Murder Capital
Iveagh Gardens, Dublin
★★★★☆
Shortly before leading the “death to the IDF” chants that generated international headlines, punk duo Bob Vylan used their polemical Glastonbury set to praise artists who had made sacrifices to speak out in support of Palestine. They name-checked the perpetually controversial Kneecap - but also Cork/Dublin band The Murder Capital, whose summer tour of Germany was hit by cancellations after a number of venues vetoed the display of the Palestinian flag on stage.
No such issues beset their show at Dublin’s Iveagh Gardens. The flag that caused such trouble in Germany is arranged just over the shoulder of singer James McGovern, who leads a chant of “Free, free Palestine”. But if the political aspect of the gig goes off without a hitch, The Murder Capital initially struggle against the hazy, lazy Saturday evening vibes of the city centre venue.
Nestled in the heart of Georgian Dublin, the Iveagh Gardens make for a beautiful backdrop. However, the pint-and-chat ambience is an unsatisfying fit for a group whose music pulsates with menace and fury.
Daylight is not their friend, and McGovern is initially frustrated by the easygoing audience. “I’m seeing a mosh pit here. I’m not seeing one here. Let’s see some f**king energy baby,” he says, as the five-piece kick off with The Fall.
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Early in their career, The Murder Capital were spoken of in the same breath as the all-conquering Fontaines DC. They were regarded as kindred spirits, having emerged at about the same time from the bubbling Dublin post-punk scene.
But they’re very different artists, as made clear by their excellent third album, Blindness. Tellingly, they released that record shortly after touring Europe with alternative rock’s original prince of darkness, Nick Cave. Just like Cave, their songs have a literary quality (McGovern has previous credits as a poet) and aren’t about fine-tuned melodies – the Fontaines’ secret weapon – so much as a piledriving hurtle towards catharsis.
At its best, this approach has an exhilarating punch. But a balmy evening in a Dublin park is not conducive to dredging your soul. For that reason, the concert only truly comes together as gloom and drizzle arrive and then finally hits its groove when the sun sets and they negotiate That Feeling – one of several songs on the new LP about the pain of separation from a loved one.
McGovern is the focus point, his onstage persona a sort of Amnesty International Liam Gallagher. He rattles a tambourine, strides around in his tracksuit pants and encourages the audience to crowd surf. But he also talks about Palestine and speaks out against the far right in Ireland, observing that the Tricolours he sees in the crowd belong to progressive Ireland more than to racist yobs.
The subject of Ireland’s spiral into anti-immigration idiocy is addressed directly on the hurricane-force Love of Country. Here needling guitars are matched by flensing lyrics: “Could you blame me for mistakin’ your love of country for hate of men?”.
Darkness has descended in earnest as they conclude with their catchiest tune, Words Lost Meaning, the lyrics informed by McGovern’s belief that you can only tell someone you love them so many times before it becomes a meaningless cliché.
Bathed in stark lighting and framed by the cool summer night, it is a foreceful ending to a performance that takes time to achieve lift-off. But when things finally click into gear, The Murder Capital serve up a killer set that subjects leafy Dublin to a satisfying salvo of mosh pit mania.
