On his new record, Robbie Stickland grapples with an adulthood that hasn't gone to plan

Robbie Stickland sat over a decaffeinated latte in the sheltered outdoor dining area of the Cloud Cafe on North Strand Road.

It was a grey and windy Saturday afternoon at the end of August. His third album, My Life’s A Lunch Break, had just come out the Wednesday before.

Set against a backdrop of jangly distorted indie, it is a record that grapples with weighty personal issues. It draws on past relationships, job prospects, and receiving a diagnosis of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, Stickland says.

“It has grief in it and concerns about the future,” he says, slowly accentuating each word. “But it also has a self-acceptance quality.”

Tucked away behind his left ear was a rolled-up cigarette.

He had, as one of the album’s tracks titled "It’s Cool To Start Smoking In Your 30s" suggests, taken up smoking after his thirtieth birthday, he said. "It's not something I'd condone. It is this joking, pathetic image too, coughing all the time and saying 'it's cool.'"

In the song, he playfully laments how the rock ‘n’ roll dream “didn’t quite go to plan”, while wondering if he should have a family or steady career by this stage.

Getting a midlife diagnosis prompted Stickland to examine many things about himself, he said. “I realised that I was shooting to be someone or something that I was never going to be able to actualise.”

Lighting the odd cigarette was a regression, he said. “But it’s been tough, and this was kinda a symbol of meeting yourself where you’re at. And yeah, it’s weird to start at that age. But my whole way of moving through the world has been weird.”

Conversations with yourself

Stickland began developing My Life’s A Lunch Break in the aftermath of releasing his second record, Lastingness, in February 2024, he says.

That earlier record hadn’t really been about anything specific, he said. “More like, there were lots of symbolism and ideas in it. Whereas this is pulled more from real, fresher experiences, maybe going into greater detail on real experiences.”

He was doing a lot of home recording, he said. “And I found I was having a lot of fun, making all these effects. It just unravelled naturally.”

The two records feature one song in common: "At Least I Have My Friends". It wasn’t for any particular reason, he said. “It evolved as I played it live, and I had an instinct to go back to it.”

He had given up on trying to start afresh with each release, he said. “I like re-recording, and seeing things become what they’re supposed to sound like. Like this is the skin it’s supposed to have.”

“I see it as having a conversation with myself, and yeah, trying to get one thing right as opposed to always moving on to the next thing,” he said.

It’s the record he’s most proud of, he said. “Not to discredit the others, but I feel like they were a cry for help with guitars. I was shooting for something very specific and I missed, which is a fine thing.”

“There’s a real magic in shooting for something and landing elsewhere,” he said. “But I took more time with this one. I just had lots of fun.”

Gently into the world

My Life’s A Lunch Break didn’t start out as a highly personal piece of work, he said. “It revealed itself to me over time, because I was probably drinking from something that I didn’t realise.”

Really, it only struck him once he was finished mixing the record, he said. “I drove out to Howth and listened to it in the car, and suddenly I was welling up. I realised there were so many memories, people and places attached to it.”

“Whatever way I laid out the songs, suddenly there was this story that I hadn’t heard while I was making it,” he said. “The words and melodies, suddenly were aglow with meaning.”

It’s an album that looks at break-ups and feeling lost in the world, but it doesn’t try to be hopeless and miserable, he says. “If I’m delving into something difficult, I don’t mind going into the shadow canyon, but I do like to come out of it as well, and a lot of my songs follow that kinda rhythm.”

It’s the same with therapy, he says. “The objective is to ask: how did we get here? Where are we? How do we not go here again?”

As he departs, Stickland sparks up the cigarette.

Unlike with previous releases, he’s celebrating this album quite simply, he said. “There’s no plan.”

He’ll do one solo gig on 19 September outside the Marlowe and Co. store in the Tenters, he says. “My beloved place of work. It’s the gift I’ll give myself.”

There won’t be much more promotion after, he said. “I just love the record. It’s my message in a bottle to the ocean. Whoever finds it, great. It’s out there, and for me that’s enough.”