BACKSTORY: Formed in the early days of the pandemic, Gurriers’ early run of singles placed them at the forefront of the already-buzzing Dublin punk scene
FROM: Dublin, Ireland
YOU MIGHT KNOW THEM FROM: Festival stages across the UK and Europe, bringing last fall’s debut record Come and See and raucous live performances to the masses
NOW: Gurriers are set to play on US soil for the first time, including a stop at FLOODfest at this year’s SXSW
This Friday marks the 10th anniversary of FLOODfest SXSW, the annual showcase featuring some of our favorite acts here at FLOOD. Among the slate of exciting artists playing the Mohawk stage this year is Irish punk quintet Gurriers who—after a longer, circuitous, fractured journey—are slated to play their first-ever shows on American soil. However, this was meant to be the first anniversary of such an accomplishment, if not for a few complicating factors. “It all kind of happened very quickly,” lead guitarist Mark MacCormack tells me over Zoom, describing the calamitous days leading up to 2024’s ill-fated SXSW. MacCormack and company were one of dozens of acts to pull out of last year’s festival at the last minute, a boycott both in protest of SXSW’s US Army sponsorship and in solidarity with Palestine.
“Even on a completely cynical level, I don’t think anyone could take us or our music seriously if we were to go and play a festival sponsored by a weapons manufacturer. It just doesn’t compute,” MacCormack continues. And he’s right: Gurriers aren’t a band defined by any one thing, but they are, in their marrow, one of principle. MacCormack isn’t shy about following in the long lineage of post-punk ruffians with a clear point of view and the bollocks to shout directly in the face of those trying to silence them. Now, a year later, the makeup of SXSW’s sponsorship team having changed significantly after last year’s boycott, the gang is set to make their dramatic return to the Lone Star State to enact, as MacCormack puts it, their “Return of the Jedi moment.”
This week may mark a triumph, but Gurriers’ story begins some 10 years ago beneath the golden arches of a Dublin McDonald’s. This is where vocalist Dan Hoff and MacCormack first met, slinging burgers and passing the interminable hours with talk of books, film, politics, and, of course, music. A few years later, they decided to start a band, right around the time when that became an increasingly difficult prospect due to COVID. Two years later and the band finally got a chance to play their first show, a Halloween affair that marked one of the first in Dublin post-lockdown. Almost inexplicably, it was sold-out. On the back of only two singles, Gurriers had stirred up something of a frenzy within the burgeoning Dublin punk scene, and hell if they weren’t ready to capitalize. “We were able to come out of the womb somewhat fully formed,” MacCormack says. “Everyone around the world had a different pandemic. Some people made banana bread, for us it was making tunes.”
“I thought that by the time we played our first arena shows, I’d not be living with my parents.” — Mark MacCormack
From there, the band began playing festival stages across Europe and the UK after receiving a smattering of critical praise. When I ask Hoff and MacCormack whether they envisioned this sort of success when they were chatting between drive-thru orders, they reply with a charming blend of bravado and modesty. “I didn’t think we’d be so skint, but everything else, absolutely,” says MacCormick before breaking into a sly smile. “Put it this way: I thought that by the time we played our first arena shows, I’d not be living with my parents.” Adds Hoff: “Welcome to the 21st century.” At this, MacCormack describes the whiplash of performing on British institution Later…with Jools Holland alongside the likes of Laura Marling and Queen’s Brian May only to turn around and find himself arguing with a customer over the price of an ice cream cone the very next day. “You have to have a willingness to lower your standards of self-respect a bit, but I’d rather be skint and happy than have a little bit of money and be miserable.”
This kind of flattened, late-capitalist reality is at the heart of what Gurriers write about on their debut album, Come and See, released last September. “Failed by a system that never really lets you exist, and ruled by money overshadowed with a golden fist,” sings Hoff on “Dipping Out,” a ferocious, declarative punk song inspired by Adam Curtis’ HyperNormalisation. “Approachable,” one of the early singles that gained so much momentum during lockdown, attempts to wrestle with the warped perspective that comes with witnessing the rise of the far-right in Ireland and beyond. It’s a breakneck, sputtering panic-attack capturing all too well the hateful deluge of bad news careening around a frightened world, then and now.
“Everyone around the world had a different pandemic. Some people made banana bread, for us it was making tunes.” — Mark MacCormack
A common theme that runs through the majority of the songs on Come and See is how thoroughly our modern world is shaped by screens and the distorted reality they present and encourage. When I ask how they navigate the world of independent music, which all but forces them to engage in the digital rat race they rail against, Hoff and MacCormack have a surprisingly optimistic view of the whole thing. “It’s a tool that can be used for good and bad,” says Hoff, citing the internet’s ability to connect like-minded people continents apart for most of the opportunities they’ve had as a band. “I think a lot of people use it for good, as well, which isn’t talked about as much.”
Solidarity is something else the internet can foster in its best corners. The insanity of SXSW 2024 might still be fresh in their minds, but so is the collective response they remain proud to have been a part of (along with the rest of the Irish bands who came over to play, Gurriers released a statement just days before the fest was set to begin which ended with “Saoirse don Phalaistín,” an Irish phrase that translates to “Free Palestine”). The absurdity of expecting musicians, of all people, to ignore the inherent hypocrisy of a music and arts festival sponsored by guns and ammo is plain. Gurriers don’t regret for a second their decision to bow out, made easier, of course, by “standing shoulder-to-shoulder with people doing the right thing,” which included a contingent of fellow Irish musicians including Kneecap, Enola Gay, and fellow FLOODfest 2025 act Cardinal.
The fact that they get to come back this year with the knowledge that the boycott had a real effect is the kind of thing that Hoff sees as the glimmer of hope among all the bullshit. Gurriers are punks at heart (their name itself is Irish slang for the kind of street urchin society tends to place at the bottom of their boot heel), but they aren’t ones to accept any sort of defeat. After all, rebellions are built on hope. FL
