Happy St. Patrick's Day

When you're in love, finding songs to suit your mood comes easily — you can’t go very far into popular music of any genre without coming across a love song. Songs for the process of falling in love, however, are a bit more difficult to come by. Only a gifted songwriter can capture the awkward passion, the uncertainty and the abject fear of a relationship that hasn’t quite happened yet.

Glen Hansard and classically trained Czech vocalist and pianist Markéta Irglová stab nobly with The Swell Season, the 2006 collaboration they produced when former Frames bassist John Carney asked them to create songs for his film Once. Borrowing its concept from the 1975 Josef Škvorecký novel of the same name, the record ostensibly chronicles one man’s pursuit of unattainable women against the backdrop of a dissolving Czechoslovakia. Instead, it plays more like a chronicle of a love that is currently under negotiation.

Much of the tension in The Swell Season comes from departures. Lovers flit into Hansard’s lyrics and then leave, requiring him to either plead for their return — as he does on the chilling opener, “In the Arms of This Low” — or begrudge their absence. On “Leave,” he screams for a lover to “Let go of my heart/ You said what you have to” while sustained guitar notes cower beneath. His voice leaps octaves and trembles, and by the end of the song he's exhausted himself, like a toddler at the end of a tantrum.

Irglová serves as a balancing force for Hansard’s histrionics. Her voice remains steady and even, with few unnecessary flourishes. For “The Moon,” she melds herself to Hansard, and for a moment, their two voices sound like one.

The record sparkles most brightly when it's chronicling moments of deep connection. “Falling Slowly” finds the lovers relishing their time with one another against gentle piano and cascading strings. (The song was reworked on the Frames 2007 album, The Cost.) The only thing missing from the lush orchestration is the sound of rumpled sheets rustling around their entangled limbs.

Hansard and Irglová ended up starring in Once, and reportedly by the end of the film, they had fallen in love. This chemistry infuses The Swell Season and lends it an air of authenticity. When Irglová pleads, “We’re sailing, sailing every night/ We’re drifting, drifting alone apart,” on the melancholic “Alone Apart,” it is the least convincing moment on the record. She simply sounds too connected.

It’s been twenty years since Sinead O’Connor’s dazzling debut, The Lion and the Cobra, and in some ways Theology serves as a summary of her interests and explorations since then. Divided into two discs with different arrangements of (mostly) the same songs — intimate and acoustic on “Dublin Sessions,” fleshed out with a band on “London Sessions” — the album covers Irish folk, roots reggae, classic pop and old-school soul, O'Connor's powerful, passionate voice having modulated over time to a more peaceful, gentle croon. Who but the pan-spiritual O’Connor would put a winning version of “I Don’t Know How to Love Him” (from Jesus Christ Superstar) on the same album as a song titled “The Glory of Jah"? Theology would certainly be stronger boiled down to one disc (heavily weighted to the acoustic material), but it’s a reminder that two decades on, Sinead O’Connor remains one of music’s most fascinating works in progress.

An excellent, bawdy collection of classic Irish drinking songs from the masters of Irish folk music: the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem. Absolutely essential for every St. Patty’s day.

Historic indeed! Recorded in 1969, this tour through the music of County Clare and East Galway has long been deemed a classic. The musicians had played together for years, and there's a comfort and empathy between them, quite evident on "Grogan's Favorite." Truly music of the people and by the people, with a pair of fiddles, flute and piano, it's as relaxed and friendly as a session in someone's kitchen — except with world-class musicianship.

"I could've got a job," sings Paul Noonan in "Bad Skin Day," "I could've been a contender." It's that sense of longing and squandered dreams that powers Flock, the remarkable third record from Irish group BellX1. Combining the shameless grandiosity of Coldplay with the raw-nerve yearning of James, BellX1 have crafted a record that tugs at the heartstrings while soaring choruses raise the goosflesh. Chalk most of that up to Noonan's quavering voice. It slides perfectly in the sluices created by those glistening guitars, and even on darker numbers like "He Said, She Said," when he's hollering "YES I covet my neighbor's wife and/ YES I covet my neighbors goods," it's hard not to sympathize with him. In any other universe, BellX1 would be major label superstars (they were, in fact, on Universal for a split second, but the suits apparently couldn’t figure out how to transform their anthems into radio spins). Which is ridiculous, because Flock is full of the kind of wonder and stadium-size yearning that ought to resonate on a grand scale. To wit: "Bad Skin Day," the song that opens with Noonan bemoaning his status as non-contender, ends with him singing "Someday we'll all grow wings." It's that optimism, that belief in the best despite the appearance of the worst, that makes Flock so stirring and so singularly affecting.

Black 47 combine the classic Irish characteristics of celebration, sorrow and fury on a pulsating album that makes you want to laugh, cry and kick the sofa. It’s full of fists, Celtic imagery, thumping beats and full-blooded songs that poke you in the face in a way you won’t forget in a hurry. Mainman Larry Kirwan is not a conventional singer — many will tell you he’s not a singer at all — but that’s not the point. There’s a bruising integrity in their marauding sub-Pogues diatribes that’s gripping and convincing. They also lace the album with unexpected twists — a reggae reading of “When the Saints Go Marching In” on “Those Saints,” ribald humour on “I Got Laid on James Joyce’s Grave” and Uilleann pipes, electric guitars, bodhrans and brass clashing in bold, exhilarating fashion. Bruise, booze, and blues from the Bronx, Black 47 define Celtic hip-hop.

One of Ireland's hidden delights, Arcady present traditional music with a straightforward pleasure, whether on sets of reels like "The Sally Gardens" or "The Kilfenora Jigs." They work solidly together as a band to let the tunes, rather than the individual musicians, shine. And when Niamh Parsons sings, as on "The Banks of Sullane," the simple purity of her voice only adds additional luster. It's an album without ego, where the music is presented purely for its own sake.

Liam O Maonlai is the perfect embodiment of the mix of styles, cultures and traditions that characterize the Irish rock sensibility. He and schoolfriend Fiachna O Braonain first started working together busking on the streets of Dublin, and Hothouse Flowers, the band they eventually formed, melded gospel, soul and rock, as well as traditional Irish music. Signed to U2’s Mother label, they had a massive international hit with the single “Don’t Go” while People became the most successful debut album in Irish history in 1988. Never the most prolific band, their output after that was somewhat erratic, but they stormed right back to form in 2004 as a trio of O Maonlai, O Braonain and Peter O’Toole with Into Your Heart. O Maonlai sings his socks off (though surprisingly the other two do the bulk of the songwriting) on this passionate, breast-thumping collection which also touches on reggae and closes with an unexpected burst of traditional music.