Raglans (Indie Rock)

Anyone that has followed this little portal of bullshit with any figment of regularity has to have noticed that the affection for artists from Ireland are not in short supply on these pages. I wonder if this is a natural affection for me due to the traces of Irish cells that still flow through the veins of this ripened near rotted asshole or is it due to the meaning I give it due to what has been passed down through time as cultural conditioning as to give me something to relate to myself and others that share similar blood and culture. Hell, it may be both and more or less. All I do know is that this band grabs me by a couple of songs that just haven’t gotten old for me the last few months of listening to them, and I’m grateful for mine ears having had access to their vibrational creations.

This band is from Dublin and their name is inspired by an old Irish Poem called, On Ragland Road by Patrick Kavanagh.  It is such a lovely poem and it is easily understood how inspired one can be by it. This band has been at it since 2011 and recently released a new song, “Who Knows”.  The title of this song takes me back a few years to when I met an older Navy Veteran. We both were incarcerated in the same facility and his name was Bob Knows. Bob was in there for knocking the shit out of some poor sap that had crossed him over a love affair in their retirement home. Bob was a tough old  bird. His fingers had more crooks than the Cuyahoga. His face was full of lines from Oweynagat. He had forearms that most mainlining junkies would die for with veins rippling the surface like the limb of a Musclewood tree. His arms were saturated with old distorted navy tattoos where the ink has seeped out of the lines into his pale skin. He couldn’t have weighed much more than a couple bags of rock salt. The long reddish blonde hair flowed down the back of his neck with streaks of gray only hidden by distance.  He was simply Irish tough. I miss that old bastard, and grateful to have known him. He was easy to smile and would end every single sentence spoken with “Who knows?”. Bob Knows knew True North.

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“Every life is in many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but always meeting ourselves.”
― James Joyce

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