The Platonic Love Letter We Didn’t Know We Were Waiting On
A first album, any album is rarely as void of ambiguity as this. For Those I Love’s debut record of the same name is preceded by its tragic circumstances of formation. For Those I Love is the project alias of Dublin poet/producer David Balfe, formerly of Dublin’s precocious punk duo, Burnt Out. The other half of the group was Paul Curran; a Dublin poet who took his own life in early 2018, sending ripples through literary fields and his community. Made devastatingly clear throughout this harrowing and raw tribute, the two were much more than mere band members.
“Stories to tell never breed sadness. They treat it. And if you can grasp it, own it, deal with it; you can heal with it“
The Shape of You
Balfe recalls the initial sixty-something songs that he started this project with, before ultimately whittling a final nine into the shape of an album. The process appears to hold an almost therapeutic quality for Balfe, not that he shies away from discussing the inefficacy of the more traditional methods on offer in Dublin. It feels as though this impeccable record is a collection of his best efforts to come to terms with the world around him. In doing so, Balfe illuminates a medley of crucial and often grave concepts facing today’s Irish youth. From despair and false coping methods, to hope and where to pursue it, For Those I Love is a masterpiece of irrefutable significance.
For Those I Love is a hauntingly intimate account of the spectrum of processing unfathomable grief. From garden sheds to hospital beds, the entire album is a vivid collection of teenage experience, embrace and anguish. Yet, the grief is not ultimate nor overpowering. An array of references are made to adolescent ventures; the kind that we don’t identify as being in our prime until we later reflect on them. There are a blend of hazy teenage memories that now live in the shared consciousness of every listener, simultaneously rose-tinted and monotone. This album is a fitting reminder that there is hope in the darkest of places, and a heart-filled nod to the people who help us locate it.
“This bit kicked in with its synth and its keys, and you smiled as you sat next to me”
Birthday / The Pain
It’s not just the fatally important subject matter that enables this record to pluck your attention from wherever it lay. The content, message and timing of it all are astounding, but they are seen and raised by the technical prowess on display. Composed from flesh to finish in his ‘Ma’s shed’, the impeccable production elevates this album to another level entirely. The sentiment is raw and gritty, but it’s packaged and delivered with nuance and grace.
Samples make a habit of appearing throughout the record from unlikely source material. A vocal snippet from Dua Lipa (You Stayed/ To Live) as well as a distorted piano that sounds extracted from singer/songwriter Sampha (Leave Me Not Love) reveals that pop-music isn’t a taboo source in compiling such an authentic and intimate record; a eulogy of sorts to the late Paul Curran. A poignant vocal sample from the single-album folk-star Jackson C Frank laid over a choppy baseline at the close of the final track, ‘Leave Me Not Love’, evokes a similar tone to Johnny Cash’s late cover of Hurt.
On the opposing side of the scale, voice notes and recordings, both directly from Paul and miscellaneous from their friendship, are placed purposefully throughout the album. The remarkably intimate sampling provides an air of mortality to the whole album. From taped drunken escapades to moments of genuine affection, the character of Paul Curran shines through, and the concepts of the project develop an even more profound sense of justification and sincerity.
The album, for all its grief, is not solely encapsulated in despair. Likewise, the beats break and occasional early-Skinner-Esque piano tones remind us that things can, and often do, get better. The plaintive subject and party-friendly sounds on Birthday/The Pain is a nod to hard times, the fear of growing old, and an evergreen, ubiquitous reminder to embrace those you love. It’s reminiscent of another piano-forward melancholic floor-filler- All My Friends by LCD Soundsystem. Both explore the pitfalls of ageing, each from a different stage in the process. While Murphy (LCD Soundsystem) encourages us to seek our friends out, Balfe goes one further and highlights the importance of truly, unequivocally talking.
“Your Drugs Aren’t Class, They’re Upper-Middle Class“
Top Scheme
For all the equally distributed grief and hope, there is a wave of underlying anger to this album that cannot be fully absent in the aftermath of a suicide. There is anguish and antipathy at the systems that turn a blind eye to issues that eventually lead to an unparalleled level of grief and loss. ‘Top Scheme’ targets the effects of middle-class drug habits in fuelling gang-war, and how the buyers fail to witness the true extent of their investment.
A recurring theme is Balfe’s repeated reference to the insurmountable costs of therapy for the working class in Ireland. Twenty-four years ago, The Verve told us the drugs don’t work, yet the solutions on offer still appear fairly ineffective. Even if they did work, they remain unattainable. For Those I Love steps to the bat to shout for those who remain unheard, and to illuminate the corners of society that are repeatedly, and often intentionally, left in the dark.
The social commentary is but one of the many timely themes of discussion that this album drags from dusty diary entries and drunken confides, to the forefront of conversation. Balfe calls on issues from the less-represented corners of the catalogue of problems in today’s society, most of which are not esoteric to council estates. But still, the entire project is underpinned with a consistent glimmer of hope.
“Write your hate and your pain away, to make today and tomorrow better, for your mates. ‘cause we don’t want things this way”
TO HAVE YOU
Balfe spoke about the problems he encountered in bringing this project to the public. Both an unjustified guilt and a deep sadness accompanied the process. Since its release and initial success, he has commented on the overwhelming response he has personally received from people, and spoken of the weight associated with such subject matter. This album is a posthumous celebration of a true poet, depicting the very environment he left behind. It is the platonic love-letter we didn’t know we were waiting on. For Those I Love is a cordial reminder to appreciate, hug and love your mates.
A love that never shakes, that never moves, that never breaks.
For the full album, click HERE
A couple of tunes, alongside various guest picks and casual favourites, can be found on the Brewed Awakening playlist:
Slainte
Brewed Awakening 