INTERVIEW: Gerard O'Donnell

Following a wave of critical acclaim and a memorable appearance on national television in The Piano, Irish composer and pianist Gerard O’Donnell returns with his most evocative work to date: 'In Honour of the Moon'. Available to stream now, the album presents a cycle of nine original nocturnes that journey through ancestral memory, folklore, and the quiet mysteries of the night.

Structured in three movements, the album unfolds like a moonlit odyssey, drawing listeners from the ceremonial invocation of its title track to the ethereal storytelling of 'Ghost' and 'I mo Mharbhcholadh', and finally to the powerful crescendo of 'Solstice' before resolving with a transformed reprise of its opening theme. With ambient textures, classical precision, and the pulse of Irish folk tradition, O’Donnell’s work offers more than music, it’s a deeply personal meditation on grief, identity, and the beauty found in stillness.

In this interview, we explore the inspiration behind the album, the role of folklore and cultural memory in O’Donnell’s work, and how 'In Honour of the Moon' invites us to listen not just with our ears, but with our imagination.

You describe In Honour of the Moon as a cycle of nine nocturnes. What drew you to the nocturne form, and how did it shape the emotional architecture of the album?

The album was written entirely at night — not by design, but because that’s when my imagination tends to come alive. There’s something about the quiet of the hours after dark that allows music to emerge more intuitively. I think the work invites night-time listening too; it belongs to that liminal space. The nocturne form, which originated in the 19th century with the Irish composer John Field, felt like a natural vessel for the moods I was exploring — intimate, shadowed, contemplative. It shaped the album’s emotional arc almost without me realising, as if each piece became a window into a different facet of the night.

The album unfolds across three movements, beginning and ending with variations on the title track. Can you talk about the structural journey of the album and what those recurring motifs represent for you?

The recurring motifs act as waymarkers through the night — fragments of memory, emotion, or dream that resurface in altered forms. Structurally, I wanted the album to feel like a circular journey: we begin in quiet reverence, move through more shadowed, turbulent spaces, and return changed. The variations on the title track are like lunar phases — always the same moon, but seen differently each time.

Many of your pieces, like Ghost and He by Water, are steeped in Irish cultural memory and folklore. How do ancestral themes influence your compositional voice?

Ancestral themes are an undercurrent I return to instinctively. There’s a kind of emotional archaeology in composing — unearthing fragments of language, ritual, or landscape that still echo in the present. I think Irish folklore, especially, carries a beautiful melancholy and defiance that sits deeply in my musical DNA.

In 'Should England Sing', there’s a quiet political longing interwoven into the music. How do you balance subtle commentary with the lyrical and reflective nature of your work?

Subtlety often says more than a direct statement. I’m interested in the spaces where politics becomes personal — a sense of displacement, longing, or silence. Should England Sing doesn’t assert; it questions. The reflective tone creates room for ambiguity, which to me is more truthful than a singular message.

Your work has been praised for blending classical precision with ambient textures and folk influences. How do you approach merging these elements in your compositions?

I try not to separate them. Classical, ambient, folk — they’re all languages I speak and feel at home in. What matters to me is emotional clarity, and sometimes that’s best expressed with a single note sustained in space, sometimes through intricate harmonic movement. I let the piece decide what it needs.

'I mo Mharbhcholadh' evokes a vivid, folkloric atmosphere. What role does mythology and storytelling play in your creative process?

Storytelling is often the seed — even if the final work is abstract. With I mo Mharbhcholadh, I was drawn to the image of the waking dream or death-sleep, where myth and reality blur. Mythology offers symbolic language for complex emotions. It allows me to explore longing, fear, or love in ways that feel timeless.

'Solstice' feels like an emotional and technical crescendo within the album. What was your intention with this piece, and how did it push your boundaries as a composer and performer?

Solstice is the album’s pivot — the turning point of the night. It demanded a kind of ecstatic tension: structurally tighter, harmonically richer, and more physically intense to play. It pushed me to hold both darkness and light at once, which felt like the emotional apex of the whole cycle.

You’ve received national media attention and critical acclaim for previous works. How has this shaped your confidence or direction going into the release of In Honour of the Moon?

I’m grateful for that recognition, but I try not to let it dictate direction. If anything, it’s helped me trust quiet intuition more — to resist overthinking and follow the emotional thread of a work. This album felt like a return to something deeply personal, almost private, despite its public release.

This album feels like a meditative act of remembering. Were there specific memories or personal experiences that directly informed these compositions?

Yes — though many are difficult to articulate. Some pieces came from grief, others from awe or longing. There’s a sense of remembering not just events, but atmospheres — the feel of certain nights, voices, silences. Music has a way of holding memory without fixing it in place, which felt important here.

When listeners sit down with In Honour of the Moon, what kind of emotional or imaginative space do you hope they enter and leave with?

I hope it gives them permission to slow down — to sit with whatever surfaces. Whether they enter through personal memory, dream, or simply sound, I’d like them to feel held in that liminal space. The moon is both witness and mirror — quiet, present, and changing — and I hope the album offers that same kind of gentle companionship.