Ross Breen

On the title track of this adventurous album, Kildare-man Ross
Breen serves us a sumptuous and unpredictable stew of Mumfords,
The Band, Dylan, Talking Heads, Elbow and gospel. And you know
what? It works.

The stompfest ‘Life Support’ adds another flavour to what is a heady
brew, with a dash of Ferry in its majestic chorale and bluesy harp.
Mexican horns eblazon a Sparks-like ‘Elephants Foot’, Breen is
embroiled in echo and squalling guitars for the madcap ‘Thin Sheep’,
and the blues based ‘Jigsaw’ nods towards Ferry again, as its jagged
rhythms take it to the thirteenth bar. Breen has captivating vocal
style, and is clearly at home in his eccentric songs which he bookends
with clever, short interludes.

Ably urged on by The Kanootzens and his various sidekicks, apart
from some lyrical untidiness, he’s turned in one of the most assured
albums to invade my space in a long time.

Jackie Hayden - Hot Press

The Irish music scene’s best kept secret? It has certainly seemed that way with Leixlip native Ross Breen at times. The singer-songwriter and retro suit enthusiast has toiled thanklessly on the unsigned circuit for almost a decade now. A gifted songsmith and raucous live performer, he often seemed as though he was perhaps in danger of falling between two stools, being too clever to be overly commercial and too populist and accessible to garner underground hype. However this debut album, recorded last year with backing band The Kanootzens and a slew of assorted guest musicians and launched in Crawdaddy this past Friday, may go some way towards earning Breen some long-awaited recognition.

As an opening salvo, the title track is a hard one to beat, as Breen tackles Robert Johnson’s crossroads legend in the form of a powerful folk stomp replete with soaring gospel harmonies, though carefully orchestrated to ensure they walk the line between epic and overblown expertly.

Each track from thereon is preceded by a series of short, mostly a Capella interludes, which serve to preserve the continuity of the album nicely. The songs proper surprise at every turn; Life Support brings to mind a Celtic version of Talking Heads circa Stop Making Sense, while Elephants Foot repeats the track with added mariachi horns. Elsewhere, Jigsaw marries singer-songwriter classicism to Tito Puente Latin jazz rhythms, while the feedback drenched post punk shapes of Thin Sheep sees Breen in altogether more unhinged mode.

There are more reflective moments too. Monet’s pastoral, colourful folk chimes fittingly with the works of the impressionist who enjoys its eponymous dedication, while War And Peace is a sombre reflection on self-worth. The album closes on piano-led blues ballad Keep The Light On, delivering both the album’s best vocal and best lyric, as Breen implores that “You know you should never close the door on those who care for you” in a considered meditation on fragility and vulnerability.

It’s a positivity that permeates much of an album which Breen must be relieved as much as anything to have finally made. In the sleevenotes he thanks friends and family for ‘never encouraging me to get a real job’, and that is something we all perhaps owe a debt of gratitude for. Albums as fresh, inventive and daring as When I Met The Devil would never be made if talents like Breen retreated to the world of clock-punching when instant success doesn’t follow their early endeavours. The Irish music scene’s best kept secret? Maybe it’s time more people were told.

Drop-d Rating 9/10
- drop-d.ie