Irish music is a beautiful language of its own

Who determines what the official language of a country is? Is it a committee? One person? An underground society operating in the shadows?

Sorry, I am getting too conspiracy-focused too fast. I’m asking because I think whoever does determine this absolutely missed the mark for Ireland. The Internet will tell you the official languages of the Emerald Isle are Irish and English, but the Internet is dumb and wrong. In my opinion, which is better than the internet’s, the language of Ireland is music. Now don’t vomit at this cliché and throw away the paper, let me explain. I’m not talking about music as a “universal language” or anything like that. What I am talking about is music sung in the smallest pubs, in the smallest towns and by people whose families have sung and played it for generations.

This past weekend, I was sitting in a pub known as McGann’s in the town of Doolin, which sits quaintly on the west coast of Ireland. I had ventured into McGann’s because I heard there was to be some live music that night and, if I was lucky, I would be able to join. I was indeed lucky and was able to play with incredible musicians until the wee hours of the morning. What was amazing was that there were only four or five people in the pub with instruments, but everyone in the building was a part of the ensemble. It seemed like everyone had a song they needed to sing. The old man from down the road had a song, and so did the young woman who was visiting from across the country. And the most beautiful thing was that everyone else wanted to hear them.

This wasn’t something akin to drunken karaoke, but something with real cultural pride and history. The songs sung told stories from Ireland’s tough rebel past that made the whole pub cheer to tales of love lost to the clutches of time that made the old folk shed a tear. One of the reasons I chose to study abroad in Ireland was so I wouldn’t have to face any sort of language barrier. But as I sat in the corner, my guitar resting quietly in my lap, I could only listen and enjoy this moment of genuine and honest culture.

I had run into a barrier of my own; I felt out of place because I didn’t know the stories. I didn’t know the history. I didn’t know the lyrics or the melodies, and I was left shocked and silenced. And although I couldn’t sing along, I could tap my foot. I could clap and cheer. I could raise my glass at the end and be welcomed into this beautiful ensemble once more. I am convinced music is the true language of Ireland. I just hope I can someday learn enough of it to impress the locals and join in on the next song.