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Written by Kinga Pelowska . Arts Correspondent . 04/02/26 It’s no secret that this island is home to many individuals of incredible talent. it must be all those Tayto sandwiches. Therefore, it’s no surprise that we’re starting the year with the whole world, myself included, falling in love with Ireland’s newest dynamic duo. Based on the best-selling novel by Maggie O’Farrell, Hamnet tells the story of   Shakespeare, not the world-famous playwright we know him as today, but as a son, a   husband, and a father. Jessie Buckley and Paul Mescal have captured our hearts and souls whilst bringing the story to the big screen.   Before Mescal started appearing on Irish and silver screens, he appeared on the Irish   stage. That is where I first encountered his ethereal talent. In 2019, I had the pleasure   of seeing Mescal at the Everyman, Cork, in a play based on the novel by Louise O’Neill,   A sking For It. The play centred around an Irish teenager and her journey after   experiencing a horrific act of violence, Mescal portraying the protagonist's older brother,   gave a layered performance of anger and concern for his younger sibling. Even back   then, Mescal had an aura of vulnerability around him that captivated the audience. Since then, with each role, his emotive range has reached a wider audience.   Throughout his career, Mescal has garnered somewhat of a reputation for playing a ‘sad   boy’ from his breakout role as Connell in BBC’s Normal People to the BAFTA-nominated   A ftersun .   Mescal has ensured to leave the audience traumatised after each role, in the   best sense possible. Hamnet was no exception, but every yin needs a yang and for   Mescal, that was Jessie Buckley.   Buckley is no novice to showbusiness having started out in 2008 on BBC’s talent show   I’ll do anything. Since then, Buckley has gone on to perform in award-winning shows   and films such as HBO’s Chernobyl and Sarah Polley’s Women Talking.   I   was first introduced to Buckley two years ago when I saw her star opposite Olivia   Coleman (another powerhouse woman) in Tiny Wicked Letters, and since then she has   stayed high on my radar. Unlike Mescal, there is nothing ‘sad’ about her. Her roles are   diverse and thought-provoking, very often portraying strong women who go against the grain. In real life, Buckley exudes charisma, charm, and energy, and when you hear her   speak in interviews, you just can’t help but laugh along. That is what has made this duo   so dynamic, there is a natural partnership and balance between the actors and this   connection radiated off the screen.   Before seeing the film, I made sure to read the book first. When it comes to films based   on novels, I am a strong believer in reading the book first. Reading the book allows me   to understand the story more and to get a greater insight into the author's vision before   seeing how the director and actors interpreted the story. Maggie O’Farrell took a   moment, a horrible moment, from Shakespeare’s life and turned it into a poignant and   heartbreaking story of loss and grief laced with the beauty of love and nature. In return, Chloe Zhao transported us to 16th century England, where the audience was   transfixed by the tranquillity of nature and the simplicity of country life. While promoting   the film, Buckley said on The Today Show that working on Hamnet was like “playing with   clay and dipping your hands into dirt” , and that is exactly how watching this film felt. I   was no longer sitting in a dark room surrounded by strangers munching on their   popcorn; I was in the woods, in Stratford-upon-Avon, surrounded by grand trees and the   sound of birds. Sadly, this warm feeling did not last. Having read the book, I knew what   the story was about, I knew the twists and turns and the ending. Yet, when the film's   climax approached, I was not prepared for the level of raw emotion that exuded from the   screen. Buckley’s performance was gut-wrenching. It was agonising to watch someone   else go through so much pain. I wanted to close my eyes or turn away to take even a   second of respite from the pain and grief, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t look away, even   though at this point my vision was blurred by tears. In comparison to Buckley’s   explosive performance, Mescal’s part can only be described as subdued, once again   illustrating the contrast between the characters and the actors. Illustrating how grief is   not a one-size-fits-all emotion and process. When the credits rolled, not a single person   moved. We were all glued to our seats, trying to process our collective experience.   As soon as I got into my car, a loud and guttural sob escaped me, something I didn’t   even know I was holding in. Even now, weeks after seeing the film, my mind goes back   to the characters and their experiences and the brilliance of it all and I am not the only one who has this opinion of the film. It is clear that Hollywood also recognises Chloe   Zhao’s artistry as the film is dominating this award season, with Buckley having already   won a Golden Globe for Best Actress and having been nominated for an Oscar and,   more recently, for a BAFTA.   There’s no doubt that the film will go on to become a modern classic. It’s a great   pleasure to see two such talented actors at the helm. Despite Hamnet’s success, both   Mescal and Buckley are not slowing down anytime soon. Mescal is currently in the   process of filming a four-part The Beatles biopic, which is set to release in April 2028.   Buckley’s next project, The Bride, is due for release in early March of this year.   But before we drop the curtain on Hamnet, make sure to check it out in cinemas now.

Written by Sophie Lee . Editor and Founder . 02/02/26 PHOTOGRAPHY by the wonderful Leanne Gabriel. Mirrors are the first band I sat down with as part of a new Emerging Creatives series, a space for open conversations with artists navigating the early stages of their creative careers.  Made up of Jodie Lyne, Joe Kelly, Fionán O’Riordan, Fionnán Sheehan, and Catriona Murphy, Mirrors are a rock band from Cork who have been steadily carving out their place on the Irish music scene. Speaking with Jodie, Fionnán, and Joe, it was clear that the band share a deep passion for music, paired with a refreshing honesty about the realities and hardships of pursuing it as a full-time endeavour. Mirrors started out playing house parties, and from there began to move into gigging. Interestingly, their debut single Take Me Home was recorded in a studio in Dublin, a step that, for many emerging artists, can feel far more daunting than it needs to be. As lead singer and guitarist Jodie Lyne notes, “You’re not necessarily told when you start out that you can just book a studio and record a song,” a sentiment that captures how, early on, much of the process exists in a kind of grey area. Their 2024 EP Envious of the Faithful marked a clear moment of growth for the band. When I asked whether there was a defined vision for the release, the emphasis was firmly on cohesion. Not just sonically, but conceptually. Jodie explained, "We were very particular about that EP. With Envious of the Faithful, everything was very thoughtful, and each song is based on a concept rather than more narrow things like situations.” In an industry that increasingly pushes emerging artists to release quickly and constantly, there was something refreshing about how deliberate the band were with this project. Choosing to take their time rather than bending to the pressure to keep up. While each member brings very different musical tastes to the table, that variety is clearly reflected across Envious of the Faithful . This felt especially apparent when we spoke about Na Saoilse , and the decision to integrate the Irish language. The band explained that the track carried a distinctly Celtic, almost instinctively Irish sound, one they felt could only be done justice through Gaeilge. Guitarist Joe Kelly noted that “it’s nice that people care, that they recognise the effort that it’s in Irish.” while lead guitarist Fionnán Sheehan added, “there always is a bit of a pride when you’re playing a song in Irish, especially with everything going on nowadays with the revival of the language, it’s never been so prevalent.” It’s clear that Mirrors are a band who value their Irish identity deeply, and that sense of pride runs quietly but powerfully through their music. Emerging bands are often viewed through rose-coloured glasses and admired for the bravery it takes to pursue music, without much consideration for what that actually costs in practice. When I asked Mirrors about sustainability, particularly in terms of money and the growing pressure to constantly market themselves, the conversation shifted into something far more direct. While the band spoke about the mutual benefit of creating music they genuinely love,  Joe was refreshingly transparent about the realities behind it all. “In terms of making money, you can’t come into this game thinking you’re going to make money,”   he explained. “You talk to people who have had great success — here, the UK, across Europe and you’d be thinking, God, they must be driving Lambos, or at least not living in their parents’ box rooms. But you talk to them and they say, we made nothing. We got paid enough to feed ourselves while we were touring.”  It’s a blunt but necessary reminder that the creative industry rarely rewards artists in proportion to their effort and yet, despite that, Mirrors continue with a level of dedication that feels deeply admirable. Throughout the conversation, it was striking how naturally the three of them bounced off each other, each thought feeding into the next, a clear reflection of the chemistry that exists within the band. They spoke openly about the emotional weight that comes with pursuing music so wholeheartedly, acknowledging that the highs can feel euphoric just as the lows can feel heavy. Yet, being together in a rehearsal room was described as something  therapeutic. As Fionnán put it, “the highs are highs and the lows are lows, but we’re all in it together,”  a sentiment that captures the sense of unity that seems to underpin Mirrors as both a band and a support system. Speaking with Mirrors reinforced just how vital young creatives are. Whether musicians, artists, poets, or anyone trying to build something within the creative industries. They are the people keeping the spark alive, often without certainty or reward. Sitting down with Mirrors felt like a reminder of why these conversations matter in the first place. They are some of the most dedicated and passionate artists I’ve met, honest about the challenges they face and deeply committed to what they’re creating. The full conversation with Mirrors will be available soon on the Sound Shenanigans podcast.

Written by Emma Cody . Co-Founder . 30/01/26 By the time The Crux  arrives, Joe Keery no longer sounds like an actor moonlighting as a musician. Under the name Djo, he has quietly built a body of work that values emotion depth. It is an album about pausing for clarity about the strange, often uncomfortable space between growth and self-recognition. Where his last album Decide  thrived on momentum and immediacy, The Crux  is more patient, more inward. It doesn’t announce itself loudly, instead, it unfolds gradually, trusting the listener to meet it halfway. The result is an album that feels thoughtful and confident. From its opening moments, The Crux  establishes its emotional thesis: loneliness not as a dramatic event, but as a sustained state of mind. Djo’s songwriting here is remarkably unafraid of stillness. Songs linger in unresolved feelings and there’s a sense that Keery is less interested in explaining himself than in documenting the act of thinking. The circular thoughts, the half-formed realisations, the quiet anxieties that surface when nothing else is demanding attention. Musically, the album leans into warm analog textures, understated grooves, and melodic restraint. The synth work hums in the background rather than sparkling out front . Guitars drift instead of dominate. The production is clean but never sterile, giving each song enough space to exist on its own terms. It’s not minimalism for its own sake, it’s an understanding that excess would dilute the album’s emotional focus. Humour as a Defense Mechanism: One of The Crux ’s most compelling qualities is its balance between sincerity and self-awareness. Djo often offsets emotional vulnerability with dry humour, irony, or deliberately awkward phrasing, Songs like “Basic Being Basic” function as both critique and confession, poking fun at performative individuality while quietly admitting complicity in it. This tension gives the album its personality. Reflective without being self-serious, clever without becoming cynical. Even when the lyrics skew abstract, they rarely feel evasive. Instead, they mirror the way people actually process discomfort: indirectly, imperfectly, and often with a joke half-covering the truth. Sound as Emotional Architecture: What truly elevates The Crux  is how well its sonic choices support its themes. There’s a subtle architectural quality to the arrangements where songs are built layer by layer, with motifs reappearing in altered forms, as if ideas are being revisited from different emotional angles. Tracks like “Fly” and “Charlie’s Garden” feel almost suspended in time, drifting between nostalgia and uncertainty, with a completely different sound. Djo’s vocals remain a central strength. He rarely overextends, preferring a conversational delivery that makes songs feel intimate rather than performative. The Crux, Revisited – Enter The Crux Deluxe: Where The Crux  feels carefully constructed, every song placed with intent. The Crux Deluxe feels like the moments that spill out once that structure collapses. These twelve tracks don’t compete with the original album, they circle it, illuminating its emotional blind spots. If The Crux  is about reaching a breaking point, the deluxe edition is about living in the aftermath. Right away, “T. Rex Is Loud”  signals that this won’t be a simple extension. Its glam-rock pulse and restless energy feel almost confrontational, as if Djo is shaking off the self-control that defined much of the main record. That looseness carries into “Love Can’t Break the Spell,”  a stripped-back, quietly devastating song that trades hooks for honesty. It’s one of the clearest examples of how the deluxe tracks prioritise emotional immediacy over refinement. Songs like “Mr. Mountebank”  push further into experimentation, using processed vocals and electronic textures that sound intentionally unstable. The effect is disorienting in the best way, a reflection of fractured identity rather than a stylistic flex. In contrast, “Carry the Name”  pulls those ideas into focus, wrestling with the weight of memory and reputation in a way that feels deeply personal, even unresolved. The emotional center of the deluxe lies in its middle stretch. “It’s Over”  doesn’t dramatise closure, it sits in the quiet discomfort of knowing something has ended while still feeling attached to it.  “Purgatory Silverstar”  expands on that tension, building from introspection into something more volatile, as if the song itself can’t decide whether to heal or break apart. Meanwhile, “Who You Are”  pares everything down, letting vulnerability take precedence over production. As the album moves toward its conclusion, moments of defiance and reflection intertwine.  “They Don’t Know What’s Right”  bristles with frustration, rejecting outside judgement, while “Thich Nhat Hanh”  offers a rare pause, a meditative breath that suggests acceptance without certainty. Closing track “Awake”  doesn’t provide neat resolution, but it does suggest movement forward, however tentative. Taken together, The Crux Deluxe doesn’t just add context, it reshapes  the emotional narrative of The Crux . It shows the cracks behind the composure, the experiments behind the polish, and the questions left unanswered once the album’s central conflict has passed. Rather than diluting the original record, it deepens it, turning The Crux  from a single statement into a fully realised emotional cycle. Conclusion: Together, The Crux  and The Crux Deluxe  feel less like an album and its add-on and more like two halves of the same emotional story. The Crux  is controlled and intentional, capturing the moment when everything comes into focus, while the deluxe edition pulls that clarity apart, exposing doubt, vulnerability, and experimentation. One defines the crossroads, the other shows what happens after you’ve passed through it. What makes this pairing so compelling is its honesty. There’s no rush towards resolution, no attempt to neatly tie up loose ends. Instead, the albums mirror real emotional progress that's uneven, reflective, and often unresolved. By the end, Djo doesn’t offer answers so much as space, trusting the listener to sit with the ambiguity. It’s a fitting close to an album era that values depth over finality and invites repeated listens rather than quick conclusions.

Written by Sophie Lee . Founder . 29/01/26 I was privileged to be sent Solène Laurence’s debut single , and it’s honestly one of the strongest debuts I’ve heard in my time as a music journalist. At just 18 years old, the Douglas, Cork singer-songwriter already sounds remarkably self-assured. Blending folk and country influences, Punch Line  is a phenomenal introduction and while you might not know Solène Laurence yet, trust me, you’re about to. Punch Line  is built around a simple, repetitive chord progression, but that’s part of its magic. It’s addictive in the best way, creating space for Solène’s voice to take centre stage, exactly where it belongs. Her voice is exceptionally unique, lacking the overly polished finish we’ve come to expect from mainstream radio, and that rawness is what makes it so compelling. Backed by a constant, steady drumbeat, the track just works. When the chorus hits, the line “tongue and cheek”  rings out more than the intro, giving the song a slightly sharper, more in your face edge. I’ve found myself listening to it on repeat. It’s genuinely stuck in my head. One lyric in particular “holding on to let go” lingered in my mind, stretched just enough to force you to sit with it. That moment alone shows a real instinct for songwriting. Overall, I’m incredibly impressed by Solène Laurence’s voice and vision, and I can very easily see her going far.

Scríofa ag Isabel Duff . Comhfhreagraí Gaeilge . 24/12/25 Tá an t-alt seo scríofa i nGaeilge. A short English summary is included below. Editor’s note: This piece forms part of Craic agus Ceol , An Seomra Ceol’s Irish-language column. It reflects on Sinéad O’Connor’s I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got  and its lasting emotional, cultural and political resonance. Is é I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got le Sinéad O’Connor albam na bliana domsa. D’fhás mé suas leis an albam seo ach fós, gach uair a chloisim é tharraing sé m'aird iomlán arís. Tá fhios agam go bhfuil an albam seo 35 bliain d’aois ach tá sé fós tábhachtach dúinn inniu. Sa bhliain 2025, ó a bhog mé go dtí an Fhrainc, táim beagnach go heisiach ag éisteacht le ceoltóirí Éireannacha, go háirithe Sinéad O’Connor. Bhí guth draíochtúil, cumhachtach aici a ligeann dúinn ár bpian a mhothú agus áilleacht agus míshástacht an domhain a thaithí. Bhí íogaireacht mhothúchánach aici. Ceoltóir neamhleithscéalach ab ea í agus ní bheidh a leithéid arís ann. . ENGLISH CONTEXT I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got is my album of the year. I grew up listening to this album, yet every time I hear it I am once again transfixed by Sinéad O’ Connor's magical voice and powerful lyricism. Even 35 years later, this album is as relevant as ever, and still one I always turn to, especially being homesick abroad. Sinéad O’ Connor was an unapologetic musician and there will not be the likes of her again.  Is é I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got an dara albam Sinéad O'Connor, tar éis rath a céad albam The Lion and the Cobra . Le linn na tréimhse ama idir scaoileadh. The Lion and the Cobra i 1987 agus I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got i 1990 tharla go leor eachtraí i saol O’Connor, lena n-áirítear bheith ina máthair agus a lán cáineadh géar. Is léir go bhfreagraíonn sí an chonspóid agus an tráma seo ar bhealach atá chomh láidir ach chomh mothúchánach freisin san albam seo.  ENGLISH CONTEXT Between the release of The Lion and the Cobra and  I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got, O ‘Connor became a mother and also faced a lot of harsh criticism from the media. It's clear she addresses these things and confronts a lot of past trauma in this album . MO RANGÚ Black Boys On Mopeds  Albam polaitiúil is é I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got go háirithe leis an amhrán Black Boys on Mopeds  a thugann goineog do rialtas Thatcher chomh maith le bás óige gorma de bharr na bpóilíní. Cé go scaoileadh an t-albam seo 35 bliain ó shin, níor athraigh an comhrá. Fós, tá rialtais fimíneach againn. An rialtais a cháinann marú roinnt daoine ach a bhfuil ionadh orthu faoina marú daoine eile, féach ar an gcinedhíothú i bPalaistín mar shampla. Chomh maith leis sin, fós  maraítear daoine gorma gan chúis ag lámha na bpóilíní ar fud an domhain, mar sin is amhrán tábhachtach tochtmhar é inniu. Ní fheidir é a sheanadh gur liriceoir cróga ab ea Sinead O’Connor. Osclaíonn an amhrán leis an líne, 'Margaret Thatcher on TV Shocked by the deaths that took place in Beijing It seems strange that she should be offended The same orders are given by her'.  Ba dhílis í Síneád dá luachanna agus níor chuimhnigh sí ar meas na daoine santach cumhachtacha sa domhan. Bhí grá aici do dhaoine, ealaín agus cothromaíocht, is é a spiorad agus nach féidir linn dearmad a dhéanamh orthu air.  ENGLISH CONTEXT This album is certainly political, especially the song Black Boys on Mopeds which is a not so subtle dig at Thatcher's hypocritical government at the time, and the deaths of innocent young black people at the hands of the police. These themes are certainly still relevant today! Sinead had strong morals and didn't care about appeasing the powerful selfish hypocrites of the world. She had love for people, art and equality and it's her spirit and her strength that we can't ever forget. The Emperor's New Clothes Is albam macánta é I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got agus gan dabht faighimid íogaireacht mhothúchánach ó Sinéad. É sin ráite, tuigtear gur bean láidir í Sinéad O’Connor agus tá sé sin soléir ina guth agus a cuid thuairimí. Cuireann sí ceisteanna ar rudaí agus téann sí i ngleic le creideamh coitianta. I mo thuraim féin, ní feidir a shéanadh go bhfuil an albam bunaithe ar choinbhleacht. Cloistear coinbhleacht idir mothúcháin atá nasctha le máithreachas agus grá caillte. Iniúchann sí an dóchúlacht go dtiocfadh coimhlint le cumhacht níos airde , b'fhéidir an rialtas, an tsochaí agus fiú Dia. Is é The Emperor's New Clothes ceann de mo amhráin is fearr. Is breá liom cé chomh feargach atá sé. I ndeireadh na 80idí, rinne na meáin a bearta a mhionscrúdú, go háirithe nuair a dhóigh sí pictiúr an Phopa, ba léir gur tharraing sé seo conspóid di. Ach, arís is arís, bean neamhleithscéalach ab ea Sinead O’Connor. Taispeánann na liricí The Emperor's New Clothes a cuid frustrachas agus ag an am céanna fanann sí láidir agus bródúil dá cuid gníomharthaí agus creidimh. Tá buille tapa agus rithim tógálach ag an amhrán seo. Is amhrán saghas spraoiúil agus beoga é. Is é an líne, ‘Maybe it sounds mean But I really don't think so You asked for the truth and I Told you’ dochreidte agus teiripeach chun screadadh go hard,  agus is féidir í a chur i bhfeidhm i go leor cásanna sa saol, go háirithe mar bhean sa lá atá inniu ann.  ENGLISH CONTEXT I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got is an honest album which displays Sinéad O’ Connor’s innate emotional rawness. Undoubtedly, she was a strong woman who questioned things and went against many common beliefs of how a woman should behave. I believe this album is based on conflict. Conflict in emotions regarding motherhood, love lost and higher powers such as governments and even God. The Emperor's New Clothes is one of my favourite songs. I love how angry it is. She expresses her frustration at the world, at the media who criticise her and the way she lives her life and people who have let her down. This song is fun and has an infectious beat. It's one to scream in the car to and unleash your frustration at the world, this one is for the misunderstood girlies.  I Am Stretched Out on Your Grave Ba clúdach é an dara amhrán ar an albam, léiriú O’Connor ar dhán gan ainm ón 17ú haois i nGaeilge’, táim sínte ar do thuama / I Am Stretched On Your Grave . Tá áit faoi leith ag an amhrán seol inár gcultúr. Cuireann an dán seo téamaí dúil agus cuimhne in iúl dúinn. Téama coitianta i bhfíochán na hÉireann atá le feiceáil fós inniu. Tá stair ag Éirinn de dhóchas agus éadóchas, a athraíonn uair i ndiaidh uair go áilleacht. Tá sé seo soléir san amhrán I Am Stretched Out on Your Grave. Cruthaíonn an grúpa ceol Scullion ceol do na aistriúchán Béarla don dán i 1979. Chuir O’Connor sampla de ‘Funky Drummer’ le James Brown lena meascán. Bhí a fuinneamh agus a cumas amhrán a chaitheamh ina cóir draíochtúil. Bhí sí go hiomlán í féin. Ba léir go raibh rud éigin ina guth, ina iompar fisiciúil agus a guth a bhí chomh tarraingteach.  ENGLISH CONTEXT "Sinéad took the spirit of the song, the heart of it, the soul of the song and performed it with that rhythmic undercurrent of power and despair, of love lost forever,” a dúirt Philip King (láithreoir clár raidió the South Wind Blows ar RTÉ Raidió ). “It’s in the Irish tradition of great sean-nós songs of lost love like Dónal Óg, and she nailed it. She translated that sense of Irishness in an uncanny and instinctive way. She had empathy for things that were pure, pagan and came out of the tradition.” The second track on this album I Am Stretched On Your Grave is a cover. It's a translation of a 17th century Irish poem 'Táim sínte ar do thuama’. This poem expressed themes of longing and remembrance, common themes in Irish lyrism still today. This song is an example of Ireland's history of despair and longing which transforms time and time again to beautiful poignant music. Sinéad lends this poem new life, new pain and her haunting voice. Nothing Compares 2 U  Bhí an-tóir ar an amhrán Nothing Compares 2 U . Athraíonn saol Sineád O Connor an nóiméad a scaoileadh an bhailéad sin agus a físeán tharraingteach, a imríodh ar MTV an t-am ar fad i 1990. Shroich an singil an uimhir 1 sna cairteacha ceoil ar fud an domhain, fiú sa Ríocht Aontaithe agus san Mheiriceá. Bhí a hainm ar bhéal gach duine. Amhránaí cáiliúil ba ea í ansin. Is clúdach é an t-amhrán seo i ndáiríre. Is amhrán é  Nothing Compares 2 U a scríobh Prince do a ghrúpa ‘The Family’ i 1985, ach tá i bhfad níos mó rath ag an an leagan Sinéad O'Connor. Dar liom, chuir sí a stíl féin ar an amhrán go hiomlán leis a guth draíochtúil mothúchánach. Bailéad grá caillte é. Ní gá dom tús a chur le cur síos ar chomh cumhachtach agus atá a guth sa t-amhrán seo. Tá a fhios ag gach duine! Creidim go láidir gur clasaic nua aimseartha í anois. Ba í an t-amhrán seo réamhrá dá cuid tallainne tarraingíse d’fhormhór na ndaoine. Bhí sé ceannródaíoch ag an am.  ENGLISH CONTEXT Nothing Compares 2 U is the standout hit of this album. The moment it was released, along with its captivating video that played over and over again on MTV in the 90s, life was never the same again for Sinéad O’ Connor. Prince composed this ballad but with O Connors raw powerful voice she made it her own. It was a lot of people's first introduction to Sinéad O ‘Connor and now I feel it's a modern classic. Feel So Different    Osclaíonn an albam leis an amhrán seo. Ar dtús, cloistear creathán ina glór agus a pian agus a leochaileacht. Níl móran eile le chloisteal ar dtús seachas a guth cumhachtach. Tá gach aird againn uirthi. Mothaím saghas mícompordach nuair a chloisim a guth uaigneach lom ina coinne ceol chiúin na hordchilte. Amhrán meallacach uaigneach is é Feel So Different’ . Shín O’Connor amach focail cosúil le “so ” agus “ different”  go dtí go raibh sé míchompordach é a chloisteáil Tugann sé léargas dúinn ar chuid eile den albam agus ar na deacrachtaí a bhí Sinéad ag dul tríd ag an am. Tá tionchar ag an t-amhrán seo orm ar leibhéal chomh hard sin. Braitheann mé uaigneach nuair a chloisim é, mothaím imníoch. ENGLISH CONTEXT The album opens with Feel So Different . This tune stops me in my tracks. O'Connor's pain is so visible to us, we can hear it in her shaky voice. Her voice paired with the orchestra music is so haunting, it makes me feel so lonely. She lets us into the hardship she was going through at the time.She stretches out the words ‘so’ and ‘different’ with such beautiful control when she sings, it’s confronting and makes me feel anxious and almost uncomfortable. That's the power of her voice.  I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got Críochnaíonn an albam leis an amhrán I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got. Labhraíonn sí linn go mín agus roinneann sí a ciall. Is amhrán machnaimh é seo.  ‘I have water for my journey I have bread and I have wine No longer will I be hungry For the bread of life is mine?’ Ghlac sí de réir a chéile leis a saol agus an méid atá aici. Is amhrán álainn agus draíochtúil é seo chun críoch a chur leis an albam. Thug sí léiriú ar fhearg, brón agus pian domhain tríd an albam agus anois níl aon rud fágtha aici ach síocháin agus buíochas. Amhrán simplí, macánta agus cliste é seo. I mo thuraim is cosúil le paidir nó le mantra é, is amhrán machnaimh agus slánú é ach freisin dóchas. Dóchas don chéad chaibidil eile.  ENGLISH CONTEXT The track I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got concludes this work of art. She shares her wisdom with us. This is a song of reflection and redemption but also of hope. She has expressed her deep pain and anger and now there is nothing left but hope for the next chapter. This song is like a prayer or a mantra to me, a prayer for peace, a prayer for gratitude. Nuair atá an deireadh ní ráite níl aon ‘skips’ ag an albam I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got. Feictear cumhacht agus tallann Sinéad O’ Connor sna hamhráin Last Day of Our Acquaintance , Jump In the River agus Three Babies. Sna hamhráin sin tá na liricí macánta, mothaimid mothúcháin O’ Connor agus cloisimid a guth laidir agus cumhachtach. Is breá liom an albam seo go hiomlán. Tá áit lárnach ag I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got i mo chroí agus i mo shaol.  Tá báis Sinéad O’Connor coscrach do gach uile dhuine in Éirinn. Fanann sí ar cheann de na guthanna is uathúla agus cumhachtaí a chuala an oileán riamh. Cloistear a ceol ar fud an domhain agus is méala mór a bás dá gach grúpa aoise. Tugann sé daoine le chéile. Ní bheidh a leithéid arís ann. Tallann ar leith í Sinéad O’Connor.  Image:  Sinéad O’Connor by Rob D (Belgium), CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Written by Sophie Lee . Founder . 12/01/26 On Our Radar  is for artists we believe are worth noticing early. Sell Everything Dublin-based Sell Everything are immediately interesting. Bass-driven tracks like “Girls, Girls, Girls”  feel loose and playful, paired with soft, almost whispery vocals. “Landlord Blues”  stands out, there’s a moment in the track that strongly reminds me of Red Hot Chili Peppers, particularly in the way the lyrics are delivered. Thrown out casually, almost conversationally. It’s confident without trying too hard. Sell Everything feel instinctive and unforced, and they’re a band I can genuinely see going far. Mood Bored Dutch indie-rock trio Mood Bored are hard to shake once you hear them. “Lucky”  hooked me almost instantly, what makes the song work so well is the interplay between the vocals, layered without competing. It’s addictive in the best way, feeling both loose and deliberate at the same time. Croíthe Croíthe, also from Dublin, sit in a gorgeous space between post-punk and rock. Tracks like “I Heard, I Saw” carry a weight that’s felt as much through sound as through lyrics, the emotion comes through in the intensity of the guitar just as strongly as in the words themselves. “Soldier” was an instant like for me. The line “His mother cries, oh where’s my baby gone?”  is genuinely haunting. Croíthe feel like a band who value depth and honesty above all else. Still Blue Dublin-based Still Blue are pure feel-good indie pop. I first came across them in 2023 and later saw them at Indiependence in Cork, their warmth translates effortlessly live. “Ladybird”  lets Nicole Lyons’ voice take centre stage, and the band’s energy feels genuine, playful, and completely sincere. Lauren Ann Newry artist Lauren Ann blends pop with a grungier edge. “Blatent”  stands out, a darker, melancholic backdrop carrying a quieter form of female rage. It’s nuanced, honest, and immediately compelling.

By Sophie Lee & Emma Cody . Founders . 07/01/26 At An Seomra Ceol, we’re constantly listening, searching, and discovering new music. We know how frustrating it can be to find something new that actually sticks, so we thought we’d start sharing what’s been living rent-free in our heads recently. Here’s what the ASC founders have had on repeat this week.  Sophie’s rotation The Greatest Man – Lucy McWilliams This isn’t a new find for me, but it might be for you. The Greatest Man  is the song I reach for when I’m feeling nostalgic and a little bit introspective about life. It might sound dramatic to say a song can make you feel that way, but Lucy’s storytelling is so vivid and intimate that she earns it. The intro alone is unforgettable, I catch myself humming it all the time, and it’s that same intro that keeps pulling me back. Listening to this song feels like sitting with a friend who reminds you it’s okay to choose a different path, to be uncertain, to fall for the wrong person, and still hold onto the impression they leave behind. It’s soft, honest, and vulnerable in a way only Lucy McWilliams can deliver.     Better Day – Ocean Colour Scene I don’t rave about Ocean Colour Scene as much as I should on An Seomra Ceol. Emerging during the Britpop era, they gained global traction but were often overlooked with Blur and Oasis dominating the charts. Better Day  is easily one of their best tracks. It opens on sombre keyboard notes before gradually building in intensity, driven by Steve Craddock’s methodical guitar playing. There’s something about it that just makes me happy. Simon Fowler’s vocals are deeply emotive, and the band manage to blend Britpop with a subtle 70s rock feel effortlessly. I’ve been listening to OCS since I was quite literally in the womb, and I’ve never once stopped loving them.   3.   Lord, Let That Tesla Crash – CMAT It feels like every shade of grief hits this song at once. CMAT offers a glimpse into her own personal grief and somehow makes it deeply relatable. It’s a beautiful track that needs nothing more than its acoustics and that melancholic slide. Her lyrics do all the heavy lifting. CMAT is one of the best songwriters of our generation. She doesn’t rely on layered production, synths or beats to draw us in, her words alone are enough, and they’re genuinely heart-wrenching. The shift from “I don’t miss you like I should”  to “I don’t miss you because I can’t”  sends shivers down my spine every time. That change in energy feels painfully real. It has weight, and it has substance.   4.  Figure You Out – Djo This song has been a staple for me since April 2024. Djo’s use of synths feels deliberate and perfectly placed, while the underlying bassline keeps everything moving, it’s the kind of track that has you nodding along even though the lyrics are deeply reflective and make  you think. To me, Figure You Out  is all about distraction. That moment when you finally let intrusive thoughts creep in. For me, it connected to a breakup, the urge to understand someone’s thoughts, followed by overthinking every word, action, and reaction. The drums and bass really drive the track, working together to create something that stands apart on the Decide album. It’s introspective without being heavy-handed, and a credit to Djo’s artistry. Come And See – Gurriers   I won’t lie, this is my favourite Gurriers track. It tricks you into thinking it’s going to be softer, opening with what I can only describe as a mirroring guitar effect. One note rings out, then echoes back on itself, before the song slowly grows more urgent. Gurriers really use having two guitar players to their advantage here. The track moves between quiet and loud, then back again, creating this sense of spiralling. It feels unstable in the best way, like losing control and learning to sit with it. Using music itself as a way of measuring emotion feels incredibly intentional. There’s something oddly comforting about that tension. The constant shift makes the chaos feel intentional, and somehow, that makes it feel okay. Emma’s rotation Daddy’s Gonna Pay For You Crashed Car – U2 I keep coming back to this song because it sits in the uneasy space where U2 sounded fearless and slightly unhinged. It feels cynical without being preachy, and sonically it still sounds confrontational decades later. Sometimes I don’t want comfort from music, I want tension and this song delivers exactly that with something that makes you feel good. Delete Ya – Djo Djo is an artist I’ve had a massive attachment to over the last few months. Every second of every day I have one of his three albums on repeat, but Delete Ya is a song I listen to and think about constantly. It captures that specific post-breakup limbo to perfection. The Scythe – The Last Dinner Party The Last Dinner Party haven’t really been on my personal radar when it comes to listening to music, but ever since Sophie put me onto this song I’ve gained a new found respect for the band of incredibly talented women. This song unfolds slowly, letting the weight of grief and longing sit without rushing toward a release. There’s a quiet dread to it, but also tenderness, as if loss and devotion are inseparable. It’s a song that I didn’t know I needed to feel and to heal. Stay For Something – CMAT Anything CMAT will forever be a 10/10 piece of art to me. “Stay For Something” perfectly captures that messy mix of nostalgia and regret that comes with looking back on a relationship you shouldn’t have stayed in — yet somehow did. It’s that time of the New Year where nostalgia swallows you whole, that’s probably why it’s on constant repeat for me. Video Killed The Radio Star – The Buggles This song has always been a song I’ve absolutely adored. Everything about it, from it’s sound to it’s lyrics and the meaning behind it’s lyrics, is 80s perfection. This song is in the end credits of one of my all time favourite movies “The Wedding Singer” , I watched it over Christmas and it revived a love for the song I forgot a had. Total classic!

Written by Sophie Lee . Founder . 04/01/26 Some bands feel like they’re constantly reaching for something. A version of themselves they think they should be. Telebox don’t feel like that. They feel present. Grounded. Like a band more concerned with making music that makes sense to them than with explaining what it all means. That’s why Telebox make sense as An Seomra Ceol’s Emerging Creative of the Month. Telebox are a four-piece indie band from Galway, formed while still in school. The band came together quickly in 2022, almost instinctively, and played their first show not long after. That early momentum matters. It points to a band who weren’t overthinking things from the outset, more interested in playing than planning. Much of that early groundwork happened in a rehearsal space they jokingly referred to as The Bunker: a small, contained place where songs were tested, confidence was built, and the band learned how to exist together. That shared history runs deep. Joe Kelly (vocals and guitar) and Stevie Healy (drums) had been playing music together long before Telebox existed, with Conall Ó Floinn joining on guitar and Eoin Killeen on bass to complete the lineup. You can hear that familiarity in how naturally they play together, in the absence of awkwardness or overcompensation. They sound like people who’ve spent years learning each other’s quirks. They don’t present themselves as a project or a concept. They feel like a band in the most literal, uncomplicated sense of the word. What Telebox represent is a quieter kind of emergence. At a time when young artists are often expected to arrive fully formed with a defined image, a clear message, and a perfectly packaged sound, Telebox allow themselves time. They’re not rushing to sum themselves up. Instead, they’re letting repetition, live shows, and writing shape who they are. There’s something deeply reassuring in that approach. It feels honest. It feels sustainable. Sonically, Telebox sit comfortably within alternative indie, drawing from melodic indie pop and softer shoegaze textures without leaning too hard on any one influence. Their songs are guitar-led, carried by Joe Kelly’s soft, understated vocals. Their debut EP, What Is the Point? , introduced a band with a clear emotional centre. Even the title invites interpretation. Is it questioning life, ambition, or the act of pursuing music itself? It plants uncertainty before you even press play, and that sense of reflection carries through the record. The EP leans occasionally melancholic, but it’s offset by wiry, infectious, feel-good guitar lines. “Patricia” stands out immediately, with fast-paced drum beats driving a song that feels restless without tipping into chaos. It’s scattered in the best way. The title track’s intro captures the EP’s emotional core perfectly, that siren-like guitar tone sets a mood that’s quietly uneasy and instantly absorbing. Follow-up EP When Night Turns Into Day  moves into darker territory, leaning further into atmosphere. Tracks like “House on Fire” feel more urgent and fast-paced, highlighting how central rhythm is to Telebox’s sound. Their drum-forward approach works, there’s a constant push beneath the songs that never overwhelms them. On “House on Fire” in particular, the contrast between the urgent playing and Joe Kelly’s soft vocal delivery is striking. Stevie Healy’s drumming feels instinctive here, slotting into whatever the song needs without drawing attention to itself. “Glow” is a standout! its intro, with small, metallic, almost xylophone-like beats, is deeply comforting in an unexpected way. It’s on this EP that the band’s cohesion becomes most apparent. Telebox’s music comes into sharpest focus live. They’ve built their reputation through consistent gigging, playing festivals such as Electric Picnic, Sea Sessions, and Galway International Arts Festival, alongside shows in venues like Whelan’s, Róisín Dubh, Cyprus Avenue, Dolan’s, The Spirit Store, and the Ulster Sports Club. On stage, there’s no sense of overperformance. You get the feeling this is where Telebox learned how to be a band: in rooms, in front of people, figuring it out as they go. Telebox are emerging not because they lack substance, but because they’re still in motion. They haven’t arrived, and they’re not pretending they have. They’re writing, releasing, and playing consistently, building something at their own pace. This is the point where attention still matters, where being noticed feels meaningful rather than retrospective.

Written by Sophie Lee . Founder . 01/01/26 New Year’s festivities came to a magical close last night within the walls of Dublin Castle. Counting down to the new year with Inhaler felt special, but the line-up leading up to their headline set was incredible.   The matinée showcased various Irish talents, with performances from Cliffords, Madra Salach, Still Blue, and Baby Rat. Artists we’ve seen before and continue to be floored by. Florence Road and BIIRD were standouts on the night. Having covered Florence Road at Ireland Music Week, it’s clear they’re only getting better. What we witnessed last night was a band on a steady upward climb and seeing that growth first hand made us incredibly proud of our national talent.   We didn’t expect to like BIIRD as much as we did. Trad isn’t usually something we gravitate towards, yet their set was strikingly cohesive. Despite the many moving parts, every member played a visibly integral role. Seeing an all-female band command the stage with such confidence was powerful, it made us feel proud and seen. Growing up in small countryside towns, their sound unexpectedly transported us back home, a feeling we never anticipated in the heart of Dublin city.   When Inhaler finally took to the stage, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The crowd roared, it was completely electric. It was genuinely heart-warming to be surrounded by friends celebrating together, mirroring our own experience in the crowd. Opening with Open Wide , the band played with a vigour that felt new. Having collectively attended 21 Inhaler shows, the difference was impossible to miss, in their presence, their etiquette, and their playing. As the final show of the Open Wide  tour, it was nothing short of exceptional.   Ryan McMahon’s relentless drumbeat thundered beneath thousands of voices screaming lyrics back at the band. Elijah Hewson wore an expression of pure disbelief, at times almost drowned out by a crowd that knew every word by heart. One surprise inclusion in the setlist was My King Will Be Kind . The line “I fucking hate that bitch” rang out volatile and unfiltered, echoing off the castle walls. Musically, the song is deceptively simple, yet it works flawlessly. Josh Jenkinson’s acoustic strums intertwine with Elijah’s melancholy riff, creating something powerful. It was clearly inspirational enough to have the fella beside us write song lyrics (would love to know where those ended up).   My Honest Face  erupted into what felt like one massive mosh pit. Every video we took came out blurry, chaotic, and completely unusable for An Seomra Ceol but maybe that’s exactly the point. The siren-like riff blared as the crowd threw themselves. It was messy, euphoric, and unforgettable. We will never forget it.   Totally  was a clear highlight. Elijah Hewson turned the mic stand toward the crowd, letting them finish the lyrics, and there was something so deeply human about thousands of people screaming “why does it hurt me so much” in unison. That’s what Inhaler do best. Inhaler are a band that is so deeply human, they don’t pretend to be something they aren’t. They simply show up as they are, and that honesty resonates.   Everyone expected Dublin in Ecstasy to carry us into midnight, but instead, the band surprised us with It Won’t Always Be Like This  from their debut album. The lads have often said they feel they’ve never written a “hit,” yet that song stands as one of the strongest in their discography. It felt like an ode to the new year, a reminder that change is possible, that you’re not stuck where you are. As the chorus rang out, “It won’t always be like this”  it landed exactly where it needed to. It was what people needed to hear.   Fireworks burst above Dublin Castle, confetti filled the air, and just like that, 2026 arrived. There was no better way to welcome it in.

Written by Kinga Pelowska . Arts & Culture correspondent . 31/12/25 As soon as I swung the heavy metal door open a sense of stillness washed over me. Around this time of year - where every shop, café and street is filled with people trying to tick off everything from their Christmas to-do list, it can be hard to find a place where one can slow down and just be. For me one of those places has always been The Glucksman gallery. Opened in 2004 the gallery has served generations of artists, newcomer and established alike. Professor John O’Halloran, UCC’s president, has described the collaboration between the university and the gallery as having great importance on the creative spirit and the value of the Glucksman as an internationally significant space for the exploration, understanding and enjoyment of contemporary art. To me The Glucksman has always been, what I like to call, a Cork sweet-spot. It’s just on the periphery of the city, close enough to stroll to if the weather allows but far enough to get away from city madness. With one side of the gallery offering views of the river Lee and the other looking out onto the historic UCC campus, both views accompanied by the faint sound of city noise. It’s small enough not take up the whole day but has enough to offer its visitors to easily lose track of time and on a sunny December afternoon that is exactly what I needed. The Glucksman is home to a constant rotation of contemporary art. Currently housing Eilis O’Connell’s latest exhibition entitled Happenstance , curated by Katie O’Grady. A collection of pieces across each era of O’Connell’s life as an artist, a coincidental medley of pieces that aims to, in O’Connell’s words, bring joy and curiosity to the observer. Born in Derry O’Connell moved to Cork at the age of ten where she later studied sculpture at the Crawford School of Art. It was there where she found her passion for large scale sculptors, which later developed into abstract public works and commissions. In an interview for The Glucksman, O’Connell said that she has always been fascinated by the natural world, growing up in rural Derry offered little to no stimulation, this connection between nature and artist has been kept alive for over four decades. As I explored the exhibition it became evident that O’Connell didn’t gravitate towards one genre, there was no one medium or material that overpowered the space. Instead, there was an even distribution of sculptures varying in grandeur made of marble, wood, stainless steel, and even occasionally, rubber. No matter the medium the connection to nature was evident without being forced. A standout piece for me was a sculpture called Bounce created in 2010, made of stainless steel, mesh wool and wood. Hung up on a wall the steel folded within the frame and resembled ripples in water, however, what stood out to me the most was the fact that O’Connell sourced that particular piece of steel all the way back in the 80s. I later learned that O’Connell has what she likes the call her Shed of Inspiration, a place to hoard any scrap of material that might come in useful at some point in time, even if it’s thirty years later. As the artist herself said in a short film accompanying the exhibition “my life affects my work, wherever I’m going or what I see that excites me comes into my work, and that’s not something I can control”. The exhibition’s name reinforces the artist’s belief of life and the progress of her work being coincidental. It is a thought I kept nestled at the back of my mind as I took in O’Connell’s work and that thought has not left me even until now. And I have a suspicious feeling I will be taking it with me not only into the new year but into every era of my life. You can explore O’Connell’s exhibition Happenstance at The Glucksman until April 12th, 2026.

Scríofa ag Isabel Duff . Comhfhreagraí Gaeilge . 24/12/25 Tá an t-alt seo scríofa i nGaeilge. A short English summary is included below. Tá níos mó agus níos mó tóra ar an ngrúpa Madra Salach le deanaí . Is é Madra Salach grúpa ceol tíre chomh aimseartha as Baile Átha Cliath. Is iad Paul Banks (príomhamhránaí), Adam Cullen (giotár), Jack Martin (giotár agus an fheadóg mhór), Maxime Arnold (dos), Dara Duffy (drumaí) agus Jack Lawlor (dordghiotár) na baill cumasach. Ba léir go raibh 2025 blian an-mhór do na buachaillí. Scaoil siad amach dhá shingil, Blue and Gold agus I Was just a Boy agus is cinnte gur tharraing siad aird an-mheasctha ar an ngrúpa. Beidh a gcéad EP It's a Hell of an Age , a bhfuiltear ag súil go mór leis, curtha amach ar 23/01/26. Chomh maith le sin, beidh na buachaillí ag dul ar chamchuairt Éireann, Albain agus sasana an bhliain seo chugainn agus bhí éileamh an-ard ar na ticéid. Éileamh ar scála nach bhfacthas riamh cheana do ghrúpa gan EP curtha amach fós! Léiriú ar a bhfuinneamh agus a gcuid buanna ceoil is ea seo. ENGLISH CONTEXT Madra Salach are attracting more and more attention lately. They’re a contemporary Irish folk band from Dublin, made up of Paul Banks (lead singer), Adam Cullen (guitar), Jack Martin (guitar and flute), Maxime Arnold (fiddle), Dara Duffy (drums), and Jack Lawlor (bass). 2025 has been a huge year for the band. They released two singles, Blue and Gold  and I Was Just a Boy , which really helped bring widespread attention to them. Their debut EP, It’s a Hell of an Age , is highly anticipated and set for release on 23 January 2026. On top of that, the band will be touring Ireland, Scotland, and England next year, and ticket demand has been incredibly high, on a scale rarely seen for a band that hasn’t even released an EP yet. This level of demand is a clear reflection of their energy and musical ability. Bhí an t-ádh orm i rith an tsamhraidh chun seit Madra Salach a fheiceáil ag Electric Picnic sa Salty Dog (how fitting!) i mí Lúnasa. Fuinneamh agus cumha, sin iad na príomh focail atá agam chun é a chur in iúil dóibh. Bhí atmaisféar saghas draíochtúil ann agus níorbh í ach na iliomad piontaí stúit a d’óladh. Tá an-teacht i láthair iontú ar an stáitse. Is léir go bhfuil na ceoltóirí sároilte go leor agus tá mealladh na ndaoine iontú ag an am céanna. Oibríonn siad le chéile agus feictear go bhfuil sé nádúrtha agus spraíúil. Léiriú tarraingteach ab ea.Níl aon rud níos fearr ná ceol beo taobh amuigh agus an lucht féachanna ag céilíuradh Éireannachas.  Credim go bhfuil Madra Salach an freagra do mo chumha i ndiaidh an bhaile. Ó a bhog mé go dtí an Fhrainc, táim beagnach go heisiach ag éisteacht le sean-cheol na hÉireann. Thugadh The Pogues, Sinead O Connor, The Cranberries, The Waterboys agus fiú The Saw Doctors uaireanta (ní féidir a shéanadh gur banger é N17 yuppp!), sólás dom. Ceapaim go bhfuil lorg The Pogues ar an gceol Madra Salach . Ní féidir a chur in iúl i gceart cé chomh cumhachtach agus a bhí guth Paul Banks. Is féidir linn paisean agus pian a mhothú, ach tá smacht iomlán aige. Is léir an mothúchán ina ghuth i gcuimhne ar na guthanna Éireannaigh is torthúila ar nós Sinead O Connor agus Shane MacGowan. É féin, lena aicsean Éireannach dochloíte agus a ghuth láidir i measc na ceoltóirí traidisiúnta sciliúla, cuireann sé i gcuimhne dom na Pogues gan amhras. Tá an athbheochan Cheilteach ar siúl agus tá bród an domhain orm.  ENGLISH CONTEXT I was lucky enough over the summer to see Madra Salach  play a set at Electric Picnic  in the Salty Dog (how fitting!) in August. They have a powerful stage presence. It’s clear that the musicians are highly skilled and that they draw people in at the same time. There’s nothing better than live music outdoors, with the crowd celebrating Irishness together. I believe Madra Salach are the answer to my homesickness. Since I moved to France, I’ve been listening almost exclusively to old Irish music. The Pogues, Sinéad O’Connor, The Cranberries, The Waterboys, and even The Saw Doctors at times (you can’t deny that N17 is a banger, yuppp!) have brought me comfort. I think you can hear the influence of The Pogues in Madra Salach’s music. It’s hard to properly express just how powerful Paul Banks’ voice is. You can feel both passion and pain, yet he has complete control. The emotion in his voice clearly recalls some of the most powerful Irish voices, such as Sinéad O’Connor and Shane MacGowan. With his unmistakable Irish accent and strong voice among skilled traditional musicians, he undoubtedly brings The Pogues to mind. The Celtic revival is alive and well, and I couldn’t be prouder. D'fhág mé mo chroí in Éirinn, i dtigh tabhairne le amhránaí sa chúinne ag casadh amach na hamhráin Chlasaiceacha Éireannacha, fuarbholadh beoir, bord adhmaid agus gáire ard. Is léir go bhfuil saghas brón glúine ag daoine na hÉireann, ach is sinne atá ag gáire is airde de chách. Tá cursaí difriúl sa Fhrainc. Is minic a shiúlaim thart tríd an cathair álainn agus beomhar, gach rud ag athrú ar luas lasrach, ach fós is é mian mo chroí istigh é a bheith i bpub le ceoltóir sa choirnéal, agus gan aon rud athrú. Tá paisean againn in Éirinn. Tá muid mothúchánach ach bíonn an craic againn. Feictear domsa go mbíonn seo le feiceáil i gceol Madra Salach . Tugann Madra Salach deis dom le dul ag spaisteoireacht ar chosán na seanchuimhní. Cuireann siad beocht sa cheol. Is ceoltóir an-chumasach é gach duine sa ghrúpa seo. Is é I Was Just a Boy ceann de mo amhráin is fearr liom ó 2025. Tosaíonn sé go mall, ag tógáil mothúcháin agus ionchais agus ansin BOOM éiríonn sé níos gasta. Tosaíonn an t-amhránaí ag screadaíl agus seinneann na ceoltóirí go hard, ag taispeáint an chumas ollmhór. Beidh tú faoi dhraíocht ag an gceol, go háirithesa chuid uirlise den amhráin. Cuireann an t-amhrán sin mé i gcaillteanas iomlán ama. Is cinnte go bhfuil na scealaíochta tradisiúinta ag liricí madra salach go háirithe a gcéad singil Blue and gold agus gan amhras tá gné ceol tradisiúinta acu ach níl siad ‘seanfaiseanta’ ina gcuid leiriú. Is saothar dáiríre ealaíne é seo. Ag an am céanna, bíonn an craic acu ar an stáitse, daoine nádúrtha iad. Grúpa soléir Éireannach le scéalíocht agus ceol tradisiúinta ach, tá rud nua aimseartha acu. Feictear domsa tionchar 80s agus 90s ‘alternative indie’ agus go leor fuinneamh agus cruthaitheacht, chomh maith le ceol traidisiúnta.  Cuireann sé cumha ort ach ag an am céanna fadcheannach Ní feidir linn iad a chur i mbosca ‘trad’ amháin, ach tugann siad brí nua sa ceol na hÉireann sa la atá inniu ann. Níl aon daoine eile ag déanamh sé seo.  Gan aon amhras ar bith beidh an chamchuairt ráthúil. Táim ag tnúth go mór le Madra Salach a fhéiceal arís (Tar go dtí an Fhrainc le do thoil!!). Freisin táim ag iarraidh The Man Who Seeks Pleasure ceann de na hamhráin is áille a chuala mé riamh, a bheith scaoilte leis an EP. Credim go láidir go mbeidh an grúpa seo chomh mór le bannaí cosúil le Fontaines DC go luath.  ENGLISH CONTEXT This article reflects on homesickness, Irish identity, and the emotional power of music while living abroad. It contrasts the fast-moving, constantly changing pace of life in France with the timeless comfort of Irish pub culture, a space defined by live music, laughter, shared emotion, and familiarity. Irish people are portrayed as carrying a deep-rooted sadness while still being the loudest laughers in the room, a duality that sits at the heart of Irish culture. Madra Salach’s music becomes a bridge back to home, offering a sense of memory, comfort, and connection. Their sound blends traditional Irish storytelling and musical elements with modern alternative and indie influences from the 1980s and 1990s. Tracks such as I Was Just a Boy  demonstrate this dynamic approach, beginning slowly before erupting into powerful, emotionally charged moments that showcase the band’s full instrumental strength. Their debut single Blue and Gold further reinforces their commitment to storytelling, while refusing to be confined to a single “trad” category. Rather than simply reviving traditional Irish music, Madra Salach reimagine it for the present day, creating something both nostalgic and refreshing. Go raibh Míle Isabel. This a brand new segment called Craic agus Ceol written by our Gaeilge Correspondent Isabel Duff. As an Independent, Irish platform we believe that it is vital to keep the Irish language alive, and that it is important to celebrate our heritage.

Live at Cyprus Avenue, Cork By Sophie Lee . Founder . 21/12/25 There are some gigs you remember vividly, and others you remember in fragments. Moments of noise, flashes of light, a voice cutting through the room. Gurriers fall firmly into the latter category. By the time Gurriers took the stage, the room was already loud with anticipation. They opened with Erasure , their recent single. From the start, frontman Dan Hoff wasn’t just singing, he was screaming, but in a way that felt controlled and intentional. Not chaotic for the sake of it, but like something that needed to be said loudly. The guitars stood out straight away. Mark MacCormack and Ben O’Neill brought two distinct sounds to the stage - sharp, almost screeching tones that felt closer to an alarm than a riff. It was abrasive and jarring in the best way, constantly keeping you on edge. At times it felt overwhelming, but that’s where Gurriers thrive. There’s an unmistakable Dublin post-punk thread running through it all. Hoff delivers his lyrics in a way that recalls early Fontaines D.C., not just sonically, but in attitude. That feeling that Hoff isn’t performing at the crowd, but telling them something directly, his accent grounding every word. Des Goblin  was a proper headbanger moment. Loud, relentless, and physical. The kind of track that doesn’t give you much choice but to move with it. One of the most striking moments of the night came during Sign of the Times . Hoff came practically into the crowd as the music behind him dropped back, leaving his voice exposed. In that quiet, you could really hear him. The track’s slightly gritty bassline crept in first before the rest of the instrumentation kicked back, and live, that tension hit hard. Top of the Bill  sent things into full chaos. The stage lights went wild, matching the urgency of the track and the band’s intensity. It felt frantic. They closed with Nausea , ending the set on an uneasy note. The volume, the noise, the sheer wall of sound made the room feel almost claustrophobic, nervous and overwhelming, but in the best possible way. It wasn’t a comfortable ending, and it wasn’t meant to be. The current Gurriers lineup sees Dan Hoff on vocals, Mark MacCormack and Ben O’Neill on guitars, Charlie McCarthy on bass, and Pierce Callaghan on drums. Even if the finer details blur together, the feeling lingers. Gurriers aren’t a band you neatly remember song by song, they’re a band that feel capable of reshaping what modern Irish post-punk looks like.