65 now. I was born in the Rotunda hospital, and in 1962 I moved to Cedarwood Road, which was old Ballymun before the new Ballymun appeared. I was quite a shy child. I was about 12 or 13 when I met Guggi and Bono and music had become very important to me. The Ireland of then was ridiculous in the stranglehold the Catholic Church had on us. My father was a strict man, a diehard, old-school Catholic guy. Loved GAA, all of that, and I was the polar opposite, a shy kid who didn’t like sports. My father thought I needed to toughen up. So I was sent to the Christian Brothers. I can’t stand that whole spotlight of “poor me”, but when I look back now, one of the glues that glued Bono, Guggi and myself together was the three of us had not great relationships with our dad. We had a difficult dad.

I was bullied badly, even bullied in primary school in Glasnevin. I found the nuns really cruel and hard. There was corporal punishment in school, so you were hit – and badly hit, which is horrific to think of. The stuff they would do even with a cane or a leather. I didn’t hang out with many people.

My true little world was about music and drawing and art. I always liked performing even though I was shy. Whenever my dad’s mates were over, I’d be called down to sing a song. And I would sing. I loved music but I didn’t know much, so it was Top of the Pops that became my first touchstone. I was a 1970s kid: glam rock – Marc Bolan, T Rex, Bowie and Roxy Music.

I found a home in my head. I started dressing a certain way. My mum would make elephant flares for me. I got my ear pierced when I was 13, and that was a big thing to have your ear pierced then and I was battered for it. I was being beaten up and called names. My response became more prominent when I formed The Virgin Prunes in 1978, when I was 18. I thought, “I’m going to wear a dress”. It was not gentle-looking, it didn’t look fun and cuddly the way Boy George did. It was punk: “Is that guy gonna bite the head off or kiss us or kill us, or what?” There was an element of threat about it.

[ Gavin Friday in Dublin review: Svelte, swooning performer lays bare his life on the stageOpens in new window ]

There was nothing nourishing going around other than music. I really did find Dublin hard. Things are really hard here now economically for people, but it was a complete nightmare back in the 1980s. As an adult I was kicking against the Catholic Church very strongly in The Virgin Prunes. One of our infamous performances was on The Late Late Show in 1979: it was the same weekend the pope was in Ireland. I think Gay Byrne knew what he was doing because he liked being a bit controversial.

My idea of success was “Get me out of here”: get me away from this drudgery of old Catholic Ireland. I started gigging and touring. We were away so much. We weren’t earning much money. The first success I had was when I started working with Jim Sheridan, when I did the music for In the Name of the Father. When Jim Sheridan asked me to be the musical consultant on In the Name of the Father, I took on the challenge and we got on well. He said, “Could you make a bomb go off musically? Could you do that?” I said, “Yeah, I think so.” Then he said, “I think you guys can do score, so let’s go for it.” I love working to learn more.

I’m very singular in what I do. I speak straight, mate to mate. When I worked with Bono on Stories of Surrender, the stage show [version of Bono’s memoir], I said, “Well, you can’t turn the whole book into a stage show”. It’s just about having conversations, the way friends do. I have a very strong friendship with Bono and we have a very direct communication. It’s not just with Bono, but the whole of U2, because I know them 50 years. I’ve always been at a recording session when they go in to make an album, at the beginning, middle and the end. We’re almost like brothers – you very rarely blow smoke up your brother’s ass. “What do you think of these songs?” “I love these five, that needs more work, that’s brilliant.”

Albums to me are not jobs. It’s an expression of who you are and what you’re going through. To me, if you want to say something, the best way to say it is to make the tune have a sweetness or a tangibility.

In conversation with Nadine O’Regan. This interview, part of a series asking well-known people about their lives and relationship with Ireland, was edited for clarity and length. Gavin Friday’s latest album is Ecce Homo. Bono: Stories of Surrender is out now on Apple+