The Welsh language is currently experiencing its greatest revival in a generation. Along with a reported spike in speakers – “874,700 people are able to speak the language, up from 726,600 in 2008”, according to the BBC – and a rise in national pride following Brexit , the momentum for an independent Wales has blossomed from a feeble Plaid Cymru and a few unsavoury nationalists into a genuine nationwide discourse.

With a sound that’s morphed from delicate folk-pop into dissonant indie rock of the Sub Pop roster variety, and lyrics that muse on red lipstick, wine and the pitfalls of a political system dominated by England, Adwaith are one of many young bands at the forefront of a shift in Welsh-language music. There hasn’t been an all-woman Welsh language band since Sidan (Silk), a folk group whose last album came out in 1976. And while, yes, the industry is quick to coin a new "Welsh music boom" every time Gwenno has an album out, the last decade has seen a steady appetite for Welsh-language pop culture in general. As more time has gone on, it feels less tokenistic and more representative of a growing sense of cultural identity.

A cheer roared through Rough Trade East in early March, when we were still allowed to go outside properly, as Carmarthen indie-rock group Adwaith played to a sold-out room. “This one’s about how Westminster keeps fucking Wales over,” vocalist Hollie Singer announced, before launching into a song which, like most of Adwaith’s songs, is in Welsh.

Elsewhere, our notoriously second-rate men’s football team has had its best half decade in history, reviving the nation’s sporting love along with it. Sensationalised TV shows like The Valleys have come and gone, making way for the rise of "Celtic noir" and bilingual personalities like Love Island’s Connagh (who, by the way, was ROBBED). The language has even received its own (ed: very sick) typeface: Cymru Wales Sans. But is there a reason why we’re seeing more appetite for this now? Huw Stephens of BBC Radio 1, 6, and Cymru, offers up a theory.

“I think that, as the world has gotten smaller over the last five years, creative people have zoned in on what's true and relevant to their lives,” he tells me. “For many Welsh people, this means using Welsh or speaking about Welsh things.”

While there’s not quite a shortage of music about the Welsh experience (see: almost every single Manic Street Preachers song), there has been a long-standing disconnect between Welsh subject matter and the Welsh language.

“I’d often be ripped for speaking Welsh in school, so I assumed it was uncool,” says Talulah Thomas, a 19-year-old student from North Wales. Growing up near the English border in a predominantly English-speaking community, there wasn’t much opportunity for Talulah to socialise or express herself in Welsh. Then she caught wind of the alternative music festival Maes B – described by organisers as “the official afterdark little brother of the Eisteddfod” – and started sneaking out to go. “The bands were mainly indie boys in t-shirts, but artists like Adwaith and Ani Glass soon came up,” she explains. “They seemed super badass, and they’re women. So that was me fully into it.”