"We're All Pushing Things Up Mountains": Remembering Glen Hansard

Photo courtesy of Deirdre Hayes. Used with permission.

Glen Hansard was never at a loss for words, but I sure as hell am this morning. Actually, I have too many words and don’t know how to organize them all. Hansard just died, mere hours ago, and everyone is posting like mad about how much they loved his music and the movie “Once.” I can’t post. I have to write. This is a big one. I asked my editor, Brian Tallerico, over at RogerEbert[dot]com if anyone was writing anything about Hansard for the site. He was already well into writing a piece about him, but invited me to send in a quote. Under the gun, this is what I sent in:

I first saw Glen's band, the Frames, in 1998 in a small bar somewhere near New Lenox, IL. I had never heard of them, but my friend told me the long-haired guitar player from 'The Commitments' is the lead singer. That sold me enough. When we got there, we saw this six-piece band (with a violin player, unheard of in 1998) tucked away in a corner of the place. It wouldn't surprise me if they were all plugged into the same outlet. That lead singer no longer had his long, curly hair, but he charmed the hell out of all of us with funny stories to go along with almost every song. His performance for each tune was magnetic. His eyes were often closed for the slower songs, wide open with joy for the more upbeat ones and always commanding every drinker's attention. You just felt that this setting was wrong for this band. Their sound was too big for a small, rustic place like this. I became an instant fan and immediately bought their latest album, "Dance The Devil," which did not disappoint. 

I think the moment I knew I was a fan was when he told the story of the song "Fitzcarraldo," which was also the name of their second album (and where you'll also hear the first version of "Say It To Me Now," the song that opens "Once"). He told the story of the Werner Herzog film that inspired it. "It's the story of a man pulling a ship over a mountain. I thought that was a lovely idea, so I wrote a song about it. I think we're all pulling stuff over mountains."

Okay, well, that’s the start. Going all the way back, that’s where my love of Glen’s music started: some unassuming band in an unassuming place making music that no one would forget. It would go on like that for almost a decade before that career-defining moment happened for him, the film that catapulted him and fellow musician Marketa Irglova, who called themselves The Swell Season, to superstardom. 

After buying “Dance The Devil,” I tried to track down their previous two albums, “Fitzcarraldo” and “Another Love Song” in every used CD store I could find. These weren’t hugely available to consumers in the States. You had to dig deep in those CD bins. Although Hansard hated that first album and never played anything from it, I still enjoyed its upbeat, poppy tempos and could still hear the roots of the band’s sound buried beneath the sheen. I’m very forgiving of it. The next album they made sounded more like the band pushing a ship over a mountain and better represented the band I would follow closely for the next several years. 

In 2001, they released their next album, the melancholic “For The Birds,” featuring some of my favorite Frames songs, including “Lay Me Down” and “Santa Maria.” What I didn’t say in my Ebert quote that I’ll say here is that the person who took me to see The Frames my first time was my girlfriend at the time, Nikki. We went to see The Frames when they came back to Chicago at the Riviera, this time opening for Damien Rice, who had a huge hit at the time with his song “Cannonball.” This had to be our third or fourth time seeing The Frames live and we knew having them open for any band was a mistake, but especially for Rice, who was a quiet, folksy singer who never showed up to rock the house.

The Frames sure did and everyone who came to that concert to hear Rice probably signed up on The Frames online mailing list later that night. The Frames made such a huge, loud, thunderous, FUN noise and lasting impression that night that when they left the stage, the audience was super pumped to hear more. What they got… was Damien RIce. Understand, we all liked Rice. He’s a fine singer and gifted songwriter, but he’s (in Bjork’s words) Oh so quiet (ssshhh!  Ssshhh!). The audience couldn't be quiet, not for his brand of nimble, single-guitar shanties. At one point, he got frustrated and told the audience to stop talking while he was playing. It was hard to feel sympathy. Just because The Frames were Irish, doesn’t mean they should’ve opened for the more famous Irish singer. 

When we exited the show, there was Glen sitting by himself in the lobby and selling copies of The Frames’ latest single, “Fake.” We talked to him for a few minutes and I remember him saying “It’s a good single, but the two B-sides (“Precarious Aiming” and “Trying”), those are the songs I like more.” I asked him if The Frames would be back in town for a tour for this new album and he said “definitely, yes.” I gave him a big hug for that and he kindly laughed and hugged back. I don’t know why the hug came out. I was that kind of person back then. Trying a little too hard to make an impression and create a lasting memory.

In 2004, that album “Burn The Maps” finally came out. It was a louder, rougher album than the one that preceded it and I knew that it would not bring them any stardom. They would remain a cult band that thankfully had a devoted following in Chicago. Nikki and I were also huge fans of U2. We met through their fan club. At this point, we had been together for almost nine years. U2 also had a new album out at this time, “How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb,” their safest and least interesting album yet (still is). The two titles were very telling. U2 was following a “How To…” rule book. How to make a single. How to make a crowd-pleaser. How to recreate the same stage set-up and ideas from our last tour with the exact same game plan. The Frames, on the other hand, burned the maps. They didn’t compromise. They just made their music. 

That album would help me get through the worst break-up of my life. It was hard to listen to U2’s music at the time and I disliked “Atomic Bomb” the more I heard it. For some reason, “Burn The Maps” became one of those go-to albums for which I could drown my sorrows to a soundtrack, even though Nikki was the one who introduced me to them (and possibly gave me a copy of that album, but I’m not sure about that). The final three songs “Keepsake,” “Suffer In Silence” and “Locusts” all had that sad-bastard sound that I craved at the time. Lovingly produced and written from the truest of broken hearts, Glen’s words ached alongside me. This time, I saw The Frames at the Cabaret Metro with my friend, Jim Laczkowski. I couldn’t wait for him to finally see The Frames live. I had been hyping them to all my friends, but to my disappointment, on this tour there was no violinist. A keyboardist stood in for that role. 

That was a great show, but I really missed seeing a violinist (sorry, I don’t know every band member’s name and the touring members weren’t always the studio members). It made the band that much more special, but this was also the time I was getting into Arcade Fire, who were just starting to break out with their indie hit album “Funeral.” They would become my new band. I saw U2 five times that year when I could have seen them six times. It was the first and only tour since PopMart where I skipped a Chicago show. I didn’t like the album and I was too angry. Arcade Fire brought joy back into my life (and had a mainstay violinist). I still loved The Frames, but Arcade Fire became my new music obsession. 

Throughout 2006, I remember getting emails from The Frames mailing list about a movie Glen had made with a director named John Carney called “Once.” The film had screenings scheduled in Dublin with an adjoining album called The Swell Season. “That’s nice,” I thought. Even better news, The Frames had a new album coming out, “The Cost.” I bought it, listened to it and liked it A LOT, particularly a song called “Falling Slowly,” which I thought should’ve been a hit. What do I know?

Then an odd thing happened. “Once” came out in theaters. I honestly don’t know when I first heard that the film had played to raves at Sundance and that it had been picked up by Fox Searchlight and that it would be coming out in the summer of 2007. This part of my memory is foggy, but I know I saw a trailer for it beforehand where I first heard Hansard and Irglova perform “Falling Slowly” together. “I’ll be damned, they’re doing a Frames song in this film.” Finally, people were going to learn about the great singer I’ve known about for years. For this, I can claim legitimate, annoying hipster–dom. I was there before any of you!

I saw the film by myself that summer at the Landmark Century here in Chicago on a Sunday afternoon. It lived up to the hype, but I would’ve been hyping it on my own anyway. It felt like a movie made for me, since I was still going through my shitty break-up phase, though trying valiantly to “get back out there.” The film opens with Glen by himself singing his heart out late at night, busking in Dublin with no one paying any attention. When he strummed the first few chords over the opening credits, I sat upright in my seat. “Holy shit, I know this song. This is ‘Say It To Me Now’ off the ‘FItzcarraldo’ album.” Glen gave the performance the emotion it deserved and I instantly remembered seeing him up-close in that bar near New Lenox back in 1998. When the film was over, I felt forever grateful for its existence, but sad that I couldn’t share in the excitement with anyone outside of my music geek friends (who are all lovely, but you know what I mean).

When award season rolled around, “Once” made a lasting impression and became a favorite. Fox Searchlight sent out the actual retail DVD of the film to award voters (myself included), which has the commentary track by Carney, Hansard and Irglova. Carney tells the story of how “Once” came to be a mainstream film. 

Turns out, it was never supposed to be. They submitted the film to Sundance, but it didn’t get accepted. They cut their losses and kept showing the film wherever they could in Dublin. A Sundance programmer happened to be in Dublin at the time and happened to show up at one of the screenings. That programmer told Carney that he/she (I don’t remember if he specified a gender) was from Sundance and that they would love to show it there. Carney did not disclose that he already tried that and got turned down. He simply let the programmer do their thing and, low and behold, “Once” played Sundance and won the Audience Award, prompting Fox Searchlight to buy the rights and put it in theaters that summer, where it became a big indie hit and awards darling. Film festival programmers can change lives in ways they cannot comprehend or predict. 

As you no doubt know, Hansard and Irglova won the Academy Award for Best Song for “Falling Slowly,” the third version of that song to officially exist after The Frames’ version on "The Cost” and the Swell Season album version. Hansard sang on stage with the same beat-up guitar you see in the film (it’s possible he used it for many years when performing with The Frames). After Hansard gave a speech, he and Irglova were famously played off the stage by the orchestra just as Irglova was about to take the mic. After the commercial break, host Jon Stewart brought them back out so Irglova could say what she wanted to say. She famously said, “Fair play to those who dare to dream,” a phrase that would be tattooed on many people’s arms the following year. 

After their big win, my friend Nick Digilio had Hansard on the phone for his radio show on WGN. Nick knew I was a big fan and allowed me to call in and talk to Hansard briefly. I asked him if the popularity of the movie might convince the record labels to re-release the Frames’ out-of-print albums “Fitzcarraldo” and “Another Love Song.” “I hope so,” he said. “But they have to want to do it. I can’t make them, but it would be grand if they did.” They didn’t, but “Falling Slowly” would become a wedding dance favorite for newlyweds the world over.

A few years later, a lesser-seen documentary “The Swell Season,” came out and documented the aftermath of them winning the Academy Award and the strain the fame put on their relationship as well as their ability to write and perform together. It’s a sad film, appropriately filmed in black-and-white. Not one that a lot of people would lovingly return to, but I felt grateful to see it on the big screen at the Music Box theatre. By this time, I had stopped trying to see Hansard and Irglova live. The ticket prices were starting to get really high and my budget was always tight, especially since funding my own break-up documentary that I had just finished. 

I don’t remember which of the concerts came first, but I did see him two more times. The Frames came back to Chicago for a 20th anniversary show at the Riviera, maybe in 2011. Again, if it were just Hansard, he probably would have been at the Chicago Theater by now, but The Frames still hadn’t quite caught on with mainstream audiences, so Hansard’s involvement was only known to us cult members who had been following the band for years before “Once.” It was a phenomenal 2.5-hour show and they played songs from just about every album (I think. Not sure if that first album was begrudgingly represented or if they still shunned it). This time, I went with my sister Allison, who still talks about that show today and who is currently on vacation in Ireland as I write this on the morning of Hansard’s death.  

The other time I saw him was at a solo show at Millennium Park. A much bigger turn-out of course, but Hansard clearly never let stardom get to him. He was just as self-effacing, charming, humble, hilarious and in-the-moment as he always had been. At one point in this show, a huge fog rolled in off the lake. “This is like ‘Close Encounters’” I remember him saying. The fog kept rolling in and soon, only the first few rows of people could be seen. “See, the fog just swept everyone else up into the Mothership. Now it’s just us,” he said with a laugh. Actually, he might have actually said something to the effect of, “all those people are getting lost in a haze of pot smoke. They’re gone now. Now, it’s just us.” I wish I could remember, but I know it got a huge laugh.

Every year at Christmastime, I could look forward to YouTube clips of Bono and Hansard and others (including Sinead O'Connor) sharing a spot on Grafton Street in Dublin and busking away on Christmas Eve for charity. An Irish photographer friend of ours at the Chicago Critics Film Festival, Deirdre Hayes (our official photographer for many years), often got great photos of these events and was a huge fan as well (there's lots more, but for some reason that Portfolio page won’t load). 

I was back to being a true-blue U2 fan after their next album, “No Line On The Horizon,” an album much more to my liking. Bono and Hansard would often be seen together, most recently in the Disney+ documentary “A Sort Of Homecoming” with Bono, The Edge, Hansard and David Letterman touring around Bono’s childhood memories throughout Dublin. Give it a look if you haven’t. It’s a lot of fun. 

Now, I’m married and my wife Kerry listens to a lot of comedy podcasts. A couple months ago, she had me listen to Hansard’s appearance on Scott Aukerman' s podcast CBB-FM, in which Aukerman talks to his friends about music after playing random selections from his music library. Hansard talked about the recording of a live career retrospective album to come. This was in March, 2026. The two albums, “Don’t Settle - Vol. 1: Transmissions East” and “Don’t Settle - Vol. 2: Transmissions West”, came out just a month ago. I tried to go buy physical CD copies today at Reckless Records, but they sold out. 

So, now here we are waking up to this news of his sudden, tragic death from a motorcycle accident at the age of 56. People are still posting about his death and random clips of his performances. I rushed to my keyboard and cranked this out. Every memory I could think of, to the best of my ability. I may have forgotten a couple. I don’t have selfies or concert photos. Everything happened before I/we had any of that. I just have the memories and the music. Hansard’s voice was always human, hardly ever filtered. The ache, the joy, the longing, the pursuits, the adventure, the heartbreak, the humor, the poetry and the stories, all of them, remain. So many whispers to so many screams, and everything in between. 

As I said, he often told stories of a song before singing it, but it wasn’t always the same story every time, which I suppose makes it appropriate that I have a couple distorted versions of memories in my head. So, which story was true? The audience would never know, but he always told the stories with enough charm, sincerity and wit that it hardly mattered. “This song was written after someone stole my leather jacket.” Sometimes that was the whole story. Sometimes it was a whole monologue about a neighborhood dog who always sat in the same place every single day. He was as much a spoken word monologist and comedian as much as a musician. Pick up The Frames album “Set List” if you want to hear a perfect example of Hansard in his element. 

I’m on my sixth google doc page, so I have to wrap this up. I had no plans on writing six pages of new stuff today. Often, admittedly, writing is too daunting and difficult. This wasn't. Writing about Glen Hansard brought me back moments of joy, heartbreak and laughter. Writing freely doesn’t have to just come from suffering in the moment, but this is a loss, and a song by Glen Hansard encompasses all those feelings. Those songs helped me through difficult times and this is one of them. All of us fans are pulling a ship over a mountain today. 

Rest in peace, Glen Hansard. Thank you for hugging me back.