Kinetic. Locked-in. Cocks-out. Languid. Itchy. Singular. Familiar. Metal. Jazz. Funk. Souled-out. Ireland. San Franscisco. Sweden. Brazil. Phased. Unfazed. Thunder. Lightning. Tornado. Tempest. Tempestuous. Dramatic. Emphatic. Lysergic. Prismatic. Erratic. Pneumatic. Charismatic. Cinematic. Democratic. Mathematic. Idiosyncratic. Minor. Major. Independ…
Wait. No. Too easy. On the checklist of descriptors, adjectives and superlatives applicable to Dublin’s Redneck Manifesto, ‘independent’ seems like it should be circled in red with a question mark hovering over it. Their status as Dublin’s most hallowed underground act is something of a misnomer – sure, the band keep all facets of their project strictly in-circle, from their always-impressive artwork (designed by our recent cover illustrators M&E, whose ‘M’ is guitarist Matty), to almost always organizing tours themselves. In ways, the band have hardly evolved from their roots as Clearasil-faced teens on the Dublin hardcore scene. However, with almost every booked show selling out, a feverish reception to every whisper of a new record, and a profile incongruous to any band of such musical abstraction, wearing the indie tag chafes that little bit.
‘The way things are, are the way things have turned out,’ muses guitarist Niall Byrne over his stout’s froth. ‘We’re not diehard independent guys or anything. The way we work is sort of… laidback, but with really intensive periods. Matty lives in Sweden, and now Neil (O’Connor, keyboardist and Somadrone side-projectee) lives in San Francisco, and obviously Richie (Egan, bassist and Jape-ist) is a busy man, there’s wives and families, so we’re stuck to the Redneck Manifesto happening in small bursts, but I think, to a degree, it’s always been like that. I don’t think we’d be a band anymore if it wasn’t that way. Or at least the album wouldn’t be called Friendship!’
The last time the Redneck Manifesto released a record the internet didn’t exist. Ish. Look up reviews of 2006’s Seven Stabs and you won’t find fawning blog exigeses, Twitter hangovers, or dodgy Facebook campaigns, and one of the fan-posted Youtube clips has improvised and used a photo of post-RM math rockers Battles in absence of any attractive jpegs of the recording artists.
‘The environment we’re releasing into is obviously completely different to the one we’ve released in before. The new album can pop up on the other side of the world in a second.’
So you’ve international ambitions for Friendship?
‘I think we’ve always done well internationally, in Europe, and in America. We get Myspace messages like “Love you guys! When are you coming to… Wisconsin,” or something. I think a lot of people think we ARE American’
Might be the name…
‘Might be the name!’
If Friendship is the band’s biggest success to date, however, don’t blame social networking, deadly artwork, or their rabid Wisconsin fan-base: this record is undoubtedly their tour-de-force. Says Byrne of its obvious step-up in quality, both in musical and production term: ‘We’ve definitely never been more happy with a record. It sounds fucking amazing. We interact with each other a lot more than before. I suppose another point is that when we made the last record Neil had just joined the band, and I think he was more nervous about bringing new ideas to the band.’
Yeah, who does this chap think he is?
‘We were here first!’
‘We’re all completely open with each other now though, so there are a lot more synths on the album,’ pipes in Mervyn (drummer, who also plays as Cochon and On – ‘I’ve got about 50 songs recorded at this stage, I just have to actually do something with them).
‘The synths sound brilliant… The best thing about this band is that everybody else can do things that nobody else in the band can. I literally couldn’t play any of the parts the others play. That’s why the album’s called Friendship, really simply. The artwork is of our five sets of hands – Matty interviewed us all, basically, and asked what we thought of when we heard the word ‘Friendship’, and I thought ‘hands’, because you offer your hand in friendship, you know? We’re all more in tune with each other than we ever were. I think that if any one member of the band left, we’d split up.’
The Rednecks’ comradeship stretches back to when they were all youngfellas in snotty hardcore bands. Niall explains that ‘The funny thing is that we were all singers. Me, Merv, Richie, and Matty were all singing in different bands, and we all wanted to do something with each other. When we came together and started making songs and were getting really into it, we thought, “do we put vocals over it?”. Nah.’
There’s a really strong lineage of hardcore bands here, and Belfast, I posit – Friendship is being released, after all, through the Richter Collective, which has assembled some of the country’s noisiest bands on one label. Are the Redneck Manifesto patrons of that dynasty, in a way?
‘I don’t know about that. I think every city has a strong underground hardcore scene, because every city has angry teenagers, which is the audience as well as the people in the bands. I remember thinking the band I was in was literally the best band in the world. I can’t even listen back to that stuff now without cringing… But every show I went to back then was just brilliant. Whereas now I’m lucky if I get to a good gig I enjoy every six months.’
Which was that last one?
‘Well, eh… Yesterday, actually.’
Who!
‘Well…. Eh. Jape! I’m totally serious, though. Richie is just fantastic live. And on record. And I don’t mean in that sort of token Irish way. I think Jape is up there with any other act in the world doing what he’s doing. I think you could say the same thing about us.’
So, if you stuck all your sideprojects in a ring and made them fight to the death, who’d be the champion at the end (the battle royale card would read: Somadrone vs. Son Green vs. Jape vs. VisionAir vs Cochon and On)?
‘Who has the most weapons?’
‘Awh, VisionAir wins by default for having two members in one band. [Richie and Niall]’
Did I hear something about it sounding like the Carpenters?
‘Jaysis, I hope not. Basically, I hadn’t made music in ages, and me and Richie got together and… well, we were pretty fucking good. So we haven’t played live yet, but we’ve been making this really dark, synthy sound, sort of like John Ca…’
CARPENTER.
‘That’s what it was, John Carpenter!’
Last things last. I’ve asked your Youtube mates Battles this before, but are instrumental bands’ song names always complete bullshit?
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
‘Kind of. Sometimes we’ll pick something that represents the song, and sometimes it’ll just be a pisstake [previous hits include ‘I Don’t Speak The Monkey Language, I Just Hear It’, ‘Bring Your Own Blood’ and ‘Please Don’t Ask Us What We Think Of Your Band’]. I like the jokey ones,’ says Niall.
‘But we don’t want it to be TOO jokey,’ Merv interjects. ‘So I guess it’s a little bit more difficult than before. Sometime we try and name a song for the sort of colour and texture of it, that’s where ‘Black Apple’ comes from.’
‘Yeah… and ‘Tomb of the Dudes’!’
The Redneck Manifesto’s Friendship is out now on the Richter Collective.
Words: Daniel Gray
