On The Ribbon Songs, his first foray as a solo artist, Tiernan stands more alone than ever, stark on a stage, presenting seven songs of deep, intense pain. Each song a vignette of grief, hurt and strain, Tiernan cements his position as one of the country’s most unique songwriters, showcasing an innate ability to turn his deepest agonies into blooming moments of delicate beauty. Whilst Tiernan’s songs are sparse, lonely things, he has surrounded himself with a close knit group of friends and collaborators. Each member of the band he fronts, deathcrash, appear on The Ribbon Songs, as does the band’s manager and childhood friend Joe Taylor, the Oscar-nominated Jerskin Fendrix and Drug Store Romeos singer Sarah Downie. The record is produced, engineered and, at times, performed by deathcrash’s producer Ric James: “I wanted to work with friends because it helps me feel comfortable and encouraged”. Songwriting for Tiernan has always been a personal struggle, and sometimes a self-destructive one; “I keep up a relationship with myself and my songs, hidden away, so as not to have to build one with the world around me”, and on The Ribbon Songs he is working through his pain in the way we all do; largely alone, occasionally enlisting the people we feel closest to, asking for help. What sets Tiernan apart is his willingness to heal in public, and lay so much of himself out for the listener. These are private pains, in the most public forum, as he strives to recover in real time, in front of his audience. Darkness, the album’s opener, was recorded in one continuous take, and sounds like waking up at dusk at the height of summer, the final embers of the day’s light creeping through the crack in your curtains. And from Darkness, things just get darker. On Shot Away he presents “a love song for two people who cannot love”, and on Angels, which features Fendrix, Tiernan pushes the limits of how quiet a song can be, before the band comes together in tavern tapped toe tandem, then exhales as he sings “you are the feeling I can’t leave alone”. Because, at its heart, this is a singing record. Where in deathcrash his voice often lurks in a song’s shadow for minutes at a time, here it is load-bearing, holding these fragile and forceful songs together as his band flitters in and out of consciousness. A deliberate decision, and one inspired in part by family sing-songs whilst growing up near Cork City, Ireland; “For me, music and singing are inseparable, and I wanted to make an album that put the voice and the individual at its heart. I love listening to my family sing - it gives you a direct sense of each person, and brings everyone together, feeling closer with each other, and more emotional, and acts as a profound form of conversation where nothing much needs be said. It’s beautiful and nostalgic and sad.” Geography, be it personal, familial or artistic is at the heart of this album; the childhood in the Irish suburbs, the North London adolescence and the teenage years largely spent seeking solace in the great American indie records of the 00s and early 10s all act as tacks on a map, The Ribbon Songs as string connecting each stop. On Glenbrook, Tiernan name-checks the village where he was raised, which sits across the River Lee from Cobh Island (“Cobh is famous for the Titanic having set sail from there. Glenbrook isn’t famous for anything.”) and on For Our Life he sings “In an empty room / I sang out loud / You were far away / But I longed for you terribly”. Longing is a constant presence in Tiernan’s voice; the inescapable want of something thus far unobtainable, the want of whatever lies across the Lee. These are intensely delicate songs which feel like they could crumble in your palm at any moment. In the hands of a less refined voice, a more careless grasp, they might do just that. It helps, then, that Tiernan is singing of things only he can sing about; his own depression, as well as those of people he loves: “My songs are for my family, my partner and myself. I write them to tell our stories, and to capture bits of us all that have either gone, or refuse to go.” Take Floating Sheets, for example, which explores the effect of self-harm not just on its subject, but on those around him. Or Nuala, which sings of grief from a myriad of different angles as Tiernan unpacks the legacy which two separate, distant family deaths have had on his own life, and his own depression; “I was struck by how intensely I had been affected by the death of someone I had never known, and how that death had lived on inside me.” Each track on The Ribbon Songs is an event. As standalone sketches of a human life they twist, they unravel and they blossom into moments of unfathomable beauty. Sometimes punctuated by seconds of silence, candid inhales and between-takes rolling of lips, it often feels like Tiernan is having to coax the words from his own throat. Sometimes shouted, other times barely whispered, it’s the sound of a man unpacking the intricacies of life’s most dismal feelings, it’s the sound of a man putting one foot in front of the other, and, most of all, it’s the sound of a man thankful for the love which surrounds him.