Getting lost in the Guinness of it all; who doesn’t love a few days in the Irish capital? Ben Tibbits attends Ireland Music Week, the exclusive and unique showcase event that offers the nation’s next best artistic talent, characterful attendees and a bucket load of good craic.

Ah, Dublin, you have my heart. The last time I was in the Irish capital, it was for a stag do, and I came home with a broken wrist. This time, things look likely to be at least a little more civilised.  

I’m going to Ireland Music Week. One of the more modestly sized but creatively massive European showcase events. IMW is spread across a handful of venues in the city centre, all with afternoons and evenings jam-packed with the best rising musicians from around the country. Steeped in the kind of community that’s difficult to cultivate at larger-capacity, bigger-name showcase festivals across the continent, IMW leans into exactly what it should – being proudly, unapologetically Irish. 

And so, I set out on an odyssey across the Irish Sea for three days of stout and new music. Could it be worse, ay?

Wednesday afternoon. Wetherspoons. Gatwick. A pint of Guinness – warming up for the big match ahead. I spot football heritage and TV legend Chris Kamara minding his own business a few tables away from me. A stream of middle-aged pot-bellied blokes walk up shyly and chat to him, one by one, for a couple of minutes before heading back to their wives, giddy grins plastered across their faces. The highlight of their budget holiday has already happened, and they haven’t even taken off yet.

Ryanair, you scoundrel. Every time we’re together, you ruin my day. Maybe you’re tracking my articles in a database and building up a court case against me. Well, here’s another one for your portfolio. 

Nearly two hours AFTER my originally scheduled flight time, we are finally in the air. The pilot doesn’t seem too arsed. At least I had that second Guinness to take the edge off. 

Within the blink of an eye, the plane is descending upon the magnificent Irish capital. A quick bus ride later, I’m checking into my rather delightful hotel room at The Wren (a hotel that aligns with the festival’s policies on sustainability), freshening up and getting out and about for the opening networking drinks for the delegates and artists. I’m arriving rather late (thanks again, Ryanair), and everyone is already in good spirits. I find some pals and make some new ones, and have a tasty few pints of the black stuff. Eager not to overdo it with a busy day tomorrow, I’m relatively sensible and asleep by midnight. Look at me go. 

The next day sees my morning blocked out with a fascinating concept. Speed networking. Yes, you heard that right. Networking. But at speed. Five minutes per conversation, to be precise. I sit in a dark venue with other delegates, whose roles traverse the spectrum of the music industry, while the artists who are playing throughout the day and evening come to us for five-minute spells to speak briefly about who they are, what they are about, and when and where they are playing later on today. It’s admittedly a tiring exercise after a couple of hours, but I still relish it. Meeting people is always good fun. Especially when they are musicians. And especially when they are Irish musicians. I come away with a wide plethora of business cards and a headache from drinking too much free coffee.

After attending an interesting panel, I head back to the hotel and crack on with some emails before getting back out to start taking in some music. The first act I catch properly is Filmore!, whose intriguing but raw multimedia project has plenty of promise and fuses sounds creatively, but the execution still needs refining. 

I then check out Negro Impacto, a soulful duo from Dundalk who are a lot of fun live and draw in a diverse crowd with the rich grooves and dazzling vocals of singer Chi Chi. Next, I’m being immersed in the glacial electro-pop of Dublin two-piece mischa and the bear, who show themselves as distinct and nuanced in their dark, industrial sound. 

Following this, I catch a glimpse of jonique, who immediately becomes a favourite, weaving together trip hop and folk with an atmospheric rock core, clearly carefully curated sonically. But I must dash off to hotly tipped For Nina, who proves worth the move (to the excellent venue The Button Factory). A set that feels vital and emotionally vast, the trio are poised to join Ireland’s long list of beloved bands. 

The last act I see is Joe Butler, whom I was aware of through his work with the dear fellas of Bricknasty. Butler is a hell of a talent, with endless potential at his door. Hopefully he can fly into stardom. One to watch.

Things get a little murky afterwards. Ciggies are smoked; drinks are drunk; conversations are cultivated. I end up in a rooftop area with an amalgamation of different people whom were all complete strangers until this evening. Smells like bedtime.

Arise and shine! I’m down for a tasty breakfast, seeing a few familiar faces from yesterday, sheepishly drinking orange juice and looking a little worse for wear. I’m surprisingly relatively fresh. God, I love when that happens.

I check out a panel before heading off for lunch with a few industry pals. A spice bag. Veggie for me of course – as a performative pescatarianism – but still absolutely banging. 

A buddy and I spend the next several hours sitting in various boozers, switching between Guinness and Beamish. An old man pub in Dublin is the pinnacle of drinking culture. We get lost in the sauce. It starts to pour with rain outside. 

Running back to the hotel to borrow a brolly, we’re out and about for some music, just in time for The Wran. Four brothers – Tommy, Danny, Seán and Stephen Dunford – from the Comeragh Mountains of County Waterford, the band is invigorating and innovative, bringing a unique sound to Irish music, amalgamating traditional nuances with a punky edge and a whisker of psychedelic rock.

Next up, I’m meeting some local pals for Kissing on Camera. Someone’s brother’s in the band. Or someone’s boyfriend? I can remember. Either way, the Dublin quartet sound great, nestling nicely into the snappy, electric indie rock that is enjoying a renaissance in British and Irish music right now. I stick around the same venue for Epilogue, a five-piece from Kildare whom I really rate. Their sound is more immediate, thrashy, sharper than anything I’ve seen so far.  

The group that has adopted me is heading off to the other side of town. There’s talk of a stag do. Someone’s brother. I can’t say no.

We end up in the kind of place where the dance floor is sticky, and everyone kind of looks like a wanker. I have an espresso martini and chat intensely about film to a random geezer for what could be 30-plus minutes. Then I’m shaken into realising – I should probably go see some more music. I leave before the stag starts do-ing and I’m back at Workman’s Club just in time for Nerves, who are great – deafening, but superb.

Then things get loose. I’m back on the same rooftop as the night before. Local tunes are blasting: Fontaines, Gurriers, Kneecap, etc.

By the end of the evening, I’ve become part of a new little crew of friends, all but one I’d never met before the trip. Things are serious – we’ve got a group picture, a WhatsApp group chat, and we’re drinking straight whisky outside of the hotel lobby. It’s the early hours, 4 or 5am, I think. My flight is at 11:30am. But I just can’t bring myself to get up; I’m having too much fun and am far too drunk to care. 

Big mistake. 

I think I finally lay to rest at 6am, with alarms set for two hours later. I haven’t even packed yet. 

I awaken with a bolt of panic. It’s 9:55am. Okay, no bus to the airport; I must get a taxi. Wait, I’ve got to pack. Bollocks.

I scramble, throw some clothes on, and messily pack. I book a car. Richard. Five minutes away. Brush teeth. Check out without looking the nice hotel lady in the eyes. Richard is outside. 

“Richard, you’ve got to help me out here.” I explain the situation to him. He smiles understandingly and tells me he’ll step on it. 

A hero beyond measure, Rich sorts me out, getting there in record time. It’s still tight, but luckily Dublin Airport is the easiest, most accessible experience I’ve had in a while. I arrive just in time to fill up my water and walk straight onto the flight. Relief sweeps over me as I snuggle up in the window seat and think back on a delightful few days.

Ireland Music Week is unsurprisingly excellently curated, with a vast array of styles and characters. Set against the merry backdrop of one of the finest cities in Europe, it’s the perfect showcase for the next best Irish acts, and for those lucky punters and delegates like me, it’s entertainment at its finest and new friends galore. Lovely stuff.

Find out more here.

Words – Ben Tibbits