It’s a Friday night in downtown Dublin and Paul Walsh is standing tall. Bathed in an impressive light show and with his musical colleagues creating a huge noise around him, he’s every inch the rock star.

Strange then to think that just 24 hours earlier he was being whirled around a dancefloor in the back room of a pub by a man who had seemingly been attempting to drink his own body weight. Such is the life of a band on the road in Ireland...
Thursday evening and it’s raining in Galway, and the cosy front bar of the Roisin Dubh seems more attractive than ever. This part aside, the place has changed significantly over the past couple of years. There’s a new bar upstairs, a large roof garden and the intimate gig area at the back has been transformed into a more spacious, all-standing venue with a large stage in the corner. It’s here that Royseven are in the process of setting up. We’re joining them half-way through their first serious Irish tour.
These are interesting times for the band. Their debut album, is released tomorrow, and the sextet view this as an important opportunity to make their mark at home after a high profile summer spent in Europe (the band are signed to Universal Germany). In addition to the gigs, there’s a frenetic round of interviews and instore appearances to be fitted into the schedule.
First stop is Flirt FM, the UCG college radio station. We pile into Paul’s car and head off into the damp evening. Over ten years in existence, Flirt is well-established in the city and has a nice little set up, tucked away on campus. The problem is that no-one seems to know we’re coming. Presenters Paul and Conor are impressed though by what they’re convinced is a guerrilla promotion campaign based on Paul turning up at radio stations, album in hand and bluffing his way onto the air.
As the first single ‘Older’ fades out, Conor exclaims in (possibly mock) surprise, “Hey, that’s really good”. “Thanks”, replies Paul before quietly adding, “it did get to number six.”
Walsh is good company, at odds with the intense image he gives off through his music. He’s taken on the mantle of band spokesman with good cheer and isn’t even fazed when the venue’s posters for tonight’s gig inexplicably carry a picture of Christy Dignam. Make no mistake though, he’s deadly serious in his intent for Royseven. It’s an attitude that spreads through the rest of the line-up (Eamonn Barret, Sam Garland, Paul ‘Lego’ O’Hara, Dazzy Oglesby and Bernard O’Neil). If hanging out in the Roisin Dubh’s neat little apartment seems a bit of a comedown after the past few months of playing Rock Am Ring and supporting Bryan Adams, nobody lets it show. There are great, sadly unrepeatable, stories told about fights with death metal bands and news of a possible sponsorship deal with Volkswagen. They’ve been here before as Jove – the name change forced by the similarly titled London band – yet there’s a quiet confidence in the camp that this time all the pieces of the jigsaw are in place.
Such confidence could easily find itself shaken by tonight’s gig. The place is nicely full yet, aside from a number of those in the know, the majority of the audience seem to be there for the extra drinking-time. Royseven themselves are great, far rawer than their album would suggest but don’t seem to quite click with the audience. Walsh does his best – and he is both an extraordinarily charismatic frontman and fantastic vocalist – but the swell of conversation between songs suggest that he’s fighting a losing battle. Unperturbed, he steps down onto the dancefloor to take it to the people, at which point he’s accosted by our aforementioned friend. The pair end up in a sort of haphazard waltz before the interloper makes his way onstage and falls headfirst into Dazzy’s drum-kit. The battle to remove him from the venue takes another ten minutes, played out right in front of the stage as the band carry on, but strangely it’s a turning point. The ice is broken and from then on in the show is a resounding success. It’s the kind of gig that says more about a band’s mettle than playing to a room full of friends ever can and tonight Royseven proved that they have it in droves.
It’s already late but, as the resident Strange Brew DJ plays an engaging mix of styles, the band enjoy a few beers and reflect on the night. Someone has told a clearly bemused Lego that they sound like The Killers, which makes a change from the usual Coldplay references, while Eamonn has a fit of excitement when an old Lush record comes over the PA. The mood reflects a job well done in difficult circumstances and, as we bid them goodnight, all are looking forward to tomorrow.

The next time we see Royseven they’re soundchecking at the Temple Bar Music Centre and it’s clear that for this, their official album launch, the stops have been pulled out. All are in good spirits. A lunchtime instore in Galway went well and the album has outsold The Killers at HMV in Dublin’s Grafton Street (no doubt to Lego’s satisfaction). All there has been to dampen the mood is a couple of bad reviews, one so negative that their manager was moved to ring the journalist in question for a quiet word.
Eamonn and Paul however are sanguine about things, even the uphill struggle of last night’s gig.
“We haven’t played there in two years,” says Paul, “so I think we were happy just that there were people there besides ten of our friends. That’s the job though and I think by the end they’d all succumbed.”
It begs the question, is it harder to play a gig like that or face 10,000 punters who don’t know you at a festival?
“They have their individual stresses,” he reflects. “That gig was maybe harder because you’re right in people’s faces. At least with a massive crowd, a thousand people will react, which seems like loads. There’s a lot of satisfaction at the end of a gig like last night. We played in Derry and it was difficult like that and I turned round and faced the band for three or four songs. Then I turned round and it had all changed.”
One thing that the evening did throw up was the fact that, despite a healthy media profile, not many people there knew the band – not even a couple of radio DJs. Paul for one isn’t shocked.
“We don’t have the same marketing tools as some of our colleagues; we’re starting from a different point,” Eamonn agrees. “I wasn’t surprised when that guy didn’t know who we were. For whatever reasons radio hasn’t picked up on the singles, which can be a hard pill to swallow. Tony Fenton was the only one who really went for it and that kept us going.”
The band, however, are determined to keep following their own path. “We’re not 18 anymore,” says Eamonn, “and we figured that, if we were going to do this, we’d do it bloody right. Universal have left us to go off and do our thing. The touring that we did in the summer was a huge eye opener.”
It seems like the odd bad review isn’t going to put them off, especially Paul.
“It does initially hurt but at least I’m being myself. I’m not going to write music for a disposable society. I’m not unique and if I’m experiencing something then there must be a hell of a lot of other people experiencing it too. I’m not going to buy into a fad.”
The difference in the two gigs couldn’t be more pronounced. Tonight, Royseven look and sound like the kind of band that could be playing to thousands of people across the world, surrounded by friends, family and supporters who happily immerse themselves in the whole experience. They deserve it but, in a strange way, I enjoyed seeing them more when they were up against it. There’ll be many more of both kinds of nights to come for sure, yet Royseven look to set to take it all in their stride.