In recent years, there has been a healthy glut of young Irish artists redefining the folk sound, thrillingly twisting and shaping its template to their own individual bidding.
None of them sound quite like Callum Orr, though. On paper, this might sound like just another mishmash of folk and indie, but there is an understated brilliance to the Dubliner’s creative approach that makes for a truly special debut album.
Co-produced with fellow musician Ailbhe Reddy, these “blunt and confessional folk songs” document Orr’s journey from a period of personal anguish to one of joy and acceptance.
Crushing Machine details his mother’s cancer diagnosis with devastating poise, its soundtrack riddled with an unsettled anxiety; Homesick recalls a precarious emotional period upon returning home to Ireland after years spent living abroad. Just when you think you’ve got Orr’s musical style figured out, he sidesteps into something different.
Forêt restaurant review: A masterclass in French classic cooking in Dublin 4
Charlene McKenna: ‘Within three weeks, I turned 40, had my first baby and lost my father’
Restaurateur Gráinne O’Keefe: I cut out sugar from my diet and here’s how it went
Ireland’s new dating scene: Finding love the old-fashioned way
There are a cappella folk harmonies (Dust), delicate acoustic fingerpicking and sweeping strings (Keeping Faith) and fuzzy, melodic lo-fi indiepop along the lines of Father John Misty, Andy Shauf, Cass McCombs and Villagers (Floorboards, The One Who Does Everything Slow) and more.
Crucially, Orr manages to be many things without spreading himself too thinly, while the pliable quiver of his voice is well suited to the versatility of his musical palette. The lyrical story arc provides a satisfying odyssey too, progressing from inward-looking songs to celebratory refrains, as heard on Hello, Marianne – another song written for his mother (“You’re not going anywhere on us, so raise your chin in the air”).
There is both humour and depth to Orr’s lyrics. As Long as I Have Time is one of the most quietly profound tracks you’ll hear from an Irish artist this year, while Prop is riddled with an amusing sense of self-doubt (“What an honour it is to be your prop/ I must be more handsome than I thought”).
This is the sort of low-key release that could easily fly under the radar; that would be a tragedy. This is a consummate debut record which deserves to be heard far and wide.