THE IRISH ARE COMING

THE IRISH ARE COMING

(The Venue, London)

TWO NIGHTS when the best of Ireland’s newest wave – or some of ’em – came to London. The sense of anticipation was high with the gigs garnering the coveted Gig of the Week slot in Time Out, and in the end it proved to be a worthwhile and occasionally inspiring experience, of which Hot Press were proud to be a part.

Unfortunately, I missed Pet Lamb, whose brew of sharp melodies and aggressive hardcore would be a welcome start to any night. The word was that they were on form – and that they aroused considerable interest among the contingent of record company execs present.

Emperor Of Ice Cream deserve a Donnelly visa — Finbar Donnelly, that is — for their contribution to the art of quirky names. This Cork band have a singer, guitarist, bass player and half a drummer. “Our drummer’s fucked his hand today playing soccer,” the singer admits sorrowfully. “So we’re going to have to improvise a bit.”

They do it well, injecting sombre moods into what you could call indie-flavoured rock. The vocals are essayed with passion and sincerity and a touch of melancholy. Considering it was a last minute decision as to whether they’d be able to perform or not, they play a fine gig.

There are no half-measures with Blink. As singer/guitarist, Dermot Lambert, sings, “It’s all go/It’s all go”. The crowd think so too. First, two women, wrapped in luxurious embrace, cavort back and across the floor. Before long the crowd is most definitely up on their feet and into it. And Blink don’t let up. Their songs were made for dancing, with the bass exhibiting a particular groove factor, and the keyboards adding subtle but tremendously catchy flourishes.

Blink create a great mix of pop and dance, driven along by a high energy style and ample enthusiasm. Dermot Lambert is a star, because, simply, he has learned the art of communicating with the audience, of letting people know that he’s having a good time – and that he wants them to have one too.

But Blink don’t pander. If they have a formula then it’s very much their own. They’re willing to experiment, to stretch limits and twist unusual sounds into their songs. That they do this and still manage to keep the crowd dancing is quite an achievement.

Dance is very much top of the agenda for The Pale. Dance oriental, dance Tropicana, dance Arabic, dance world music or just dance dance, they have it all. With their exotic drum machine rhythms, their mandolin lead, their almost operatic harmonising, and Matthew Devereux’s exuberant and theatrical performance, The Pale are certainly unique.

They earn two encores, and if the reception here tonight is anything to go by, they are building a loyal and devoted following. (I saw quite a few singing along, word for word.) The future looks bright for their brand of . . . well . . . hard to define music. (Nothing wrong with that!)

Saturday night had a few less than positive omens hanging over it. Whipping Boy had pulled out at the last moment, and because a disco-type crowd come in around half eleven, the first band had to go on at eight o’clock, a tough task . . .

Once you get used to the fact that The Mary Janes have no drummer, and that the singer/acoustic guitarist sits on a stool, they have a lot to offer. Their rhythms are very fluid and much of the lead guitar work sparkles. The songs are given lots of space to build and spread out, while the singing has a passionate folk-tinged resonance to it.

After listening to The Revenants recently, a friend of mine remarked that they sounded like The Blades with a more American attitude. Certainly on the night, however, the quickly building crowd doesn’t really get into them. Or maybe they do, and simply didn’t show it. It’s probable that you need to listen to them a number of times before you decide either way. Because The Revenants music has a muted, subtle quality to it.

The Big Geraniums change the mood entirely. Their music has: ‘Have a good time!’ stamped all over it. Everything is happy-go-lucky and with a caravan of eight musicians — many of them dreadlocked — cavorting about the stage, they certainly are a visual treat.

You could link the Big Geraniums with the crusty/raggle taggle movement, but not quite. There were elements of ska and psychobilly in their rhythms, and at times they do straight-up dance. On occasion I was reminded of Dexys Midnight Runners, and now and then I thought I heard an accordion, even though there wasn’t one. They work bloody hard, and even though the crowd isn’t fully taken, there’s still quite a number dancing wildly about.

Finally, Engine Alley, a band who have the capacity to create seamless pop. The new model Engine is stripped-down. There’s no props and no make-up in evidence and it takes a while to get used to the less theatrical show. But I also get the feeling that the band and Canice, the singer, in particular, aren’t totally comfortable in their new roles. Previously your eyes were drawn compulsively to Canice’s flamboyant persona. Tonight his eyes seem averted.

There are moments when Engine Alley are firing on all cylinders, blasting out some pristine pop, but they still need to reach out and to entertain.

Which is ultimately what this weekend was all about – reaching out. Some bands did it really well and good will come of it. Mark my words . . .

• Gerry McGovern