Feisty banjo fusion from Ciarán Ryan to frighten your friends with. And make some new ones.

Release Date: 26th January 2024

Label: Self-released

Format: CD

The glut of Celtic Connections related releases continues unabated, and I for one throw my hat in the air, brightening the chilly winds of my winter no end. Listening to this, it is a second from this talented artist, and also the first credited to his band. His given name gives a fair old clue as to what might be in store, not least as his chosen weapon is the 5-string tenor banjo, a mainstay of the Irish tradition. We know the name; he has been, and still is, a member of Dallahan for as long as they have existed. Uncertain if Scotland or Ireland born, he has been Glasgow-based for most of his career, if not lifelong, the city vying with Birmingham and Chicago for the numbers of sons, and daughters, of Éirrin domiciled there.

Following on from 2019’s Banjaxed, this is a more muscular outing, certainly in terms of the arrangements, the band being a fully-fledged electric folk-rock experience. Ryan here adds electric guitar to his repertoire of banjo, fiddle and more. A sly glance at the credits reveals a plethora of experience, with Dallahan co-conspirator Andrew Waite on accordion and keys, and, I’m guessing, his brother Chris, a bagpiper and studio engineer, here on rhythm guitar. Sometime Dallahan sidesman Bev Morris adds bass and it is none other than Donald Hay on drums. That Donald Hay, the brilliantly idiosyncratic sticksman for, in his time both Kate Rusby and Kathryn Tickell, as well as being one of the drummers that the Transatlantic Sessions can call upon. Besides CRB, he is also currently playing a blinder with Old Blind Dogs.

The album begins with a rumble of banjo and accordion, over which a sturdy backbeat from the rhythm section locks in perfectly. In the received way, many of the tracks are groups of two, or more tunes. The trick is to have as seamless a join as you can get, even when the gait alters perceptibly. The title track starts as described, and is as orthodox folk rock territory as you can get, so reassuring, but the roll as it segues from Preposterous Pig to Out Of Your Shell is daunting in its audacity, before a lope of bass guitar steers things away to the side. The banjo banjoodles as it should but a Hammond organ, wtf, then starts grinding away in the background. Unexpected and exhilarating, not least as Hay, better known for his brushes, then starts pounding the bejaysus out his kit.

Wildcard, consisting Bumpkin and Wild Card, picks right up, with a cheeky limping tune, the organ even more prominent, and providing a rare treat alongside the skittering banjo. Indeed, banjo hasn’t sounded so much fun since Éamonn Coyne’s work with Treacherous Orchestra. The second half, without losing the lead, throws in further tropes from 1970s rock canon, notably the bass and the electric guitar. For a brief moment, I find myself wondering whether Deep Purple ever considered a banjo man worth recruiting. A ferocious drumbeat ushers in The Shepherd, again two parts, with complex banjo calisthenics playing out over a proggy fusion background, bass again the guide into the second half, with shimmery synth shimmers, before Ryan shows why he’s the boss.

Feckno as a title is worthy the consideration of this album alone, blending the disturbing image of Father Jack at the turntables. Actually, the triad of tunes doesn’t, maybe some small mercy, it beginning as a a wistful air, Waite’s accordion a little higher in the mix than Ryan. The measured thump of Hay gives way to a more frantic unison helter skelter, letting Morris lead the way with yet more melodic bass, before Hay engages his clatter accordingly. Going Nowhere and Cheese respectively, there comes a warning of a further change, the solid 4:4 not a million miles from the acid-croft techno of Shooglenifty. It’s grand. And one suspects that some of the background atmospherics may come courtesy of producer, Duncan Lyall, himself no stranger to Celtic dancefloor diversions.

State Of Art, aka Happy Camper/Bad Apple/Earshot, now adds a different flavour, an American country influence, if with the band still firing on the full cask strength. Hay gets to add some of the more arcane items about his kit, and I’m thinking the Kinnaris Quintet, see later, are going to have a job to better these boys. Have I said Ryan has, so far, written all these tunes? As he has for Domesticated, or at least the first two parts. Slam Funk, which leads, is an example of lesser spotted banjo funk, Morris and Hay laying down a fat one, with Waite, C, alerting your ears to his subtle contributions on the guitar, needing then a skip back to check you heard that correctly. The more heavy rhythm of Shower Power gives his brother a lead moment on accordion, there being an almost eastern med feel to how it unravels, embracing the full on rock’n’reel of John Riordan’s Reels. Perhaps not as their writer, Winifred Horan, first envisaged

Brechin Bad, another cracking title, dosen’t allow any respite, churning forward relentlessly, with further synthesised atmospherics and a bass drum that screams for volume. The joint banjo and accordion, well, squint a little, and it could be Jon Lord. Don’t laugh, I mean it. The second half the tune is the trad Old John’s, starting heavy on the judder and, likely, heavy on the heavy, ahead breaking into a brisk electric jig. And, just as you wonder where the organ has gone, fear not, it’s back. Is there ever going to be a slow one? As if by intuition, here is the sole moment to dry your brow, a thoughtful piece that rolls along at a slow canter, the individual players all getting their moment to shine. As does Lyall, who adds some piano, but the pride of place is given the staccato strum/pick of guitar, or it it mandolin, that adds an ornate orchestral feel.

Had your rest/a pee/bought a drink? Back then, pronto, to the dancefloor, for closer, Plunk Rock, a title, um, a little less worthy of posterity. Having said, it makes plain the menu of the two closing tunes, Calum McCrimmon (of Breabach)’s The Shetland Turtle, and Ryan’s Funny Side Up. The former has a maritime smugglery type of vibe to it, but you sense it merely a build, and, as Waite’s organ hovers ominously in the background, Ryan is meticulously building a bridge. You just know it’s going to go bonkers, and that’s exactly where it goes, the time signatures of the engine room ever up for a challenge, and giving one. A fittingly finale. And fun, too, landing right on the side I like my toast to land.

The Ciarán Ryan band launch this record on the day of release, of course at Celtic Connections, playing support to another ATB favourite, the aforementioned Kinnaris Quintet, at the Old Fruitmarket. Busy boy that he is, he then appears for a Dallahan 10th anniversary performance the following night, at St. Luke’s

Here’s a live version of the title track(s) from 2022:

Ciarán Ryan band online: Website / Facebook / Instagram

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