There is nothing quite like a powerful ballad, telling an emotional story or inviting us on a personal voyage, to open our eyes. Music has the amazing ability to move us, broaden our perspectives, and show us things through other people’s lives. That’s why I love ballads.

Generally, the best balladeers are seen as Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young and Jim Steinman (for Meatloaf, amongst others.) However, I enjoy looking at the lesser known, but by no means lesser talented, craftsmen.

Colin Hay – The frontman of Men at Work, who went on to have an excellent, if somewhat unpublicized, solo career. A man of simple tastes, he wrote from the heart and expressed his voice on issues that concerned him amongst other people. His themes include the loss of somebody special; waiting to see what the future brings; and the love of his adopted Australia (he was born in Scotland.)

Some of my personal favourite lyrics from his songs include: ‘What am I to do?/ How can I live with only memories of you?’ from ‘Maggie.’ This is the epitome of isolation we all have experience of at the end of a relationship. Another beautiful and insightful lyric is ‘Down this beaten path, and up this cobbled lane/ I’m walking in my old footsteps again’ from ‘I’m Waiting For My Real Life To Begin.’ This song is about restlessness and the search for something better, when perhaps the best thing is right before his eyes. Essential Listening: ‘Overkill’

Train- This is an alternative rock group from San Francisco. Arguably, the most beautiful is the poignant ‘Drops of Jupiter’ written by the lead singer after his late mother. There is a hollow sense of loss, mixed with an almost childlike belief that she is up in space. As the song progresses, there is a heightened sense of acceptance, which is tinged with a worry that she forget about him. The sweetest lines, in my opinion, are ‘And did you miss me/ while you were searching for yourself out there.’ Then, there is the verse where he lists some of his mother’s favourite things, before adding an emotional plea- ‘The best soy latte that you ever had, and me?’

This is a personal favourite of mine, and one I continue to sing with pride at karaoke. However, the thing I enjoy most about Train is the surreal tone to the more upbeat lyrics. This is clearly evident in ‘Is this love?’ Where the singer’s idea to woo his girlfriend is slightly unorthodox- ‘Took a loan on a house I own/can’t be a queen bee without a bee throne.’ Their ability to change so flawlessly from heartfelt lyrics to, let’s face it, quite surreal ones, is the main reason I adore them. Essential Listening: ‘Drops of Jupiter’

Elbow- There is one stand out song for me, which I am surprised wasn’t more commercially successful- ‘The Bones of You.’ This is a very real song, documenting a couple’s decline from being deeply in love, to separating and being ‘Five years ago, and three thousand miles away.’ The male in the couple, which is no more, is filled with remorse as he knows it is his fault.

He is forever stuck with the knowledge that it was his burden that split them up- he was obsessed with work. For five years he is deep in regret, but knows he will never escape his memories- ‘The sickened hits, I can work ‘til I break/ But I love the bones of you that I will never escape.’ He reveals that he attempted unsuccessfully to rid himself of the remorse- ‘I took a hammer to every memento/ But image on image like beads on a rosary/ Pulled through my head.’

However, the most poignant, in my opinion, is in the second last verse. He relives the memories of how they were once so close. It is an image that most of us will be familiar with. That is why I think it is so mesmerising and beautiful- ‘I can’t move my arm/ For fear that you will wake.’ Essential Listening- ‘The Bones of You’

Ballads tell an amazing story, and move us in ways we never felt were possible. That is why I love them so much.

Lennon & McCartney. Dylan. Brian Wilson. Stevie Wonder. Jagger. Joni Mitchell. Ray Davies. Elvis Costello. Bowie. Neil Young. Strummer. Robert Plant. Leonard Cohen. David Byrne. Tom Waits. Thom Yorke. Morrissey. Nick Cave. Ian Curtis. Bruce Springsteen. Van Morrison. Paul Simon.

Above is a list of some of the greatest songwriters of all time. I could have continued to add the likes of Elliott Smith, Beck and more to it, though the startling realisation as I typed the names was the lack of a modern inclusion. Thom Yorke is the most recent name on the list and, as is the case for many on the list who are still working, much of the best of his song writing is behind him.

Is the modern era lacking a poetic voice? Song-writing is a tremendously difficult art – ask near anyone who has ever tried to put words to melody. There is a very thin line between poetry and utter self-indulgence, one that even the masters of the art have struggled to distinguish at times.

Morrissey, for example, has been responsible for the staggering body of work that is the Smiths and, to an extent, his solo offerings, though he, too, is responsible for “Your boyfriend he / Went down on one knee / Well could it be/ He’s only got one knee?” in ‘King Leer.’ Morrissey die-hards tell me the song was intentionally simple, though it still remains true to say that Morrissey’s offerings in recent decades pale in comparison to his decade defining work of the 1980s.

Springsteen is another – a poet who chronicled the working class in the United States, The Boss speaks to millions. The music is accessible on the most basic of levels, yet it is also eternally hopeful – it often has the simple theme of overcoming barriers. However, while ‘The River’ remains to be one of the pinnacles of Bruce’s work, prior to 2001/2002, he had clearly lost his touch. America was booming and it seemed that they no longer needed Springsteen until the atrocities of one September day.

But, what of now? Who are the best in modern song-writing? I have narrowed my list down to just a few – John Grant, Laura Marling and Charlie Fink (Noah & the Whale). In the past few years, the trio have become well known for the soul-baring records they have released.

Grant was once the frontman of American alt-rock outsiders the Czars. Despite a steady fanbase throughout their time as a unit, they never achieved the success yearned for by Grant and the band ultimately imploded. At the same time, Grant was coming to the end of a long relationship and his abuse of alcohol and drugs was spiralling out of control. Long story short, Grant managed to make it out the other side (he is clean since August 1^st 2004) and was eventually coaxed back to a studio by Texas rockers Midlake.

The result was last year’s instant classic, The Queen of Denmark. The album touches Grant’s drug abuse, but the heart of the album is obsessed with his struggle of his homosexuality and his childhood and family life. Coming from a deeply religious home, his realisation that he was gay was a very difficult thing for him to manage.

However, despite the clearly dark and damaging subject matter, The Queen of Denmark is a surprisingly touching and, quite often, funny album. Lyrically the album is sublime, Grant acting in complete confessional mode: “I wanted to change the world, but I could not even change my underwear/and when this shit got really out of hand, I had it all the way up to my hairline.”

The album’s darkest moments deal with suicide: “I can’t believe that I considered taking my own life, because I believed the lies about me were the truth” comes from the brutal ‘Jesus Hates Faggots’ – a song that chronicles his father’s rejection of him due to his sexual orientation. Ultimately, Grant comes out the far end the stronger, hoping that his father’s “blind eyes will open and [he’ll] see.”

Eager to avoid plunging into the depths of self-indulgence, Grant deals with many of the tragedies of his life in a comic manner, referencing Winona Ryder, Sigourney Weaver and Keanu Reaves – “I feel just like Sigourney Weaver, when she had to kill those aliens…” or “I feel just like Winona Ryder, in that movie about vampires. She just couldn’t get that accent right, neither could that other guy.”

The brash honesty of the lyrics is reminiscent of Clifford T. Ward or Bruce Springsteen, to an extent, though the comic undertones are indistinguishable from Morrissey. The lyrics on the latter’s ‘Girlfriend in a Coma’ are poignant, yet darkly humorous – you simply don’t know whether to laugh or cry, a trend that continuous throughout the spectacular Queen of Denmark. Luckily for us, Grant has opted to laugh at his troubles, not cry.

From there, we travel back to this side of the Atlantic and, in particular, the so called ‘nu-folk’ scene that has gripped London over the last few years. Mumford & Sons have been the primary beneficiaries of this, with Grammy nominations and festival headline slots to boot. However, the groundwork was undertaken by Noah & the Whale in the years prior to Marcus Mumford’s ascension to folk darling, with the majority of the Mumfords having actually performed on Noah & the Whale’s earlier work.

In their three albums (the third due for release at the end of the week), Noah & the Whale have traversed genres, unafraid to drop fans along the way. The throwaway pop sensibilities of their debut (including breakthrough hit ‘Five Years Time’) were often littered with a darkened undertone. While the aforementioned breakthrough single may have referenced “walking around the zoo, with the sun shining down over me and you…” in five years time, it isn’t long before Fink admits that “all of these moments are just in [my] head” – he is certain that the budding relationship is doomed, yet he hopefully leaves us with the plea that “[you] might just prove [me] wrong.”

Ultimately, the relationship was doomed – it was referring to the budding romance of Fink and folk songstress Laura Marling, who provided the backing vocals to the track. By the time Fink put pen to paper for the second album, it had ended and Marling had moved on from the band to pursue her solo work. The result of the break-up was the dark and brooding First Days of Spring, a concept album openly bearing Fink’s broken heart and his trouble moving on.

‘Stranger’ is a frank account of sleeping with someone else for the first time: “Last night I slept with a stranger, For the first time, since you’ve gone/Regretfully lying naked, I reflect on what I’ve done/Her leg still forced in between mine, sticking to my skin/Stroking my chest and my hair, head resting below my chin/I’m a fox trapped in the headlights and I’m waiting, for the tyres to spin over me.”

Fink takes us through his entire journey as he attempts to move on, including the wonderful ‘Blue Skies’ that swings between an effort to move on, and that indecisive tone that wants things to revert to how they once were. “This is the last that I write while still in love with you… I don’t think that it’s the end, but I know we can’t keep going.”

Finally, the album comes to the conclusion of The First Day of Spring. The song deals with Fink’s first steps into his new life, his ex confined to his past. Sadly, however, the song finishes on the desperate “For I’m still here, hoping, that one day you may come back…” For anyone who has experienced loss, the album is a startling truth.

In the period since, Fink’s comic undertone has come to the fore and on new track ‘L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.’ he sings about “Little Lisa Looney Tunes” who “goes down, on almost anyone”, as well as a variety of other broken and desperate characters: Ray Davies or Elvis Costello territory as he strives to get inside people’s heads.

Finally, we come to Laura Marling. The folk darling can do no wrong on her two albums; the latter of which (last year’s I Speak Because I Can) dealt with her advent into womanhood. An unlikely sister album to The First Day of Spring, Marling refers to her broken relationship with Fink on ‘Blackberry Stone’, “I’d be sad that I never held your hand as you were lowered” (a direct reply to Fink’s track ‘Hold My Hand As I’m Lowered’), as well detailed the intricacies of her sexual exploits (‘Devil’s Spoke’): “Eye to eye, nose to nose, ripping off each other’s clothes in the most peculiar way!”

The most incredible aspect of Marling’s lyrics are her age: barely into her twenties she writes with the colourful maturity and poetic prose of someone who has crafted their art over several decades: a Joni Mitchell for the modern era, undoubtedly.

There are certainly other songwriters worthy of a mention here (Alex Turner, Pete Doherty, Guy Garvey), though the trio of Fink, Marling and Grant make for unlikely bed-fellows in the frank openness of the lyrics. Darkly comic in parts, the trio have detailed the darkest times in their lives with a refreshing honesty comparable to any of Morrissey, Costello, Simon, Springsteen and more. This lost art is not entirely gone on the current generation.

Formed from the remains of Cajun Dance Party, Yuck spent the best part of a year writing and recording their debut album, released in Ireland at the end of February. Needless to say, there’s been a bit of buzz surrounding them. After all – Cajun Dance Party was in nearly the same position a few years back but caved under the dizzying hype that had been piled up soon after the album was released. As a result, my expectations for Yuck were pretty low from the off.

What had dribbled out into interviews with the band sounded promising: frontman Daniel Blumberg seemed emphatic about the band, excited to be making new music rather than sitting about smoking pot and doing the bare minimum in the studio. Mind you I can’t find the quote but you get the idea. Another tit-bit was Blumberg talking about playing with Dinosaur Jnr. On some of their English tour dates and gushing over how cool it was to be playing with one of his childhood heroes, and a few mentions about J. Masacis’ influence on Yuck.

Influence is probably a massive understatement because quite frankly Yuck’s debut sounds like a bunch of studio outtakes from Dinosaur Junior’s: Bug or Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation. The comparisons aren’t fleeting either, it’s so apparent that it’s hard to believe that Yuck aren’t paying royalties to half of Seattle.

The album opener Get Away amble’s through familiar 90’s guitar rock territory. Hazy guitar’s and dim fuzzed out guitar lead parts topped with mumbling lyrics about nothing in particular. ‘The Wall’ works from the same template. Blumberg’s vocals wander aimlessly over the top of the din of guitars mention something about “Making it through the wall, you could see me if you’re tall”. Maybe I’m not quite catching the significance of its resignation or maybe frustration at not being able to communicate with another human being. It still pangs of stiff boring nostalgia.

‘Holing Out’ does show some glimmer of hope. Poppy chorus, fuzzed guitars the same familiar lyrics about nothing in particular. Then again, like the rest of the album, it sounds like a lost track from that summer from the 90’s that never happened. Perhaps I would have enjoyed it more if I’d never listened to any guitar band from the 90’s or if I just closed my eyes and tried to expunge any memory of Dinosaur Junior, Sonic Youth, Sebadoh or The Lemon heads.

But what would be the point? Even in the sections of the album that Yuck move away from their 90’s nostalgia trip I think I might actually die of boredom. Tracks like ‘Sunday’ or ‘Suicide Policeman’ show off the bands acoustic side, making use of Blumberg‘s nose for dreary pop music and songs that you’re dam sure that you’ve h

YUCK – Album review.

Jack Broughan runs the rule over the debut album from hotly tipped Londoners Yuck.

Formed from the remains of Cajun Dance Party, Yuck spent the best part of a year writing and recording their debut album, released in Ireland at the end of February. Needless to say, there’s been a bit of buzz surrounding them. After all – Cajun Dance Party was in nearly the same position a few years back but caved under the dizzying hype that had been piled up soon after the album was released. As a result, my expectations for Yuck were pretty low from the off.

What had dribbled out into interviews with the band sounded promising: frontman Daniel Blumberg seemed emphatic about the band, excited to be making new music rather than sitting about smoking pot and doing the bare minimum in the studio. Mind you I can’t find the quote but you get the idea. Another tit-bit was Blumberg talking about playing with Dinosaur Jnr. On some of their English tour dates and gushing over how cool it was to be playing with one of his childhood heroes, and a few mentions about J. Masacis’ influence on Yuck.

Influence is probably a massive understatement because quite frankly Yuck’s debut sounds like a bunch of studio outtakes from Dinosaur Junior’s: Bug or Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation. The comparisons aren’t fleeting either, it’s so apparent that it’s hard to believe that Yuck aren’t paying royalties to half of Seattle.

The album opener Get Away amble’s through familiar 90’s guitar rock territory. Hazy guitar’s and dim fuzzed out guitar lead parts topped with mumbling lyrics about nothing in particular. ‘The Wall’ works from the same template. Blumberg’s vocals wander aimlessly over the top of the din of guitars mention something about “Making it through the wall, you could see me if you’re tall”. Maybe I’m not quite catching the significance of its resignation or maybe frustration at not being able to communicate with another human being. It still pangs of stiff boring nostalgia.

‘Holing Out’ does show some glimmer of hope. Poppy chorus, fuzzed guitars the same familiar lyrics about nothing in particular. Then again, like the rest of the album, it sounds like a lost track from that summer from the 90’s that never happened. Perhaps I would have enjoyed it more if I’d never listened to any guitar band from the 90’s or if I just closed my eyes and tried to expunge any memory of Dinosaur Junior, Sonic Youth, Sebadoh or The Lemon heads.

But what would be the point? Even in the sections of the album that Yuck move away from their 90’s nostalgia trip I think I might actually die of boredom. Tracks like ‘Sunday’ or ‘Suicide Policeman’ show off the bands acoustic side, making use of Blumberg‘s nose for dreary pop music and songs that you’re dam sure that you’ve heard somewhere on the radio before.

While it’s a step away from the formulaic guitar tracks on the rest of the album it doesn’t change much, really only allowing you to listen more closely to Blumberg’s lyrics about some past relationship that’s so bloody boring it’s about as engaging as Enda Kenny’s Campaign speeches. In short don’t bother buying the album, pick up a Sonic Youth one instead.

eard somewhere on the radio before.

While it’s a step away from the formulaic guitar tracks on the rest of the album it doesn’t change much, really only allowing you to listen more closely to Blumberg’s lyrics about some past relationship that’s so bloody boring it’s about as engaging as Enda Kenny’s Campaign speeches. In short don’t bother buying the album, pick up a Sonic Youth one instead.

Music Editor

Or at least that’s what everyone from Lester Bangs in Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous to recent blogs on the NME website would have you believe.

I’m doing my best to not adopt a faux-hippie accent when I claim that rock as an art form cannot die – it is not simply a genre: rock & roll is an ideal, a way of life. Man.

Traditional rock & roll music methods, however, are as close to death as they can ever get. Earlier this year, the White Stripes finally split. This was not the earth-shattering shock that major press publications made it out to be, more the inevitable final nail in the coffin of a long lingering elephant in the room.

What it did mean though, aside from countless new projects that Jack White will undoubtedly bring to the table, was that one of the final success stories to achieve such a level through traditional methods was no more. Alongside the Strokes, the White Stripes rebooted the down and out guitar genre around the turn of the century.

More impressive, in comparison to modern means at least, was the methods used to achieve this jolt: the Stripes’ did it the traditional way. The played gigs, they got their songs on the radio and their names into magazines – they grafted and it paid off.

Since then, their success has been eclipsed by any number of bands – Arcade Fire, Arctic Monkeys, Vampire Weekend, the xx – the list goes on. However, not one of these bands achieved the same level of success by the same means. The joke can often be heard in indie circles – what came first: Arcade Fire, or Pitchfork? Whichever is the case, Pitchfork’s online championing of the Canadians was crucial to the success of Butler, Chassagne and co. on both sides of the Atlantic.

Arctic Monkeys and Lily Allen can both lay claim to being the first “true” MySpace act to break – until, of course, somebody points out to Lily Allen that her signature to a major record label prior to using the site probably helped in some way. Arctic Monkeys were able to bring the frenetic, energetic ‘Fake Tales of San Francisco’ to thousands of bedrooms without the input of booking agents, press contacts or a record label. All through the magic of the internet…

The act featured on this week’s “Introducing…” section is Dublin group the Cast of Cheers, an act who brilliantly utilised the potential of the internet. They gave away debut album Chariot for absolutely nothing via Bandcamp – the result? Massive exposure on blogs and sites all over the country.

How many plays did the guys get on the radio prior to this bold move? Somewhere in the region of zero, one could suspect.

Rock & roll is alive and kicking, but the traditional aspects of “making it” have gone out the window: YouTube, Last.fm, Bandcamp and Facebook – what more could you possibly need? The means to reach millions in seconds: it is startling.

The industry wheels are spluttering, faltering in the face of the challenges that the internet has presented. Credit where it’s due, however, to Irish label the Richter Collective. Faced with the prospect of unmanageable illegal downloads, RC uploaded the entirety of its back catalogue (including Adebisi Shank, the Redneck Manifesto, Enemies and Not Squares) to Soundcloud for the free enjoyment of listeners.

Such innovative utilisation of the tools is what will make the difference – five years ago it was Arctic Monkeys with MySpace, this year it’s Richter Collective with Soundcloud. Rock & roll is not dead, ladies and gentlemen, but rather evolving. Move with it, or be left lamenting the death of a timeless friend that has, quite simply, moved on.

Sticking with the evolution theme, this week we have a look at the stuttering institution of music journalism, the best in modern song-writing, while we also run the rule over the new album from Radiohead, an act never afraid to evolve. Fashion editor Lynn Harding also moonlights over here to give us her input on the expanding Cork music scene, while there is plenty more to enjoy within these pages if you look closely.

As part of my inauguration into college life, I have decided to become cool.  Apparently, by choosing this new way of living, I have a whole new set of rules that I now must adhere to at all times.  For example; no longer am I allowed to quote ‘The Inbetweeners’ by shouting ‘’feisty one, you are’’ at random boys.

Also no longer is it acceptable to jump along pedestrian crossings Will Ferrell style.  Wearing my dad’s old hoodies and declaring them ‘my style’ is unquestionably verboten and I must not think that by adding MiWadi to everything, I am getting my five-a-day.  Most pressing though is that no longer am I allowed to publicly admit to reading compulsively, because reading is now ‘’not cool’’.

Passing an hour engrossed in a book is not a form of social sophistication; instead I must at all times appear as if I am suitably content with compulsive texting, even if I’m just updating my Mom on my dinner preferences.

Google searching ‘books’ and finding Facebook as the fifth link cannot strike me as outrageous, and never again can I utter the phrase; ‘’Library?’’ with any form of enthusiastic gusto.  This is my new way of life as a cool kid, and obviously, appreciation for fine publishing is not part of it.

New Cool Cáit wonders how people dare to be excited about literature.  What are they, elderly?  We have Youtube, Facebook, gosh; even Bebo has to be better than sitting down with a dusty, old copy of Jane Eyre.  Inspired by a storybook?  Have you not looked around you to see the glowing face of your friendly neighbourhood monitor?   Books, along with all forms of written tedium, belong in the past, with all things unsavoury, like that ad with the dancing babies or Charlie the Magic Unicorn.

We must take defensive action and in haste, to prevent any further interactions with the written word!  We must make like an organised riot on boredom and burn any tomes left in modern day civilisation!  Quick to the furnace!

While feminists burn their underwear in protest against misogyny, we shall burn newspapers in protest against intellectual stimulation.  No longer will ideas of culture, perception or imagination haunt our children’s dreams, we must act now for them later, or soon they too might fall in love with the classics and be lost to the depths of the alphabet forever.

As he gets up to leave, the old gent across from me on the train gestures at me to indulge in his paper.  I of course scowl (that’s what us cool people do, act like hormonal thirteen year olds, it‘s AWESOME).  For that last hour, the paper just stares at me, begging me to read it.  No, I must resist, this is a test, a trick, do not give in to temptation…resist, resist…

I start to sweat profusely, I’m jiggling my foot like no ones business, my eyes keep darting to the front page, straining to catch a headline before I realise what they are at and pull them away.  My pulse is racing, they were right, absence makes the heart grow fonder.  Just one word, a little word can’t hurt.

A pronoun even, those crisp white pages have all the authenticity that a screen lacks.  One hit, and then I’ll quit for good, it’s nothing, I can handle this.  A woman is staring at me, quickly she picks up her child and drags him to another carriage, why is that baby crying so loud…I’m getting dizzy, my vision has started to cloud, it’s not worth it, just give me the page.

Suddenly I’ve lost control of my bodily functions, my arm reaches out and grabs the crumpled up paper, and then…life returns to its tedious, mundane familiarity, and I return to the bottom of the social heap.

Fan of Desperate Housewives? I hate to be the bearer of bad news but here’s some information that could potentially leave millions of fans devastated. It appears that Desperate Housewives was suspiciously excluded when ABC announced in early January that The Middle, Modern Family, Cougar Town, Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice were all renewed for 2010-11.

So what exactly does this mean for the show? Well, the general hype on the Internet suggests that the show isn’t really in danger of doing a runner from our TV screens this year. I mean, why would it? The demand is certainly there and apparently, the cast is still more than willing to pull another season out of the bag (if I was earning $400,000 an episode, I’d be more than willing too).

The confusion has nothing to do with the show itself; the creator, Marc Cherry, has a contract with ABC until 2013, but the stars do not. Their contracts expire this season.

Cast hottie James Denton, who plays Mike Delfino, said that talks with the producers were “tenuous,” but then reassured us that “I think it’s going to work out. The network really wants us. We all want to be there.”

Denton seems more than happy with the job saying they’d have “to drag me out of there feet first”. The problem doesn’t seem to involve the male cast members. In fact, they haven’t even been approached about their contracts yet because the women of the show are the priority. It is called Desperate Housewives, after all.

The problem seems to revolve around – drum roll – money. It seems $400,000 might not be enough for at least three of the main quartet; Felicity Huffman (Lynette Scavo), Eva Longoria (Gabrielle Solis) and Marcia Cross (Bree Van de Kamp). ABC president Paul Lee hinted that contract talks with the female stars was one of several things holding up the works.

Teri Hatcher (Susan Mayer) and Vanessa Williams (Renee Perry) have both reportedly renewed their contracts and from what I can gather, the biggest dispute seems to involve Eva Longoria, who is pushing for a pay rise.

In January, Longoria was forced to close the doors of her shared restaurant, “Kiss”, because of losses, amounting to $76,000, and because of the failure to pay some of the restaurant’s creditors. Apparently, this cost Longoria just over $5 million, so presumably, she’s trying to avoid feeling the pinch.

Although somehow I doubt that, taking into account that there have been 149 episodes of Desperate Housewives broadcasted, as of February of this year, and at $400,000 an episode… You do the math. It’s a lot of cash so I don’t think $5 million would cause many a sleepless night.

This unprecedented quandary looks unlikely to leave us twiddling our thumbs on Tuesday nights though. At least, that’s what everyone’s hoping, including Marc Cherry; “the actresses are still in hot and heavy negotiations, so as of this moment everyone is hopeful and optimistic that we’ll be returning for an eighth season”. He does add, however, that it all depends on if the women sign their new contracts, or not.

It’s pretty much factual to say that the show will end, for good, in 2013 when the contract with ABC terminates, after 9 years on our screens. Cherry (like the rest of us!) is still waiting for the green light to get the 8th series underway, so here’s hoping! By the sounds of it, Cherry isn’t distressed by the situation and just hopes to have the contracts agreed on by the end of February. Let’s be optimistic that things are as they seem and that we won’t be landed with the terrible ordeal of having to find something to do for an hour on a Tuesday, when we would otherwise be watching our favourite highly-strung housewives. A stressful thought, I know.

It probably won’t come to that however, which is most likely a good thing because I don’t think its (almost) 200 million viewers worldwide are quite ready to say goodbye to the drama (and fashion) on Wisteria Lane. In the meantime, season 7 is kicking off tonight on RTE2. So grab your pyjamas and your Ben & Jerry’s and enjoy your first hour back with the girls!

Listening to Paul Howard flapping his lips while I, literally, had my mince pies on Sorcha checking me out, the whole time.  Or at least I would have if I was Ross O’Carroll Kelly.  Paul Howard and members of the cast (Rory Nolan, Sarah Greene, Gary Cooke) of Between Foxrock and a Hard Place were in town promoting the play, which is set to take the Cork Opera House by storm on 28th of March; produced by Landmark Productions.  This is the second instalment of RO’CK plays, and is going to be quite different to its predecessor, The Last Days of the Celtic Tiger.

I had the privilege of sitting down and talking with the gang.  For people unfamiliar with Ross, he is a suburban, wealthy middle-class rugger bugger, who has bedded almost every woman in Dublin under the age of 40, and a few over.  He also claims he has one up on Brian O’Driscoll, because Brian never won a Senior Cup medal in school.

Ross was created by Paul Howard when Ireland was in the boom period of the Celtic Tiger.  Now, of course, things are quite different, and the theme in Between Foxrock and a Hard Place reflects this.  The audience will see the O’Carroll Kelly family falling apart in the midst of an economic breakdown.  According to Paul, the first play was experimental, in that it was his vision of a sitcom on stage.

However, the new play will have a more orthodox structure, with two acts and four scenes; all of which are set in the O’Carroll Kelly Drawing room, with all of the main characters present.  This was always a wish of Paul’s: to have each of the main characters together in one room, and experience the tension, which has been building for years, finally explode.

When asked why he decided to transform Ross into a stage production, Paul said he “balked at the idea originally”.  But when Anne Clarke from Landmark Productions introduced him to Jimmy Faye, who was to be the director, he began to come around to the idea.  Furthermore, he met Rory Nolan (Ross), who belted out a few Ross classics.

At this point Paul had really become relaxed with the idea, mainly because he never envisaged he would ever see Ross in real life, and yet, here he was standing in front of him in Rory; who Paul claims is “full of himself”, just like his character.  So the stage was set and Ross and the gang came to life in The Last Days of the Celtic Tiger.

The story of how Ross came to exist is well known.  Paul, while covering the Leinster schools rugby, overheard a boy saying to his dad: “I don’t give a fock how you think I played- just crack open the wallet”.  But, what isn’t so well known is that Paul thinks Ross is actually a mild mannered version of these schoolboys.

One particular story Paul mentioned concerned a friend of his who was riding the DART (or the Dorsh).  On this particular journey, the train was absolutely packed, but the end carriage seemed a little emptier, with Castlerock schoolboys within.  Whenever someone tried to enter, a “bouncer” at the door stated: “Sorry- this is a rock carriage”.  This shows the typical over confidence which was given to the kittens of the Celtic Tiger.

Although these characters are whom Paul satirises, he believes that they are also Ross’ biggest fans.  When asked if he thought he had created a monster, Paul chortled: “I hope not! I like to think I’m the reflector, not the director”.

As Rory Nolan sat down next to me, in all the Ross O’Carroll Kelly clobber (Leinster shirt included unfortunately), I found it difficult to keep a straight face.  Having read all the books, it is safe to say that Rory is perfect for the part of Ross.  Strong jawed and quick witted, it is difficult to imagine another actor portraying the part.  Rory began acting at an early age.

However, after a pause during his teens, it was when he attended UCD his acting truly became a passion.  It was here he joined the university Drama Society, which gave him a sample of all aspects of theatre, including: acting, camera work, lighting, and producing.  Rory suggests for anyone interested in acting to get involved with their college Dramat Society.  After UCD, Rory became a professional subsequent to graduating from the Gaiety School of Acting.

Not only does Rory have ample acting experience, his life experience is quite suited to playing Ross also.  Playing wing-forward for his school in his teens, he, on many occasions, got trampled on by D4 Ross-a-likes.  Of course he had to get in a punch about Leinster having the upper hand on Munster of late; but, the mention of two Heineken Cups soon quietened his cough.  One of Rory’s favourite Ross moments is when Ross is walking past a security guard who is picking his nose, and Ross says to him: “hey, did you pick a winner”.

Sorcha, who is, arguably, the love of Ross’s life, is described in the books as: petite, and beautiful, with curly blonde hair (and usually wearing Issey Miyake).  Sarah Greene, donning a curly blonde wig fits the part perfectly (although I’m not sure whether she was wearing Issey Miyake or not).

Being from Cork, Sarah lacks a natural D4 accent, but assures she is well accustomed to performing Dublin accents.  This is Sarah’s first time joining the cast in a Ross play.  She is replacing Lisa Lambe who previously played Sorcha.  Like Rory, Sarah began her acting career at a young age.  She performed in pantomimes, and joined the CADA Performing Arts Academy.  This was when she decided acting was to be her life.  Since graduating from the Gaiety School of Acting she has been working professionally.

Even though the stage is Sarah’s true passion, she has had some success on camera also.  The Guard is an Irish movie by the same creators of In Bruges, which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival.  Sony were extremely impressed with it and bought the rights to it.  It is set to release in Ireland over the coming summer.

Sarah says that although she would never turn down acting for the camera, there is much greater rewards to be gained from stage performance.  When asked if she preferred acting in dramas or comedies, Sarah said it is “too tough to decide”.  Acting in a comedy will always provide a buzz, but acting in a drama can create very powerful emotions which can be felt between actors and the audience.  On some occasions Sarah has been approached by audience members who could relate directly to her character.  These emotions, she says, cannot be felt while performing to a camera.

Gary Cooke (I, Keano, Après Match) was the last, but not least, to join me.  Gary started acting while at university.  His debut performance was in Footloose, and he became professional in 1988.  Even though Gary has appeared in many stage performances, his performing preference is on camera.  He claims that the camera lacks the nervous energy of the stage, which suits his personality better.

Gary’s character in Between Foxrock and a Hard Place is a gunman who attempts a tiger kidnapping on the O’ Carroll Kelly family.  Gary states his character is “a guy with post traumatic stress, and doing this brings it all back to him from the Lebanon”.  After this spell of acting, Gary is hoping to concentrate on his own stand-up comedy material, and return to Après Match later in the year or next year.

Unfortunately for the cast, on Patrick’s Day they will all be rehearsing, so celebrations will be kept to a minimum.  In true Ross O’ Carroll Kelly style, Rory added that he will give his four month old its first taste of Guinness.

If you are a Ross O’Carroll Kelly fan, and have read the books, then check out the Cork Opera House between 28th March and 2nd April, to see Between Foxrock and a Hard Place.  Even if you have never heard of Ross, it is guaranteed to be a good night out.  Paul Howard’s satirical view of a generation the Celtic Tiger created is not to be missed.  So get your ‘rents to crack open their wallets, tell the old dear to iron the chinos, dust off the dubes, slam a few vitamin h, high five Oisinn, and hit the Cork Opera House.

“We are never really alert to our destinies are we?” asks Andrew Marlow, when recalling his mindset on the eve of what he considers one of his greatest experiences.  “But the next day always comes, unless we actually die, and the next day I met Robert Oliver.”

In Elizabeth Kostova’s second novel, Swan Thieves, Robert Oliver, celebrated artist, brandishes a knife at a painting in the Impressionists wing of the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C. Psychiatrist Andrew Marlow is then recruited to oversee Oliver’s mental rehabilitation.  Soon after giving Marlow permission to question the people of his past in order to aid his recovery, Oliver stops speaking altogether.

Marlow’s journey takes him to the various women in Oliver’s life, most prominently his ex-wife, Kate, and girlfriend, Mary.  Their experiences depict Oliver as a man whose passion for art is unrestrained and sometimes destructive, compromising the relationships in his life as he frequently loses himself entirely in his work.  His secretive nature draws people to him, until they get so deeply entrenched in his life they can’t escape.  While he moves forward into artistic frenzy, those left behind must pick up the pieces of fragmented relationships.

Kate and Mary both take over storytelling at points in the book—Kostova marks the name of the current narrator at the top of each chapter, starting from the beginning, even though no one but Marlow narrates until chapter 12.  These shifts in perspective are also broken up by letters, centuries-old correspondences between a woman, Beatrice, and her uncle, Olivier, both artists themselves.  Oliver had the ancient letters, written in French, on his person and obsessively rereads them while under Marlow’s care.  They are dispersed within the text in the order that Marlow reads them, as well as when they were written back in the 19^th century.  As the novel moves on, the past becomes more concrete as specific scenes unfold, that help audiences understand the letters in more depth.

Marlow soon realizes that to solve the puzzle of Robert Oliver, he must first uncover the mystery behind the painting he attacked, “Leda” by Gilbert Thomas. Soon the past and present are reconciled into a single story, as the letters of Beatrice and Olivier, written during the time the painting was produced, help to shed light on the situation.

This painting is a depiction of the mythological story of Zeus coming to Leda in the form of a swan.  Leda would then give birth to Zeus’s daughter Helen, whose abduction by Paris would spark the Trojan War.

Kostova describes the array of artwork in this book so vividly, that I felt compelled to look up the paintings online.   I was disappointed to find that Gilbert Thomas, his self-portrait, and the “Leda” painting didn’t exist (the painting on the cover of the book is an 1832 work by François-Edouard Picot).  This makes Kostova’s exquisitely detailed depiction of the painting even more remarkable.  She describes the form of Leda before moving into her vision of the swan.

“The other figure in the painting was not human, although it was certainly a dominant character—a huge swan, hovering over her as if about to land on water, its wings beating backward to slow the speed of its assault.  The swan’s long wing feathers curved inward like talons, its gray-webbed feet almost touched the delicate skin of her belly, and its black-circled eye was as fierce as the gaze of a stallion.”

But Kostova’s ability to express detail vastly limits the pace of the story.  At first you feel as if the descriptions are characteristic of the mind of the main narrator, Marlow, and that his painter’s eye causes him to always be focusing on the minute details.  As others take turns to tell their stories though, the same painstaking descriptions are present.  I appreciate the author’s efforts to depict a scene, but the slow, leisurely way in which the story moved along contradicted Marlow’s urgent desire to get to the bottom of the mystery.  Audiences will read it quickly, not necessarily because it’s an easy read, but because they are more eager than Marlow to see how it will end.

After Kostova’s bestselling debut novel, “The Historian,” won many fans, her second book was highly anticipated.  And while I found “The Swan Thieves” to be a worthwhile read, it was not what I expected based on her first work.  “The Historian” blends history and horror in a fantastic telling of ancient Dracula and modern mysteries.  By the end of that book you are not only convinced that the vampiric stories are based in fact, but that anyone can uncover this truth by embarking on the right treasure hunt.  Past and present events are each given appropriate coverage, creating a smooth tale that makes transitions easily across time.

On the other hand, the time-jumping, historical fiction aspect of “The Swan Thieves,” seems forced. The dynamic relationship between Oliver and his art, as well as the people in his life, is compelling and beautifully done.  The parallel plotline of 19^th century Beatrice and her uncle doesn’t fit as cleanly into the book.  Though Kostova does make clear why she inserted those characters, if a couple details were modified, they could be cut completely without any detriment to the writing.

While jumping between historical facts and present plots worked well for “The Historian” as it referenced true historical figures, the major historical developments and characters in this novel are fictitious, making it more superfluous. More focus could be put on character and relationship development, rather than catching up readers on the necessary history.

While I was disappointed in some aspects, I would still recommend this book, though with that cautionary word for “Historian” lovers.  Possibly if I hadn’t had certain expectations going into this read, I would have been more impressed.  Kostova, a Yale graduate with a MFA degree from the University of Michigan, is still a master at telling a story that is sensational and interesting, without resorting to over-the-top scenarios or cheap dialogue.

“The Swan Thieves” will appeal to your emotions as you relate to the characters and care about their lives, while persuading your intellectual side to delve into art history.  It is one of those novels that will dominate your thoughts until you take the time to complete it—so free up your schedule before losing yourself in this thrilling mystery.

The holiest of Holy Days is upon us once again.  Now I know most of you will be celebrating with a good ole session at mass, but spare a moment this coming St. Patrick’s Day to reflect on some of the cinematic gifts that have bestowed stereotypes upon our nation and countrymen for about a century now.  Hollywood, like Americans in general, loves a good Celt.  Anyone who is anyone craves a bit of Irish ancestry.

The Irish have featured in many a film.  I am not simply speaking of a fellow Paddy who has experienced a breakthrough role in the latest mega blockbuster.  The concern of today is to celebrate the Oirish representations that both engage and plague our screens.

The Good:

Fergus ‘Fergie’ Colm in The Town

For those without sense and have not seen Ben Affleck’s The Town, I can assure you that this character has in no way been modelled on Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas. The late Pete Postlethwaite takes on the fighting Irish persona with a subtle charm rather than reverting to exaggerated pugilism.

Veronica Guerin

As if one needed further proof that Cate Blanchett is one of the great actors of our generation, she not only perfected the accent to boot, but she portrayed the deceased journalist with incredible integrity.

Roux in Chocolat

It is impossible to criticise Depp for lacking versatility.  The one true chameleon acting today, Pirates of the Caribbean endowed him with a lease of creative recognition.  Before Pirates, there was Chocolat.  Any crime against ethnic representation can be forgiven.  Depp plays the affable gypsy Roux who woos Juliette Binoche into his boat even with that struggling lilt of his.

The Bad and the Ugly:

Kitty Kiernan in Michael Collins

Her performance begs me to query; “Why the fuck couldn’t they have just hired a native?”  Considering Julia Roberts was by 1996 the queen of the rom-com genre it was difficult and a little unnerving to see her in a role as a lover of a tragic Irish revolutionary hero.

Sean Connery

Though he is guilty of two offences of slaughtering the Irish accent in both Disney’s Darby O’Gill and the Little People and The Untouchables, Charlie Sheen would probably call him a winner.  Scotland is just over the there.  How on earth did he get it so horrendously wrong?

Matthew Goode – Leap Year

Judging purely from the trailer alone, shame on you Matthew Goode!  Yet another instance of a British neighbour mauling the accent.  As well as that he betrayed us by consigning to a Yankee-tinted Ireland.  In a world where if the potato crop suffered blight, we would see the Famine 2.0 and Amy Adams’ Blackberry short circuits an entire village… Begorrah begosh.

Seamus O’Grady in Charlie’s Angels:  Full Throttle

As if the first Charlie’s Angels failed to produce enough cringe for the world, Full Throttle brought Cameron and co back for more mundane frolics.  This time they were armed with Justin Theroux as Seamus O’Grady, presumably some sort of warped hybrid of a 70s punk-rocker and a ‘RA vigilante.

Jenny Everdeane in Gangs of New York

Cameron Diaz is the most overpaid swindler in Hollywood, just throwing that out there.  Martin Scorsese has a bit of an Irish-infatuation going on this last decade or so.  As an avid enthusiast he should have known better when casting his spunky pickpocket.  Red hair doth not an Irish woman make.

Politician David Norris (Matt Damon) is a front runner in the upcoming election for the United States Senate. Once praised for being one of the youngest ever candidates, Norris’s campaign goes the way of Fianna Fáil when a childish prank of his hits the papers. Norris loses the election, but on the night of his concession speech he happens upon a woman in a bathroom which will change his life for, you guessed it, ever. Norris finds dancer Elise (Emily Blunt) immediately captivating, but what he doesn’t know is that their relationship, if they are to ever have one, is doomed.

Here’s the good news: director George Nolfi must be a trained carpenter, because when it comes to Damon and Blunt, he pretty much hit the nail on the head. The chemistry between these two is so good it could only have happened by mistake. That, or first timer Nolfi is more talented than I gave him credit for.

The bad comprises pretty much everything else. The Adjustment Bureau is made up of a group of radicals who go around ensuring things go according to ‘The Plan’. In the case of David and Elise, The Plan is to keep them apart. If the two become an item, David will never succeed in politics and Elise’s destiny of becoming a world-renowned dancer will never be fulfilled. David, however, decides to ignore all of this and fight off the group at every turn, all in the name of new found love. Aww.

I wasn’t surprised to learn that The Adjustment Bureau is based on a short story. The idea, while admittedly fun, isn’t meaty enough to handle the conversion to screen. The result isn’t a proper sci-fi movie, but rather a “light” version that everyday cinema-goers can enjoy.

Not only is the idea too sparse to handle the full 98 minutes of run time, but many elements of the plot are simply too ridiculous to believe. Now, I know sci-fi isn’t believable by its intent, but when you give top hats the power to open teleporting doorways you’re going to invite some questions about the reasoning behind it, which of course leads way to the plot holes.

If these hats give The Bureau the power to chase Norris through these doorways, why doesn’t Norris find some way to steal them? More importantly, if The Adjustment Bureau has the power to do all they say they can, how come they can’t get Norris to spill a cup of coffee on himself? How come they fail time and time again to keep him and Elise apart, despite their apparent brilliance?

It’s a shame to see such good actors put to such bad use. David and Elise are immediately and forever fathomable. Their relationship is so intriguing that it saves the movie, turning it from a downright silly excuse for a piece of cinematography to an enjoyable – and sometimes exciting – thrill ride. I am adamant that if the producers hadn’t scored them for the parts, there is no way this movie would be getting the critical acclaim it is currently enjoying. Many members of the Bureau – Harry (Anthony Mackie, Night Catches Us) and Thompson (Terence Stamp, Smallville) – are also spectacular in their role which adds further insult to injury.

Ultimately, you’ll enjoy The Adjustment Bureau if firstly, you don’t watch many sci-fi movies or secondly, you’re a big fan of Matt Damon or Emily Blunt. If neither of these are the case, you’ll be haunted from start to finish by the nagging feeling that this is trying to be something it isn’t. It tries to be as intelligent as Inception but what we end up with is a good thriller-come-romance with a bit of sci-fi tacked on here and there.

Oh, and one more thing: why the hell did they give the main character the same name as that jolly gay senator from the Seanad?