Born Spiffy
Explosives, firearms, disused office blocks and Stephen Street. Craig Fitzpatrick meets Funeral Suits.
Craig Fitzpatrick, 01 Aug 2012
“Playing with Franz Ferdinand was great,” nods Brian. “I’d only been in the band for six months and there we were playing the Olympia. Like, fucking woah! I remember someone saying to me, ‘This is it, you’ve done it now!’ That got into my head a little but looking back, how naïve was I? That’s just a tiny dot on a massive canvas in terms of what being in a band means. I don’t want to be sitting in Hogan’s or Grogan’s in 60 years going, ‘I played with Franz Ferdinand, blah, blah, blah’.”
Greg interjects: “You’re sitting in Grogan’s doing that anyway!”
But maybe not for too long. The Dublin boys have ambition. That means hitting the road, getting the music out there. So far, they’ve done the British toilets (Brian: “Gilford was hell man, playing to three people, soul destroying!”) and the altogether more glamorous SXSW (Greg: “A good laugh, we took on Sweet Jane at bowling and creamed them!”). They’d quite like to get album number two down before Christmas, and though you suspect Hallowe’en tomfoolery might have put paid to that, they’re clearly in it for the long haul. And almost worryingly committed.
“Why should the kids buy our album?” ponders Brian. “Well, obviously if I had my way I’d force people to buy it. My dad has a gun!”
The drummer rolls his eyes: “Now you know why he’s in the band!”
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