The brothers Mac Gloinn expand and enhance both their scope and the sound of Ye Vagabonds, gifting the past with a future.

SOMETHING PURER AND MORE SENSITIVE

Ye Vagabonds have built an enviable reputation as consummate interpreters of the Irish tradition, it sometimes forgotten that they have always written a fair few of the songs across their 3 albums released thus far. Possibly, I guess, as their own sound is so indelibly steeped in the mythology, a mix of Old Ireland and the Old Time(y) tradition of the US.

The two brothers, Diarmuid and Brían Mac Gloinn, feel to have kept themselves carefully apart from the otherwise prevailing tide of Irish Folk, which is often anything but, as industrial noise and a reliance on drone gets cantilevered into the old songs and tunes. Don’t get me wrong, all of that, post-folk or whatever, sure, it’s great, but sometimes, something purer and more sensitive nags to be heard. And when the honey and molasses of their slightly ragged sibling harmonies meet, that is an undeniably pure, if unfiltered, sound.

For album number 4, a 3rd on the Rough Trade’s River Lea imprint, all the material consists of their own originals. Bringing together a cast of River Lea luminaries, all retreated to a remote house in Galway, with the whole set recorded live in that makeshift studio. With Philip Weinrobe, fresh from producing Adrienne Lenker/Big Thief, the sense of space, so integral to the brother’s MO, is writ large, adding further to the feeling of home and inner refuge. “All these songs have addresses“, says older sibling, Diarmuid, with that immediately apparent as the songs start tumbling forth, an overflowing well of memories, many of which hark back to a world of Dublin squats and busking to make ends meet.

DELICATE DRY AND ULTRA-FINE GRIT

With multi-instrumentalist Shahzad Ismaily and Sam Amidon on hand to add their textures, On Sitric Street opens the set. If it sounds a delicate melody, the lyrics reflect more the reality of urban survival: “There were troubled teens and drag queens, lock-ins by the score; sparks and fire on my lips and keys to every door“. And it is a delicate melody, carried on the dry and ultra-fine grit of their voices. First one voice and one guitar, before duplication of each, with a shimmer of keyboard. Brian tends to sing lead, having the lower voice, with Diarmuid the higher pitched harmony.

Across the album each play, variously, guitar, mandolin and bouzouki, with Brian adept also on fiddle and hammered dulcimer, and Diarmuid on organ. My copy gives no further individual breakdown, but, besides Ismaily and Amidon, other guests include Alain McFadden, Caimin Gilmore and Kate Ellis. McFadden and Gilmore are the regular touring members of the band, playing, generally, harmonium and double bass respectively, with Ellis supplying occasional cello. Romain Bly supplies additional percussion and Louise Gaffney some never intrusive electronic programming.

INFECTIOUS FIDDLE RIFF

The Flood seems to pick up on the same geography, but is more boisterous, propelled along by fiddle, with some stand-up bass and percussion. The fiddle riff is infectious, setting up a feel somewhere between Planxty and an acoustic Levellers. Danny prowls the same streets, and is the sorry tale of a school chum, who burnt faster than he lived, eventually succumbing to heroin: “And later that same year, in the early winter time, Danny broke the record when he crossed the finish line”. A bittersweet rendition of a bittersweet life, it lingers long.

Electronic sound flickers across Cuckoo Storm. Clearly of contrast to the rich organic bed of acoustica made by the band, it doesn’t actually jar at all, with a similar template across I’ll Keep Singing. With the run of songs tending towards a similar design, there might seem to be a risk of one blending and blurring into the other. All credit, therefore to the brothers Mac Gloinn, their musicians and to Weinrobe’s production, as they nip and tuck myriad nuances into the unfolding tapestry, revealing more with each listen. Gilmore’s bass is tremendous, and demands close attention, ahead the song attaining peak eerie with the repeating closing refrain, “I’ll keep singing, after you’re gone……..“

WEIGHTLESS VOICES, SUSPENDED IN MID AIR

After the comment around eschewing drone, it is actually one that Gravity is built around, a long and drawn out mash of cello, bowed bass and synths. Curiously, given the title, this has the effect of rendering the two voices weightless, as if suspended in mid air. This alone is enough to break the prevailing atmosphere, giving a leg up to the second half of the album, which kicks off with the spritely Where The Heart Lies. The most instantly catchy and commercial song here, it is held together with ripples of fingerpicked guitars and a tinkling piano. Gorgeous, if still with some hint of foreboding waiting in the eaves.

Mayfly is another character vignette, and, like Danny, another troubled soul. Echoes of Richard Thompson’s Beeswing. or, at least of a similar personality, haunt the brief encounter. Electronic ambient sound adds to the sense of doom, again without impeding the impact of wood and strings. Possibly the most orthodox construction follows, for Young Again, built around piano and guitars, with harmonium first swelling up, joined later by organ, each sending a clear message as to which way the mood is heading. Of all the songs, this is one I can see becoming a future standard, sung by others.

ECHOES OF IRVINE AND BRADY

Mandolin and bouzouki combine on Four Walls. Whether by nature of that, the effect is extraordinary, conjuring up Andy Irvine and Paul Brady’s version of Mary And The Soldier. OK, the tune carries a distant memory of that song, but more, it is in their vocal delivery, where Brian sounds like an amalgam of each, multiplied further as Diarmuid locks in with harmony. The old timey aspect of their style gets then drummed up for Long Grass, which is the closest to sentimental that this album is likely to get. To have the two songs follow each other, this exemplifies their fusion of influences.

The final track had me thinking about Travis, the Scottish band and their song about rain. This one is, more realistically, We Always Forget About The Rain. Given the climates, either side of the Irish Sea, each tending toward the dreich, I must say that this Irish band display a good deal more honesty, if, sure, just as pissed off about it. It is a wryly acerbic song and a good way to end the album.

IDIOSYNCRATIC IDENTIFYING SOUND

This is a solid further addition to the Ye Vagabonds canon, and should further widen their appeal, within and without just the hardcore folk community. The broader soundscapes only expand the scope of vision behind it, without losing any of their idiosyncratic signature sound; these days there isn’t really any other group quite like this.

Here is an exquisite live take of On Sitric Road, the first song in the set. It was filmed at The Lilliput Press bookshop, in Dublin:

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