Constance Keane on Drumming, Misogyny, and M(h)aol’s Latest Album
In an industry still uneasy with outspoken women, M(h)aol’s Constance Keane isn’t dialing it down — she’s forcing a reckoning.
Emerging from Ireland’s underground scene, M(h)aol crafts music that’s raw, urgent, and unapologetically political — a fierce collision of post-punk energy and unflinching feminist critique.
As the band’s drummer and a founding member, Keane turns rhythm into rebellion and percussion into protest. But for her, drumming isn’t just a musical act — it’s a weapon: a means of breaking silences around gender-based violence, queerness, and mental health, all while confronting the outdated gender norms still embedded in the instrument itself.
With their latest album, Something Soft, M(h)aol isn’t just making noise — they’re demanding change. And in this new era of punk resistance, it’s Constance Keane who’s keeping time.
KP: There’s so much that I want to talk about with you that I’m finding it hard to begin! [Laughs]. Your music is everything that I think we need to hear today, particularly in these political climates.
But let’s start back at the beginning. You said that you initially formed M(h)aol “out of frustration about how I was being treated as a woman in the Irish music scene — I hoped that it could be a more inclusive place.”
What was that frustration born of exactly? What was your experience like as an Irishwoman in the industry?
CK: Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me; I really appreciate it.
KP: Of course! I’m so happy to have you.
CK: I think I was 21 when I started M(h)aol. The frustration that I was feeling was a buildup of the many experiences that come from being a woman in a band — especially a drummer — in my local Dublin music scene, which I would say was about 85% male at that point. My experience was fairly crap then, to be honest. I felt very much like an “other” in that scene.
KP: And stemming from similar circumstances, I’m sure — including the blatant exploitation of artists — you started releasing music under TULLE, a record label that you founded to work with and for underrepresented artists.
What was the process of forming it like, and did you find a new sense of freedom by self-releasing those albums?
CK: TULLE came about in 2020, in the middle of the pandemic. I had been looking for a label to release my solo work with but was finding it difficult to locate one based in the UK/Ireland — with retail distribution in my genre of music — that was at least 50% owned by a woman. I had been working in the music industry in London for a year and a half at that point and was having very frustrating but also very exciting conversations, with other women around me. I went for ice cream with my friend, Emily Kendrick, and she said that she would start TULLE with me.
KP: That’s amazing. M(h)aol’s entire discography deserves so much attention, and I think each of your songs could command a question or two, but for the sake of time, I’m going to try very hard to stick to three or four of them.
You founded the band in 2014 and have served as its drummer and vocalist through the years. You released “Snare” in 2024, which you said was about “countless conversations I’ve had since my first drum lesson on my ninth birthday about how bizarre it is that I play that instrument or how I should be doing it differently. The idea of society gendering an inanimate object like a drum kit, when it’s something that brings me so much joy and release, has always frustrated me hugely, and I thought it was time to sing about it.”
It’s so funny how musical instruments — and types of music — are so often gendered. I remember first picking up the guitar when I was six, and my first guitar teacher wanted me to play “Here Comes the Sun” instead of “All Along the Watchtower” because it was softer… I wonder why! That was an argument that I eventually won, and I quickly started studying on my own in order to get away from that type of confinement.
I don’t really have a question here, but I just wanted to give you the space to speak to how gendered even music and instruments can be. I’m so happy that you’re a drummer, by the way. It’s the coolest thing!
CK: Releasing “Snare” has been so funny in a way, because it’s sparked people to tell me about bizarre stories from their childhoods where things were gendered that really never needed to be. I like that I can have these exchanges with people and bond and laugh about how stupid it is. It’s nice to acknowledge these experiences and share them.
KP: Right? It truly makes you realize how ingrained it is in most people — something that definitely needs to be fixed.
When I first heard “Pursuit,” it hit me so deeply, particularly as a woman who has been harassed on the streets of New York more times than I can remember — or count.
Was it written about a specific personal experience of yours, or was it a general reflection of the tightrope walk that it is to simply walk down the street as a woman?
CK: I think I was first followed by a man when I was 12; I was coming home from school, wearing my school uniform. It was absolutely petrifying, and I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the panic and adrenaline that came from running and hiding behind walls. Thankfully, I made it home safely, but I can’t count how many other times I’ve started running because I sense that a man is closing in.
The idea for the lyrics to the chorus came to me when I was getting ready for a night out with friends. It hit me how completely insane it is that I casually choose shoes based on how quickly I’d be able to run for safety. It’s something that I’ve done for as long as I can remember — knowing that if I choose heels or sandals, I’m risking that I won’t be able to get away as easily.
“Music is what you want it to be, and I think having the guts to carve out a piece of it for yourself as a woman is something that you will always be proud of.”
KP: It’s fascinating, because I often think about how the traditionally feminine styles actually bar us from self-protection — long nails, high heels, skirts and dresses that restrict movement, heavy handbags, it goes on and on... I almost wonder if it’s by design. I’ve moved away from a lot of that as I’ve gotten older — mostly because it’s really not my style — but I also definitely want to be able to defend myself if I have to.
“DM:AM” explored the seemingly never-ending world of digital misogyny — as Earmilk so accurately described, highlighting both the “entitlement and fragility that underpin such exchanges.” It’s always astounded me how women are often the gender labelled as being emotional or hysteric, meanwhile a single rejected unwanted advancement can send men into an extroverted tailspin for days. Nearly as hysteric as all of the men who start wars!
How do you cope with digital harassment? Was there an event in particular that inspired this track?
CK: [Laughs]. The other day the band inbox literally received an email titled “nut on tits,” which it turns out a bunch of people received.
KP: Oh, lovely! [Laughs].
CK: There was no particular instance that inspired the song; it was more of a culmination of stories and experiences from various people who are simply just trying to exist online without threats in their inbox.
KP: Imagine that! Your latest single, “I Miss My Dog,” off your latest record, Something Soft, is about your dog Poppy and examines the experience of losing a pet. You said, “She passed away in July last year, and I still sometimes wake up thinking she’s with us. I think losing a dog is something that people either understand or they don’t, and this is a song for those of us that do.”
Firstly, I’m so sorry about your loss. It’s an indescribable type of pain to lose a best friend that’s so innocent and so full of wonder.
What can you tell us about her? And what was it that inspired you to write this song in her memory?
CK: Poppy was an anxious angel that appeared in our lives out of nowhere one day when she was around 3 months old. My mam was in the front garden, and this puppy appeared and walked into the house. We spent weeks trying to find her owners, but she wasn’t microchipped and no one was looking for her, so I’m fairly confident that she was abandoned. Her name is Poppy because she would only respond to “puppy” after those weeks.
She loved chasing birds, running in long grass, and needed Xanax every October to cope with the sounds of Halloween fireworks.
We have a song called “Kim is a Punk Type Dog” on the first record, which is about my dog Kim, so it felt only right to write one about P also. She definitely deserves it.
KP: Oh my god, how endearing. I love dogs so much. And speaking of records, what can we expect from your latest album, Something Soft?
CK: I think people can expect a sonically interesting palette of music that asks questions about the world that we live in. I hope that people can hear the intention behind the songs both musically and lyrically, and, most importantly, you can expect to hear something that we made for ourselves. [Laughs].
KP: I can’t wait! What has your experience with M(h)aol taught you about yourself?
CK: I’ve been in this band for such a long time, so it’s nearly impossible to think about what I would be like without it. It’s taught me how much I value collaboration, new ways to find humour in things, and how resilient I can be.
KP: What advice would you lend to women who want to get involved with music today?
CK: I would tell them to do it. I did not grow up wanting to be a performer by any means — I literally did the lights in my high school musical, but I wanted to play my drums and create. There are so many different ways to exist in music; my day job is working as a band manager for other artists, and I find it extremely fulfilling. Music is what you want it to be, and I think having the guts to carve out a piece of it for yourself as a woman is something that you will always be proud of.
KP: Absolutely. And finally, what do you feel makes a provocative woman?
CK: Someone who is willing to ask questions and listen to their gut.
Photography: Cait Fahey
