Publocked

One of the inherent dangers involved in making comedy/parody records is that the obsolescence factor tends to come into play quicker than you can say 'Weird Al Yankovic'.

However, Ding Dong Denny O'Reilly's debut is ahead from the off in that respect as he's chosen to plunder a genre which has been established for decades and shows no signs of diminishing.

The vast netherworld which is 'the Irish ballad' is Ding Dong's GPO-sized bullseye, and he and The Hairy Bowsies land over 70% of their efforts on-target, which would be a respectable enough return from a 'normal' album but is damn near remarkable for a comedy release.

Picture an unholy musical cross between The Pogues circa Rum, Sodomy & The Lash and The Dubliners with Ronnie Drew in his best "Dubbalin, my Dubbalin . . . Ninedy Ate Eff Em" voice with an added splash of the kind of supercharged pro-Provo/anti-Brit poison as practised by the likes of The Irish Brigade; stir in the fevered genius of Paul Wonderful then just sit back and wait for the letters from outraged priests and publicity-hungry TDs (Ned O'Keefe should be sent a copy of the album and its accompanying magazine immediately . . . it'll save a fortune on the advertising budget).

Of the rebel rousers, 'The Crack We Had The Day We Died For Ireland' and 'Spit At The Brits' are utterly spot-on, but 'O'Duignan's Tiger' (despite two mentions for Shamrock Rovers) sounds a tad tired and formulaic.

'Flow River Flow' puts the boot into those dearly beloved dirges about meandering waterways ("Flow river flow/Fuck off to the sea/Go where you are wanted/To the desert of Gobi"), 'Bless Me Father' is a two-speed romp with lyrics of sublime surreality ("I pissed on a penguin in the Dublin Zoo/Stuck a rasher up the arse of a kangaroo") while the horrors of The Famine are boiled down to a purely human level on 'The Potatoes (Aren't Looking The Best)'.

Between songs we're treated to Ding Dong's pearls of wisdom on a wide range of subjects, all delivered in a voice which wobbles brillianty between pure, flat Dubbalinese and attempts at talking proper. Publocked is a cunningly crafted collection, the only real problem being that there are meatheads out there who might take songs like 'The Crack . . .' and 'Spit At The Brits' at face value. That's one of the dangers of sharp satire - some people will think you're serious.