That night, in a drizzling rain, a ragtag group of travelers walked from the farmhouse hostel down an old stone road into town. We entered a pub and bellied up to whiskeys and stouts. Everyone was enjoying the “Craic,” Gaelic for “What’s happening?” “What’s good?” Shortly after a band of older men—probably 50 and 60-somethings—stood near the rock fireplace and performed a cover of “Linger” on acoustic guitars, mandolin and violin. Another man stood in front, in his thick sweater and ragged newsboy cap, singing the verses. Then the whole bar joined him for the choruses, as the rain fell outside. “Do you have to let it linger / Do you have to / Do you have to let it linger?” That night on the walk back to the hostel, the clouds broke and the stars shone bright in the Irish mist. O’Riordan’s legacy will not just linger, but live on forever, like the spirit of a Irish patron saint.
I saw her last year in May in concert. The moment her voice joined together with thousands of other British people signing will remain forever in my mind.