“I listened and I heard music in a word and words when I played my guitar”. Those evocative lines were penned by Pete Townshend of The Who, one of rock’s most intelligent and most original lyricists.

But what do Irish songwriters write about? Despite the rampant corruption, lies and incompetence in our government, churches, financial institutions, the legal profession and hospitals, not to mention heated arguments over divorce, abortion, contraception, traffic chaos, nuclear energy, refugees and our crap train service, virtually none of these matters seem to impact on our songwriters. Few of them, to quote Lou Reed, feel rage in their hearts about anything much, preferring to focus on the big, impersonal themes instead. Perhaps they don’t notice the real world, preferring to lazily regurgitate themes culled from their musical heroes?

These thoughts were inspired by a demo from Dublin-based singer-songwriter Cormac Taylor. The first song on Taylor’s demo is ‘The Govner’, a biting and perceptive song about the American policy of frying alleged murderers, especially if they happen to be black, and how state governors like George “Wanted Dead Or Alive” Bush, the Sheriff of the World, sign execution warrants to buy a few votes. As a lyric, Taylor’s song scores a bullseye, although delivering it in a dead-pan style a la Paul Heaton loses some of its point and anger.

With ‘Shane’ he fits in references to prostitution and blow jobs while ‘Blue Sunday’ is a graphic tale of indifference to death that would not be out of place in Springsteen’s songbook.

All three come replete with an old-fashioned country-folk guitar accompaniment that underplays the harrowing nature of the song content. For those who don’t pay attention Taylor delivers a pleasantly untroubling performance but for those who listen up he paints an unsettling picture of how low we’ve sunk.

By sharp contrast, I have no idea what The Greenbacks from Naas, Co Kildare, are singing about on ‘Lullaby’. It’s a guitar-fuelled pop-rock track full of passion and power but devoid of originality, sounding like the last five million electric-rock bands you heard. A chorus or a hook-line might have helped, especially for an opening track, but a lot of electricity was used to communicate very little.

‘Hideaway’ is a cleaner, more focused effort, tastefully restrained and melodically appealing. It has chirpy guitars and the vocals are spot-on. It is, I guess, about hiding away.

‘Spacerocket’ is a superb slice of folksy-rock, with some great interplay between the voice and the guitar, although it would benefit from a little editing as it rambles beyond its orbit after a while. Those two latter tracks prove that The Greenbacks are a better band when they lay back a little.

Cabin are two feverish brothers from Donegal whose demo Suite 606 charges from the traps. The opener ‘Saturn Afternoon’ sounds so warm it makes no odds what it’s about. It arrives with delicate spacy keyboards, adds chiming guitars, a fine vocal, a punchy rhythm track and you just want more of it. And more of it comes with ‘Walk Away’, albeit with more restraint and with a delicious keyboard shimmying away behind the neat vocals. It has a Rolling Stones country-punk feel and harmonies to break your heart.

‘Helicopter Leaves’ is more introspective, a slow ballad that rolls over on its back so you can tickle its tummy and it’s so good I break a lifelong rule and listen to the fourth track ‘Canoe’. It’s a lighter effort, with more prominent acoustic guitar and a confident performance. My usual rule of thumb with any good demo is whether it’s good enough to make me want to share it with somebody else. I did and I will do so again.

The demo from the Dusk has six tracks and is over forty minutes long. That’s longer than most ’60s albums and at first sight that might not be an auspicious omen. But in reality Dusk are one of the few Irish acts who, though they seem to have roots in the pop-rock field, are awake to the sounds emerging in rap and techno and elsewhere.

‘What Is Life’ has a sturdy rhythm structure and effective repeated vocals that draw you in and chew you up a bit for over seven minutes. But who’s complaining? Not me. It didn’t actually answer the question posed by its title but that faded in importance as I bathed refreshingly in the track as if in a sensory deprivation tank.

It’s enlightening to hear an Irish act exploring beyond the four boys in a guitar band format and they do more of it on ‘Mine Is Mine’. Heavier and more insistent than the opener, it has a busier, swirling rhythm.

A lot of demos pass through my hands and disappear into the ether, perhaps to be melted down in order to make new ones. But I’m keeping Cabin and I’m keeping Dusk too.