Soft autumn sunshine illuminates Dublin, making the Irish capital appear warm and welcoming. “Dublin’s fucked,” says Ian Lynch, Lankum’s piper, quick to disabuse Long Live Vinyl of our illusions. “It’s become one of the world’s most expensive cities to live. I’m homeless.” Registering our look of shock, he adds, “actually, I’m living with my parents ’cos I can’t afford to rent.”
Cormac Mac Diarmada, the band’s fiddle and viola player, nods and says, “I’ve had to shift out of the city to Sligo.” Radie Peat (concertina, harmonium, bayan accordion, piano, harp) observes, “the government needs to stop doffing the cap to big corporations, such as Google, Facebook, Shell, as these companies base themselves here to avoid paying taxes and are full of highly paid executives who force up the price of property. It means anyone who isn’t part of the corporate structure is priced out of Dublin.” Daragh Lynch, guitar and piano, says, “they tell us how strong the economy is – then why is it so difficult for ordinary people to survive here?”
Hearing Lankum rage against the machine might be a surprise for some who expect Irish folk musicians to play up to stereotypes of lush countryside and pining for the Emerald Isle. Not this quartet. Lankum grew, they note, out of Dublin’s DIY punk scene, fusing with its traditional sessions. Across two albums, they have gone from manufacturing their own CDs and playing at squat parties to being one of Rough Trade’s signature bands while winning wide international acclaim. Now, with album number three, The Livelong Day, Lankum have created psychedelic folk at its most stunning, an album of epic textures and wild atmospheres.