Even the cruelest ballads can be blunted into mere bittersweetness to better suit the palates of listener and interpreter alike. Not so for Lankum, Ireland's uncompromising purveyors of doom folk. The Dublin quartet has been around since the early 2000s, though it was their 2017 signing to Rough Trade that eventually thrust them into the critical spotlight. Albums like Between the Earth and Sky and The Livelong Day revealed a band of singular intensity, able to translate ancient songs in ways that were innovative, yet ...
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Even the cruelest ballads can be blunted into mere bittersweetness to better suit the palates of listener and interpreter alike. Not so for Lankum, Ireland's uncompromising purveyors of doom folk. The Dublin quartet has been around since the early 2000s, though it was their 2017 signing to Rough Trade that eventually thrust them into the critical spotlight. Albums like Between the Earth and Sky and The Livelong Day revealed a band of singular intensity, able to translate ancient songs in ways that were innovative, yet primal. Uniquely, for all of their experimental droning and psychedelic edginess, they also seem utterly devoted to their source material. False Lankum, the band's third outing for the label, is a nihilistic, almost comically bleak trek into the dark heart of folk music. A wounded backwash of dissonance plays throughout most of the set, creating a sense of unease as songs spill into one another in a gapless sequence. The magnetic Radie Peat opens the album with her reading of "Go Dig My Grave," a suicide ballad that moves from mournful austerity into a full-on horror show during its eight-minute run. The fiddle reel, "Master Crowley's," played here by a phalanx of concertinas, devolves into a coughing death march and is one of the most thrilling tracks on the album. Not even Gordon Bok's wistful maritime classic "Clear Away in the Morning" is safe from Lankum's black cloud which transforms it into a desolate sea burial. Heartbroken as it is, the gorgeous "Newcastle" offers something of a mid-album reprieve, as does "Lord Abore and Mary Flynn," two tracks that bring a welcome touch of sweetness to the proceedings. Augmenting the traditional songs are two well-placed Lankum originals, the swirling "Netta Perseus" and the 12-minute closer "The Turn," the final quarter of which is a squalling disaster sequence that will challenge even the hardiest listener. False Lankum sounds like industrial music from the 19th century and provides all the comfort of a late period Scott Walker album. And yet, the road of Lankum's career has resolutely led them to create this: a difficult but defining statement made at the height of their powers. ~ Timothy Monger, Rovi
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