Transplanted Mayo band, The Mighty Regis, who now find themselves in Los Angeles rail

against all the stereotypes associated with being Irish in Real Deal Irish, despite indulging themselves lavishly in plenty of ‘alternative’ versions. You can forgive them, though, for clangers like “In days of old these lads were bold

A crime was how they vented”, because all is dealt with a certain amount of tongue in cheek, and, most importantly they have good tunes to back up their far-from-original folk/punk mix.

The idea that comes across, right from the start, is that this band is tight, carries a mighty tune, and has brilliant potential. Shame then that they let themselves down so often with lyrics and ideas that remain legless in the pub, instead of stepping up to take on the challenge laid down by the Pogues more than twenty years ago.

Listening to songs like Black Shamrock, and The Brothers Rafferty you know immediatly that this is a band that can rock the party. In the haze of a friday night, with a couple of whiskeys on you, you could hurl yourfeslf around to them to merry abandon – woe betide you, though if you take a longer listen.

Let’s be clear, as well. It’s not a problem with the genre per se. There are those at Three Monkeys who wake up sweating in the early-hours, terrorised by the thought of mandolins and Accordions. They’re fools – and at their better moments, like take me home for example, The Mighty Regis could shake them out of their prejudices. At their worst, though, they confirm all their worst fears.

And so, the ultimate sensation after repeatedly listening to these songs is dissapointment. This is a band that has talent peeking out from every song – they’ve mastered one of the most difficult parts of recording, capturing the excitment of a live band – but they sell themselves short with easy ryhmes, and the idea that they somehow become punk by singing ‘fuckin’ or ‘arse’.