Lankum is an Irish band that presents “False Lankum”their third album under that name, which we could describe as sinister folk, combining traditional folk with a dark and anguished sonic expressionism, which sounds like mixing Fairport Convention by Sandy Denny and Richard Thompson with Nick Cave & The Bad Seedsbut only with acoustic and traditional instruments.
Consisting of brothers Ian and Daragh Lynch, Cormac MacDiarmada and singer Radie Peat, the band have been making music since the turn of the 21st century, first under the name Lynched and later as Lankum, though it was their move to Rough Trade that set them up. gave visibility, with records like “Between The Earth And Sky” y “The Livelong Day” teaching a band of singular intensity, capable of translating old songs in an innovative and original way at the same time. It is evident that, despite this, this band is truly devoted to the original source, something that has led them to this “False Lankum”, their best work to date, where they don’t dilute the gothic horror of many of those hundreds-of-year-old lyrics but dive into them in a totally immersive way, amplifying those terrors instead of diluting them.
I remember that once a teacher told me that there were few things more terrible than the original versions of the stories that we all know, but after years of infantilized versions we arrived at the “light” versions of Disney. It seems that Lankum have wanted to honor the terrible stories of folk songs, looking for the most appropriate music for them and boy have they succeeded. “False Lankum” is a record that fascinates and chills the blood at the same time.
There is no better example than the beginning of the album, “Go Dig My Grave”, featuring the lonely voice of Radie Peat singing the title song “I’m gonna dig my grave”. Her voice sounds unaccompanied for a minute until a single note repeated several times announces the funeral. Everything is increasing in intensity and terror, with the inclusion of more instruments and voices. It is harrowing and beautiful at the same time, a heartbreaking dirge.
When the traditional instrumental song plays “Master Crowley”It doesn’t make you want to dance with a mug of beer in your hand, but to take cover, it sounds like a warning. But not everything is dark on the record, “Newcastle” It begins on a blood-curdling mist but when the acoustic guitar and Peat’s powerful voice enters, it sounds like a breath and the beauty of finding a clearing in a dark forest. Lynch’s voice perfectly complements Peat. It is a true beauty and one of the great moments of the album.
The second fugue plunges us back into the terrors of the forest, until another sweet acoustic guitar comes to our rescue, it’s about “Netta Perseus”, one of the two original songs on the album, although totally rooted in the folk tradition. Lynch and Peat sing in unison again but there is something in their voices that tells us that everything is not going well, something that is confirmed when they sing that “but I don’t dare look into those eyes” and the song becomes a kind of industrial nightmare with folk instruments, anguishing and oppressive.
“The New York Trader” It’s like you trade The Pogues their whiskey for Prozac and satanic rituals. “Lord Abore And Mary Flynn” is the last breath of the album, sung to perfection by Lynch, with Peat uniting in wonderful harmonies, even in a moment as captivating as this, in the background there is something threatening, how could it be otherwise in a song that ends with a poisoning…
The last fugue leads us to the morning of Monday “On A Monday Morning” which sounds like a dirge for Lord Abore, even if it is nothing more than the most hellish hangover of the repentant alcoholic. And then close with “The Turn”, the second original on the record, a twelve-plus minute epic that begins as the calmer Pink Floyd and takes its first turn when they sing what sounds like the record’s summary: “Turn around, we’ll find better days. Burned to the ground, wailing, it’s the only way we’ll make a sound.” Of course, that does not prepare us for the farewell, more than four minutes of sonic and nightmarish terror.
It is the end of an album that represents the culmination of Lankum and his personal vision of Irish folk music as a dark and terrifying place from which the most devastating beauty can also emerge.