Ridiculously, it’s not far off 12 years since MV last saw Crow Black Chicken. A lot has happened since, including two more studio albums, but back then we called them a “rare gem” and suggested Delta blues, Clonmel style, might just be the best kind.
Twelve years on, at Temperance, that feels even more true.
There is something wonderfully balanced about a three-piece when everyone understands exactly what the others need. Drummer Gev Barrett and bassist Stephen McGrath give Christy O’Hanlon all the space he needs, while ensuring these songs have weight and movement. Nothing feels forced. Everything fits. For all their power, they know when to let things breathe.
“Justice” and “Sit With Satan” make that clear early on. This is primal stuff, music which feels rooted in the earth, but played with an ease that only comes from knowing your craft. There’s a rawness to it, certainly, yet there’s nothing crude about the way these three work together.
“Hot Molasses”, from 2025’s “Ghost Dance”, is just about as perfect as this kind of blues gets. Slower, allowing everything to settle into its groove, it also contains a glorious solo. O’Hanlon can really play, but there’s always a song at the heart of it, and the rhythm section makes sure you never forget that.
They are an interesting bunch, too. They scarcely introduce any songs, although O’Hanlon does point out that “Charlie’s Women” is one you can jig about to. It’s advice worth taking, before an absolutely mighty “Pourin’ Down” brings the first of the evening’s two sets to a close.
The second half is no less compelling. “Jonestown” comes with an explanation of its subject matter. It’s about cults, Christy tells us, carefully spelling out C-U-L-T-S to avoid any misunderstanding. The story behind it is horrifying; the song itself is wonderful.
So is “Bottom Feeders”, and there’s something about this band’s groove that makes even the darkest material feel irresistible. Between songs, O’Hanlon reckons he might move over from his native Cork and become Prime Minister of England. His policy? Arm elderly women with cowboy hats and six-shooters. Frankly, we’ve heard worse manifestos.
Ray Wylie Hubbard’s “Jessie Mae” is a treat, while “Snake Farm” comes with the observation that it “just sounds nasty”. That could sum up the whole evening: gloriously dirty blues, delivered with a grin and an abundance of class.
“Pat McManus” gets another clarification, just in case there’s any ambiguity about who it honours, and “John The Revelator” is immense. Then there’s an encore, prompting Christy to say he feels like James Brown. A gloriously groovy “Hang ’Em High” makes sure he earns it.
They’re back tomorrow to do it all again. Crow Black Chicken are one of those bands where to see them is to love them, and to know them is to want to see them again. They might be the very definition of a cult act, but they are also one of the finest blues bands around. As tasty as it gets.
