Mel Keane
Mel Keane is an Irish artist and musician based in Amsterdam. melkeane.com
Could you introduce yourself, your background and give a brief overview of your practice?
Hello, I’m Mel. I’m from Dublin, Ireland, but I’ve also lived in Lisbon and Amsterdam for many of my active years as a musician. I have a background in graphic design and making music, both solo and in groups like Repeater Collective and the band Princ€ss. I have been an attendee, a graphic designer and a musician in all of these scenes.
In the last few years I’ve been attempting to bring it all together into something a bit more focused and substantial. What I’m doing now is a bit more performance-art adjacent. I’ve been researching and making work about the pipe band tradition, which is a military adjacent marching band tradition that exists all over the world, including in the Netherlands, but particularly in countries that have been colonised by the UK.
How far did your research into the Irish bagpipes take you? Is it true that Irish pipes are generally more complex and softer in tone than Scottish bagpipes? I’m interested in how certain cultural signifiers come to dominate others. Scottish identity is arguably more strongly associated with bagpipes and kilts, perhaps due to their use in more recent wars. It reminds me of the long running debate around who invented whiskey first (…). In both cases it feels like the same culture negotiating questions of sovereignty through different symbolic means.
It’s taken me far and I’m still very much in it! There’s so much to unpack within this one instrument. From the overpowering, polarising, unstable, and at times even comical sonic qualities. The plethora of social roles it plays in small communities, in military ceremonies, funerals and parades. The feathered hats, high socks, kilts and felt blazers the players wear. Not to mention the role they play in Northern Ireland, where both Unionists and Republicans play in pipe bands which represent their opposition to one another. I think I may have another couple of years of work to do on the subject before moving on.
It is indeed true that we have a bagpipe instrument called the Uilleann pipes, which have a sweeter tone and play much quieter. They were originally an adapted version of the Highland or Scottish bagpipes (locally known as warpipes) in Ireland that could be played indoors as part of the traditional Irish music lineup without overpowering the other instruments They’ve become their own thing since. A full set can play chords and is generally a more flexible instrument. They have the potential to sound more melancholic, while the warpipes generally have a more triumphant flavour. We still do play warpipes in Ireland though.
Ireland and Scotland both absorbed the bagpipes and pipe band tradition from England during its colonisation or annexation of each respective land, which is interesting since now for many people they signify a resistance or otherness to England within Ireland and Scotland. Though they are still very much played in England. You’ll still see them played at any ceremony related to the royal family or British military there.
In your writing on bagpipes in relation to noise music you suggest that both traditional music and experimental noise scenes ultimately seek the same thing: connection and community even if they use very different tools. You seem to work deliberately between noise and tradition treating them as equal through their effects on space and social agency. What are you hoping to explore through these two mediums and do you see this as a consistent thread in your work moving forward?
Yes indeed, this is an idea I’ve been putting forward. When I speak about this, I am speaking mostly about how the pipe band tradition exists in Ireland and Scotland, where they are more DIY and uncoupled from explicit military organisations. In rural Scotland they tend to be a little further divorced from a specific political ideology than in Ireland and often function as a community building, albeit likely conservative, device within small towns. While in Northern Ireland their political statements are a little more explicit or in opposition to the other side of the local political spectrum. In each case they function as a non-conservatory route into music where the teaching is cyclical.
Similarly, in experimental or noise music, or whatever you wish to call your local grassroots outsider music scene, while the music itself is often not explicitly political, these communities create spaces for people to come and talk about what’s happening in the world and the struggles of paying rent in an environment of increasing inequality. These communities, in my experience, tend to be at least performatively left-leaning, if not radically left, though far-right noise music communities and artists certainly do exist. In any case they serve as an entry point to making music for many people, where gear, spaces and knowledge are openly shared.
I suppose that in each case these musics serve to amplify the existing sentiments of the communities within which they exist, be it maintaining rural traditions, demanding presence in contested public space or creating some solidarity among young, broke art students.
Apart from the obvious elements, there is something about your practice that feels distinctly Irish. It is generally assumed that song, poetry, storytelling and Celtic music functioned as technologies for transmitting knowledge within an illiterate population, which may explain why Irish lore is so rich in imagery yet often obscured at its source due to the absence of written records. While contemporary Dublin operates very differently I can imagine an experimental pipe player or noise band resonating with that older linguistic tradition and evoking an eerie echo of historical despair. Does this idea connect to your work and do you see sound as a way of engaging with cultural memory without attempting to reconstruct it?
I think about this often. I do come from a musical and republican extended family, particularly on my mother’s side. My uncle Pádraig O’Nualláin is a great singer, player, music historian and storyteller in the trad world in Ireland, so I’ve certainly had exposure to good traditional Irish music. Though I must admit that I doubt this has had a more substantial impact on my musical trajectory than, say, SoundCloud has. Or hanging around All City Records in my early 20s, or listening to Young Thug with Seán and Olan in our back garden in Cacilhas. I do acknowledge that it’s a part of the puzzle for me, but at the end of the day I grew up in the suburbs of a capital city during a time when Irish identity did not have the cultural capital that it has had in the last few years. When I make music I try to be aesthetically and thematically truthful about this rather than cashing in on my Irishness.
How do you find the reception for this kind of work in Ireland? Dublin feels relatively progressive but much of the country I know is deeply rooted in tradition. While endearing that sensibility can sometimes be a little frustrating if not completely bewildering. Harry Potter was banned for being satanic in my hometown for example; belief in changelings are surprisingly recent; and there are many cases where collective belief in fairy forts has affected urban infrastructure. How do you navigate presenting experimental work within a cultural landscape so closely tied to tradition and belief? Did you ever receive any resistance?
I think my work is well understood in Ireland. As I alluded to above, the air of Irish exoticism doesn’t exist in the scene I’m part of there in the same way that it does in the Netherlands, for example. We all understand our cultural position, so the Irishness of what I’m doing stands out less and none of the cultural signifiers I’m working with really require explanation. The methodology of fusing traditional elements with contemporary and global influences is second nature to a lot of artists working there. Though, admittedly, when I play in Ireland there is a 90 percent chance it will be in a city and the other 10 percent of the time much of the audience will be city people. So perhaps I don’t have a good sense of how the work will be digested by audiences in smaller towns or rural areas. But I would honestly be shocked if there was any pushback. Traditional Irish music has always been very absorbent of other cultures. As far as I know the Greek mandolin and bouzouki have only been part of the line-up for around fifty years, yet they feel like they’ve been there forever. The same goes for the banjo which came to Ireland from West Africa via the United States. And now we have massive trad groups like Lankum who infuse traditional songs with noise, drone and post-rock sensibilities and it feels completely natural.
In my personal experience, Glasgow felt the most prolific in terms of its underground scene. At that time the city offered an abundance of space; Victorian flats in the West End for next to nothing. I’m not sure if the situation is the same today but West Princes Street was once populated mostly by art students consistently producing gigs, exhibitions and other events in their flats. Given that Ireland and the Netherlands have become relatively affluent over the last few decades, do you think DIY culture has shifted toward something more calculated or academic? And in that context, do you see it still fostering the kind of spontaneous, site-responsive engagement that characterises your work?
True, without question Glasgow is one of the greatest cities on the planet when it comes to underground art and music. I adore visiting there. And I completely agree that the abundance of space has probably played a big role in this, though it’s getting increasingly more difficult to survive there from everything I’ve heard. But I suppose it’s worth acknowledging that it wasn’t that long ago when housing and space were affordable in Ireland. Temple Bar for example, which is now a cartoonish conglomeration of leprechaun hats and splitting the G, was once where an entire generation of artists lived and made work for next to nothing as recently as the 1990s. It’s the age-old story of artists opening the doors for investors and being the genesis for an area’s downfall into gentrification. I think where Ireland differs from mainland Britain is that, for better or worse, the Crown historically invested far more into culture in the cities of Great Britain than in Ireland. So in parallel to Glasgow’s innumerable grassroots practitioners and organisations it also has some of Europe’s best museums and art institutions. It feels like Ireland is always playing catch-up on that end of things. And now it feels like it’s too late to develop them since everything is so expensive and our hyper-neoliberal government would much prefer to see a hotel or whiskey distillery go up in the city than invest in an art college, a project space, an experimental music venue or what have you.
After reading your essay I found myself thinking about the idea of a referendum in Ireland. As an Irish Catholic born in Northern Ireland it is difficult for me to imagine such a referendum in the North. The conflict feels deeply detached from its original source. It no longer seems primarily about England but about unionists asserting a Northern Irish identity and native Catholics who remain a minority in their own counties. I grew up in Ballymena where some areas had paving slabs painted red white and blue and you would not dare wear anything close to Irish colours; the tragic irony being that wearing a school uniform already marked you clearly as Catholic or Protestant and therefore as a potential target. I grew up in the 90s and I would have assumed things have developed since then but what I’m trying to underline is how knotted things remain in the North. In that context Brexit does not necessarily feel like a meaningful lever for a referendum. This is less a question than an invitation for your thoughts as you seemed convinced the country is leaning toward a referendum given recent developments.
It’s interesting. I grew up a two-hour drive from you, south of the border in Dublin, yet it’s very difficult for me to fully grasp the contentions between Protestants and Catholics in the North in the present day. It’s strange how little crossover there has historically been between Dublin and Belfast despite there not being a hard border between us. In the republic, the Protestant/Catholic tensions are treated mostly as a tongue-in-cheek rivalry. I can imagine the contentions in Northern Ireland are pretty far detached from what they were a hundred years ago or even during the Troubles too, though, yet they are still very real and heated for many. From the outside what I see is an example of imperialism successfully dividing two groups of people who could otherwise be united by their class, location and musical traditions.
When reading your essay about your work I kept returning to themes of protecting and occupying space as a means of genealogical trauma. I’ve noticed similar patterns in my own life, and many Irish people, although very generous, being quite territorial around food which I guess would trace back to the famine. Would you subscribe to this idea of generational trauma? Is this something you recognise personally, creatively or otherwise?
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Part of me does believe in generational trauma, not in a metaphysical or spiritual sense necessarily, but it’s obvious that if, for example, you are captured and tortured by an occupying force or your family members are murdered, the trauma of that will certainly live on within you and be passed down to your children through your actions.
People often attribute the drinking habits of the Irish to our history of oppression, but is it not true that people from the UK drink in the same way? To extreme excess, I mean. It’s worth mentioning that many British people have also been deeply exploited and traumatised by British imperialism, especially in the north of England. So perhaps this could explain some of the shared inclination toward self-annihilation. On the flip side of that, having spent time in the Netherlands, I do think it shows in the culture here that it has never really been colonised. There is just so little shame in the demeanour of the Dutch compared to the Irish.
These interviews were originally intended to focus on creative influences. With that in mind are there particular films, albums, artists or other works that have been formative for you and why?
I’d like to mention a few contemporary people that come to mind.
I’m deeply inspired by Inês Tartaruga Água and Xavier Paes, an artist duo from Porto exploring noise-making and performance using almost exclusively DIY and found acoustic tools. What they’re doing is honestly too profound and special to put into words.
Sholto Dobie has been foraging new territory in often DIY wind and reed instruments for years. What really sets him apart, for me, is that he never forgets the importance of musicality in his work. His music is deeply affecting while also being methodologically visionary.
Seán Being has just started playing the viola and I am extremely excited by where they’re going with it. Again they toe the line between newness and emotionality incredibly well.
Are there any upcoming projects or plans you would like to share or anything else you feel is worth mentioning?
I have a new mini LP coming out soon on Deardogs in Paris. It’s a sort of offshoot of my research into the pipe band tradition. Seán Being and I have also just finished an LP which we are both really excited about. It’ll hopefully be out sometime in the next year. Other than that I’ll be playing a few shows around April and May in Lisbon (with Joana de Sá), Brussels, Vienna and Amsterdam.