David Keenan

David Keenan grew up in Dundalk with grit under his fingernails and songs in his head—one of those lads you catch busking on a rain-soaked street, except he never really left the stage. You can call him a singer-songwriter, sure, but that barely scratches the surface. The man’s a poet, a storyteller, a bit of a mad scientist when it comes to lyrics—each song feels like a confession, or a wild prayer, or sometimes just a punch straight to the gut. He’s got this knack for making the ordinary sound epic, wrapping the sacred and the profane together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His tunes aren’t the sort of things you hear in the background while you do the dishes. Nah, his music grabs you by the collar—makes you listen. Whether he’s up there alone, strumming a battered guitar or hunched over a piano, or leading a full band through a raucous anthem, you can’t help but get pulled in. People talk about his live shows like they’re some kind of revival, a place where strangers come out feeling like family, even if only for a few songs. There’s a rawness to his voice, something unpolished and real—like he’s singing for his life, and maybe yours too. If you’re tired of the manufactured, the filtered, the safe—Keenan’s the real deal, and he’s not afraid to dig into the messy, beautiful stuff that makes us human.