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As one quarter of the acclaimed group Lankum, Ian Lynch has, for the last decade or so, been at the forefront of the Irish folk revival. Central to Lankum’s contemporary take on the tradition is their ability to widen the scope of traditional music, often transforming it into cinematic, large-scale, cavernous pieces.
Key to their success is the unlocking of the innate possibilities for sonic exploration that were always present in those century-old songs. One need only listen to their magnificent revisions of The Wild Rover, Go Dig My Grave, or Katie Cruel to know that, and their penchant for left-field experimentation has opened the door for, and made viable, the innovative reinterpretation of traditional music now prevalent throughout Ireland.  With the release of One Leg One Eye’s second studio album this week, it is clear that multi-instrumentalist Lynch is the spearhead of this propensity for experimentation. Crone, released on the esteemed AD 93 label (home to many of recent years’ standout albums), and created in collaboration with George Brennan (synths, production), broadens the horizons of what is possible within the vague remit of tradition. Or rather, it burrows deep within the murky bowels of the earth, bringing forth a gargantuan, dread-soaked howl of an album. Many are my Names Besides opens the album and features the voice of revered Irish actor and musician Olwen Fouéré, who chants, screams, and howls like a shamanic preacher, a harbinger of doom over earth-shattering distortion and the ominous drone that pervades much of Lynch’s best work in OLOE and his other group. One can’t help but recall Sunn O)))’s Black One, and the guest vocals of Xasthur, in this splendidly horror-like, demonically oppositional opening track. The whirlwind fades into the uneasy recording of cawing birds, what one assumes is a murder of crows picking over a carcass, transitioning seamlessly into the slow-building and pensive Neither Fell No Flesh.
At fourteen and a half minutes, Neither Fell No Flesh is the longest and arguably most expansive of Crone’s four tracks. It leans heavily on deafening droning motifs, searing strings, and indescribable distorted textures the sort industrial/post-rock legends Swans take great pleasure in punishing audiences with. It also recalls veteran English experimentalists Cyclobe and their Derek Jarman soundtrack work for Sulphur-Tarot-Garden, or fellow pioneers of “England’s Hidden Reverse”, Coil, particularly their stellar 2002 album The Remote Viewer.
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