They were more than a band. A collective of gifted misfits who shook stages across the land and left audiences forever changed — usually requiring some form of counselling afterwards.
What follows is the official account of the rise and fall of RED KING — as verified by nobody, disputed by everyone, and almost entirely fabricated.
⚠️ Contains scenes of dramatic tragedy and dubious journalism. Reader discretion is advised. ⚠️
Mara was the undisputed heart of Red King — a guitarist of almost supernatural ability whose fingers moved across the fretboard with the speed and grace of a man who had clearly made some kind of deal. On stage, the effect was devastating. Off stage, too — primarily on hotel rooms and the self-esteem of anyone who tried to out-solo him at open mic nights.
He was also impossibly handsome. His dentist reportedly wept during routine checkups. Mara was characteristically modest: "I cannot help what God hath wrought."
Ga-vain was, first and foremost, extraordinarily handsome — and he needed you to know that. Forty minutes late to every soundcheck. Personal mirror onstage. He once paused mid-riff to check his reflection in the sheen of his bass guitar. The crowd went wild. He knew they would.
His amp was always the loudest in the room. It had a setting labelled "ENOUGH" which he used as a starting point. The next was unlabelled. The one after was covered in electrical tape. Venue contracts began to include a specific clause about him. He was deeply proud of this.
epiDerm's range was classified by the Irish Acoustic Society as "technically inadvisable." His mere presence caused a documented 340% increase in swooning at every venue. The Irish Heart Foundation sent him a strongly worded letter. He had it framed.
He could not, under any circumstances, remember the words. The band tried cue cards — he seduced the cue card holder. They tried an earpiece — he forgot he was wearing it. In Roscommon he performed an entire song in what appeared to be a made-up language. It received a standing ovation. He did not correct them.
Darragh had always wanted to be in Red King. Always. Seventeen shows attended. Both t-shirts owned, including the Mullingar one. He'd once asked Ga-vain for an autograph outside a chipper in Tuam. Ga-vain signed it, looked at him for a long moment, and said: "You will never be in this band."
When the audition ad went up, Darragh reportedly sprinted to the music shop. He had prepared remarks. He rehearsed for three weeks. He learned the full setlist. He played one note.
Dave KKK was the finest drummer of his generation and, simultaneously, a bit much. First to arrive, last to leave. Sent follow-up texts to his own follow-up texts. Brought homemade food to venues that had catering. Once spent forty minutes explaining the history of the snare drum to a bouncer who asked if he needed a hand. He cried at every show — not from emotion, he clarified, but from "gratitude."
Everything he touched eventually exploded. He wired the PA wrong in Galway (audible in Connemara). Drove the tour van into a canal in Limerick. Miscounted the bolts on Darragh's drum riser. The band loved him and occasionally hid from him in the van with the lights off. These things were not contradictory.
Before Mara, before anyone — there was Ru. Founding member. The man who, by his own account, essentially invented Red King and simply allowed the others to join him. This is not entirely accurate. It is, however, how Ru told it, with considerable conviction and an impressive amount of hand gestures.
His guitar work was described as "exploratory," "unpredictable," and "a series of decisions." His vocals were powerful, committed, and in the general vicinity of the correct key. He maintained this was "keeping them on their toes."
"They came, they played, they caused several insurance claims and at least one minor geological event. The music lives on forever."
— Martin Luther King Jr
🔥 RED KING — NEVER FORGOTTEN 🔥