IRISH traditional music must be feeling pretty dazed these days. Or, at least, feel it is suffering from what Tricky would describe as "Pre Millennium Tension" as it yields to the strain of being forcibly prepared for the 21st century and sent winging back into its prehistoric past by two new recordings artists at the same time: Brigid Boden and Michael Okasili.

And even though both artists occupy different, decidedly post modern, sonic landscapes, they share a common cultural base and are clearly obsessed with the notion of rummaging around the soul of Irish music.

That said, Boden is eager to reject one suggestion made in my review of her album in last Friday's Irish Times. "You were wrong to say that purists will probably hate this album. They don't!" she says. "I am a purist, at heart, and I was adamant purists wouldn't hate it. Besides, you can't get more `purist' than Frankie Gavin, Vinne Killduff and Patrick Kilduff traditional musicians who are all on this album and love it!

"And I really am a traditional musician myself, so the two key aspects of this album were to be respectful to the Irish traditional music and the tradition of dance music."

When Brigid refers to dance music" she means specifically the rhythms of reggae, hiphop and other AfroCaribbean influences - "not techno". Nevertheless, as a woman who clearly isn't Caribbean, African or even dark of skin, isn't she leaving herself open to the accusation that she's just another white person ripping off black culture?

"No, because Kevin Armstrong is heavy into dance and the people we use on the reggae tracks were the real authentic guys, like the drummer who came in to do Child On A Cloud," she responds. "And although, no, I'm not black, this love of black rhythms does come from within me. From where, I don't know. My soul, I guess.

"I adore dance, for instance, have been studying it since I was three and even spent time with the Harlem Dance Theatre. That's a big part of what comes across on this album and, to me, it's true. True to who I am."

But who, exactly, is Brigid Boden? In the Internet biography that accompanies her album, references are made to a time "when the people who ruled the land were called Celts or Gaels" which, one presumes, is supposed to provide a historical context for her music. The press release for Martin Okasili's album, The Invisible History of The Black Celt furrows even further back into our supposed past, tapping onto the theory that "the original inhabitants of Ireland were African".

Brigid responds as she reads the press release: "Absolutely - it's all roots music, that's what he's saying here, like Michael Flatley reminding us that Irish dancing and tap are one. I hadn't heard of this "black Irish" theory until right now, that's like what I meant when I said this music comes from my soul. Irish people, like Africans, or Caribbean people, are very soulful.

"I've never understood this, but, even growing up, I loved black music almost as much as Irish music. Okay, my ultimate heroes are The Chieftains, Matt Molloy but I also adored all that 1970s soul stuff, like Diana Ross And to me, a lot of this goes back to the voice. That's why I wanted this album to capture my "Irish" voice, as a singer and musician but also to be soulful, funky, the kind of music that would make me want to get out there and dance. And that's what's has happened!

"I've been in dance clubs in America and seen crowds of people really getting into Oh How I Cry. It's weird. But somehow, so right!"

Others, irrespective of race or colour, "get into" Brigid's songpoem, Oh How I Cry, at a less public level. It focuses on the death of her father and probably perfectly defines what one American critic describes as the "time less, aching passion" in Boden's songs.

"That comes as much from the fact that we, as Irish people, have a tragic history as it does from my own personal feelings," she says. "But only people who are really observant, or instinctual will hear the sadness at the heart of many of these songs rather than the happy beats I lay over that, to mask the darkness. Even so, one woman told me she played Oh How I Cry, on repeat for four hours, sobbed her heart out and that it was the "best tonic" she could have had because her father, too, had died. It's wonderful to know I can move someone, to that extent, by a song. That's why I really can say my heart and soul is in this album - and the soul is absolutely Irish, whether that is because of my passion for Irish poets like Yeats, who really influences my writing on so many levels, or my love of Irish traditional music."

FINE, but what about Michael Okasili? Is he really buying into that line about the original inhabitants of this country being Africans? Or is this self validation taken to a ridiculous degree?

"I believe it or I wouldn't have done this album!" he says, laughing. "I first heard of the theory a few years ago, through reading a study by two Somalian scientists, specialise in blood science, and found that a lot of Irish people had an African gene. Then they studied everything, from the shapes of peoples' heads to the myths and legends of Ireland, the language, the oral traditions, music. And they did identify similarities - for example, in the fact that Ireland has the only culture - where you'll find an oral tradition similar to the one in Africa.

"There also are rhythmic similarities in the music, and a sense of loss common to even the chords we use. I have been attacked by some "purists" who say what I do has nothing to do with Irish traditional music, but all that really is part of what I'm exploring on the album, especially on songs like 40 Days.

"Too many histories of Irish music only go back to the Celts, and stop there."

That said, Martin stresses that the theories of Ibrahim and Ahmed Ali "fermented in my soul alongside other influences" (such as the birth of his son) and led him to The Invisible History Of The Black Celt.

"Having a child brings your own childhood back up close and makes you realise how much it informs a sense of who you are, now," he explains. "There also comes a time when a songwriter stops being derivative and I reached that point when I had my wee boy, Osi. All of this made me need to examine my own life, history, along these lines."

Didn't Martin also recently claim that he was "liberated" by hiphop, which made him realise that you have to know your past before you can move into the future?

"Definitely," he responds.

"Hiphop culture is all about that. It's about saying whatever you have to say, no matter how dreadful, outrageous that is. It's saying, `this is my street, this is what we do on my street'. That's what comes through on many songs on this album, like Survival Technique where I say `I'm going to make it through the gun, the street, the night, the crack,' whatever.

Whatever, indeed. Growing up in Northern Ireland, this particular Black Celt encountered not just the gun, street, night and crack but also racism. And even, though, by the end of the album, in the perfectly titled Redeemed Martin Okasili sings of how "since I lost my need to hate/I have found a child in me" the pain is still obvious as he speaks of that part of his past.

"I do feel I am redeemed and a lot of that stems from the fact that I discovered music, which is the theme of Troubles Will Pass," he says. "As with hiphop, listening to punk bands like the Undertones really was another form of rebirth for me, made me see that I could say what I had to say. Because I did grow up feeling absolutely alienated. My mom's Protestant and my dad's Catholic and I had friends in both communities and some people would accept that I am Irish but there always was this sense `at the end of the day, you re just a nigger'. I got a lot of that. So I didn't feel I couldn't affiliate with any side.

"It all just made me feel totally different, outside all this. That's part of why I finally had to move to London, to be with other black people, check out black culture, not be an alien, even in terms of walking down a street. But it also was a great rite of passage because, finally, I can say `this is who I am and I don't care who doesn't accept that.' That, in a sense, is my redemption.

"And I have been brought to that point as a result of doing this album."