Eire of darkness
Lankum are mining Ireland’s rich seam of stark traditional songs
THE problem with being a group playing Irish traditional music is that people have very particular ideas about what Irish traditional music should be. Especially outside Ireland. And especially when the word ‘punk’ gets used to describe you. “People expect something like Dropkick Murphys,” says Ian Lynch of Lankum. “In the Irish-American communities, people would come along and look at us in confusion. I remember one place in Louisiana where the owner had to come out halfway through the set and say, ‘I’ve been to Ireland, and what they’re playing is traditional Irish music.’”
Lankum don’t sound one bit like Dropkick Murphys. Their repertoire is notably short of double-speed jigs, or opportunities to throw pints of Guinness in the air. It is often solemn music – four-piece harmonies, backed by uilleann pipes, concertina, Russian accordion, fiddle and guitar – telling stories of tough lives. “I notice a common theme is that they’re extremely miserable,” says Radie Peat, the quartet’s female voice. “For a long time, I would come across these cheerful songs in praise of place: ‘I’ve left my home in Longford, and it’s so beautiful.’ I found them not very relevant, so maybe as a reaction to that the tougher, gorier songs started appealing to me.” She pauses, perhaps realising she’s not giving Lankum the hard sell. “We do have some cheerful songs. During live performances we do more outwardly cheerful ones.”
The group – who recently released their second album, Between The Earth And Sky – began as something rather different. Brothers Ian and Daragh Lynch began performing as Lynched in 2002, inspired by the antifolk scene of New York. Ian had been part of Dublin’s street-punk scene, and for several years the brothers toured through the underground punk scene, playing squats and social centres.
While Lynch’s gateway to traditional music had been through The Pogues, which led him to Planxty, Christy Moore and Sweeney’s Men. Peat – who, along with Cormac MacDiarmada, joined forces with the brothers in 2012 – had a completely different musical upbringing: she grew up playing traditional Irish instrumental music. “I definitely had absolutely no time for The Pogues. I thought, ‘They’re playing their instruments so badly.’ I was taught concertina by Noel Hill, who famously called The Pogues ‘a terrible abortion’ of Irish music. They wrote a retaliation tune called ‘Planxty Noel Hill’. But then in my late teens and early twenties I realised it was not about technical mastery, that there was something special going on with them.”
Peat and MacDiarmada joined during the recording of the album Cold Old Fire, released under the name Lynched. The name change in October 2016 wasn’t the result of the lineup change, though, but the realisation that Lynched was perhaps not the best thing to call a group who believe in social justice. And just in case you think Lankum is a soft option, it’s worth noting that it’s the name of a child murderer from a particularly grisly ballad, “False Lankum”.
For all their love of tradition – they estimate three-quarters of their repertoire is traditional, sourced from older singers they heard travelling around Ireland – Lankum aren’t hidebound by doing things The Old Way. On the new album, “DeÌanta In EÌireann”, builds to a ferocious drone that almost obscures the singing, before concluding with a strange quasi-Dixieland coda. And they take songs not just from Ireland, but from the English tradition, too.
Lynch says, actually, that’s an ancient part of all Irish music. “Back from the earliest plantations from Scotland in the 17th century, they’d have been bringing the Child Ballads with them. There’s been movement between the countries since prehistoric times, so I think the two countries are closer culturally than people realise. People ask why we do it, but it’s not like it’s never been done before.”
Lankum aren’t interested in tourist Irishness. They make music for hard times in a complicated country. And what matters is most to them is emotion. “When it comes to guitar players, someone can go widdly diddly diddly all day long, but if there’s no feeling behind it, what’s the use?” Lynch asks. “All four of us would put more store in the soul of the music.”
Between The Earth And Sky is out now on Rough Trade; Lankum tour the UK in May