John Francis Flynn – I Would Not Live Always
River Lea – 30 July 2021
There are not many acts out there that can live up to the craic and intensity of a Lankum show. Though if anyone’s up to the task, it’s John Francis Flynn. Opening for the band on their 2019 European tour, alone onstage, he cut an imposing figure. Here was an artist who could mine metaphysical depths and sing with the same emotional heft as the evening’s headliners. A voice deep as submarine canyons and a few laboured notes on his acoustic proved all he needed to transfix his audience, as demonstrated on sea shanty Shallow Brown. Topic Records’ David Suff once called Lankum ‘the pure drop’ – referring to the moment when you hear an act, and you know they’ve got something that works – and it would seem many in attendance thought the same of our man Flynn.
It was thanks to this tour that Rough Trade’s folk imprint signed the Dublin talent. River Lea (run by Jeannette Lee, Geoff Travis & Tim Chipping) has been enjoying one hell of a winning streak, having released critically acclaimed records by Brìghde Chaimbeul, Lisa O’Neill and Ye Vagabonds. Much of their focus so far has been on the sounds coming out of Ireland, little surprise for anyone familiar with their current crop. Whether it’s Ian Lynch’s monthly Fire Draw Near show, Eoin Murray’s Anois, Os Ard columns or Myles O’Reilly’s videos, there’s a lot out there to pique your interest. Earlier this year, Donal Dineen put John Francis Flynn on the spot during his Make Me An Island podcast: “There is something going on in this country,” he stated, asking if John could identify exactly what that something was. Flynn replied, “there seems to be, but I don’t know what it is. Maybe someone who hasn’t been playing music since they were a child might be better at analysing this thing… for me there’s literally been Irish music around me the whole time.”
Sure, the music and spirit have always been there, but Flynn was quick to note that the hype around it has not. Perhaps the recent appeal is down to how Irish artists are harnessing the traditional in bold and unconventional new ways. In the press release for I Would Not Live Always, River Lea wrote that Flynn “personifies the boundless approach to traditional music the label was set up to champion” and “his commanding performances revealed him to be as much an experimental electronic artist as he is an interpreter of traditional song.” John prefers to describe his music as “if Blade Runner was set in Ireland and Deckard kept turning up at the session in The Cobblestone” (throwing in some much-needed cyberpunk energy at the sesh).
Unlike some Folktronica acts that can fall into the trap of getting so carried away with samples and sequencers that it detracts from a song’s narrative, Flynn’s affectionately dubbed ‘Electradica’ never feels at odds with its subject matter. Whether cast headlong into a vortex or coming to in some dystopian wasteland, I Would Not Live Always’s modular deviations only work to heighten his vision. Flynn knew from the off that he wanted to collaborate with artists who either didn’t have a trad background or were already pushing the genre’s limits. Having already showcased his considerable talents alongside Slow Moving Clouds’ fiddler Ultan O’Brien in their band Skipper’s Alley, John teamed up with the County Clare musician once again, completing an ensemble that included Consuelo Breschi (Varo), sean nós singer Saileog Ní Ceannabháin, keyboardist Phil Christie (The Bonk/O Emperor), drummer/composer Ross Chaney and Brendan Jenkinson (on production duties and additional instrumentation).
It’s probably the latter three that we have to thank for the remarkable way this record is sequenced. Mounting or melting away naturally between tracks, Chaney’s tape-loops and spacial fluttering gorgeously stitch I Would Not Live Always together. On Chaney’s Tape Dream, we find the pair improvising in-studio, Ross tweaking and processing Flynn’s whistle, as John layers The Heathery Breeze over the gargled swell.
Flynn’s spoken in the past about how we’re well accustomed to players pairing tunes, but not necessarily songs, which is where Bring Me Home comes in. Consisting of three songs tied together to create a suite of sorts, it’s a stark and soul-stirring highlight. There are shades of Buffy Sainte-Marie’s God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot, Nick Cave’s Ghosteen and Neu! throughout, with the centrepiece pt. ii dragging the disembodied 19th-century hymn I Would Not Live Always kicking and screaming into the 2020s. As the arrangement rises to meet him, Flynn intones, “I would not live always; I ask not to stay / Where storm after storm rises dark o’er the way”, lost in an existential tailspin, the words gaining greater meaning with each repetition.
Pt. iii features Saileog’s recitation of An Buachailín Bán drawing a connection with The Dear Irish Boy referenced in pt. i. It translates as The Fair-Haired Boy, which was code for Charles Edward Stuart (aka Bonnie Prince Charlie), a romantic figure apparently thought to symbolize the hopes of many of Ireland’s inhabitants of someday overthrowing English rule. This sense of upheaval and trauma is heard in Flynn’s voice, as his usual grit and ornamentation is ground down to a wounded groan.
Through the album’s liner notes, we gain a better understanding of Flynn’s musical makeup as he pays tribute to his heroes. Lovely Joan opens to a cascading synth line that fades to a Sam Amidon-sounding acoustic pattern. John cites Dolly Collins’ ‘ethereal Portative Organ’ as a major influence when it comes to the way he’s learnt to arrange folk music, and there’s even something of Shirley’s recent single My Sailor Boy in the atmospherics used; though Flynn’s take evolves with more urgency as strings, flute and kit eerily collide.
From matriarch to patriarch, Flynn makes his love for Ewan MacColl known with two contrasting lullabies. Cannily, Cannily is truly levelling with O’Brien’s sombre bowing, a world away from the bittersweet closing note of Come My Little Son. Elsewhere, John revisits a favourite of his live set with Tralee Gaol. Gone is the hammered banjo and stacked harmonies of Skipper’s Alley’s rendition, in favour of just the two B flat whistles, played together. It’s a showstopper for a reason, Flynn using the one as a drone and playing the tune on the other, quipping in the inner sleeve, “someday I’ll upgrade to the three whistles and go full on Donegal style.”
The inspired single My Son Tim and accompanying video (directed by Peadar ó Goill) is the best example of Flynn’s gift for crossing trad with wholly unusual outside influences. Looking like they mean business, we see John and co-star Patrick Cummins take to the road for a midnight drive. Tension soon builds as the song and scenes turn quietly psychedelic. With Paddy cast in the headlights’ beam – his eyes locked on Flynn in the passenger side – he launches into a frenzied gear stick dance as Jenkinson’s clarinet mewls above the fray. “What kind of a dark ritual have I stumbled upon?” you might ask. But it’s too late; you’re a convert now. Taking turns both tender and turbulent, I Would Not Live Always is bracing, unpredictable and without a doubt one of the most deeply affecting folk debuts of recent years.
John Francis Flynn’s I Would Not Live Always is out on River Lea (30 July 2021).
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Photo Credit: John Lyons