It’s not the end of the road, just a pit stop. Ireland’s foremost trad warriors Kila have pushed their big red wagon up the hill for the last decade and a half, but a spontaneous outbreak of procreation among the seven-piece (all bar Colm O Snodaigh have sired offspring) has put a momentary stop to their gallop. The ensemble’s new album, the rollicking Live In Dublin, serves dual purposes as a summation of the band’s live prowess while buying them time to get the spiritual as well as fiscal auditors in.

So, as we join Ronan and Colm O Snodaigh in Dublin’s Central Hotel, they’re in a gone-to-ground state of mind. While the babies are being weaned, they’ve opted to plunge all energies into recording, with ideas for as many as three albums being kicked around. That is, as soon as they can sort out the financing.
“Even if Guinness put a stamp on the record,” Ronan quips. “Just fuckin’ record it.”
Last year’s Luna Park album represented the zenith of Kila’s studio output, but the hard slog around the gig circuits of four continents has taught them that Boxer’s maxim will only get you so far. So what lessons have they learned?
Colm: “Don’t tour for lengths longer than three weeks!”
Why not?
“People’s relationships,” Ronan explains. “If you’re four weeks into a tour and one of the band members is going down because their relationship’s sprung a leak … he’s fucked. And that means everyone’s gonna get dragged down. If you keep touring, you’re flying, your bubble gets stronger, and I dunno after what length it runs out, maybe a year or something, but you come back and every relationship with everyone in your country is fucked. You can get carried away. I can get carried away. I haven’t fully grown up or adapted.”
Such is the agony and the ecstasy of the long distance player. In 15 years of shows, what was Kila’s most euphoric gig?
“I got really giggly high at a gig in Australia,” Ronan recalls. “Now there was a bit of doobage involved, but it was after the gig, I really got off on the session, I just started flapping my arms and running around. Felt like I was about to lift off. Bullet proof!”
Colm: “Japan. The difference between Japan and America was startling. We’ve people out there working with us who are enthusiastic, knowledgeable, risk takers. Amazing.”
And the worst?
“I suppose what’s been really frustrating is going over to the States for the last few years. Lovely people, well received, well organised, well attended, selling CDs, but for some reason a lot of the time we’re coming home cold.”
“The last gig we did in Milwaukee was in an old Irish centre,” adds Ronan. “60 year olds, an old granny’s set-up. We spend a life avoiding the cliché circuits and we get landed in one on our last date. There was a student thing just down the road, having a ball, we could’ve been playing to them, having a whale of a time, and they stick us in this old biddy centre. It’s not something you’re proud to talk about. You do your gig and get the fuck out of there.”
Certainly, Kila belong in more exalted circles. One wonders where Scorsese’s head was at when he was scouting tribal Irish sounds for Gangs. And given the Asian connections, they really should be scoring the latest slew of sky-walking martial arts epics.
“We’ve had a bombardment of kids this year,” Ronan considers, “so we just decided to get off the road and let everyone take stock. Switch off the engines and see do we actually float or is this ship full of holes and is it gonna hit the bottom. We’ve been out grinding it too long. We’re daft, we’ve got the best music you could have, the best selections of musicians we could ask for, and we’re not making half as much of it as we should be, and it’s all down to PR, connections, all of that kind of thing. Next year’s gonna be a big learning curve for us. We have to use our heads. Just get smart. Let’s see does this band actually exist in the world.”

Live In Dublin is out now on Kila Records, distributed by RMG