Max HeyraudFor decades, emigration seemed necessary to achieve success on the Emerald Isle. However, a new generation of artists is questioning whether that is still true.
“You need to move elsewhere.” “You’ve done all you can here.” “There’s no money in Ireland.” “London’s where it’s at.” “You should try Berlin.” “Sure, the club scene is huge in the Netherlands. You should move there.”
If you’re a DJ, producer, or any kind of creative in Ireland’s electronic music or club scene, chances are you’ve heard one (or all) of those lines thrown your way. Maybe it came from your oul one while she stirred the dinner pot, or your mate in the smoking area of a pub. Either way, it’s like everyone’s got the same answer for your career: Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Here.
And honestly, can you blame them? You might have argued for staying put, riding it out here, but deep down, you knew they weren’t half wrong. Their advice didn’t lack logic. And let’s be honest, there’ve been nights when your bag was half-packed in your head already.
Ireland’s long history of emigration is well documented, deeply ingrained in our national identity. And while we celebrate the things we’ve done abroad, the Irish conquering Hollywood, The Big Apple, London Town, and beyond. It’s still bittersweet. Sure, it’s a massive source of pride back home. We build museums like EPIC to honour it all. The courage, the adaptability, the way we’ve left our mark across the world. But the core truth remains. People left because they had to. And they still do.
Across every creative field, literature, film, and music, the exodus of Irish talent has long haunted our scenes and communities here. But in 2025, we’re in the middle of a kind of reawakening, a resurgence of Irish pride. Names like Keoghan, Mescal, Ronan, McIlroy, Taylor. They’ve become shorthand for skill, charm, heart, and that unmistakable sense of Irishness.
And it’s not just Hollywood. Closer to home, our club culture is a source of pride with names like KETTAMA, Jazzy, Belters Only, Tommy Holohan, Rebüke, Sunil Sharpe, Yasmin Gardezi, to name a few, pushing boundaries while proudly flying the Irish flag.
Yet with all these success stories, you’d think Irish art in Ireland would be thriving, right? Not quite. In 2022, Ireland’s arts funding sat at just 0.2% of GDP. That’s less than half the EU average of 0.5%. Countries like Hungary and Iceland? They’re investing over 1% of their GDP into arts and culture. By comparison, we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel.
Measured against the rest of Europe, we’re underfunded. Plain and simple. Whether you look at it as a percentage of GDP or total public spending, we fall short. Sure, there’s been some progress over the years, but we’re still lagging behind.
And it’s not just about how little money there is, it’s about what happens to it. The state of arts funding here hasn’t escaped the same kind of sluggish, bureaucratic messiness that seems to haunt every corner of Irish governance. Take February, for example. The Arts Council dumped nearly €7 million into a new IT system meant to streamline grant applications. Sounds good on paper, except it never worked. The whole thing had to be scrapped. The Comptroller and Auditor General called out the overspend, and while the Council pointed fingers at “outdated infrastructure,” they ultimately admitted defeat. No system. No return. Just €7 million gone.
It’s classic. High-cost, low-yield, and smells suspiciously like another over-priced bike shed no one asked for.
It’s not just financial misfires causing concern. Two years ago, Arts Council director Maureen Kennelly flagged a sharp drop in cultural engagement among young people post-pandemic. While attendance was down across the board in 2022 compared to 2019, the steepest decline was in the 16–24 age group. Attendance at Arts Council-supported events dropped from 64% to 52% in just three years. A shift Kennelly called “a worrying level of decline.” Even those who are showing up are going out less often. For a generation that’s reshaping culture through club nights, digital platforms, and grassroots initiatives, it begs the question: are the institutions falling out of step with how young people actually experience culture?
Aside from the misplacement and straight-up lack of funding, Ireland also suffers from a glaring disregard for nightlife culture. It’s something we’ve consistently reported on at Four Four. Right now, fewer than 90 nightclubs are operating across the country. That number keeps dropping. Compare that to the not-so-distant past, when Ireland had over 1,200 dance halls. The contrast is stark and harrowing.
This steady erasure of nightlife isn’t just a cultural loss, it’s a social one too. It exposes a deeper problem: a government that talks about supporting community and creativity, but fails to back it up when it matters. Can you blame people for packing up and heading elsewhere? Places like London or Berlin have long since championed club culture, recognising it as a key fabric of culture and how it adds to their economy. They allow venues to stay open past the measly four-hour window most Irish clubs are stuck with.
Still, amidst the shitstorm Irish artists constantly face, many have broken through, and many still are. Maybe it’s the changing tides of how we consume music now. The rise of social media, streaming platforms, and the internet at large. The gatekeepers aren’t as powerful as they once were. Collaboration, connection, and exposure don’t rely so heavily on geography anymore. If you’re near an airport and making good music, chances are you can make it work.
But without real, local scenes and communities to grow in, it’s not sustainable. The internet can only do so much. Real-life spaces matter. Still, even as clubs closed and the scene fragmented, DJs and producers continued to emerge. Some moved abroad. Others stayed. And even those who left often keep one foot firmly planted here. Using Ireland as a base, returning for shows, repping their roots, and feeding their momentum back into home soil.
For younger artists, the message can feel clear. If you want recognition, support, or even just space to grow, you might have to look elsewhere. It’s why so many gravitate toward Berlin, London, or Amsterdam. Not just for the dance floors, but for the ecosystems that value and sustain them. What’s missing in Ireland isn’t talent or audience. It’s the structural support to let that energy scale without having to export it. If Ireland wants to keep its artists home, it needs to stop asking them to fit into outdated cultural boxes and start recognising that the dance floor is already doing the work.
Although it feels like, for the most part, being Irish is finally something that’s universally seen as a good thing, although it’s not something that’s echoed from our government. But for the most part in music culture, counter culture and pop culture it’s something we carry with pride. We wear the charm, the wit, the accent, the cultural edge like a badge of honour. And maybe now, more than ever, it actually feels possible to succeed from here. Not that it wasn’t before, but let’s be honest, if you can’t see it happening, how tangible is it?
So then, what does it actually mean to be an Irish artist today? Does it mean staying at home, building something local, holding down a residency in your hometown venue? Or does it mean moving away, planting flags in different cities, and carrying your roots with you wherever you go?
The success stories are here now, for young artists to see. Acts like Jazzy and Belters Only are proof that you can build something from your backyard and take it global. When we spoke to Belters Only, they put it plainly: “I feel like artists, including ourselves, had to go elsewhere to get what we needed in terms of services. It’s hard enough to be an artist.”
It’s a familiar story. A deafening echo that’s followed countless Irish creatives. But they didn’t stop there. “We’re trying to make that easier for the people. It’s an exciting time for Irish dance music, not just for our label but for the scene in general.”
They’re right. The ripple effect of success at home matters. It bridges the gap for up-and-coming artists, offering not just inspiration but infrastructure. Something we’ve been sorely lacking. When artists who’ve “made it” choose to give back, to stay connected, to invest in the local scene, they create a feedback loop that benefits the next generation and strengthens the ecosystem of Irish club culture as a whole.
In an ideal world, it shouldn’t be the artists carrying that responsibility, especially in a scene that, for many, didn’t offer much support on the way up. But in this climate, where progress is sluggish and systemic change moves at a crawl, their contribution becomes not just valuable, but imperative.
The question isn’t whether Irish artists can succeed from home. Obviously, they can. The real question is whether Ireland is willing to build the country they want. One that not only celebrates its artists after they have achieved success abroad, but also supports them before they even leave. One in which funding is not squandered, venues do not disappear, and young people are not forced to choose between their community and their careers. That is the Ireland worth imagining—and, perhaps, slowly building together.
Photo Credits: Wibez Photograhy
