Tiernan on grief, identity, and the unspoken truths in The Ribbon Songs.

Tiernan may be best known as the frontman of deathcrash, but his debut solo album, The Ribbon Songs, offers a strikingly intimate and deeply personal side of his songwriting. Stripped-back and raw, the album explores themes of grief, longing, and self-reflection with an unflinching honesty. Across its 12 tracks, Tiernan’s voice takes center stage, weaving through sparse yet evocative arrangements that feel as much like quiet confessions as they do songs.

We spoke to Tiernan about the inspiration behind The Ribbon Songs, the role of place and memory in his music, and the complex relationship between songwriting and healing.

For those unfamiliar with your music, can you tell us who you are, where you’re from and about the music you make?

I’m from London, and have lived here all my life, except for six years of my childhood that I spent living in Cork, Ireland. My music tends to be sad.

Your debut solo album, The Ribbon Songs, is deeply personal and raw. What inspired you to take this step away from deathcrash and present yourself so starkly as a solo artist?

In writing for deathcrash, I found myself with fragments of songs that didn’t make sense for the band.

In a band, as a vocalist, you are implicitly speaking for the four of you. As a solo artist, you don’t need to worry about that. I wouldn’t say my own music is more raw than deathcrash, but it’s personal in a different way. I didn’t need to worry about whether the ideas on The Ribbon Songs were things the rest of the band also wanted to say. That was a freeing process for me, which has also benefited my writing in deathcrash.

Nuala is such a poignant exploration of grief. Can you tell us more about the personal stories or emotions that shaped this song?

Thank you.

Nuala came from three things really.

First, the grief that comes from knowing someone not as they are but as you’ve invented them.

Second, my uncle passed away when I was 21, which really affected me, and his soul has lived on in much of my music ever since. I hardly knew him, though, so it struck me as odd in some ways that it had affected me so much. But it was his absence from my life that meant he grew to be such a large presence in my mind. These ghosts write our songs, or our good ones at least. They should be welcomed but not idealised.

Third, my grandmother told me of her sister, Nuala, who had died very shortly after being born. My grandmother was one of seven siblings, but she said she still remembered Nuala, and always felt she was one of eight siblings. Though they never knew Nuala, she was always there. This was nearly 75 years on, for someone she had known for less than six months. It reminded me of my uncle, and I knew then that this song was just as much about Nuala as anything else.

You’ve said that songwriting can be a struggle and even self-destructive at times. How do you navigate the balance between using music as a form of healing and not letting it overwhelm you?

I go to therapy, I don’t take drugs, and I’m trying for a life that doesn’t depend on music-making to give me happiness. I’m still not convinced music is a form of healing. Perhaps if you’re guided through that process with others, or if by music you simply mean singing or playing songs. But trying to be a musician is a different thing entirely. I do it because I don’t yet know how to stop, not because it has helped me heal. I’m convinced for years it did the opposite.

The album is described as a “singing record” where your voice takes center stage. How did your upbringing near Cork City and those family sing-songs influence this approach?

My family aren’t traditional singers in the way some in Ireland are. But at any important event, people will sing. It is one of my favourite things to hear. Maybe because of this I am used to songs being sung without accompaniment. It usually feels more impactful to me than songs with colourful arrangements. It gets you to the heart of the song, and the heart of the person singing it.

Grief and longing are recurring themes in your work. How do you approach turning these heavy emotions into something that feels beautiful and cathartic?

I don’t approach it intentionally as catharsis. I wonder if that’s not something you can be intentional about. But I am, for some hidden reason, moved to write songs about things in my life, or feel moved to write a song when I am feeling sad or manic or anguished. Inevitably, after doing so, there is a catharsis. I appreciate your question, and I’m pleased it comes across this way. It’s not so much intentional, but rather just the process I go through when writing and recording.

Collaboration played a significant role in the album, with members of deathcrash, Jerskin Fendrix, and others involved. How did working with close friends impact the creative process?

Mainly, it helped to get things finished. Working with others gives you deadlines, and helps give you motivation. I’m very grateful to the help they all gave me.

You’ve mentioned that Floating Sheets explores the ripple effects of self-harm on loved ones. How do you hope listeners connect with such deeply personal and heavy themes?

I don’t know. That’s a great question. I think I wrote this song before I’d mentioned this to anyone in my life, so there is a bit of anger and resentment in the way that second verse is delivered. It felt important at the time to write songs about what otherwise couldn’t be said. I think self-harm is relatable for everyone, even if people haven’t literally cut themselves - perhaps that’s why it’s so culturally scary. If people have self-harmed, I hope they tell someone and seek help. Though I don’t know if this song is likely to help with that.

Geography seems to be a thread in the album, from Glenbrook to London to influences from American indie records. How does place shape your music and identity as an artist?

I have moved house a lot. So, my memories of different stages of my life tend to be attached to different places. Having spent my childhood in Ireland, it’s had a childlike/fantastical sheen to it for me that isn’t quite realistic. I never had to grow up there, so my attitude towards it has remained innocent too. With regards to London, I imagine there’s not much else I can add to that discussion.

The minimalist and intimate production style on the album is striking. What inspired this stripped-back approach, and how did it affect your songwriting process?

That’s funny, I didn’t really notice it was like this. Having finished ‘Less’ by deathcrash before working on this again, I thought this album was much more maximalist. I guess my ‘overton window’ for writing and production has moved so far towards the minimal that I hardly noticed it. This album came out like this because this is what it felt both natural and ambitious to do.

Ric James did the production. He’s a wonderful friend and very talented.

Shot Away is described as ‘a love song for two people who cannot love’. Can you unpack what this song represents and how it fits into the broader narrative of the album?

I like the line: ‘Love is a spiteful thing, it is still a child.’ This idea keeps showing up throughout the album, and throughout so much of what I’ve written generally.

What do you love right now?

My girlfriend.

What do you hate right now?

The wind.

Name an album you’re still listening to from when you were younger and why it’s still important to you?

Taking Back Sunday - Where You Want to Be. This is one of the best albums ever written. I wouldn’t be a singer without it.

You’ve shared that The Ribbon Songs is for your family, partner, and yourself. How do you balance making music that feels so personal while sharing it with a wider audience?

I’ve never had an answer to this question. Clearly, sharing it is important, though I’ve never known why.

Start Listening To: Tiernan