Remarkably, it's been 10 years since the last truly great Irish rock album was released. Truly great Irish rock albums do not come along as often as you might think. We have shipped many albums abroad in the last decade, wrapped in pretty bows and carrying the best wishes and hopes of the nation's pop pickers.
They left here on the back of proceeds from sold-out Irish tours and were decked out with rave reviews from hometown hacks. Most of these albums are now gathering dust in second-hand stores or occupying landfills from London to Boston.
But as anyone schooled in the ways of the music industry knows, it's not just down to the curse of the Irish "next big thing". Thousands and thousands of other acts find themselves in a similar situation. There's just too much music and not enough time. It's the luck of the draw.
The story of Whipping Boy's Heartworm is one that many bands will empathise with. Their second album was released on Sony's Columbia label in October 1995. A decade ago, Britpop was in full bloom and grunge had withered. The rivalry between Blur and Oasis was producing great headlines and dreadful music, so Heartworm was a little out of time.
Despite this, it sold about 80,000 copies worldwide, a respectable number and a base that the band could have built on with further albums for another tilt at the title. But it was not to be. The four-piece imploded soon afterwards and, after the usual rows about musical differences and much more besides, spluttered to a halt in 1998.
But the album didn't go away. Great albums never do. Since the end of last year, I've been listening to Heartworm just about every week. It's like rediscovering an old friend. I'd certainly forgotten just how many extraordinary songs the band had at their disposal. The rich, emotional intensity of We Don't Need Nobody Else and The Honeymoon Is Over still sting on every listen, while the sonic thunder and lightening throughout Twinkle and Tripped are quite astonishing to behold.
Heartworm is a commanding performance and you just don't get that any more. Sure, there's showboating and grandstanding from every contender in town, but when you strip away the front and the bluster, there's really nothing there. With Heartworm, Whipping Boy became the band we always knew they could be. It's a great roar of an album, which leaves most of what's been released here since in its wake.
When you listen to Heartworm now, though, you naturally begin to wonder what would have happened if the band had kept in check the problems that eventually tore them asunder. Bands are always more fascinating than solo performers because of the need to balance egos and placate personalities to make sure the music keeps coming. Often it's these differences that lead to great music. But these differences also pull bands apart.
Those of us who make our living from patrolling the Irish rock beat have heard just about every hard luck story there is to hear from acts who could have been contenders. In the case of Whipping Boy, though, the fascination with what might have been lingers.
When a third self-titled album was released in 2000, featuring tracks recorded before the band called it a day, there was renewed interest in Whipping Boy. A new band featuring guitarist Paul Page and bassist Myles McDonnell was mooted at the time but, until lead singer Fearghal McKee played a few shows earlier this year, it's largely been radio silence from the band since, with drummer Colm Hassett moving to Seattle.
Yet the whispers about the band getting back together have grown in volume. It makes sense in so many ways. There would be good money to be made, for a start. There would be a chance to rewrite history and script a different exit scene. Most of all, there would be the opportunity to play the songs from Heartworm again and remind us all of the potency, power and panache of that album. A few Whipping Boy shows by year's end? I've predicted stranger things.
