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Pa Sheehy: “I fall in love with a lot of different music”

Once part of Dingle pop band Walking On Cars, Pa Sheehy’s journey as a solo musician is very much rooted in his past. Covid hit Sheehy and his band hard, and ultimately he decided to step away, going solo and taking on a different, more folk-leaning style. Success came swiftly, not least in supporting Bruce Springsteen on his recent jaunt around Ireland.

“I think the biggest lesson from that experience [with Walking On Cars] is that when you put your mind to something, you can achieve anything,” he says. “We were tunnel visioned in what we wanted to achieve and we showed up every day working on tunes to the point that some of the songs were in a pop sense kind of undeniable.”

“I think the magic we had at the beginning was gone, and that is the main factor in the disbanding of the group. We struggled with album two and struggled to find the magic of the first record. After Covid hit, we had time to reflect on everything and when the work started up again we had a few band meetings but it became apparent we were on different pages and ultimately I decided to leave the group.” 

Latest release ‘Towards The Water’ is another step on that solo journey, and has a lost, nostalgic edge to it.

“I’m trying out a few different ideas before I release an album,” Sheehy explains of his series of EPs and singles. “I fall in love with a lot of different music so I’m always open to making a different sounding body of work than the last. This batch of songs have been written and sculpted continuously over the last three years. It’s my first time doing this as a solo artist, so It took awhile to get it into the right place. Working with a lot of different producers kept everything fresh and the record feels cohesive without feeling continuous. That was my main aim.”

“I’m finding my feet as a solo artist and I’ve got a great little team on board, so sky’s the limit.  The music industry is constantly changing so there’s always new stuff to figure out, but I never get as overwhelmed as I did when I first went out on my own. It all seems manageable and possible. I think I’ve got the music right so I believe no matter how much I mess up things, the music will take me where I’m destined for.”

“I was walking around London and I remember thinking of how free I was that I’d chosen music and how trapped I used to feel in school. I had a pep in my step and just wanted to take on the world and I think this song captures that youthful anything-is-possible energy. I’d been listening to a lot of kings of Leon when producing this tune so I think it’s obvious that influence was taken from Caleb and the guys on this track. “

“Sometimes it’s lyrics that will fall on my lap and other times it’s playing around. There is no one way to write. I find that magic can be caught at any time you just have to be tuned in. I’m a believer that if you don’t use an idea you’ve been gifted by the song gods they will give it to someone else. My favourite way to write, however, is to sit on my own in a cottage in the middle of nowhere and see what jumps out of me.”

As for playing with Springsteen? “It was an unbelievable experience, to see how he does it was hugely inspiring and made me want to improve my own shows. I’ve only recently started listening to his music. The album ‘Nebraska’ has found a home in my catalogue, real stories without rushing on too quickly. I’ve taken a bit of this approach into my own record. It gives space to everything.”

‘Towards The Water’ by Pa Sheehy is out now.

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Meljoann: “Big tech has a monopoly on our social communication, politics, and arts”

From Dublin but based in Brighton, producer and vocalist Meljoann has been making noise around various music scenes since the late 00s, producing a kind of soulful, synth backed sound that firmly airs her views against a starkly engaging, meaty backdrop.

Upcoming new single ‘Bye’, for example, takes a running jab at the evils of the social media giants, and the way in which data is manipulated; an unusual topic for music, but that leftfield tendency to explore topics other prefer to leave in written form is amongst the things that make Meljoann a compelling listen.

“’Bye’ is a word I’d dearly love to say in this situation,” Meljoann says. “Big Tech has a monopoly on our social communication, politics and arts. Through this, billionaires like Zuckerberg, Bezos, Musk and Ek enact a kind of digital neo-colonialism. Throughout the song, I’m saying we do have a choice, and the time is coming when we can leave all of this behind.”

“It’s possible to ignore this stuff,” she continues, talking from the perspective of a musician trying to promote work, “but only if you’re able to have a day-job as well. Or maybe if you’re a big legacy artist, and everyone knows who you are already. Someone like me just has to engage with it. So, I do it in a way that hopefully exposes the hokey mechanisms behind influencer culture.”

“I hope not to do so for much longer. There are grassroots alternative software scenes, creating welcoming community-run spaces for people. Like the Fediverse. We shouldn’t have to look at a bunch of ads, and click “I Agree” on a bunch of dodgy corporate BS, when we just want to talk to our friends or listen to music online.”

“I have an ongoing frustration with the music industry. But the feelings in the song are all about power imbalance, where you just have to “play along” with a load of rubbish: flattering, fawning, and keeping all their dodgy secrets. The video documents a talk show that goes horribly wrong. It references 90s shows like Ricki Lake and Jerry Springer.”

“It’s not that I enjoy it, but I can only write authentically about my own experiences,” she says of a tendency to write social commentary into her music. “Then, when I zoom out, I see all my individual experiences are just one part of a much larger socio-political picture. It seems myopic to just focus on yourself.”

“I’m very focused on visual expression alongside the music. I’ve always had dreamy synesthesia-like experiences with music, and it’s really satisfying to be able to make these images. I feel it gives a more complete impression of my ideas. If it means I get to act the maggot in front of a camera, wearing ridiculous costumes, that’s a bonus.”

“I just want to keep writing, music-making, improvising, producing, filming… all the things! We’ll be releasing my new album soon.”

Brighton is a place that allows Meljoann freedom of expression, she says. “Brighton is an amazing, queer-friendly city. I feel I can be more myself here. There’s a great experimental music scene, full of friendly people.”

“I do miss Dublin as well, though,” she continues, “but the scenes I remember have been priced out. Hardly anyone I know can afford to live there anymore.”

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Callum Orr: “the album does have a fear to faith kind of arc”

Callum Orr’s road to his first album, which is a deeply personal exploration rendered in colourful folk style, has been a potted one. From a life changing time spent living in Canada to a yearning for home in Ireland and the fear of a family illness, the record tracks periods of emotional turmoil and self discovery, 

Entitled ‘The Trails Of Knowing’, Orr’s record is essentially built on the concept of life’s inevitable twists and turns, and coming out of the other side.

“I’m mostly self-taught, and like to dabble in a bit of everything,” he says of his roots. “The first instrument I picked up was the drums when I was 10, and I very quickly took to it and was hooked. This set a good basis for picking up a guitar later on. There was always a guitar in my house as my dad and brother are both great players.”

“I learned how to play ‘First Day of My Life’ by Bright Eyes all the way through when I was 14 and was chuffed with myself. I realised that at its core, songwriting is actually a simple process – it’s the inspiration that’s rare. I had no shortage of inspiration as a 14 year old though, so I hit the ground running.”

Orr’s record is in some ways a true exploration of self. “It does make me relate to the songs in a much closer way,” he says, “and it’s much easier to tap into the emotion when playing the thing live. That being said, I’ve been immersed in these songs for the last few years and have heard each one so many times and in so many states of undress, that I’m not a reliable judge on it I reckon.”

The diagnosis of Orr’s mother with cancer, which thankfully she ultimately came through, is a big part of the inspiration behind many of the songs. “especially the song ‘Hello Marianne’,” he says “It’s very much not present in the first few tunes, but I think the album does have a fear to faith kind of arc. The first half is very pessimistic, the second half is very optimistic.”

Part of the record is also an exploration of Ireland from afar: both from life in Canada, and an eventual return home. “There were lots of hard things about repatriating after Vancouver,” he says. “The friend group to whom I had been so close was now fractured and had a different aspect. I left a really vibrant community behind in Vancouver. I had no job, I was living with my sister on her good graces. I was kind of floating and at a low ebb and one song was an attempt to put a frame on that.”

“The feedback I get on the live show is usually a lot more positive than my inner critic,” he continues, “and I’m getting better at listening to that and just enjoying playing. I like to do big productions for launches – there will be nine people, including a string quartet, on the stage with me at the album launch in the Cellar on July 20.”

“My hopes for the record are simply that people enjoy the melodies and the textures of the songs; that they come back to it and look forward to listening to it. I want to make long bus journeys a bit nicer. I have album number two half written and am very excited about the songs, so will get cracking on that early next year.”

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James: “We were financially suicidal in many of our choices”

Madchester’s quirky outcasts. A male band in dresses in the 90s, singing about childbirth, with a tee-total frontman as an entire scene notorious for drugs unfolded before them. Cult icons whose fans, by many accounts, prefer not to hear their hit singles. Manchester band James, fronted by the enigmatic Tim Booth, are not what the casual observer might think.

Best known for their massive hit singles ‘Laid’ and ‘Sit Down’, the band nonetheless scored their first UK number one album only earlier this year, a continuation of the success of their reformation. ‘Yummy’ sparkles with thoughtful and well-constructed music, inventive and accomplished, and Tim Booth, long one of the British indie scene’s most memorable characters, is loving every minute of it.

“We adapt our sets because we want to be understood,” Booth says of James in their modern incarnation. “There’s no good or bad audience, but we have to adapt to what they need at a particular time.”

“A problem can be that anyone that comes to a James gig is going to be disappointed. They’ll generally have favourite songs that don’t get played, as we have about 400. Our hardcore fans don’t really want to hear ‘Sit Down’, they want to hear a song they haven’t heard from six albums ago, like ‘Bubbles’, or ‘Zero’.”

“We were financially suicidal in many of our choices,” he recalls. “We did things that we felt were artistic, or we made dumb young choices. We were breastfed on NME and the idea that success is bad for you, that you shouldn’t be too successful, an equation that was very prevalent at the time.”

“I try not to be too rose-tinted about it, to give all the different sides. The positive one was that it gave us this longevity, and people have trusted us to make musical choices over business choices.” 

“We refused to put ‘Sit Down’ on the album ‘Gold Mother’ even though the record label said we’d sell another 250,000 copies. We said we’d fight them over it. Eventually they agreed that anyone who bought the original could take it back to the record store and swap it over. It made us respect them. That was something no one ever got. Though no one ever took the record back. People wanted the songs that had been taken off to make way for ‘Sit Down’.”

“We used to speak about shoot to kill in Northern Ireland. The guy who uncovered it, he came across as this really honest guy, and they discredited him. That drove us mad. Injustice is injustice. I’m not a political lyricist, but over the years there have been a few times I’ve had to say something.”

“I ended up writing songs about mother courage, and women reaching the edge of death in search of a child. More recently we’ve had two women join the band, and they called it a feminist anthem, which made me really proud.”

“We were considered idiosyncratic,” he laughs, “and I was considered lyrically weird. It doesn’t seem as strange anymore, but 34 years ago it was seen as very weird. It was the same with the dresses. We stirred things up. We were clearly straight boys, but we found ourselves playing Lollapalooza with Korn, Tool, Snoop Dogg and so on. The crowd would scream abuse at us.”

“After a couple of shows we went out in sequined dresses, and I’d sing in the faces of these people screaming abuse at us, in a sparkly top, and nobody would touch me. I’d go out with no anger, and sing to them from an honest place. It was incredible. I was offered drinks and drugs, anything to get rid of me.”

“Of course, I wasn’t into those things at the time,” Booth says. In fact, it was the extracurriculars that ultimately led to James splitting and reforming. “Then I got into psychedelic therapy a few years back. Go figure.”

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ROOUE: “‘Juxtaposition’ really describes us well, same but different.”

Dublin twins Ro and Lulu – performing under pop moniker ROOUE – have about the most extensive shared songwriting background you could hope to have. Performing together since toddlerhood, they’re public emergence nonetheless comes off the back of a substantial musical education.

Theirs is pop with a twist: a kind of subtly evocative exploration that deals in deeply personal feelings amongst upbeat vibes, creating a gorgeously melancholy contrast. It’s now presented from London, but ROOUE have their Dublin roots in their heart.

“We started singing and dancing together as soon as we could walk,” they recall. “Music is a massive part of our family. When we turned around eight, Ro got a guitar, and this gave us the opportunity to play and sing with a guitar together”

“This continued into our teens when we began busking and using it to make money. When we went to college in BIMM, music became more career driven and we really found passion in making music together and harmonising. Once we had found our own voices individually, we decided to start ROOUE. We realised we were stronger together and loved making music in our band.”

“We are just so glad that other people also like to listen to what we make. Every career win is a bonus to us as we love the journey and the opportunity to work together everyday. We are surprised everyday at the love and support we have received. It’s crazy that the music we make at home reaches different people we have never met before, such a cool feeling.”

The new EP from the pair is entitled ‘Juxtaposition’, and explores a difficult time for the duo.

“The title ‘Juxtaposition’ stands for how the path to recovery is never a straight line. We wrote this EP during a really hard year filled with loss, heartbreak and self discovery. Everyday we woke up dealing with a different emotion whether it was anger, sexual empowerment or self consciousness. Ironically this was a juxtaposition in itself. We also feel that the title ‘Juxtaposition’ really describes us well, same but different. As twins we love having similarities, but also are so different. We are a yin yang of each other, so we couldn’t think of a better way to title this body of work.”

“We wanted each song on this EP to represent an emotion or headspace we felt when going through this year. The EP ends on the track ‘Slán’ meaning goodbye in Irish. This song represents the decision we made to start a new adventure away from friends, family and our home in Ireland. Ending the EP with this track was so important to us as it really felt like a closing chapter and a representation of the new stages in our lives.” 

“Ireland represents so much happiness and warmth, but also held a lot of pain and struggling, so that was a perfect song to end Juxtaposition with. We filled the track with voice notes and audio of people we have lost this year. We can’t listen to the track without tears as it sums up every emotion we have felt when writing this EP. It’s a happy, sad goodbye.”

“It’s always intimidating releasing music with a personal and vulnerable subject matter but somehow it feels like such a release,” they continue.

“It’s scary as hell, we won’t lie, and it is never easy, but once we put the words to the song and release it feels like closure. It is all worth it; honesty makes for really powerful songs.”

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Slow Pulp: “When we started playing music together it felt like I had known them my whole life”

Slow Pulp’s cleverness, as a nuanced rock band, is in being subtle and relatable as well as, sometimes in the same song, bold and brash. Originally from Wisconsin but now based in Chicago, the four-piece, fronted by vocalist and guitarist Emily Massey, are well-established in the US but making tentative early steps post-Covid in Europe.

With a third show in Dublin on the horizon, latest record ‘Yard’ will provide the meat of their set, its roots taken from a lifetime of writing music together, as Massey explains.

“My bandmates Alex, Teddy and Henry have known each other and been making music together since grade school. We all grew up in Madison, Wisconsin, but I didn’t meet them ‘till we were in college,” she says. “When we started playing music together it felt like I had known them my whole life in some strange way. I feel like our chemistry really comes out the most within the live show. A smile or a glance at one of my bandmates on stage always reminds me of how lucky we are to be best friends doing this thing together.”

“We all write a lot individually. Which I think was a process we just naturally landed on. When we started as a band Alex, who writes and plays bass, was living in another city so we sent stuff back and forth online to each other to write. I found it really helpful to work out things on my own. To really take the time to sit and figure it out.”

“The title of Yard came from a song that our guitarist Henry sent to me. It started as a guitar chord progression that he had written that I later took and wrote lyrics and a melody to. When we were trying to figure out a title for the record we felt like the song encapsulated a certain energy that related to the emotional centre of the record, and we decided to name the album after it.”

“When I’m writing a melody for a song, I sing kind of nonsense off the cuff words that are sort of out of my control. It’s like my subconscious coming out or something. But it almost always informs what the song is going to be about. Usually one line sticks out. In the song ‘Slugs’, for example, I kept singing “you’re a summer hit” and I liked the idea of making a sweet love song have this kind of ominous undertone, by making the melody have this minor tone. I felt it evoked the kind of internal fear or uncertainty of falling in love.”

The road to Europe has been a slow one for Slow Pulp. “When we released our first record in 2020 we were slated to do our first headlining tour in Europe, which we were very excited for!,” Massey recalls. “Obviously we didn’t get to make that happen. We are so lucky that we’ve been able to do two tours within a year in Europe to kind of make up for lost time. It is very expensive to come over and make it all happen.” 

“It has definitely not been a lucrative situation for us yet over here. But it has been so special to get to connect with people who listen to our music across the world.” 

“Our show at workman’s club last fall was one of if not our favourite show of the European tour. Everyone who came out to the gig had the best energy. We felt so much support and kindness! We can’t wait to come back.”

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Man Alive: “Doing whatever I want is quite liberating”

Mark Prendergast’s day job has occupied him since he was just 15. As a songwriter and guitarist in massive Swords act Kodaline, he’s experienced the highs and the lows of the music industry, touring the world with his friends. In Man Alive, he’s taking a step out into the solo world.

With the new project comes a distinctly personal sound. In debut EP ‘Colours’, he explored heartbreak, Follow up ‘Hiding’, recorded in a more toned-down way closer to his live offering, explores Prendergast’s post-tour antisocial periods.

“It’s a little bit about social anxiety, a little bit about just not wanting to be bothered by anybody,” he says. “I just wanted to enjoy my own company, but I ended up working on the song. When I’m going through something, songwriting is one of my favourite things to do. It always comes out in the songs.”

“I’ve been playing to maybe 100 people in London and Dublin, and it’s very hard,” he continues. “You get used to big crowds. It’s a buzz, but it’s so much easier. In a small room, you pick out people, and when someone goes to the bar or the toilet you’re very aware of it. But the intimacy that comes with it I do love. Looking at a blur of people is different to making eye contact and wondering if someone’s having a good time.”

“I played a gig in my house, my first solo thing with friends and family, unveiling Man Alive. I was really nervous, looking out at my family. It was one of the most intense nerve wracking gigs I ever did. It’s sobering. I’ve decided to just do things alone, and the buzz of it, the adrenaline rush is a new feeling. I’m really addicted to that feeling of scaring myself out of my comfort zone. I feel great after the shows.”

“At the moment, with babies and weddings in the band, there’s a lot of life to be done. In those times, I don’t think it’ll come to picking between Kodaline and Man Alive. Kodaline will be a priority, as there are other people involved. I don’t know if there will be more Man Alive when Kodaline’s next session ends. But they’re a welcome mental break, one from the other.”

“It can be very obvious if what I write is for me or the band. Of course, I’m not the singer in Kodaline. I think there’s a general feeling of a Kodaline song, and a few songs for Man Alive felt like they could be Kodaline songs, so I kind of put them away. I’ve got a song bank that came from not trying to write Kodaline songs.”

“I would class myself as an extreme extrovert. It’s funny that the conversation around this song is about struggling to come out of my shell, because it’s only in that time after six weeks with the same 13-14 people on a tour bus in bunk beds, which I love, but after a six week tour, you just want to be left alone. Your social battery is dead, and you need to sit on the couch, order food and vegetate.”

“The person who I’m describing in the track ‘Miles Away’, I’m not that person a lot. I love hiding away and disappearing for a couple of days. What I’ve enjoyed the most about the project is being in the studio and experimenting, to see if I can make music myself and release it. Doing whatever I wanted was quite liberating.”

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Onion Boys: “It’s quite all over the gaff sometimes”

Riotous garage-rock band Onion Boys are edging their way towards the status of cult-ish Dublin institution. Famed for their live shows, which feature dynamic performances, during which they often explore their own crowd and invite up temporary members, they’re biding their time in a rise that’s becoming harder to control.

Scruffy and more than slightly manic, the rise of this type of band tends to happen gradually and then, suddenly, all at once. Right now, we feel on the cusp of that “all at once.”

“During lockdown, this guy called Danny Leadpipe and I started making music,” an enigmatic frontman who goes only by the pseudonym Jonny Dublin tells the Gazette. “We’re influenced by similar bands, and he’s a very successful producer. We don’t take ourselves too seriously, and we add the bustle of day-to-day life. We throw in as many references as we can, whatever works.”

“It’s quite all over the gaff sometimes. It’s very fun, but it’s not quite who I am in real life. After the shows, the persona allows me to be a bit of an asshole. I’m usually exhausted and just want to sleep. The guys in the band have so much experience that the bigger venues are fine. I’ll get what I’m given. We’ve played really big shows at places like All Together Now. I just think about it as going up and having fun, and doing what we do.”

“When we go and play other countries, people still seem to find it accessible. We’ve done four shows in Germany, and we were playing festivals after six months together. Playing live is where it’s at for us. You can’t get the same energy from streaming and that kind of thing.”

There are limitations to their rising status, however. “The stages are tiny in Ireland,” Jonny says. “I want to be that frontman that runs around and jumps around and it can be difficult. Sometimes we have nine lads crammed up on stage. I love getting off the stage and getting into the audience for a bit.”

“We live in this content driven world where you have to be constantly feeding the algorithm, being on people’s minds. We don’t really get it, and we talk about that a bit in our lyrics. Don’t get me wrong, I do like getting ourselves out there, but constantly being a new thing is odd. Still, we probably wouldn’t be where we are without it. You can reach so many people with a single post.”

“The EP had to be delayed unfortunately. It’ll be out around the time of the gig in May. We did programmed drumming, and the drummer decided he could do it and he jumped in. It’ll be more of a live version, and it shouldn’t take too much longer.”

“We’re trying to make the EP sound like the live atmosphere, with as many voices as possible. Depending on who is at a gig, sometimes we have three guitarists. Some of the guys will be there sometimes and we’ll talk from the audience and up they’ll get. In Germany we had the bassist switching around, guys moving back and forth. It’s a very fluid thing.”

“We all have our personas, partly because I’d already done some artistic stuff and I wanted to make it a different thing, and take the Mick out of that poser rock stuff. My friends think it’s funny.”

“From now, I’ve got to finish college for a year, then it’ll be all out, and we’ll be recording all the other songs we have. We’re holding a lot until then.”

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