Listening to the new album from Róisín Murphy makes me realise just how much I miss clubs. This really is a record made with the club business in mind, body and soul.
There are basslines and bows and bops and bumps and bounces here which really need to be experienced through the thump and twirl of a top of the game sound system. It needs to be played to a room of giddy groovers moving and gliding on a dancefloor with some semblance of panache.
"This record is another one of those times when Murphy of Arklow has got all her disco ducks in a row"
It's made to soundtrack those mischevious moments when you know - just know - that everything and nothing makes sense at the exact same time.
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There are tracks on Róisín Machine which remind me of what it was like to put on a killer track when you were DJing in a club. Nothing beats watching a crowd dance and dander to a well chosen and rightly primed boom tune. It’s the emotional flipside to those times you’d play something you thought was boss and everyone would head off to the bar or smoking section and wonder when the next DJ was coming on.
This record is another one of those times when Murphy of Arklow has got all her disco ducks in a row. Over the last few decades, she’s turned into an artist who produces always fascinating fare - and usually talks a splendid game to boot - but she’s never quite got to hang around to have a proper go at the dessert trolley at the end of it all. Others have soared higher with far less substantial material, which makes you wonder what the heck is the problem.
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There’s no possibility of such issues with Róisín Machine, pop music for any golden age you care to list. There’s a "sure look" factor in that Murphy has produced an album which glitters like a mirrorball at a time when those contraptions are not moving at all, but that’s the only kink in the fabric. Play it loud. And the 11 likely media lads and lasses I’m about to conscript to pick the Choice Music Prize shortlist for this year of fecking years had better do the right thing.