Review by Gary Spiller for MPM
“You may bury me with an enemy in Mount Calvary
You can stack me on a pyre and soak me down with whiskey
Roast me to a blackened crisp and throw me in a pile
I could really give a shit, I’m going out in style!”
‘Going Out In Style’ – Dropkick Murphys
Over the years I have, indeed, seen a lot of sights as well as having journeyed more than a considerable total of miles but since being introduced, about a decade or so ago, to those delightful, voracious raggamuffins known as Dropkick Murphys I’ve not managed to catch them live. This evening, however, that is all about to change.
For as we weave our way across a bitterly cold Cardiff city centre, we can truthfully state we are, most certainly, going out in style! With nearly thirty years and a dozen studio albums under their belt the Dropkicks have circumnavigated the globe more times than they probably dare to recall. Renown advocates of the working class and union causes their fusion of Celtic folk and punk has endeared them, quite naturally, to the massed rank and file.
Their resonance rings so true with this Cornishman now living, most happily, in a Welsh valley. February has not long dawned – or in Celtic terms Elembivios the month of the stag – and the very welcome balance of the spring equinox edging ever nearer. It’s an important time of year for the Celts; Imbolc – the festival of Brighid, goddess and bringer of light and life (the Celtic equivalent of Persephone of Greek myth) – the herald of spring has just been celebrated, worthy of a brand-new bank holiday in Ireland. It seems most apt to be celebrating all of this in the company of the Dropkicks.
“Thanks a lot, it’s been absolutely gorgeous!” Opening up this evening are Dublin rabble rousers The Scratch and they’re in an extremely appreciative mood. They continue their gratitudes with a special mention of the headliners “Our fourth tour with them, going out of their way to be supportive especially now we’re a man down.”
Sadly, on the eve of joining the European leg of the tour guitarist Conor ‘Dock’ Dockery announced, due to a family emergency he had chosen to remain at home with his family. Heading out as a trio it’s more than fair to observe that his bandmates are doing him proud.
Striding out to the acoustic political stirrings of Damien Demsey’s folk masterpiece ‘Colony’ The Scratch set the tone with a mightily souped-up delivery of 2018 single ‘Flaker’. Kicking off with its uniquely memorable lines “There’s no use complaining about the skid marks on your mate’s jocks, when you can’t even wipe your own fuckin’ arse!” it immediately grabs the attention. Blending elements of Massive Attack’s ‘Karmacoma’ in a spiky Irish folk environ works so well.
The ferocious, stabbing rhythms continue into the rapidly paced ‘Joseph Ronald Drew’. “Put your money where mouth is Cardiff” riles lead vocalist and frenetic percussionist Daniel ‘Lango’ Lang with the Utilita Arena responding in kind. Formed out of the ashes of Dublin metal outfit Red Enemy this triumvirate are a force to be reckoned with, right in your face with their energetic exertions that can’t fail to engage.
New track ‘Pulling Teeth’ swirls across the scorched battlefields high on the windswept moorlands. At times reminiscent of a heavied-up Levellers and the next moment employing riffs more akin to a Slayer / Rammstein alloy. The rip snorting growl of ‘Blaggard’ dips into 2023’s ‘Mind Yourself’ album receiving a healthy reception from the early doors crowd that is swelling by the minute.
The Celtic drenched quickfire choppings of ‘Foolin’ Noone’ is dedicated to a family attempting to escape the atrocities of Gaza before the band crank it up a fiery half hour with new track ‘Gladrags’. Suitably impressed I’m sure I am not alone in penning these guys in for further inspections; ultimately their strengthy output is like nothing I’ve heard before.
Talking of nothing I’ve heard (or seen) before the evening’s middle act, and special guests, Gogol Bordello certainly champion this to the extreme. From the moment the massed ranks of the New Yorkers step into the ring as the atmosphere ramps skywards through the flamenco tones of their intro there’s a frenzied output that simply doesn’t relent. Segueing rumbustiously into the set-opening intensification of ‘I Would Never Wanna Be Young Again’ we board the rollercoaster for a 45-minute wilding.
We’re struck firmly, and somewhat obliquely, between the eyes with a visual and audio blur of heightened activity. Frontmen Ukrainian-born Eugene Hütz and Ecuadorian Pedro Erazo whip up the crowd with seemingly effortless ease. “Right open this house for the party” they encourage. It’s impossible not to get swept along with their mayhem, it’s PARTY time with a firm focus upon the upper-case nature of proceedings.
Wildly circling under burning red lighting GB despatch the pugilistic hooky romp ‘Not a Crime’, following the previous track as it does upon ‘Gypsy Punks: Underdog World Strike’. Employing an individualistic blend of punk and folk mixed together with elements of Latin, Romani, Gypsy, and Ukrainian music the band are going down a veritable storm. The genre blurring doesn’t relent in the feral whirlpool that is ‘Wonderlust King’; the die has been set, and Cardiff is right onboard with the magical mayhem.
“Start swaying motherfuckers!” commands the frontmen before launching into the hustle and bustle of ‘My Compajera’. Its ebb and flow energies feeding directly into the crowd. I’m half expecting the ginger form of Puss in Boots from the Shrek franchise to appear, somehow it wouldn’t appear out of place. Extra personnel, in the shape of fellow New Yorkers Puzzled Panther, do appear for the infectious groove of the Latin infused ‘Dance Around The Fire’ that ushers a rush towards summery times. Cardiff laps up those breezy vibes as the track offers a tasty slice of ska, never has a ukulele been at the epicentre of such rocking chaos.
2024’s collaboration between Puzzled Panther and Gogol Bordello ‘From Boyarka to Boyaca’. A concoction from the devil’s heart we’re trekked from Ukraine to Columbia. The Gogols clearly have a keen investment in the progression of their guests. Barrelling headlong into the exuberant flamenco punk romp of ‘Immigraniada (We Comin’ Rougher)’ the fiesta appears never-ending such are the passions expended both onstage and in the arena.
Crossover track ‘We Mean It Man’, a melding of metal with hip hop and rap, maintains the circling pit neatly akin to a metalliferous adaptation of the B52’s utilising performance enhancing substances. It’s that sort of coruscant anarchy at work here. The continuing highly infectious rhythms encourage us to all ‘Start Wearing Purple’ whilst taking the arena apart brick by brick. Fiesta time has firmly struck and we’re more than warmed up for the main course with the electric performance ensuring that their exit is to a thoroughly deserved thundering applause.
Other than Boston ‘hoodlums’ Dropkick Murphys there are precious few bands that could be considered a good fit to follow, and indeed headline, an evening kicked off with the punk-based meandering rollercoaster that The Scratch and Gogol Bordello have treated us to. In fact, they take a firm grasp upon that which has preceded, give it a darn good shaking and rollickingly proceed to turn things further upside down with their own Celtic immersions.
As a brace of intro tracks Sham 69’s football chant punk anthem ‘If The Kids Are United’ and Dafydd Iwan’s patriotic folk haunting ‘Yma o Hyd’ are, at the face of it, an unlikely pairing. The strains of SLF’s ‘Alternative Ulster’ are still echoing about the arena as the introductory powering chords from Sham 69 energise all gathered within. The pogoing and fist pumping transitions to proud identifying, along with much whirling, with the very neat touch of the Welsh language version of Iwan’s defiant ‘Yma o Hyd’. Clearly the effects of Thatcher’s harsh regime of the mid 80’s still, very understandably, strikes home here in the Welsh capital.
No doubt of it Dropkick Murphys are a band of the people and gain exultation from this. With a “me toora loora la” and a “me toora loora laddie”, the lights blazing green, white, and orange, the assembled Dropkick ranks are right into the absolute belter ‘Captain Kelly’s Kitchen’. A roar of guitars and the devil’s own invention is untethered. Vocalist and consummate frontman Ken Casey is immediately to the barrier followed by violinist Campbell Webster both engaging with the front rows.
Cardiff erupts as low-slung guitars and gloriously wailing bagpipes state ‘The Boys Are Back’; it’s not just a signature back but a vehement statement of intent. Casey leads the crowd out front as the three guitarists and bassist hammer out the initial lines. It’s raw, raucous, and rowdy and the Dropkicks wouldn’t have it any other way.
The distinctive banjo intro of ‘Prisoner’s Song’ heralds a punk folk assault that in an untamed rotational motion ably wields the ball and chain. It’s short, sharp, and punchy as heck Cardiff doesn’t want it any other way.
The utterly riotous comedic capering cannonade ‘Mick Jones Nicked My Pudding’ follows relating to Grammy award winning producer Tedd Hutt witnessing the Clash guitarist’s ‘embezzlement’ of his dessert. Another memorable line within as Casey implores “you stole pudding from another guy!”
Announcing “It’s fucking great to be back!” and thanking one and all for the unwavering support Casey calls all able bodies, men and women alike, to the pit for the turbulent ultra-paced commotions of ‘(F)lannigan’s Ball’. There’s no gimmickry at employ herein it’s pure ol’ fashioned rock n’ roll, both band and crowd wouldn’t want it any other way.
Written by Florence Reece, wife of mining union leader Sam, during the bitter struggles in SE Kentucky and further popularised by The Almanac Singers ‘Which Side Are You On?’ resonates from upon high as clearly as a drill upon the coalface. Wryly ‘dedicated’ to Donald Trump – Casey is renown for his disdain of matters of the rich and their distorted powers – it serves as a punchy and poignant reminder of the struggles of the working class.
“Get those fists in the air!” instructs Casey as the band rolls into the rallying ‘The Warrior’s Code’. Chockful of pugilistic riffing and triumphant piping Cardiff is stirred up even further. With an unrelenting pace ‘Rippin’ Up The Boundary Line’ presents a divergence of sorts. Casey strikes a Springsteen blue-collar tone in this solitary dip into the most recent album ‘Okemah Rising’.
About a half hour in and Dropkicks are ripping into their ninth track the boisterous ‘Going Out In Style’. Pints fly in the centre of the crowd as the pit widens. This corybantic gambol surely does what it says on the metaphorical tin as Cardiff is going out in style of that it is certain. ‘Bastards on Parade’ featuring Jeff DaRosa’s conflagrant mandolin sees Casey successfully take Springsteen into punk-folk country once again.
A powerful version of the libertarian rising of Black 47’s ‘James Connolly’ gives no time to draw breath though the tempo drops with the piano-led intro of ‘Curse of a Fallen Soul’ – striking oddly of Poison’s ‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn’ – explodes violently into a punk-folk tornado scattering all in its way.
The emphatic ‘The Hardest Mile’ ensures no let-up, the ever-smiling Casey spins about as Tim Brennan’s accordion rightfully takes the spotlight. Cardiff is fine hearty voice for sure. No messing we’re right into ‘Walk Away’, the Utilita crowd salutes a band at the peak with an ocean of raised fists giving an indomitable “Hell yeah!” at Casey’s request.
With the stage burning a deep red ‘Forever’ gives the first ‘gentler’ moment as the hour mark of the set nears. With the raising of hairs and bumpings of the goose, along with several genial hurroo’s, ‘Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ya’ is turned inside out and upside down, tearing the Welsh capital a brand-new shiny one in the process.
The gravity defying banjo-tantastic of ‘The State of Massachusetts’ elevates even further before Casey announces, “And now for something special!” Complete with hellraising bagpipes – to be honest is there any other way? – AC/DC’s classic ‘It’s A Long Way To The Top (If You Wanna Rock n’ Roll)’ fits in seamlessly.
The truly anthemic ‘Rose Tattoo’ receives, as expected, an extremely vociferous reception and rollicks along to a most thunderous of outros prior to segueing flawlessly into a particularly tsunamic outputting of ‘The Irish Rover’. At the business end of proceedings, the unionist rallying call, a 21st century Billy Bragg if you like, ‘Worker’s Song’ seismically uplifts with a strongarm flourish to bring the main body of the set to a climatic finale.
With a banshee’s wail ‘I’m Shipping Up To Boston’ gets the encore underway with the unfurling of the mainsail. Banjo and accordion prove a lethal partnership that evokes a maritime age when the wind was king. A buoyant ‘Until The Next Time’ bids farewell with a “don’t know where, don’t know when.”
Packing in a behemothic 23 songs, which span virtually the entirety of their career, Dropkick Murphys is, without a shadow of doubt, a band most definitely atop its musical game. The winged tigers have taken to flight in a glorious display. Nobody gathered here tonight would have it any other way!
Photography by Kelly Spiller for MPM
