In the summer of 1981, as Ireland was rocked by the hunger strikes and the Troubles raged on, a new sound echoed through concert halls and on airwaves—a sound that seemed to split the old from the new, the past from the future. That sound was the saxophone of Keith Donald, a Belfast-born musician whose life story would come to mirror the tumult and hope of his homeland. As the world marks the recent IRSP hunger strike commemoration in Derry on August 17, 2025, Donald’s journey—now immortalized in his autobiography Music & Mayhem—offers a poignant reflection on music, memory, and redemption.
Donald’s autobiography, published earlier this year, is more than just a chronicle of a remarkable musical career. It is an unflinching account of his three-decade battle with alcoholism, a struggle that nearly derailed his life even as his star rose with the legendary Irish band Moving Hearts. According to DonegalLive.ie, the hunger strike commemoration in Derry drew crowds to remember the political turmoil that shaped a generation—a turmoil that also shaped Donald’s music and his personal odyssey.
Born in Belfast in the 1950s, Donald grew up on the city’s hard, unforgiving streets, under the shadow of a rigid unionist establishment. Yet, music was his lifeline. With encouragement from his grandfather and parents, Donald became a clarinet prodigy, even recording for BBC Ormeau Avenue as a child. At Methodist College, he honed his skills, playing gigs late into the night and sneaking drinks on the side—a habit that would soon spiral out of control. "As soon as I found music, or it found me, it took me over. Ditto drink," Donald writes in Music & Mayhem.
His early foray into the world of Orange bands—motivated more by a few pounds and free drinks than by ideology—would later prompt a harsh self-assessment. Decades on, Donald reflects, "I would never consider banning the Twelfth but Stormont or Westminster should insist on its triumphalist bigotry being reined in." His musical journey took him from school bands to the showband scene, playing with the Federals and later the Greenbeats, all while pursuing a degree in Latin. By 1969, Donald was cutting records with The Real McCoy and earning steady money, but his drinking was becoming legendary—and dangerous.
Donald’s memoir doesn’t shy away from the chaos that alcoholism wrought in his life: blackouts, car accidents, arrests, and brushes with death. "It was only when I got sober that I came to realise that alcoholism had determined much of the course of my life...I gravitated towards people who accepted the unacceptable. Inevitably they were themselves drinkers with drink problems. We camouflaged each other," he confesses.
Yet, the story is not all darkness. Donald’s political awakening in 1969, when he broke with his unionist upbringing to support the civil rights movement, marked a turning point. He became a vocal advocate for social justice causes—from opposing Section 31 censorship on RTÉ to supporting the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa. All the while, his music flourished, earning him spots alongside icons like Van Morrison and a place in the pantheon of Irish jazz and folk.
The defining chapter of Donald’s career came with Moving Hearts, the band that would become a lodestar for progressive Irish music. Formed in the crucible of the hunger strike year, Moving Hearts was a cooperative where each member could veto a song, though the power was never used. They wore their politics proudly, singing about nuclear war, religious hypocrisy, environmental destruction, apartheid, slum landlords, and the long shadow of colonialism. "I'm proud to have been a member of a band that sang about nuclear war, religious hypocrisy, environmental plunder, apartheid, slum landlords and 800 years of colonialism in Ireland," Donald writes.
In 1981, as the country mourned and protested, Moving Hearts released their self-titled album, with Donald’s saxophone cutting through the grief. That year, he played 110 gigs with the band, channeling the fury and sorrow of a nation into music that soared above the pain. According to DonegalLive.ie, the hunger strike commemoration this August was led by a colour party—a reminder of how these legacies still resonate today.
But even at the height of his fame, Donald’s drinking continued unabated. His typical Friday in 1979, as described in his memoir, reads like a cautionary tale: finishing work as a social worker, downing pints at the musicians’ bar, playing in the Olympia Theatre pit orchestra with drinks between sets, then hitting the Trinity Ball for more music and more alcohol, wandering the streets until early morning for the next pub to open. The cycle seemed endless—until a near-miss with the law in March 1989 forced a reckoning. Stopped by the Guards while driving drunk, Donald reached out for help, finding a "glimmer of hope after twenty-seven years of drinking troubles." Through Alcoholics Anonymous, counseling, and the support of loved ones, he began the slow climb to sobriety.
As Donald puts it, "What conquers addiction? I think the answer is love, but you have to look for it...Mostly now I feel lucky: I'm blessed with a wonderful daughter-friend, I'm clean and sober...I have...a lovely Belfast family...and I still love playing music...I feel totally at peace."
Donald’s story is, ultimately, one of redemption. His autobiography, which opens with the revelation of a cancer diagnosis, is a testament to resilience and the enduring power of art. He continues to perform, and his one-man play tours across Ireland, sharing his journey with new generations. This September, Donald was honored at the Belfast International Homecoming, a fitting tribute to a musician whose life has touched so many.
The recent IRSP hunger strike commemoration in Derry, captured in photographs by Deirdre Heaney and published by DonegalLive.ie on August 18, 2025, is a reminder of the ongoing importance of memory and community in Ireland. The invitation for locals to share their own snapshots of daily life echoes the spirit of Donald’s memoir—a patchwork of individual stories that, together, form the larger narrative of a nation.
Through Music & Mayhem, readers are offered not just the history of a band or a man, but a window into the soul of Ireland itself—its struggles, its artistry, and its capacity for renewal. In the end, Donald’s second life, hard-won and deeply cherished, stands as proof that even in the bleakest times, music and hope can prevail.