Cassandra Voices

Author: Louise O’Connor

  • ‘It’s not a case of men vs women’: Mise Fosta in Irish Trad

    In a suburban Dublin pub ten men aged sixty and over have gathered in a circle each week to play traditional Irish tunes. I joined this weekly session when I moved back to Dublin and after initial bewilderment was embraced by the group. I was the only woman that had ever joined in the twenty odd years the session had existed and I grew to love the chats and the musical immersion that it became.

    At some point in each tune set we all closed our eyes and it felt like it really didn’t matter that I was female.

    I discussed with Mairéad Ní Mhaonaigh in an interview recently how music can be something that rises above divisions and transcends gender, race and politics. Sadly of course, this is not always the case. It was disturbing last year to read the revelations of the Mise Fosta (Me Too) movement which detailed the experiences of young musicians in the Irish Traditional music scene. The reports, which came from mostly girls, consisted of unwanted physical contact, sexual assault, harassment and degradation.

    Louise O’Connor, Image: Olesya Zdorovetsky

    My own experience

    It saddened me deeply to hear about the number of musicians that have left the scene due to this kind of behaviour. I’ve experienced both sides of this coin. I’ve met some of the kindest men I know through pub sessions in my journey back to playing music again publicly. And I’ve also experienced subtle and not-so-subtle forms of inappropriate physical contact and degrading comments from pub-goers, and from musicians themselves; followed by ‘sure it’s only a bit of craic.’ Unfortunately, it’s the kind of ‘craic’ that drives talent away from the scene.

    A young female musician I spoke to recently described lecherous comments she often experiences online as the ‘cross we have to bear,’ as women in the industry. Another musician I know will avoid a particular number of sessions because of the consistent unwanted advances of a fellow musician who attends them.

    This kind of behaviour has typically been quietly tolerated as ‘the cross we have to bear.’ But we are in an age of increasing disclosures in Ireland and globally regarding abuse of many shapes and kinds. (The recent harrowing revelations of the treatment of women in Mother and Baby Homes in Ireland is just one example of this).

    Voices of all genders in Ireland have been heavily suppressed in relation to these matters so all speaking out must be applauded. In continuing to break this silence, we’re slowly becoming part of a wider global story, where the veil is being lifted on many forms of abuse and inequality. As humans we love to create categories of ‘me’ and ‘other’. We are better and the ‘other’ is lesser. Male-female, white-black, able bodied-disabled. Yet these hierarchies are slowly being dismantled all over the world. A huge amount of people are waking up to the realisation that these imagined hierarchies are cultural constructions which could easily have been otherwise and must be challenged.

    Traversing a Wave of Change

    Both men and women need support to traverse this wave of change. All genders need education at every stage of schooling about not just the concept of consent but what that looks like in real life circumstances. Inappropriate comments, contact and expectations need to become rejected in the music scene, in person and on-line, as well as on a cultural and societal level in Ireland. We need to release the shame attached to discussions around sexuality, around our bodies and what is and isn’t acceptable to us.

    These types of conversations around sexuality have slowly been opening up in Ireland. The TV series Normal People last year opened avenues of discussion many of us had not foreseen (Liveline radio programme to name just one). My father was of the opinion that the series should be shown in every secondary school in the country to educate teenagers about healthy consent. I also had a lengthy conversation with my aunt, a religious sister in her seventies, about the portrayal of the lead character Connell’s refusal to hurt Marianne during sex as she requested.

    ‘That was exercising his right to say no,’ she’d said at the time. ‘It was very important to show that men need to be able to say no as well. It works both ways, you know.’ ‘’It does work both ways,’ I had agreed with her. It is not a case of  ‘men vs women’ in this particular arena. That is not a narrative that I believe will get us any further.

    We discussed how every person has both masculine and feminine elements within them which need to be developed. As a fundamental element of the patriarchal structure, to show emotions, for men, is often seen as a sign of weakness. And so men are typically encouraged from a young age to bottle up these more ‘feminine’ aspects of their character. Ireland has one of the top five highest rates of suicides for men aged 15-24 in Europe. There are clearly elements of the patriarchy which are not favouring men either. We are clearly missing a trick somewhere in preparing young people of all genders for adulthood.

    Movements Forward

    Some strong indicators are showing that we are on the right path. The Fair Plé movement which advocates for gender balance in the Irish Traditional & Folk scene has recently developed an Anti-Harassment Policy for use across all arts sectors and Sexual Harrassment guidelines in collaboration with the Rape Crisis Network Ireland, which are important steps towards highlighting and addressing these issues. These can be used by all pubs and music festivals and generating awareness of these policies is a key part of moving forward. The Speak Up ACTiON Survey is a survey of all arts workers and their workplace experiences which will inform policy and the development of artist supports for safe and dignified work spaces. Fair Plé and SAOI are also pushing for a neutral independent complaint structure with investigative powers across all arts sectors.(1)

    https://twitter.com/IrishTheatreIns/status/1367100078004068353

    Under-representation of Women

    Beyond the pub scene, the facts are staring us in the face that women’s voices are under-represented in the arts in general. Music consultant Linda Coogan Byrne and folk singer Áine Tyrrell published a Gender Disparity Data Report in 2020 highlighting that female artists take up less than 5% of airtime on Irish radios. The ‘Why Not Her’ campaign is currently making huge strides towards eradicating this bias.

    Clearly it is not just revelations of abuse that are required to instigate change but cold hard facts and key players in the Irish Traditional Music scene are doing Trojan work towards developing these statistics.(2)

    The Need for Women’s Voices & Men’s Support

    I sincerely hope that women who have left the Traditional Irish music scene can come back and can feel safe in doing so. We need to hear women’s voices, in real time, performing. And we need to keep supporting each other as women in making this happen.

    We can choose to silence ourselves also in many ways; through allowing internal critical voices to hold us back or by buying into the unwritten rules of the patriarchal structure we were brought up in that tell us our voices are less worthy of being heard.

    Or we can do none of this and allow our voices to be heard. Write the song you’ve been humming for years. Pick up the instrument that’s gathering dust. Get up and dance at a session if that’s your thing. Take your place in the scene, with respect and kindness towards all genders, sexualities, races, people. Yet call it out when that respect is not shown back to you.

    For men, you are more visible in the industry. Use your visibility to make sexual harassment and inequality no longer acceptable. It’s no longer enough just to not take part in sexist behaviour. Misogyny in all it’s subtle and not so subtle forms needs to be denied air time for good.

    Music, to me, is the most powerful force on earth for bringing people together and none more so than Traditional Irish music. I believe we can figure this one out.

    Louise O’Connor is a fiddle player, sean nós dancer and hosts Music As podcast where she interviews guests about the role music plays in their lives.

    Website: www.louise.ie

    Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/louiseoconnor.ie/

    1. FairPlé have been working with SAOI, a group consisting of a mixture of women across the arts: poetry, literature, publishing, comedy and music. They are currently pushing for a neutral independent complaint structure with investigative powers, specifically for this to be set up by the Department of Tourism, Culture, Arts, Gaeltacht, Sport and Media to deal with issues of sexual assault and harassment across the sector.
    2. Statistics on the Irish Traditional and folk music scene have emerged in the work of Úna Ní Fhlannagáin, Úna Monaghan, Fintan Vallely and Jane Cassidy, and more work on this area will be visible in the forthcoming publication of Ethnomusicology Ireland on women and music.

    Links:

    Sexual Harassment Guidelines:

    https://www.fairple.com/sexual-harassment

    Anti-Harassment Policy:

    https://www.fairple.com/anti-harassment-policy

    Why Not Her? is a social media campaign and podcast launched by Linda Coogan Byrne to ‘amplify the voices of woman in the music, entertainment and arts industry.’

    www.whynother.net

    Irish Theatre Institute has launched Speak Up ACTiON Survey- a survey of all arts workers & their workplace experiences which will inform policy & the development of artist supports for safe & dignified work spaces. Complete the survey here:

    https://bit.ly/3d0CLDk

    If you have been affected by the contents of this article support is available at:

    The Rape Crisis Centre: 1800 778 888

    Women’s Aid: 1800 341 900.

    Samaritans: 116 123

    Text about it: Free text 5808

    Jigsaw: 1800544729

    Northern Ireland: 

    The Rowan Centre: 0800 389 4424

    Nexus NI: 028 9032 6803

    I would like to thank Joanne Cusack (FairPlé) for her support in writing this article.

    Featured Image: Daniele Idini

  • Inside the Session

    The Cassandra Voices musician of the month for September, Louise O’Connor, explores what makes a trad session so special.

    I recently attended a large music festival in England where a trad session took over the night in a small fire-lit tent. There were Irish tunes, Scottish tunes, English tunes and a few Appalachian ones for good measure. Being an Irish fiddle player I was most at home with the jigs and the reels.

    I sat and played for hours, mesmerised by the sight of a topless, heavily-tattooed man with a rainbow-coloured mohawk who sean-nós danced with ferocious intensity on a piece of wood throughout.

    A trad session never fails to surprise.

    These sessions have been a constant source of surprise and companionship for me for many years now.

    Growing up in the Burren in County Clare, I played the fiddle from the age of seven. Aged seventeen I departed for university and the bright lights of Cork City. I hardly played in those days, preferring to listen to free jazz, contemporary classical music or the latest heavy instrumental rock band that my new urban friends introduced me to.

    Fiddling at 3842m near Chamonix. Photo by Marc Cleriot.

    I wasn’t to return to trad until, aged twenty-two, I found myself back in Cork after a period of travelling. The college gang had disbanded and I was in need of new friends. Cue the interjecting character of a French housemate with a passion for learning the bodhran. She brought me along to a session in a local pub. I befriended the fiddle player and was hooked. I was hooked on the atmosphere, the ritualistic nature of it, the sheer craic.

    A series of lessons from that fiddle player I befriended and I was almost session ready. Apart from one thing: nerves. On the first occasion that my new teacher persuaded me to play in a session, my hands were sweating so profusely that it was practically impossible for me to play.

    Things have certainly got better since then, and the meaning and importance of the session has grown and grown for me.

    Céilí dancing in Germany.

    In my years spent abroad, it permeated my experiences as a weekly ritual that allows release, a sense of stability and company on my many solo jaunts.

    It is obvious how the session format was born out of the Irish emigrant experience in London and America, and the need to hold on to roots. Thanks to mass Irish emigration and the dispersion of the tunes, as a fiddle player I have been welcomed with open arms within the global fraternity of trad musicians. I leaned into the music and the dance as I travelled. I slowly started to depend on it.

    Sessions in Oslo were my main social outlet. In Germany I organised céilís in the market square, while in Chamonix, I played tunes at 3842m at a temperature of -10. In Northern England, I picked up wild Scottish reels at the local session, and played them frantically on my lunch break, helping to relieve the stiffness of the office environment I was working in.

    II – Among Old Friends

    Returning to play sessions in Dublin was a slightly daunting task. I was no longer a novelty. Fiddle players are ten a penny in our fair capital. I forced myself out to sessions in the early days of Dublin life. I always feared I would not know enough tunes, and it would be embarrassing.

    My first session came about after meeting a retired gentleman, who invited me to one in a nearby seaside village. It turned out to be have been running for twenty-five years, in a practically empty pub, and involved a group of retired men in their sixties upwards. I was the only female to have ever played in the session, so my arrival was a source of some bewilderment.

    Overtime, however, they grew accustomed to my presence, and I settled into an uplifting weekly meeting. The session was more like a history lesson in Irish music, or a support group for musical fanatics. After each set the tunes were discussed; its origin; the historical recordings; the alternative key it might have been played in; the ornamental possibilities present in each one.

    I absolutely delighted in the whole experience. Each person had their own seat, and had sat in that seat for twenty-odd years. Being granted a seat at that session felt like quite the honour, and I was intrigued to hear the stories of sessions and festivals in the 60s and 70s in London, Doolin, and Mayo.

    At some point they would close their eyes and disappear into the reverie of music. And I imagined they were transported at times, back to these epic sessions they spoke of. The tunes were the same, the session was the same. The only difference was the passage of time.

    When they told me short stories about each tune, it added to the magic of my schooling. I went away each week armed with a list of tunes to learn, and a story that went with each. My eagerness to tweak my trad vocabulary was renewed every week.

    It was a gentle initiation into the Dublin school of trad from men most of whom had been playing for half a century.

    III – Central Sessions

    After a house move, I began playing at a session in the city centre, which is a more varied affair. Musicians drop in from all corners of the world.

    It is the type of session where audience members are as much a part of the session as the musicians. They sit in for the chats, and contribute with a song or a dance. Many onlookers marvel at the whole process.

    Like moths to a flame, tourists are drawn to the beat of the tunes. You see the sparkle of awe in their eyes at the frenzied energy through a set of reels, and the ‘earthing’ experience of a mournful sean nós song, which usually brings everyone in the pub to a halt.

    We all savour the natural ebb and flow of the occasion.

    ‘You guys don’t get paid? Phenomenal! How do you know all the tunes?’ A young girl from Vermont asked me. ‘It’s an oral tradition’, I tell her. A tradition, truly, that is handed down by ear, by being involved in the session itself.

    It is a much debated topic at a session, but you might never actually know what a tune is called.

    IV – Trad Festivals

    And then there are the trad festivals. I write this after my best summer yet of attending trad festivals. There is little in this world that gives me greater pleasure than heading West in my car of a summer’s evening towards a trad festival, with my fiddle and a tent packed up, and tunes racing through my head.

    I camped at the Willie Clancy festival this year with my friend, a solicitor and concertina player in her 60s who I met in sean nos dancing circles. As it was her first Willie Clancy she remarked that if she lasted the whole week she’d be a different person… and she did. She camped the whole week.

    And, as she said she would never be the same again.

    The relentless music everywhere, the workshops, the set dancing céilís, the first wild camping experience, the wonderfully open and honest meetings with strangers.

    All the components of a transformative experience that indeed has left its mark on her, uncovering courageous aspects of herself buried deep within. Maybe we were all different after that week of glorious sunshine, swims in the Atlantic and trad sessions by the beach. At these festivals, there is a different quality of time. There are days on end to sit and converse, to make friends, to learn new tunes and to gain new perspectives.

    *******

    The trad experience has certainly changed for me, from my beginnings being plagued by frenetic nervousness, to a point where, in the right lighting, and in the right context, I can even be persuaded to dance a step at a session or sing a song. I’ve constantly surprised myself while being held within the cocoon of the session.

    It is as if the hot summer evenings of this year’s trad sessions melted my resistance in a way. I gave in to the encouraging wink and a nod: ‘Go on, give us a step.’ I cared less about perfection and more about embracing the occasion.

    I have now started to give the same encouragement to others, in teaching ‘a step’ to groups in the form of céilí dancing. I want to involve people in the magic of the Irish music that I’ve been so privileged to be immersed in.

    I’m glad that trad music has returned to my life, and it’s certainly here to stay.

    Louise O’Connor is a fiddle player and runs Celtic Dance Party, teaching traditional céilí group dances. Her website is www.louise.ie. Instagram: @celticdanceparty. Facebook: Celtic Dance Party.

    Image: Olesya Zdorovetsky