Sounds of Cork: Meet the buskers providing a soundtrack to life in the city 

As the temperatures sit in the high teens and low twenties, and then rain is somehow staying away for the most part, Cork city centre was a hive of activity in the past week.

Starting our journey through the streets at the bottom of Oliver Plunkett Street, it is tourists with big cameras, dressed head to toe in rain gear that they were well advised they might need, all around you.

One American couple stopped to ask me for directions and the sounds of curious questions and strange accents are a cacophony of sounds that filter down the street.

Walking past The Oliver Plunkett Bar and the Hi-B, music tumbles out the front doors and gushes out into its surroundings to meld with the chatter from both tourists and locals alike.

On one side street, Bubba Shakespeare, a firm favourite in the city and a busker we have spoken with before, serenades the city.

As I reach the midway of Oliver Plunkett St, I happen across a young guitarist with a silky voice, sitting amidst the chatter of the Princes Street junction.

Student Cialan O’Sullivan from Rylane is being approached by an older gentleman as I near him, who requests that he play Candy by Paulo Nutini, telling Cialan that he thinks his voice would suit the song wonderfully. And that it did, as the young musician skilfully played the guitar while his powerful voice filled the junction, turning heads.

He tells me: “I don’t use a mic, I suppose I only starting busking around six weeks or so ago but still I think that sometimes microphones can be a bit invasive, a bit loud, a bit much at times on the street.”

“When you are singing without a mic, if people want to listen to you, they can but if they want to walk by and just block it out they can too. There is nothing worse than being forced to hear something that you don’t want to listen to. Some buskers there who might not be the best in the world and they have this huge microphone so you can’t escape them.”

Minimalism is key for Cialan: “It is something I like doing, I feel more comfortable without a load of gear. I just have a gear bag, and then all I have to do is put the guitar in the bag and walk home.”

He tells me a bit more about why he decided to start busking in Cork: “I am up on College Road at the moment and I am finishing my masters in International Sustainable Business — with a side of busking for the mental health. I am rocking full time in a pub too, so the music is a great outlet for me.

“I got into the music about a year ago. I was always saying I wanted to learn to play the guitar. I have always been singing, if you ask my family I am always singing away around the house. Busking is great way of getting to play my music, I have work now at three so it’s nice to get to play here and make a few bob but this doesn’t feel like work at all.”

For the young singer, the busking provides a way for him to hone his skill and the freedom to do so without interruption: “It’s great that I am able to do this. I have five housemates and to be practicing in your room all the time isn’t really fair. They are all lovely but you don’t want to be playing in your room for a few hours and annoying them. I just come out here to practice really. I’m glad I started doing it.”

Like many we have spoken to before him, it is the classics that Cialan prefers, a blend of soulful ballads that suit his voice perfectly.

“I play bits of everything really. I like all the older kind of stuff like Otis Redding, Bob Dylan and Elvis. They are all getting a big revival at the minute, which I am glad for. Luke Kelly is another big one for me, I love all The Dubliners’ ballads. I sing a nice mix and people seem to appreciate it.

If you would like to hear more sounds from Cialan, you can find him on tiktok @cialanosullivan.

After our encounter, I continue my journey, looping through the English Market to hear the bustle of traders and tourists milling through the stalls, calling out prices or taking orders as I pass by.

When I land back onto Patrick Street, two men dressed as leprechauns sing and clap to sing-along hits while smiling tourists pose for pictures with them or stop to sing and dance along.

Passing them, it is an unusual sound I hear coming from towards the quays. An almost tribal sound wafts down the street with a repetitive ‘badum-badum’ beat. Walking towards Merchants Quay Shopping Centre, my ears draw me to an alcove where Jaime Finn from The Lough plays what I had ignorantly assumed was a bongo drum. Stopping to chat with him, Jaime set me straight.

“95 percent of people call it a bongo, but no, it’s an African djembe drum. The bongos are the ones that have two drums attached together, with one slightly bigger than the other and are joined by a piece of wood in the middle.”

“This one that I have here is a type originally from West Africa, but my one was made in the States and is totally synthetic.”

Using just his hands, Jaime thumps out a rhythm while he speaks with me.

“What can I say, I just love playing drums. My friend travelled to Africa and he showed me my first rhythm. It is kind of like a kid learning to ride a bike, it takes about a half an hour and your hands just aren’t doing it right and then all of a sudden it just clicks, and it becomes muscle memory. I have picked up a few more rhythm over time but I am still playing about 12 rhythms for the last six years.”

Similarly to Cialan O’Sullivan, it is a simple affair for Jaime Finn: “I don’t play along to a backing track or follow the beat of songs; it is just the rhythms. I don’t even think I could tell where most of it originated, but I know the names of them such as clave, which is Spanish for key because it fits into all the other rhythms. That is the one I do all the time during the Palestine marches because it just seems to work the best and keeps my left hand free so I can walk while I am drumming. There are also well-known ones like the rhumba, about ten or twelve different ones I alternate from. Anything that gets people’s feet tapping along to the beat.”

He stresses how important it is for him to play his drums in the weekly Cork Palestine marches, as he uses his passion to stand up for something he feels strongly about.

For Jaime, his music was tied to his emotions, and he said that some days, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t feel the spirit of the drums, while on others it just connects.

“Even those ten or twelve rhythms they feel different every day. I don’t do any fancy kind of stuff; I keep it simple and go as deep into that as I can. You can’t force it, the more I am feeling it, the more it works.

“It is weird because it kind of like when it comes to you naturally on the day, it feels really good and everyone notices even though it is the exact same rhythm I played the day previous.

He said: “I find it strange because you can’t force it. Some days you are trying really hard but it won’t come to you. The spirit isn’t there and then other times it is so easy and everyone is like ‘wow that is really good, and I am like well I’m not even trying right now’.”

“I bought my little girl a djembe too, so I brought her down to Fitzgeralds Park and managed to get her to do it for about ten minutes before it was back to running around. Similar to how I feel, if she feels it and she takes to it then that is great but she is only five and a half so she might be a bit young yet. The drum is bigger than her nearly.”

The joy that the music brings to those around is a special part of playing for Jaime: “I get a good reaction usually when I am out busking, especially the kids. Besides me obviously being out here trying to make a couple of quid, after that, my favourite part is the kids, their faces poking out of prams straining their necks trying to figure out where the music is coming from. I get loads of kids that come up and have a go on the drum. I love it.”