a scrawny cry from outside...

Tweet I wonder what Ireland's grimmest small town is? I spent part of this morning discussing this with my mate Gary. We decided that we probably don't even know the name of it, using Clonmellon (a desperate little place near Kells) as evidence - i.e. that we probably only know Clonmellon exists due to its proximity to Kells.

Or perhaps Clonmellon is Ireland's grimmest small town? I passed through it many times on the way to Mayo when I was younger, and used to think so. In fact, my brother, my sister and I used to play a prediction game in the back seat of the car where we'd guess the amount of people we'd see in Clonmellon, selecting our guesses from along a scale of zero to three. On the run up to Christmas it was the only place we'd pass through without a single Christmas light over its street or, indeed, in many of its dark watchful windows. And, as mentioned, the town would often be suspiciously deserted, save for a solitary soul walking down its wide single street, an old man perhaps with the dead look of the midlands in his eyes, or a child in shit stained wellies wheeling a bike towards a grey afternoon of playing vaguely dangerous games near a slurry pit.

the street may be empty...but you are being watched

Now that we're moving west, let's drive on towards Delvin which is the next town over from Clonmellon. Delvin is another half grey place of tight-lipped people and a traction effect that sucks at your soul, like a Higgs Boson field of dread, even as your car passes through it as close as possible to the speed limit. The town was made famous by Brinsley MacNamara's book The Valley of the Squinting Windows which describes a small community where the primary shared values are smiling duplicity and suspicion of one's neighbours. The novelist's father was run out of town because of the book and apparently even a mutter about the affair in Delvin today will earn a dirty look or two. The book was published in 1918, and the fact that it is still remembered acutely long after all involved passed away says something interesting about the collective memories of small places. It's almost as if the town itself is a person, the ould fella who remarks with a phlegmy spit on which family fought for what side in the Irish Civil War.

Delvin, however, escapes being named Ireland's grimmest small town on account of the cool Norman castle that sits whap-bang in the middle of it and which now provides a spectacular home to some lucky barn owls and bats.

bet your town doesn't have one of these (unless umm it is Kilkenny, or Trim, or Bunratty, or etc...)

I'll share some music from my Summer listening.

MP3: Recondite-Tie In

MP3: Tin Man-Manifesto Acid

There's a pretty sweet little acid house revival going on at the moment thanks to lads like Recondite, Tin Man and Donato Dozzy. I love that rolling 303 sound. It's so iconic and still sounds otherworldly. All three artists are messing around with the template enough to side-step the sonic clichés that come with the narrow range of sounds created by the 303 synth, but adhering to genre convention in other comforting ways (by having the word 'acid' in every other track title for instance). Both Tin Man and Recondite have new albums which I've had on repeat all Summer.

Tin Man's Neo Neo Acid is the more locomotive of the two albums and the more likely to be heard in clubs. Recondite's On Acid, on the other hand, is a bit more reflective and chill, creating careful monochromatic patterns of melody that ring out simple, sad and plain, like some of Aphex Twin's earlier stuff made with similar equipment. Both albums are extraordinarily complimentary and I would recommend them to anyone with an interest in techno of a more meditative hue.