Unseen Sounds: The Kiernan McMullan Podcast

CPI Archive 2008: In the second instalment of the Unseen Sounds series, Andrew Hamilton spoke to Killaloe singer song writer, Kiernan McMullan.

THE product of a musical mixed marriage including boy bands, hip-hop and heavy metal – Kiernan McMullan is a very atypical singer songwriter. Born in Hong Kong and raised for 13 years in Boston, he had already lived a little before he came to Killaloe as a teenager. “My dad’s from Belfast and my mom’s Australian and they both wanted to live in Ireland. I was in boarding school in Limerick and I’m not really sure how it happened but I somehow ended up living here in Killaloe,” said Kiernan. “I started playing piano when I was about six years old. I started off with classical and I wasn’t really feeling that in the same way as the other six- year-olds. So my teachers brought me out a book of old ragtime pieces and blues and jazz and basically teach me how to improvise. “I have to be honest though – when I was nine years old I listened to boy bands like the Backstreet Boys and N’Sync. No shame though, it’s all part and parcel of all the music I guess. It was weird though - I went from that to hip-hop and rap and then somehow got into heavy rock. It’s funny how your musical tastes change so quickly.

CPIArchive2008 · Unseen Sounds: The Kiernan McMullan Podcast

The Stiff Little Fingers Podcast

CPI Archive 2008: Thirty years after Inflammable Material single-handedly launched the Irish punk scene, Andrew Hamilton chews the fat with the granddaddy of Irish punk, Stiff Little Fingers’ Jake Burns.

FOR the preachers of anarchy, self-destruction is an accepted and inevitable bedfellow. Few in those angst-fuelled days in the late 1970s – when punk took its first raucous steps into the world, spitting bile and fury – could have seen much further than “get pissed, destroy”. The future was simple: there is no future. And so it seemed in the summer of 1983. After six years of hell-raising, the music public had moved on. The New Romantics, bands like Spandau Ballet, Ultravox and Culture Club had risen with a university-minded sense of the world, and to be part of the angry working class – to be a punk – was no longer an accepted option. But where do punks go after the party’s over? Sitting in his west London bedsit, the young Jake Burns struggled with that same question. Betrayed by his music, rejected by his fans and alienated from his band, there was really only one place left — oblivion. As creative arguments turned to fistfights and fistfights turned to all-out brawls, it was starting to become dangerous for Stiff Little Fingers to be in the same room together. “We just couldn’t stand each other. When we first started playing together, we were all 18 years old, and by the time we split we were all 23 or so. You do a lot of growing up and changing in those years, don’t you? In our minds, we were still 18 and we reacted to pressure just like an 18-year-old would," he said.

CPIArchive2008 · The Stiff Little Fingers Podcast

The Joe Echo Podcast

CPI Archive: 2008. WHAT’S in a name? Well, according to Derry troubadour Joe Echo (aka Ciaran Gribbin), everything really. After hanging up his frontman shoes and embarking on a solo fling early last year, the former Leya lead singer needed something to mark him out from the crowd. He spoke with Andrew Hamilton.

“When I left Leya I really wanted to experiment musically. So I decided to reinvent myself. The last thing I wanted to do was come across as just another boring singer-songwriter. It just made sense to go down that road. The name Joe has been very close to me for a long time, it's my grandfather’s name," he said.

CPIArchive2008 · The Joe Echo Podcast

The FIFA Records Podcast

CPI Archive 2008: Far from the drums of the Frank and Walters, Ashley Keating has a second, secret musical life. Andrew Hamilton chats to the Fifa Records co-founder about musical poverty, Russian electronica and being shafted by Fight Like Apes.

MARCH 7, 1983 should have been a great day in Manchester. After five years of musical swashbuckling (but commercial suicide), the boys at Factory Records had finally struck gold. New Order’s Blue Monday was a song with a soul, all seven and half minutes destined to change music and alter the fortunes of the original Indie label. Wilson, Saville, Erasmus and Hannett had always played by the rules of rock and roll and now, it seemed, the almighty dollar was finally to be their reward. That would have been nice, fitting. But, as in all the best stories, nothing ever really seems to fit and a nice happy ending never rings true. And so it was for Factory, as Peter Saville’s record sleeve for Blue Monday was so expensive that the label actually lost money on each of the million-plus copies sold worldwide. In business terms, a moment of unthinkable madness but, in the annals of rock and roll, it is the stuff of pure tragic legend. And so, 25 years later, we come to Fifa Records. Founded by Ashley Keating from the Frank and Walters, along with Killian O’Flynn and Pat Doyle, Fifa is a label without contracts, where the music comes first and the bank balance is an all too unwelcome distraction. “With the Frank and Walters, we worked with seven different labels and four different publishing companies. The best experience that we ever had was when we were with Setanta Records and everything was done on a handshake. I wanted to do it that way with this. I didn’t want contracts; I didn’t want to have legal people in before we even talked about the music,” said Ashley. 

CPIArchive2008 · The Fifa Records Podcast

Unseen Sounds: The Aileen Podcast

CPI Archive 2008: In May of 2008, I started the Unseen Sounds series to provide a platform for up and coming Clare musicians and bands. The first article and podcast features Kilrush singer songwriter, Aileen. 

ASK any budding musical talent about the importance of commercial success and shifting ‘units’ and you’ll likely as not get an answer lifted straight from the streets of the Bohemian Montmartre — “It’s all about the music man.” The thing about Kilrush singer- songwriter Aileen, though, is that she really seems to mean it. After cutting her musical teeth at the age of 13 with soft rock five-piece Wire Bullet, it was the persistence of other people that dragged her slowly into making music. “The solo stuff started about three or fours years ago. One of my friends, Liam Frawley, was down in UL and he coaxed me down to record a demo with him,” said Aileen. 

CPIArchive2008 · Unseen Sounds: The Aileen Podcast

The Daniel Lanois Podcast

As he emerges from behind the mixing desk, legendary producer Daniel Lanois talks to Andrew Hamilton about his debut film, the Canadian revolution and the progress of U2’s twelfth album.

SOUTH over Custom House Bridge, through fields of fresh wrought cobble and a thousand 21st-century workhouses drip-drying with the fresh-dollar veneer of the IFSC; deep in this jungle of grey stands the great windmill of south Dublin. In the shadow of Stack A, the walls of Creighton Street breathe and grow like a plant. With layer upon layer of new graffiti, the psychedelic photosynthesis of youth survives unchecked in a steady truce between Ireland’s past and present. This is the old Windmill Lane Studio, the spiritual home of U2 and the birthing ground for Boy, October and War. A shrine to all that was once great about music on this island. Less than a mile away, from a ho- tel window overlooking St Stephen’s Green, U2’s legendary producer Daniel Lanois contemplates the future. In town for a long stay, the Canadian’s thoughts drift to his latest endeavour with Bono, The Edge et al and the work of the day over at U2 Towers. Success has thrown up a paradox in the life of Dan Lanois. His skills as a producer are unrivalled but have somehow overshadowed his own career as a performer and singer-songwriter. But now, after countless trips to Ireland, he has finally come to share his music and not just his skills at the desk. “I like to think of producing and recording as the one thing. Because the studio is so much a part of me, I never really separate it from live performances. If you’re asking me is it difficult to produce your own work, then the answer is yes,” he said.

CPIArchive2008 · The Daniel Lanois Podcast

The Jinx Lennon Podcast

CPI Archive 2008: People’s poet or pulp philosopher, Jinx Lennon is an artist who pulls no punches. Andrew Hamilton chats to the Louth musician about turning to radio and why he hates Billy Bragg.

IT’S the question of the hour; who (or what) is the Free State Nova? Answer that, and you go a long way to understanding Jinx Lennon. Standing square behind leviathan dark glasses, deliberately emblazoned with Tippex pop-mantras, he both hides and seeks. Student and teacher, he stalks the world through windows of broken glass and impenetrably clouded pools. Then, from rooms with no furniture, he yelps and screams his visions. Simplicity of feeling for intensity of emotion. Time’s running out, we’ll need an answer now, tick follows tock follows tick. He’s someone you know, someone you’ve seen but don’t always recognise, someone (deep down) you need. It’s a social thermometer, a challenger of rules, a stater of the obvious. Alter-ego or no, the Free State Nova is Jinx Lennon and Jinx Lennon is the Free State Nova. Later this month, Jinx Lennon brings his brand of pulp philosophy to the radio waves. Alongside long- time collaborator Pauline Flynn, legendary radio producer Eithne Hand and Mikel Murfi, the words and sentiment of the Free State Nova have been transformed into an RTÉ Radio 1 drama. “I found that a bit disturbing at first, to be honest, changing the songs into a play. I had never come across that before so it was some- thing new and strange. We were totally involved in the adaptation and myself and Paula play some of the roles in the play, as well as sing- ing some of the songs," he said.

CPIArchive2008 · Junx2021