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 Music is an integral part of Irish culture and has been as potent a force in the lives of the Irish
people. The ancient Celts had an oral culture, where religion, legend, and history were passed from one
generation to the next by way of epic poems, stories and songs. The closest Ireland has come to a national
composer is Turlough O'Carolan. O’Carolan was a blind harpist and poet who was born in 1670. He
transversed the country and wrote reels, airs and odes to men and women that are considered to be canonical
Irish music, and was considered an innovator in that he wrote his music first and then added lyrics.
Over 200 of his songs survive and Ireland hosts an annual harp festival in his honor.
After being conquered by the English, and forbidden to speak their own language, the Irish turned to
music to help them remember important events and hold on to their heritage and history. “Rebel
Music” has existed for as long as the conflicts in Ireland have existed. Various rebellions have
inspired story songs recounting the lives of individual fighters, such as Sean South of Garryowen or
Roddy McCorley, were used to rouse passions and are still sung today.
As serious and heartfelt as such music can be, there is as vital a traditional of street
ballads, popular
songs with lighter themes. “Molly Malone” from the 1750’s is the story of a comely
fishmonger who died and whose ghost is said to haunt the market. The song is considered the unofficial
anthem of the city of Dublin, and a statue of the girl was erected to celebrate Dublin’s Millennium. “Finnegan’s
Wake,” a comic story song about a man who died in an accident but was revived when one of the brawlers
at his wake accidentally spilled whiskey on the corpse. The song has been perennially popular and also
inspired James Joyce’s notoriously difficult masterpiece, Finnegans Wake. Many street ballads are
devoted to tales of drinking, and these, too, have stood the test of time. From the unrepentant declaration
of “The Moonshiner,” to the winking reprobate “The Wild Rover” to the man whose
faithless girlfriend convinces him that his only dependable companion is “Whiskey in the Jar,” the
Irish drinking song is usually much more of a celebration than a cautionary tale. Many of these songs
were introduced to a wider audience during the folk revival of the 1960’s, when Irish musicians
such as the Clancy Brothers, the Chieftains and the Dubliners gained popularity throughout the world.
And Irish artists have also had a huge impact on popular music beyond the traditional. In the latter
half of the 20th century, the Irish proved themselves to be anyone’s equal in producing popular
music. Belfast-born Van Morrison has been making compelling music in different genres for over thirty
years now. The punk movement of the late 1970’s inspired as many young Irish musicians as it did
English. Two bands from Northern Ireland, Stiff Little Fingers and the Undertones were enormously popular.
And it was the Dublin punk scene that produced one of the best known and most beloved of Irish musical
exports—U2. The Cranberries and the Corrs have also had huge international success with their gentler
pop music.
Several groups have achieved success by combining traditional elements with modern styles to revitalize
Irish music and introduce it to new audiences. Glam rock’s Thin Lizzy first found success came
with a metal version of the standard “Whisky in the Jar,” and the London-based Pogues, made
up of 1st-generation and immigrant musicians arranged traditional songs in a punk style that garnered
huge popularity. New age musicians have also found inspiration in Ireland’s traditions, notably
Enya, who is the most successful female artist in Irish history.
The diversity of styles and tastes means that there is something for everyone to be found in Irish music.
And whether artists are charting new territories or keeping traditions alive, music will continue to
be a vital part of Irish culture
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Finnegan’s
Wake
Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street
A gentleman Irish, mighty odd;
He’d a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet
And to rise in the world he carried a hotd.
Now Tim had a sort of the tipplin’ way
With a love of the whiskey poor Tim was born
And to help him on with his work each day
He’d a drop of the cray-thur every morn.
Chorus
Whack fol the dah O, dance to your partner
Welt the floor, your trotters shake.
Wasn’t it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan’s wake!
One morning Tim was rather full
His head felt heavy which made him shake.
He fell from the ladder and broke his skill
And they carried him home his corpse to wake.
They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet
And laid him out upon the bed
With a gallon of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his head.
Chorus
His friends assembled at the wake.
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch,
First she brought in tea and a cake
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch
Biddy O’Brien began to cry
“Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see?
O, Tim mauvorneen, why did you die?”
“Arragh, hold your gob,” cried Paddy McGee!
Chorus
Then Maggie O’Connor took up the job.
“O Biddy,” says she, “You’re wrong, I’m sure.”
Biddy gave her a belt in the gob
And left her sprawlin’ on the floor.
And then the war did soon engage
‘Twas woman to woman and man to man,
Shillelagh law was all the rage
And a row and a ruction soon began.
Chorus
Then Mickey Maloney raised his head
When a noggin of whiskey flew at him,
It missed, and falling on the bed
The liquor scattered over Tim!
Tim revives! See how he rises!
Timothy rising from the bed,
Says, “Whirl your whiskey around like the blazes,
Be thunderin Jaysus, do you think I’m dead?”
Chorus
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Molly Malone
In Dublin's fair city
where the girls are so pretty
I once met a girl named sweet Molly Malone
and she wheeled her wheel barrow
through the streets broad and narrow
singing cockles and mussels alive alive oh
Chorus
Alive alive oh
alive alive ohh
Singing cockles and mussels
alive alive ohhh
She was a fish monger
and sure was no wonder
so were her mother and father before
and they wheeled their wheel barrow
through the streets broad and narrow
singing cockles and mussels alive alive oh
Chorus
She died of a fever
and so one could save her
and that was the end of sweet Molly Malone
now her ghost wheels her barrow through the streets broad and narrow
singing cockles and mussels alive alive oh
Chorus
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Roddy McCorley
O see the fleet-foot host of men, who march with faces drawn,
From farmstead and from fishers' cot, along the banks of Bann;
They come with vengeance in their eyes. Too late! Too late are they,
For young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome
today.
Oh Ireland, Mother Ireland, you love them still the best
The fearless brave who fighting fall upon your hapless breast,
But never a one of all your dead more bravely fell in fray,
Than he who marches to his fate on the bridge of Toome today.
Up the narrow street he stepped, so smiling, proud and young.
About the hemp-rope on his neck, the golden ringlets clung;
There's ne'er a tear in his blue eyes, fearless and brave are they,
As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome
today.
When last this narrow street he trod, his shining pike in hand
Behind him marched, in grim array, an earnest stalwart band.
To Antrim town! To Antrim town, he led them to the fray,
But young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
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The grey coat and its sash of green were brave and stainless then,
A banner flashed beneath the sun over the marching men;
The coat hath many a rent this noon, the sash is torn away,
And Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
Oh, how his pike flashed in the sun! Then found a foeman's heart,
Through furious fight, and heavy odds he bore a true man's part
And many a red-coat bit the dust before his keen pike-play,
But Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
There's never a one of all your dead more bravely died in fray
Than he who marches to his fate in Toomebridge town today;
True to the last! True to the last, he treads the upwards way,
And young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
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The Wild Rover
I've been a wild rover for many a year,
And I've spent all my money on whiskey and beer,
But now I'm returning with gold in great store,
And I never will play the wild rover no more.
Chorus
And it's no, nay, never
No, nay, never, no more,
Will I play the rover
No never, no more.
I went down to an ale house I used to frequent,
And I told the landlady my money was spent.
I asked her for credit, but she answered me "Nay.
Such custom like yours I could have any day."
Chorus...
I took from my pocket ten sovereigns bright,
And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight,
She said, "I have whiskeys and wines of the best,
For the words that you told me were only in jest."
Chorus...
I'll go home to my parents, confess what I've done,
And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son.
And if they caress me as oft times before,
I never will play the wild rover no more!
Chorus...
Whiskey in the Jar
As I was going over the far famed Kerry mountains
I met with captain Farrell and his money he was counting.
I first produced my pistol, and then produced my rapier.
Said stand and deliver, for I am a bold deceiver,
musha ring dumma do damma da
whack for the daddy 'ol
whack for the daddy 'ol
there's whiskey in the jar
I counted out his money, and it made a pretty penny.
I put it in my pocket and I took it home to Jenny.
She said and she swore, that she never would deceive me,
but the devil take the women, for they never can be easy
I went into my chamber, all for to take a slumber,
I dreamt of gold and jewels and for sure it was no wonder.
But Jenny took my charges and she filled them up with water,
Then sent for captain Farrel to be ready for the slaughter.
It was early in the morning, as I rose up for travel,
The guards were all around me and likewise captain Farrel.
I first produced my pistol, for she stole away my rapier,
But I couldn't shoot the water so a prisoner I was taken.
If anyone can aid me, it's my brother in the army,
If I can find his station down in Cork or in Killarney.
And if he'll come and save me, we'll go roving near Kilkenny,
And I swear he'll treat me better than me darling sportling Jenny
Now some men take delight in the drinking and the roving,
But others take delight in the gambling and the smoking.
But I take delight in the juice of the barley,
And courting pretty fair maids in the morning bright and early
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The Moonshiner I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler, I'm a long way from
home
And if you don't like me, well, leave me alone
I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry
And the moonshine don't kill me, I'll live til I die
I've been a moonshiner for many a year
I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer
I'll go to some hollow, I'll set up my still
And I'll make you a gallon for a ten shilling bill
I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler, I'm a long way from home
And if you don't like me, well, leave me alone
I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry
And the moonshine don't kill me, I'll live til I die
I'll go to some hollow in this counterie
Ten gallons of wash I can go on a spree
No women to follow, the world is all mine
I love none so well as I love the moonshine
I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler, I'm a long way from home
And if you don't like me, well, leave me alone
I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry
And the moonshine don't kill me, I'll live til I die
Oh, moonshine, dear moonshine, oh, how I love thee
You killed me old father, but ah you try me
Now bless all moonshiners and bless all moonshine
Their breath smells as sweet as the dew on the vine
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