Junk Drawer’s Sophomore Album Days of Heaven Is Simply Divine

The language we use always has weight to it, but especially when discussing places of contention. Take, for example, the stretch of land on the northern end of the isle of Ireland. While officially it’s known as Northern Ireland, simply using that term is a political statement in and of itself, tacitly accepting British rule over the six counties ceded by the Republic of Ireland just over a century ago in exchange for its independence. Some people call it the North, implying that the region is still a part of the nation of Ireland, only temporarily under the control of colonizers. In press materials for their new album Days of Heaven, Belfast band Junk Drawer refer to their home as Ulster—a province that not only includes the six counties of Northern Ireland, but also Cavan, Donegal, and Monaghan. It’s a conscious decision, one that honors the specific experience of growing up in an area consumed by ethno-nationalist violence for much of the late 20th century and that has been largely neglected by the state—mostly the United Kingdom, but also the Republic of Ireland (see: the lack of trains to Donegal)—in the aftermath of the Troubles.

Forgive me for the truncated geopolitical lesson, but it’s a relevant one, since Days of Heaven plumbs the depths of Ulster’s psyche, both in terms of the lasting pain leftover from decades of bloodshed and the province’s potentially bright futures that never came to pass. At times these explorations are cryptic—Junk Drawer aren’t ones for spoon feeding their listeners—but the lyrics’ obscurity only makes the listener want to come back for more. Their first album, 2020’s unexpectedly prophetic Ready for the House, focused more on the personal lives of the band members themselves—siblings Stevie (vocals/guitar) and Jake Lennox (vocals/guitar/drums), Brian Coney (bass/keys) and Rory Dee (drums/guitar/vocals). Junk Drawer’s debut channeled a loose ‘90s sound akin to Pavement and occasionally devolved into a punk dance party; Day of Heaven, however, maintains that playful freshness while broadening their thematic scope and injecting their music with a healthy dose of ‘60s psychedelia.

“Pell Mell,” which opens with a jangly set of guitars conversing amiably with each other, alludes to the difficulties of living in a place where only temporary stopgaps are put in place, never permanent solutions: “We built a novelty sign for living / It was a placeholding sign.” It’s like those crappy portable classrooms that so many schools use without ever actually replacing them in the end—but on a national scale. Even when there are promises made, Ulster people know they’re false, or will just end up benefiting those who are already on top; as vocalist/guitarist Stevie Lennox sings, “The construction of the new things will replace it all / Watch the light bounce off their faces as all won’t be renewed.”