Meryl Streek – ‘Songs for the Deceased’ album review: as vital as anything you’re likely to hear
THE SKINNY: A new crop of musicians is slowly coming to the fore. Sick to death of industry pandering and driven by a desire to create art for themselves and the greater good, this emergent set of creative heroes are playing by their own rules, tapping into the punk ethos but something altogether more universal. One of the most important of these is Meryl Streek, and he’s shown that on his second album, Songs for the Deceased.
The album is tremendously multifaceted. Not only is the music a mix of driving hardcore punk, reverb-coated post-punk, and industrial dissonance in its heavier aspects and glitchy, heady, and transcendental in its lighter ones, but the way the Irish musician dances between these two shades and successfully creates a unique and potent sound is worthy of praise alone.
Then, adding his furious delivery – which is about as biting as anything outside of the fixed metal and hardcore worlds – and most importantly of all, his words frankly facing Ireland’s socio-economic, political and spiritual problems head-on, makes for a consequential listening experience like no other. Although the title, Songs for the Deceased, is straight to the point in that Streek discusses the deaths of his late Uncle Paddy and examines the mysterious deaths of Terence Wheelock and those at The Stardust nightclub – as well as others around him – he ingeniously uses the prism of death to analyse contemporary Ireland and life as a whole, with the country’s flaws clear.
While the record’s contents are naturally steeped in Irish matters, as it’s Streek’s native land, the delivery and themes are mightily resonant for those of us not from there, and particularly British listeners—a point affirmed by the fleeting but powerful presence of Benefits frontman Kingsley Hall. After all, the Teesside band is at the forefront of this new breed of real musicians in the game for conscientious reasons and can be deemed an English counterpart to Streek; just listen to their debut, Nails.
Not only is Songs for the Deceased excellent musically and thematically, but Streek is also not an act whose political sloganeering is hollow or undertaken in a way where it’s rammed so far down your throat you suffocate on this grim slice of reality. His words are rage-filled and righteous, but he’s not telling listeners what to think; moreover, he’s saying it in an objective, highlighting way, leaving us to draw our own conclusions while he makes his clear. When you take this alongside guest appearances of The Chisel’s Cal Graham, A Place to Bury Strangers mastermind Oliver Ackermann, and several others, you get an album of undisputed substance and an artist who’s only really getting started.
For fans of: Violent, bloody revolution, the works of Stieg Larsson, and Benefits the band.
A concluding comment from your local indie know-it-all: “What’s Meryl Streep even got to do with it? I think out of all the Irish musicians, Fontaines D.C. are the most culturally vital right now.”
Songs for the Deceased track by track:
Release date: October 25th | Producer: Dan Doherty | Label: Venn Records
‘Welcome’: An immediately arresting opener featuring a sparse, almost industrial beat and samples of fraught debates between Irish politicians concerning social justice and homelessness. It gradually builds up to include atmospheric synths and an equally potent guitar line, as other samples are introduced of the Irish people and Meryl commenting on the country’s dire state. [4/5]
‘Fine Jail’: There is no time wasting getting into it. An impassioned yell opens this one as it tears into a four-to-the-floor punk beat, offset by the melodic timbre of the keys with an almost Eastern essence. The song has a deeply hypnotic feel, while Meryl furiously tears into the “dickheads’ in power in Ireland, warning them that they can only push the people so far. It’s very powerful stuff. [4.5/5]
‘Bertie’: Another assertive moment. Driven by a sludgy sub and expressive beat, Meryl excels in layering once again as he delivers a robust lesson in not taking shit from the man, typified by the haymaker of an opening line: “A despicable prick played off as a good laugh and a great man for this country.” This is the sound of a country sick of the charlatans in charge. The passion is palpable, and the dissonance is weaponised brilliantly. [4.5/5]
‘If This Is Life’: Meryl Streek is not a one-trick pony, and on the fourth stop, he conceives a moment of pure melodic brilliance, fusing a glitchy refrain with an energetic beat. This, taken with the earnest nature of the lyrics, makes for one hell of an experience. You’ll be heading straight for replay. [4.5/5]
‘Counting Sheep’: A song that typifies everything Meryl Streek is about and why he is such an excellent artist. A perfect blend of angry dissonance and harmonious nous, there’s punk, goth, and indie at play alongside some of his most cutthroat wordplay, frankly addressing the contemporary condition of Ireland, which resonates deeply with listeners from outside its borders. [4.5/5]
‘Dogs’: Kicking off with another trippy beat and a dancey sample, it soon delves headfirst into a more unsettling realm, whereby a spacey saxophone and the driving, punk bassline juxtapose each other, and samples are astutely used to bolster their effect. The point is clear, too: “I’ve more time for dogs on the street than the people I meet.” The climax also features the vocals from Cal Graham of The Chisel, which is a welcome surprise. [4.5/5]
‘By One’s Own Hand’: Another impressive moment. Here, Meryl delivers a masterclass in fusing his clear knack for potent melodies with his fury over the state of Ireland. It’s simply enormous, and the vital theme concerning suicide is expertly wrapped in droning synths, a trance-like beat and lyrics that drive themselves straight into the heart. Profound. [4.5/5]
‘Paddy’: In an album where every track leaves a mark, this sincere moment dedicated to Meryl’s uncle Paddy is the most debilitating. Not only does this cut paint a picture of his relative and significant influence—a true subversive until the end—musically, it envelops you with its reverb-drenched guitars as the vocalist sings repeatedly: “You’ll always be missed, and you’ll always be loved.” [5/5]
‘Interlude’: A stark reflection on the state of the world, led by the words of Benefits frontman Kingsley Hall, affirms that the problems of the people of Ireland are shared by the British, too. “He’s putting the cunt in country,” Hall says of Conservative politicians atop a bed of heady textures, commanding us to “Just open your eyes and see all the shit you despise”. Vital. [5/5]
‘Gambling Death’: A slice of pure punk rage, this convergence of a hardcore beat and swollen synths, as well as a breakneck speed, make for one hell of a ride as Meryl’s vitriolic delivery leads the charge. [4.5/5]
‘Terrance’: Delving into Ireland’s dark recent history, this one concerns the death of 20-year-old Terence Wheelock, who died on 16th September 2005 at Store Street Garda Station, in an apparent “suicide”. It’s a case mired in shadow, and appropriately, this is one of the darkest songs on the Songs for the Deceased. Meryl sings angrily: “Another shadow case hidden by the state.” [5/5]
‘The Industry’: While Streek displayed the potency of his wordplay long ago, this sharp takedown of the creative industries is absolutely excellent, and he takes no prisoners. From unbinding the fallacy of posh musicians living the starving artist ideal to the egotism of new bands and even major festivals being dumb fashion parades, Streek confirms: “Your industry’s a laughing joke, and you’re all the poxy same.” Utterly refreshing. [5/5]
‘Murder’: Openly discussing a murder where a man was brutally stamped in the head to death, with the lyrics as stark as you’re likely to hear, this track is afforded a strangely transcendental dimension thanks to the expressive din from guitar whizz and A Place to Bury Strangers leader, Oliver Ackermann. It’s the collaboration we didn’t know we needed. [4.5/5]
‘The Stardust’: In true form, this final song returns to the thunderous drums, the atmospheric convergence of synths and digitally rendered textures, and hitting samples taken from the news. Playing up to the album’s title once more, Streek remembers the 48 lost in the 1981 fire at The Stardust nightclub, a disaster which has never had answers. It’s a fitting and thought-provoking ending.[4.5/5]
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