To the unending delight of the crowd, the choice of Neosupervital to support The Divine Comedy was a good one, as they clearly share the desire that art should draw attention to its artfulness.
The synth-rock (or electro-indie if you like) bedroom ascetics – who heretofore brought you the charming line “I’m like Stevie Wonder, but I can see things” – have by their own acknowledgement looted the mechanical music museum, spending a lifetime distilling their record collection into manageable, tongue-in-cheek precipitates like whiskey or MSG.
The best mysteries come in triads, like the Sibyl’s three visits to king Tarquin and the three prophetic books he ended up with. Scott Walker’s third solo record in 30 years is no less abstruse an endowment.
A shoo-in for indie dancefloor anthem of the month, Kubb’s lazy piano blues riffs and enigmatic lyrics will sound brilliant after a feed of pints. A promising taster of the upcoming debut album, guaranteed to stimulate the adrenal glands.
A deep bass vocal intro that includes the sound of saliva-sticky mumbles and soft-sinister chuckles is the perfect preamble to this downtempo post-funk track that evokes inner city alienation by breathing it in your ear. A satisfying assault of obfuscation stimulation.
Gorey man Stephen Hill takes a note from the book of Damo, singing in the accent we’ll fiercely defend but sometimes still cringe to hear. That said, it works well here. His attack on Mary Harney and the local Superquinn’s secret complicity in European colonialism couldn’t work in any other dialect anyway. ‘Conspiracy’ is a fantastically funny proselytisation, a howl to us to recognise this despicable and corrupt age, and after a few listens it becomes a compelling diatribe. “Microsoft develops it,” he yells “Are you listening to me?” We are now.
Renko’s sound is a hotchpotch of BRMC-style riffs, a whiff of Radiohead circa ‘97, hints of electric Neil Young and some good old down-home hair metal. Debut single ‘The Fate Of The Free World Depends On You’ is a more relaxed turn however, in which the band show they can do mellow. File under ‘a little bit alt. country and a little bit alt. rock’n’roll’.
Given that Jaded Sun are a Dublin group with an average age of 24, their resemblance to Led Zeppelin et al is noteworthy, since that bottle-of-whiskey-and-40-fags-a-day vocal ain’t so easy to emulate. Certainly, their technique and execution are above reproach, and Jaded Sun’s indefatigable energy and ebullience impose on the listener. But it’s still a bloody-minded snub of the zeitgeist, and whether there’s really a need for an Irish Whitesnake remains to be seen.
If, like me, you like your folk on the maudlin side of existential inquiry, then this EP should serve many an evening of melodic introspection. New York Sessions deals in simple, beautiful and declarative songs, stripped of artifice, such as ‘Stay The Night’, which is accompanied by a violin that lends itself to the track’s minimalism. In ‘Fabulous People’, Flynn considers the artificial construct of the world of the glitterati, and the isolation felt from without. This, and more highly-wrought vignettes of the emotional entanglements of which he tries to make sense. Pull up a chair, lovers and losers.
Those stalwarts of the Dublin gigging scene herewith offer their double A-side to coincide with their recent commission as guest act for the Dandy Warhols. Opening gambit ‘My Heroine’ is a worthy rock ballad, grainy and compelling. Its strongest feature is the dark, lo-fi drum-led chorus.
The Duran Duran sound and Suede-like lyrics in ‘She Waits For Me’ all lend themselves well to an excellent historical reconstruction of another musical era. A slick production, the big guitar sound has all the right festival twang and shriek to it. “We want to make pop music cool again,” goes their manifesto, so it’s up to you whether to take that as a gesture of optimism or a snide dig.
The Quaint more like. In terms of the musical canon, ‘Jane Falls Down’ is the returning echo of John Lydon’s call to burn down tinsel-town, distorted so that it’s no longer interested in anything more political than it’s own shiny lipstick and glassy stare.
An gcreidféa? A collaborative performance of the Japanese Tonkori (a six-stringed instrument) and Kíla’s hugely popular ‘Tóg É Go Bog É'. The single follows the band’s recent sell-out performance with Ainu musician, Oki, and this groovy, ornate version of ‘Tóg É Go Bog É' shows just how well the two traditional disiplines work together.
If, like me, you like your folk on the maudlin side of existential inquiry, then this EP should serve many an evening of melodic introspection. New York Sessions deals in simple, beautiful and declarative songs, stripped of artifice, such as ‘Stay The Night’, which is accompanied by a violin that lends itself to the track’s minimalism. In ‘Fabulous People’, Flynn considers the artificial construct of the world of the glitterati, and the isolation felt from without. This, and more highly-wrought vignettes of the emotional entanglements of which he tries to make sense. Pull up a chair, lovers and losers.
Given that Jaded Sun are a Dublin group with an average age of 24, their resemblance to Led Zeppelin et al is noteworthy, since that bottle-of-whiskey-and-40-fags-a-day vocal ain’t so easy to emulate. Certainly, their technique and execution are above reproach, and Jaded Sun’s indefatigable energy and ebullience impose on the listener. But it’s still a bloody-minded snub of the zeitgeist, and whether there’s really a need for an Irish Whitesnake remains to be seen.
Johnathan Rice has had album tracks co-opted for The OC, Six Feet Under and Smallville, but don’t hold that against him, as he is soon to redeem himself in his role as Roy Orbison in the new Johnny Cash biopic Walk The Line. Playing the bespectacled crooner should find Rice playing a different tune from his irretrievably noughties, albeit inoffensive, puppy-dog pop.
“Without struggle there is no progress,” declares the sleeve boldly. So by that I infer that the struggle engaged in by Ms Dynamite to develop this track amounts to an argument over a cheese sandwich. Sounding remarkably like her debut hit, ‘Judgement Day’ is by turns catchy and certainly the agit-prop theme is well-meaning, but mawkish references to “babies dying of AIDs” in the hands of a young popstar are always going to fall short.
Currently beating a path through the country selling their wares, The Revs’ latest is a concoction of lead singer Gallagher’s rough sweetness and the rest of the crew’s increasingly matured musicianship. Great strides for the Donegal lads.
Produced by Ben Hillier of Doves and Blur fame, Dave Gahan says, “It’s better being in Depeche Mode now than it has been for 15 years”. If that’s the case, then why set the new material in a 15-year-old atmosphere with that same old bassline? Quintessential Depeche Mode it is, but we’ll keep an ear out for the rest of the album.
The Galway rockers and sometimes Shooting Gallery letter correspondants offer a Latina love-interest and the surprisingly upbeat cast-off lover. Those who enjoyed their recent gold-selling album will agree this is vintage Walls doing what they do best.
By way of Athlone-based Kim Lightholder’s soulful vocals and husband Sean’s elegiac lyrics, ‘Departure’ is a haunting yet economic account of frustration. The song’s muted humanity gently imposes itself on the listener, hinting at a failed affair, regret and renewal. A beautifully written and elegantly performed heart-rending treat.
Get your freak on to the second single from the forthcoming Witching Hour. Poptastic retrograde female vocals evocative of, good lord! The Pet Shop Boys. Content-wise we’re dealing with a similar kind of lyrical verse. On the right side of trashy fun, but just lacking in that mincing lasciviousness for which you could rely on Neil Tennant.
Proof that Irish rock is in rude good health, Evil Harrisons boast slick metal riffs and vocals reminiscent of Josh Homme on this track, but who cares? That home-grown intrinsically Irish romantic title does all the donkey work. Of course it vies for attention with the B-side’s “Quit raising my Cane!”
An interesting take on the love triangle theme wherein the protagonist endevours to convey that in wasting his time with the object of this song she can look forward to being his dirty little secret. And like the song’s altogether too cheerful sing-along meat-and-two-veg riffs and somehow inappropriately enjoyable lyrics, the result is imbued with the feeling of delicious tension the moment before the guy will fall between two stools.
Damo wants to be held in the third single from his number one Shots album. I say do what the man says; he’s massive. Certainly worth a listen for evidence of Dempsey’s more pared-down songwriting skills which strike an appropriately romantic chord.
The Go! Team re-release their fantastic Thunder Lightning Strike, the pot-boiler album of the year, later this month. Worth it for the impudent harmonica alone, it is as good as you’ve been told, so make like the Nice treaty and give in to it, because you know they’re just going to keep putting it out there it ‘til we do.
Those of us who always suspected Bell X1 of the denatured blandness that typified the genre they skirt will find in ‘Bigger Than Me’ a large, layered soft pop track that is cheerfully mordant, with more than a hint of Liam O’Maonlai. In ‘Still Selling Shoes’ we get neatly itemised observations of the mundane roles enjoyed by now legendary or indeed notorious Irish performers. Not many would shoehorn (ahem) Rory Gallagher and Ronan Keating into a song, and fewer still could make it work.
In anticipation of their forthcoming Short Stories album, ‘I Spy’s casual rhythms and Carol Keogh’s Kate Bush-meets-Tanya Donnelly vocals culminate in a cheerful love song that wouldn’t be so out of place at a barbeque.
Dynamic, combustible New Wave meets 70s rock anyone? You can’t budge for the youthful elasticity of widdly-widdly guitars and organ solos here, and the five Derry characters peddling this racket are well versed in the art of the smash-and-dash introductory signature tune. I defy you not to sing along by the second chorus.
Pic: Andrew Duffy
Having travelled throughout France in the past year, Ruth Dillon has been boosting her profile, performing with Irish musicians in what was billed a “Celtic show”. Being out of your context like that can reinforce the trappings and characteristics of a musical legacy you mightn’t otherwise adhere to so religiously, because it frankly isn’t terribly interesting in its country of origin.
After three years of red tape, Métisse are at last in a position to offer a follow-up to the critical and commercial hit that was My Fault. It is, as you’d expect, charming and intimate – almost to the point that the listener feels intrusive, and as before, the job description is Nightmares On Wax in aspect, loungy French (Côte d’Ivoire) schmooze in application.
Olly Knights and Gale Paridjanian decided two years ago that the laidback slo-fi sound for which they had won our acclaim (at the height of our love affair with folky acoustica) had become restrictive, and so Ether Song was to be their harder-edged departure. With their latest, Jack In The Box, we have a mélange of those good intentions and the usual wavering West Coast falsettos.
Pavement fans and Jicks admirers might as well stifle that shriek of delight at the release of the latest tome from Stephen Malkmus, which is a bewildering exercise in uneven prog riffing and sprawling lyrical nonsense.
‘Pencil Rot’, like ‘Kindling For The Master’, opens promisingly enough with some interesting twangy Space Invaders style pings, but like most of the album, plays out like a good idea that wasn’t quite thought out to a fulfilling conclusion.
The much anticipated project from ex-Cranberry Noel Hogan is as far from old-school Irish guitar rock as possible. After a subtle intro reminiscent of a Sea Change-era Beck, the first thing to strike the listener is that Richard Walters’ vocals are devastating, especially coupled with the dynamics of the tune, going from frail and introspective to full-on epic self-possessed heart-twisting melancholia.
Not content with just thrashing Offaly in the hurling, Carlow now turns its attention to music, and on the basis of this this offering, First Cuts pick of the fortnight The LeMons, are a stellar outfit.
It’s a relief to acknowledge the return of the electric guitar in the brooding and introspective 'Love Believes Us When We Lie', and the ‘90s Nirvana riffs and enigmatic Ferghal McKee lyrics are a great burst of school-disco sentimentality.
At a push, you’d emphasise a Whipping Boy/Jesus And Mary Chain flavour. We’re not quite in Kilkenny territory yet, but The LeMons are definitely potential champions.
If you're feeling crestfallen at what appears to be an about-face from the boys upon whom you always depended for real selfish miserable laments, hold that thought.
While occasionally the whinging minstrel on his platform in Whelan’s will persuade you that he honestly is fed up, it must be noted in the case of 'Hey Man' that it takes a really miserable bastard to sing a cheerful song about sitting on freshly cut grass and making love with beautiful girls to still make your immortal soul shiver.
Pleasant random electronica weirdness from Why?, whose distinctly American vocals are occasionally irritating (just like some of this country’s most successful outfits, in all fairness), but who’s synthetic, layered and mostly uncontrived style can be good fun all the same. Tunes like ‘Mutant John’ are a bit too Blink 182 playing Tripping Daisy for propriety, but kudos for the linguistic adventurousness in constructions like “melancolosity”.
The new single by Manchester’s latest indie guitar band featuring legendary ex-Smiths rhythm section Andy Rourke and Mike Joyce thankfully sounds nothing like a cheap Smiths tribute band, although thematically speaking, titles like Kiss Me, I’m A Social Worker weren’t licked from the stones. On first encounter 'Two Fat Lovers' is charmingly glib in content but the tune just doesn't take.
‘Dead And Gone’ is, unsurprisingly, a haunting acoustic tune with whispery ghostly vocals that deals with that peculiarly Irish trait of complimenting someone once they’re dead and hardly ever otherwise. Mulvihill’s apprenticeship with The4OfUs, John Spillane, Luka Bloom and Aslan (Christy Dignam lends backing vocals here to great effect) has clearly paid off, as many of his self-penned compositions are accompanied by Irish musical icons. Not bad, considering he’s just 23 years old. Expect it to appeal to the older Celtic nostalgia crowd.
The former Lír man here goes it alone with ‘Amber & Green’. Sounding like Damien Rice in theme and vocal delivery, Hopkins elects to use more instruments, (including Wurlitzer and mellotron flute on ‘Paranoia Song’), so the overall effect makes it stand apart from the trite stripped-down-acoustic-guitar schtick. Take it that it’s another step up on that evolutionary ladder; intelligent, intimate and intoxicating, close your eyes and you might be in Doyle’s.
Well-meant and delicately-treated charidee single ahoy. ‘Sea Of Heartbreak’ is Don Baker’s contribution to the tsunami appeal. All proceeds from the sale of the single will go towards raising more funds, so if you fancy some atmospheric and moving blues, sung by a man who really means it, and want to feel righteous in the process, then you could do a lot worse that parting with a couple of quid.
The Urges are a Dublin outfit who style themselves on '60s Britpop. While they are technically faithful to the genre, 'Around & Around Again' in essence sounds like The Beatles, The Kinks, The Coral and The Hives arguing over the guitar not being twangy enough and sticking knitting needles into the amp.
Newly appointed to IMRO, Steve Wall is never too busy to hang out in the Loire Valley with the boys and turn out more of that early-‘90s rock that we’re all so fond of. The first track from the new album, due late next month, is a 2005 ‘Bright And Shining Sun’: no frills, earnest, friendly stuff that the fans will love. Some of us still remember when they were playing off the back of a truck in Ballinrobe.
Gentle whispery vocals a la Badly Drawn Boy are the smooth chocolatey centre of this lovely airy-fairy song with some beguiling trumpets and oh-so-soft guitar. The “bah bah bah dah” lyrics will appeal to the Wannadies fans and smiley people hanging out in parks. So don’t listen to it while you’re burning dinner or reading Kevin Myers.
The inimitable Angie Stone arrived in pomp and bluster, along with her seven-member band, with various musical tasks fluidly exchanged between drummer, guitar-players and the classic soul triumvirate of Angie and her two Pips. The Gladys comparison is more than fair; indeed Stone draws on the pantheon of great soul artists like Aretha and Marvin to create her own brand of slick R‘n’B.
We all know what to expect of the bittersweet folksy blues pursuit; love, like anything else subject to our cruel whim, is to be drawn out and rewrought in a mimetic frenzy of acoustic guitar, plaintive vocals and tear-jerking harmonies. In a Fiona Apple kind of way, the dulcet Buckley is another lady who’s mistaken a paper bag for a dove.
Spilllane’s trademark sweetly elegant delivery ensures the album doesn’t take itself too seriously, and for all their gloominess, these tracks exhibit Spillane’s remarkably prolific output of gorgeous, peaceful tunes.
Dunne plays with the pleasant rhetoric of American oldboys like Neil Young, and Twenty Twenty Fiction, in spite of its repetitive musical style, is a strong album, albeit a grower.
Music Review | Live
8 Mar 2005
Lisa Coen
Considering that you’d pay a small fortune to see a better-known outfit yawning through the usual stuff that they take for granted will entertain us, Garageland gigs are a bargain for your &euro:8. Tonight’s unsigned acts were on their toes and eager to impress the partisan crowd, so from the beginning that guaranteed a great atmosphere.
A highly entertaining band, from their fantasy-novel tackfest cover to the shamelessly swirly typeface on the back, the Worlds Apart album sleeve is an impishly over-designed comic-book of a thing.
More than another group of wannabes hoofing together the latest trendy noise, Bloc Party are a ridiculously sophisticated outfit and Silent Alarm is a most gratifying piece of aural amusement.
He loves Natasha Bedingfield and Charlotte Hatherley, but has no time for Franz Ferdinand, Donnie Darko and hammock-sized bras. Lisa Coen wakes Ian McCulloch from his slumbers and finds the Echo & The Bunnymen legend in wonderfully morose form.
Mundy belted into his routine with gusto – a considerably better effort than his Vicar St. performance at the beginning of the summer, where sound problems evoked tantrums and gnashing of teeth.
Music Review | Live
27 Sep 2004
Lisa Coen
For his second Irish gig in the last year, Matthew Sweet is clearly very comfortable and confident with Irish audiences – and why wouldn’t he be? They’ve been romancing each other for years.
Now bear with me for a moment. Norman Mailer wrote an essay in the ’50s entitled ‘The White Negro’, on the subject of white teenage boys (usually) who would endeavour to express their identity as disenfranchised working-class youth by adopting characteristics you might normally attribute to black culture.
The title of the album notwithstanding, Beenie’s sound is plenty sophisticated. Back To Basics is full of effective floor-fillers like ‘King Of The Dancehall’ or the Timbaland assisted ‘All Girls Party’.
The Darkness couldn’t take the place of the Thin White Duke in our hearts, but they truly are an irresistible force of glam-rock delight. Music geniuses or not, the camera sweeping through the crowd showed that, at this stage, we were only capable of pointing open-mouthed and all we wanted were simple gestures of sensory pleasure. The jumpsuit is half the battle.
Christy Moore declared “some of the finest songs I know are American, as are some of the finest people”. He expressed resentment that his involvement in the gig should be seen as anti-American. Moore made his point in the very simple but effective gesture of playing mostly American-written songs, before introducing The Haliburtons from Texas, who delighted the crowd with their own songs of protes
Eminently marketable pair, Rodrigo and Gabriela, follow up their debut album Foc (it’s Catalonian for fire, not the other thing) with a very enjoyable live album set in Manchester and Dublin
I don’t know if this is just an anomaly, or a catchy hook of evil genius proportions, but after a few listens I declared I hated it, couldn’t stand no more, had another listen and found it had grown on me. Bewildering.
This Is The Tomb of The Juice is Michael Pyro & co.’s first album, and it’s a ballsy, gritty collection of songs, the kind of record that announces the summer, oscillating between aggressive Alabama 3 rantings and über-cool James Brown blues funk.
Along with the voice, Fox has the attitude and substance to pull off a certain element of repetition in Messy. However she doesn’t quite dodge the usual pitfall of the genre, and has a tendency to lapse into Ali-G style faux-ghetto posturing.
I thought I was doomed to a night of generic college guitar bands trying to be the next Frames, but was instead treated to well-written and strongly performed music.
After the cult success of their first album, Bows And Arrows is the next offering from The Walkmen, the New York outfit formed from the vestiges of Jonathan Fire* Eater and The Recoys.
