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We’re kinda thriving in the internet space. The r
ats are inheriting the overworld. PDF Pockethole, image supplied splintered into every artistic medium that could expand on its original definition. In the case of Dublin, a more accurate statement would be to say that a version of punk did rear its head. Only the torchbearers weren’t guitarists. They were internet ironists, digital noiseniks, people who might photoshop Brendan O’Neill’s face onto a sausage. “Shitpost” punk, a logical response to the commercially viable post-punk revival. “It’s way more of a weird net than a grouping,” says DJ and producer Toke O’Drift. “There’s a growing taste for that really nasty gritty, very ad hoc editing. It’s so much more loose. Something that helped expand the punk dynamic into areas not considered punk sonically is the lessening power of mainstream outlets. If you can garner enough motion within your little circle, then that can push it outside.” Although not universally political, the trend in DIY experimental electronic music sprouted from the re-emergence of direct action grassroots organisations in the capital over the summer of 2018. Later in October 2019, when environmentalists occupied Merrion Square, chaining themselves to the gates of Leinster House, the soundtrack was not coming from guitar groups. It was coming from a trolley full of toy keyboards belonging to the group Acid Granny. Typically seen busking on O’Connell’s Bridge, Acid Granny’s idiosyncratic freeform and phlegmatic psychedelia is typically cited as the style that set a new standard, by dismissing the very idea of standards. “Then it started to move into venues and you’d see Workman’s being full of people who are intently listening to this bizarro improv noise,” Toke O’Drift says. “If that can hold an audience’s attention, that’s what I wanted to be doing. It’s refreshing for people to engage with electronic music where nobody is trying to be cool. It’s like a surprise attack. It’s an aura of daftness.” “They just make music for themselves,” says Julia Louise KnifeFist, a Philadelphiaborn rapper who came to Dublin to study music production in 2018. “When I touched down here initially, I wanted to know where people were putting on weird crazy stuff, and in Ireland I think Acid Granny were the first. Them and SSMMÜTT. They just had this weird kind of mass of people that were shaping into different bands.” KnifeFist’s contribution to the “net” was aggravated lo-fi hip hop, comparable to JPEGMafia. His debut EP Well Done, released in February, jerks between howling feedback and disjointed R ‘n’ B, over which he furiously raps relatively uplifting lyrics. “It’s freeing music, a release of everything with no one direction,” he says, and that freedom to constantly shapeshift he demonstrated as the quarantine was ordered. KnifeFist, his girlfriend, singer Xulfer Dica, and her brother, Limerick-based producer Zissou retreated to Lackan, Co. Wicklow. Within five weeks, they had written and recorded a dizzyingly serene EP of autotune trap, titled Fortune. “It was almost like a gag in that Zissou was into autotune trap and we were looking to recreate that ourselves,” he laughs, “It was really organic and happened in a blur.” “I got lucky with my set-up,” he continues. “I can do live streams, most bands are entirely unable to do anything online, but it’s just me in a house and that’s all it takes. You don’t get to see anybody in contrast to live gigs, and I found I was still able to get that high off just screaming on my own, which is kinda funny.” “The interaction between people and artists is getting a bit lost,” admits NITEFISH, but in certain cases it opened the field to further experimentation within the confines of social distancing. Both himself, Toke O’Drift and Acid Granny paired up with a Swedish arts collective called Yggdrasil to create a six-hour stream parodying public access TV, and which featured Zoom performances covered in Gifs, surreal sketches and interviews. “That show was quite interesting by bridging the gap with the audience by extending an invite to send in videos and include them,” he continues. “I like that approach. It was my way of doing the EP.” “We’re kinda thriving in the internet space,” songwriter, podcaster and videographer PDF Pockethole tells me. “The rats are inheriting the overworld.” PDF is arguably the outsider of outsiders. His contribution has been a low-budget virtual reality of sorts – Pocketworld. It spans concept albums, a web series, music videos and an Andy Kaufman-esque podcast, which has included guests like Junior Brother and The Murder Capital. His persona, he describes as an unreliable narrator and villain whose exploits often toe the line between reality and fiction with the best example being an ongoing feud with the band Soda Blonde that may or may not be real. The weekend before the lockdown, we meet in a Starbucks on the quays. He is about to fly to Spain, and wears a Honda-brand white jumpsuit and mask covered in duct-tape. For twenty minutes, this goes unacknowledged. “There are a lot of masked musicians going around Ireland at the moment,” he says, invoking Watchmen for a moment. “I do it because I like the privacy and it’s fun.” “The band I was in before wanted to play songs that were three minutes long and I 20