We’re in the middle of an Irish music renaissance

When people chat about Irish culture these days, you’ll likely hear them get excited about Guinness, Fontaines D.C. or sad boys in GAA shorts (shoutout Paul Mescal).

There’s always been a cultural currency that comes with being Irish, but right now the island of just over seven million people is having a disproportionate influence on pop culture. Cillian Murphy won an Oscar last year and Tom Hardy has been papped wearing a Kneecap balaclava. Tote-wielding single men have turned into disciples of Sally Rooney and the English are ​“splitting the G” as a personality trait.

But this is only half the story: in recent years, there’s also been a surge in energy in Ireland’s alternative music scene. With the exception of Thin Lizzy frontman Phil Lynott, Ireland’s most famous musicians have historically been white. But today’s innovators are often people of colour who are putting a distinctive spin on rap, R&B and alt-rock, forcing a long-overdue reckoning with what Irishness looks and sounds like.

We owe much of this to an increase in immigration following the end of The Troubles in Northern Ireland in 1998, and a period of economic prosperity in the Republic of Ireland known as the Celtic Tiger, which took place from 1995 until the financial crash in 2008.

Between 2002 and 2006, the number of Nigerians in the Republic nearly doubled and the expansion of the EU in 2004 brought a wave of migration from Eastern Europe. Meanwhile, Northern Ireland’s minority ethnic population more than doubled between 2001 and 2011. This aligned with a broader societal shift in Ireland: landmark changes such as the legalisation of same-sex marriage (2015 in the Republic, 2020 in Northern Ireland) and abortion rights (2019 and 2020, respectively) have also fostered a more open-minded youth culture. As the cultural landscape has evolved, the arts have reaped the benefits.

But despite this shift, mainstream Irish music still largely follows a painfully predictable formula. Turn on the radio in Ireland and you’re unlikely to hear anything new or even homegrown. On the rare occasion you do, it’s almost always the same small pool of Irish male singers such as Dermot Kennedy or Hozier. Beyond that, playlists lean heavily on a narrow rotation of Love Island house, US pop stars such as Sabrina Carpenter or the same 2010s hits on repeat. The most innovative artists don’t fit these narrow perceptions and many of those shaping Irish youth culture are often hidden in plain sight.

Last year, the 26-year-old rapper-singer Jordan Adetunji – who was born to Nigerian parents in London before moving to Belfast aged 10 – scored a viral hit with his sexy drill track Kehlani, which has over 400 million streams and earned a Grammy nomination in the Best Melodic Rap Song category.

​“I have a Nigerian heritage, so I’m never going to shy away from that. Whether someone wants me to or not, that’s my race,” Jordan says from a studio in Los Angeles. ​“But just because I may not have Irish blood doesn’t mean that I don’t want to represent Belfast. I represent Belfast because it’s where I’ve grown up, so it’s part of my identity. No one could take that away from me.”

Despite Jordan’s talent, the Irish media initially showed little support for Kehlani, which gained traction through TikTok rather than the usual press rollout. After the single took off, Jordan signed to 300 Entertainment, the US record label also home to artists such as Gunna and Young Thug. From there, his label did its job, finally landing him media coverage and radio play. Before that, though, it was crickets – something not uncommon for Irish artists that take online routes to success, or for people of colour whose accents are less recognisably Irish.

Just ask 29-year-old artist Jonathon Ng, aka EDEN. Born in Dublin to an Irish mother and a father from Hong Kong, he amassed hundreds of millions of streams and a co-sign from Lorde who publicly praised his work. After blowing up on SoundCloud in 2016, he signed to Scooter Braun’s management company and his forward-facing, AutoTune-coated pop was sampled by Meek Mill. But it took a while for the Irish media and festival industry to recognise his talent.

​“I guess the traditional [Irish] industry route just didn’t feel like an option at all,” Jonathon says . ​“You look at some of the artists that are floating around in that sphere and you don’t even feel a level of connection to it. The innovation in Ireland is pretty amazing, but it’s not really supported or championed.”

For Jonathon, this lack of recognition at home deepened his sense of disconnect. “[Because] my dad is from Hong Kong, I always felt a little bit other,” he tells me. ​“I had this imposter syndrome, like I wasn’t Irish enough.”

Against the odds, though, two Dublin rap acts did manage to catch a wave of hype during the mid-late 2010s. Rejjie Snow appeared in the pages of fashion mags and collaborated with MF DOOM and Joey Badass, while the adventurously-minded rap group Hare Squead toured with Dua Lipa and got remixed by US rapper Goldlink.

For 25-year-old alt rock artist SPIDER, inspiration struck when she heard Hare Squead’s punky trap track Loco. ​“I remember being so flabbergasted when I heard that and wanting more,” says SPIDER, who, like Hare Squead, hails from the outer Dublin suburb of Tallaght. ​“It was like receiving permission, finally and being like, ​‘Oh my God, okay, I can do this.’ Because there are artists doing alternative music in America and the rest of the world, but it hits different when it’s on your doorstep.”

Twenty four-year-old grunge-pop artist EFÉ is also representing the new wave of Irish alt rock. Although she’s inked a deal with the Fader Label, she still finds herself battling against discrimination.

​“I’d say being Black and being a girl in the industry, you do have to work way, way harder than normal,” she says from her bedroom in Dublin. ​“I’m representing people right now that look up to me, because there aren’t many black girls doing like this genre, especially in Ireland”.

SPIDER echoes this. ​“It’s all an uphill battle, but I think it’s a very important one,” she says. ​“When you grow up in Ireland as a person of colour, you don’t realise how much of a deal your existence is. I never conceptualised my existence as a Black Irish person as revolutionary. But when you’re creative, you’re not existing quietly. You’re being loud about the fact that you’re here.”

As well as the new wave of alt rock, up in Belfast, rappers are tapping into the city’s infamous appetite for the rave – you can trace this all the way back to David Holmes’ legendary Sugar Sweet parties in the ​’90s, which brought people together across sectarian divides. It’s why you often hear Kneecap and the Belfast MC Emby spitting over club-ready beats.

​“I’m pretty sure I was the, or one of the first black grime rappers from Belfast,” Emby claims. ​“There have been so many Snow Patrols and Fontaines D.C.s and whatever else. I’m not saying it’s bad music, but it’s just that there hasn’t been enough diversity. Now, that exists, it’s sparking a flame for sure.”

Fellow rapper Travy, a six foot something former-model, carries himself with the aura of a man who was always destined for greatness. Last year, Doghouse – his 2024 collaborative album with fellow Dublin artist Elzzz – was the first Irish rap album to top the local charts. Then, he scored another chart-topper in Ireland earlier this year with his solo album Spooky. Despite all this success, he’s been underwhelmed with his label experience.

​“They’re not having meetings to [expand] new areas,” he told THE FACE in January.​“There’s like, one person in these offices. Seeing that made me realise that I have to build my own industry”. He’s joined forces with likeminded creatives to found Gliders – a self-sufficient collective of videographers, producers, artists and friends tapped into cutting edge music and streetwear.

Dublin’s Chamomile Club label is also independent, and they’re striking gold. Their act Aby Coulibaly, a 25-year-old Irish-Senegalese R&B singer, has performed in front of 80,000 people with Coldplay in Croke Park. Labelmate Monjola, meanwhile, took his pop and R&B anthems on tour with Kid Cudi. Chamomile Club’s co-founder (and Monjola’s younger brother) Moio’s guitar-led anthem Moments went viral in 2023 and, for better or worse, invited an unsolicited remix from The Chainsmokers.

​“It’s so important to me that Black people can exist in spaces that aren’t necessarily seen as Black spaces and succeed in them,” Moio explains. Chamomile Club’s motto is #BKDI – ​“Black Kids Doing It” – and Monjola says they’re proud to be part of a lineage of Irish artists who have always stood on business.

​“Irish artists and Irish creatives always have a message in what they’re saying. Subconsciously, that’s definitely influenced us because there’s a lot of Irish writers like Sinéad O’Connor who always had something to say.”

Amano, a County Kerry songwriter with roots in both Ireland and Japan, also finds strength in her dual heritage. She blends folk with contemporary electronic production and sean-nós, an unaccompanied form of old Irish singing.

​“If you are from an ethnic, religious, sexual or gender minority in what is still – in the grand scheme of Europe – a very homogenous country, you are brought up with the necessity to think critically,” she explains. ​“The people who usually go on and change culture for the better are people who have in some way been forced to reckon with not belonging to the culture.”

Her 2024 EP THREAD, an experimental Irish-language made in collaboration with Cork producer Kalabanx, blends trip-hop, bass and afro house while nodding to the ongoing campaign for Irish language protection. It’s a reminder that Irish artists don’t fit one neat idea, and often multiple motivations and sounds co-exist within their work.

A critical lens, Amano argues, is what many Irish artists – regardless of background – have in common. It’s also what fuels their originality. ​“It does give people a certain edge that you can’t really learn. It’s just part of you.”

Jordan Adetunji sees a similar pattern in his own journey. “[Belfast] made me. Because I looked different it made me want to be different.” Over time, he recognised that what once set him apart became something that inspired others to follow.

​“I started to realise that it’s actually inspiring other people to want to do the same. It’s hard to kind of comprehend sometimes, because it means it’s really started a wave of new artists coming out and I think that’s amazing” he says. ​“I feel like just being brave has been able to cause that.”