Sean-nós Singing & Exoticism

A review of two new Connemara sean-nós CDs by Josie Sheáin Jeaic and Sarah Ghriallais.

 Lillis Ó Laoire

Connemara Sean-nós, Josie Sheáin Jeaic (Cinq Planètes CP 03426, 2000)

Connemara Sean-nós, Sarah Ghriallais (Cinq Planètes CP 01958, 2000)
Conception, realisation, text and notes by Jean Yves Bériou

These two CDs make a welcome addition to the increasing body of unaccompanied, traditional Gaelic
song available on CD. Both artists have previously recorded commercially, covering at least some of
the same material and additionally much new ground. The CDs are excellently produced, presenting
the material both sonically and visually in a clear and uncluttered manner. The wonderful, characterful
portrait photographs of each singer, by Christian Lebon, reproduced without text on the covers arouse
curiosity and prompt the question, ‘Who is this?’, inviting the interested buyer perhaps to proceed
further with their inquiry, and discover more about the subjects’ music.

In all, there are twenty-one tracks on both CDs, with one, ‘Bean an Fhir Rua’ (The Red Haired Man’s
Wife) common to both. Although it is the same song, in one way, both versions differ so much that
they must be thought of as related but separate songs. The same may be said for the singers. Coming
from the same region, their overall approach and style is similar but the effects vary greatly.

I intend to examine each CD separately first and then finish by making some observations on the
assumptions about sean-nós singing which underpin the project.

Sarah Ghriallais is an acknowledged doyenne of sean-nós singing not only in Connemara but
throughout Ireland and beyond. Her family tradition is rooted in the sea, her father’s boat transporting
and selling turf in the Aran Islands and South-East Galway, before the advent of the lorries which
gradually made the sailing boats obsolete. From a family of fine singers, she herself is active in
competition performance and adjudication, taking the sean-nós grand prix, Corn Uí Riada, in 1984. Her
son Micheál is also a fine singer. Sarah has made two other commercial recordings, returning once
again to some of her previous material on this album. Her voice has an arresting power, tension and
clarity particularly in the higher register, while her low notes are sometimes so soft as to be almost
inaudible, a feature about which the accompanying notes are somewhat defensive, unnecessarily in my
view . This reveals how her voice has changed over the years (it is absent in the earlier recordings) and
Sarah exploits the full dramatic potential of the contrast, superbly realising some of her notes like a
low, distant whistle, that invests them with a kind of desolate pathos or in Irish, cumha. Such an
emotional response is the point of most of the songs since all deal with the theme of unhappy love in
one way or another. Sarah sings two women’s songs, ‘Dónall Óg’ and ‘Caisleán Uí Néill’, each a
circular, obsessive first person meditation on a woman’s betrayal and desertion at the hands of a
callous lover. The men’s songs ‘Eileanóir na Rún’ and ‘Bean an Fhir Rua’ show a different side of the
love theme, the former ascribed to Cearbhall Ó Dálaigh, an emblematic Dionysian trickster figure, who
is attempting to seduce one Eileanóir Kavanagh, the latter about a man’s love for a married woman.

The theme of betrayal is developed in the more overtly political ‘Fill Fill a Rúin Ó’ and ‘Donncha
Bán’, both thought to belong to the eighteenth century, put in the mouths of women, the first, according
to some versions, a mother, lamenting her son’s desertion of the priesthood to become a Protestant
minister. He is usually thought to have been Doiminic Ó Dónaill, from Carraig Airt in Donegal.
‘Donncha Bán’ is framed as a sister’s lament for her brother, wrongfully murdered at the hands of the
Sheriff Ó Maolchróin, upon whose descendants vengeful curses are called down, while the athletic
prowess and the sexual attractiveness of the dead hero are also emphasised. Both text and music in
these two songs clearly recall traditions of extempore lament, caoineadh, but are made up of regular
four line quatrains, as opposed to those found in Munster, which have irregular stanzas. Sarah’s
interpretations of both these songs are highly impressive. The relationship between them is an
interesting question which deserves to be more thoroughly researched.
‘Sagart na Cúile Báine’ seems to be a praise song for a deceased priest, with however, an erotic
undercurrent also informing it. One of Raftery’s songs, ‘Máire Standún’, praises a young woman in a
fulsome and elaborate way, complete with references to the heroines and goddesses of Gaelic and
Classical mythology and also to some prominent authors in the latter tradition. Such verbosity is
sometimes deemed to be excessive and insincere, since the convention is repeated in different poems to
the point where it seems to become meaningless. This, however, is to judge such works by literary and
textual standards alone. In sung performance, repetition augments the work, adding another layer of
experience and meaning to it. Skilled audiences also relish their familiarity with both music and text,
savouring words and music as they unfold, and anticipating with relish the emergence of what is yet to
come. This is what prompts them to make short encouraging remarks to the singer between phrases and
verses, which may take on a choric quality. Sarah’s hypnotic performance sustains a relatively regular
pulse throughout, lulling listeners into a contemplative concentration upon the rich extravagance of the
lyrics. Indeed, although it makes wonderful listening as it is, a live recording which would have
included a live audience’s reactions might have worked well for this track.

‘Amhrán Mhuighinse’, a favourite song of Sarah’s, is also a powerful local anthem, highly regarded
throughout the region. It represents Máire Ní Chlochartaigh’s deathbed statement, a last will and
testament in song form, requesting that she be returned to her native Muighinis for burial, after a
lifetime spent across the bay in Leitir Calaidh. Moreover, in an area with high emigration, the song also
obliquely addresses feelings of separation and a profound sense of place in the context of human frailty
and finitude. Sarah’s interpretation realises these themes with powerful understatement. ‘Amhrán
Chamais’ resumes these issues once again. A locally composed song in nostalgic praise of the area, its
tune is modelled on the sentimental nationalist ballad ‘The Boys from the County Mayo’, popularised
by John McGettigan many years ago. However, the nationalism has disappeared in the reconstituted
Gaelic text and is replaced by intense affection for locality. The places named are not towns, but an
evocative catalogue of the townlands visible from the tower, a local landmark, which is very
effectively apostrophised:

Céad slán leat a Tower Chamais nach mba rídheas an áit thú
D’fheicfinn as Gaillimh thú is as barr Uachtar Ard,
Camas, Glinn Chatha, Gleann Treasna is an Máimín
Gob na Trá Báine agus Cnoc Leitir Móir.

Sarah’s performance of this, the last track on the CD, is for me, a major highlight and her own pride in
her locality is palpable in the loving nuance she brings to what might usually be thought of as quite a
trite melody. ‘Táilliúir a’ mhagaidh’, provides something of an antidote to all this serious singing.
Sarah exploits the comedy of its seemingly incongruous juxtaposition of ideal landscapes and tender
erotic sentiments with satirical invective to maximum effect. One song not on the album is ‘Úna Dheas
Ní Nia’, a little known song which Sarah popularised by modifying its air from an ABAB to an AABA
form, thereby giving a much grander scope. However, one can’t have everything, and perhaps we can
look forward to this on her next recording!

Josie Sheáin Jeaic Mac Donncha, from An Aird Thoir Carna is a justly recognised master of the sean-
nós tradition. Indeed, the little peninsula of three townlands a few miles west of Carna is home to many
wonderful singers, the best known being the late Joe Heaney (1919-1984). Josie is not only a great
singer, but a local historian, with a deep knowledge of the oral seanchas of the area and its placenames.
Moreover, he has particular skill in the placenames of the coast he frequents as an inshore fisherman.
He is a frequent attendee of An tOireachtas as an adjudicator and has the rare distinction of having won
the grand prix, Corn Uí Riada, three times. His style is generally unhurried and relaxed, while revealing
an intense, mesmeric involvement with the texts and the music of his songs. His vocal tone may be
described as a deep, nasally resonant burr, which may provide a challenge for first time listeners of
sean-nós. Those who persevere, however, will be richly rewarded, and will hear a tremendous warmth
radiating from the higher notes. Mostly, the songs here, like those sung by Sarah Ghriallais, reveal a
preoccupation with the darker side of love, although one recounts some of the maritime adventures of
Captain George O’ Malley, an eighteenth-century smuggler. The vivid images and graphic description
of the ship’s difficulties in a sea storm and the crew’s appeal to the captain’s leadership make this a
classic song, and Josie’s performance of it, a longer version than usual, does it great justice. Cathal Buí
Mac Giolla Ghunna’s ‘Bonnán Buí’ is another classic, a self-mocking celebration of the attractions of
alcohol. ‘Sail Óg Rua’, a local favourite, explores a young woman’s death with bitter recrimination.
‘An Caisideach Bán’, Tomás Ó Caiside’s confession, is a high point and wonderfully sung. Josie here
uses a rising interval in the second half of the A line (falling on the word anuas in the first line), which,
as far as I know, is a unique signature of his own. The singing flows majestically with unusually placed
stops and pauses for breath that help sustain the attention. ‘Coinleach Ghlas an Fhómhair’ is a song that
is known throughout Ireland, and is particularly associated with Donegal. This unusual version is
peculiar to this small area and in recent years has become very popular. The melody, like ‘An
Caisideach Bán’, is an AABA tune, which suggests that this form is not quite as rare in Connemara as
has been asserted. ‘An Cumann Gearr’ is my own personal favourite. I once heard Josie on a Raidió na
Gaeltachta programme, discussing this wonderful song with another Connemara singer from Leitir
Móir. Each was intensely curious about the other’s version and listened with obvious interest to the
other’s narrative variations, in the story of a young woman’s unhappy affair with a priest. Indeed, this
song is often called ‘An Sagairtín’ (The Little Priest). The discussion made wonderful radio and
showed how very much alive the song tradition is in the present, although it is often thought to belong
exclusively to the past. For this CD, my wish list would include Josie’s rendition of ‘Amhrán Rinn
Mhaoile’, but again, this must wait!

From the notes, it appears that more similar productions are planned in the future. We are also told that
a book with the lyrics is in production, a necessity for people with a little or no knowledge of Irish –
that is, most people. One aspect of the notes that disturbs me however, is the insistent exoticisation
claimed for traditional Gaelic song, likening it to Flamenco, North African, Asian or Indian singing.
Such a strategy is meant to be sympathetic, but it deliberately removes this kind of singing from the
real, and places it in one hermetic, ahistorical, timeless, category, rendering it mysterious, eastern and
non-European. The roots of such an imaginary can be traced at least to the eighteenth century and are
uncritically presented here as truth more than opinion.

Such claims are highly exaggerated. Affinities of approach between various kinds of non-western
singing and Irish traditional singing, while they may exist, are no proof of common origin, but this
suggestion continues to be advanced, as if it somehow bestows some ineffable quality of superiority on
the tradition. Writers on sean-nós singing have invoked eastern models in an attempt to show the
contrast between mainstream European singing and the Gaelic style. Such ideas gained particular
momentum at the turn of the twentieth century at the Gaelic League’s Oireachtas. Pre-conquest Gaelic
culture was invoked as a golden age and sean-nós singing was, understandably, deemed to represent a
survival from that era. Hence it was invested with much of the baggage of separatist cultural
nationalism, leading to an inordinate emphasis on the ways in which it differed from European singing,
considered to represent the colonial élite. The construction of this polarity is one reason why sean-nós
is the way it is today. Choral and harmonised versions of songs were rejected as inauthentic and the
solo, traditional singer was held up as a paragon for all to emulate. The paradox was that, regardless of
effort, no amount of imitation could ever lead to the acquisition of authenticity.

The concept of ornamentation is also problematic, since it arises from a mentality informed by musical
literacy. It is well known that traditional audiences did not, in the past, think in terms of base melody
and ornamentation as two separate entities, but rather that they viewed performances holistically for
their efficacy. A specific awareness of ornamentation, then, is a recent change in the way singers view
their tradition and emanates, in my view, from the competitive arena. Likewise, an excessive
preoccupation with melisma in particular has led to the neglect of other features and of styles of
singing in which such tropes are not important.

Similar developments occurred in traditional music, where particular regional styles were thought to be
particularly representative of a national ideal, and also in sport, where for example, a northern style of
hurling, ‘commons’, was neglected in favour of a southern style, leading to its demise. Consequently,
in the latter case, it is no accident that Munster hurling is, essentially, Irish hurling to this day.

A constant invocation of the exoticism of sean-nós song blinds us to the historical and sociological
forces that have shaped the style over the last hundred years, the effect of Oireachtas competitions and
the coming of mass media. Similarly, the acceptance of a monolithic, prescriptive model, in which for
example, Connemara songs are always thought to be inferior to Munster songs because of their
narrower compass, or where a singer who employs vocal dynamics such as vibrato or diminuendo (to
borrow some ill-suited terminology) may be accused of pollution, is to see sean-nós as static and
unchanging, which is not the case now, nor was it ever, in my view.
Such ideas are expressed in Seán Ó Riada’s Our Musical Heritage, broadcast in 1962 and published in
abridged form twenty years later. This radio series was, at the time, a groundbreaking exercise in
mediating traditional song and music to new and previously unsympathetic audiences and was
phenomenally successful. But it was, at best, an impressionistic overview of the tradition, coming in
the intensely fervent nationalistic atmosphere of the early sixties. We need new and contemporary
insights into the cultural dynamics of song and music to build on this view. It cannot continue to be
accepted unquestioningly as a definitive sacred text on traditional Irish music. Such mythmaking is
counterproductive to the continuation and development of sean-nós singing in the twenty first century.

Like all aspects of culture, singing, whatever the style, is learned behaviour. The informal ways in
which song was acquired at social gatherings before the advent of mass media are of intense interest,
but cannot realistically be held up as the ‘only’ mode of transmission nowadays. Furthermore, to
suggest that singers became singers without individual agency is to infer that they are not artists at all,
that they have not striven to achieve the best at their chosen medium. When put in these terms, it seems
clear that some of the assumptions upon which the CD notes rest need to be revised. Despite these
contentions, however, Cinq Planètes is to be congratulated and, future publications from this excellent
label are to be eagerly anticipated.

Published on 1 January 2003

Lillis Ó Laoire is a sean-nós singer from Gort A' Choirce, Co. Donegal, who teaches courses in Irish
language, folklore and Celtic Civilisation in the School of Irish, NUI Galway. His book On a Rock in
the Middle of the Ocean: Songs and Singers in Tory Island has just been published in Ireland by Cló
Iar-Chonnachta in association with Scarecrow Press.

http://journalofmusic.com/focus/sean-nos-singing-exoticism

Exotica Anonymous
A response Bob Quinn, the maker of the Atlantean films, which traced
connections between Ireland and North Africa, to 'Sean-nós singing and
exoticism', a review by Lillis Ó Laoire of two sean-nós singing CDs, which
appeared in the Jan/Feb issue of JMI.

 Bob Quinn

In an academic or scholarly essay, one of the least attractive tactics is to avoid naming a layman who
has seminally contributed to the debate. It might be called the ‘Tactic of the Ostrich’ – where one keeps
the head safely in the sand – but it may equally be based on intellectual snobbery, i.e. that lay findings
are beneath contempt. As a layman who regularly intrudes on academic areas, I am familiar with this
tactic. I produced my Atlantean trilogy of films in 1984 and a book of the same name in 1986. In these,
I took the connections between sean-nós singing and North Africa as a starting point for a cross-
cultural comparison between lands connected by the Atlantic seaways. Academic silence greeted it,
with one honourable exception: Dr Michael Ryan. Since then I have noticed specific aspects of my
speculations gradually gaining respect, mainly without attribution. I have in mind the fairly recent
examples of Simon James’ The Atlantic Celts: Myth or Illusion (1999) and Barry Cunliffe’s Facing the
Ocean (2001), although I am assured by these scholars that they never heard of my work.

By contrast, a fine example of the ostrich approach appeared in the last issue of JMI (‘Sean-Nós
Singing and Exoticism’, Jan/Feb 2003). In an otherwise generous review of CDs featuring the sean-nós
singing talents of Sarah Griallais and Josie MacDonncha, the reviewer attacked the ideas of the late
Seán Ó Riada (named) and myself (unnamed). Our ideas were described as ‘exoticisation’ on the one
hand and as ‘cultural nationalism’ on the other.

Not being an academic I will compliment the reviewer by naming him: Lillis Ó Laoire, who is an
academic by virtue of a professional qualification in the area of Irish studies but not, as far as I am
aware, in any area of music. Nevertheless, in his review, he expanded what was otherwise a fine piece
of praise for the above singers into a trenchant comment on the political context of sean-nós singing
itself, together with a condemnation of what he regards as misguided interpretations of its place in the
world of music.

Not many years ago a colleague of Mr Ó Laoire in the University of Limerick publicly accused Seán Ó
Riada of having become ‘too ensnared in nationalist ideology’. His name was Mícheál Ó Súilleabháin,
a talented performer and composer, who nevertheless generously credited the influence of Ó Riada on
his own musical development. In the JMI CD review in question, however, Mr Ó Laoire gave Ó Riada
(and myself) credit for nothing but ‘myth-making’, ‘ill-suited terminology’, ‘an imaginary’, ‘an
impressionistic overview’, and – perhaps to his mind most damagingly – ‘cultural nationalism’. If Ó
Riada were alive today he would be saddened at this revival of a smear tactic that was popular in the
seventies and eighties, being a code for Provo fellow-travellers. Alternatively the late composer might
shred Mr Ó Laoire as surgically as many years ago he shredded Charles Acton, the music critic of the
Irish Times, in part by pointing out that the latter represented a mere amateur perspective, i.e. the
imitative classical music practices of the Pale. Ironically, Charles Acton was a great fan of my
Atlantean thesis.

It seems to me a paradox that a body of research that clearly demonstrates the universal dimension of a
form of folk art such as sean-nós singing could be dismissed as narrowly ‘nationalistic’ or as
‘exoticisation’. This is what Mr Ó Laoire did.

Seán Ó Riada used his considerable musical intuition – as well as a lot of hard graft – to show that the
Conamara form of this singing had resonances with forms outside the narrow confines of Europe. A
willing accessory to this heresy, I developed his ideas in my Atlantean pursuit. More recently, I took
examples of Conamara sean-nós as far as Tatarstan (Russian Federation) and had it recognised by
performers there as almost identical to their own. I played Tatar sean-nós songs to Conamara singers;
even they unanimously declared it to be musically identical to their own. The evidence showed that
Conamara singers were not a ghettoised, introspective or politically inspired aberration; they shared a
tradition with peoples of whom people they knew nothing and with whom they had no apparent
cultural contact. Such findings are what Mr Ó Laoire described as ‘exoticisation’. He dismissed the
results of this practical, contemporary research and evidence (the ‘new and contemporary insights’ that
he demanded in his review) as ‘placing it in one hermetic, ahistorical, timeless category, rendering it
mysterious, eastern and non-European’. In other words, Mr Ó Laoire entirely missed the point – the
point being that Conamara sean-nós represents an ancient musical form which has its equivalents in
other peripheral areas around the world, and whose only apparent connection is the sea, the rivers and a
general maritime perspective. This perspective, with its undermining of the ‘Celtic race’ nonsense is
the exact opposite of the narrow nationalist perspective which Ó Laoire attributes to it.

In Ó Laoire’s review, I felt there was a confusing sense of non-sequitur, which puzzled me until I came
across, on the internet, a recently posted excerpt from an essay co-written by Ó Laoire and one
Anthony McCann. It is entitled ‘Raising One Higher than the Other: the Hierarchy of Tradition in
Representations of Gaelic and English Language Song in Ireland’
(www.beyondthecommons.com/twotrads.html) and is to be published by the University Press of
Mississippi this year in a collection entitled Global Pop, Local Language, edited by Harris M. Berger,
Moshe Thomas Lieber, and Michael T. Carroll.

In this piece the authors describe what they perceive as a hierarchical and antipathetic relationship
between singing traditions in the Irish and English languages, i.e. the two traditions are quite different
and that the Irish is superior to the English. In essence the writers blame this antipathy exclusively on
the body of attitudes roughly represented by the Gaelic League, and they diminish any interjection by
the facts of history. For example, ‘the decline of the Irish language [due] to systemic anglicisation,
enacted by the British administration over hundreds of years of colonization’ is not put forward as an
historical fact but rather ‘the common attribution by cultural nationalists’. Such sentences, it would
seem to me, are loaded with bias.

The authors claim that ‘the binary opposition between the Irish and English languages was established
in the discourses of Irish cultural nationalism’. In other words the ‘Irish’ Irish only imagined a cultural
tension between themselves and their conquerors. This is ahistorical nonsense. The authors are clearly
avoiding the existence of hundred of formal statutes enacted from the sixteenth century onwards which
were designed to ethnically, linguistically, even fashionably cleanse this island. See the writings of
Douglas Hyde (The History of Irish Literature) or Seán de Fréine (The Great Silence).

However, having to their own satisfaction identified the real villains – ‘cultural nationalists’ – the
authors then project their Irish/English tension onto the reality of differences between the various styles
of Irish sean-nós singing. In these complex matters they use the Conamara style of singing as a stick
with which to beat the villains. Despite the leaps of logic in the essay, it is a well-researched polemic
and includes attitudes towards ‘Celticism’ and ‘romantic nationalism’ which I have long shared.
However, it also denigrates the writings of Liam Mac Con Iomaire, Brian Ó Rourke and Tomás Ó
Canainn who are, in my opinion, at least as au fait with the intricacies of sean-nós singing as are the
other two authors. Indeed, Mac Con Iomaire was called upon to write an introduction to the sleeve
notes of Ó Laoire’s own CD (Bláth Gach Géag dá dTig, Cló Iar-Chonnachta, 1996).

In their essay ‘Raising One Higher than the Other’, Ó Laoire and McCann write:

‘Proponents of the two-traditions hypothesis construct an image of a Gaelic song tradition that is
absolutely different and separate from an English language counterpart. The Gaelic song tradition is
constructed primarily as not-English (language).’

Dismissing this ‘two-traditions hypothesis’, as Ó Laoire and McCann do, clearly implies its opposite,
i.e. that they believe there is no substantial or significant difference between Gaelic or English musical
traditions! It would need more than academic posturing to persuade a person of commonsense that this
position is tenable. Ironically ‘Raising One Higher than the Other’ appears to be a mutant development
of Conor Cruise O’Brien’s ‘two-nations’ theory in reverse, in that the authors argue against a ‘two-
tradition’ theory. It is as, I have suggested, confused.

When Mr Ó Laoire’s solo run, the JMI CD review, is seen in the context of the longer essay, it
becomes clear that the review’s unevenness is the result of importing, as simplistic judgements, what
are elaborate arguments in his longer essay. However, no amount of learned footnotes can conceal the
lack of objectivity in either piece. The good news is that in the longer essay I am formally brought into
Mr Ó Laoire’s sights, i.e. my name and research are quoted, and in good company too: Edward Said’s
Orientalism, Seán Ó Riada’s dissertations on style, Fanny Feehan’s convictions, Ó Canainn’s
comments, are all named as suspect. I am accused of echoing ‘discredited’ eighteenth- and nineteenth-
century antiquarian assertions. ‘Though not obviously stated,’ Ó Laoire and McCann say, ‘there is a
strong anti-English subtext to these arguments’. I am included in the accusation that ‘English language
singing … is represented as vulgar and European’. Even that old eighteenth-century whipping boy,
General Vallancey and his Phoenician theories, is invoked to join the defendants in the dock.

In the JMI CD review, Mr Ó Laoire reveals a problem he has with what he calls ‘an excessive
preoccupation’ with the technique of ‘melisma’, meaning the ornamentation, the grace-notes, that are a
fundamental and distinctive feature of Conamara sean-nós singing. This is in contrast to the glottal stop
which features in the Munster style, or the pleasant and unadorned simplicity of the Donegal songs – of
which Mr Ó Laoire is a well-known performer.

Interestingly, Mr Ó Laoire, who comes from Gortahork in Donegel, did not become interested in any
form of sean-nós until he attended University in Galway. Does this explain why he finds that most
complex of sean-nós forms, the Conamara style, problematic? For what else could be behind the
following sentiment in ‘Raising One Higher than the Other’: ‘an excessive preoccupation with melisma
in particular has led to the neglect of other features and of styles of singing in which such tropes are not
important’. That is to say, Donegal singing. Could this opinion be stimulated by the recent resurgence
of Conamara singers, as evidenced by their sweeping the boards at last year’s Oireachtas competition?
This after a hiatus in the early nineties during which Mr Ó Laoire’s style actually prospered at
occasions in Dublin and Waterford.

This impression of resentment at a perceived imbalance of adjudication is confirmed by the following

comment, also contained in the longer essay:

‘Singers from the region of Connemara and the western islands have in the past been deemed by judges
to be the possessors of the true and authentic art of sean-nós, and this perspective was, we suggest,
profoundly influenced by the Myth of the West and the exoticization of the Western Gaeltacht. That
the judges hold this view is reflected in the overwhelming number of national winners from
Connemara and the islands, and in the highly prescriptive pronouncements of adjudicators.’

Indeed, Mr Ó Laoire confirms that his resentment has a long history when he reports that ‘in the 1970s,
Northern singers complained that their claims to being authentic traditional singers had been
denounced publicly by adjudicators’.

Despite Mr Ó Laoire’s generous CD review of the two Conamara sean-nós singers (both prizewinners
at the Oireachtas) it is clear from the longer essay that his attitude towards their singing style and its
pre-eminence is anything but benevolent; indeed, it seems to reveal a very unscholarly bias. It also
invokes the jaded revisionist argument which attributed an ongoing anti-English sentiment to
champions of all Irish language (but especially Conamara) singing.

Although the longer essay complains of the favoured predominance of the Conamara style, in his CD
review itself there is the contradictory suggestion of a felt or alleged inferiority complex of Conamara
singers towards other styles. This is pure balderdash. Twenty-three years ago Seán Jack McDonncha
(Josie’s father and, with Darach Ó Catháin and Máire Áine one of the finest exponents of the
Conamara style) said to me about Munster songs: ‘Níl aon ceol ag an dream sin’ (‘That crowd has no
music’). He did not give an opinion on Donegal. Seán Jack exaggerated, of course, to distinguish
between his own beloved Conamara style and the rest. However, I tend to agree with the formal
distinction: Munster and Tír Chonaill songs are, respectively, ‘operatic’ and ‘nice’, both being quite at
home in revivalist drawing rooms. Conamara songs are, at best, that uncomfortable thing: an intimate
art – akin to jazz singing – which falls uneasily on suburban ears. They can also be delivered in an
unsentimental, almost harsh, manner which appears to be the antithesis of Mr Ó Laoire’s predelictions.

Precisely what Mr Ó Laoire calls the narrower compass of Conamara singing, its non-reliance on
dynamics or ‘vibrato and diminuendo’ (Ó Riada’s terms, which Ó Laoire deems ‘inappropriate’) and
what the music can do within its ancient pentatonic limitations – especially with the aid of his
unapproved ‘melisma’ – are what make the Conamara style unique in the musical life of this island. It
is also a style that has a proven universal and ancient affinity, not with a narrow interpretation of
nationalism, but with all peoples who have made their music organically, i.e. as a direct response, not
to the mass media and the political and cultural consensus, but to their immediate social and
physical environment.

To return to Mr Ó Laoire’s bete noire, ‘exoticisation’. (In passing, may I comment that before reading
his review I had never encountered the description of the Oireachtas singing competition, the Corn Uí
Riada, as the ‘Grand Prix’. Exotique, non?)

He rebukes the compilers of the CD notes on Conamara singing for ‘likening it to Flamenco, North
African, Asian or Indian singing’ (italics mine). In fact, nowhere can I find the term ‘North African’ in
the CD notes. It is the giveaway that shows Mr Ó Laoire had my own quite separate Atlantean
researches (where I do invoke North Africa) in mind. It is a pity to confuse or conflate that with a
critique of these well-written, musically insightful and quite innocent CD notes. Besides, the CD
writer’s reference to the above styles (not North African) is not at all as categoric as the reviewer
implies; the CD writers merely say that the art of sean-nós singing is ‘as varied as’ the above styles.
This careful phrasing by no means implies an inherent likeness and should have deflected Mr Ó
Laoire’s petulance.
He is particularly incensed by those conscientious notes because, objective though they are, they
appear to support the views of Ó Riada and myself and undermine the likes of Mr Ó Laoire’s political
approach to, specifically, Conamara singing.

But there is something else.

If, as Conamara singers traditionally suggest, sean-nós can be ‘learned’ but cannot be ‘taught’, what
future for the staff of expensive music faculties devoted to traditional music? I have in mind the
paradoxically named Irish World Music Centre in Limerick University with which Mr Ó Laoire is
associated and which is the result of his colleague Micheál Ó Súilleabháin’s catholic enthusiasm for all
traditional forms. Whatever about pleasant Donegal or Munster songs, Conamara sean-nós is not
amenable to mechanical tuition, to the metronome or to those who wield it. In fact it is a rebuke and a
threat to all prevailing industrial principles of education. The single non-Conamara person I know who
has mastered this intricate art is Mairéad Nic Uistín from Dublin. She was not ‘taught’ it in college; she
simply steeped herself in the style, surrounded herself with singers such as Caitlín Maude and Máire
Áine Ní Dhonncha, and thus ‘learned’ it.

She won the Oireachtas competition in 1995.

Finally, I think it appropriate to quote briefly from the maligned, yet musically well-informed notes on
the CD in question:

[This] music is undoubtedly one of the most amazing survivals from the days before the use of
temperament and key. It is not enough to speak of its modes (Ionian, Dorian, Mixolydian and Aeolian)
and scales (hexatonic and pentatonic). This is modal music in the early or oriental use of the term: the
tonics and dominants are not on the usual degrees, the tonics are sometimes shifting, and notes are
inflected according to the rising or descending pattern of the melody …

One thing only emerges clearly from such a debate: the ineffable quality of the music of Sarah
Griallais, Josie Sheáin Jack MacDonncha and many other living Conamara singers will always
transcend pedantic disagreements. I am sure that Mr Ó Laoire and I would at least agree on that. Pax.

Published on 1 March 2003

A Reply to Bob Quinn & Jean-Yves

Bériou
This is a reply to two articles, by Bob Quinn and Jean-Yves Bériou, which
appeared in the March/April issue of JMI. The review referred to by Lillis Ó
Laoire appeared in the Jan/Feb issue.

 Lillis Ó Laoire

I would like to apologise for any offence caused by my review of Mr Bériou’s two CDs by Sarah
Ghriallais and Josie Sheáin Jeaic Mac Donncha, since none was intended. I would additionally like to
express my regret at not naming Bob Quinn. Atlantean and Mr Quinn are both actually referred to in
the biographical notes for Josie Sheáin Jeaic, but it was a disservice both to Mr Quinn and to Mr Bériou
that I did not specifically refer to this work.

The article referred to and quoted by Mr Quinn, ‘Raising One Higher than the other: the Hierarchy of
Tradition in Representations of Gaelic and English Song in Ireland’, co-written by myself and Anthony
McCann, and excerpted on Dr McCann’s website (www.beyondthecommons.com/twotrads.html), must
be judged in its own right, when the full text appears in Global Pop, Local Language, edited by H.
Berger, M. T. Lieber and M. T. Carroll, from the University of Mississippi Press, next August.
However, I would point out that I have published my views elsewhere, and that I stand by them.[1]
Might I also add that these are exactly that – views – and so form part of a much needed debate on
traditional song and, more widely, music in Ireland. Mr Quinn’s views also make a stimulating and
imaginative contribution to that debate, which I have followed with interest, but with which I happen to
disagree. As both he and Mr Bériou have acknowledged, my disagreement was expressed in the
context of a deservedly positive evaluation of both CDs.[2]

Kevin Whelan has pointed out how various regions of Ireland have been invested with an authenticity
denied to others in the areas of sport and traditional music. According to him:

It would appear that the co-option by the state or nationalist movements has an inbuilt dynamic of
standardisation which is inimical to the heteroglossia of regional styles and traditions in
popular culture.[3]

Building on this observation, I have argued that the tacit promotion of one region within the Oireachtas
competitions is another example of this ‘inbuilt dynamic of standardisation’. I have written that this
dynamic has at least three elements: (1) The high standard of singing among competitors from
Conamara and the Aran Islands; (2) The large numbers of singers from this region participating in
Oireachtas competitions; (3) Arising from (1) and (2), the popular perception that such singing is
better, i.e. older and more authentic than other varieties. I also maintain that this antiquity and
authenticity are believed to inhere essentially in the aurally striking melismatic passages particularly
characteristic of South Galway sean-nós styles. I contend that this dynamic is detrimental to the
appreciation given to other regional varieties and that it has contributed to their decline. Mr Bériou in
his response also appears to agree that the dynamic of competition may be harmful to all singing styles.
Consequently, for me, the hierarchy so bluntly articulated by Mr Quinn is more than simply a matter of
competing inter-provincial rivalries.

Regarding my views on Ó Riada, I also, like others, have publicly acknowledged his enormous positive
influence.[4] Notwithstanding my debt, in Our Musical Heritage I find a definite implication that
Munster airs are musically superior to those of Connacht because of their wider musical range. ‘Carraig
Aonair’, the lament of a father for his sons who drowned near Fastnet Rock, is one of the simplest airs
in the Munster repertoire, and yet is very highly regarded among singers.[5] In light of the esteem in
which this song is held, the implication that musical range is the foremost indicator of quality becomes
questionable, as does a purely formalistic treatment of music in isolation from text and interpretative
discourse among singers. I do not believe that Galway singers have any inferiority complex about their
regional tradition. My suggestion in the review was that some Connacht songs did not seem to me as
‘compressed’ as Ó Riada had stated.

Regarding vocal dynamics, in Our Musical Heritage, Ó Riada is not consistent in his views on this
feature. He claims on one hand that sean-nós singers do not use dynamics (p. 23), while on the other,
he sees dynamics as an unusual ‘survival’ in West Munster singing (p. 38).[6] Vocal dynamics may
also be heard on at least one of Seosamh Ó hÉanaí’s/Joe Heaney’s recordings.[7] In Ó hÉanaí’s case,
are they to be regarded as ‘survival’ or as modernist ‘decadence’? Or did he choose to use this
technique because, as a master singer, he deemed it appropriate in the context? Perhaps it is none of
these things, but the questions highlight problems that deserve to be explored and re-appraised.

As has been shown by Edward Said, the European gaze towards the ‘Orient’ has a particular place in
the Western imagination, which may be traced back to antiquity.[8] According to Said, the ‘Orient’
represents the Other, the exotic antithesis of the ‘European’ in all respects, and also, significantly, its
inferior. Because of the ‘West’s’ (i.e. Europe and America) greater economic strength and its colonial
interests, Orientalism has become a way of thinking and writing about the ‘East’, managed and
controlled by the ‘West’ and determining the ways in which the ‘Orient’ informs the
Western imagination.

Such ways of thinking become so accepted that it is difficult to see that there might be different and
perhaps more equitable ways of discussing Eastern cultures, including music. The celebration of
traditional song in the Irish language primarily as the Other of industrial urban modernity, in my view,
shares many of the same troubling features as Orientalism. Anyone making external claims for
similarities between, for example, Eastern singing and the singing of the Irish-speaking regions of
Ireland, is implicated in the discourse of Orientalism, however inadvertently. Readers do not always
interpret authoritative texts in the ways that authors intend, so that invoking the ‘Orient’ from an
external viewpoint, in a comparative manner, may contribute powerfully to limiting the expression and
ways of being of particular cultures.

For the record, the Irish World Music Centre at the University of Limerick created the position of sean-
nós singer in residence in 1995. It was the first of its kind, and has since been emulated by NUI
Galway. The first holder of that position was Dara Sheáin Choilm Mac Donnchadha, or Dara Bán, of
An Aird Thoir, Iorras Aithneach. He was chosen because of his unique contribution to the richness of
sean-nós singing. It was also a recognition that Galway singers, and particularly the singers of the
parish of Iorras Aithneach, or Carna, held a pre-eminent position in Irish sean-nós singing. The IWMC,
through the Toyota Ireland fund, financially supported the making of a film featuring the life and
singing of Dara Bán, with additional finance provided by TG4 and RTÉ. As Director of Ionad na
nAmhrán at IWMC, I was closely associated with this project, as were other members of the Centre.

In conclusion, may I add that lively debate and discussion in the spirit of a love of song and music can
only serve to increase the vitality of sean-nós singing and other genres of music. I welcome the space
JMI has provided to air disparate and dissenting views on these issues and hope that such a vigorous
conversation may continue.

Notes
1. Lillis Ó Laoire, ‘National Identity and Local Ethnicity: The Case of the Gaelic League’s Oireachtas
sean-nós singing competitions’ in Brian. A. Roberts and Andrea B. Rose (eds), The Phenomenon of
Singing 2, St John’s, Newfoundland: Memorial University of Newfoundland, 2000, 160-170. See also,
Lillis Ó Laoire, ‘Up Scraitheachaí: An tAitheantas Áitiúil agus Náisiúnta i gcomórtais amhránaíochta
an tSean-Nóis ag an Oireachtas’ in Micheál Ó Cearúil (ed.), An Aimsir Óg, Dublin, 2000, 66-78.
2. The CDs in question, by Sarah Ghriallais and Josie Sheáin Jeaic Mac Donncha, are distributed by
Cló Iár-Chonnachta in Ireland and can be purchased from them. Visit their website at www.cic.ie.
3. Kevin Whelan, ‘The Bases of Regionalism’ in P. Ó Drisceoil (ed.), Culture in Ireland – Regions,
Identity and Power, Belfast: The Institute of Irish Studies, 1993, 5-63.
4. Ita Kelly, ‘Songs from the Island’, Irish Music, December 2000, 48-49.
5. Diarmaid Ó Súilleabháin, Bruach na Carraige Báine, Indreabhán: Cló Iar-Chonnachta, CICD 1995,
Track 12.
6. This inconsistency may have to do with the editing of the text. I note with interest that Richard Pine
has found the original recordings quite different from the printed text (‘The National Ear: Part II’, JMI
March/April 2003, 22).
7. Seosamh Ó hÉanaí, ‘Caoineadh na dTrí Muire’, Sraith 1, Dublin: Gael-Linn, CEF 028, Taobh 1,
Traic 3.
8. Edward Said, Orientalism, New York: Vintage, 1979.

Published on 1 May 2003

Lillis Ó Laoire is a sean-nós singer from Gort A' Choirce, Co. Donegal, who teaches courses in Irish
language, folklore and Celtic Civilisation in the School of Irish, NUI Galway. His book On a Rock in
the Middle of the Ocean: Songs and Singers in Tory Island has just been published in Ireland by Cló
Iar-Chonnachta in association with Scarecrow Press.

Accessed 30th March 2016.