The Redheaded Stepchild Sings by Leah Young

Ireland is a country filled with sights and sounds intended to provoke nostalgia within the weary traveler in search of a genuine Irish experience. Interestingly however in my pursuit of just such an experience I found Dublin to be not only lacking but a serious detriment to my excitement and preconceived expectations. I found a city ruined by continual economic hardship and a population exhausted by their own Irishness.

It felt as though the one marketable asset, their culture, was not worth the show.  However by the third night, disheartened by my un-Irish adventure my party and I stumbled into another “Irish” pub (By “Irish” I mean sarcastically a tourist trap with overpriced Guinness, Slavic bartenders and American pop music). The venue much the same as many others was a nod to the traditional conception of an old world public house. Rustic wood coupled with gold gilt embellishments, dim lighting and close quarters evocative of romantic intimacy, all of which no longer relevant to the modern bar scene imply at least a small measure of effort taken to transport the individual to a time of idyllic Irish novelty .

The crowd that had gathered was diverse, old and young intermingled as well as a strong local population that helped to reinforce authenticity. The building itself was of no great size, huge wooden tables and low hanging beams kept the patrons well within mutual personal space and “friendly” to say the least. Everyone congregated around a small cramped corner that was elevated only a few feet above the floor where we all stood shoulder to shoulder. Up on the makeshift stage sat three men on stools with no binding similarities in appearance. On the right was an older gentleman in tight jeans and a t-shirt playing what appeared to be a mandolin. To his left another middle-aged man also dressed in the apparent costume of denim and cotton, whimsically piped away on a flute while the third gentleman, the apparent youth of the three, performed vocals and guitar. Together the three men gave an amazing performance of traditional Irish music with all the desired nuances of a toe tapping jig as well as some beautiful Celtic melodies. The trio was completely responsive to the audience’s enthusiasm and the entire room seemed to be overcome by a positive energy that savored of Irish tradition: drink, music, and merriment. For me it was the moment I had waited for, an authentic Irish experience that felt true to my clichéd expectations.The musicians pandered to our needs with jovial tunes, which thus encouraged the unabashed to start “Riverdancing” wherever they stood (I remained true to my American inhibitions and chose to clap in lieu of prancing). The whole esthetic of the venue, atmosphere, and comradery gave the desired affect of drunken shenanigans that could only be truly appreciated to its full potential after years of stereotypical reinforcement.