Fontaines DC - Dogrel (PARTISAN) Review

12.4.19
Fontaines DC - Dogrel (PARTISAN)

9.5/10

This much-vaunted Dublin five-piece follow a series of increasingly successful 7” releases and acclaimed support slots with the likes of Shame and Idles, with Dogrel, named for the “lowest” form of working class Irish poetry, and a debut to die for.

Attempting to evade hyperbole here, inevitably failing, it’s a record that stands shoulder to shoulder with The Smiths debut from ‘84, Suede’s self-titled opening shot in ’92 or perhaps, if you’re willing, that decent Stone Roses one from ’89. Bear with us. It’s that good. 

Bursting into life with “Big” and its crazily ambitious, entirely achievable chorus “My childhood was small / But I’m gonna be big” this is a one and a half minute explosion of everything that can be great about guitar music - bags of attitude, lashings of lyricism (“Dublin in the rain is mine / A pregnant city with a Catholic mind”), a furious, insistent, addictive chorus, a singer in Grian Chatten whose delivery feels instantly iconic - the loping vowels of his accent ringing clear and true with every utterance.

The clear comparisons to artists from the ‘80s and ‘90s are unavoidable here - on “Sha Sha Sha”, a rock n’ roll tune warped out of shape with surrealist imagery and driving repetition combined with sly shifts and musical manoeuvres, you can hear The Fall; in the unbridled minor key heartache of “Roy’s Tune” you can practically hear Morrissey and Marr scratching away in a dank Manchester bedroom. Yet on every song, with every evocation of a legend, they offer something entirely fresh; a new twist on an old form.

They sing often of the ever-changing Dublin - a city that courses through the translucent veins of every tune here; “The Lotts”,  a sad, Cure-like number, atmospheric and angst-filled, taking its title from a local bar; “Liberty Belle,” an irresistible retro rocker that saunters and struts as confidently as anything tossed out by the early 2000’s NY scene, again named for an historic neighbourhood watering hole, opening with the glorious, casual line “You know I love that violence that you get around here, that kind of ready, steady violence.”

On “Television Screen” (which shares its title with the first ever Irish punk single) we’re treated to a sublime bass line from Conor Degan which lifts a stunningly evocative post-punk tune to the heavens, sending genuine chills down the spine. It’s not possible to express too vehemently just how perfectly this band capture modern mournfulness through a filter of classic, yet reimagined, rock tropes.

What’s perhaps most remarkable about this debut is the assurance with which it’s delivered - they make it seem so damn easy. Tossing out dead-cert floor-fillers like “Too Real” with aplomb, and filling it with lines like “None can revolution lead with selfish needs aside” suddenly sounds like the most natural thing in the world; the raucous ramrod of “Chequeless Reckless” rocks like crack yet plays home to precocious, brilliant lines like “Charisma is exquisite manipulation / And money is the sandpit of the soul.” It’s unsurprising that the band members first met at a poetry class.

Evoking Joyce and, yes, of course, Shane Magowan, closing song “Dublin City Sky” is a built-in, encore-closing, arena-filling singalong in the finest off-kilter folk tradition; Impossibly poetic lines like “She threw her shoes into a bag and danced just like a dream / Her face was rubied up like no sun I’d ever seen” and “The January markets filled the cold air with the sound / The boys all full of laughter and their pocket with the pound / And in the foggy dew I saw you throwing shapes around” flow like wine, and your cup will indeed runneth over.

This is the sound of vitality; of authenticity and ambition; of style, substance and swagger all packed in to 35 minutes of vulnerable, honest pop music that is weighted with melancholy, yet buoyed by youthful vigour and touched, perhaps, by genius.


Michael James Hall
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Protomartyr - Consolation EP (2018) Review for Under The Radar

22.1.19
http://www.undertheradarmag.com/reviews/protomartyr_consolation_e.p/

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Sharon Van Etten - Remind Me Tomorrow (2018) Review for Under The Radar

22.1.19
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Tiger

9.1.19

She woke up in the middle of the night and swung her legs out of the bed, planting her feet on the carpet.
“I’ve got something to tell you.”
Ray slept on, a feint whirring sound emanating from her nose.
“Are you awake?”
The whirring continued.
“Remember when we lived in Barr’s Grove? Was beautiful there. We were drinking a lot at the time though. Fun drinking though. It hadn’t gone wrong yet.

Normally we’d get the train in together but that day you had gone to work and left me with Tiger. I don’t recall why. I think I had the week off? We slept late. She pawed me awake for her food. I remember it was a glorious morning - sun pouring through the crack in the curtains. Coffee on, radio on. I was smiling despite my throbbing head and dry mouth.

I tapped away at some emails, social media…but I could feel the day sort of drifting away. I jumped in the shower and put on some summer clothes. I walked into the village. 

That’s when I saw him. A wave of…it’s so hard to describe…but it was certainly a wave. I could have fallen over it was so strong. Nostalgia combined with..disgust? Anger? Frustration? 

He looked older, of course, heavier, bearded, but still with the fashion sense of a 16-year old boy. He looked ridiculous. I watched him walk in and out of shops, perusing the aisles, buying nothing. Just a looker. He fiddled with things, pawed them. But didn’t take them away with him.

Again, I couldn't understand my intentions but I began to follow him. He stopped off at the Drovers and ordered a pint. I sat and watched him while he sat in the garden, smoking, drinking and playing with his phone like a kid. I was glad he was alone. I wasn’t alone. I had you. He looked like he didn’t have anyone. That eased the stabbing pain in my chest.

He drank more. I got into a routine of waiting for him to order and return to the garden, then going up to the bar myself and ordering the same drink, taking it back to my table and finishing up just as he approached the bar once more.

This went on for a couple of hours, several drinks. My feelings became wilder, more pointedly vicious. I watched him and I hated him. I hated how he had treated me and I hated how he had treated everyone after me and everyone before me and how he would treat every woman who crossed his path in the years to come. Another 40+ years of him? Who needs that.

My empty stomach churned with beer. My head was spinning, thick, red with fury.

Late in the afternoon he got up to leave and I followed. I was ready to say something to him. To ask him about that night. To find out what he thought of himself. Had he forgiven himself? He shouldn’t.

I caught up to him at the main road crossing at the top of the village. It was rush hour now and the pavements were packed. 

He paused at the crossing as traffic sped past. 

I stood behind him.

He was unsteady. 

I gave him the smallest, most tentative nudge.

He fell forward, a man reached out his arm to steady him but it was too late.

I turned back around and walked quickly, drunkenly away as he went under the wheels.

I went back to the bar and drank, walked around some more, my mind empty, swirling.

You came home to find me passed out on the sofa, Tiger crouched on my side, purring.

You woke me with a kiss and an offer of a cold beer. We had a lovely, loving night. Remember those?

Anyway. I’m tired now. I just thought it was something you should know.”


Ray’s whirring continued, her eyes wide open and wet in the darkness.

Michael James Hall, January 9th, 2019.

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Late Night Movie (NSFW)

8.1.19

When they left the room, exhausted, I felt your eyes dart back and forth between me and the television. I don’t remember what was playing. An old movie, no doubt. One of yours, no doubt.
The sofa seemed too large somehow. Each of us at either end, a whole gulf of cushion separating us.

You yawned and outstretched your arms.
“So…tired…but this is good”
You leant over and put your head in my lap, pulling down the blanket that lived across the back of the couch and wrapping yourself in it.

I breathed deep and tried to re-focus on the monochromatic shapes on the screen. My stomach flipped, heart raced and I started to feel a stirring. The potential for embarrassment was high…but the potential for something else seemed more and more real.

Aside from the dialogue we were motionless and soundless for minutes. A long, viscerally tense stretch.  We were vibrating, silently connected.

I stroked your hair. You made a contented sound. Cat-like and comfortable. More comfortable than I felt in that moment. It was all I could do to stop shaking as I got harder with each groan you allowed to escape from your lips.

You slid your hand up my thigh and in a swift but considered movement, unzipped me. You ran your hand across me, pulled me free of my jeans and without hesitation took me into your mouth. 

I stroked your hair as you licked me, outlining the shape of your body under that blanket with my hand. You moved slow and steady, quiet, allowing only noises that I could hear emerge from your nose and mouth. 

I reached for the remote control to switch off the distraction but fumbled but failed to find it. I closed my eyes.

When I came, you stayed, mouth tightly wrapped around me as I gripped your body awkwardly.

You remained right there until we both fell asleep and in the morning, when I woke, you’d wrapped me in that blanket and gone out to begin your day. 

The TV was on standby. 

You didn’t leave a note. 


Michael James Hall, January 7th, 2019
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