“Society gives me those 45 minutes a day and I fucking take them.”
Back in December, what remains of the NME hailed Ireland as the “go-to destination” for punk music, citing a handful of acts that have populated very similar write-ups over the past couple of seasons.
At the top of pretty much every list, home and abroad, are the Fontaines D.C. boys, currently working the American talk show circuit, much like The Strypes once did.
They’ll likely fare better than the Cavan crew, though time will tell just how far their brand of dead-eyed Joycean venom can go.
Usually taking the silver medal in these identikit profiles; another Dublin outfit with a serrated edge by the name of The Murder Capital.
Here stands a band – and do they ever look the part, having nabbed whatever dress code The Joker supplied his henchmen with for the bank robbery in The Dark Knight – that has been called “bolshy”, “violent-sounding” and “fucking excellent” before they even released a debut single proper.
In the immortal words of Eamon Dunphy; that’s showbiz, baby.
As of May 2019, the quintet has put out a grand total of one live session track and two studio songs, working with renowned producer Flood (U2, Nine Inch Nails, Smashing Pumpkins, The Killers and many more) along the way.
Led by determined frontman James McGovern – all sunken stares and brooding baritone – The Murder Capital is something of a magic trick to date.
There is much noise about them, with their own cacophony mostly confined to dark rooms. The effect, to many, stands as a holy offering.
Clip via SOMA Dublin
“It’s going to work, and people are either going to love us or hate us,” McGovern remarked, matter-of-factly, at the beginning of this year.
He’s likely not wrong. It sure feels like it’s going to work, that they will be both adored and reviled, and those who despise them may well include peers.
They themselves probably don’t care much if you regard them as pioneering or pretentious, so long as they provoke a reaction.
Flanked by drummer Diarmuid Brennan in the Vintage Room of the Workman’s Club as the thrum of city centre traffic faintly registers beyond windows bathed in sunlight, McGovern notes that he feels an “overwhelming sense of romance” in a live setting.
There, his stage presence is combative enough. The vocalist insists there’s no persona in play, rather a complex marriage of senses.
“It’s a part of me, for sure, but it’s to go to a different place, absolutely,” he says.
“If I was just like that all the time, it’d be an intense breakfast, wouldn’t it? I don’t know how serious I am onstage – there’s a little bit of a light-hearted nature to it, and some sort of psychotic side to it, as well.
“It’s just another expression for me, a side to my personality that I’m allowed to express in that way when I’m up there. Society gives me those 45 minutes a day and I fucking take them.”
Formerly of the Dublin branch of the well-regarded British & Irish Modern Music Institute – he dropped out days before this interview – McGovern cut his teeth with fairly standard acoustic singer-songwriter efforts.
He concedes, with a grin, that he was something of a contrarian as a student. In 2018, he pivoted from the solo thing to fronting a full band, with his Murder Capital finally settling on a permanent line-up as of last summer.
Word of mouth has generated via live reports and industry buzz, a notable counter to a deliberate drip-feed streaming strategy.
“I don’t want to give anything away until I give all of it away, do you know what I mean?” McGovern shrugs, pointing to an album with an unknown release date.
In a previous chat, McGovern railed against “lazy journalism” in the form of being grouped into the same scene, though a very specific grievance was in play.
“I don’t even mind the Ireland scene one, but I think we were thrown into the south east London one,” he says.
“Someone said that the south east London scene is so big that it’s now enveloping Ireland, and that was fucked up! That’s the lazy journalism.
“Lazy journalism is fucking rampant everywhere, but as much as I’m friends with loads of those bands, and there are so many amazing bands in that London scene, it’s just like… let’s not.”
Quite the time for an Irish act to be annexed by the UK, too.
“It never was the moment,” he laughs.
“But now? To be honest, the irony is pretty sweet.”
Back to those 45 minutes. Is that a fair equation when it comes to trying to find catharsis, given the restlessness to get there and the severe expression that ultimately arrives?
“I think it always will be,” he considers.
“I feel like it’s what we’re supposed to be doing with our lives, so I wouldn’t ever even question that, really.”
There are pertinent questions to be asked of the music industry and those in it, however.
Speaking with JOE last year for a piece on music and mental health, clinical psychologist Dr Eoin Galavan referred to a “cultural permission” that exists in select industries, where safeguard structures are absent, and pitfalls ever-present.
“I wonder in the music industry is there a cultural permission for men, and young men in particular, to engage in self-destructive behaviour that is kind of glorified in a sense?” Galavan asked.
“Whether that’s excessive substance use or alcohol misuse, risky sexualised behaviour or other kinds of behaviours where self-care and moderate living lifestyles are not exactly promoted.”
Clip via The Murder Capital
For a band like The Murder Capital; on the rise, sold as cool outsiders with societal discord coursing through their veins, representative of an exciting new rebirth of sorts, dangerous doors are seemingly always ajar.
“Obviously, drugs are everywhere,” McGovern nods. “All the time.”
“We’ve been offered them by promoters 15 seconds after coming off stage. Some days you’re just like; ‘What the fuck is my job?’”
Given that The Murder Capital is supposedly an analogue for mental health, how does he find his new, evolving environment?
“I don’t know if anything is being done,” he begins.
“I’m just not aware of it, probably. I’m sure there are a lot of people who dedicate all of their amazing time to try and look after musicians, but I don’t see shit.
“Like, no one fucking looks after us. Our team around us, obviously, our manager and all those people who naturally sort of [help out] but other than that, I feel like we could totally fuck our lives up if we wanted to.
“It’s definitely unnatural,” McGovern elaborates.
“The adrenaline spike at the end of every day is unnatural, and the dangers, as well, if you got fucked up the night before, you feel so fine after the show again.
“Whatever the adrenaline does, whatever that rush does, it clears you out and you’re able to maybe have a drink again or whatever.”
As for the whole, ‘What the fuck is my job?’ aspect, that’s a fair enough question, one that even the general public might ask upon seeing the band in full flight. Not everyone is going to ‘get it’, after all.
McGovern sees this as a positive.
“I think all great art is divisive, so if people think what you do is good, which happens sometimes, I don’t know, I think it’s just the worst. It depends.
“If someone said, ‘Your band is great’, I’m not going to get fucking offended. You want to affect people in a great manner, you want them to be… I’m not going to state the obvious of those two sides of the spectrum, but yeah.”
It’s not unfair to want people to be moved by something, though.
“Definitely not, yeah. It doesn’t have to be overt, either,” McGovern muses.
“You can be affected greatly by nuance, too. It’s totally up to the person standing in the crowd, and I just want them to feel something different, or feel like they have been affected by it.
“I want them to feel like they’re alone for moments during the set even if they’re with someone. You want them to feel lonely and you want them to feel the romance.”
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