Gilla Band—Most Normal

In the time since their last LP (2019’s The Talkies) Gilla Band changed their name. Formerly known as ‘Girl Band’, the group announced the change in a statement describing their previous name as naïve and ignorant. They expressed regret over using a name which was “misgendered”. This sensitivity and conscience have run through every song the group have put out so far. To any fans surprised (or, bafflingly, angered) by the move: you were getting something very different from them than the rest of us.

Any else fearing a toothless new era should also relax. Most Normal dials the noise up, and leans as far into chaos and heaviness as the band ever have. While The Talkies was a perfectly commendable second album, it lacked the danger and unhinged misanthropy of earlier work. Here the edge is back. Most Normal is suffused with a feeling that it could fall to pieces any second, and it’s exhilarating to hear the band find that again—years later, healthier, happier; surfing waves that broke on them as younger men. And what a wave they find. If grunge was the damaged younger brother of punk, Gilla Band are another sibling down the line; extreme, dysphonic, dysfunctional and strange.

There is a new intricacy to production. Where amplification used to do heavy lifting, it’s yielded to subtler and more bizzaro techniques to ruin the listener’s day. Standout ‘The Weirds’ ends with a section of high frequency whining that’s physically difficult to listen to. Songs regularly feature aggressive ducking and instruments are positioned like sardines in the mix. In the moment, these claustrophobia-inducing production no-nos sound convincingly naïve. The reality is that they’re used with precision and intentionality. Balanced on a knife’s edge, this album constructs the illusion of spontaneity, thoughtlessness; as though the inception of its ideas had been captured on tape. Behind that illusion is fastidious attention to detail.

And while Most Normal can lean on some previously established sounds and techniques, it’s far and away their most eclectic album in terms of style. A great example is ‘I Was Away’ which has a really unexpected Primus-y sound. 2020s bands sounding like Primus is a trend that’s bubbled up out of nowhere but seems to be working well for everyone—Gilla Band included.  This album has one foot in the band’s past, one foot in their future; standing in a confident power stance over The Talkies and ready for more.

Andrew O’Keefe

Girl Band — The Talkies

The tyranny of genre-tagging stuffs Girl Band in a pigeonhole of 'noise rock'. The Talkies and its predecessor Holding Hands With Jamie are both, yes, noisy. But they're erratic and amorphous too, and draw in so many mismatched influences you'd get arthritis listing them out. Somehow, The Talkies transcends these influences. The tried-and-tested music pundit schtick (it's x meets y, but on crack/acid/speed) is left thumb-twiddling. If Pete Townsend is to be believed, and originality is now impossible, Girl Band fake it like no one else.

Performances across the board deploy force with admirable control. The album is substantive and restrained — more so than it first appears. Songs' form often assumes a slow build. Tension increases and sustains to a point of cacophonous release. This may happen a few too many times, but it more often gives the material legs than functioning as a crutch.

And deviations from this form are heightened by their brevity and scarcity. The album's few noodling act breaks entertain without disrupting its thudding momentum.

Now for the elephant in the room. Girl Band return, revived, after an extended period of inactivity. Poor health has prohibited gigging, postponed studio recording, and given rise to legends and infamy that dog frontman Dara Kiely. There is something worth remembering, particularly in the months following Daniel Johnston's death. Suffering obstructs the creation of art. Suffering paralyses the artist.

Some corners host a sociopathic misconception: outsider artists must suffer. When a band occupies discomforting spaces, we should not get the popcorn in for its self-annihilation. 'Could Kiely be this decade's Richey Edwards? Is he troubled enough?' This amounts to nothing but a cynical, indie-rock cover of paps snapping Britney's slaphead. But the joke's on the journos — The Talkies is the sound of a boundary-busting band in total control of their material. And it’s material that’ll deafen anyone to chatter that surrounds it.

Girl Band's new album 'The Talkies' is Out Now on Rough Trade Records, listen here: http://girlband.ffm.to/thetalkies Directed and produced by Bob Gallagher Featuring Bryan Quinn & MJ O'Sullivan Production Manager - Louise Murphy Director of Photography - Evan Barry Production Designer - Sinead O'Reilly Edited by - Kevin Herlihy at

The Talkies is available for purchase here.

Words by Andrew O’Keefe

Hissing Tiles — Boychoir

Hissing Tiles' Boychoir sounds like the horror punk cousin of Scott Walker's Bish Bosch. It's chock-full of experimentation and vocal eccentricity. Barer than any of Walker's work, it replaces lush string arrangements with angular guitar melodies and fizzes of noise.

The melodies themselves are catchy in an unhinged, Mr Bungle-esque way. They transport you to the coconut shie of some nightmarish carnival. 'Nightflood' contains a phrase that sounds like chattering dolphins, or shoes slipping on wet lino. But the release isn't whacked-out or impenetrable. Any experimentation is in service of the text, and incorporated elegantly.

Boychoir makes some valiant stabs at discussing gender politics and gender policing. Masculinity is positioned as an intrusive presence in an otherwise balanced world. It's an obligation to be fulfilled, a role to play. And when masculinity arrives, it carries all its associated language and horrors. It must be with some self-consciousnesses the artists chose a rock group — one of the most stereotypically masculine forms — to try and undermine such roles. Though their explorations are all too welcome, unconventional and well-considered for this to work against them.

This is a release which probes into uncomfortable areas and asks difficult questions. It's supported by bizarre noise elements and spirited performances from every member of the band. More than worth its weight in time, this should earn a few spins from any listener.

Boychoir is available for pre-order here. You can also stream the album’s first single.

Words by Andrew O’Keefe

Gum Takes Tooth — The Arrow

Gum Takes Tooth make their intentions clear from The Arrow's first track. Heavy modulation shakes the music loose from itself. Guitar distortion pushes the sound into frailty rather than power. A discomforting feeling announces that everything could, at any point, fall apart.

This unique and engaging sound is The Arrow's most appealing element. Composition on this album, by contrast, seems to pilfer from a patchwork of influences. Its title track is the most shameless example. The crushing repetition of Swans' 'Mother of the World', or My Bloody Valentine's 'Nothing Is' is grasped at. But the track is gutless, sinking without leaving a ripple.

Gum Takes Tooth would no doubt enjoy comparisons to such extreme or experimental acts. Their work, though, is closer to The 1975's A Brief Enquiry Into Online Relationships. Inhuman by design, apocalyptic yet triumphant, eclectic but not messy. It’s a half-hearted bid for esoteric beauty — too timid to sever ties from more broadly accepted modes of expression.

'Borrowed Lies' is a mid-album highlight which incorporates a folk-like vocal melody. Gentility and beauty supplant the band's self-seriousness. It's a welcome break — and a few more moments like this could have worked wonders for the album.

As it stands, The Arrow is grandiose, but outstripped by its own ambition. It punches, but punches like a kid. And even its fantastic, medley-like final track, House Built of Fire, can't quite leave the bruise they want it to.

For fans of Crystal Castles, Savages and GNOD. The Arrow is available for streaming and purchase here.

Words by Andrew O’Keefe