It would be remiss of us not to acknowledge The Irish Times' connection to Róisín Murphy's new solo album. The title is taken from the song written by George Hodnett, the legendary music critic of this newspaper for many years.
Aside from reviews, Hodnett was also a noted jazz player and songwriter, and Take Her Up To Monto was written by him in 1958 to lampoon a certain kind of balladeer.
The Monto in question was the red-light district in Dublin's north inner city which existed for a couple of decades in the 19th and early 20th century, turns up in Ulysses as Nighttown and was eventually shut down by Frank Duff and the Legion of Mary in the 1920s.
Murphy's trip to Monto arrives at an interesting juncture in her career. With previous album Hairless Toys, and especially with some striking live shows, Murphy has cast herself into one of the most fascinating pop personas around. She was always one to watch for in this regard, but she has taken a turn with her material of late which has amplified her attractions.
Much of this seems to be down to a canny realisation by Murphy and longtime collaborator Eddie Stevens. As with the last album, there's a sense on Monto (and it's worth noting that the material here comes from the same sessions) that the pair have realised that spry, slippery, wonky electro-pop shapes and shimmies are what best suit her voice and timbre.
She may have demonstrated mainstream leanings with Moloko and her Overpowered album, but the margins and the darkness on the edge of the glitter are far more alluring.
There's plenty to dig into here from that hinterland. Tracks such as Mastermind and Romantic Comedy are inventive and sleek, each working out their groove with smart intent. Pretty Gardens is a vamp, Murphy's dark cabaret turn with a cheeky twirl or two. You'd imagine it might go down well in the original Monto.
