Irish Rock

Pound for pound, note for note, no island anywhere on the planet Earth has spawned a greater bounty of awe-inspiring rockers than Ireland . . . no blarney. The bantam rooster of Belfast, Van Morrison, sha-la-las his way into rock renown with the scat-singing, blue-eyed soul of his first-ever solo single, "Brown Eyed Girl." U2 emerged in the '80s from cult favorites to multi-platinum superstars, and it was with the anthemic "Sunday Bloody Sunday" ('83) that the rock of their legend was hewn. And if the heartbreak explosion of Frames leader Glen Hansard's vocals in "Revelate" sounds vaguely familiar, it's because you probably saw the movie that won him his Academy Award®, Once.

In Next Steps, we toss punk attitude into a barrel of boozy folk, step back, and see what happens.

Forget the waistcoated leprechauns and the four-leaf-clover-wielding fairies: let's meet some of the folk rockers who scuffed up yesterday's reedy, tweedy Emerald Isle image and took it to the local hostelry — so order up some vodka-laced green beer and dance a manic jig with Pogues co-founder Shane MacGowan, who rides roughshod over the Popes in a rafter-rattling shuffle, "That Woman's Got Me Drinking." The roots of Ireland's folk-rock experimentalism, meanwhile, can be traced back to Dr. Strangely Strange, whose 1970 album Heavy Petting contains the generically mashed standout, "Gave My Love an Apple."

In Deep Cuts, our Irish rockers roll out some metal, drop a fuzz-bomb or two, and survey the damage.

We can't fault you if you don't immediately think "Ireland" when the subject of firestormin' prog-metal comes up, but Dublin's Era Vulgaris cranks up the momentum with their pedal-through-the-floorboards meditation on impermanence, "Brittle." While we're in metallic realms we may as well channel a strong dose of blackened death metal, courtesy of Abaddon Incarnate, wading through the sonic sludge towards enlightenment on "After the Dying Time" from 2009's Cascade, which tackles the occult and left-hand-path Hinduism. And one of the best Dublin bands of the '80s, the Blades, combines integrity and melody on "Downmarket."

Ireland has always punched above its weight, but it's still hard to explain exactly how the comparatively small nation continues to dominate rock culture. For proof that the island tops the musical-talent-per-square-mile list how about introducing exhibit A: the biggest band in the world, U2? Or the fireplug of Irish soul, Van Morrison? Or the chieftains of punk folk, the Pogues? Or multi-faceted new-wave standard bearers, the Boomtown Rats? Or the alt-rock deities of melodic melancholy, Snow Patrol? For going on five decades the world has looked to the Emerald Isle for arena-electrifying anthems, intimately introspective ballads, and the kind of rabble-rousing rock that flows like whisky from the jar'o . . . and we haven't ever been disappointed.