The Hour Before Dawn

When superlatives abound, there’s a risk that either: a) the musicians in question snap into autopilot, fuelled by the laurels, or b) they continue to do what they do best: pushing the outside of the envelope. Solas have had the right stuff from the get go and The Hour Before Dawn is yet another reminder of just how far they’ve travelled beyond the sound barrier.

Seamus Egan’s still the Renaissance man behind the band’s eclectic sound. A veritable musical fortycoats, complete with guitar, flute, banjo, mandolin, low whistle (and whatever you’re having yerself), he conducts proceedings with the panache of Karajan and the casual aplomb of Robbie Williams. This is not trad by any rulebook, it’s a living, breathing ecosystem all of its own. And it’s a habitat well worth sampling if you’ve a yen to rid yourself of the detritus left behind by too many mediocre albums, too many lacklustre tunes.

Deirdre Scanlon makes her debut on The Hour Before Dawn. Karan Casey was a hard act to follow, but Scanlon faces the challenge with relish. Her spirited embrace of such standards as ‘Bruach Na Carraige Báine’ (a bold companion to James Begley’s peerless version) and ‘I Will Remember You’, a Sarah McLachlan standard, albeit co-written with Seamus Egan, set the pace for what promises to be a glittering path as lead vocalist.

There’s a ‘can do’ attitude that suffuses Solas’ albums that’s surely born of their Irish American roots. It’s a positivity and self-belief that transcends most other trad conglomerates by virtue of its sheer lust for life and for music. Egan has no difficulty raising Solas’ head above the parapets for whatever slings and arrows shoot their way. And come they will, in the shape of disgruntled trad purists irked by the band’s catholic taste: June Tabor originals mix with Dick Gaughan classics and Solas’ own tunes. Predictability is not their guide.

This is music for session and concert hall alike, a formidable and heady balance. And they’ve got it right.