“Snow Patrol actually supported us about six years ago when they were called Shrug and we were called A Nation of Spies,” reveals Mark Robinson. “So, it’s nice to be playing on the same night as them – even if they’re in the Ulster Hall and we’re first on the bill in Katy Daly’s.”

Ah, the hands that fate deals us all.
It’s that hunch-backed time of year again when the weight of another 12 months of stasis and stagnation begins to bear down on tired shoulders. Santa may well think that he’s laden with an unbearable load as the end of the year approaches, but old fatso should really stop complaining. What does he know about burdens? He’s obviously never been in an under-achieving Northern Irish indie band.
This time last year, off the back of a wonderful, trippy EP, we tipped The Embers as a mob worth watching. Such lightness of touch, such imagination, such potential. Theirs was a noise more indebted to the surround-sound stirrings of Mercury Rev and The Flaming Lips than the boil-in-the-bag boy rock found lurking in most Ulster indie dungeons. The recorded material may well have been patchy, and their live shows prone to unwelcome disaster, but because the band were proving themselves as inventive producers, with each member capable of contributing distinct song-writing ideas, the long term forecast was cautiously sunny.
There seemed to be no lack of scope for The Embers to really catch fire.
Anyone expecting the band to have worked up a bonfire for December 04, though, will be appalled by their body language as we meet them for a quick coffee.
True, this is hardly an outfit renowned for in-yer-face breast beating, but slumped around the table Mark, James Smith and Rory McCadden have all the enthusiasm of people who live in a thin-walled terrace next door to Keane fans.
Yes, the band themselves admit that absent bassist Warren Bell “tends to be the best salesman”, but that hardly explains their curious mood. Would it be bold of us to suggest that it looks like 2004 hasn’t panned out as expected?
“Yeah,” says James. “We hit a bit of a brick wall. Earlier on in the year we played some really, really shit shows. And even when we played really good ones, people said we were shit. We played The Mandela Hall, thought everything was going well, and then stopped and, honest to god, not one person clapped. Complete silence. I think, all taken together, they just affected our confidence and we found it difficult to motivate ourselves for another push. I think the problem is that when we record songs, we put so many parts on, it’s just impossible for us at this stage to replicate it, so we kind of tie ourselves in knots. But it was a tough time for us.”
And one that, despite the beaten-up demeanours, they have emerged from triumphantly.
Because, while the rounded shoulders and tendency to mumble may tempt you to write this lot off as just another load of talented provincials lacking the drive, gumption and maybe even the inclination to make waves outside their own parish, the truth of the matter is that The Embers have dealt with their mini-crisis in a splendidly pro-active fashion.
To combat their Belfast gig-hoodoo, the band began to make regular jaunts to London for live outings – a risky undertaking that, according to James, paid off handsomely. “We’ve had some great nights. It’s weird. We were playing in front of members of Supergrass and Suede, but it didn’t bother us. For some reason we felt more comfortable doing that than playing in front of people we know. It was liberating.”
Back home, meanwhile, they were bunkering themselves off and putting together a truly excellent EP - a collection of songs that goes part of the way to justify the faith that many people have placed in them so far. For such a fatalistic and lachrymose bunch of individuals, the scale of the ambition is tremendous: there are string sections, Velvets-esque chug-athons, and quasi-spirituals. ‘Vice And Virtue’- is again self-produced – and it could well be the most imaginative collection of locally produced music I’ve heard all year.
“Um,” says James, scrunching his face up and scratching his head. “It’s not bad.”
We may worry that unless The Embers learn to stop slouching, they run the risk of being passed over for acts with less talent but a far healthier posture. Or we could just listen to the music and trust that they know what they’re doing.
“One thing,” grins Mark. “Don’t tip us as ones to watch next year.”
It’s a deal.
Although (whisper it) you should; just don’t let on.