00:00 Introduction to Session Etiquette
02:11 The Essence of Irish Music Sessions
07:31 The Evolution of Session Culture
11:40 Navigating Social Dynamics in Sessions
15:56 The Role of Tradition and Respect
21:49 The Impact of Financial Pressures on Music
27:42 Listening and Learning in Music
31:09 The Importance of Openness in Music
35:48 Respecting the Legacy of Musicians
39:45 The Balance of Technique and Emotion
45:16 Challenges Faced in Sessions
50:01 Creating a Welcoming Environment
54:48 The Role of Rhythm in Music
58:40 Finding Flow in Performance
01:04:39 The Ideal Session Experience
Conversational Transcript
*[This is an edited conversational transcript, lightly shaped for readability while keeping the spirit of the original conversation]
What does an Irish music session mean?
Tara:
The first question I normally ask people is: what does an Irish music session mean to you?
Martin:
For me, I know it’s about music, but very often it’s also a social occasion.
I wouldn’t like to go to a session and not know anybody, and not have a conversation. That wouldn’t be a very satisfying experience for me.
So it’s a lot about friendship, connection and a social outing.
Of course, I’d like it to be good music as well. But you can’t always guarantee that.
Being well known does not remove the anxiety
Tara:
Being fairly well known, and I suppose if somebody mentions Irish music, they probably think of your name, does that affect participating in sessions? Is there a pressure?
Martin:
I’m comfortable talking. I’m comfortable getting up on stage. But I’m actually shy behind all of that.
Walking into a pub with a fiddle is probably just as difficult for me as it is for anybody.
One of the things that causes me anxiety is if, because I’m well known, somebody gets up and gives me their chair.
To me, that’s a horror story.
I want there to be as little disruption as possible. I want to be quiet. I want not to be noticed. Of course, that’s not so easily achieved these days.
Tara:
I hear you. Sometimes you just want to relax and listen.
Martin:
Exactly. I don’t want to get every tune in the world played at me. I want to take plenty of breaks.
The older session had a different pace
Martin:
Sessions were different when I was younger. They weren’t organised to the degree they are now.
A session could happen, or it might not happen. It was sporadic. A few people might say, “We should go to Lena Hanrahan’s for a few tunes,” or “We should go to Feakle for a few tunes.”
It was a loose gathering of friends. You might let some people know. There might be other people you wouldn’t let know.
I remember one night when Paddy Carty was coming down to Feakle, and we all went to Pepper’s for a night with him.
This was when people could smoke indoors and drink whatever they wanted. I remember the casual pace of the session.
There’d be a tune played, then a cigarette lit, then a conversation started. More chat. A sip of a drink. Then the conversation would lead to a tune, which would lead to another bit of conversation, which would lead to another tune.
There wasn’t this frenzy of, “We’ve got to get all my tunes in,” or “Let’s not waste any time.” It wasn’t just playing, playing, playing.
It was relaxed, social and enjoyable. In a human sense.
Session anxiety and the pressure to prove yourself
Tara:
Do you think that pressure comes more from people who are learning? Or does it happen with seasoned musicians too?
Martin:
I teach some music, and the issue of playing in sessions comes up a lot.
For many people, the session is the benchmark. They think, “If I can go and play in the session, that defines whether I’m functioning as a musician.”
So there’s a lot of stress around it.
People wonder whether they validly belong in the session. Is the session operating at a level beyond them? Are they good enough to be playing? How many tunes do they need to know? Should they know every tune there is?
And how comfortable are they sitting out when someone plays a tune they don’t know? Are they mortified if they can’t play?
There are a lot of issues like that, and they create anxiety and tension.
Sometimes people aren’t getting to play the tunes they know, so the minute an opening comes, they jump in with their tune.
I see anxiety in those situations.
The session is still evolving
Martin:
We talk about the session as if it is a settled thing now, but historically, a session could only happen within a geographic area where people could travel.
That meant you were almost certainly playing within the confines of your own repertoire and comfort zone. The issue of knowing the tunes was largely solved by where you were and who you knew.
Now people are from everywhere. They don’t know each other. There’s no clear sense of what the repertoire might be.
So I still feel there is room for growth and development in our understanding of what a session is.
I don’t believe it’s a settled thing.
Martin:
Older players had a sense that you couldn’t just sit down and play unless somebody asked you.
You wouldn’t go in, open your instrument and start.
Somebody might say, “Did you bring your fiddle? Bring it over. Come on, sit down and play.”
Then your feeling of belonging is already psychologically sorted out.
Whereas if you have to burst in with your fiddle, find a chair, not know who’s there, open the fiddle and start, that’s a lot.
Tara:
That’s a lot on you as well. I definitely wouldn’t walk in and join straight away. I’d stand around until somebody said, “Do you want to sit in and play?”
Martin:
If I were going into a session in a different part of the country, where I didn’t know anybody, I wouldn’t sit down and take out my fiddle. Ever.
Why this conversation matters
Tara:
Maybe this podcast is about that, saying, let’s think about this. What are the problems? Are there solutions?
Martin:
I think there’s a lot to explore in the area you’ve devoted this podcast to.
For some people, the definition of traditional music is the session. I wouldn’t necessarily think so. Traditional music can manifest in many ways, on stage, digitally, in recordings.
But there is something that happens in a session sometimes. A kind of freedom.
That freedom can be more challenging to experience on stage or in a recording studio.
The session is valuable because it can bring you to a place that is difficult to access elsewhere.
I often empathise with foreigners visiting Ireland who say, “I want to join in the session,” without knowing all the things standing between them and a relaxed, enjoyable experience.
It would be great if we could put some answers before them.
Martin:
I heard something recently that I thought was wise: children don’t necessarily listen to what their parents say, but they imitate what they do.
I think we may be imitating the behaviours we saw growing up among older musicians.
My initial world of sessions was always a world of familiarity. I’d be playing with Mary McNamara or Andrew, or my father and a few more players. It was never huge groupings.
It was familiar environments with familiar people. That was my sense of what a session was.
That has changed quite a bit, and people are rightfully confused by it.
The myth of the nightly session
Martin:
I remember talking to somebody in UL years ago, and they thought there had been sessions in Feakle seven nights a week forever.
Neither of those things was true.
It hadn’t been going on forever. It wasn’t every night. It wasn’t in every bar.
It was quite sporadic.
Tara:
I love that, because that’s where the magic can happen for me. It’s the surprise. It’s not too organised.
Martin:
There are arguments for and against organisation. If I were working for the Tourist Board, I’d probably be saying, “Come on, let’s get those sessions organised. We have tourists who want to see them.”
And I can understand a pub owner thinking that too.
But from a musical point of view, I like the impromptu thing. I grew up with that.
Payment changes the atmosphere
Martin:
One factor in those older sessions was that nobody was getting paid.
If the pub owner was friendly to music, they would provide drink. In Lena Hanrahan’s, she would almost certainly provide drink and bring out sandwiches.
There was hospitality and welcome. But it wasn’t seen as having a financial contract attached.
If you’re paid to play a session and you’re not enjoying the tunes, you’re not as comfortable taking a long break. You’re not as comfortable going home earlier than you might have.
A lot of unnatural things begin to happen once there is a contract.
Tara:
I say to the local pub that I don’t want payment because then I’m under pressure. I want to enjoy it. I’ll be in when I’m in.
Martin:
There’s something to be said for that.
There is another side too. Many musicians make their living through a regular session circuit. I ran two sessions in Chicago years ago, when the idea of running a session became a thing.
I enjoyed it thoroughly. Once I got it going, I had a hands-off approach. I wouldn’t be playing all the time.
It became a social occasion. I met people every Wednesday night, and the friendships deepened over time.
But the more you are paid, the harder it can be to maintain that relaxed feeling.
It cannot always be great music
Martin:
One thing I realised about sessions is that it can’t always be great music.
It can’t always be about that. There has to be more to it.
I’ve seen musicians get bent out of shape because somebody is “sinking the boat” musically. But where are they coming from? Maybe that is the only session they’ve got out to in months.
Who knows?
If you come to the session with fixed musical ideas “I know how this tune goes, and this is how it should go” you’re going to have a problem.
There is no certainty that everybody is going to see that piece of music the same way.
The task is finding the common denominator. Finding the point where everybody can contribute.
Two versions of The Bucks of Oranmore gone awry is worse music than Twinkle Twinkle Little Star played by everybody together.
No matter how clever you think you’re getting, it’s just a cat fight if everybody can’t be on board.
Martin:
When traditional musicians play together, there are different ways it can work.
In a more modern sense, players can fuse very tightly. The ornaments fuse. You might hear concertina and pipes, and the triplets and rolls are completely unified.
But if you’ve sat on stage with the Tulla Céilí Band, you get something else: a wash of the tune.
There are little intricacies going off in different directions, with players having slightly variant versions of the tune.
In an open session, we’re better off not looking for that tight fusion all the time. Sometimes you go with the larger wash of melody.
Tara:
I love when a session is small enough that I can hear the other musicians and bounce off them. If I hear someone play a note or two differently, I might add that in and see if they notice.
Martin:
Then you have communication. That should be a central focus of all playing together.
Music, friendship and trust
Martin:
In my own life, the session is not as central now. My life is largely about performance.
But it’s the same thing with performance. If I get it right on an occasion, it lives with me for a long time. It offers sustenance. It keeps my faith in the music alive.
With Dennis Cahill, that communication was something we built up over many years. It didn’t always work, but most of the time it worked to some level.
Music is like friendship. It’s about trust, openness and tolerance.
You need all of those things to be in a band.
You need all of those things to be in a session as well.
Basic Income for Artists and putting money at the grassroots
Tara:
Do you think something like the Basic Income for Artists payment allows people not to be under so much pressure for financial gain from music?
Martin:
I was involved in discussions around that.
There is always a need for arts funding, but it often goes into buildings, administration, organisations and structures before it reaches artists. Almost none of Arts Council funding ends up in the hands of everyday traditional musicians.
This programme was a way of putting money in at the grassroots.
Tara:
I was one of the lucky people selected for it. It allowed me to give up my job so I could play music and not be under the same financial pressure.
Martin:
I’m delighted to hear that.
The government pays for teachers. We have art in our society, and people often think it just happens.
It doesn’t just happen.
People have to take time out to do it.
Listening without trying to acquire
Tara:
What would you advise people in terms of listening, either listening to music, listening in sessions, or listening towards sessions?
Martin:
As musicians, we can listen analytically: “What’s that tune? That’d be a nice tune for me.”
But I would say listen in a more relaxed, open way.
What’s more important with a piece of music is absorbing the experience of it.
Listening is active too. You won’t hear anything good if you’re not open to it. If you don’t believe something good can happen, and you’re not open to that possibility, nothing will reach you.
We have to prepare ourselves to be reached by music.
You can go into a session and it can lift you and move you if you’re open.
But you can also sit in the corner with your arms crossed and judge it as useless because you’re not feeling anything from it.
If you prejudge it, you won’t hear it.
Searching for the feeling, not just the tune
Tara:
And for people who are learning?
Martin:
When I was learning, I didn’t listen from the point of view of acquiring.
I didn’t learn any tune I didn’t really like. I only learned tunes I really liked. I only played tunes I really liked.
I listened to players, Tony MacMahon, for example, and I got the feeling of their music.
The feeling spoke to me first.
As a musician, I was searching for that. You are searching for the result of music. The outcome of music.
Not just, “I’ll get that triplet and stick it in here.”
You’re looking for the end result of music upon yourself, the end result in the room, and the end result for the listener.
Nobody is moved by a collection of clever techniques.
Technique can be impressive. I admire it. But it wouldn’t be the driving thing for me.
Respecting older musicians
Tara:
Respect for the players who are there, or for what has gone before, that’s important too, isn’t it?
Martin:
A lot of the people who deeply influenced me have passed on.
Musically, I think it was important to understand them. To get where they were coming from. To get what they were trying to say with their music.
And maybe, on some level, to internalise that and carry the baton.
There were times as a performing musician when I’d think, “Junior Crehan wouldn’t actually like this. My father would be dubious about it too.”
That troubled me.
Then I had an insight: it mattered less whether they understood me. It mattered a lot that I understood them.
They had already sorted themselves out. The important communication was that I could understand them.
But I don’t want to get caught in slavish traditionalism, where nothing can change, nothing can move, and there is only one orthodox way of doing it.
So it’s having your own voice, but with real respect for what is there.
Not a flippant respect. A respect rooted in really getting who they were, and the insight they carried.
Junior Crehan had insight. Bobby Casey had insight. They thought more deeply about music than people might imagine.
Technique is not the whole story
Martin:
Sometimes people judge older musicians by technical skill level. But there is a lot more to music than technical skill.
I remember people dismissing Micho Russell. But I’d say, “Okay, you do it.”
Not that easy.
Could you actually cast a spell like Junior Crehan did?
If you try, your respect will grow.
It’s not just the technical way they played. There is more to it.
The psychological, subterranean part of this music is deep and vast.
I might sound like I’m dismissing technique, but I’m not. I just know there’s much more to it.
Traditional musicians are artists
Martin:
When I was a child, the word “artist” didn’t apply to fiddle players.
We weren’t artists.
I’d hear highfalutin conversations about art on the radio and think, “What nonsense. Just do the thing and shut up.”
But as time went on, I realised that what it takes for a classical pianist to interpret a piece of classical music is not so different. They have to go deeper into themselves to find freedom of expression.
Eventually, I embraced the idea of being an artist.
And that brought me closer to understanding Willie Clancy, Joe Cooley and Tommy Potts.
Tara:
I remember something similar when I started working in the Arts Office in Clare. I thought, “This isn’t really relevant to me. I’m just a fiddler.”
Martin:
That’s exactly what we thought.
But many of the same things that go into making a poem go into making traditional music come alive.
We’re not that far apart.
Paul Muldoon said to me once, “We’re all doing the same thing.”
And he’s right.
Knowing if a session is truly open
Tara:
One of the questions from the SessionEtiquette.com questionnaire is: “What is your biggest challenge in sessions?” One response was: knowing if it’s a truly open session or not.
Martin:
That’s everything.
Let’s say three or four of us are playing. We’re having a lovely tune. Then an unknown musician turns up.
We might think, “This could fall apart now if the wrong person sits in. What do we do?”
But I think we have to invite that musician in.
I do think we have a social obligation.
Should it be possible for people to sit around a circle and not know each other’s names? I don’t think so.
At least say, “My name is Joe, and I’m from here. What’s your name?”
That basic social connection matters.
You can say, “We have these selections of tunes we play here. You might not know all of them. But if you’re coming back again, record them and learn them.”
That’s how we all learned.
Over-vigorous playing without social interaction is a bad method for a session.
We need human communication. Dialogue.
If we have that dialogue, it reduces anxiety. Then things can happen more organically.
Is a free stool fair game?
Tara:
Another question: if there’s a stool free, is it fair game?
Martin:
I’d say so, yes.
But I would check that it’s not the stool of somebody who has just gone to the toilet.
I would ask before taking it. Somebody might be holding it for a friend. There could be any number of things going on.
So yes, largely fair game, but ask.
The ideal size of a session
Tara:
Have you an ideal size for a session?
Martin:
Four or five feels about right to me.
But if fifteen people turn up at the door, you can’t just say, “No, you can’t play.”
I remember a funny story about my father. Three pipers turned up at Pepper’s one Wednesday night. My father was there with Francie Donnellan.
The pipers asked, “Could we join the session?”
My father said, “Sure, one of ye could anyway.”
Because three sets of pipes would make it a very particular sound. That was going to become the session then.
Sessions are not always non-hierarchical
Martin:
We sometimes think sessions are completely non-hierarchical. In one sense, they are. But I also remember going to the pub in Dublin where John Kelly and Joe Ryan used to play, and they held court.
They largely picked the tunes. People could play along with them.
My father and Francie Donnellan played every Wednesday night in Pepper’s in Feakle, and it became something like that too. They had their selections of tunes.
If you learned those tunes, they were reliably going to come back the next Wednesday.
That gave people a predictable target. It allowed entry into the session because people could learn the repertoire.
Another problem, switching tunes, was also sorted out. They had the old céilí band recording concept of three reels. Once they started one, the other two followed automatically.
The session had coherence.
Some people complained that they were always playing the same tunes. But it’s not possible to have new tunes every week.
Consistency helped people join in.
Tara:
Someone else asked: an intermediate player struggles with the basics of good rhythm. How do they manage that? Or how does the environment manage learners who don’t quite have the rhythm yet?
Martin:
Rhythm is an issue.
The session can help a lot if you are flexible and submit to it. It can show you where the rhythm and the groove are.
I believe that in this music, rhythm sits in your body more than in your instrument. Your instrument responds to that.
So I would say to musicians: don’t imagine playing this music only with your hands and your head.
Your whole body moves into a phrase of rhythm. If you cut your body off from that, it is very difficult to keep time, make rhythm and stay consistent.
Your body helps you. It works as its own metronome.
You don’t have to be gyrating all over the place, but rhythm certainly flows in the body.
Your body is more useful to your playing than your brain.
Too much thinking doesn’t do much for it.
When you sit down to play, you need to stop the brain from getting in the way of the music.
Let your body feel it.
Consensus, groove and entrainment
Tara:
What if somebody’s body doesn’t work in time with the music?
Martin:
Ask them to leave the session immediately.
Tara:
If you’re in a bigger session and you’re trying to keep in time with someone, and you’re watching their foot tapping, but their foot taps at a different time…
Martin:
You stop playing and buy them a drink.
But seriously, there is a slightly subversive role you can play. You can create pulse and rhythm that has an entrainment quality to it. It can pull others along if it is precise and powered.
I’ve sat in groups where I could hear a pull one way or the other, and I might put my thumb on the scale in favour of one group of musicians, hoping to tip the scale in that direction and allow that to become the consensus.
Because we’re looking for consensus.
Entrainment is like putting a magnet over metal filings. It gets everything to move together.
Dennis Cahill used to talk about being in the studio with a band that wasn’t gelling. The engineer put on the headphones and said, “Let’s everybody try to row in the same direction.”
That’s what we’re trying to do.
Be prepared to warp and bend
Martin:
I would say to musicians going into a session: have your antenna on.
This is not a personal performance.
It’s not, “I learned to play the tune this way, and this is how I’m playing it.”
Be prepared to warp and bend.
Be prepared to let your tune get shaped by what is happening around you.
And be prepared to be lifted by the session.
Martin:
Every now and again in a session, you’re going to play over your head.
You’re going to play better than you actually know how to play.
And you’ll know you did it.
You’ll know it resides in you as potential.
It’s an indicator of what you can do.
If you stay open and allow yourself to be brought along by the session, you can find yourself playing at a higher level.
You might not be able to replicate it when you get home. In all likelihood, you won’t.
But you’ll know it’s there.
And that’s important.
You cannot force the magic to repeat
Tara:
I had an experience recently where I was playing in a session with a new fiddle I love. Towards the end of the night, when your hands would normally get tired, it was like the fiddle took over.
It was almost saying, “You have a rest. I’ll play the rest.”
And I’ve been trying to replicate it ever since.
Martin:
That’s the biggest challenge as a performing musician.
You have a really good gig and think, “I cracked it.” Then the next night, you want to do that gig again.
And it’s not yielding.
There is no solution.
You have to be willing to jump in and see what happens.
Trying to replicate a good gig is the recipe for not having a good gig.
Tara:
Is it the same with trying to replicate a good session?
Martin:
Exactly.
Maybe on the great occasion, we were more open and trusting. We didn’t have the template of that previous great session burdening us.
We were free to let happen what would happen.
I’m still learning this. If I can surrender my agenda at the beginning of a gig, and trust the situation, I have a chance of getting somewhere.
But if getting somewhere is the main objective, I probably won’t get anywhere.
If my objective is to trust the situation and take the risk of letting it happen as it happens, then there is a good chance it will work.
Tara:
What is your idea of an ideal session?
Martin:
My ideal session involves musical friends.
People I know. People I have a lot of experience with. People with whom I share a lot of repertoire.
That brings me close to home, sitting down with Mary Mac, Brian Donnellan, Andrew, or people in my immediate comfort zone.
The words Martin most dreads at a session
Tara:
The last guest left this question for you: what are the two or three words you most dread hearing at a session?
Martin:
I don’t have to think about this.
“Have my chair.”
Tara:
Whereas some people would think that was the highlight of the session.
Martin:
I feel so awkward when somebody says it.
I don’t want to disrupt. I can enjoy the session from where I am.
This conversation with Martin Hayes opens up a crucial truth about Irish music sessions: etiquette is not just about rules. It is about reducing anxiety, creating belonging, and allowing the music to happen without forcing it.
A session is not a stage.
It is not a personal performance.
It is not a place to prove how many tunes you know.
It is not always about perfect music.
It is about friendship, trust, openness, tolerance and communication.
It is about knowing when to play, when to listen, when to ask, when to leave space, and when to let the group shape your music.
Martin’s phrase “be prepared to warp and bend” might be one of the clearest pieces of session advice there is.
Because a good session does not happen when everyone insists on playing exactly as they planned.
It happens when people listen deeply enough to be changed by what is around them.
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