Cardinals speak about their songs as if they have a life force. For this band, though it can come off as evasive, creative ambiguity is a kind of protection for artist and listener alike. Vocalist-lyricist Euan Manning explains: "We like the ambiguity. If someone read there was a certain meaning that—" "You have to interpret it this way," his brother and the band’s accordionist Finn Manning interjects. Euan carries on: "Not even that you have to, but someone would think that they would have to, if the artist said that was what the song was about. I think that that harms the song. It harms the listener’s relationship with the song." For the Irish quintet, meaning isn’t something to dissect, it's something to conserve.
We’re gathered around a wooden table at a spacious pub in Islington, London, to talk about their debut album Masquerade, which is out today on So Young Records. During our chat, all five members are present: Finn and Euan, drummer Darragh Manning (who is their cousin), plus two old friends from school, bassist Aaron Hurley and guitarist Oskar Gudinovic. Cardinals are serious when it comes to the songs, but they’re fun to talk to. They tease each other with self-deprecating humor, peppered with references to movies like Good Will Hunting and The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button. Somehow there's a running bit that Gudinovic is like the protagonist from the latter.
The black and white two-toned room is dappled with mid-afternoon sun, surrounded by legends: Framed concert bills for the Jam, the Ronettes, Buzzcocks, and Morrissey line the walls. It’s a nice space, but not their kind of spot. But what makes a good pub?
"Someone you know working behind the bar that can give you free drinks," Hurley swiftly offers. "Trend — trendyyyy?" Euan says as if he’s somewhat questioning the word choice but likes the sound of it. "Trendy, yeah," Gudinovic confirms. "I dunno, a good atmosphere," Darragh adds. "A good pub, I think, maximum four taps," Finn says. "Smallest selection of beers. Old. No TVs. Minimal music. There can be music — depends. And you need to be able to have a good conversation." That last one earns a chorus of agreement. They love a classic American dive bar, listing Sophie's in New York's East Village and Rocka Rolla in Williamsburg. At the latter they met an unsettling character named Travis O'Shaughnessy that they believed to be a dead man walking.
"I like a good English pub as well," Finn offers last-minute. They all sigh in disagreement. "I don’t like English pubs," a few of them repeat. Finn doubles down, "I like a good proper fucking boozer where they have cask ales." None of them can be swayed. "At all?" Finn asks his bandmates. "No," they say in unison. “Oh man, there’s some nice pubs," his voice softly fades, vanquished.
To Cardinals, a pub isn’t necessarily about what’s on tap. It's about compression: low ceilings, low light, low selection. Intimacy by limitation. It’s the grit, the wear and tear. The bar is its own character that becomes a haven for other unforgettable characters.
"Look at how big this room is," Euan asserts. "And it’s so bright, and there’s so many different places to go, and it’s massive. There's no coziness to it."
Although cozy might be a weird choice to describe a grubby dive bar (and definitely a weird word to put next to Dead Man Walking O'Shaughnessy), it’s the perfect example of something that might present as coarse yet offers a unique comfort as a result. It’s rough, but it feels like shelter: It’s an embodiment of Cardinals.
Literal meaning seems to flatten the songs on Masquerade. But as a group Cardinals prize vulnerability, honesty, and authenticity. These three words are emphasized several times over the hour. It becomes clear that talking about the process or act is different, less an invasive dissection. "I think vulnerability is very important," Euan says. "That was a realization that we had very early on when writing the record. I think it's a big part of why the record is less straight indie rock, as was kind of put forward in the [2024 debut] EP. Vulnerability is, to me, the key thing that you must have in your mind when you're creating something."
While recording Masquerade at RAK Studios in London, Cardinals endured their share of discomfort while also being stripped of certain comforts. They recorded most of it over the intense period of nine days last June. It was during a grueling heat wave, and they didn’t get much sleep. They’d also dedicated themselves to sobriety during this period. Darragh laughs, "We made up for it in the end. We cycled halfway across London to find an off license that was open." Finn adds: "It kept your head clear and stuff, you know, I think it was a good move to do. It would be fun to flip it on its head and, like, drink for every second of the next album and see what that’s like."
Four of the group’s members were raised in Kinsale, while Darragh grew up in the North side of Cork city. “It’s like a snow globe. It’s not the real world at all,” Darragh says of his bandmates' hometown. Everyone laughs. "That’s good. I like that," Gudinovic says. Finn adds, "It's a very wealthy sea town. Like sailing — pretty protestant."
Even though Darragh is the only member that grew up there, Cork is the birthplace of the band. After playing music together growing up, Euan, Hurley, and Gudinovic moved to Cork for college. Finn headed off to Galway for school but eventually made his way to Cork too. They describe the city with a rugged fondness. “There’s a roughness to it,” Finn says. "Cork is a bit more take-it-or-leave-it. If you don’t like it fuck off," he says.
"They're very friendly, not overly friendly," Finn says of Cork residents. "They're very kind of proud to be from Cork and see themselves as Irish, but also actually from Cork. There’s a real sense of independence there, and that echoes in, like the small kind of grocers and the pubs and restaurants businesses there, and the art that's there."
When I ask them what they look forward to returning to after long stints of tour, Finn responds with a classic Cork City joint named Callanan’s. It also happens to encapsulate the city that they hold dear. "Family-owned for generations and generations," Finn explains. "When we were describing our perfect pub. That was the model I had in my mind." Euan cuts in, "We know the publican Rob, he’s lovely.” Finn continues: "It’s the cheapest pint and also the best pint. It’s amazing for sitting down and catching up with people you haven't seen in a while. And I think it personifies Cork, really."
You can hear that grittiness that Cardinals revere on Masquerade. It’s grandiose, but also a bit vicious. The accordion adds a theatrical intensity, and the guitars feel like thick shards of glass. The bass softens things. The drums keep the band pushing forward like a protective parent. The instruments braid themselves around the vocals, which are filled with kaleidoscopic ache. How Cardinals feel about explaining their songs is how I feel about describing a band’s sound through comparisons to other artists — it may not be that interesting, but sometimes it’s a necessary evil. So here goes: Cardinals are like folk hardcore. I hear the tension of Iceage, the confessional vulnerability of Bright Eyes, and the beautiful, strange intimacy of Elliott Smith. Fuck it, why not throw in a bit of Nine Inch Nails and Radiohead too?
Vulnerability, for these guys, isn’t just a lyrical concern — it’s an approach to the music itself. "I think it’s like waking up after a dream," Hurley says, poetically, of the creative process. "You wake up and think about the dream you just made. Where did that come from? You find something out about yourself. It’s like letting your subconscious talk to you."
Those moments of revelation do come through in the lyrics, too. The loud structures cage themselves around the words. “Put it in a song/ Cause it hurts beyond belief,” goes a line from roiling opener "She Makes Me Real." On "I Like You," Euan sings: "I won’t write the words past the margin/ When I sit down to write your song." The act of writing, making songs detailed as preservation within the songs themselves. Whether addressing personal pain and heartache or larger quandaries like faith or morality, these songs are built formidably around human aches. Their strongest tracks ("Over At Last" and "As I Breathe") transform them into moving odysseys. It is a feat of a debut.
Sitting with Masquerade feels like stepping into one of the dive bars Cardinals love: dimly lit, intimate, a little rough around the edges, but alive with character and memory. There’s grit and chaos, but also warmth and shelter. Maybe it will reveal more of itself over time. Or maybe it won’t, staying stubborn, rough, and true to itself.
Masquerade is out now via So Young Records. Buy it here.
