Poetry and poverty sit side by side in A Lazarus Soul album that will snare any listener

Five years on, and the quartet’s fifth album, No Flowers Grow in Cement Gardens, offers a captivating and sympathetic portrait of disadvantaged, down-on-their-luck people who are all too frequently despised by the haves. Such subject matter might sound unpalatable to those who prefer their listening habits to centre around songs of love, lust and the rest, but these tracks are so intricately composed and beautifully delivered that they are likely to snare anyone who gives them half a chance.

Brian Brannigan has long crafted lyrics of such poetic quality that they can stand alone from the music, but his singing is to be treasured too. His proud Dublin brogue is very much to the fore and while his vocals can be every bit as sandpaper-like as Luke Kelly’s once were, there’s frequently a soft mellifluousness too.

Much of the music — and the occasionally lush arrangements — is courtesy of Joe Chester, a figure who’s taken a fascinating route in Irish music, from membership of indie pop hopefuls Ten Speed Racer to a recent outing as composer of music inspired by James Joyce’s daughter, Lucia.

The combination of the talents of Brannigan and Chester delivers something special and different. A note, too, for bandmates Julie Bienvenu and Anton Hegarty. This album, named after a line in a Fall song, is very much a full band affair.

The propulsive opener Black Maria — “the cold-hearted wagon that is taking civil liberties away” — offers a stark portrayal of a police force seen to side with slum landlords and big business. The furious Wildflowers is rooted in the protest songs of yesteryear, but its insistent, urgent guitar adds a more contemporary touch.

Album highlight The Dealers joins 2019’s Long Balconies as the best song from A Lazarus Soul to date. A tale of a pair of (presumably) fictional characters, Bridie and Tessie, the song features sublime arrangements, with the band joined by Steve Wickham. The Waterboy contributes violin and viola to several tracks.

The Dealers is a reminder, too, of Brannigan’s storytelling qualities: “They speak of the future and what they might do/ As though the night had the power to make it come true.”

In a world in which the music press here and Britain justifiably gushes about Lankum, isn’t it time that their fellow Dubliners get some rave reviews too?