Irish Times writers review concerts by The Strokes and Liam Ó Maonlaí
The Strokes
The Point, Dublin
Remember when The Strokes were the coolest band on the planet? They seemed the perfect embodiment of that ineffable rock 'n' roll spirit, armed with a f***-you attitude and a debut album's worth of superb, swaggering songs. Five years later, and a parade of nu-cool acts such as Franz Ferdinand, Arcade Fire and Arctic Monkeys have made the New York quintet seem like a quaint musical monolith from 2001, and going to see them at the Point feels a bit like an exercise in nostalgia.
The Strokes are returning to Europe in the aftermath of Arctic Monkey-mania, and they're here to convince us that they still excrete ice cubes, and are still a band worthy of your heart, soul and spirit. It's gonna be a tough battle. For a start, the gig is in the Point, not the ideal size for what is essentially the world's number one bar band. Second, it's a Monday night in February, not exactly rock 'n' roll's favourite day; at least the crowd at the Point is partying like it's a Saturday night. But the thought of The Strokes playing a predictable, stage-managed performance (complete with large screen and 1980s-style strip-lighting) goes against the grain of the band's early gigs, when onstage drunkenness and offstage debauchery was the least we had come to expect.
The famous five line up onstage, looking less like the last gang in town and more like a reunion of the last gang in town. New album First Impressions of Earth hasn't exactly impressed the earthlings, but the band pumps extra rocket fuel into Juicebox, Heart in a Cage and Vision of Division. Singer Julian Casablancas struggles to make his morning-after croak audible above the twin guitar slashes of Nick Valensi and Albert Hammond Jr, but the crowd takes up the slack for The Modern Age, 12:51, Hard to Explain, Reptilia, Alone Together and the band's stone soul-punk classic, Last Nite.
If the new songs suffer from too much going on within a very crowded three minutes, onstage they provide enough light, shade and dynamic to satisfy the rock-hungry ear. Still, when they field one of the weaker tunes, such as Razorblade (the one that sounds a bit like Barry Manilow's Mandy), you can feel the crowd's undulation suddenly subside. A strange, orchestral-sounding organ is brought out for the Suicide-like Ask Me Anything, and a final quartet of Reptilia, NYC Cops, Someday and Take it or Leave It provide the rock 'n' roll reply. Looks like the Strokes are not about to go gently into that good night.
Kevin Courtney
_________________________________________________________
Liam Ó Maonlaí
Whelan's, Dublin
Kila's piper, Eoin Dillon, brought a whole new meaning to our understanding of "support act" with a blistering set of original tunes. His is a delightfully skewed perspective on life, one that lends itself to all manner of oddly-inspired melody lines, ranging from those lamenting his own demise (The March Of April May) to one celebrating the inherent intricacies of the music itself (The Length Of Space). Dillon's solo debut, The Third Twin, promises to keep the temperature high.
Liam Ó Maonlaí's timely excavation of his musical roots resulted in a fine CD late last year, Rian. His sean-nós repertoire flourishes on the back of a lengthy gestation period, its diphthongs lovingly caressed by that trademark Ó Maonlaí wail, a thing of primal beauty that he still manages to corral with surgical precision.
This was one of his most memorable gigs in a long time. Stretching and bending his vocals to accommodate the lamentation of Úrchnoc Chéin Mhic Cáinte and the glorious lunacy of Bean Pháidín, he fingered the core of each song, unpicking its earthy sensuality, and jettisoning the prudishness with which too much of our sean-nós tradition has been saddled.
Ó Maonlaí's comfort with airing his own occasionally overwrought songs (Saved and Good For You) alongside such delicacies as the whistle-bound Port na bPúcaí was simply a reminder of the unstoppability of his musicianship, every note and gesture lured from the depths of his belly.
He made mention of the responsibility that music bestows on a musician, and of the gift that music is to him. Somehow Liam Ó Maonlaí managed to give his audience a peek into a world where personal happiness is governed by rhythm and melody, not by the indelible bottom line. Fiachna Ó Braonáin joined him for a final whirlwind flight through a welcome visitation upon Hallelujah Jordan, followed by the funkiest reading of Cailleadh An Airgead. Ó Braonáin lent his take on Amhrán Na Trá Báine to the mix, and all was well with the world.
Siobhán Long
