Under a scorching Sydney sun, on the eve of St Patrick’s Day, a motley crew of Irish and Irish-adjacent performers gathered in The Domain to give a raucous, fiery, and unforgettable performance.

The event, a celebration of culture, courage, and camaraderie, was wrapped up in the term MISNEACH—meaning ‘courage’ in Irish. The word embodied the entire day, as each act brought not only their music but also their heart and soul to the stage, a sense of unity that transcended the unbearable heat.

Dermot Kennedy played a central role in curating this day, pulling together an eclectic mix of talent from both Ireland and Australia. He set the tone for a day that would blend the passion of his own folk-pop sensibilities with the raw energy of other performers who might not have known what they were walking into when they arrived in the Australian sun.

From the very beginning, the scorching heat was a point of conversation and concern, with each artist commenting on the oppressive temperature.

The heat of the day reflected the feverish energy of the crowd, a veritable verdant sea of green, celebrating their shared Irish heritage and embracing their moment. Everywhere you looked, the colour green painted the landscape—green jerseys, shamrocks, hats, and flags—but there was something else more striking: the sweat. The heat was relentless, and while the crowd seemed to thrive on it, some of the artists seemed to be feeling the burn a little more.

FYNCH delivered sharp-witted lyricism, his Dublin cadence cutting through the thick air, while Cliffords leaned into high-energy indie rock, their melodies soaring despite the heat. Susan O’Neill’s husky vocals carried a raw, emotional weight, and Sorcha Richardson brought shimmering alt-pop intimacy.

Amble’s intricate folk harmonies wove a spell over the crowd, their delicate yet assured sound offering a moment of respite. Then came Meg Mac, her signature soulful vocals and commanding presence competed willfully with the hottest part of the day.

The Scratch, a high-energy act that was up next, could not hold back their comments. “This is the hottest I’ve ever been on stage,” they said, quickly shedding their shirts in a moment of sheer physicality.

Their performance was a feverish burst of rhythm and heart, and the energy was infectious, with the crowd moving and clapping in time with the beats. But the sweat wasn’t just a badge of honour for the performers; it became a unifying force for everyone there, a shared moment of discomfort that somehow made the experience more memorable and bizarre.

Things didn’t cool down when Kneecap took the stage, and if anything, their set was a masterclass in turning chaos into a rallying cry.

In true form, they made light of the situation, suggesting the real problem wasn’t the heat, but the ridiculous partition dividing the rear general access from the front. “Jump the fence—there’s only like two security guards in the whole place,” they taunted, inciting a mad dash from the crowd.

Suddenly, there was a frenzy, with people climbing over the barrier, the security guards scrambling to keep up, and the scene turning into something far from the orderly festival they’d expected. At least one man was dragged off by six security guards, his arms outstretched like Christ himself, embodying the moment in the most absurd yet fitting way.

The heat did little to quell the crowd's enthusiasm, but it did leave its mark on the artists, and the sun only became more unforgiving as the day wore on.

As the crowd sought shelter under the massive, ancient fig trees for even the slightest relief from the heat, Matt Corby took to the stage, bringing a soulful coolness with his voice. His set brought the heat back to a simmer, but in a much more controlled way. He leaned into his deep, hushed vocals, playing tracks from his latest works, while also leaning on the classics that had defined his career, including Brother and Soul’s Afire.

As the afternoon passed into evening, the folk ferocity of The Frames arrived on the stage. Glen Hansard, with his signature passion, declared, “This is the first time we’ve been the oldest band at a festival, so we’ve just got to own this moment.” And own it, they did.

Their set was a masterful mix of heartfelt ballads and raucous anthems, with songs like Revelate and Lay Me Down reminding the audience of the sheer emotional power of folk rock. Hansard dedicated God Bless Mom to all the mothers in the crowd, “This is for your moms—they probably saw us at one time,” he quipped. But it wasn’t just the mothers that were being honoured; it was the whole crowd, the people who had gathered under the fierce sun to celebrate their roots and revel in the music that spoke to their shared identity.

One of the most poignant moments came when The Frames performed Fake. Hansard’s words to the audience, “Wonderful to see all the green jerseys, lovely to feel all the atmosphere of all the Irish who came to Australia… This is for all those people who had to leave Ireland because of those landlord cunts,” added an emotional depth to the performance.

It wasn’t just about the music. It was about the history, the struggle, and the ongoing journey of the Irish diaspora. It felt like a celebration, not only of culture, but of survival and resilience.

The day reached its peak when Dermot Kennedy took the stage to close the show. The sun had set, and the heat had finally begun to subside, but the energy was still palpable.

The once oppressive heat had given way to a sort of sweaty euphoria, and the crowd—now somewhat dehydrated, but deeply satisfied—responded to Kennedy with pure adoration. It wasn’t just the music that made the moment special; it was the way he brought everyone together. He shone in the way he always does, making sure the spotlight didn’t just fall on him but on everyone around him.

“When the light shines on Dermot, he shines it on everyone else, and that’s the sign of a great character,” Hansard said earlier, and it was true. Kennedy’s performance was a beautiful reminder of the courage it takes to be vulnerable, to share a story, and to lift others up in the process.

As the final notes rang out, the crowd was left basking in the glow of the city lights, a desert of slightly dishevelled but thoroughly exhilarated revellers, bound to wake up with hangovers and headaches but living fully in the moment.

The Irish spirit had been alive and well, not just in the music, but in the heat, in the sweat, and in the shared experience of celebrating their culture, even on distant shores.