Irish Son

Robbie Williams has a hell of a lot to answer for. Nowadays, every trained chump in the charts feels that they too can have a stab at credible solo stardom (and bagging an unspeakable amount of money from a major label).
The latest record in the tiresome all-white-rags-to-creative-riches race is Brian (nee Bryan) McFadden, who left the ‘safety net’ of Westlife to focus on various other honourable ventures, including managing a rock act and buying a recording studio. Additionally, the ex-boybander found time to grow out his hair a bit and try his own hand at a credible soft rock album. Irish Son is the result.

To these ears, it sounds like the work of someone with more money at his disposal than musical taste. It may boast more guitars than ‘Flying Without Wings’ (just about), but its perfect, pristine production renders the album essentially poppy and ultimately soulless. ‘Demons’ is a ballad for which, one presumes, a floppy fringe and white trousers are mandatory, while the self-proclaimed ‘mission statement’ that is ‘Irish Son’ is thoroughly inoffensive.

Meanwhile, without his a capella buddies in Westlife around him, McFadden’s voice is exposed. Baring his soul here and there with such candid fervour (getting whacked by Christian Brothers, being separated from daughters and the like) will certainly earn him plenty of tabloid attention, but actually listening to his watery confessions is another thing entirely.

Click here to read Jackie Hayden's 7-out-of-10 review of Irish Son.