- Culture
- 05 Mar 20
Ahead of their Irish tour, alt-folk brothers Cry Monster Cry sit down to discuss embracing their vulnerabilities, the changing face of Irish music, playing in the Swiss Alps and their acclaimed sophomore album, Tides.
It’s been nearly five years since Cry Monster Cry first established themselves as a formidable new force in Irish music, with their acclaimed debut album, Rhythm Of Dawn. Now the folk duo, made up of Dublin brothers Richie and Jamie Martin, are back – shrugging off most of the indie-pop sheen of their first record in favour of an unexpectedly raw and honest approach.
Combining folk elements with sensitive modern touches, their sophomore album, Tides, places a careful and considered sense of movement at its centre – much like the motion of the tide in its title.
“We were just writing songs for ourselves, about what was going on in our lives over the space of the last two or three years,” Richie explains. “Then, before we knew it, we had this group of songs, all about the mundane things in life that happen when you grow older – the good and the bad, and the struggles of the world we live in.
“We actually had a conversation about not recording them,” he continues. “We thought about going down a different road – writing songs under a commercial banner, to get plays on the radio. But that’s not what we believe in. We approached this project knowing that the likelihood was that we wouldn’t get radio play, but it’s actually turned out the opposite, because people are really getting behind it.”
Of course, some major life changes – including fatherhood – played a role in this shift in Cry Monster Cry’s approach.
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“Everyone goes through these leaps of progression as they grow up,” Richie muses. “Recently I’ve been listening a lot to our first record – because I’ve a little boy at home, and he’s mad about music, and he loves that record in particular. I had always been too close to it to give it any value. I was always critical, or embarrassed, or wishing that I’d done certain parts better.
“But now, when I come home in the evenings, my son’s there – dancing around the kitchen to this record. It’s a great document of where we were in our lives at that time.”
“The first album was more about storytelling,” Jamie nods. “We were putting parts of our lives in it, but it was more veiled. Later, we discovered how cathartic it can be to deal with your own life through songwriting. We put a lot more of our own hopes and fears into this new album, so it feels raw to us.”
Indeed, Tides sees Richie and Jamie face their vulnerabilities head-on.
“I’m the type of person who would hide from my own fears,” admits Jamie. “Especially the fear of being vulnerable, and acknowledging the mental health struggles we’ve both had over the last few years. Through the songwriting process, I was admitting them to myself, and that was so cathartic.”
“When I’m listening back to this record now, it’s like a cleansing,” agrees Richie. “It’s like putting everything in a box and saying, ‘You’ve dealt with that, and now it’s all fine, so you can move on’. That’s what you have to do as an artist.”
This compellingly honest approach was also informed by Mick Flannery – whose music has consistently served as a powerful point of reference for the pair.
“He’s an honest character,” Jamie says. “We’ve played a good few shows with him over the years. He can evoke a feeling with a lyric that you didn’t think anyone else felt. You’ll be thinking that you were the only person that felt that way, and then he’ll go and put it into words. That’s what a great songwriter does.”
The pair are clearly Flannery fans – but they reckon he’s up against some tough competition at this year’s RTÉ Choice Music Prize.
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“It could go to anybody and it would still be amazing,” grins Richie. “I feel very lucky to be a musician who plies his trade in Ireland when I’m looking around now, and seeing the variety of music coming out of this country. For so long it wasn’t like that – it was so one-dimensional. Now you can get everything here.”
Having grown up in and around Dublin, the brothers have witnessed these cultural developments, and the changing face of the city, first-hand.
“Growing up, I remember Dublin being like a small town,” recalls Richie. “Every Saturday I’d get the DART in, and I’d go into Tower Records and all the same music shops, and see the same people. Then I’d go in for a pint and see the same people again. It’s not like that anymore. It’s changed so much – but it’s also opened its doors, and the people who have come into the country, and the joy, music and culture they’ve brought with them, has added so much to our culture. You can see that in what’s happening in the music scene in Ireland right now. There are so many different influences now, and it can only be a positive thing.”
“You can even see that in the Choice Prize nominees,” adds Jamie. “We have modern trad and Irish rap – but we’re still holding onto our identity as Irish people.”
“We’re just bringing it somewhere new,” Richie nods. “We’re recognising the past, but also bringing it into the future.”
The pair have also been blown away by the appetite for this modern Irish sound among overseas audiences.
“The last time we were in Germany, we’d turn up to cities and towns we’d never even been to – and the gigs would be sold out,” says Jamie. “They’re amazing. They have a genuine interest in Irish music – so whenever we dip into a little bit of trad in our songs, they just love it.
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One unforgettable gig on the continent, which saw the pair set off on a major hike through the Swiss Alps, is set to feature in an upcoming documentary, When The Snow Falls I’ll Be Gone.
“We had to put the instruments on our backs, and hike for 10 hours to a cabin up in the Alps,” Jamie recalls, laughing. “At one point we were climbing a metal ladder up a cliff face, with a huge drop below – we didn’t even get a chance to back out of it! But then we arrived, and there were loads of Swiss people waiting for this concert, who had all hiked up themselves.”
“But those are the kind of experiences that we’ll always try to seek out,” he continues. “When we’re old men on our deathbeds, we want to be able to say, ‘Remember that time we played a fucking cabin in the Alps?’ Or, ‘Remember that time we played in the Pepper Canister Church?’ That’s what we look for as musicians – so I can’t wait to get back out there and do it all again.”