In the streaming age, the first singles charts of the new year are reliably predictable. Out goes the Christmas music; back in flood the familiar faces of Lewis Capaldi, Stormzy and Dua Lipa. But for a few hours on 8 January, an Irish rebel song about defying a notorious, 10,000-strong temporary police force sent by Churchill to Ireland in 1920 topped the UK iTunes chart. “Tell them how the IRA made you run like hell away,” runs the refrain of Come Out Ye Black and Tans, this version recorded by traditional Dublin folk band the Wolfe Tones, “From the green and lovely lanes of Killashandra.” Its wildcard success has as much to do with Alan Partridge and a ham advert as it does the legacy of Irish police brutality.
Widely believed to have been written by the Irish writer and songwriter, Dominic Behan, as a tribute to his father, Stephen, the song denounces the British force of mostly former soldiers recruited to the Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC) in Ireland following the 1916 Easter Rising. Not exactly smitten by the British answer to the revolution – namely further repression – the author’s intention would later resonate with the Wolfe Tones. Since 1963, they have packed venues across the world with their siren song of national autonomy, exemplified by the sentiment of Come Out Ye Black and Tans.
How has a song ostensibly rooted in Irish republicanism – a heady tale that is essentially an anti-colonialist anthem at its core – burrowed into the imagination of so many listeners? While it has, ahem, occupied a certain place in the minds of Irish people regardless of creed for decades, the broader phenomenon can (perhaps best disregarding a reworking for an Irish ham advert last year) be traced back to two disparate happenings.
Last March, Steve Coogan ended an episode of This Time With Alan Partridge by singing the rebel song in character as eccentric rural Irish farmer and Partridge impersonator Martin Brennan. Irish Twitter went wild and the Wolfe Tones’ rendition of the song started to penetrate foreign consciousness on easily the biggest scale since Behan apparently put pen to paper.
Then, last week, an event organised by the Irish government that was poised to commemorate the role of the RIC and Dublin Metropolitan Police (DMP) – two forces that acquired a reputation for brutality against civilians in the aftermath of IRA attacks during the Irish War of Independence – was deferred following kickback from the public and politicians. No doubt bolstered by fond memories of Martin Brennan, Come Out Ye Black and Tans not only briefly topped both the UK and Irish iTunes charts, but entered the Australian iTunes Top 5. The meme doubled as a signal to Irish Taoiseach Leo Varadkar and co.
Admittedly, the iTunes charts are very reactive and easily swayed, and rarely reflect the Official Charts Company’s weekly rankings. (There was a brief furore around Jarvis Cocker’s Running the World hitting the UK iTunes chart top spot before Christmas, only to miss out on the festive Top 40 altogether.) But the song’s unlikely moment in the spotlight reflects the newfound prominence of many Irish voices and communities online. Late last year, the punmanteau “tansplaining” got a delightful debut outing in the New York Times (defined as “the phenomenon in which Irish people suffer inept lessons in their own history from British people”). The Wolfe Tones’ minor success signifies a broader trend of razor-sharp in-joking and commentary from Irish Twitter, both diaspora and those at home.
The song looks beyond Ireland, too, succinctly relating the Irish experience to other peoples’ historic struggles against the British Empire: “Come tell us how you slew them poor Arabs two by two / Like the Zulus they had spears and bows and arrows.” The broader essence of the song hits home. Some concrete good has stemmed from it all, too. Founding Wolfe Tones member Brian Warfield has said that proceeds from the track will benefit wildlife and firefighter charities in Australia, and a leading Irish homelessness charity.
Inevitably, Come Out Ye Black and Tans didn’t trouble this week’s official Top 40. Still, its day in the sun has given a song about the patently divisive legacy of the Black and Tans an honourable revitalisation – and brought historic intrigue and characteristic upset to the lamentably stagnant charts.
