By Marie Caroll-O'Sullivan

If you ever want to experience a masterclass in charm, wit, and the universal power of music, walk through the doors of Variety Sounds in Killarney. Better yet, walk in on a day when Kerry have just claimed the Sam Maguire and Pat O’Connor is holding a bodhrán that reads ‘Ciarraí Abú’. I did just that!

Pat is celebrating two big milestones this year. He is celebrating 75 glorious years on planet Earth and 45 years at the helm of this musical mecca. And if there was ever a shop that sounded like its owner, it's this one: warm, lively, unpredictable, and stocked to the ceiling with stories.

We sat, well, we stood, mostly, because customers came and went like tides and talked about the early days. “I opened in 1980,” Pat began, “and the first sound in the shop wasn't a guitar or a banjo – it was the hum of car stereos.”

Now, when Pat says car stereos, he doesn’t mean Bluetooth and Spotify. He means the eight-track monsters you could hear before you saw them, followed by the four-track, where you'd have to turn the tape mid-journey physically. “It was grand,” Pat said, grinning, “until Sharp brought out the auto-reverse. Then things got very smooth.”

Cue the twinkle in his eye.

“You see Marie,” Pat said, lowering his voice like a man about to reveal the secret to life itself, “I know from personal experience the convenience auto-reverse brought to motoring.” And with that, he chuckled like a man who knew exactly how to cue up a romantic mixtape without ever interrupting the mood. “You’re cruisin’ with a lady friend, and just as you’re impressing her with ‘The Power of Love,’ you don't have to fumble for the tape awkwardly. No, Sharp has you covered. Just sit back and let love – and the music – play on.”

Sharp. The true unsung hero of courtship.

The conversation bounced, much like Pat himself, from nostalgia to modern-day hustle. “We moved onto CDs, of course. They flew out the door. Still do, would you believe?” And of course, musical instruments soon found their way in, from tin whistles and guitars, to accordions, ukuleles, and everything in between.

As we chatted, people wandered in and out. Tourists, children, seasoned musicians, curious passers-by. No two alike. But each one received the same greeting: “Welcome to Killarney!” followed by an offer of help that was tailored, thoughtful, and sometimes bilingual. It was like watching a DJ mix styles, rhythms, and generations — all in the form of customer service.

“Do you play anything yourself, Pat?” I asked during a lull.

He paused. “I used to play the button accordion and the harmonica,” he said, “but enough said. I’m better at selling them now.” He burst out laughing. I did too. A man who knows his strengths.

And he’s not in it alone either. Murt, his right-hand man, is what Pat calls a “very valued member of the team”. More customers in and out. Picture Pat juggling guitar strings, giving advice on amps, and somehow knowing exactly where everything was in his Aladdin’s cave of sound.

I shared a story about my daughter Clodagh, and the red guitar that shimmered in the window like it was made for her. Pat and Murt helped her buy it bit by bit, busking until it was hers. That support? It wasn’t just financial. It was emotional. Encouragement dressed up as commerce. “We do trade-ins too,” Pat reminded me. “So, if she ever wants to trade in or needs a repair, tell her she’s always welcome back.”

And she’s not the only one. Musicians of every calibre have walked through these doors – Peyton Taylor (check out Variety Sounds Instagram for a 'live' at Variety Sounds from Peyton, she's class), Tommy Fleming, Ronny Drew, The Wolfe Tones, and more. Pat tells me he once just missed comedian Tommy Tiernan due to a coffee break that ran a few minutes too long. “Back in five minutes,” he explained. “Unfortunately, the poor man wasn't on my clock!”

And it’s not just locals and big names who’ve taken notice. Variety Sounds has also caught the international eye. Pat has been featured in Lonely Planet and some New York publication he can’t quite recall. “I’m brutal at remembering those things,” he admitted, waving the thought away. “They said lovely stuff, though!” You’d think these clippings would be proudly displayed, framed and hanging behind the counter. Not a single one graces the walls. “Ah sure look,” Pat says, “the customers coming back in is the best review I could ask for.”

Of course, Pat’s flair for innovation didn’t stop at stereo systems. When the mobile phone entered Irish life in the early ‘90s, he was there, selling “Ready to Go” 088 mobiles. “It took me a month to sell the first one,” he laughed. “And then another six weeks for the connection paperwork to go through. Imagine trying that today!” One customer even traded in a musical instrument to buy a phone, which Pat says left the Vodafone CEO gobsmacked at a marketing meeting in Dublin. Naturally.

As our conversation wound down, I asked Pat what he loved most about his job.

He didn’t hesitate.

“It’s the people. Always the people. Seeing someone buy their first tin whistle and come back years later for a concertina, that’s pure joy. I’ve made friends for life. And you know what? Over the 45 years, I always ask visitors their thoughts on Killarney. Not one complaint. Not one. Isn’t that fantastic?”

It really is, I agreed.

If you're on College Street, call by to see the bodhrán that says ‘Ciarraí Abú’, and ask him to tell you about the Sharp auto-reverse. You'll come for the gear, sure but you’ll stay for the stories, the warmth, and the tunes that somehow follow you out the door.

Happy 75th Pat. And happy 45th to Variety Sounds. A shop, a time capsule, a beating heart to the rhythm of Killarney.