The Spirit Store is built for nights like this. Intimate, sweat-soaked, and humming with anticipation—it was the perfect vessel for the controlled chaos that is Gilla Band. Last night, the Dundalk venue hosted a truly seismic event, cementing the band’s status as essential viewing, even a decade on from their formative releases.
The evening began with the beautifully counter-intuitive calm of Aoife Nessa Frances, who provided a crucial period of stillness and calm before the impending storm. Her set was a masterclass in atmospheric, languid dream-pop. Tracks from her recent work, like “Only Child” and “Soft Lines,” floated over programmed beats, creating a narcotic, yearning soundscape. The highlight was the contrast between her hushed, centered vocal delivery and the sudden, crazed eruptions of distorted, electronic-sounding noise—a thrilling tension that prepared the audience’s ears for the volume spike to come.
When Gilla Band took the stage, the atmosphere instantly shifted from introspective to incendiary. Right from the opening assault, the room dissolved into a kinetic mass. Dara Kiely, Alan Duggan, Daniel Fox, and Adam Faulkner launched into the set, turning the small venue floor into one unified, delirious moshpit.
This show was less a performance and more a sustained, rhythmic physical challenge. Duggan’s guitar provided sheets of white-hot, abrasive noise, while the rhythm section of Fox and Faulkner locked into grooves that were both relentlessly pounding and surgically precise. It’s impossible to stand still when they hit full stride on tracks like “Lawman” and the unhinged classic “Why They Hide Their Bodies Under My Garage,” which had the crowd pogoing and slamming in equal measure to the point where I could actually feel the floor move beneath the horde.
The setlist was a celebration of their catalogue, nodding heavily to the ten-year milestone. Old favourites like the minute-long punk-blast of “The Cha Cha Cha” and the churning, dizzying “Pears for Lunch” were delivered with renewed urgency. The relentless, claustrophobic energy peaked during a furious rendition of “Fucking Butter.” The band ended their main set barreling through the glorious noise-rock breakdown of “Backwash” before a euphoric final crescendo with “Eight Fivers.”
It was deafening, messy, and absolutely feral. The constant red light and relentless drumbeats and pure noise coming from the band, along with the vocals that seemed to morph from what seemed like a stream of consciousness to speaking in tongues gave you a constant sense of anxiety or anticipation, as if something was about to erupt at any second. I’d imagine this is the point, but Gilla Band proved once again that they are one of the most vital, chaotic, and truly unique live bands working today. If you walked out without ringing ears, you weren’t standing close enough.
Aoife Nessa Frances photos:
Gilla Band photos:
Photos & Words – David McEneaney @experimentzero