Ireland might be one of the world’s greatest surfing locations, but it has always lacked some of the simple pleasures that come with the territory. Chiefly among these is the music. Surf rock made a huge splash in 60s southern California with pioneers like Dick Dale and The Beach Boys ushering in a profoundly new sound. Their music is so infused with that time that it’s become almost impossible not to hear ‘Surfin’ USA’ when imagining surfer dudes and dudettes “riding the barrel”, so to speak. The Irish coast, on the other hand, is not the most inspiring place for…
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You could be forgiven for thinking that any and all modern articulations of “rock music” have become politically toothless. As a medium, it doesn’t quite seem as suited to critiques of society and culture as it once did. That being said, it seems Detroit four-piece Protomartyr would be inclined to disagree. Relatives In Descent, their fourth album, finds them wrestling with the nature and form of truth, spurred on by the vertiginous, collective sense of History swarming violently around the present. Having recently signed to UK Label Domino, the band retreated to L.A. in March of this year to record…
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It’s rarely a good sign when all of the singles on an album are placed at the start. It’s almost an admission to the listener that says ‘Look, this isn’t great but at least the first couple of tunes are alright and you can just switch it off after that’. The only issue here is that even the singles on offer aren’t particularly inspiring. Wolf Alice’s sophomore offering, Visions Of A Life seems to lose all of the effortlessness and vitality of its predecessor and is bland at its best; cringeworthy at its worst. If this isn’t the epitome of…
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Starter for ten: Is V merely an incredibly unimaginative title to mark The Horrors filth album, or is it a big fat fuck off to the establishment? Let’s presume for a minute that it’s a cleverly hidden version of the latter. After all, The Horrors themselves have promised a return to the dark shadows they once occupied, stating that they wanted to “get nasty”. Coincide this with the 10 year anniversary of debut Strange House, a happy-go-lucky melee of punk-rock, hairspray and garage–psych that seems like such a distant memory next to the commercial success of the much more danceable…
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In a recent interview to promote his debut solo album, Rostam Batmanglij told The New Yorker: “Many of the songs on Half-Light feel as though they could have become Vampire Weekend songs except that they go somewhere else entirely. My music is about identity. This album is about identity.” To a certain degree he wasn’t wrong. The majority of his solo endeavour could easily find a home on one of Vampire Weekend’s three albums. With regard to the musical identity presented in this record one can extensively hear sonic traits honed throughout his tenure with his former band. Naturally, similarities between…
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The Work, an intimate observational documentary from Jairus McLeary and Gethin Aldous, features the closest thing to real-life exorcisms you might ever see. In a grey cinder block room in California’s Folsom State Prison, a maximum security jailhouse made famous by Johnny Cash’s blues, small pockets of men sit on fold-up chairs, unspooling their deepest, most complicated feelings. One convict is desperate to let down his guard and mourn his sister. His group form a circle and coach him on breathing and posture, as he stands silent, tense, diving inside to retrieve the pain. Something rumbles up his chest and…
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You’re A Woman, I’m A Machine is fast approaching its thirteenth birthday. Released in October 2004, it was Death From Above 1979’s first, and for a long time only full length release. The duo of Sebastien Grainger and Jesse Keeler had made a name for themselves as snotty noise brats with an attitude, reflected in their statement when their label requested that they didn’t use the name of the then all-conquering dance punk imprint Death From Above. The statement began with “FUCK DFA RECORDS FUCK JAMES MURPHY WE DECLARE JIHAD ON THEM HOLY WAR ENDING IN THIER [sic] DEATH AND DISMEMBERMENT…”…
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There’s a sense of giddy anticipation in the air as Vicar Street fills up to the brim with die-hard fans and casuals alike. On the third night of Dublin’s inaugural podcast festival one of the biggest hitters in the world of podcasts is in town to debut a brand new chapter in the erotic adventures of Belinda Blumenthal. I am, of course, talking about My Dad Wrote a Porno, the smash hit comedy which has been downloaded over 50 million times and has been given the seal of approval by celebrity guests such as Elijah Wood and Michael Sheen. Jaime…
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Self-diagnosis can be a dangerous thing. I mean, who hasn’t convinced themselves they’re suffering from nail psoriasis, only to later discover that it’s actually just an unfortunate wad of sock fluff hiding underneath their toenail? If you rummage too far in the dark-yet-comfortable confines of WebMD with the blinkers on you’re more than likely going to misdiagnose yourself with something, ultimately doing more harm than good. One man who understands such risks is L.A based singer songwriter Moses Sumney, who, after weeks of diligent and tentative research correctly diagnosed himself with ADHD. More recently, he stumbled upon a new term…
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Every now and then you get hit with shocking realisations about local groups: some of them are actually brilliant. Not just in “ah for a bunch of lads from Fairview, they sure can write a tune” manner, but in a real proper sense. The North and South have produced a few of these: And So I Watch You From Afar, Hozier, Rubberbandits and Lisa Hannigan, to name a few. Given how exclusive of a club this really is though, it’s a marvellous joy to encounter them in the wild. Dublin’s Shrug Life is one of those groups. Bouncy, energetic Gang of…