Off The Rails Sartorial Fraud
Nell Frizzell sees Irish eyes are smiling
Off The Rails: Sartorial Fraud
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There’s a band. Let’s call them, oh I don’t know, Mumbo and Sons. They are all nice, middle class boys born with, if not silver spoons, then certainly more than a hint of Earl Grey tea in their mouths. They have nice well-spoken accents and good skin. They are all Londoners.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “I bet these guys came over here from the home country to help the villainous English to build their railways and work in their docks. They probably sleep hanging on ropes slung across their building sites, they drink stout, chew on crusts of soda bread, wash only once a month in a tin bath and sing lilting heartbreaking songs about missing their mammies. They probably smoke and drink and ‘have the craic’ in some little crowded pub in Kilburn, Liverpool or York Road.”
And you’d be wrong. Because, contrary to how they dress, these modern London men are not whisky-swilling Irish labourers. Oh, I know, they certainly look like they’ve just got off the boat from Dublin and when the singer fixes you with his eye it can certainly sound like they’ve just left Cork or Shannon to seek their fortune.
But that, my friends, is simply a case of sartorial fraud. Crumpled waiscoats, neckless shirts, Sunday best trousers tucked in to heavy work boots, plaid shirts, felt hats, dirty hair and a banjo slung across their back. All brought together in an attempt to hoodwink us in to taking their Irish-folk-rock ballads more seriously.
It’s a strong look. It’s just not their look.
Posted on Wednesday 21st July 2010
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