Irish hip-hop is on the up. For Paddy's weekend, we asked five acts to write a piece that expresses what being Irish means in 2012. UNA MULLALLYhands over the mic
IRISH HIP-HOP is having a moment. You can tell because plenty of people are trying to get an “in”, trying to document what it is about Irish rappers right now that appears to have them bubbling towards the surface. But this isn’t just a story like 8 Mile or Almost Famous. This is about words and how they are said, beats and how they sound.
So we asked five of the best hip-hop acts in the country to compose material for us, in and around their interpretation of Irishness. And on the eve of St Patrick’s Day we present to you: a cautionary tale about knife crime from Rob Kelly; new kid on the block Lec Luther’s typically fluid flow; a white knuckle internal monologue about Dublin from Lethal Dialect; an epic poem from Temper-Mental MissElayneous; and an exclusive lyric from The Original Rudeboys’ upcoming album.
What is becoming more and more apparent as Irish hip-hop grafters up their game and new stars come shining, seemingly out of nowhere, is that this is a new form of expression, and the mimicry that had dogged Irish hip-hop since Scary Éire drifted off is being substituted with new voices and new vibes. Hip-hop in Ireland has always been DIY. Just ask the Rubberbandits who went from prank calls to fusing hip-hop, surrealism and comedy with massive commercial and critical success.
That self-starting philosophy is apparent every time Lecs Luther uploads a new freestyle or answers whatever question is thrown at him between photos on Tumblr, and when Temper-Mental Miss Elayneous grabs a bodhrán at a spoken-word night.
It’s there when Rob Kelly grafts for a decade and then releases his best track to date. It’s in the sophisticated artwork and production of Lethal Dialect’s tunes on Bandcamp, and in how The Original Rudeboys built an army of YouTube fans.
Sure, there’s loads of dross out there, loads of eejits rapping about clichéd things with tired flows, in the same way that there are still plenty of snore-inducing indie bands and mediocre solo acts. But as the average stuff flatlines, the quality material is peaking more often. And Irish hip-hop, like the new generation of theatre makers and the general commentariat, is adding its chorus to the wider conversation about who we are, where we are and why we are.
Listen.
'Eistigi, listen to me' (listen here)
TEMPER-MENTAL MISSELAYNEOUS aka Elayne Harrington is an MC from Finglas in Dublin who has recently made critics, bloggers and hip-hop snap to attention. Her driving, dexterous and poetic style even found a fan in President Michael D Higgins. This piece she wrote and recorded for The Ticket is titled Cailín Rua
A tongue, a melody, a rhythm, not just a
language my heart only knows.
Éireann fadó fadó. Stories of long ago.
Prayers in the wind, carried like secrets in
our eyes.
Oh, we dare not utter truth.
The utmost treasured of our isle.
A half-mast pride, no emblem to conceal
or clutch within our fathers' hands.
Measuring our stallions by his palms.
Still our heroes' hooves tread on these
lands.
White-lily brow, sink to meet your scent,
cheek of rose glow.
Not just our rivers running free.
It was our tears salted the sea.
Éistigí, listen to me.
Druid dreams rising from mystery.
History. Celtic mythology.
Cailín rua, wise is your emerald iris.
The world celebrates our Irish Dionysus.
Greimsceadamáin adamant on our
ascent.
Spirit of the Gael not broken but bent.
A jig or a reel, dance our rhythm straight.
We'll reach Tír Na nÓg, God, grant us
patience.
Our magic apology cushion our fall.
How shall we rise up, if we can't stand at
all? Scuttered in the gutter, but fawn on
the stars.
Barring order for Paddy, locked in and out
of the bars.
Drunk and disorderly, victim amadán.
Blame and condemn the island you're
born upon.
Blarney stone hope, vast as her freckles.
Ireland's treasure is hidden beneath
pockets and sheckles.
Cockles and hustles, and bare-knuckle rage.
Our book of cells, inmates carve affiliation
on stone page.
Johnny come over, Son of The Claddagh.
Once more tread on the clover, fight with
naught but a ballad.
'THREE INNER CITY BOYS'
THE ORIGINAL RUDEBOYS have been one of the biggest successes in Irish hip-hop over the past year, mixing sentimental acoustic melodies with rap, breaking through with the song Stars In My Eyes. The lyrics to Live Your Life, about striving for success during the recession, are exclusive to The Ticket, taken from a track from their upcoming album.
LIVE YOUR LIFE (watch here)
You gotta live your life just how you want it,
No regrets, don't wait around,
Just get up and keep on moving,
You know the world's not slowing down.
Would you chance it all,
Take that risk one shot in life,
Or just carry on living playing it safe and nice,
They hate your voice, tell you that your skills are shite,
Knock you down so much you start to think they're right,
You're up all night, stuck about looking out for answers,
Talented lads or just another bunch of chancers,
Negative views never brought us down,
Three Inner City boys from the HEART OF TOWN.
They don't rate it, going as far as to say they hate it,
And try their best to make sure we never make it,
The same folks on Facebook are saying we're great yeah,
Perfect example of a modern day snake chea
So what's stoppin' you from chasing your goal,
Reversing the role and never looking back on the dole,
You've taken control, making life work in your favour,
No more money problems on the labour,
Starting to make a little sense of this life, a roll of the dice,
Now things start paying off nice,
Have NO REGRETS in this life you lead, AIM HIGH and succeed
And give it all till the day that you leave.
You gotta live your life just how you want it,
No regrets, don't wait around,
Just get up and keep on moving,
'Cause you know the world's not slowing down.
Keep your feet on solid ground,
Don't float away up in them clouds.
You can be what you wanna be,
Just KEEP THAT DREAM ALIVE inside.
Stuck in a four walled world, no sign of out,
Like were you ever good enough your own mind ye doubt,
Try to escape, going out, losing thoughts on the piss,
Even as drunk as ye get you know you're better than this.
This can be life and if it is you're not living,
In a world that just takes why don't people start giving,
Where real remains hidden and LOVE is still missing,
Everyone has an opinion but no one seems to listen,
So I'm a tell it from the top of me lungs,
As the lyrics are poured out into the minds of the young,
Fresh guitar, mad strums, Ukuleles we brung,
Original Rudeboys there can only be ONE,
So don't ever let them bring you down and if you do,
Always know the boys will bring the sound,
Have NO REGRETS in this life you lead, AIM HIGH and succeed,
And give it all till the day that you leave.
You gotta live your life just how you want it,
No regrets, don't wait around,
Just get up and keep on moving,
'Cause you know the world's not slowing down.
Keep your feet on solid ground, Don't float away up in themclouds.
You can be what you wanna be,
Just KEEP THAT DREAM ALIVE inside.
'TOO YOUNG TO MAKE A LIFE' (watch here)
ROB KELLY is a rapper from Wexford, and one of the best established and well-known MCs in the country. He recently released the track Game Over, featuring British vocalist Selah and New York rapper Memphis Bleek, which has received BBC Radio airplay. This rap he wrote for The Ticket was inspired by recent knife crime in Wexford.
These people keep bumpy knuckles like Freddie the foxx
Fist balled up in their pockets always ready to box
Listen to false prophets in hip-hop
Pissed up outside of the chip shop
Cos cowards used to be afraid but nowadays a coward heart
will stick you with a blade,
Cowards used to not fuck with ya nowadays they jam the
screwdriver soon as look at ya
Back in my youth a fella fell ya let him up secured in the
knowledge that at least ya bet him up, but nowadays oh you
don't want it with these child
They get ya on the ground they're gonna kick ya like
freestyles
Kick ya like set pieces, kick ya to death Jesus Christ what the
fuck do you expect the same teachers,
That want them to accept Jesus
And god the father, don't understand that they don't have the
same alma mater
Our father ain't there that's the situation
Young wan got knocked up to get accommodation
And they're just forward thinkers if you ask me
Cos why the fuck you pay for something you can have free
2 wrongs don't make a right
At end of day they're just too young to make a life
'AT TIMES I HATE THE KIP'
LETHAL DIALECT is an acclaimed Cabra-born, Blanchardstown MC. A dark social realism has run through his two albums to date, LD50 and LD50 Part II. His track The National featured on RTÉ's Love/Hate. Here, he writes a new rap based on his relationship with Dublin.
reminiscin while the rain is pourin,
sippin becks on a deckchair,
puffin cigarettes . . I blamed d
boredom,
in a fresh pair of my best Airs, yeah
the same decorum . . .
cause ain't nothing changed but the excerpt . . .
i act careless, but i swear that i get scared
thinkin of the rage thats coursin through my veins and
organs
it's a product of the pain that i kept there
this city living gave me wrecked nerves
still i stand tall like your neck hairs
everytime my next verse gets heard . . .
me and this city have a love/hate relationship,
at times I love the place, at times I hate the kip and wanna
just escape from it . . .
my generation has the same proportion of emigration to
the rate this city's filling out our death certs
'LET THE BLACK KID BE PADDY'
LECS LUTHER is probably the most talked about rapper in Irish hip-hop right now, despite the fact that he's never performed live. From Drumcondra in Dublin, the teenager is currently playing soccer on a scholarship in Florida. The video to his track Dia Dhuit has had 180,000 views on YouTube.
From the States, he composed this rap for The Ticket.
A nation that's solidified!
lust for the strength of the hammer
in the depth of a human eye
was always told be Cuchulain with the
hurl
when I'm bashing in heads or playing
villain to the urge,
lost in the shadow of the midst
a nation that for so many years was the
slave to a whip
James Connolly, De Valera on my chest
it's the pride in my heart that is weeped up
and swept, but the let the priest pray
and contradictions of the old days
latin being being spouted by the priest
who was once gay
Gay Byrne took the mind from my granny
so now it's stale gravy
let the black kid be paddy
