I love a lot of Irish folk music and Irish folk songs.

Hear now the words of the singer Hozier, who proclaimed: “I love a lot of Irish folk music and Irish folk songs.” Though they seem simple, these words carry the weight of centuries, for in them lies the remembrance of a people’s soul. To love folk music is not merely to delight in melody, but to honor the voices of ancestors, to keep alive the echoes of joy and sorrow, of struggle and triumph, that have shaped a nation’s heart. When Hozier speaks thus, he does not speak as an artist alone, but as a vessel of memory, carrying forward the ancient flame of Ireland’s song.

For what is Irish folk music, if not the poetry of the common people? It is the cry of fishermen against the roaring sea, the laughter of peasants at the hearth, the whispered laments of exiles wandering far from home. In its verses lie tales of rebellion, of famine, of love gained and love lost. It is not music polished for courts, but the raw breath of a people, played upon fiddles, pipes, and voices that ring like bells across green valleys. To love such songs is to embrace not only art but heritage itself, and to bind oneself to the unbroken chain of generations.

We see the power of such music in the story of the Great Famine of Ireland in the mid-19th century. Millions suffered hunger, exile, and despair. Many were forced to flee their homeland, carrying little more than sorrow in their hearts. Yet even in the ships that crossed the Atlantic, and in the foreign streets where the Irish labored, the old folk songs were sung. These songs kept alive the memory of home, the hope of return, and the unity of a scattered people. When governments failed them and the land betrayed them, music remained, as steadfast as a mother’s embrace.

To love these folk songs is to recognize their resilience. They are more than entertainment; they are survival. They are the voice of the voiceless, the diary of the oppressed, the triumph of spirit over suffering. Even today, when Ireland stands in prosperity compared to the dark days of old, the songs still matter. They remind the young that their strength did not spring from nowhere, but from ancestors who endured, who sang to keep their spirits alive, who passed on courage through melody.

In Hozier’s confession, there is also the recognition that such folk music still speaks to modern souls. Though centuries have passed, though technology and fashion have changed, the heart still longs for roots. A generation surrounded by noise and haste yearns for something true, something that carries the weight of the earth itself. And in the humble strings of a fiddle or the haunting tones of a ballad, they find what is timeless: the human cry for belonging, for meaning, for beauty born of struggle.

Thus, the lesson for us is clear. Do not cast aside the songs of your ancestors as relics of the past. In them lies wisdom, strength, and the blueprint of your identity. To honor folk music is to honor your roots, and to honor your roots is to strengthen your future. Without memory, the tree withers; but with deep roots, it stands against every storm. So let us cherish the songs of our people, whether Irish, African, Asian, or of any land—for in them lives the fire of continuity.

Practical wisdom follows: seek out the folk songs of your culture. Learn them, sing them, teach them to your children. Do not let them vanish into silence. Even if your voice is rough, even if your steps falter, the act itself is sacred. For when you sing the old songs, you are not alone—you sing with your ancestors, you strengthen your people, and you remind yourself that your life is part of a story greater than your own.

And so, let us end with the truth in Hozier’s words: to love Irish folk music is to love memory, resilience, and identity. It is to join the eternal chorus of humanity, where every people sings its own story, yet together all voices rise as one. This is the eternal music, the song that no empire, no famine, no exile can silence. This is the song we are called to keep alive.