First Birthday All-Dayer

Keeping us cheery as we head winter-wards, Dublin’s finest new venue provides a real reason to celebrate. One year since the Workman’s Club opened its doors and the 12 months have swept by. Time flies when you’re having fun, and the Workman’s has provided that in spades, putting on gig after gig of quality Irish music. They just keep on giving.
And so it was that the week-long celebrations culminated with a free all-dayer of Irish acts. No massive names, but each hand-picked, ensuring that the final birthday bash captured the true spirit of the place – a platform for upcoming, homegrown artists that highlights how fertile a scene we have.
We begin with Hellfire Club, Darren Hardiman’s current solo acoustic venture. Hardiman’s been around longer than most on the bill, and he’s spent the past half-decade wisely, accumulating a rake of songs rich in quality. Known for the post-punk of Andalusia and Autoban, here he stands alone with a guitar. It’s a testament to his presence, the power of his sand-paper vocals and the sweet melody lines he casually throws out that he’s not lost on stage. He fills the room as it fills with people. A cover of ‘The Killing Moon’ captures the brooding intensity of the Bunnymen, but the real stand-out must be ‘Cois Farraige’, which carries a peach of a chorus that’s still swimming around this writer’s head.
One gives way to two, and electronic duo White Collar Boy take to the stage. Unpolished and yet oft sublime, the pair pride themselves on carefully arranged, synthy soundscapes. They also don’t mind mixing things up, placing tasty, riff-driven numbers alongside more sedate, dreamlike fare. You find the warehouse, White Collar Boy will bring the rave. Setting aside the fact that one of them resembles Danny O’Donoghue’s kid brother, there is a slight absence of onstage action. With the between-song mumbling and prominent iMacs, it’s like peering into an IT office. Still, the music is what matters. We’ve had battered acoustics, we’ve had Apple products, it’s clearly time for some electric six-strings.
Overhead, The Albatross arrive in the nick of time. In thrall to post-rock and sonic experimentation, they sound like a jam band that actually know where they are going. Plan A: whip the audience into a frenzy. Central to this is the crazy-haired screecher-cum-guitarist who takes the centre spot and vibrates around it, a ball of pure energy. Somewhere, Arcade Fire’s Richard Reed Parry is feeling upstaged. With a name pinched from a Pink Floyd lyric, Overhead, The Albatross aren’t scared of a little sonic astronomy, and could well give the stars on the Richter Collective’s roster a run for their money.
Each act is steadily raising the pitch and, with House Of Dolls, we hit the point of pure fever. Tight jeans, all the right moves and some raunchy psychedelia, this is a band that shows you a good time and leaves you feeling a touch dirty. It’s a racket. A mighty fine racket. From there, Ghost Estates have the job of keeping the party going. They take up House Of Dolls’ gauntlet and introduce a little pop. Skewed, sideways pop in a haunted hall of mirrors, of course, but catchy with it. Soothing, slightly melancholic, Ghost Estates simmer gently. A cool Monday morning might be creeping ever closer, and there are last buses to be caught, but the crowd don’t want to budge. The Workman’s Club sure knows how to keep the cockles warm.