Hometown: Dublin.
The lineup: Patrick Kelleher (vocals, instruments).
The background: We first noticed Patrick Kelleher in the video for his recent single, Contact Sports. It's immediately impressive – one of those cheap affairs confirming that size (of budget) isn't everything. Kelleher looks strikingly incongruous with his long, lank hair, gold lame jacket and skinny tie, as though he's wandered in from a Dinosaur Jr promo but got quickly spruced up on the way because he knew he was going to a go-go. But this ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around. This is the sort of club you only visit in your dreams, or nightmares. But Kelleher can't wake up – he's too busy dancing. He's doing it eerily badly, too, but it works in the context of the video – a shadowy, misty crypt of an underground dive, surrounded by revellers, also dancing in slow motion, their faces apparently half-painted (it's hard to tell in the darkness). They're clumsily knocking into each other but Kelleher carries on regardless, moving distractedly at the centre of the screen and singing, his voice a gorgeously ghostly, pallid drone above the monochrome synth melody and insistent but fragile, dubbily primitive and spartan pulse. It's like watching Daryl Hall in hell; as though Kelleher had the video for Maneater in mind, then decided to drain it of all verve and, well, life. It's a spookily brilliant, and brilliantly spooky, performance.
Of course, the spectre of Ariel Pink – the Elvis Presley of hypnagogic pop – haunts every groove of Contact Sports. Patrick Kelleher and His Cold Dead Hands is a perfect project name – the track has a suitably clammy, creepy feel. We're not sure who else is in the band, but we do know that Kelleher, a 24-year-old from Dublin, plays a lot of instruments himself – and not just normal instruments, but, as per Micachu and the Shapes and Clock Opera, all manner of household objects and implements, from doors to Nutella jars. Contact Sports (and its B-side remix courtesy of Alalal, who has worked with the Big Pink, Klaxons and the Rapture) is atypical of Kelleher's output. His self-produced debut album, You Look Cold, betrays a childhood love of the usual singer-songwriters and an adolescence absorbing the obvious lo-fi indie. There's nothing as accomplished as Contact Sports on it but its ramshackle quality is part of its charm. It veers wildly from latterday doo wop that puts him in the new tortured wunderkind bracket (Idiot Glee, Perfume Genius, Porcelain Raft), to rumbling synth-pop that recalls those lesser-known early-80s proto-electro boys Robert Rental and Thomas Leer. On Blue Eyes he's a 50s crooner in a diseased, David Lynch sense, while elsewhere there are folk reels and 8-bit blitzkriegs. It's all quite rough but when he gets "good", he'll be great.
The buzz: "You Look Cold introduces an artist still in early awe of the many musical tools and techniques at his disposal" – The Quietus.
The truth: A follow-up album of ghoulishly glossy death disco a la Contact Sports would be a classic.
Most likely to: Haunt clubs.
Least likely to: Flush his gold lame jacket down the toilet.
What to buy: Contact Sports is out now on Skinny Wolves and You Look Cold is available on Osaka.
File next to: Private, Ariel Pink, John Foxx, Thomas Leer.
Links: myspace.com/patrickkelleher
Wednesday's new band: Zoo Kid.
