The dark upstairs room of an old sports bar in Belfast is an unassuming venue for a revolution. Against a backdrop of silver streamers and placards from the pro-choice rally that has just taken place, a small crowd gathers as Sister Ghost blast out a rendition of Nirvana’s Love Buzz. Vocalist Shannon Delores O’Neill sings in impassioned yelps, continually falling to her knees, eyes closed, and dropping the microphone at the end of the song. Nirvana played the track at the first ever Rock for Choice benefit in Hollywood, California, in 1991. Sister Ghost are performing it at a fundraiser for the same cause.
Amid the threat posed by Brexit, civil rights struggles and a paramilitary resurgence, the political situation in Northern Ireland remains fragile. The country is gasping in a political vacuum without a functioning government since 2017, after disagreements between the two main parties, the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP) and Sinn Féin, signalled the end of their power-sharing agreement. The killing of journalist Lyra McKee in April (for which the New IRA has admitted responsibility) and the attacks on police in Fermanagh and Craigavon suggest that slipping back into pre-1998 chaos is not a distant danger.
Many Northern Irish musicians are channelling their anger through song. And the central target has become the DUP, the rightwing, pro-Union, Eurosceptic party who have consistently blocked equal marriage legislation and abortion reform.
At Rock for Choice, subtlety is not in the vocabulary of the feminist punk outfit Gender Chores. Their sound is fast, loud and angry; their unrelenting basslines and hard-edged melodies are imbued with anti-patriarchy lyrics yelled with an unmistakable Ulster cadence. Following their late-afternoon slot, the band chat animatedly with the other acts. “There’s no point in dancing around it, you may as well just say what you’re going to say,” declares lead vocalist Samantha McCann, with pro-choice slogan The North Is Now written across her thighs and exposed through ripped fishnet tights. “We are driven by frustration more than anything else. We’re writing about issues that affect us and we’re singing to an audience also affected by those issues.”
From traditional rebel songs to the fiery Belfast punk scene of the 70s, for decades music has been a way to voice discontent in the region. Stiff Little Fingers called for an Alternative Ulster in 1978: did these bands think people would still be shouting about it 41 years later? “We definitely wouldn’t have the opportunities we have if bands like the Undertones and Rudi hadn’t paved the way for us,” says Gender Chores drummer AJ Mawhinney. “It’s important to carry that on with a modern twist given what’s going on now.”
“When it comes to the local music scene, we’re all quite political anyway, so the role comes quite naturally,” McCann says. “We show up to protests, sign petitions and take part in grassroots movements.” For Mawhinney, Northern Ireland’s situation makes cheap fuel for punk’s fire: “We’re surrounded by a lot of political turmoil at the moment, so the songs almost write themselves. We are three angry people and there’s just a wealth of material here. Bands that sing about topics like abortion and marriage equality are kind of CC-ing the DUP, even if they’re not explicitly saying it.”
Gender Chores are not a band to mince their message. Legisl8, a song about the rights dictated by the DUP, calls out the party’s leader Arlene Foster with a rather moving play on words: “Foster love and lose the hate / Foster, love and legislate.” The title track of the band’s EP Womansplaining declares: “I don’t need to hear your thoughts / On women’s rights and Brexit talks.” The cover depicts the members sprawled against the currently empty Northern Irish Assembly building Stormont; the inner cover notes the number of days Northern Ireland has been without government at the time of its release.
Some of the most angry songs about the DUP come from artists who do not usually make political work. The folk songwriter Joshua Burnside isn’t inclined to screaming, punk-style protest. His song Red and White Blues, taking its name from the loyalist tradition of painting kerbstones during the summer bonfire season, reflects on his experience growing up with staunch loyalist family members, including a grandfather in the DUP. “It protests a mentality of ‘them and us’ and political tribalism, harnessing culture for divisive purposes,” he says. “There are people in my own family who would disagree with some of the sentiments.” But “even if you change one person’s way of thinking about a political situation or dynamic, then that’s an enormous achievement. But it’s not something I really focus on; your politics just comes out naturally in your music.”
Likewise, garage rockers Hand Models’ song Last Leaves on a Tree was not written with the intention of being a protest, but the final chorus erupts into surprise chants of “Fuck the DUP!” “We’ve seen our friends affected firsthand by legislation in Northern Ireland denying LGBT rights,” explains frontman Gareth Murray. The track details one man’s relocation to Dublin to find himself a husband and avoid “breaking a civil law” in a place where same-sex marriage is banned. The song is inspired by the true story of a friend of Pete Devine, the band’s lyricist.
“Seeing the real-life scenarios that it creates, it felt like a very relevant subject for us to address,” Murray continues. “The song is more for the sake of people being able to find joy in a time when basic human rights are being rejected due to the uneducated, stubborn beliefs of people in power. Music has always been an integral part of bringing people together to voice change; it allows passion for social justice to exist on a much broader scale.”
Having been dubbed everything from “unnatural” to “an abomination” by the DUP’s elected members, it’s easy to see why so many queer musicians in Northern Ireland feel compelled to speak out. Strange New Places, a majority transgender band formed across the six counties, view their platform as a responsibility to agitate for progressive rights. “It’s always going to be nervewracking to be openly queer in a homophobic society,” says lead singer Ashley. “Performance makes you vulnerable by putting you out there, but in some ways, it’s easier to be loud on a stage in a space that you’ve made sure is safe.”
As the closing act at Rock for Choice, Strange New Places’ high-energy set does not disappoint, marrying pop-rock riffs, shimmering synths and candid lyrics. With the venue at near capacity, the crowd gathers closely around the makeshift stage, dancing and bobbing their heads along with the band. There is a tangible sense of community among audiences at their gigs, and messages of support flood in on Instagram after the show.
Ashley feels the personal and the political in Northern Irish music cannot be separated. “There’s a specific voice we can bring and feel we should bring: fighting against the erasure of trans men and non-binary people in the fight for bodily autonomy.” So often couched in terms of abortion rights, Ashley says this fight is “often referred to as just a women’s issue, which is very damaging for a lot of trans people”. On This City, Strange New Places sing about getting away from their home town, but Ashley is not entirely disheartened: “There are the conditions in Northern Ireland for people to be pushing hard enough against the brick wall of bigotry that it just crumbles.”
Sister Ghost are co-organisers of this Rock for Choice gig, and having shared the stage with such iconic protest acts as Pussy Riot, Shannon Delores O’Neill is no stranger to challenging the government. Seventy miles from Belfast, the impact of Brexit will be felt especially hard in her native Derry. “In terms of music, a hard border will be devastating for playing shows outside Northern Ireland and vice versa for our friends in the Republic.” She says it will be harder to maintain relationships across the Irish music scene, and that bands will face possible increases in import tax on their merchandise.
Derry’s musical output has always been impressive for its range, from the Undertones’ pop-punk anthem Teenage Kicks to D:Ream’s New Labour anthem Things Can Only Get Better. Rather than mimic the hopeful, upbeat songs of their predecessors, the city’s most recent exports have taken inspiration from the grim political climate. The punk band Touts, whose Troubles-inspired song titles include Bombscare and Political People, have expressed fears about a hard border, living so close to the Republic; fellow Derry rockers the Wood Burning Savages address Brexit on their ironically titled debut album Stability with their brooding, six-minute epic Freedom of Movement.
Sister Ghost’s upcoming single, Fake Friends Run This Country, accuses the DUP of human rights violations by abusing their power at Stormont. “It’s imperative that the voices of minorities are heard, especially in these tumultuous times,” O’Neill stresses. “People who face oppression make great performers and lyricists because they really do have something to shout about; music and art are vital forms of protest as they allow for a catharsis rarely matched by picketing. A great political song leaves a lasting impression that can inspire others to stand up and speak out.”
To the delight of activist groups and the chagrin of the DUP, MPs in Westminster have voted to extend equal marriage and abortion legislation to Northern Ireland by 21 October unless the devolved government has been restored by then. The historic vote offers a glimmer of hope. “It’s a terrible time we are living in,” O’Neill reflects, “but it is a great time to be an impassioned and frustrated artist.”
