Songs of Healing for a Tragedy 150 Years Past

“History,” wrote Dublin’s foremost artistic son, James Joyce, “is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.”

For Joyce, the Ireland of 100 years ago was so steeped in bitterness, defeatism and religious narrowness born of too much tragic history that he had to escape. He decamped to the Continent and wrote in obsessive detail of the homeland he had left.

Luka Bloom’s excellent new album, “Salty Heaven,” envisions an Ireland where tragic history need not hover like a permanent fog, where nightmares can give way to reconciliation and renewal.

The album climaxes with a song called “Forgiveness.” An epic at nearly nine minutes long, it begins as a dirge, balefully evoking the 19th century Irish potato famine, the source of much of that historic bitterness. But then a dancing Celtic rhythm emerges, and Bloom rises from the horror.

“Forgiveness” ends as a stirring benediction, speaking to any heart that clings to idealistic hopes for humanity--not only in Ireland, but also in the Balkans, the Middle East or any other region--meaning everywhere--plagued with historic nightmares.

For the ancient wounds still hurting,

For the wrongs I’ve never known,

For all the children left to die

Near fields where corn was grown.

Like the ones who braved the ocean

In fever sheds to burn,

Let all the hatred leave these shores,

Never to return.

Forgiveness.

Bloom, who plays a solo-acoustic show Wednesday at the Coach House, says “Forgiveness” was inspired by a cathartic “reawakening” of Irish interest in the famine of 1846-1848.

While the famine’s immediate cause was a fungus that blighted Ireland’s vital potato crop, callous economic policies by the nation’s landowners, most of them British, turned it into an epic disaster in which, out of a population of 9 million, more than a million Irish died, and another million emigrated--many of them to die during the passage, or in impoverished conditions in America, Canada, Australia and England.

“It never was talked about. We knew it as two or three pages in a history book in school,” Bloom said by telephone from his home in Dublin. “In the last five or six years, there has been an outpouring. We have been coming to terms with it.

“It’s taken 150 years to talk about it and openly acknowledge the impact it had on our psyche. There has been a lot of cathartic activity in Ireland, acknowledgment of the various mass graves around the country, commemorative walks. It’s a cry out for letting go of the blame.”

With “Forgiveness,” Bloom becomes part of that process.

“There have been many songs written describing the pain and suffering of this tragic time in our history,” he said. “I wanted to capture the horrendous atmosphere, the loneliness and sorrow, but I didn’t want to leave people in that dark and tragic place. People can hold on to that stuff for centuries, and they do. The Irish are a very creative force in the world, but there is a sadness and sorrow that will never leave us until we let go.”

A hopeful thrust permeates the album, which came out a year ago in most of the world but won’t emerge here until August. Bloom, who was dropped by Warner Bros. after three strong early albums in the early 1990s yielded no breakthrough hits, said he is almost done negotiating a record deal with a solid U.S. independent label.

In a voice striking in its fervency and romanticism--there is no fashionable irony in Bloom--he sings of being transported by natural beauty, of enchanting women who warm his soul and of the musical calling that he finds redemptive.

In “The Hungry Ghost,” he feels a horror from his own past--a near-fatal bout with alcoholism. The singer feels his old weakness lingering as a devouring specter but finds consolation in nature and realizes that the freedom he has won need not be lost. A similar rise from darkness takes place in “Cool Breeze,” which recounts Bloom’s journey to the seaside grave of Frankie Kennedy, flute player for the Irish traditional folk band Altan.

“I was standing there at the grave, fumbling for sorrow, and I started laughing in the wind, realizing [Kennedy’s spirit] wasn’t having any of this [expletive]. There was a beautiful feeling of appropriateness and resolution.”

When it comes to his own life, Bloom says, history is on his side.

At 44, he has been a professional musician since he was 17. He began his career as Barry Moore, a struggling performer overshadowed by his older brother, Christy, one of Ireland’s foremost folk singers. In 1987, he moved to New York City, assumed a new name--borrowed from Suzanne Vega’s hit song “Luka” and from Leopold Bloom, the hero of Joyce’s novel “Ulysses”--and saw his fortunes rise.

Bloom said the corresponding career reversal, losing his record deal at the end of 1994, was not traumatic.

“I’m too old to be disheartened by anything a record company could do,” he said. “You get to a certain age and realize you do what you do no matter what’s going on, and when you’re fortunate enough to have a job you love, you just go on.”

Singing Lessons at 40 and a Triumphant Tour

Maturity, he said, also is behind the hopeful vision of “Salty Heaven.”

“Anybody who has been in the music world 27 years, it’s an achievement and something to be optimistic about. If I was writing the same kind of self-pitying songs now as I was in my 20s, I would be in big trouble. [Hopeful songs] are harder to write. It’s so easy to pick up the guitar when you’re feeling blue and touch people’s hearts.

“It’s harder to express [happiness] and not have it sound like a Pepsi commercial.”

Learning and changing as he goes along have something to do with Bloom’s outlook.

Where his previous albums were sparsely produced, “Salty Heaven” is a lush affair. Bloom said he recorded a first version with his usual, stripped-down approach, then decided the songs needed more adornment. The production team of Peter Van Hooke and Rod Argent (former keyboard player for the Zombies and Argent) outfitted it with tastefully applied strings and atmospheres.

“It was altogether a very long process, which I shan’t repeat in a hurry,” Bloom said. “I love the record, but it was three years of my life.”

No slouch as a vocalist, Bloom nevertheless decided at age 40 to take singing lessons.

“I went through two years of regular classes, and I’m much more aware of the endless possibilities of my voice, rather than concentrating on the limitations,” he said. Rather than singing to avoid pitfalls, Bloom says he now sings more freely, with greater range, power, spontaneity and confidence.

Bloom was not completely confident, however, about his recent return to performing in the United States after more than four years away. He said he was “a bit trepidatious” about how he would be received on a tour of Eastern cities with no label behind him and no new record in the stores.

“The shows all sold out, and I was very happy and amazed. There was more buzz about the shows I did in New York than when I was living there. The nice thing is, people don’t forget.”

It’s nicer still when an artist with a history finds ways, as Bloom has, to move forward with fresh work that equals or surpasses the records that won fans’ allegiance in the first place.

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* Luka Bloom and Kerry Getz play Wednesday at the Coach House, 33157 Camino Capistrano, San Juan Capistrano. 8 p.m. $15-$17. (949) 496-8930. Also Thursday with Finn McCool at the Roxy, 9009 Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood, 8 p.m., $19.50 [310] 278-9457).