Speaking from Other Rooms Perlee (Greenbay/Backseat)
We’re not claiming that this is traditional or folk. “Sometimes people refer to us as folk or folk punk, but we’re not. Such categorisation, Ian Lynch of the band told The Irish Times, is inevitable but perhaps unnecessary.
As the subject matter – suicide, treachery, despair, failure – resides in watery graves, the music navigates a route between balladry (Newcastle, Lord Abore and Mary Flynn, On a Monday Morning), concertina-crash-ensemble (Master Crowley’s) and something it’s nigh on impossible, or perhaps unwise, to put your finger on (The Turn). It is, however, a milestone in that it takes those receptive to sonic altered states to a different, more delirious place. Lankum’s fourth album, bookended by the tracks Go Dig My Grave (eight minutes) and The Turn (13 minutes), is not, as Mojo’s reviewer grandiosely stated, the OK Computer or Dark Side of the Moon of traditional Irish music. All of This Is Chance Lisa O’Neill (Rough Trade) We pushed all the way through to the end and created a record that, hopefully, people can grow with.” “I think it’s important to many people out there. to stay forever in my skin.” It’s that kind of album – a start-to-finish listening experience that McGovern told The Irish Times at the start of this year was by no means a dying art form. Despite the searing sonic quality on display, optimism bubbles under the surface of the songs, not least on the closing acoustic track, Exist, wherein McGovern uncovers a curious kind of salvation: “This morning I took ownership. To say Gigi’s Recovery is a spiky reaction to their 2019 debut, When I Have Fears (a merciless statement on grief and loss), is an understatement.
“Is this our way to escape? Our way through the gates we built?” These questions are asked by The Murder Capital’s singer and songwriter, James McGovern, in Crying, one of a batch of songs on the band’s second album, which was shaped through the months of lockdown a couple of years ago.
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