A primary aim of my work is to counter the widespread misconception that Christianity somehow “weakened” or “polluted” the cultures of Europe. It is often claimed by Neo-Pagans that the faith was simply a foreign imposition forced upon an unwilling population. However, a closer examination of contemporary sources reveals a far more nuanced reality.

Joseph Pearce in Conversation with Alexander Daly

Although your everyday name is Alexander Daly, you are better known to a growing number of admirers of your work as the Skaldic Bard. Please tell us about who you are prosaically as Alexander Daly and then say something of your work as the Skaldic Bard.

I am a 29-year-old British-Irishman currently living in England. Identifying as both British and Irish has raised a few eyebrows as politically, these identities are contradictory (and apparently even offensive!) to a few commenters. However, that simply is my heritage; I am proudly fully Irish on my father’s side and half Irish, half Welsh on my mother’s side. Curiously, my paternal haplogroup, R-DF98, suggests that one of my distant forefathers was a Germanic invader of the British Isles—possibly from the Anglo-Saxon, Norman, or Viking incursions into Britain. I simply consider myself a son of these isles, with influences from each of their corners.

Catholicism is central to my identity. My family has, historically, been deeply rooted in the Church; my great uncle, the late Cardinal Cahal Daly, Primate of Ireland, is one example of this legacy. While in recent years my family’s Catholicism has become more cultural than integral, my personal faith has been ignited, and I make no secret of this in my work.

Academically, I studied Scandinavian languages, both ancient and modern, at university. I have had the fortune to live in Iceland, Norway, and more recently, Poland. While YouTube has made me a musician in the public eye, I regard myself primarily as a linguist. This passion for language and history informs my work as the Skaldic Bard, where I seek to bring the rich poetic traditions and history of mediaeval Europe to life through song.

Many of us will think of a “bard” as a poet in a singularly English sense, as in the Bard of Avon, but the word is actually of Celtic origin. Could you say something about the role of the bard in its original Celtic context?

The word bard ultimately entered English through Old Irish. The Welsh bardd, evidently from the same root, simply means poet in the modern day. In early Celtic society, according to the ancient Greek geographer Strabo writing about the Gaulish Celts, the Bard was one of three honoured figures alongside the Druids—the moral authority—and the Ovates—the diviners and spiritualists. Bards were subject to intense scrutiny, and they devoted their lives to training in verse and instrumentation. The early Celts had no written tradition, so history and cultural memory were transmitted orally, often through song, which made bards a crucial fixture in the courts of kings.

Diodorus Siculus, a 1st-century BC Greek historian writing shortly after Julius Caesar’s invasion of Britain, noted: “There are among them composers of verses whom they call Bards; these singing to instruments similar to a lyre, applaud some, while they vituperate others.” In other words, bards could immortalise glorious deeds and crown men as heroes in the eyes of their tribe, or reduce them to objects of ridicule and scorn. With the Christianisation of the Celts and the adoption of the Latin alphabet, the role of the bard evolved, but they remained integral to the preservation of history and the crafting of legends. Their legacy and literary skills are still celebrated in the form of Welsh eisteddfodau to this day. While I would not presume to call myself a direct successor to the tradition, I broadly seek to emulate it by writing about great figures who performed glorious deeds.

You append the adjective “skaldic” to your name, a word with which many people will be unfamiliar. Could you explain why your work is not merely that of a bard but of a specifically skaldic type of bard?

The term skald originates from Old Norse—the language of the Vikings—and simply means poet. Its etymology is uncertain, though one theory has it from the Proto-Germanic *skeldaną, which gives English the word scold. This connection underscores the similarity between skalds and bards, both of whom would either praise or scold their subjects.

I chose to append skaldic to my name because my academic and artistic focus is and has always been Scandinavia. Much of my work is composed in Old Norse and incorporates elements of traditional skaldic poetry. However, as I am not Scandinavian myself, I do not claim the title of Skald outright. As I am almost entirely Celtic by blood, I call myself a bard but with a distinctly skaldic influence—which by definition makes me a Skaldic Bard!

Thanks for indulging us with these etymological niceties, which lay the foundations for an understanding of your work. Now, let’s discuss your work itself.

You first came to my notice during the past Christmas season when a friend sent me your adaptation of the famous Christmas or Epiphany carol, “We Three Kings,” which you sang in Old English, the language of the Anglo-Saxons prior to the Norman Conquest. Could you explain your inspiration for rendering this well-known carol into this largely unknown language?

We Three Kings is one of my favorite carols, not only for its melody but for its lyrical content. The exploration of each Magus’s motivations is particularly fascinating: Caspar sings of Christ’s kingship, represented by the gift of gold; Melchior, bringing frankincense—known for heightening the senses in prayer—sings of His divinity and worshipfulness; and Balthazar, offering myrrh—a resin used for embalming—solemnly acknowledges Christ’s impending death. This sorrow is triumphantly countered in the final verse, which exalts the glory of His resurrection.

I chose to translate the carol into Old English for two reasons. First, from an artistic perspective, Old English is a remarkably rich, malleable, and melodious language. It also retains enough continuity with modern English to maintain a similar flow and likeness of vocabulary which should be enjoyable for the attentive listener. Second, the Anglo-Saxons were a profoundly pious people. The translation of a religious work such as this serves to highlight this aspect of their society. This is to counter a phenomenon that has emerged in recent years: many artists who create original works in mediaeval languages today do so from a Neo-Pagan perspective, often with the express aim of deriding Christianity. I aim to present the other side of this cultural history, emphasising the deep Christian faith of the converted Anglo-Saxons as reflected in their writings.

You also recorded a beautiful version of the Greek hymn “Agni Parthene” in Old English. What inspired you to unite the traditional Greek Orthodox hymn with the ancient language of the Roman Catholic Anglo-Saxons?

Like many Chalcedonian Christians, I consider the Schism between the Catholic and Orthodox Churches deeply regrettable, to put it mildly. Aesthetically, though I am Catholic, I have deep admiration for the Eastern tradition, both Byzantine Catholic and Orthodox, and enjoy exploring its rich musical heritage. From a historical perspective, it also appears that the Schism was less clear-cut in the eyes of the laity than we might think today. Though it is traditionally dated to a convenient date of 1054, interactions and collaborations between Eastern and Western Christians continued for centuries. After the Norman Conquest of 1066, many Anglo-Saxon warriors sought refuge in Constantinople and joined the Varangian Guard, the elite bodyguards of the Roman (Byzantine) Emperor. It appears they were able to transition into the Eastern tradition without great friction. Similarly, when Western Crusaders arrived in Constantinople in 1097 en route to the Holy Land, despite cultural tensions, they were largely welcomed as fellow Christians, with little emphasis on the growing religious rift. By translating Agni Parthene into Old English and Old Norse, I sought to symbolically reunite these traditions, harking back to a time when their boundaries were more fluid.

Another aspect of your work is the martial militancy of your celebration of medieval Christendom. I’m thinking, for instance, of your translation and performance of a Norwegian ballad on The Song of Roland into Old Frankish, thereby uniting the Norse, Old Frankish, and Old French linguistic and cultural traditions in a unified celebration of the Christendom that bound them together. Could you explain your motivation for this musical adaptation and its evocation of the legendary age of Charlemagne?

A primary aim of my work is to counter the widespread misconception that Christianity somehow “weakened” or “polluted” the cultures of Europe. It is often claimed by Neo-Pagans—who take up a tremendous amount of space in the milieu of mediaeval revival—that the faith was simply a foreign imposition forced upon an unwilling population. However, a closer examination of contemporary sources reveals a far more nuanced reality. Many mediaeval Europeans willingly embraced Christianity when presented with the choice—for instance, the Icelanders, who formally converted through a democratic decision at the Althing in the year 1000. While pragmatic factors such as trade and political alliances often played a role, the transition to Christendom was remarkably smooth and ushered in a worldview that would shape and strengthen European civilisation for the next 960 years. While it is true that conversion was imposed through violence in some cases, such as Olaf Tryggvason’s Christianisation of resistant areas of Norway, one must consider the cultural landscape of the time. Mediaeval societies, particularly the Germanic peoples, revered displays of strength—violent duels over slander and slights were commonplace, and blood feuds could persist for generations. Moreover, death was an ever-present reality in mediaeval life. War, disease, and famine lurked around each corner, fostering a mindset vastly different from our own. My music reflects this reality, channeling the martial spirit of the mediaeval Christian world as it appears in the sagas and chronicles, where the fervor of the writers is inescapable. Naturally, however, I do not condone nor seek to glorify mindless violence, and my lyrics do not contain graphic imagery of bloodshed. I aim to tell engaging tales of men who either fought defensive wars, or wars that, for better or worse, changed the course of history—many of which are shamefully unknown to the modern listener.

Charlemagne epitomises this fusion of faith and warfare. The Norwegian Rolandskvadet—literally The Song of Roland—retells La Chanson de Roland in balladic verse, featuring contagious rhymes, a catchy melody, and stirring lyrics. Yet, the heroes of this story were Franks, and the language they spoke remains a matter of scholarly reconstruction. As a historical linguist, I considered it my duty to restore this lost voice, and adapted the Norwegian ballad into a reconstruction of the Frankish language as it may have been spoken by Charlemagne. The response so far has been overwhelmingly positive.

I was particularly pleased to see your wonderful song on the great Anglo-Saxon king, Harold Godwinson, which serves as a fitting counterbalance to the Norse sagas that glorify his enemy, Harald Hardrada of Norway. Can I take this as evidence that you share my sympathies for the defeated Anglo-Saxons at the Battle of Hastings? If so, why do you sympathize with them? Do you believe the Norman Conquest was ultimately beneficial or detrimental to England?

My teenage years were, rather unusually, shadowed by a deep melancholy over the fate of the Anglo-Saxons after the Norman Conquest. The loss of any people’s way of life is tragic, but in England’s case, the transformation was particularly profound—the Anglo-Saxon tradition was fundamentally replaced, linguistically and culturally. English shed many of its ancient features and evolved into a true Germano-Romance hybrid. One wonders how the Anglo-Saxon language and way of life might have evolved had history taken a different course.

That said, as historians, we must guard against excessive sentimentality. The Anglo-Saxons themselves displaced the native Britons. Such is the cyclical nature of history. While the conquest was marked by undeniable brutality—most infamously in the Harrying of the North—it also ushered in significant developments. England saw advancements in church and castle construction, the establishment of a legal framework that became the envy of the world, and a fusion of Anglo-Saxon and Norman elements that came to shape England’s unique identity. Yet, were you to ask me whether I wish the Norman Conquest had never taken place, my answer would be an unwavering yes—I wholeheartedly wish it had not!

Many people will discern a cultural affinity between your work and that of J. R. R. Tolkien, not only in his scholarship on the languages of the Old North but also in the underlying ethos of Middle-earth. Have you read Tolkien’s work, and if so, has it influenced you in any way?

Tolkien is one of my foremost inspirations. His linguistic prowess was extraordinary—his ability to compose verse in Gothic and Old English long before the advent of digital resources is truly astonishing. I have the same fascination with the mediaeval world and Germanic philology that he did. Some of my more eager followers have likened me to Tolkien on more than one occasion—a compliment that I refuse to accept, yet one that deeply touches me, such is my admiration of the man.

Beyond his linguistic influence on me, it is well known that Tolkien’s Catholicism was fundamental to his writing. While earlier drafts of The Lord of the Rings contained more overtly Christian elements, the final version remains, in his own words, “a fundamentally religious and Catholic work.” This resonates deeply with me. Many of the mediaeval kings I sing about were deeply pious men, yet some of their actions—whether acts of war, ambition, or even cruelty—can be difficult to reconcile with Catholic moral teaching. This paradox reminds me of Boromir, a noble man who succumbed to temptation in his desperate attempt to save his people, yet ultimately redeemed himself through a selfless act of bravery. The mediaeval figures I depict were likewise flawed but courageous, driven by conviction and a sense of duty.

I’m intrigued by your collaboration with the Iranian composer Farya Faraji, with whom you have worked on epic symphonies about the Crusades and the Varangian Guard. How did you come to know him, and what shared artistic vision led to your collaboration?

I am fortunate to work in a space where history-themed music is undergoing a renaissance, and Farya Faraji stands at the forefront of this movement. His immense talent and deep understanding of musical traditions across cultures have earned him a well-deserved reputation, with his channel amassing hundreds of thousands of subscribers and multiple viral compositions. Despite this success, he has always been generous, gracious and supportive towards me, even promoting my work when I was almost entirely unknown with little to offer in return.

It became unignorable that our viewers wanted us to collaborate with each other, so I eventually reached out to him privately. It was immediately clear that our visions aligned. After a minor collaboration on his symphony The Crusader, we ultimately undertook a fully joint venture: The Varangian’s Saga. It is a three-hour epic which tells the story of a young Norwegian farmer with ambitions far beyond his smallholding. When a ship bringing goods from Constantinople arrives in the nearby marketplace, he takes the opportunity to embark on a journey to the very heart of the Eastern Roman Empire. It is a tale of ambition, love, loss, glory, and redemption.

I had the privilege of playing the protagonist, composing and singing original Old Norse lyrics in traditional styles written to some of my own and Farya’s compositions. The symphony blends musical traditions from across Europe and the Middle East, incorporating lyrics in Old Norse, Old East Slavic, Koine Greek, Georgian, and more. It features what I believe is my best writing to date, and the reception has been fantastic so far.

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