Caution chucked thataway, Mànran fire on all new cylinders.
Release Date : 1st August 2025
Label : Mànran Records
Format : CD / Vinyl / Digital
Inspirations opposite and obvious
At a time when much of modern folk and neo-trad are either digging deeper and deeper into dronecore or adding dollops of dub and electronica into their meticulously excavated texts, it takes gumption to go in an opposite direction, and to seek inspiration in something so obvious. Which is what Mànran have here done, applying a glossy sheen of current pop sensibilities into their brand, at a stroke liberating themselves from their earlier solidly, stolidly even, Gaelic folk-rock, where the emphasis had been on rock. OK, that’s harsh, their catalogue amongst the most inspiring of what 21st c. Scotland has offered, but the gusts of fresh air here are refreshing, engaging and, yes, sometimes a little shocking in their unexpectedness.
Inyerface exuberance
We sort of knew that, successive singles pushing at the envelope of expectation. Here’s what we said about one of the more recent, an earworm that jumped at the listener like a cuddly toy of candy-floss, so the requisite listens to that, made album opener, Standing Still, a whole lot less of a shock. It too, had been a single, I discover, had I bothered to pay attention. So, as the inyerface percussion and exuberant woo-a-wo-ahs leap out the speakers, the sheer infectiousness of it is already a given. Kim Carnie then peals into her glossy vocal, the polish of her pitch perfection a joy. Guitars jangle merrily and I’m beaming.
Heck, I played it to my granddaughter in the car, her tastes more inclined to Wicked and Sabrina Carpenter, and she loved it. But there is more to it than catchy hooks, listen deeper and there is a wealth of subtext and undercurrent; Ewen Henderson’s fiddle is clearly there in the mix, as are some pipes, lurking beneath the surface, just waiting for, if you want them, recognition.
Woah starts with an odd plucking sound and an off-kilter drum pattern, before Carnie again launches, effortlessly, her honeyed tones. A realisation hits that the plucking is pizzicato fiddle, and Aidan Moodie is also throwing in some neat little acoustic guitar lines, complementing the strums elesewhere. Rather than the Gaelic, Woah is what it sounds like, a moan. A fiddle break seems perfect to add in here, detracting not a jot from the main melody, which, in any righteous world, would be a certain chart botherer. (So, much like the others!)
Drystone wall of sound
Downpour introduces more the trademark Mànran drystone wall of Gary Innes’s accordion, Ryan Murphy’s whistle and Henderson’s fiddle, an instrumental that is more akin to the sound the more timid are accustomed to. But, even here, it is the drums of Mark Scobbie and bass of Marcus Cordock that give it a new flavour. Both are playing blinders, and this is just the third track, ending on an echo. Gaol’s Gàire, which follows, is a further reminder of what the band can do with a waulking song, and is the first excursion into the Gaelic. Henderson takes the lead vocal, ahead a choral refrain. But even for this, the arrangement sets it apart from similar past excursions. A middle eight is awash with the flute and whistle of Murphy, but it is the choppy guitar of Moodie and, again, Cordock’s bass, that grab the ear.
Something I Said now sounds just so normal for the new band sound. And, is that a wee touch of auto-tune in the vocals, an idea of previous anaethma? You know, who cares, even if it is, it works and makes Carnie seem that much more part of the overall instrumentation. How much of this is down to ex-Robbie Williams producer, Ross Hamilton, or to the commerciality of the song-writing, I don’t know, and likely a touch of both.
new recruits
It, and I suspect a few more, were written by the no longer new recruits, Carnie and Moodie. Both seem now more than fully bedded in, after four years, even allowing for the former’s solo work, and Moodie being also in Gnoss. Indeed, this is the sound of a band happy in their boots, with even newer member, Cordock, who joined in 2022, slotting in, not so much seamlessly, but more with a noticeably rousing footprint. (Given his c.v. includes the Bay City Rollers, who knows how much his experiences have too infused into this effervescent broth?)
Banger crossed with ballad
Mire, up next, parades in on a triumphant pipe and accordion skirl. Another nod to the tradition, this is some vintage puirt à beul. Oddly, however much this, and, to a lesser extent, Gaol’s Gàire ahead of it, each seem ever so slightly superfluous within the soundscape as presented. Live, sure, always integral to that experiece and for inciting their partisan audience, but these tracks seem, shhhh, less vital on disc. Annie is then a further banger crossed with ballad, the Scots inflection in Carnie’s voice the only thing separating the song from Pixar’s latest. (So a cert for Brave 2?)
A hollered, 1,2,3 ignites the blue touch paper of See What You Hear, a second instrumental, where the traditional instruments take centre stage, the accordion, the flute and the fiddle. Bridged by some non-verbal vocalisations, the pace returns for more ensemble play. I kept waiting for either the highland pipes (Henderson) or uillean pipes (Murphy) to take pole position, but no luck yet. The Big Yin is a slower and more reflective piece, which, praise be, whets my need for a fix of bagpipe. Both sorts, I think, play in unison, a slow air, with a precise beat that, rather than the military it could be, in another setting, more that of a a slow blues. It is grand, especially as other instruments, the fiddle for one, waft in and out. A salute, I’d guess, to Billy Connolly?
Filling the boots?
To follow that would be difficult, without destroying the mood, so it is with a nostalgic sashay into Wild Mountain Thyme they take us. A song that features large across the Scottish tradition, often performed cloyingly and sentimentally for shortbread music and whisky commercials, this is one of the few versions that manages to cut muster, fitting perhaps the same sort of place in the repertoire as Loch Lomond did for Runrig. Which may be my way of saying these are the size of those boots that Mànran are now wearing.
This is a canny record. There is enough here to appeal to their longstanding and loyal fan base, yet to still offer a welcome to those younger and newer to the possibilities inherent within the landscape of Scotland’s ample musical heritage. Recommended.
See What You Hear, and hear what you see, a live outing for track 8:
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