She changed more than just her hairstyle. Imelda May underwent a more profound metamorphosis when she abandoned her trademark rockabilly appearance—quiff high, eyeliner sharp. What came next was more about personal and musical development than nostalgia.
Her early albums, especially Mayhem and Love Tattoo, were self-assured throwbacks to a sound that many had forgotten how much they missed. Something raw, upright basses thumping beneath lyrics that alternated between sass and sorrow, there was joy in it. However, the limitations of that era-specific niche also changed over time. The girl from The Liberties in Dublin had transformed herself into something more resonant and difficult to categorize by the time Life Love Flesh Blood arrived in 2017.
| Category | Details |
|---|---|
| Full Name | Imelda Mary Clabby (professionally Imelda May) |
| Date of Birth | July 10, 1974 |
| Place of Birth | Dublin, Ireland (The Liberties) |
| Profession | Singer, Songwriter, Musician, Television Presenter, Author |
| Genre | Rockabilly, Jazz, Blues, Soul, Spoken Word |
| Notable Albums | Love Tattoo, Mayhem, Tribal, Life Love Flesh Blood, 11 Past the Hour |
| Awards | Meteor Award for Best Irish Female Artist (2009), multiple chart-toppers |
| Estimated Net Worth | $8 million (as of 2025) |
| Family | One daughter (Violet), formerly married to Darrel Higham |
| Relationship Status | In a relationship with Niall McNamee |
| Reference | Celebrity Net Worth |
She leaned into Americana and soul, into the silence of introspection and the shudder of heartache. She improved her craft rather than inflating her ego by working with icons like T Bone Burnett and sharing stages with Jeff Beck, Noel Gallagher, and Ronnie Wood. She was able to assert her claim to longevity—a term that is rarely used when discussing female singers who were formerly recognized for their pin-up aesthetic—by carefully balancing her creative instincts.
Reinvention is often rewarded by the industry, but not always in such a graceful way. May repeated the action multiple times. She went from standing under spotlights at the Grammy Awards to belting out bluesy songs in basement clubs. She performed moving readings of poetry. In Fisherman’s Friends: One and All, she performed. During the lockdowns, she even composed an album of spoken words. Perhaps most surprisingly, her net worth increased steadily due to a gradual accumulation of sold-out performances, reputable partnerships, and rights ownership rather than ostentatious business deals.
She is currently valued at an estimated $8 million, which is surprising to many people who only think of pop stardom or prime-time ubiquity as sources of wealth. May, however, has never pursued virality. Like her performances, her success comes from conviction. As an artist, she would rather spend time coaching up-and-coming musicians at a muddy Irish festival than go to a red carpet event that doesn’t interest her.
Her public divorce from guitarist Darrel Higham in 2015 felt more like a quiet transition than a tabloid storm in part because of this. It demonstrated the same methodical rebalancing she applies to everything. There was only a new phase, no spectacle. And her best work seemed to come from that stage, which was characterized by motherhood, creative freedom, and more intimate songwriting.
I recall thinking how uncommon it is for an artist to age so obviously into their authenticity when I saw her perform live with Jools Holland in late 2025, dressed to command rather than to impress.
Of course, there are still aspects of her life that are not readily apparent. Although she rarely gives interviews that delve too deeply into her personal life, fans have caught a glimpse of her through social media posts, such as her touching remembrance of Stephen McCahill in Donegal or her candid thoughts around Christmas. These moments seem unplanned. They experience life.
Her net worth is still more than a ledger of music sales and performance fees. Speaking engagements, television work (such as The Imelda May Show), and a publishing deal for her poetry are all reflected in it. There is a resolute independence there—a desire to influence not only the music but also the conditions under which it is produced.
Critics concentrated on her collaborations when she released 11 Past the Hour, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the record’s spine—how it felt like a letter to herself, addressed in fragments over decades. It’s the type of album you make to comprehend rather than to compete.
It took Imelda May some time to become wealthy. She gradually gained it by experimenting with different genres, avoiding formulas, and following her gut even when it took her off of more popular routes. Ultimately, the $8 million amount is merely a figure; what endures is the body of work and the perception that she didn’t compromise, give up, or stop.
She is still moving, if anything. I’m still writing. Still singing. still developing.
