It’s time to roll up the sleeve and dip into the bag of things in my inbox tagged ‘Demos’ once again. There are questions aplenty raised this week, from “why are there several alright bands from Kilcoole?” to “are we certain they even sell Grey Goose in Sweden, never mind to 16-year-olds?”, so listen along, see whether you agree with Totally Dublin’s Unimpeachably Correct Taste™ and, as ever, send your demos to me (karl@totallydublin.ie). If you’ve sent a demo already and you’re not here, be patient, you’re top of the queue.
Dioscó na mBó
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After last week’s Táin-referencing drug-inspired electro-hip hop, it’s heartening to see the trend of Ireland’s electronic acts choosing internationally unpronounceable names continue this week with Dioscó na mBó, named after a primary school Irish book. They make instrumental throwback disco with all the pickings – roving basslines, percussion, treble-only guitar and inspirational church organ breaks. It sounds beautiful, it’s undeniably danceable, and it has a strange characteristic of mystery running through it, which is probably a good thing given the sudden prevalence of disco. It’s like all that 80s keyboard disco except really good.
Policy
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What is it with Kilcoole? Ireland’s too small to have more than cursory handful of scenes – Dublin’s bicycle-riding pop, Belfast’s grown-up Kerrang-reader music, Limerick’s Bebo rave – but Kilcoole, Co Wicklow has managed a niche, not least because of Hive Studios. Policy did their EP there too, but it’s only marginally similar to famous alumni. It feels like an album of the sort of British indie rock that turned into twee – Television Personalities and Josef K, say – but with a sort of attitude-shift or lack of ill-meaning wit that aligns it more with the likes of hardcore-but-not-hardcore American bands like Sunny Deal Real Estate. It also doesn’t sound unlike early 90s Irish rock music, which is reassuring in a general sense. The singer’s untrained voice over the top even hints at the type of heart-skipping power New Order or Wedding Present bring. All in all, it’s scrappy and quite emotional, it must be said.
Blancatransfer
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Who was your Duran Duran boyfriend? If you were the sixth, Duran Duran boyfriend-less person in your Duran Duran-loving friend group, your wait has ended. Pick one of the three Blancatransfer guys, and be on your way. They’re from Limerick, Clonmel and Madrid, they ostensibly work over the internet (like popular Owl City cover group The Postal Service), and they sound sort of like Duran Duran, though not as much as I’m making out. It’s impeccably mixed and compressed, sorted into sections and bedecked with studio layering, with 80s heartthrob vocals. You can see the appeal. but there’s a risk that it’s music for studio gear-heads and Claires from accounting.
Yung Lean
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Somebody sent in the Yung Lean mixtape for review so I’m going to assume that it was actually Yung Lean and review it in the same manner I do with the rest of these submissions. It’s a strange combination of reassuringly cloudy and dissonant, kind of like the line between joy and panic when ripping bifters out of a Coke bottle shotgun and then having to answer the phone, and it’s got a weird Swedish rapper over it who is probably taking himself seriously enough for the entire exercise not to be racist. I am not as mad as this as I assumed I would be, but the whole thing is reminding me of the strong emotional attachment I had to at least two songs by now former rapper Spaceghostpurrp. Lil B would be happy that he’s being inspirational, but as with everything else about Lil B, confusion is as big a result as anything.
Marie McKeown
YouTube is all the platform you need these days if you’re a young person, did you know that? The days of personally dubbing demo tapes and sending them to John Peel and then listening to John Peel a lot to see if he plays it are over. Just pick up the guitar and go. Marie McKeown does a line in covers of bands I am too old to have heard (plus Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, which I have heard), but here she presents an original song called I Don’t Understand. It’s heartfelt and pleasant, calling to mind AOR 3am radio and the post-Joni Mitchell canon of songs that will always be sung wherever there is an acoustic guitar. Unlike some demoists here on our experimental demo review platform, McKeown’s probably more in the ‘get-discovered, get-polished, get-famous’ category than the ‘best-case-scenario-we-get-free-drink-while-DJ-ing-Loftus-Hall’ category. Which is fine. And she might, who knows?
Policy win this round, not that there is a prize.
