“Nine to five has eaten us alive,” rues Stefan Murphy in his anthemic riposte to the daily grind, ‘Downtown’. Spector-like in its grandeur, replete with Arcade Fire-esque harmonies, this sweeping composition is a compelling opener.
100 Midnights is the second confection from the Dubliner, which follows on from the lauded Sins Of Sainte Catherine. It’s a dramatic collection of multigenre songs, impressively arranged and luxuriantly crafted.
From the country swagger of ‘Sunshine Serenade’ to the Klezmer stylings of ‘I Swear I Have No Feeling For That Girl’ via the hearty sea shanty ‘Nelligan’s Guts’, each is moulded with the versatility of a learned composer.
Elsewhere more wistful territory is explored in ‘Russian Roulette’ with its melancholic canter, downbeat vocals and sombre harmonies.
A variety of influences are also alluded to; ‘Golden Gloves’ brings to mind a ’50s rockabilly prototype Nick Cave, with its swinging melody and gritty vocals, and the title track conjures the ghost of Jacques Brel with its playful accordion and waltz-like time signature.
Lyrical prowess shines in the first of two duets ‘Safe At Home’, which deals with a troubled mother-son relationship. Their difficulties are also mirrored in the incongruous vocal styles, Cait O’Riordain’s sweet tender pleas contrasting sharply with Murphy’s terse, powerful retorts.
The second, a heartfelt reworking of ‘Waiting Around To Die’, featuring an in-form Shane MacGowan, is a tribute to the genius of its author, Townes Van Zandt.
There’s a fearlessness on 100 Midnights, both in the vocal delivery and the territory explored. It’s testament to the skill of the songwriter that so many different styles can be incorporated yet a sense of cohesion still be maintained.
The closing ‘A Pretend Sailor’s Goodbye’ is a delightfully quirky, sentimental ditty with a rousing singalong chorus and a smattering of handclaps for good measure – a perfect ending.

Key Track: ‘Downtown’