Whack-a-Paddy-to-Deathery Uimhir a ceathar(4): Fatima Mansions

People in this patch of potting compost tend to talk of soccer player and all round shit-stirrer Roy Keane as the most scary evil thing to come out of Cork (Cark), but that’s rubbish. There is another member of that self-righteous, mostly striking clan. His personality is far more evil than anything the historical ball-sac DeValera could ever have counted on, in his weird Catholic, misogynistic, deluded way.

Cathal Coughlan is the man. He is an evil Man. He is an angry man. He is quiet enough these days. Like an

Empty when bag gets full

Empty when bag gets full

unsatisfied horse ramming a chestnut tree, he arrived in my vision during the early nineties as part of Fatima Mansions, named after a Dubalin southside block of flats which made the Wire look like Desperate Housewives. Schizophrenic music followed. His previous band Microdisney were cutting edge in the Irish alt scene at the end of the 80s. Morphing to the Fatima Mansions, he brought an ungodly rage with him, apt for his band who got kind of stuck between a number of genres that were at the fore of music at that time. They didn’t fit in neatly to the Madchester scene, or Britpop (obviously), or Grunge, leaving them unmarketable, even though they were darlings of the NME and Cathal seemed to be using Danni Minogue as a pin-cushion.

The different personalities that came out on their albums meant that for every “Evil man” or “Blues for Ceaucescu,” there were beautifully odd songs such as “Take me to the wilderness on time” or “Berties Brochures.” Fatima Mansions will never be an important Irish band, but they were original, something that you couldn’t say of Bell X1.  Anyway the anger dissipated and Cathal became a critically acclaimed solo artist around these parts, seemingly at peace with the world and even Britain. He’s too quiet though. If you ever visit Cark, take care that in between the statues of Michael Collins and deep-fat fryers, he lurks, and if he’s angry, you are fucked!

Speaking of Danni Minogue, we all remember she was the pudgy less talented sister to that K-hole Australian thing. Look at her now on X-Factor after she completed her current transformation of biting down hard on the inside of her cheeks and then attaching a vacuum cleaner to her lips. Why is no flesh attractive to these goons? Maybe Simon Cowell flosses with her? Well, that’s all he would do with her, isn’t it?

So, for anyone who thinks Cark people don’t have chips on their shoulders:

and some more

He’s behind you! Y’knaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

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2 thoughts on “Whack-a-Paddy-to-Deathery Uimhir a ceathar(4): Fatima Mansions

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