Events such as Corn Uí Riada, the annual sean-nós singing contest, have contributed to a revival of the form in recent years, but devotees are divided about the merits of competitive singing - and of tinkering with the tradition in general, writes Siobhán Long.

FOR SOME PEOPLE, sean-nós singing is the holy grail of the Irish tradition. And Corn Uí Riada, the annual sean-nós singing competition is a mini-Olympiad, where singers duke it out for the elusive chalice that pays homage to the late Seán Ó Riada.

For others, sean-nós is an impenetrable art, its internal grammar as challenging as the lines of hieroglyphics etched on Tutankhamun's tomb. The recent release of a double CD, 1972-2007 Corn Uí Riada Buaiteoirí, celebrating the past 35 years of Corn Uí Riada, has spawned some interesting conversations about the nature of this art form, which its practitioners claim to be once again in the ascendant.

First things first: not all sean-nós singers are born into the tradition, contrary to what non-practitioners might assume. Donegal singer and academic Lillis Ó Laoire has extensively researched the sean-nós singing of Tory Island, but admits that his affection for this music was a slow-burning affair.

"In the beginning I didn't think much of it because I thought it was old-fashioned and for old people," Ó Laoire admits, "but in my late teens I realised that the poetry in the songs is beautiful. I always liked music and I was interested in what Clannad were doing at that time. I liked the songs and the tunes, but I was more interested in their modern interpretations. In university in Galway, I began to attend workshops where we were taught different songs from the Gaeltacht areas. I found that a very enriching experience and it gave me pause to think about this unaccompanied song tradition."

To the uninitiated, sean-nós singing may appear to be technically demanding, with its seemingly complex phrasing and rhythms. But context is everything, Ó Laoire insists.

"It really depends on how you want to sing," he says. "Some people sing in a very intimate fireside voice, and you have to remember that's how sean-nós started out. It was done for neighbours, to entertain one another.

"That's not the only context though. On festival days, people would have sung out to larger crowds, and for formal occasions, like dances too. But, essentially, some people didn't have big voices and with the transfer to the stage then, there was this feeling that singers had to project. And there's no doubt but that that changed the sean-nós. It gave it a dimension that it didn't have before, a show business element - and I don't say that disapprovingly. It professionalised it a little."

Whatever about the form's parlour origins, these days many singers hone their craft in anticipation of Oireachtas na Gaeilge, the annual festival celebrating the traditional arts through the Irish language. The dominance of the Oireachtas sean-nós singing competition, with its prized Corn Uí Riada, has inevitably influenced the way in which many singers now perform. From dying embers, sean-nós has re-emerged over the past two decades, phoenix-like, bringing with it a slew of young singers in pursuit of that magic, elusive moment when singer and song become one.

COMPETITIVE SINGING IS unquestionably different, Ó Laoire acknowledges. "If you compare recordings of people who were competition winners with people singing in their own homes, I think you can hear a difference," he says. "There's no doubt that competition carries with it a lot of prestige these days. But, you know, that doesn't mean that some singers aren't still very moved, personally, by the stories and the words of their songs. The truth is that singers are often very strained in competition and aren't always at their best. And some people would argue that that's not the best environment at all for sean-nós singing, and some of the best sean-nós singers never stood on a competition stage."

Any tradition, by virtue of its longevity, can become the subject of conflicting opinion, with some wanting to preserve it in aspic and viewing any evolution as toxic, while others make the form very much their own.

Skara Brae did the latter in the late 1960s, as did Clannad in the 1970s. These days, Iarla Ó Lionáird takes sean-nós singing in directions previously undreamt of.

Lillis Ó Laoire sees sean-nós as a living organism, which benefits from a singer's creative impulse to fashion something different from the source.

"I think experimentation and change is good," he says, without hesitation. "We have to maintain this tradition, because it's a canonical part of traditional music now. I love it for its own sake anyway. It's a very personal thing to me, but I still love Clannad and they were part of the reason I became interested in this music. We can't put a straitjacket on the thing. We have to allow it to breathe."

Ciarán Ó Concheanainn is this year's Corn Uí Riada winner. Unusually, he doesn't have a long family history of sean-nós singing. Growing up in Spiddal, he was at a remove from the heart of traditional singing in Carna (home place of the titanic figure of Joe Heaney) and the Aran Islands. As a teenager, he was drawn to the rich language of sean-nós and to its universal themes. His influences include Sarah Ní Ghriallais and Nan Ghriallais, whose "raw" singing style he found captivating.

"I think you could sense the earth in their singing," he says, "and there was such truth in it."

This year saw the first American-born entrant to the Corn Uí Riada competition. A former winner of the competition, Connemara sean-nós singer Máirín Uí Chéide, who has lived in Boston for many years, has no doubt that sean-nós is now thriving on the far side of the Atlantic too.

"If anything, Americans are probably more analytical and know more about the songs than we do," she says.

Uí Chéide insists, however, that having the language is crucial to a singer's ability to inhabit a song fully, though she's quick to acknowledge that American-born singers are as enthusiastic about their linguistic capabilities as they are about their singing.

"The poetry and the artistry of the language is so important to the song that you really have to have some mastery of the language to sing," she says. "I'm a purist. I believe in preserving the language of the song as authentically as possible. I don't have respect for people who just change or modernise words. You lose some of the artistry of the song, and I'm very protective of the songs."

Uí Chéide credits radio for the immense growth in interest in sean-nós singing at home and abroad.

"Raidió na Gaeltachta has been the saviour of sean-nós," she says. "We wouldn't even be talking about this if it weren't for Raidió na Gaeltachta. It's the only media that's presented the music as it is - and I, for one, would not have participated in Corn Uí Riada, were it not for Raidió na Gaeltachta."

Lillis Ó Laoire sees sean-nós in a different light. Singer and song bear a kinship so close that it licenses the singer to impose an original interpretation on the song.

"Listen to someone like Maighread Ní Dhomhnaill," he says, "She can sing unaccompanied in a session just as well, but she has done some beautiful things in her recordings with this music. She learned those songs from her uncles, her father and her auntie.

"Why wouldn't she change them? They're hers to change! We have to be plural about it."

Ó LAOIRE WELCOMES the renaissance in sean-nós dancing too. Separating the song music from the dance music was a falsehood in the first place, he suggests.

"Dancing and singing always went together," he says. "But sitting listening to 20 songs isn't that natural. I often prefer to listen at home on the radio, where you can have a conversation between the songs. It doesn't demand the intensive concentration that the thing in the hall does. That's a very contrived, unnatural environment in some ways. I was in Brazil a few years ago, and they have the idea of the session there as well, and they call it 'making chicken soup'. I took that to mean 'throw everything in and see what comes out'. Mix it up more."

On the question of impenetrability, Ó Laoire believes in listening to sean-nós with one ear firmly tuned towards the simplicity of the music and the other towards the fact that the music emerged out of an impulse to entertain and communicate.

"Sean-nós singing is a very hard music," he admits. "There's an undigested feel about it. The thing is not to be so worried about it. It's only a song in the end. Sometimes we can get too serious about it. It's all that cultural nationalism stuff, and, of course, we should be serious too, but we have to remember it's entertainment as well. We must keep a perspective about it."

• 1972-2007: Corn Uí Riada Buaiteoiríis out on Cló Iar Chonnachta/RTÉ Raidió na Gaeltachta