Born & Bred Records, 2011
The story has repeated itself several times in the last half century: A punk band puts out a few hits in their heyday and, in the midst of trying to get their swing back while changing hands over the past three decades, they keep playing those same hits that got them famous in the first place. And while Dropkick Murphys have always got new stuff to play for a hungry Irish audience, relatively new fans and skeptics might think the band is teetering on the brink of redundancy.
Let’s back up for a second, because this needs clarity. Taken individually, every one of DKM’s records is anthemic, a gusty combat boot to the face. After getting some considerable airplay with “The Gauntlet” off 2001’s Sing Loud, Sing Proud!, the Boston misfits became a punk staple with Blackout. Soon followed by The Warrior’s Code, unduely famous for only the raucous “I’m Shipping Up to Boston,” they released The Meanest of Times in 2007. It was their most ambitious album to date, breaking the mold that punk couldn’t use mandolins and banjos to rouse a crowd.
But here we are, four years later, and listening to their attempt at a concept album, Going Out in Style. DKM are still trying to break the mold, determined and hungry to be taken seriously, but are easily pigeonholed in their position as a good Irish punk band.
Again, it’s not to say the songs themselves aren’t good. “Hang ‘Em High” is a valiant overture full of wartime bravado, and the eponymous track is probably going to be playing in every northeastern pub by Major League Baseball’s opening day.
There’s also a tradeoff in listenability. Crunchier songs have more insightful, wise lyrics than ever before, including the single “Memorial Day.” Bassist Ken Casey and lead vocalist Al Barr wax poetic when channeling the concept’s narrator, immigrant Cornelius Larkin. “I was young and I wouldn’t hear it, you had opinions I had mine too / Just a kid with all the answers, pompous pride and not one clue,” shows that the Murphys have gained a sense of life’s teachings through all those skinhead years two decades ago. And the coupling of “Deeds Not Words” and the stripped-down jigfest “Take ‘Em Down” are uncanny protest folk songs worthy of the legendary name Woody Guthrie.
But, as mentioned earlier, there’s a rigid dichotomy between songs with good songwriting and others that are just unlistenable. Snoozefest ballads “Cruel” and “1953” seemingly do nothing to provide context to the concept, and don’t have as much gusto as previous greats “Forever” and “Fairmount Hill.”
And it’s difficult to give the Boston bruisers any lenience on the term “concept.” Bouncing from the mid-19th Century-dated “Broken Hymns” and leaping to “Sunday Hardcore Matinee,” which references Bad Brains of all bands, it’s hard to take them seriously when they try to tell a story that hasn’t already been set up for them, regarding the massive amount of cover songs they strive to perfect.
When we take a look at the overall direction of DKM, however, it’s probably best if we pay attention to the band as their fans always have: with a sincere sense of appreciation. The band doesn't necessarily have to keep playing the same blue-collar, northern Isle tunes over again, but they do because their fans devour it, and they have fun playing it. Whether listening to a studio recording or watching the 2009 performance of Live on Lansdowne, it’s obvious that the band has an insatiable appetite for having fun.
So when you finish the record to Casey and the great Bruce Springsteen throwing their gravel-filled voices across the bar on “Peg O’ My Heart,” you’ll remember the band’s not doing this for the exposure on Fuse, or a stuffy label that wants more pop sensitivity. They just want to play the damn tune one more time. Now that’s something to which I can raise a glass of Guinness.
Selected Songs: "Take 'Em Down" | "Memorial Day"
