The Frames review: 'Ye are just cool in Cork' — Glen Hansard and co provide special night in Clonakilty
Glen Hansard and The Frames on stage in DeBarra's, Clonakilty. Picture: Esther McCarthy
★★★★★
“Ye are just cool in Cork, aren’t ye? Whatever the good energies are, they headed west.” DeBarra’s doesn’t require courting, but Glen Hansard knows we're murder for a compliment from a Dub.
The Frames frontman is in flying form, curls, beard, Lorax eyebrows, double denim - this is a man on a mission. He’s a big fan of tonight’s venue. “There’s history and mystery here. What was it Christy said? There’s Carnegie Hall and then there’s DeBarra’s."
DeBarra’s is the kind of room where you don’t just watch a gig; you’re embraced into it. The stage sits almost flush with the floor, the brick walls lean in, and the crowd is practically nose-to-nose with the band. This is intimacy, Clonakilty‑style - a town that knows its music, its culture, its kin. No wonder the greats keep coming back.
Hansard’s message is clear this Monday night: “We must keep community alive. Keep meitheal alive.”
And in this snug back room of a family pub that’s been run for three generations, the idea lands with weight. On a night like this, DeBarra’s size isn’t a limitation - it’s a superpower. “I’ve never seen this room so full,” he beams.
This sold‑out run of small independent venues by The Frames isn’t a victory lap; it’s a protest. A rallying call. A reminder that grassroots spaces are under pressure from every angle, and without proper support they'll disappear. The tour, taking in Dundalk, Limerick, Clonakilty and Kilkenny, is making that point: support your local rooms, tell a friend about a new act, buy the merch.
Opening the night were INTRICATE, a young West Cork foursome with their debut single out now, exactly the kind of band The Frames are urging us to champion. This is how scenes survive.
When The Frames climb down the stairs to take the stage, it's like they're playing in our living room. Songs that have lived for decades in arenas and monster venues feel reborn here, shaped by shared adoration rather than spectacle. The crowd knows every lyric, and it’s beautiful.
Between songs, Hansard chats, jokes, does an Elvis impression, plucks a hat from a blonde’s head to complete his look for reads a birthday request off a crumpled piece of paper thrown on stage (after borrowing a pair of glasses - hey, even rock'n'roll greats shoulda gone to Specsavers). He’s meditative, cheeky, earnest... iconic.
He brings Ray Blackwell, the venue’s owner, and co-organiser, onstage. “It’s wonderful The Frames came back to us,” he says to whoops. “They’ve been playing here nearly 30 years. They always platform and support our local artists."
And indeed, as part of their rousing encore, they pull local musicians up to share the stage.
For venues like DeBarra’s, nights like this are lifelines. If these spaces disappear, something irreplaceable in Irish music goes with them.
So, almost 30 years since their first performance here, The Frames’ return doesn’t feel nostalgic. It feels necessary, vital, a reminder that before the big stages and the crowds, there is always community. Without that, we are nothing.
