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Dropkick Murphys/Sick Of It All/Tiger Army – American Pride Tour 2001, Chicago, Il (October 19, 2001)

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Punks, Skins, Hardcore kids, Psychos…All were in attendance as the American Pride Tour rolled through Chicago on Friday night, October 19th. Heading up to the venue – the Vic – I noticed the familiar faces of Chicago’s finest skins and punks that normally roll out for the DKM, but what amazed me was the sheer variety of the crowd. Not that it should have. America’s finest bands in three categories were in town. Tiger Army, the west coast’s premiere “Psychobilly/Punk/Rock’N’Roll” three piece, NYHC hardcore legends, the mighty Sick Of It All and the ever popular trailblazers of American Paddycore/Mickrock, the Dropkick Murphys.

As show time approached, the greasers adjusted their quiffs, the skins looked hard and psychos flooded the front. You could almost hear the switchblades gleaming and the pomade drying as Tiger Army scampered up on stage first. Being a fan of all things psycho, I readied myself. The Army played a helluva, albeit short set. This is a group that needs to be seen to be fully appreciated. Playing such hits as “Nocturnal” and the Army anthem “Never Die”. Nick 13’s crooning and the hard-driving, haunting, howling sounds from the band left the psychos dying for more. Newer numbers like “The Power Of Moonlight” and “FTW” were already audience favorites, as the crowd wrecked along to every word. If you’re not familiar with Tiger Army, imagine a gang of 50’s rockabillies cutting an album with the grit of the Clash, and lyrics influenced by old horror movies and Glenn Danzig. Maybe Gene Vincent meets the Misfits meets East Bay Hardcore? Stand-up bass player Geoff Kresge was amazing – quite a showman he was – all energy, pacing back and forth like, well, a caged tiger (yeah, yeah…bad, bad pun.) Nick 13 kept the crowd moving, and all in all, I wish they would’ve played for another 30 minutes, as their material is definitely strong enough to warrant it, and they kept the crowd involved the whole time. American roots music updated with a punk rock flair and horror show style. Hell, I even saw some skins smiling. I haven’t had this much fun with greasers since Fonzie donned water skis and jumped a shark all those years ago.

Testosterone levels were running high, and the change was aching to be picked up, as New York’s Sick Of It All followed. If you’ve seen SOIA, then no explanation of what followed is necessary. Motherfucking Mayhem. As Ken Casey noted, these guys ain’t no openers – there were TWO headliners for tonight’s show. Lou Koller made sure that everyone took care of each other as the band blasted through hit after fucking hit. I have always been a fan of the bands older material, (although I do also dig their newer stuff) and was pleased to hear them represented by “Clobberin’ Time” “GI Joe Head Stomp” and “Us Vs. Them” among others – it was a virtual hit parade. SOIA also pulled out all the stops on newer ball-busters like “Call to Arms” and cuts from their latest “Hello Pricks” and “Disco Sucks, Fuck You.” Band-wise, Pete Koller is a sight to behold: total fucking energy, never stops moving throughout the whole set. Near mid-set, Lou asked everyone to play the “Braveheart” game, re-enacting the scene from said film where Wallace and the Scots charge the Irish portion of the English-ruled Army (the Irish were the expendable ones, after all) and rather than commence combat, they stopped and embraced. So, the game went: rather than run headlong into one another and ‘battle’, stop and embrace. It was positivity and unity like this that the crowd (and country) needed to have thrust their way. All this from fuckin’ Yankee fans, I couldn’t believe it… (just kidding, I’m just bitter that my fucking “normally-worthless- yet-this-year-first-place” Cubs blew it in the last 3 weeks of the season this year. They say rooting for lovable losers is honorable, but Jesus Christ, can we catch a break sometime soon? More opinions on that later.) While America and New York may have been wounded, Sick Of It All are on the scene making sure that we kick start ourselves, brush off the ashes and head right back into the good fight. Cheers, gentlemen.

After SOIA left the stage, the crowd was treated to an unannounced surprise. The Chicago Police Emerald Society Pipe and Drums band took the stage. The Chi-town pipers/drummers set consisted of patriotic American tunes like “God Bless America” and I swear at one point I heard strains of “Yankee Doodle Dandy” as well. It was amazing to see the band’s lead drummer, well into his fifties, playing almost punk-rock speed as the crowd spurred him on with chants of “faster, faster.” When I talked to him post-show about how well he and the band had played, he just smiled and said “Hey, I’m a fan, just like you.”

Being a piper myself, I knew the pipers and drummers were paying a hefty tribute to those lost in NYC on 9/11. They were, in words stolen from the aforementioned film “Braveheart”: saying goodbye in their own way, playing outlawed tunes on outlawed pipes…..Then, they broke into the familiar call to arms of “Scotland the Brave” and I could almost hear Mills Lane’s raspy mantra in the air: Let’s Get It On.

If patriotism, positivity, hard work and guts represents the necessary tools for the old-school American success story, and the results could be personified into a band, that band would be Dropkick Murphys. Ken Casey has created an Irish-American band based in punk rock, Oi! and the American working-class tradition, but one that expanded into so much more. The cliché review of “this band represents American values and the working man….” never rang more true, never sounded less clichéd, as that is exactly what the Murphys are about. Having seen them in their earliest appearances in Chi-town (playing Thurstons with the Business was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen) I can tell you they have been about these messages since day one. In the wake of recent events, I can think of no other band that could heal a cities battered and wounded subculture like the Murphys. As the lights dimmed, the familiar strains of Boston legends DYS “Wolfpack” started over the speakers (and I chuckled as the hardcore crew next to me asked themselves who it was.)

The familiar crowd chant “Let’s Go Murphys” echoed off the cavernous ceiling like a packed Wrigley Field and the band responded – The Murphys took the stage like a band possessed, like men with missions. The usual hit parade was present and old classics like the opener “Do or Die” and “Never Alone” had me front row and fighting off a sea of the mad. My favorite from the new record “Heroes From Our Past” got my boots moving, as did the normal drinking anthems “The Wild Rover” and “Finnegan’s Wake.” As is now tradition, the ladies flooded the stage for “The Spicy McHaggis Jig” (including some particularly well-endowed ladies at that) and Spicy looked slightly bemused by it all, shaking his head and laughing.

Spicy was like a man-at-arms all night, playing his “instrument of war” as if the bands lives REALLY DID depend on him, like Scots Pipers did all those centuries ago. Mark Orrell is a wonder-kid, with Angus Young-style flash on the lead guitar, balanced out by the equally grand James Lynch, who is more like a guitar version of bass player John “The Ox” Entwistle of the Who – all power, no mess, no fuss, just pure impact. I couldn’t hear Ryan Foltz as well as I have in the past, which might’ve had something to do with the fact that I was front row, stage right the whole night. I know from the past, however, the kid’s a talent, playing both mandolin and whistle, both of which are a bugger to play. Matt Kelly, as usual, keeps things moving, and his mix of punk rock/Celtic-style drumming makes him the best in the biz. Al Barr, as most know, is a legend. Barr controls the chaos and winds the crowd up when necessary and brings them back down when needed. He definitely is exercising more vocal control and range with the Murphys than he did with the Bruisers. Ken Casey – well – Ken is the visionary. Thanks to Ken, the world of punk rock is enlightened. While Oi! comparisons don’t really fit musically anymore, the spirit is the same – sounds from the streets created by neighborhood guys who lived it. Giving the laborer a voice. Rallying around the country’s needs. Seeing that patriotism isn’t viewed as a negative. (Anti-Flag anyone?) As a songwriter, Ken is, to me, like a Brendan Behan figure. A working class kid who’s been through a lot and who knows how to string sentences together to evoke emotional responses from his audience. It’s as simple as that. Call-and-response. Big choruses that fit right in at any barroom sing-along. Lyrics that make the old fellas in the neighborhood nod and wink, inhale their smoke, take a pull off their well-worn flask and bask proudly in the glory Casey evokes in his songs. And a wicked bass player to boot. Too bad he’s a Bruins fan. Go `Hawks.

The event offered numerous thoughtful surprises – the band dedicated the old classic “John Law” from the “Tattoos and Scally Caps” 7″ (has it been that long?) to all the policemen and firemen who lost their lives battling the terror that was 9/11. I don’t know if I’ve been happier or more proud to hear a song in my life. “Far Away Coast” packed a similar emotional wallop, in tribute to the soldiers that are defending God’s Country as we speak. The audience themselves came alive and embraced the unity the Dropkicks preached – There were soldiers embraced with skinheads, cops arm-in-arm with punks (yes, it’s true) and greasers and psychos and just regular guys and girls. It was a sight to witness. Ken stopped several times to point out that America needs to remember their forgotten, to honor their fallen – to never forget. He led the crowd in “Amazing Grace” and noted that a portion proceeds from the show are going to the New York Firefighters 9-11 Relief Fund.

When all was said and done, when the last strains of “Skinhead on the MBTA” were no more, the boys thanked the crowd, packed it up and left the stage. No encores. None were needed. This show was about American Pride, not band pride. Point well taken. The Murphys came to us that night like the boys from the old brigade, called back into action when we need them most. They came to town to raise the flag high and raise spirits even higher. Mission accomplished, lads. Slainte. Much thanks to them, Tiger Army and Sick Of It All.

By Sean Holland

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Blood or Whiskey – McGann’s, Boston MA (September 13, 2001)

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After an INS hassle in late August, Ireland’s Blood or Whiskey managed to enter the States to bring their driving trad-Irish folk-punk to the pubs of the East Coast. The hijackers were yet new arrivals in Hell when Blood or Whiskey — encouraged by fans to press forward — played the famous McGann’s in Boston.

Allow me to quote myself from a Clancys review that appeared in the Boston Irish Reporter a few years back: “Tucked in a side street near the Fleet Center, McGann’s is a small Irish pub that books some great Irish music acts. Its walls are divided between red brick and yellow sheet rock, and they’re covered with framed photos of concerts past. The tables and the bar are smooth blond wood.” Huh — I forgot to mention that the bathrooms feature running water. A determined crowd of about 65 included members of Dropkick Murphys, Tommy & the Terrors, and the Lashes.

Blood or Whiskey are a skilled six-piece with drums, bass, banjo, acoustic guitar, bouzouki, and tin whistle. Sometimes switching to mandolin, the tin whistle player was an American stand-in — a portly fellow in an awesome Boston-Bruins-style Guinness jersey. Singer and bouzouki player Barney sometimes switched to accordion. They’re not much for onstage banter, but this band is an excellent throwback to Red Roses For Me acoustic punk. Barney’s ability to simultaneously pluck and growl intricate Irish melodies raises the bar for the genre. Drawing from both their studio albums as well as their repertoire of traditionals, the band cranked them out fast and tight, yet mellow and laid-back. Only guitarist/singer Dugs hollered and jumped around the stage. Their set was broken up with plenty of finely-cobbled instrumentals, like “King of the Fairies/Western Junk,” whose thudding bass and shrieking whistle conjured Paddy Garcia firing his pistol at the wild cats of Kilkenny. Other highlights were “Galway Town,” “Unfinished Business,” a super-fast rendition of “Kelly the Boy from Killane,” “Follow Me Up to Carlow,” and of course the very sensitive “You Can Keep the Baby, Baby.” They slowed it down for the glass-swaying “Sober Again.” And bassist Tom sang some of the ska and pop songs, like the self-proclaimed “cheesy” number “Chloe,” which Barney sheepishly introduced as having “bombed in the Irish charts.” The set clocked in at an hour and a half, as the lads finished strong with “Bucharest” and “Rudy.”

Abrasive or mellow? Blood or Whiskey sound rough, but they deliver one hell of a smooth buzz. May you have no excuse to miss ’em next time!

By Pat Kennedy

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Neck -The Burren, Somerville MA (September 19, 2001)

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Neck were back in the USA, “Loud’n’Proud’n”Bold” for their forth US tour in just over a year with a completely new backing band (are Neck the Whitesnake of Celtic Punk and if so then is Leeson, Dave Coverdale and Marie then Tawnie Kitten?), an older, more mature and tighter group then the previous line up.

The Burren is arguably the finest venue for traditional Irish music in the North East if not the entire country. In the front bar there is a trad. session 7 nights a week and the back room usually plays host to national and international folk and roots rock bands.

The back room was almost full when Neck took the stage at about 10.30, Leeson cracking a joke that most of the audience would clear out within 30 seconds of them starting, almost a true statement as within the first three songs most of the casuals, after work crowd and those with more mellow taste cleared out to the sanctuary of the front bar, and by the end of the night it was just those who had come for Neck and a drunk Texan red neck screaming for a guitar solo. Neck have really turned up the guitars way past eleven since the Psycho-Ceile EP taking cue from the Dropkick Murphys and especially Flogging Molly (right down to a cover of “The Worst Day Since Yesterday” with some C&W guitar), though I do think they have lost a little of the punkieness of before, now hidden somewhere behind the guitars. Leeson’s, on stage banter was as entertaining as ever (if you can get beyond the accent) and Marie McCormick is definitely one of the best trad. musicians on any scene. The set was a mix of originals from PC, Necked and the upcoming CD, Irish standards punked up (A man you don’t.., Foggy Dew, Sean South, Star of the County Down, Fields of Athenry, Back Home in Derry) and an impromptu version of Fairytale of New York tacked on to the end of the set. Biggest complaints was the sound gremlins causing much fiddling around between songs by the band and the fifteen minuets interval mid set that to me seemed to cause the band to loose a lot of momentum and take away from what could be a very powerful live set.

In summary I really think Neck will be the next big band to break thru to (almost) the big time like FM and DKM, with some luck, hard work and a label willing to put some dollars into getting them there.

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Tommy & the Terrors, In Harm’s Way, Suspect Device, Musclecah – The Middle East, Cambridge MA (December 19, 2001)

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Musclecah opened this one. Personally, I’m already sick of the so-cheesy-it’s-cool hard rock schtick, but I’ll say this about Musclecah: these guys aren’t being ironic; they really are old long-haired rockers from Worcester. They actually bought their mesh baseball caps in the ’80s at the mall, not yesterday at the Salvation Army. Anyways, some good heavy riffs and an entertaining singer.

Next up was Suspect Device. For an explanation of their anthemic street-punk sound, refer to my gushing review of their CD, also in this issue. And if you have the CD, well, tonight they played several songs from it, such as “Another Day,” “Carry On,” and “Street Rock Soul.” Suspect Device are a non-flashy, inspiring band who rock the house. Even when he’s singing, Jay Bennett does not stop moving and jumping around, throwing his guitar neck up in the air at every hit as the drummer pounds away. The growing crowd perked up immediately.

I was surprised at the next band, In Harm’s Way. These young hardcore kids were not bad at all – I didn’t take too many notes because I was suddenly moved to jump in there and rhythmically punch and kick the air as if it was a real show. So that says something about In Harm’s Way and their good blend of old and new school HC.

Last up was Tommy & the Terrors. Tommy on stage is a well-spoken soccer hooligan. He humbly deflects applause and says what “an honor and a privilege” it is to play with the other bands. Then, suddenly, when a song starts, his face goes red as he furiously barks lyrics, pounding the air and wrapping the mic cable around his arm like a man possessed. The Terrors’ talented new lead guitarist gives them a professional, Skynyrd-esque element in the form of solos and a leopard-print guitar strap. The closer was “I Love Rock n’ Roll” by Joan Jett (or whoever the hell did that song originally).

By Pat Kennedy

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The Pogues – Brixton Academy, London (December 22, 2001)

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I’d never actually managed to see the Pogues before. Even after Shane was booted out. I never seemed to be in the same place as them at the same time. I’d seen Shane McGowan and The Popes supported by Stiff Little Fingers before, which was a night to remember. Shane was about an hour late taking the stage that night. His opening very drunken, very slurred comments to the crowd were “It’s great to be back here in Wolverhampton!” Which would’ve been fine had we not been 80 miles away in Nottingham! So with memories of the great man’s gaff in mind we set off for the Big Smoke… the dirty old town that is London. The gig in our adopted town of Birmingham had sold out before we even knew about it.

My cohort on the day was one Rich McCormack, singer and guitarist for old skool punkers DOGSHIT SANDWICH and head honcho for PUNK SHIT record label. Now Rich comes from a small village in the middle of the Republic of Ireland and came to these shores after the Pogues had split. So here’s two mad-keen Pogues fans who’d never got to see ‘em first time around and we’re heading down to the hell that is London. We drive 115 miles down the motorway followed by some late Friday rush hour city driving to get across to the South of the Thames. We get to the place we’re staying at with only a vague set of directions then jump in a taxi to Brixton (one of London’s nearest equivalents to bits of the Bronx, Oakland or South Central LA). After a quick toss of a coin we pass up on a jar or two at the nearby cheapest Irish pub in London and head straight in to the Academy for some very expensive beer from cans. I head for the tiny bar with the huge queue and slow bar staff whilst Rich heads for the large toilets with the larger queue. As the young lady behind the bar siphons the last drops of ale into our ‘plastic’ glasses and Rich finishes siphoning the last drops from the proverbial python we hear the first strains of Stream of Whiskey. Not bad timing considering the distance we’d traveled.

Now, unfortunately we have tickets not for the downstairs drunk-as-fuck, leap about Punk rock Ciledah, but for the upstairs-seated balcony. But, hey, was that going to stop people dancing? No bleedin’ chance!

By the time we get up to the balcony there’s no sign of the great poet, and that sets the scene for about the first half of the set. Shane limps on, sings a song or two and then limps off again whilst the band do a song without him. I later asked an acquaintance about this and he assures me that three nights earlier Shane had no limp. He couldn’t have fallen over in a drink riddled stupor at sometime between could he? Well, looking at the state of him that night I should say that he wasn’t sober for the whole of the tour. The small amount of banter with the crowd was indecipherable at best but the songs… well they were as clear as he ever gets. That great tumble of slurred words that fall out of his crumbling-tombstone toothed mouth is just as great ever. Who cares whether he can sing or not. It’s one of the most distinctive voices in music and also the ultimate singalong voices. And singalong the crowd did.

We get a blast through all the greatest moments that the Pogues have to offer and then some. They seem to play early on several songs that I wasn’t aware of and some old trad songs interspersed with the likes of “Turkish Song of the Damned”, “Misty Morning, Albert Bridge”, “White City”, “Repeal of the Licensing Laws”, “Waxies Dargle” and then saving the best until last we get some of the best from what I consider to be their greatest moment… “Rum, Sodomy and the Lash”. “Dirty Old Town” slows the crowd for a moment. Their legs are rested and their lungs take over as they bellow that great folk song written by Kirsty Macoll’s father back in the faces of the band. We get “The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn”, “Sally Maclananne” and “A Pair of Brown Eyes”.

The greatest moment of the night has to be the sound of couple of thousand drunks singing “Fairytale of New York” which I swear almost drowned out the band. “This one’s for Kirsty!” and for Kirsty we sang! Glasses and hands are held aloft and voices half shouted and half drawled the greatest Christmas song ever. If they didn’t hear us in New York City then I’d be amazed. I didn’t catch the name of the young lady who sang Kirsty’s parts but she sure did it justice.

A couple of encores give us an old trad song that I didn’t recall hearing before followed by the greatest party song of all time… “Fiesta”. Ever seen the video? See those weird mosaic Mediterranean seats and buildings in the background? Well that’s in the Gaudi Park in Barcelona. I was there a few months earlier and with the combination of beer, my jumping imagination and that song I was temporarily transported back there. Brandy and Half-Corona indeed! And then… the song that they couldn’t have left out… “The Irish Rover”. It’s over. That’s it. Rich turns to me and tells me exactly what I’m thinking. “I wish we had tickets for Tomorrow night”. Hell, yes!

Out into the streets of London we go armed to the teeth with Pogues t-shirts and hooded tops and music spinning around our heads along with the animated chattering of a couple of thousand drunks. All there is to do now is dodge the drunks, drug dealers and pigs in riot gear and make our way back to our hosts with our tales of glory.

By Mark V. (Rock ‘Em Dead Records)

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The Skels – The Middle East, Cambridge, MA (January 17, 2002)

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You can always tell how good a gig was by the size of your hangover and your lack of work productivity the next day and last nights Skels gig sure as hell left me with a splitting head, bad arse (Guinness farts and all) and a distinct lack of work done. This was meant to be a six band bill but the Casualties cancelled which was probably a good thing as the Middle East is a basement club and their fan’s lack of personal hygiene would have made the night unbearably smelly (the Skels playing with the Smels – bad joke).

I missed Tommy & The Terrors, caught the tail end of girlie power pop punks the Decals who seemed real good and the whole set by Random Road Mother who played trashy sleazy punk with a singer who seemed to have a Freddie Mercury thing going on with the microphone and some how I kept thinking of the LA Guns as I watched them.

Next up were everyone’s favorite Drew Carey lookalikes; the Skels who came on stage to chants of “you fat bastards” from the audience (well from me anyway). All dapper looking in the new clothes they got for Christmas; Chris in the Dublin GAA top, Henry in a Rangers jersey (New York not Glasgow) and Tim in that ratty old gray t-shirt he always wears. Scott also managed to keep his shirt on again and not scare any little old ladies who might happen upon the show.

The set was a 45 minute or so blast of energy especially with Scott who played his tin whistle like it was a weapon, I keep thinking the Skels must have been trashers in their youth as they played their songs at almost neck snapping trash metal speed (and they also seemed to have the whole synchronized thing going on ala Judas Priest -how about some head banging guys ?) that got the Punks pogoin’, Skinheads step dancing and some crazy little guy in a shirt and tie just absolutely freaking out.

The set was a good mix of stuff from both Stoney Road and the Book of Skels and some new punkie drinking songs. Highlight’s for me were Swing, set finisher Broken Heart in Every Empty Glass and of course the very brilliantly danceable Finest White Girl. The Skels encored with Darkbuster’s “I hate the Unseen”, played Dropkick Murphys style with half the audience jumping on stage – great stuff.

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The Dolomites – Kells Irish Pub, Portland, OR (March 17, 2002)

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First off, Holy Shit!, secondly, What the fuck?! The Dolomites have become the most entertaining and bizzare band of all time! This show had nothing to do with St. Paddy’s Day, and neither did the music! In fact the band has turned into an evil circus clown/gypsy polka band! The show is just as much visual as musical. The gutiar/clarinet player was dressed up like Spiderman, the squeezebox/vocalist sat on a toilet for the whole show and sang songs from the semi-CD, “The Medicine Show”. The part time banjo player sporting a culinary chef jacket and blond Sammy Hagar wig, cooked up some fish n’ chips onstage in a garbage can and served it on the garbage can lid to the audience as they came up to the stage. The band kept yelling at the crowd “You fucking Germans!!” and “Have some fish flesh!!!” They played some newer songs like “Hop Scotch” and “Rose City….What The Fuck!” and “A Japanese Pop Song.”

More or less they were just playing around on a late Sunday night. It was the drummer’s last show after about four years. The Squeezebox-Singer was jumping in the air, setting a candle inside the toilet on flames with some kind of flammable powder! (non-dairy creamer maybe?) I wish I had a video recorder! If you see The Dolomites van pull into your town, call the authorities, and ask the mental ward if they have about six or seven padded rooms for some very insane individuals! I don’t know how often these guys tour, but, you won’t want to miss this show!!”

Review by Brian Gillespie

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Amadan, McGnarley’s Rant – Kells Irish Pub, Portland, OR (March 16, 2002)

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On Saturday, I stumbled downtown into the chaotic Kells Pub.On my way to one of the three (four?) tents that the pub had set up for music, I heard bagpipes playin’ everywhere (a good thing!), saw way too many of those goofy Jamison’s green and white “cat in the hat” style hats, and people in Notre Damn Fightin’ Irish sweaters asking me where the green beer was. I usually avoid this part of town anytime near Paddy’s Day, but, today there were a few bands that I wanted to see, and they were playing one right after the other.

Amadan took the stage at 6 o’clock and began their set with mostly songs from the excellent new album “Sons Of Liberty” such as ‘The Republic, Back Home In Derry, Morrisons-Cadence To A Drunken Arms Deal” They also did a few covers from The Pogues, such as “Rain Street”, Dropkick Murphys, “Good Rats” and even did “Will Ye Be Proud” that was cut straight from the cloth of a Real McKenzies kilt! The (older) sober crowd seemed like they each had an eyebrow raised, and were studying this band on stage. It was too early and most of the “Crusties” weren’t out yet! A damn good show anyway!

Then McGnarley’s Rant came aboard, and they had a hard time with the still sober crowd. By the end of their set, folks were more becoming loud, and loose, and finally began to dance. This band has been on the road since Jan. 4th, and still had the energy to produce a kick ass set. The lead singer, “Shameless” Tipsy McGnarley looked possessed most of the time, and the fiddler, Sally “MacIennane” McGnarley galloped back and forth across the stage. The rest of the band was just as solid. If these lads, & (lass), ever come to your town, go to the show! A big thanks to the band for that Swingin’ Utters song! (I was that guy screaming and clapping!)

Review by Brian Gillespie

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Flogging Molly, The Casualties, One Man Army – The Crystal Ballroom, Portland, OR (May 9, 2002)

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The hubbub was tremendous, you could tell something brilliant would happen. The buzz in the air. Flogging Molly was in town. It was a typical spring night in the Northwest….Wet as fuck and getting wetter. Just to add to the night, I was sick as hell, coughing up lung butter all week, it may have been a bad case of scurvy. I debated even going to the show, if only for a moment. Instead, I went home and took a well needed rest. I woke up well after the show had started, and realized I better get my ass down to the ballroom before I missed too much! My head was pounding, my nose running like a water hose, sickasfuckinghell, but I didn’t care! I ran up the three flights of stairs of the ballroom like a banshee howling ninja. I missed the opening band, but I was just in time to finally see The Casualties. I had heard about these guys, but never their music. I was impressed! Great NYC streetpunk. I decided to hang back, and gargle some Scotch at the bar.

Then it happened, after The Casualties finished, the crowd started chanting… Hey-Oh-hey-O-hey-O Heeeyyyy!!! Then came the foot stomping. The floor bounced. (The Crystal Ballroom used to host ballroom dancing back in the ’30, so the floor had tiny springs attached under it for an added bouncing effect) The clapping came! The crowd was intense. One of the amazing things about a Flogging Molly show is the crowd itself. Every type of person shows up at a FM show, everybody from the skaters, to the Micks sporting the derby caps, and scarves, to the punks, to the pirates. Arm over arm, chanting, stomping, clapping, drinking, dancing! Hey-Oh-hey-O-hey-Oheeeyyy! Another chant of Floggginggg Mollllyyy! Hooligan football style. I ran up into the front of the crowd. This was something you’d typically see at a World Cup qualifer match, not a FM show in Portland, Oregon!!! They lowered the FM banner, and it was on!

“Drunken Lullabies” opened the set and the we went beserk. It was folllowed by “Selfish Man” Dave was in great form tonight.Then, “What’s Left Of The Flag”, “If I Ever Leave This World” The brilliant song about “County Kilburn” in London, “The Kilburn High Road”, “Rebels Of A Sacred Heart”,and then one of my favs, “Another Bag Of Bricks”, “Worst Day Since Yesterday” And then came the greatest crowd pleaser…..”Devil’s Dance Floor”! The Bodies flying over me, & falling under me,i was pickin’ em up and throwing them around again! The slamming! Hell Yes!! It may have been the devil’s dance floor, but I was in bliss! It was one of those rare shows when you really feel alive, and glad to have witnessed it. (Cheesy, but true! John, you can edit this part if you like! – NEVER!!!!) My cold was fucking gone! Hey-O-hey-o-hey-Heeeeyyyy! They also played “The Worst Day Since Yesterday”, “Delila” (with horn!), “Black Friday Rule”, “Salty Dog” (my fav)” and “Sentimental Johnny” I could have stayed home sick and miserable, but I decided to go and enjoy one of the greatest bands live, who can also cure the common cold, and make you have a very, very, good night! I know I say this everytime, but I really mean it this time,…..GO SEE THEM PLAY LIVE!! They will be THE band to see at the upcoming Warped Tour!!

Review by Brian “Cured” Gillespie

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Shane MacGowan and the Popes – 930 Club Washington, DC (May 8, 2002)

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Come to think of it, maybe I HAVEN’T ever seen Shane play with the Popes. In all the times I saw performances by the legendary songwriter, he stood apart from the band and the audience alike, dribbling out lyrics as they came back to him, showing no sense of ensemble performance, stage presence, or the intelligent and elegiac lyricist who made the Pogues my favorite eighties band. Never did I see him dance about, beat the drum-set whimsically, or clown with a towel on his head and a necktie in his head.

Resisting the urge to ape some Dublin vernacular after the amazing show I just saw at Washington, DC’s nine-thirty club would be harder if Shane hadn’t impressed me so thoroughly. Articulate and dynamic, Shane owned the songs he covered as masterfully as those he wrote. Hank Williams’ “Angel of Death” and Ewan MacColl’s “Dirty old town” both afforded hiim opportunities to sing on key and he made them his own by holding their notes with tuneful conviction.

Likewise, material he coathored with the energetic Popes fared well because they all had some kind of understanding that he was no longer some poster child for irish intemperance and they were no longer a backup band, lucky enough to record with a legend who could get them gigs; rather, they rallied to champion rousing (and rowdy) numbers like “Mother Ma Chroi”, “Donegal Express”, and “More Kicks Than Pricks”. If some of my old favorite Pogues songs were missing from the setlist, I minded less because I knew that the catalogue of the present band was earning it’s audience, chord by rambunctious chord.

Still, the auld ditties never came amiss to my sentimental ears, and hearing Behan’s Auld triangle sung in the clearest voice I have ever heard from Shane nearly brought tears to my eyes, and the exquisite buzz of the “Sickbed of Cuchulain” managed that, even as it made me dance. missing songs like “A Pair of Brown Eyes” and “Sally Maclenane” number among those I’ve often heard live. Rarer treats like “Body of An American” and “Bottle of Smoke” made this show extra special. Seeing them performed with such robust enthusiasm and good humor took this performance to a new level.

If this review strikes the reader as too personal an experience to give the reader a fair idea of what (s)he might have heard for himself, consider how personal Shane’s writing tends to be; whether moping into a pint glass over jukebox songs about love or celebrating an epecially good run of odds in “Bottle of Smoke”, these are songs which bear singing along because everyone in that club demonstrated a sense of personal communion with Shane. Everytime is the first time when dealing with an erratic genius who could come back from decrepitude and the loss of a longtime girlfriend, and we got some first class entertainment in the bargain. That’s as personal as it gets, and his offer to name a street, he’ll name you a bar and walk miles to buy you a jar rang true at every turn.

Review by Peter Burris

Potato-eating, Whiskey-drinking, Bog-trotting, CELTIC PUNK ROCK