SINEAD LOHAN AND DECLAN SINNOTT, NOMOS AND OPEN KITCHEN

SINEAD LOHAN AND DECLAN SINNOTT, NOMOS AND OPEN KITCHEN (featuring Hank Wedel) (Whelan’s, Dublin)

WITH THE intonation patterns all around rising to dangerously high altitudes it looked like a sinister takeover bid was underway, courtesy of the loyal punters of Cork’s Lobby. A curious collection of hippied students, bearded ’70’s refugees and unashamed groupies had hijacked a 50-seater and were intent on an invasion of Rommelian proportions.

Sinead Lohan bravely opened with a strong set of self-penned songs that hammocked her superb voice perfectly. Clean yet comfortably lived in, her vocal chords bespoke a fair acquaintance with more than one octave and confidently tackled some pretty fancy chord changes with the nonchalance of an unadorned natural talent.

Occasionally veering towards a Chapmanesque fixation on tragedy and loss (along with death, dreams and reality), Lohan still allowed us a peek at a nascent talent that should soon emerge on record in all its cosseted glory.

We were told to expect anything – and all manner of musical life was indeed there. Nomos delayed little in apprising us of that little gem of wisdom. They came rapidly hurtling past our eardrums as though on a mission from hell, mandolin and concertina flying in all directions, fiddle and bass racing toward a finale as though a Colt .45 was poised at their strings.

Fronted by an irritatingly smart-talking Gerry McGee on mandolin, stridency and mania seemed to be Nomos’ calling cards. John Spillane’s bass clumsily attempted to bring everything down but instead only managed to muddy the already muddy sound further. Their finest moment came by their agile (if a tad too quiet) bodhran player who saw to a nifty segueing of a nameless waltzing hornpipe into ‘The Tartan Frigate’ as business was drawing to a close.

After that it was almost a logical step into the Open Kitchen, where a 6-piece guitar wielding wild bunch bearing close affinities with the Allman Brothers and David Crosby, circa 1978, toiled reverently. With youngster Bobby Lee on lead guitar by far their strongest calling card they could’ve ripped the staid bodices off most of their Francis Rossi imitations. But instead they chose to dampen his buoyancy with an overkill in the axe department of Charles Manson proportions. Unsure of whether to follow a rock or folk vein they dithered between Don Henley-like plodding rhythms and a closet folkiness fresh from the Lindisfarne school of gentle breezes.

Open Kitchen – a mixum gatherum of the heavier handed side of ’70’s rock. Not quite a case of not being able to stand the heat, more one of not wanting to digest the reheated pots on offer.

• Siobhán Long