CPI Archive 2009: Blood on the dancefloor: In the world of music, image and identity are king. As he tries to re-establish himself as a solo songwriter with the release of his fourth studio album, Strawberry Blood, Andrew Hamilton caught up with Edmund Enright, aka Mundy.
Everything in moderation, my grandmother used to say. A taste of this here, and a small dollop of that there, that’s all you need. It’s a pity, I think, that the music-buying public never met my gran. Over the last three years, it has become increasingly hard to see where Mundy stops and ‘Galway Girl’ starts. Through no fault of his own, the Offaly man has become shackled to hoards of partying hens, singing their way down cobbled streets. Nothing wrong with that – you can’t knock a good song – but it can have other, more unwanted, side-effects. So, as he released his fourth studio album, Mundy is an artist with an identity crisis. “It was like somebody saying that we could go down this road – a nice scenic journey - but I had no idea when the road was going to finish and when you were going to get back onto your own track,” he says.
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