In the spring of 2020, Molly Elliott accompanied her best friend on a bus journey across Dublin. Elliott was 15 years old and the life that stretched ahead of her seemed full of possibilities. A few weeks later Covid arrived and the shutters came down. She wonders how she would have coped without music to keep her safe and sane.
“A friend of mine was auditioning as a bassist,” says the Tallaght-born musician, now about to turn 18. “And I play bass. So I taught her a few bits. And she asked me to go with her to Firhouse for the audition. Halfway through, she decided she didn’t want to do it any more.”
With the try-out going off the rails, Elliott stepped forward.
“I was supposed to be temporary until they found someone else. Things changed. We practically lived together for those years through Covid, when we could. Spent practically every day together during summer.”
The band was Insubs, a melodic four-piece who name The Cure, The Police and The Smiths as inspiration. Elliott became a crucial part of the line-up as the group coped with the trauma of the pandemic by plugging in and cranking up the volume.
“We formed [just] before lockdown,” she says. “We had about a month of us working together. Obviously Covid came. We spent a lot of time doing things virtually, without being able to see each other. When the lockdowns eased we were able to see each other again. We were a pandemic band. It helped us.”
Insubs have already toured the country as support to 1990s indie rockers Power of Dreams. And on June 11th they will perform online from Dublin’s National Concert Hall as part of Cruinniú na nÓg — a day of free creativity for children and young people. The shows are in conjunction with Garageland, an organisation which supports musicians of every age and genre, arranging frequent showcase gigs for teenagers.
The journey from that shed in Firhouse to the NCH has had many twists along the way. Elliott, as she says, hadn’t planned on staying with Insubs long term. And then the pandemic struck and society went into deep freeze. Insubs became her lifeline. Elliott and her friends found their horizons shrinking. For adolescents, coronavirus arrested their development in a very literal sense.
“A lot of people our age got lost during Covid,” says Elliott. “So many people’s identities changed. They spent so much time by themselves. Their support system completely collapsed. We were so incredibly lucky to find each other.”
Garageland was established in 2000 by Dermot Lambert of Blink, the Dublin band whose hits included Cello and Happy Day. He feels that, post-lockdown, there has been an upsurge in interest in music among young people.
“It’s a result of Covid. They haven’t been able to rehearse. They haven’t been able to go to any formal kind of college [for music tuition]. But they’ve kept at it. There will be a treasure trove of bands from this period. In years to come, people will go back and look at what happened in 2022. Never before have I seen four or five acts at the same time that blew me away.”
Cooped up with nothing to do, many young people turned to music, he says. And now, with the world open again, all that time spent composing and rehearsing — often over Zoom — is paying off.
“Not being able to play live was kind of annoying,” says 18-year-old Jude Forrester, singer and guitarist with Japanese Sword Fishing, a group from Fairview in Dublin whose influences include Arctic Monkeys and The Strokes. “We were able to write and work on music. We all started coming together more during the lockdown.”
Two years is a long time for a teenager, and many of the groups featuring at the June 11th showcases — which, along with the National Concert Hall gig, will be beamed from locations around the country — are new to playing live. Several came together shortly before lockdown and have written and rehearsed exclusively over Zoom. Stepping in front of an audience is still new to them.
“The band started before the pandemic when we had a Christmas concert at school,” says 17-year-old Lily Aron of all-female group Florence Road, who all attend Coláiste Ráithín Gaelcholáiste in Bray, Co Wicklow. “We decided we’d play a song. And then we kept playing. During [Covid] we practised for ages and tried to put together videos. It took so much planning. We’d tried to record a guitar piece and stitch it together. We only did one song in the end. We kept rehearsing.”
The enthusiasm that these young artists have for music is refreshing. And it gives lie to the idea that teenagers today are only interested in TikTok and YouTube or that they hadn’t heard of Kate Bush before Stranger Things.
“Playing music, it’s unlike anything else,” says Aron. “Nothing else feels like that. Playing with a band is so much fun. It’s just a connection.”
The Floats met at Frank Kearns Rock School in Kilbarrack. Clarke, who had played on the Late Late Toy Show, had been invited to enter the under-age version of The Voice UK and needed a band.
“I’d been picked for audition for the Voice Kids. I put the band together. We wrote a song for it. That was the first time we were together.”
Clarke made the most of lockdown, building a studio in his family home in Malahide. “I started writing my own music. I was just working by myself. It was towards the end of it last year that we got the band back together. They came over to my house individually and we recorded a song. It was difficult. We hadn’t seen each other in ages. As Covid was easing off we started meeting back up again.”
One issue for teenage groups is a lack of all-ages shows in Dublin, says Molly Elliott of Insubs. With many venues over-18s only, it can be difficult to play to an audience their own age. And some venues are wary of even permitting under 18s on stage.
“They don’t want kids in bars anymore past a certain time. It’s getting more strict,” she says. “In the city, especially. It’s an awful disappointment. If these venues give the opportunities for young musicians to come in and for it to be regulated properly and to be properly organised so there are no issues with underage drinking… they’d have a much better scene. It’s disappointing. There are so many great bands. And they can’t get past a crowd of 50 or 80 people. They should be playing to a bigger audiences.”
Lambert agrees. “But running Garageland, I have a great relationship with most of the venues. Some of them don’t want to [host under-age shows]. [They] may have their reasons. I wouldn’t give the owner of a bar or a venue a hard time for wanting to stay out of trouble. Some of them are [reluctant] to put on all-ages gigs. That used to frustrate me. I do understand why they feel that way. It is their business.”
And yet, against the odds, these groups are often thriving. Insubs’ tour of Ireland with Power of Dreams in March was a pinch yourself moment, says Elliott.
“We never expected the band to go anywhere beyond the shed,” she says. “And we still don’t understand why we’re in the position we are today. We are grateful for it. It’s still surreal to us. To go from messing around to playing with Power of Dreams.”
Even before that tour, Elliott says music has proved hugely helpful as a coping mechanism. “It was good to have something to do in the pandemic. In that adolescent time, you grow so much. And we, in a sense, matured with each other. And got our heads together. We’re inseparable now. We don’t know how to live life without each other. It’s helped us out.”
After so long in their shed, to go on the stage — even as a support band — was mind-blowing, she continues. “The atmosphere was unreal. It was an ‘oh my god’ moment. Playing Cyprus Avenue in Cork — I absolutely loved it. It’s such a beautiful venue.”
Irish music has historically been a bit of a boys’ club. There have, of course, been female musicians and singers. But they are typically in a minority, while the industry at a corporate level feels designed to exclusively produce a certain kind of confessional male artist; whatever this year’s version of Dermot Kennedy or Gavin James looks like.
“When we were looking for a drummer at first we couldn’t find any female drummers. They were all male,” says Lily Aron of Florence Road. “That was interesting to note. We didn’t [set out to have an all-female] line-up. But it’s nice that we’re all good friends as well.”
Music has changed beyond recognition since Lambert started playing in bands in the 80s. In some ways, it’s easier for young groups now. And, in others, it is more challenging, he says.
“I would answer an ad in Hot Press. And then get two busses from Nutgrove in Rathfarnham over to Raheny and practice three times a week. And you’d get a gig in [a pub]. And play to nobody for the first few times. It’s not the nicest thing. However, you’re so driven as a young fella. I did secretly think to myself, ‘this would be easier living in England. Or living in America. There should be more resources here’.”
With initiatives such as Garageland, it’s now easier to pursue music. “It used to be shunned. ‘You want to be in a band? Would you not get a real job?’ That mentality has gone away. Anyone can do it now. Anyone can make a record in their bedroom.”
Technology has opened up a huge world to musicians, he says. “It’s a different challenge. The format I would have used would be gigs, record deals. We were all obsessed with that in the 1980s and 1990s.”
Nowadays an aspiring artist can record an entire album on their laptop. And many teens have the means to do so. “The country is generally more wealthy. The challenge is that the benchmark [in terms of recording standards] is way higher,” he says.
But there is still space for doing things the old-fashioned way. “If you want to make music and get your music out there, that’s as easy as ever: write a song.”
Bands are back in fashion too. Irish music comes in waves. Once it was sincere singer-songwriters. But now, on the heels of groups such as Fontaines DC and Pillow Queens, the gang mentality is once again where it’s at.
“Fontaines DC have set the scene for Irish bands,” says Japanese Sword Fishing’s Jude Forrester.
“The thing with Fontaines is that the lads [in Insubs] were definitely into them back when we first started,” adds Molly Elliott. “When Dogrel first came out, the lads were obsessed with them. And it’s great to see the likes of New Dad. They’re fantastic. And Just Mustard, from Dundalk, they are amazing. It’s fantastic — especially female-fronted groups.”
She feels that Irish music has start to finally move out of the shadows of U2. “The UK has been eating at the Irish scene. U2 and Aslan broke the mould. But there has been a lot of silence for a long time for Irish bands. Actual home-grown ones, I want to see more of. Instead of six lads with acoustic guitars kind of thing. It’s great to see the influence of My Bloody Valentine come back, with Just Mustard. Ireland needs to put itself on the map with the music again. Because we lost it.”
A shortage of all-ages spaces remains an issue. Garageland is paving the way for groups to experience the thrill of playing to a live audience. Japanese Sword Fishing, for instance, recently performed to a packed age-appropriate crowd in Fibber Magees in Dublin.
“It was absolutely amazing. We’d never played a gig like that before, with that many people,” says singer Jude Forrester. “With Dermot there and egging us on, it made the whole experience amazing.”
As with everyone else their age, Japanese Sword Fishing struggled through lockdown. But now they’re delighted to be back out in the world, sharing their music. “All sorts of genres are popping up. Dance music is coming back, with nightclubs and raves and stuff. And rock music with festivals and gigs. You go into nightclubs now and DJs are playing guitar music. There’s a craving for live music after the pandemic.”
As part of Cruinniú na nÓg tomorrow, Garageland Galaxyz will feature eight live stages across Ireland and dozens of artists aged 18 and under. Venues open at 11.30am and performances run from midday to 6pm
