'A new sense of Irish identity': The resurgence of our musical tradition

In an uncertain time, the certainty of Irish tradition attracts new listeners, Kate Demolder writes

Whether it's Lemoncello (left) or The Wolfe Tones (right, snapped in 2001), traditional Irish music is a generational phenomenon

In the early days of September, when the last of the sun beamed, Irish folk band The Wolfe Tones drew the biggest crowd in history at Electric Picnic’s Electric Arena. 

The band, who formed originally in 1963 (not to be confused with Derek Warfield and the Young Wolfe Tones, which formed rather acrimoniously in 2001) tapped into the zeitgeist some 60 years later, with a setlist written, released, and considered decades before the average attendee was conceived. 

At the time, fans took to social media to share their thoughts, one writing, “The Wolfe Tones pushed into a tiny tent at the Electric Picnic”, as another added: “Wolfe Tones packing out a 10,000 capacity tent at Electric Picnic, full of young heads, shouldn’t be overlooked … one to watch, folks.”

An aerial view of the huge crowd for the Wolfe Tones at the Electric Arena marquee at the Electric Picnic. Picture supplied by Electric Picnic

The response was fraught. For those who lived through the civil war in the North, fears of staunch republicanism returned. But for those who had been listening, none of it was a shock.

“People don’t recognise this, but we’ve had sold-out shows for the past five, six years. Next year we’re 60 years playing, so we’ve been getting younger generations involved ever since then,” Brian Warfield, vocalist, banjo, harp, bodhrán player and lead songwriter with the long-standing band, who recently announced their 2024 retirement, shares. 

Brian Warfield, Tommy Byrne and Noel Nagle who are members of the Irish ballad group the Wolfe Tones, pictured in 2001. Photo: Gareth Chaney/ RollingNews.ie

“After Electric Picnic, we had young people, like the ages of 18 to 20, coming up to us crying, begging us not to retire because they’d only discovered us. Crying! They see us as the only people telling the Irish story. They didn’t want to let go of what other generations had. They’ve seen our support for the people of the north of Ireland and see us as one of the only groups who stood for something, and that we stood for Ireland.”

The response was fraught, too, when news spread of the recent death of Shane MacGowan, the 65-year-old musician whose lyrics changed Irish music forever. 

His influences spanned widely, and into every corner of the Irish identity –– Behan, Clarence Mangan, Joyce, Shaw –– shaping the Irish struggle into an entirely new context; raw; irreverent and as accessible to amateurs as punk. With this, he fused the two, telling the stories of people on the edges of society –– addicts, the homeless, sex workers, aggravators – with the grace of understanding and grand elevation of empathy, weaving their lives into something rich, beautiful and mythic. 

All this, while being an Irishman in England in the 1980s – something he processed, beautifully, through music.

As travelling musicians, The Wolfe Tones epitomise the musical prominence in Irish history — culturally, spiritually, and emotionally. 

It is a genuine challenge to describe how prevalent they were and continue to be. Few quotes exist to bolster that fact, because the very fear of speaking about them seemed to politicise those in a country that still hurt from politicisation.

"THESE THINGS HAPPEN IN CYCLES"

“When I was in my 20s, let’s say, or even in my teens, speaking Irish or playing tunes was really, really frowned upon,” Rónán Ó’Snodaigh of Kíla shares. “We all got a lot of discrimination as young fellas speaking Irish. Now that doesn’t exist.

“These things happen in cycles,” he continues. “And trad music wouldn’t exist if it didn’t represent something that we wanted represented straight back to us. And that’s what we’re doing. So in a way, it’s no surprise that there’s a resurgence. Maybe, instead of searching for what has caused a resurgence, we should look at what was going on —why was it stopped in the first place?”

In a time of internationally used internet apps, eradicated mom-and-pop-shop culture, and rural drawls disappearing to create one, global, accent, a pivot to the before has grown more appealing than ever.

Following a vast wave of globalisation in the late aughts, young people have flocked to the identifying and different. 

Perhaps the biggest boost to international outreach has been the attention of Claddagh Records, which, despite no signings for nearly two decades, re-established itself in 2021.

Founded in 1959 by the late Garech Browne, an heir to the Guinness empire, Claddagh was formed to protect Ireland’s musical heritage, specialising in Irish traditional music, poetry, and spoken word. 

Its back catalogue includes 10 albums by The Chieftains; Seán Ó Riada, Mise Éire; uilleann pipers Liam O’Flynn and Séamus Ennis, as well as recordings of Irish poets, including Patrick Kavanagh, Austin Clarke, John Montague, and Seamus Heaney.

Over the past 18 months, a full inventory of the Claddagh Records archive, including over 60 boxes of material stored in the Bank of Ireland vaults for several decades, has been completed; over 300 historic recordings, some of which have never been released, have been fully catalogued and will now be re-mastered and digitised to ensure their preservation. 

Laura Quirke and Claire Kinsella of Lemoncello. Picture: Ellius Grace

Its relaunch follows the signing of a worldwide licensing agreement with Universal Music Ireland. And, perhaps more prudently, a shift inward nationally. Among the more recent signings are contemporary duo Laura Quirke and Claire Kinsella, otherwise known as Lemoncello.

“I do think there’s a new sense of Irish identity,” Quirke muses.

“It’s something we’ve noticed since we started playing almost 10 years ago, that with globalisation and the internet, people have started to become a little more aware of what identity means to them, and recognising the importance of our own voice and that brings a certain acceptance — even something as simple as singing in our own accents, which is just such a statement of identity,” Kinsella adds.

“I think a lot of people are searching for meaning in the world at the moment,” Quirke says.

“It’s that tangible thing of being in a session environment that you just don’t get online,” Kinsella continues. “And maybe that push towards the real, and real connection, was helped by covid-19, but it was definitely heading that way beforehand, too.”

Brian Warfield of the Wolfe Tones.

THE GREAT GREEN WAVE

It seems that a shift towards tradition reigns, meaning that artists like Lankum, Lisa O’Neill, The Mary Wallopers, and, indeed, Lemoncello, have come at the right time. 

Not to mention the ‘Great Green Wave’ in international culture, which saw creatives like Sharon Horgan, Paul Mescal, Kerry Condon, Jessie Buckley, and Colm Bairéad get recognition for their various projects, including Irish language film An Cailín Ciúin, which was nominated for an Oscar.

“The way I look at it,” Warfield says. “People want something to connect to, and the Irish ballad tradition — with its uniqueness and specialities — connects with the people. Chart music doesn’t do that.” 

Chart music, too, doesn’t meet you where you are. Following the ruination of Irish nightlife by the Celtic Tiger, musicians — now more penniless than before — flocked to pub sessions to perform or simply get their musical fix. 

The tradition has remained in pubs since, and will continue to, despite economic fluctuations, thus heralding a familiar intimacy to musicians that few other cultural outlets can.

Sessions like The Night Before Larry Got Stretched in Smithfield’s The Cobblestone and generational festivals like Willie Clancy’s Summer School now join the ranks of nu-age boutique festivals — Quiet Lights in Cork, Roise Rua on Arranmore — in bringing young people into the fore, as well as the Irish Arts Council’s traditional arts arm, who have lent support.

Gemma Hayes. Credit: Rich Gilligan

“I personally believe that the world is so chaotic at the minute,” Irish musician Gemma Hayes shares. 

“And there’s something so grounding about listening to music with real wood instruments, played live. Also where they’re played helps — largely pubs, where there is a direct pulse. We connect with people [there], and they’re there whether the economy is good or bad. I think the younger generation too, they’ve been through a lot — housing, covid, the boom and bust — and to be able to go to a place, a social setting, where music is a powerful mainstay, it raises the vibration.”

In recent years, Ireland’s multicultural background has presented particular challenges of self-definition. 

Thanks to two referenda, same-sex couples can marry, women have bodily autonomy, and due to recent pushes by activists, more and more of those affected by pain caused at the hands of the church have been heard and cared for.

The arrival of Brexit, also, has perhaps sharpened the Irish sense of self. It’s also worth noting that education has caught up; world-class Irish music courses populate our universities, providing legitimate job prospects to Irish talent, while also keeping the tourism trade afloat.

“We’re witnessing so many other cultures and nationalities around us these days,” Hayes continues. “Which is brilliant. But it also can’t help but make us think: what makes me, me?”

“Because there’s a flood of outside information coming in from around the world,” Ó’Snodaigh echoes. “Maybe the thing that comes from us might seem to have more value or more identity.”

As generational storytellers, Ó’Snodaigh finally claims, perhaps we’re simply overcomplicating things. 

“It’s because it’s cool. They’re great tunes, they’re deadly people. That can’t be underestimated. Like there’s a lot of really cool stuff. So people getting into it was no surprise.”