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“We started going back and forth like old pen pal
s,” Lee recalls. “I would send something and then Cathal would come back to me with something else. We shared things that weren’t music related; various reference points.” Coughlan picks up from Lee’s pause, “Yeah, like sometimes it would be still images of Irish scenes. That was quite a stimulating thing.” One such reference point closes out the record, a patchwork of snippets from Quicksilver, a quiz show broadcast on RTÉ from 1965 until 1981, hosted by Bunny Carr. Even if you’ve never heard of it, there’s a strong chance its catchphrase (“Stop the lights!) has entered your lexicon. Such touchstones became significant signposts for the pair when unravelling their inherent Irishness coupled with picking apart a “corrosive nostalgia,” as explained in the press release for A hÁon. “It’s an interesting thing to be removed from the place you were brought up,” posits Lee. “My kids were wondering why I’m so unusual. What makes me not like the other parents. And I recognised that people I know from Ireland have quite a unique take on the world. It’s kind of mischievous. I think that’s part of something that was of the time I grew up in. So, Cathal and I started talking about things like that and then we got onto Quicksilver. There’s a homemade quality to some of those Irish TV shows from that time because the market was small. They had to do things cheaply and quickly. And it was insular, too. I think we both used music at the same time from other places as an escape hatch. Through those conversations, we unpicked who we were in some way.” As with the inclusion of The Angelus within the tracklist, across his lyricism Coughlan invites us to reevaluate certain aspects from our shared past as a nation and give certain figures a rebirth for future generations. “Something I was conscious of when I was writing the lyrics was not to be lampooning or castigating people so much as to just pointing out their existence in quite a neutral way,” Coughlan says. “For example, ‘The Symphonies of Danny La Rue’, that’s a concept I would have taken in years gone by and just completely rampaged through it. But what I was trying to do this time was to say ‘There was absolutely nothing ridiculous about him. He was a live entertainer and he cross-dressed for entertainment. The actual protagonist in the song is someone who thinks that’s hilarious but is kind of morally redundant himself and doesn’t really have anything to say with it. So, I think that inkling of big picture terms is some of the spirit of the thing.” In delivering those stories, Lee and Coughlan weave wonderful archival material throughout the songs, a mechanism the latter has done masterfully across his career. This textural development does well to captivate the listener, drawing them further into the world of the song. Describing his penchant for stitching found recordings within arrangements, Coughlan notes, “I think it can give you instant access to some kind of abstraction that you might have to really work hard at with like lyrics or melody to achieve. On the Telefís record, that was Garret creating a kind of subliminal side to the tracks but it’s something I find highly relatable. With Falun Gong Dancer, there are long pauses and then, in the distance, it sounds like there’s footsteps but it might just be a sustain pedal rattling. Your ear is drawn to it, though, and you’re wondering, ‘What is that?’ It gives the song a sort of abstract dimension. Which is really important, I think.” Telefís (Jacknife Lee & Cathal Coughlan) release their debut album A hÁon on January 21. @telefis 53