Ye Vagabonds, The Beacon’s Lantern Hall- REVIEWED
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- Category: news
- Updated: 12th October 2025
It is by this point in October that you succumb to the fact that summer is well and truly over for another year. The seasonal shift reminds us to pause, take heed, respect the land around us - or be caught out in the cold.
Ye Vagabonds, in the latter half of their latest UK tour, were just the accompaniment for this autumnal actualisation. Fronted by brothers Diarmuid and Brían Mac Gloinn, the group moves with the current of a renewed folk tradition, one that cements the most recent crop of Irish artists as indispensable in a moment where much of the world seems to have lost its way.
Architecturally, the Beacon’s Lantern Hall isn’t capable of the atmospheric heights of The Mount Without (home to their last Bristol show), but it was more than suitable for a gathering of like-minded folk, who more than anything were glad that they couldn’t hear Jason Mraz seeping through from next door.
Support came from Beth Roberts, who was visibly overwhelmed by the biggest crowd she’s faced in her home city. The room was warmed by the Bristolian’s introspective set, performed alongside guitarist Danny Tryani and drummer/violinist Rowan Elliott.
In the soft resonance created by the trio, I heard flickers of Vashti Bunyan’s sorrow-laden voice soothed by the-future-is-going-to-be-alright feeling akin to Laura Marling. And yet, Beth is completely her own - head in the clouds with stories tracing the Comet NEOWISE, quickly brought crashing down to earth with tracks inspired by the painfully self-aware sitcom Fleabag, and the less-than-reasonable presentation of women in the Bible.
Retuning her banjo between songs, Beth made sure her gratitude was felt, while warning that the main act would be even more fond of fiddling with their stringed weaponry. Ten years of playing in bands has led to now, with Beth working on the finishing touches of her debut album, which is due to be out this winter – keep your eyes peeled!
An arsenal of instruments rested on the stage. With the first footsteps towards them came anticipation; with the first notes, silence. The low drone of Alain McFadden’s harmonium and the bellow of Caimin Gilmore’s double bass bolstered the brothers’ glorious lilt and the gentle rise and fall of their bouzoukis.
With ten years and two award-winning albums behind them, Ye Vagabonds would be forgiven for rattling off their most beloved to a toe-tapping and chorus-singing crowd. However, new music spilled off the stage and captured our hearts. Taken fondly, were the two tracks on their latest 7” On Sitric Road - recorded at Lilliput Press on the Dublin street with the aforementioned name – which, they revealed, would be unavailable on streaming services. A win for the ego of the room.
Poignantly honouring their late friend, writer and broadcaster Manchán Magan, a recording of birdsong from outside Manchán’s house bookended the most gentle of recitals. Together, they had collaborated on a project exploring Gaelic coastal words, and through Ye Vagabonds’ dense weave of marine and weathered imagery — and their devotion to the Irish language — Manchán’s presence is fiercely felt.
The tone lightens as Brían and Diarmuid laugh about the joyful paradox of creating beautiful music in a language most of the audience can’t understand. They tell of a couple who chose Bacach Shíol Andaí as their wedding song - blissfully unaware that its lyrics are closer to Monty Python’s Brave Sir Robin than any ballad of love.
Contrast defined the evening. The coolness of the lyrics lapped and crashed against the heat of the packed room. There’s a visceral sense that the place could erupt at any moment - but it’s a Wednesday, and it never quite does. Each arrangement brings its own inner peace, until it’s time to tune, and the absurd humour takes over once more. One moment, they’re urging everyone to join a WhatsApp group to storm Limerick’s Glin Castle; the next, they’re lost in tangents about an exceedingly friendly Bristolian named Tim. The craic is strong with these lads. I doubt they had this much fun at Jason Mraz.
Words Patrick Merryfield
Photo Credit James Collins