Scustin are a band who’ve been building a name for themselves. The foundations of which are set on craic and crowd connection and their debut album Confessions of a Pub Talker is exactly that: a mad, sharp-witted, Guinness-stained ride through modern Irish life. Out 19th September, this record ties together storytelling, satire, and social commentary with a confidence and sound that’s equal parts The Streets, Jamiroquai, and Kneecap, all served up through their unique brand of “pub talkin’.”
The record kicks off with The Man Behind the Bar, a slow spoken-word piece about a worn-down barman who’s “had his hell on earth,” immediately setting the tone. The whole album is a great collective piece that tells a continuous story throughout. Social Scene follows with jazzy piano tones before sliding into something dreamier and more streetwise, showing off Scustin’s knack for weaving Bray’s daily grind into groove-heavy storytelling. It’s here I realised that this is my first proper dive into Scustin, and to be honest I was already sold. This stuff was right up my alley.
Of course, the band’s viral humour isn’t lost. The Ick (Don’t Put Blackcurrant In That Pint of Guinness) is as ridiculous as it is brilliant, all snare beats and tongue-in-cheek delivery. The Killer mixes Irish slang and sharp ad-libs with a surprisingly catchy chorus, while skits like Barry’s Very Own Casanova and Larry ya little rat keep the record flowing like a lock-in gone slightly sideways. This structure and the mix of songs kept me really entertained and interested in the whole album. The tracks are class but there’s also a long story being told that keeps you around to find out more.
Midway through, things get funkier. Charmer swings with a Celtic Tiger nostalgia and a Jamiroquai-style groove, while Deep Dirty Bastards stands out as one of the best-written tracks here, both hilarious and on the nose in its commentary. There’s brilliant lines like “Is that your man whose girlfriend has an OnlyFans? … and I heard she’s making fat stacks too”. By the time you hit Drinking Cans in a Field with Matt Damon, you’ve stopped questioning their track titles, they really do mean exactly what they say. It’s absurd, it’s clever, and it’s uniquely Irish.
But Scustin also know when to pull back. Happy as Larry slows the pace with something a little more reflective, while Our Regards closes the record with nearly six minutes of powerful and scathing lines about the state or modern day Dublin and to be honest all of Ireland. There’s lines like “A housing crisis in a hotel paradise” that really sum up where we are. It’s raw, it’s angry, and it proves they’re much more than just a band that can make you laugh at times.
Overall, Confessions of a Pub Talker creative, it’s unique, it’s a breath of fresh air. It’s fun and bizarre, but it’s also genuinely smart in its social observations. The album is chaotic in all the best ways — and I’ll definitely be keeping an eye on Scustin after this.
We have to confess and give Confessions of a Pub Talker an 8 out of 10
Reviewer – Alan Robinson @alan_robinson_photography
Photo credit – David Willis