I first interviewed Ian Lynch back in 2015. In the Library Bar of Dublin's Central Hotel - the much-missed bastion of journalists in search of a quiet bar for interviews.
We chatted about his band Lynched, and how their latest album Cold Old Fire had been steadily making waves on the UK scene; they had recently had a glowing review in The Guardian and an appearance on Later… with Jools Holland had given them a significant profile boost.
I remember at one point of the conversation, Lisa O’Neill wandered in and briefly stopped to exchange pleasantries. Little did both musicians know that eight years on, they would both be on the same label (Rough Trade), hailed as visionaries of the contemporary Irish folk scene, and have released two of the best albums of 2023 so far.
O’Neill’s new album All of This is Chance is exceptional, and being signed to a label like Rough Trade means that her singular talent is finally being highlighted on a wider scale. She’s at the vanguard of a movement that has gathered steam in recent years, which includes the likes of Junior Brother, John Francis Flynn, Aoife Nessa Frances et al.
Lankum, though. Whew. What a band.
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The Dublin four-piece played three nights at Vicar Street last month, where Ian joked about their intention to open a wormhole to another dimension through the power of music. I think he was joking anyway, although by the end of the gig, I was wondering if they might have succeeded.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been at a gig where a) time passed so quickly, b) there was such a good vibe in the room and c) it felt like something genuinely special was being created. Lynch and his bandmates (Daragh Lynch, Radie Peat and Cormac Mac Diarmada) are so tight, so well-rehearsed and so simpatico with each other that it’s simply a joy to experience, especially live.
Catch them live, if you can, and be prepared to be transported to another world.
There’s a fluidity to their playing and singing (those harmonies!) that you don’t often hear in music. They’ve also clearly transcended the whole ‘folk’ thing; at Vicar Street, there were multiple generations in attendance; twentysomething hipsters rubbed shoulders with stoney-faced musos, beardy folk purists and a scattering of Mas and Das. At one point, I watched a middle-aged man dance like he was at a rave, arms aloft, completely lost in the music.
Trad and folk was not something that I grew up listening to, and there have been times where the sheer range and volume of the genre felt intimidating - but Lankum create a pathway into the tradition without having to dumb it down. They twist and bend the songs to fit their own framework.
I grew up knowing The Wild Rover as a bawdy drinking song, a comedy Irish track beloved of Americans and reserved for singalongs in Temple Bar tourist traps. Up the road in Vicar Street on a Tuesday night, Lankum’s version provided a mournful, haunting counterpoint to the shtick. Rocky Road to Dublin was a similar revelation, while Lord Abore and Mary Flynn, sung beautifully by Mac Diarmada with harmonies by Peat, is one of the most affecting performances I’ve seen all year.
There has been a lot of hyperbole over the last few years about Lankum, most of which has been (somewhat embarrassingly) laughed off by the band themselves. One indisputable fact, however, is that even if they decided to call it a day tomorrow, their catalogue will be digested and enjoyed for decades to come. The scary thing is that it feels like they haven’t even hit their peak yet.
Catch them live, if you can, and be prepared to be transported to another world: you can never underestimate the cosmic power of the tin whistle, after all.
False Lankum is out now. Lankum will perform at the All Together Now festival in Waterford, running August 4-6, 2023 - find out more here.
