Highland thing: how Scottish culture conquered the underground

In September, 26-year-old Ellie Rawlings set her alarm for 5am, sleepily climbed aboard a Megabus at Leeds station and made the 220-mile journey to Edinburgh – all in pursuit of ‘good tunes and sick times’.

Rawlings travelled to Scotland’s venerable capital city for FLY Open Air Festival, a Scottish club night turned weekend-long electronic music rave in Princes Street Gardens. ‘The crowds are so hyped up, especially when local acts are playing – you can’t help but get sucked into it all,’ says Rawlings. ‘I spent the weekend drinking Buckfast and vodka Irn Brus and getting to know Edinburgh. It was really special.’

Since her initiation into the Caladonian rave scene, Rawlings has continued travelling up to Scotland to party. ‘The way people party up there is relentless, but in a fun, silly way,’ says Rawlings. ‘I’ve definitely become a bit obsessed.’

It’s not just Rawlings who’s been seduced by Scotland. While the rest of the UK has traditionally embraced tartan and bagpipes for a few hours on Burns Night, a new generation is rehashing the country’s traditions for 2024: queuing up for ceilidhs, chugging down Buckfast like water and wearing kilts to the club, all year round. Whether it’s shapeshifting ancient motifs into fashionable streetwear, weaving club culture into traditional celebrations, or shining a light on more urban, but equally beloved, aspects of Scottish identity – it seems like Scotland is getting under our skin. 

Techno takeover  

Last summer, Dundee DJ Hannah Laing’s infectious, techno-influenced track ‘Good Love’ entered the UK Top 40, catapulting an underground but distinctly Scottish sound into the mainstream.

Scotland and electronic music go back a very long way. In the ’90s, Glasgow became known for its distinct, high-octane techno parties, fuelled by DJs like Slam, Harri & Domenic and Optimo. The spirit of that decade is being picked up again by a new generation of Scottish DJs who are gaining huge followings across the UK.

‘Scotland is known for a harder, faster sound,’ says Laing. ‘‘‘Good Love’’ is 140 bpm – that’s fast. So when my tune went in the charts, everyone was like: ‘‘what is going on?’’ My parents brought me up on ’90s rave music and a lot of people tell me that I’m bringing these sounds back but with a modern twist.’ 

This new wave of selectors are building their brands in line with their Scottish identities: whether it’s Ayrshire DJ Ewan McVicar playing Boiler Room sets in Scottish Premier League team St Mirran FC kit, or Laing weaving in Underworld’s ‘Born Slippy’ into her sets, a song synonymous with ‘Trainspotting’.

‘We’re just so proud to be from Scotland,’ says Laing. ‘The Scottish community has given me so much and the atmosphere at Scottish shows is still the best. We’re known for having crazy crowds with an ‘‘I don’t give a fuck’’ attitude and people want to be part of it. I played a Cardiff show and even people there were bringing in Scotland flags. You really feel the love for Scotland everywhere you go.’

It’s safe to say there’s a tangible buzz about the nation’s electronic music scene right now. ‘Lots of Scottish DJs have popped up, especially after the Covid lockdowns all in quite a short space of time – like Ewan McVicar, LF System and Hannah Laing – all from different cities in Scotland,’ says Jace Bryan, a producer and DJ known as J Wax, based in Edinburgh. ‘I’ve never seen that before. It’s definitely putting Scottish DJs on the map and I’ve noticed a lot of Scottish artists getting booked in places all over England.’ 

Trad gets a new look 

The party doesn’t stop there, though: the steady thump of techno is even weaving itself into timeless Scottish traditions. Bristol’s Remix Reeling, which bills itself as ‘traditional dances to banging beats and bass lines’ is a whole new take on the traditional ceilidh. The nights began at Black Rock City at Burning Man Festival in 2015, and over the last four years, every ceilidh has sold out. 

Fergus Dingle, who runs the events, came up with the idea when he was forced to learn a slew of traditional dances for a ceilidh in Oban as a teenager. ‘We spent a week learning all these steps and got bored of the fiddle-de-dee violin music, so we put on an old Jamiroquai CD and learnt it all to electro disco,’ says Dingle. ‘Fifteen years went by and I realised no one had put on a ceilidh with electronic music. Now, there’s loads of ceilidhs with a difference in Bristol, from donk ceilidhs to bass ceilidhs and techno ceilidhs.’

At a ceilidh, the community literally holds each other and swings each other around – it transforms people

The roots of Scottish ceilidh dancing go back hundreds of years to when Highlanders would use the sweaty, stitch-inducing dances as a way to socialise with the community. It’s the human bonds ceilidhs create that Dingle attributes to their popularity right now. ‘Remix Reeling is a protest at how we're so divided and disconnected from each other,’ says Dingle.

‘It’s an antidote to disappearing into our devices and becoming more polarised and cautious of each other. Our modern lifestyles mean we’re very much squirrelled away in our own homes and we don’t interact with our communities as much as we used to. At a ceilidh, the community literally holds each other and swings each other around. It transforms people when they realise they’re in this organised, fun, safe space, and they can be childish and joyful.’ 

It’s a similar story for the Brighton Ceilidh Club, which began putting on dances in a church hall ten years ago. ‘We used to do one night a month and now we have to do two because they sell out so fast,‘ says Paul Quinn, the band’s guitarist who is originally from Glasgow. ‘Growing up in the ’70s and ’80s, we saw chelidhs on television and they looked very old fashioned and formal, but that’s really changed. On Friday nights, you see people who’ve been at work all day and as soon as they come in they’ve got a big smile on their face because they know they’re going to have fun for the next few hours. It’s almost impossible to be cool at a ceilidh but that’s why people love it. It’s all about embracing the nonsense.’

Check mate

Tartan kilts are another trad Scottish symbol being overhauled. Brands like London-based Chopova Lowena and LOVERBOY by Glaswegian designer Charles Jeffrey are leading the kilt renaissance, each of them drawing on traditional folk heritage to create street style kilts with an edge: grungy asymmetric hems, punky leather belts and jangling chrome charms.  

For Professor Jonathan Faiers, whose book ‘Tartan’ inspired a major exhibition of the same name at the V&A Dundee, it’s the pattern’s inherent inability to be categorised that’s kept it in the fashion limelight. ‘Tartan is a textile of contradiction,’ says Faiers. ‘On one hand it signifies tradition, heritage, ideas about royalty in Scotland and craft traditions that have remained unchanged for years. But, it’s also able to express rebellion and countercultural movements.’ 

Faiers traces tartan’s rebellious roots right back, past its associations with Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren’s legendary ’70s punk aesthetic all the way to its associations with the Jacobites, when Highland dress was banned in certain areas after the Battle of Culloden in 1746. ‘So right back to the 18th century, tartan has had this power to be anti-establishment and rebellious,’ says Faiers.

It’s on the dance floors of LGTBQ+ club nights that this new-look tartan has really come into its own. ‘I’ve noticed a lot of people wearing kilts, especially since last summer,’ says Dillon McDonnell, co-founder of Ponyhawke, a monthly queer club night in Belfast. ‘Fashion has become a huge part of the night and people go above and beyond. At our pride event, one person wore this Vivienne Westwood Anglomania-style ruche tartan dress which they’d made themselves. You see a lot of handmade skirts using tartan fabrics.’

For McDonnell, wearing kilts is about ‘freedom, your independence and identity’. ‘As a queer man running a queer night, I know the history I’m tapping into when I wear it,’ McDonnell says. Meanwhile, Johnny V, a regular at Manchester’s queer club night Homoelectric, owns long pink kilts, a black kilt layered with leather belts and a navy blue one they wear over trousers to work. ‘It’s a powerful form of self-expression,’ says Johnny. ‘It allows me to communicate my identity and break traditional gender norms.’ 

Caledonia-core

‘Scotland has a very strong sense of identity and it has a very identifiable international brand,’ says Dr Murray Leith, a professor of political and social science at the University of the West of Scotland, who’s spent years studying Scottish national identity. ‘It has so many recognisable motifs, be it the landscape, the traditional dress, its exports – there are very few countries that have a soft drink like Irn Bru they can call theirs. Let’s face it, companies would kill for Scotland’s iconography and the positive vibes it gives off.’

So it’s no surprise that food and drink motifs synonymous with Scotland have been getting the fashionista treatment. Designer Adam Jones makes lusted-after tote bags, scarves and vest tops out of repurposed vintage bar towels from Tennent’s lager, McEwan’s ale and Buckfast, a Devon-made, exceedingly strong tonic wine that’s been adopted by the Scots. 

Scotland has so many recognisable motifs – the landscape, traditional dress, its exports...

Also making waves is clothes shop Pieute, based on Ediburgh’s historic Candlemaker Row. Founded by Robbie Walker in 2012, its most popular t-shirts bear slogans like ‘Saor Alba’ [Free Scotland], ‘Scottish tap water’ and ‘Deep fried mars bars’. Walker has ambitions for everything to be completely made in Scotland. ‘The Scottish clothing industry used to be highly sought after and world renowned for quality, but it’s been in decline over the last few decades,’ he says. ‘We’d like to do our part to bring it back. I mind seeing people wearing caps and hoodies from brands that say “New York”, “USA” or “London” and thinking that it would be seen as cringe to do that here. I thought it would be good to change that.’ 

Scottish patter

These days, many people’s first introduction to the country is through the proliferation of Scottish meme and comedy accounts plastered all over social media. Accounts like Scottish Patter and The Scottish Bible have hundreds of thousands of followers and millions of views, while videos from old school comedians like Limmy and Kevin Bridges have resurfaced online to a new generation.

‘Even people who’ve never been to Scotland are getting familiar with the slang and dialect through meme accounts,’ says Rawlings. ‘For some of my friends, their first taste of Scotland is through viral jokes from comedians and influencers.’

Walk down St John Street in Angel, London, and you’ll see the words ‘swally, rolls, pieces & pies’ (that’s alcohol, bread rolls, sandwiches and pies, for the uninitiated) in the shiny new shop window of Scottish deli Auld Hag. When it opens later this year, it will sell freshly baked Glasgow morning rolls, coffee roasted in the Isle of Skye, glass bottles of Irn Bru, Tennent’s on draft and a rotating bakery offering butteries, empire biscuits, apple slices and more.

‘I genuinely don’t think we got full traction until this summer when I announced the shoap news with an Instagram reel with a little clip from a Scottish comedy show called ‘‘Burnistoun’’,’ says Gregg Boyd, founder. Boyd made a spoof of one of BBC Scotland sit-com’s sketches about not being able to buy morning rolls from a local shop. ‘One of the characters goes on forever about how he needs rolls but can’t get them,’ Boyd says. ‘I thought, well, you can’t get the rolls in London, so why don't we do a take on that and it took off.’

Following the skit, Auld Hag’s Instagram followers catapulted from 5,000 to 20,000. ‘Growing up we had people like Limmy, we had ‘Burnistoun’ and ‘Still Game’, which weren’t broadcast anywhere else,’ says Boyd. ‘It’s something I've tried to weave into the shoap. For years they’ve laid dormant and now they’ve come to the surface and everyone’s using our patter.’

A cup o’ kindness

So why is Scottish culture so in vogue right now? A lot of this refreshed Scottish identity is driven by young Scots, whose Scottishness has been galvanised by events like the 2014 Scottish Independence referendum. But, while Scottish identity is very strong, it’s also broad, argues Dr Leith, which is probably why so many people feel affection towards it. 

‘There are very, very few people who live in Scotland and would say they’re British not Scottish, but Scotland’s sense of identity is very amorphous and very permeable,’ says Dr Leith. ‘Whether it’s Scotland’s associations with ceilidh dancing or Hogmanay, outwardly it presents a very welcoming image and there’s the idea here that anybody who wants to be, can be Scottish. It doesn’t matter if you’re someone who comes here to study, if you’re here for your job, or if you’re a refugee.’

For Walker, it was always a matter of time before the UK fell for its northern neighbours: ‘We’ve got some great things to offer and we’re funny as fuck. I’d be surprised if that didn’t catch on eventually.’