That's Dream Pop

The style of music we Irish seem perfectly attuned to is not the sombre ballad, or those racing jigs of our traditions, nor is it the country croon so popular in our villages and towns, nor the pomp of the showband era.  Readers, you must by now know of our great national skill in the creation of Dream Pop, a subcategory of rock marked by breathy vocals, sweet and wafty guitars, and a general coolness and detachment in demeanour.  For some reason, we are good at that.  When I asked my racist companion what she knew of the genre, she had no answer to give, since she was unable to discuss any musical styles other than jazz and blues and when she did she was inclined to do so in a crass and disapproving manner.

Last evening we were most fortunate to see a performance by one such Irish band, The Gone Forevers, at a modest venue in Lisbon.  The Gone Forevers hail from Mullingar.  They are:  Anthony on drums, Audrey on voice and bass, Charles on voice and guitar, and Jarlath on guitar and sometimes keyboards.  They are listed in this order on their album sleeves with Anthony always on top so as to elevate him and subvert the notion of the drummer traditionally having lower status in the structure of a band.  When I asked him about this, he said it was Charles’ idea and he felt it was condescending and that he thoroughly resented it. 

They claim that all of their songs are written in Swedish even though they have not a word of Swedish between them but it is this paradox which gives their material its rarefied and ethereal feel. 

The band has invited your trusted Tout and his racist companion to accompany them for the rest of the tour, with a view to documenting their remaining gigs.  You do know The Martlet is not Rolling Stone, I told them, but they were unshaken by this.  I thought also they might object to working so closely with my racist companion due to her contentious beliefs as these young musical types generally oppose such perspectives in my experience.  However, I am pleased to announce that when I introduced her as such (racist companion being the most befitting signifier), they did not seem to bat an eyelid which got me to believe they are rather open-minded for people their age. In fact, they responded with a coolness and detachment which suggested they might not be listening.  

A sadder aspect of losing the Scouring Tout was that The Martlet’s readership would never learn the fate of the Gone Forevers, that dream pop band from Mullingar that the Tout and his racist companion had begun following on a European tour.  I was personally intrigued by the band and had somewhat fooled myself into believing they were real.  I would sometimes ask Oran to tell me what they were like and he would say they sounded like the Plague Monkeys, Rollerskate Skinny, Clannad, the Cranberries, and the Stars of Heaven all rolled up together as one. I enjoyed each of these bands so you can see why the very idea of them was a wonder to me.  The only other thing I ever got out of him was this brief explanation of Dream Pop: ‘Some would have you believe the genre exists because of a love of reverie in our culture.  That it comes from us being great dreamers.  But in my own view it has more to do with not being arsed about anything so as to be near somnambulant in your day-to-day.  If you look at those bands, they seem half asleep half the time. Dozy cunts.  That’s an Irish trait.  Probably hungover.  That’s why we’re always getting knocked down.’

‘Like Ernie Gilgan?’ I said.

‘No.  That was misadventure.  He made his own bed.  And he made it wrong.  The rest of us don’t know what we’re doing.   We’re getting hit by trucks because we’re walking around like we're still in bed.  That’s Dream Pop.’