The founder of The Divine Comedy talks family, music, books and more …
Neil Hannon founded pop band The Divine Comedy more than 30 years ago and has also written music for television and cinema. Raised in Co Tyrone and Fermanagh, he lives in Co Kildare with his wife, musician Cathy Davey, on a farm that is home to the My Lovely Horse Animal Rescue.
How would you describe your parents? Mum is very much the country woman, sort of lovely and interested in horses and very interested in everything I do, but not remotely musical. Dad obviously liked God a lot, but the life he led wasn’t just about that. He was a nice, friendly, wise person.
Your father and grandfather were both Church of Ireland ministers, did you ever think you’d follow that route? I think my grandfather’s dad was as well. Dad’s dad, he got to archdeacon and Dad was bishop [of Clogher], but didn’t reach my generation. I was an atheist from about ten.
You went to Portora Royal School, alma mater of Samuel Beckett and Oscar Wilde, among others. Did it make a big impact on you? It was more lackadaisical than some schools and that was good for me. I owe a lot to my old music teacher, Billy McBride, who wrote things for the church choir I was in. He was my whole musical life, and the fact that he wrote things and we sang them gave you a feeling that this could be done.
Were you a sporty kid? No. I’m a massive sport-watcher, but just had no physical viability. I was not rugged. I got trampled over on sports fields.
What did you think you’d grow up to be? When I was a small child, I wanted to be a car designer but then I started watching Top of the Pops and listening to BBC Radio 1, it wasn’t long before I decided I was going to be a pop star.
What was your motivation then? I wanted to get laid quite badly and pop stardom was a way of doing that. It’s something you’re not meant to say any more, but it was a major motivating factor. As I got older, my ambitions and motivations changed.
“I’m quite happy with mild notoriety.”
What’s your biggest strength at work now? Probably tenacity but also endless patience. Making an album is like building Notre Dame out of matchsticks. But I’m also remarkably good at saying it’s done and letting go, because I’m always thinking of the next thing.
Have you enjoyed fame? I just don’t really think I am famous. I was sort of quite famous for about a month in the late 1990s, when suddenly there were brickies stopping me in service stations and stuff like that. That was weird and I didn’t particularly enjoy it. I’m quite happy with mild notoriety.
How hands-on are you with My Lovely Horse Animal Rescue? I like to pet a pig. I like to cuddle a donkey. I like to look at the turkeys. The sheep are the most beautiful things when they’re in the field and it’s all very pastoral and it looks like a Gainsborough. When it was a smaller operation, I would try to help, but they told me, “No, leave, you’re just in the way.” I feel I help best by staying indoors and making money.
What have been the important female relationships in your life? My mum. Orla, my first wife. Natalie, my manager. Cathy, obviously. My daughter, Willow. She’s 22 and off being an indie-rock kid. And Joy, who’s been cutting my hair for the last 20 years.
Your friendships are for the most part … Rare. I have very good friends, but I’m very bad at making new friends. But Cathy is my bestest buddy. We get on amazingly well and share a similar sense of humour.
Your most attractive physical feature is, in your opinion … My kind eyes.
Your style signifier is … The fact that I’ve worn a jacket since I was 23.
You buy your clothes when … They are worn out. I hate shopping. I particularly hate clothes shopping because you have to go into a cubicle and take your trousers off. It’s awful.
Do you have an exercise routine? If you can count walking the dog for half an hour an exercise routine. I have a cross-trainer at home, but unfortunately it really hurts my ankles. I could only do it to “Sledgehammer” by Peter Gabriel. That was exactly the right tempo. The exercise thing has always made me feel slightly ill.
“It gets harder to do nothing in the age of technology. I used to enjoy just staring at a wall, thinking, that’s when the best ideas come.”
You most recently read … 1984 by George Orwell. I always knew it was a good book and eventually because I was so depressed about Trump and everything, I thought, “Right, I’m going to bloody read this.” I actually got a lot out of it.
You most recently listened to … “Talk of the Devils”, the Man United podcast.
Can you speak a foreign language? I cannot, to my endless shame.
How to deal with a setback? Oh, water off a duck’s back. It’s more a flaw than a skill, because sometimes it helps if you can stay in the moment and be annoyed and try and sort of work out what went wrong, but I’m just like, no, it’s over, it’s gone.
What’s a holiday you’d like to repeat? About eight years ago, Cathy, her sister Ally, and Willow and I, went to this beautiful house on the sea in Cornwall and it was idyllic. We didn’t do an awful lot, but we felt like we were in a du Maurier novel. The best thing was that our favourite dog, Molly, came with us and that made us feel better about leaving all the other animals. We find it very hard to go away for more than ten days because of all the animals.
Are you capable of doing nothing? It gets harder to do nothing in the age of technology. I used to enjoy just staring at a wall, thinking, that’s when the best ideas come. I must do that again. I really need to take a hammer to my iPad.
What would your perfect weekend include? A trip to the cinema to see a nice movie that’s not about superheroes. A really excellent meal with a bottle of wine that’s more expensive than one feels good about, because they always taste nicer. And Man United beating Manchester City in the FA Cup Final. That’s about it, really.
The Divine Comedy released their 13th album, Rainy Sunday Afternoon, in September and will be special guests of David Gray at Live at the Marquee, Cork, on June 13 and 14, 2026.