In an era where the UK and Irish guitar circuits can feel like a revolving door of copy‑and‑paste post-punk, Cork’s Cardinals have arrived with a debut that deliberately steps to one side. While many of their peers sit in a loop of flat, talk-sung vocals and familiar industrial grit, Masquerade takes a more daring route: cinematic, accordion-led songs that lean into something timeless rather than trend-chasing. It’s an album that feels less polished than a product of the mid-2020s and is received like a lost transmission from a coastal town where the clocks stopped 40 years ago.
The album is built on a heavy, tidal atmosphere that puts mood ahead of sheer force. On standouts like “She Makes Me Real” and “I Like You,” the band resists the usual indie-rock urge to pack every second with sound. Instead, they sit with the rough edges of a melody, weaving together jangling folk instincts with a darker, gothic undercurrent. The accordion is not a quirky add-on or a folk-rock costume; it is the emotional centre of the record, bringing a worn, romantic tone that cuts through the band’s sharper, discordant guitar passages. The tension between those elements feels both rooted in older traditions and quietly adventurous, echoing the sweep of Echo & the Bunnymen but grounded in something unmistakably Irish and present.
Where Masquerade really stands out is in its sense of patience. “The Burning of Cork” and the six-minute closer “As I Breathe” show a band that is willing to leave space, to let songs build slowly instead of rushing to the climax. There is a clear human presence in the recording itself, and you can almost hear the air in the room and the small movements around the microphones. This quality pushes back against the polished, algorithm-ready sound of so many current releases. It is a record that rewards being heard front to back, ideally in the quiet, where the incidental noises become part of the music and recall the scruffy, lived-in feel of early Pogues records.
By folding the salt-air melancholy of their hometown into arrangements that feel curious and slightly off-centre, Cardinals have done more than release a strong first album. They have hinted at a different direction for their scene, one that is less concerned with volume and more focused on atmosphere. In a landscape full of quick-hit singles, they have made something with real staying power, a set of songs that cares more about tone and emotional detail than about the immediate hit of a big chorus.
In the end, Masquerade reads as a clear statement of intent. It is a rare example of a young band choosing restraint over spectacle and trusting that listeners will lean in. The most radical move they make is also the simplest: they slow down, leave room for silence, and let the songs reveal themselves at their own pace.
