In this comprehensive work, Stephen Millar examines the multi-layered expressions of politico/religious identities among republicans in Northern Ireland, as manifest through a singing tradition of resistance, in opposition to what was seen as the brutally repressive British state. Millar does so by employing both historical/diachronic and ethnographic/synchronic analysis.
The first four chapters provide historical context: Chapter 1 seeks to define “rebel song,” and traces four sources of transmission: revolutionary songs, broadsides, songs stemming from the Young Ireland movement, and the Fenian rebellion of 1867, and it interrogates the relationships between cultural and physical-force resistance. Chapter 2 surveys the history of rebel songs through the Easter Rising of 1916. Chapter 3 deals with song and the onset of the Troubles, while chapter 4 discusses music from the Blocks, that is, music that was circulated or sparked by republican prisoners in the Maze-Longkesh Prison in Belfast.
These chapters cite periodicals of the era, plus historical and cultural perspectives on the Troubles written in the last thirty years. In these chapters—and, indeed throughout the book—Millar shows how the makers and singers of rebel songs sought to encapsulate resistance into narratives that emphasized a perceived continuity—even if not always accurate—between past and present. A case in point, cited in chapter 4, is how Bobby Sands—who died on hunger strike in the Maze Prison—refers, in his last diary entry, to John Keegan Casey’s “The Rising of the Moon.” Millar notes: “That Sands’ last written words were those of an earlier republican revolutionary, who was himself writing about previous republican revolutionaries… illustrates that the construction of a canon of republican revolutionaries was conscious and deliberate” (129). Millar also notes that these simplistic narratives, devoid of nuance, are the genre’s greatest strength and its greatest weakness. It can only maintain its salience as long as there is something to resist—that is, the British state.
The ethnographic portion of the book addresses how the rebel song scene has fared in light of the post-Good Friday era, when most republicans—but by no means all—have accepted that agreement. I was especially intrigued by chapter 5, an ethnographic account of rebel song sessions at the Rock Bar in Belfast. These are communal and participatory, in which audience members sing along and clap and are quite vocal in responding to those onstage. A seminal feature of these responses is the lyrical add-in, or the insertion of additional lines sung or called out by audience members in response to a song. These add-ins are more substantive than the “good-manning” that Henry Glassie and I both witnessed in Co. Fermanagh. People know how and when to respond, and this system of expected responses reminded me of what I saw at a Rocky Horror Picture Show event some years ago. One expected add-in was seen in performances of “The Merry Ploughboy.” The song line is: “We’re off to Dublin in the green,” and the audience responds: “Fuck the queen!”
At times, add-ins can subvert meanings and can be sources of contention between musicians and audience members. A case in point was a performance of “The Ballad of Joe McDonnell.” McDonnell had been the fifth hunger striker to die at the Maze Prison. A line of the original text reads: “Although I love my country, I’m not a bitter man,” to which audience members responded, “Oh, yes I am!” Some musicians saw this add-in as disrespecting McDonnell’s memory. When asked about his views on the matter, one musician commented: “I think that when they shout that back, they’re not talking about Joe McDonnell but about themselves.”
The concluding chapters—chapter 6 and the conclusion itself—address the roles that rebel singers and songs play in a post-colonial environment. These are contested and debated in republican circles, between “hawks” and “doves,” i.e., those who have accepted the Good Friday Agreement and those who have not. These debates can extend to how specific songs are used.
What is clear is that, in order for rebel singers and songs to have a place in nationalistic contexts, they must serve as counter-hegemonic voices of resistance, particularly against the British state. Although not a new response, republicans have sought to co-opt other conflicts, in order to “legitimise their cause and link it to broader political movements” (190). For example, there have been long-standing expressions of solidarity with the Palestinian cause. Thus, in 2014, the Wolfe Tones released “Song of Liberty in Gaza,” and, at a recent conference of the American Folklore Society, Jesse Fivecoate cited a re-writing of “The Fields of Athenrye” as “The Fields of Palestine.”
Sounding Dissent: Rebel Songs, Resistance, and Irish Republicanism is a thoroughly researched work, with careful references to historical and cultural commentary and to the author’s own fieldwork. One quibble is an occasional omission of song antecedents. Beehan’s “The Merry Ploughboy” was an adaptation of an English song, which was adapted to earlier wars, including World War I: "The Khakhi and the Blue” and “The Scarlet and the Blue” ca. 1872. “The Foggy Dew” was based on an earlier love song, popularized by John McCormick ca. 1913. Perhaps this is a minor point, though. All in all, I would recommend the book for those who are interested in song and in Irish History. Well done, Dr. Millar.
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[Review length: 883 words • Review posted on March 5, 2025]