The Murder Capital Live

A Tale of Two Irish Bands

What does cracking Australia even mean for an international band? What does it cost? What is there to gain? What does success look like for an Irish post-punk band like the Murder Capital in a new rock industry still trying to find a norm for greats-making?

Touring Australia is a no-brainer for a big artist. But just below the fame threshold, it is intensely expensive  — with tedious international long flights — and usually not worth the hassle. Bands touring our country earlier in their career are usually operating at a loss, hoping to lay the groundwork for an international fan base when they can finally graduate from the OAF and the Factory to the Enmore Theatre and the Hordern Pavillion comfortably.

My first introduction to The Murder Capital was via one of my favourite Hinge matches ever, during my young and impressionable 2022. “Don’t Cling to Life” was a desperate plea with ricocheting guitar, befitting my melodramatic adolescence. I thought of them as a sister band to Fontaines DC, similarly swimming in Irish accents, post-punk gloom and earnest introspection. And really great quality music. The Murder Capital’s debut album When I Have Fears (2019) was maximalist instrumentation, dark-washed, textbook 2010s post-punk revival. Even better, it felt like they had something to say. 

Fontaines DC finally conquered Australia this year, going from the cult-faves of those in the know to every Arts student’s favourite rock band in the span of the week between Yours and Owls and the Opera House Forecourt. I would normally be inclined to bitterness that those same people were memeing the Oasis reunion while the contemporary pop flushes of Romance (2024) slipped by in quieter channels. Channels that also lauded criminally overlooked bands like Wunderhorse and the Mysterines. But I felt relief. Finally, mainstream rock was actually new and good and not Yungblud. “It’s Amazing to be Young”, an optimistic and blushing post-album single that soundtracked everyone’s post-festival photodump, scooped up the last of Oceania in time to catch the dregs of their Romance era on their way out. For 5 years, it had been obvious Fontaines were destined for this level of appreciation, and it was rewarding to see them grow from the start. In my mind, The Murder Capital are of the same ilk —not far behind. 

The Murder Capital have been in the game for the same amount of time as Fontaines, but in terms of stringing together a rival international buzz, they still have a way to go. It was pretty discouraging to find I really didn’t know many people who recognised their name when I mentioned I was writing a review. So what’s the cocktail recipe for indie band success? Quality, authenticity, vision… a little virality, I guess? It seems no amount of critical acclaim by journalists will turn the cogs of mass success. Hype is no longer the currency of legacy publications and seasoned critics but of the algorithm: the trending verse of “Bug” or the virality of Ewan Mitchell starring in music videos, or band members stirring shit about the Oasis reunion and getting framed “spunkbubbles” on Liam Gallagher’s X.

It’s rather sad that in this era we sit idly awaiting the next catchy soundbite to fall into our laps (or fyps), instead of actively seeking good music out. The Murder Capital’s latest album Blindness (2025) had all that for me. Clever turns of lyrics, wall-to-wall atmospheres, engaging instrumental quirks— all the cocktail ingredients minus the virality. Songs I could cry to, songs that stuck to my heart like a lint-covered sticky hand, gritty and humdrum yet endlessly amusing. Over and over, peel and stick. From opener to closing track: white-bright vision, and an album as a complete realised work. If the Murder Capital had a “Bug” it would be “Words Lost Meaning”, with lolling bass and raw confessional in my car speakers on the nonverbal drive home from work, and in my headphones as I morosely dig my cheek into my pillow.

And live, even better. The Murder Capital flooded white light onto Crowbar’s narrow floor space — even reaching me at the back, with my hands clasped together reverently. For an hour, the Murder Capital gave and gave; and we were in the act of receiving, whether it was with jostling hips during propelling tracks like “Can’t Pretend To Know” and “The Fall”, to utter stillness in the expertly placed opener “Ethel”. Until they left us with a sombre condemnation of zealous nationalism in “Love Of Country”, dedicated to the victims of the Palestinian genocide.

With a confidence befitting a larger stage, the Murder Capital did it all right. Grounded stage presence, express gratitude and a keen eye for a worthy support stack of Australian artists in tow on their national tour. Maybe it was a risk to take journeying over the seas, but in this crowded bar it felt like a risk well rewarded. These people will remember the Murder Capital when they come down under again. And when the Australian fanbase is padded out in years to come, may we feel relief, not bitterness, at a rock industry that adapts, selfheals, and allows good music to befall the most ears. Even if it is later rather than sooner.