for my­self in a bar!

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