by Ben Kritikos
Jinx Lennon is no stranger to this blog. I write about him so often because I think he’s a living legend.
The first time I heard him, my initial reaction was: what the fuck?! There stood this stocky guy on stage wearing knock-off wayfarers with “Free State Nova” written in Tipex on the lenses, banging out single notes, sometimes chords, sometimes thrashing noteless strums on his guitar, bellowing like a man somewhere between madness, inspiration and Motown. If nothing else, it was the dictionary definition of remarkable.
Jinx Lennon is hard to describe. He’s somewhere between a punk rocker, a poet, a soul singer (or soul singer gone Baptist minister, à la Al Green), an early 20th century labour movement folk singer, and a nutter with a synth. It’s like divinely crazy music with its feet on the ground.
I know of no other artist who can hoot and howl so melodically. At his finest, he spits the best poetry in Ireland today, to the accompaniment of cracking beats and acoustic punk. Jinx Lennon live is a unique experience: in between songs he’ll put down the guitar and lambast the audience with a tirade of inspirational sermons. I don’t know when the man breathes. He’ll scream you full of positivity, peppering his pep-talks with sudden bursts, like a saint with Tourette’s.
High points include: Know Your Station Gouger Nation (Septic Tiger Records)