Glasgow’s Gaelic prodigies take a further giant step forward, taking trad into territories new, snapping at the heels of the established hierachies.

Release Date: 28th June 2024

Label: Dlùth records

Format: CD / digital

Well, what a difference a year makes, especially when it’s two, or thereabouts! March 2022 had us review the DLÙ debut, Moch, from a bunch of rosy cheeked youngsters from Glasgow’s Gaelic School, where they laid down promise of a firm future. At the time we suggested more vocals, it then being a mostly instrumental unit. To an extent, this is what they’ve done, if remaining a band that capitalises on the instrumental heft at their command. In the meantime, they have also shoe-horned a shed more potent influences into their already steamy and nourishing neo-trad broth. They have also made more than quite a name for themselves in live shows, not least at Glasgow’s recent outdoor Celtic fest, The Reeling. Since we caught them last, there has been one change of member, with Seòras Chlad now taking over bass duties, he adding a big sound that defines much the direction taken on this second outing.

I know I bemuse and/or exasperate my editors, finding prog where there be no prog, (no – we’re good with any prog alert…Ed) but here, I believe, there is a veritable lodestone of it. Whether the band are aware of that may be another question, but, apropos circuitous and twisty melodies, allied with multiple changes of velocity and direction, there are ticks here, all the way to a neo-trad avant-prog wonderland.

Intro, the first track, let alone that title, unveils this truth from the first widdly flourish of synths and sweeping fauxchestration. It breaks then into the driving puirt à beul of Mogaisean, with the vocal taken up by guest, Joseph McCluskey, returning from the first album. The synths come from current Mr Everywhere in Caledonian music, erstwhile Treacherous Orchestra bass man, Duncan Lyall, now performing the same duty for Kate Rusby. That is, when he isn’t adding bass, synths or adding production desk duties to myriad other performers. Here he adds all manner of synthesisers. The track builds, with doomy power chords and a relentless beat. FX and echos fill out the vocal widescreen, the guitar of Aidan Spiers now peeling off sears of background melody. It is, in tandem with Intro, as exhilarating a start to a Gaelic album as I can recall, up there with Fingal’s Cave from the Mànran debut.

Gluais starts with a pattern of repeated notes, guitar and accordion, with the bass keeping it in check, ahead
Moilidh NicGriogair’s fiddle, which starts a bar or two before Zach Ronan’s accordion really steams in and up the track. This is the moment for the drums of Andrew Grossart to move from metronome to moving mountains. Producer, Pete Fletcher, wanted to band to utilise some of the features of electronica and dance, and this is certainly delivered. Whilst sequencers sequence and guitars clang, the more traditional elements, fiddle and squeezebox, fill out every inch of the dance floor. It is a second corker. (Elephant Sessions, watch yer backs!) With Spicy Hector then intriguing as to the why, this turns out to be some prime funk, Average White Band meet Silly Wizard. Possibly the simplest and “folkiest” track here, it is with a sudden lurch you realise the disco ball is rotating above you, and this is no White Heather Club night.

Polarity beams back into trance territory, chops of keyboard, with an expectation that Maxi Jazz could almost pipe up at any minute. But, instead, it is accordion, with a constant burbling undercurrent of bass. Crashes of drums reveal the break, and it stretches forward, the velocity of all but the kick drum changing, until it all turns into a bizarre military tattoo. (Let’s play that again, and see if I got that right! Yup, I did.) Vitamin T reprises the AWB Dundee soul influence, with old school mini-moog jousting with accordion. Chlad really goes to town on this one, propelled by Spiers into an acceleration. T for what, I wonder? Tennants?

If you are wondering where all this promised singing is coming from, wait no more, as NicGriogair fires up Mhic Iain ’ic Sheumais, over a throbbing background presence. It again sounds a traditional song, or, as with Mogaisean, based on one, with backing vocals from the chaps giving a very credible recreation of later period, “new-er age” Clannad. The band really are rounding up a veritable bevy of influences to source their overall original sound.

Close To, the final track, comes in two parts, and it is again that chanky guitar sound that introduces Part 1. Fiddle then takes a more pastoral multitracked bridge, the accordion bobbling away like something made by KORG, ahead a faded return. Part 2, as it awakes, does so with a lonesome Gilmouresque guitar, the rest of the band picking up on a majestic Highlands infused melody. Sequenced synths add layer upon layer and this could come from any time over the last thirty years, timeless, rather than out of time. Quite unexpected, even with the hints offered before, and ineffably Scottish. There are a whole new set of tricks here, all to keep a step, or several, ahead the everchanging cycle of neo-traditional music from the Gàidhealtachd. Sláinte to that!

Here’s Mhic Iain ’ic Sheumais:

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