The Finest A Collection Of Folk Classics by Diarmuid O'Leary – A Raw, Unfiltered Take
Alright, let’s cut to the chase. Diarmuid O’Leary’s The Finest: A Collection Of Folk Classics isn’t just another folk album drowning in a sea of predictable acoustic strumming and overdone ballads. Nope. This sucker punches you right in the gut with its raw emotion and unmistakable Irish soul. Released under Lanigan Records (props for keeping it local), this record dives headfirst into Ireland's rich storytelling tradition without apologizing for being unapologetically authentic.
Let me break it down for ya. The tracklist reads like a greatest hits of folk standards—Scarborough Fair? Check. Ride On? Double check. But what sets this apart is how O’Leary makes these songs his own. He doesn’t just sing them; he lives them. You can hear the gravel in his voice, the weight of every word carrying stories that feel older than time itself.
Now, I gotta shout out two tracks that stuck with me long after the needle lifted off the record. First up, “Ride On.” Holy smokes, this one hits hard. It’s not flashy or trying too hard—it’s stripped-back, simple, but man, does it pack a punch. O’Leary’s delivery feels like he’s whispering secrets straight into your ear, stuff you weren’t ready to hear but needed to anyway. There’s something about the way he nails those high notes—it’s haunting as hell, like ghosts walking through misty fields.
Then there’s “Grace.” Oh, don’t even get me started on this one. If you’re expecting some soft, sentimental version of this classic, think again. O’Leary tears into it like it’s personal, like he knew Grace himself. His voice cracks at all the right moments, making you feel every ounce of heartbreak and defiance packed into those lyrics. By the end, you’ll either want to cry or smash something—you decide.
What really gets me is how effortlessly O’Leary weaves between joy and sorrow across the whole album. One minute, you’re swaying along to “Bright Blue Rose,” feeling kinda warm inside, and the next, “Her Father Didn’t Like Me Anyway” has you laughing because, damn, we’ve all been there, right? That mix of humor and melancholy is pure Irish magic.
But here’s the kicker—the guy doesn’t just rely on nostalgia or clichés to sell these tunes. Sure, they’re classics, but he brings enough grit and personality to make them feel alive again. And honestly? Listening to this album feels like sitting in a dimly lit pub somewhere in rural Ireland, pint in hand, while some old timer tells tales you won’t forget anytime soon.
So yeah, The Finest ain’t perfect—it’s rough around the edges, maybe even a little messy—but that’s exactly why it works. In a world full of polished garbage, this album reminds us that real music comes from the heart, not a studio manual. Now go listen to it before someone tries to remake it with autotune. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.
And hey, if you don’t like it, well… maybe folk music just isn’t your thing. Or maybe you’re dead inside. Who knows?
