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Brògeal have a determination to make their appeal cross generational and in the process undo decades of young vs. old prejudices.
And it was all going so well.
That early noughties folk revival pulled out some great revivalist albums, from Tunng’s glitchy Mother’s Daughter to Laura Marling’s Alas, I Cannot Swim.
Then along came trust funded wankers Mumford & Sons, ruining everything with their jaunty neckerchief blankness, an Asda CD cash-in so cynical it must almost have hurt.
Back off to synthland we went. But there was always something that tied some of us to antiquated notions of the past, even if it was, rather than pastoral sepia, more rebellion, muck and a middle finger to the technocracy that threatens to suffocate the planet.
Brògeal are an antidote to all that. A quintet from Falkirk – a town almost equidistant between Edinburgh and Glasgow – on one level their music sounds like it’s being played by gnarled old men in linoleum floored back rooms, but they are in fact all in their 20s and proudly of a generation who should know better.
On another level it contains many traits of the Celtic-tinged Scottish pop of the past, and their debut album Tuesday Paper Club shares a heritage, if not an exact soundalike quality, with The Bluebells Sisters.
In common, both bands have in their DNA an ear for an infectious ramshackle tune, even if this newer version is rougher round the edges than the older.
The titular opener is an energetic statement of intent crammed into a less than three-minute reel.
On it, Brògeal singer Daniel Harkins opens up the world of the argumentative regulars in his hometown’s oldest boozer The Wheatsheaf as fiddles, bouzouki and a hardscrabble guitar invite you to party like it’s 1899.
Were that everything the locker contained cynics may have snarked that a residency at some Temple Bar pub could’ve been the ceiling, but Lady Madonna – no, not that one – manages deftly to stitch 60’s pop and good-natured punk together, the effect like Shack being covered by The View.
If there’s one thing you absolutely do need to have though amongst the Guinness-stained carpets and wind-blown Tayto packs, it’s the knack for a tear-jerking ballad.
Harkins is no Shane MacGowan, he’s 10,000 whiskies behind. However, on the likes of Scarlett Red and the bluesy Apples And Leaves (the latter of which features Brògeal’s co-founder Aidan Callaghan on vocals), they remind us that vulnerability was one of the old rabble rouser’s most endearing qualities.
All this said, there’s a determination to make their appeal cross generational and in the process undo decades of young vs. old prejudices.
“People have too many opinions on our generation,” Harkins says. “The people we hang about with are interested in living life to the full, making music and making art. We’re anything but miserable right now.”
And with their energy and obvious love for their work, undo them they just might. On Stuck Inside, Brògeal master something close to contemporary indie rock, but be prepared to dance with the eulogised rogues who populate the accordion heavy Draw The Line, whilst the carousing anthem One For The Ditch faces down the drinker’s curse of last orders with a blurry eyed glare.
The finale though is something else again. Like a demented Celtic soundtrack to High Noon, Lonesome Boatman ushers itself in with an air of foreboding only to tin-whistle itself into a shit-losing frenzy that will send pints flying like rain and cement your new found best mates in sweat, smiles and shouts for more.
They say never get fooled twice. Brògeal are flogging this wonderful, riotous, romantic Stramash because they want to, out of love.
Tuesday Paper Club is our invitation to get back on the plough. Let’s not waste it.
