When he was organising the video shoot for New Wave Vaudeville, his recent single, the first thing that Skinner had to sort out was the pope costume.
“I always loved Father Ted growing up. I thought the idea of a band of priests with a pope as the driver was such a funny concept, kind of poking fun at old Catholic Ireland,” the postpunk songwriter – aka Aaron Corcoran – says.
In the video he and his backing musicians wear priests’ collars while Corcoran’s friend Cathal Brennan sits in the driver’s seat done up like a pratfalling pontiff. It’s a breezy three minutes, but one that raises a few questions. For example, where do you source a pope’s outfit at short notice?
“We got one in the end at some website. A lot were really cheap-looking. We had to get something that was convincing. The guy who is the pope is my childhood best friend. He’s been touring around with us for years – he drives the band sometimes and sells stuff at the merch stand.”
His leer was so filthy it would have you reaching for hand sanitiser. A man over 40. A man who knew so, so much better
Irishman in Singapore: I wondered if I was foolish to emigrate in my 50s. But I feel more alive than ever
‘My sister’s boyfriend never left us alone at Christmas. Should I confront her?’
One of the pleasures of New Wave Vaudeville is the contrast between the playful video and the intense music, which is rooted in the New York no wave scene of the late 1970s. Existing on the furthest fringes of punk, no wave was one of those fascinating contradictions the music business occasionally churns out, simultaneously comedic, profound, wacky and sincere. The same can be said of Skinner’s recent debut album, also called New Wave Vaudeville, which pogos between twitchy indie rock and his frazzled takes on Irish traditional music – and which has whetted appetites for an upcoming national tour.
No wave’s distinguishing characteristics included a refusal to take itself entirely seriously and a penchant for such comparatively off-the-radar genres as minimalist classical music and free jazz. In the hands of artists such as Lydia Lunch and Suicide, these unexpected influences were pressed into the service of songs that raged (or, failing that, brooded about) the state of the world, particularly New York at the tail end of the decade.
You can see why the city of that era would chime with Corcoran. Parallels with contemporary Dublin are undeniable. Fifty years ago New York was a difficult place to live. Crime was rampant, infrastructure crumbling. People wondered for how much longer the city could stagger on without huge changes – a frustration that carries clear echoes when you look around 21st-century Dublin.
Yet amid that despair there were positives too. The arts in 1970s New York were in a state of riotous good health – this city on the edge of nowhere was the cradle for disco, punk and hip-hop. Corcoran looks around modern Ireland and sees equivalent forces at work.
“What’s going on in Dublin at the moment, you could draw a massive similarity ... Post-Covid, the amount of new bands ... I try to go out once or twice a week and see the new bands coming up. The stuff that people haven’t even heard about yet in terms of reaching a wider audience is some of the coolest ever. What’s so noticeable is how individual they all sound.”
He is relieved that the production line of bands that sound a lot like Fontaines DC has apparently stopped.
“There was a real long period of time there in Ireland ... maybe it started around 2017 with the breakout of Fontaines DC ... There was huge coverage of the new-wave explosion of music in Ireland. But it was always the same five or six bands. A lot of bands tried to do the same thing for way too long – everyone going up wearing suits on stage and trying to be like Joy Division. It was cool at first, but it got too old and dragged out way too long. Everyone was waiting for the next thing to happen. And that’s what’s happening. There’s no one genre that dominates. It’s 50 different genres.”
In the video for New Wave Vaudeville the camera cuts briefly to a Polaroid of Sinéad O’Connor wearing the priest’s collar she received in 1999 when ordained in the Latin Tridentine sect of the Catholic Church. The shot obviously dovetails with the band’s Father Ted antics. But that wasn’t the motivation for having her in the promo.
“Sinéad O’Connor to me was one Irish artist that stood for something that was different and important. She wasn’t afraid to speak out about lot of things. When I look back at the controversy that surrounded her in the 1990s – ripping the photo of the pope on stage, calling out a lot of the controversy in Catholic Church – she was totally ostracised, partly, no doubt, because she was a woman. And so smart and intelligent.”
Corcoran has been writing and recording as Skinner for several years; the picture he paints of the Irish music scene is grim. “Ninety-nine per cent of people that you meet are assholes,” he told the culture website Headstuff in January. “Everyone who isn’t a musician or a passionate music lover in the music industry is full of shit.”
He is aware that he is touching the third rail slightly by raising his voice; as anyone with experience of the Irish music scene will know, blacklisting is a constant threat if you have too much to say for yourself.
“People go on like it’s all grand. A lot of smaller bands and even bigger bands do that because they’re afraid of the repercussions of speaking out about the way they’ve been treated. Over the last eight or nine years, some of the stuff I’ve seen and some of the carry-on is just atrocious. Bands and promoters and agents – everything,” he says.
“No one talks out about it because they’re afraid of what will happen to them. My whole thing is, if I’m working with someone who’s a piece of shit then I’m not supposed to be working with them in the first place.
“About 1 per cent of the people I meet on a daily basis in the music industry are good people. And it’s that 1 per cent of people that keep me doing it. They are the true music fans. They aren’t the people who are doing it because they want to say, ‘I have this artist on my roster,’ or, ‘I found this artist and recorded them before anyone else.’ And all this bullshit that goes along with it. They’re there because they are music fans – and I’m a music fan.”
A big impediment for young acts, he believes, is a lack of facilities. He talks about the backline – essentially the musical instruments and equipment needed to play a live show.
“So you have bands in Dublin and they are bringing their entire backline. You have support bands showing up for €50 for a support slot. If the main band is sound, they might let you use their backline. But, a lot of the time, touring bands want the support to bring their own backline. You’re asking a tiny band to bring drums, guitar – everything – in a taxi. That’s their entire fee gone for the night. There’s just a couple of things that I see are so simple to change and could make such a difference.”
Corcoran grew up in Leixlip, Co Kildare, and studied chemistry at Maynooth University. He has a day job, although he would prefer not to say where. Having an income stream outside of music is hugely freeing, he says. He recalls a conversation with members of Dublin’s Gilla Band, who told him that not having to depend on music for a living gave you the power to say no.
“I remember having a chat with Dara [Kiely, their singer] and Alan [Duggan, their guitarist]. I always thought bands like that ... did music full time. A lot of them work for a living. Alan and Dara, I remember them telling me, if you’re doing music as your full-time job, 99 per cent of the time you’re going to have to compromise and you’re going to have to make stuff you don’t want to make so it plays on the radio.”
The conversation, Skinner says, was a pivotal moment. There was no shame in working outside music. If anything, it meant you didn’t have to pander to someone else’s agenda.
“If you’re not financially relying on music, well, now I can do whatever I want. I don’t have to worry. It takes such a massive pressure off your creative process. It should be spoken about more to other people – you shouldn’t go into it with the idea of making a living. If that happens that’s great – but if you’re really in this for the art, it’s going to be something where you have to support yourself from a separate income.”
He pauses for a beat. “And if you’re doing that then artistically you’ll be a lot happier.”
Skinner plays Róisín Dubh, Galway, on Thursday, February 6th; Whelan’s, Dublin, on Friday, February 7th; and Phil Grimes, Waterford, on Saturday, February 8th
