The inescapable fact remains…while The Chalets are very much at home within the bosom of the Dublin music scene, had they been residing in London, New York or Detroit, they would be bleedin’ huge by now. With their ickle-cutesy delivery and hyper-catchy, sassy tunes, they embody the better qualities of other English rock tabloid darlings. Very few bands can mix supreme confidence and knockout style into a set of original, effervescent tunes, and with all those ingredients already in the pot, it seems that The Chalets are set for greatness.
However, an opening act should never wrap up their set with the words: “Enjoy Holly Golightly…if they show up…”. It seems that while The Chalets are onstage, Holly is still in transit from the UK, resulting in a feverish midnight dash from front door to stage – all in all, a much less stylish and impacting entrance than presumably she would have liked. Ever the professional, she launches straight into her set without much ado. Sadly, it’s hardly worth the wait. Granted, it is somewhat refreshing to watch a sassy and sexy broad tackle the genre of blues/country rock/rockabilly head on, yet at the end of the day, her songs, riffs and lyrics are so tried-and-tested, her delivery so lacklustre, that not even an intriguing past, alluring name, or affiliation with Jack White can manage to revive them.
At the risk of irking half of Dublin’s muso population, I’d venture to say that Holly seems to have fallen foul of Emperor’s New Clothes Syndrome. She may have already cemented her reputation as some kind of beloved indie queen, but stylistically, her music seems a little too close to unspectacular Middle American blues bar music. Ultimately she seems to have landed on her feet where, had the planets shifted in other directions, things could have been very different…