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 W/ Dropkick Murphys
Manchester Evening News Arena
17/12/05
In the forty minutes or so between The Clash’s former tour DJ, DJ
Scratchy welcoming us to the event and Boston punks Dropkick Murphys
taking to the stage, a weird atmosphere starts to wrap around you. It’s
almost, but not entirely, as though everyone in the standing section is
preparing for their own private war.
As more and more people start to pack in around you, you begin eyeing-up
those closest to you. That big gripper to the right is likely to cause
you some damage, whilst you’ll probably end up knocking that little kid
to the left of you half way across the room. The kid stands on your
toes. He apologises and you smile, telling him it’s no problem before
going back to your own pre-mosh preparations.
Chants of “Let’s go Murphys! Let’s go Murphys!” grow louder and louder,
bodies buzz up and down, adding fuel to the frenzied energy gradually
escalating. And then, darkness.
House lights down, stage-lights up, bagpipes blowing, and the fight is
on! Except, it isn’t really a fight at all. Sure, there are plenty of
arms and legs flying around, bodies barging into each other with
abandon, and, in this writer’s case, an epic struggle to keep his shoe
on his foot after the lace came undone. Yet there’s bliss amidst the
bedlam; strangers with their arms around each other, singing (alright
then, yelling) along in unison to tales of workers strikes and brawling.
Dropkick Murphys are nothing if not different. An American punk band
playing Irish music with Scottish bagpipes, and for saying they’re only
tonight’s support act, this multi-cultural musical mish-mash inspire
their own devoted following, mainly amongst second generation punks
looking for an alternative to the usual DIY riffs and untamed shouts.
They certainly find it with the ‘Murphys, and love every second of it.
Songs such as “Worker’s Song” and “B*****ds On Parade” are met with as
much enthusiasm and adoration as traditional old Irish favourites such
as “The Fields of Athenry” and drunken sing-a-long shanty “The Wild
Rover”. Inviting a group of beautiful girls onto the stage for a wee
dance, Dropkick Murphys sign off with the ramshackle fun and frolics of
‘Spicy Mchaggis’ Jig”, leaving everyone with a sense of satisfaction,
and your reviewer with a much welcome opportunity to regain ownership of
his shoe.
“We’re just waiting for our singer to get here, and then we’ll make a
start,” quips the man who seems to be responsible for keeping the whole
thing together and the owner of perhaps the coolest name in music,
whistle-player and sometime vocalist, Spider Stacy. Sure enough, after
the rest of Irish punk-folk legends The Pogues have pottered awkwardly
about the stage for a few moments, the ‘flawed genius’ himself, Shane
Macgowan stumbles on. From afar, he looks positively smart. All decked
out in a smart black shirt, wrists adorned with gold chains and a thick
black mane of hair. Yet move a little closer forward, it becomes
apparent that ‘smart’ is far from the word; more like ‘sozzled’, or
maybe ‘smashed’.
Any other performer turning up late and intoxicated before slurring his
words through both songs and in-between banter would probably be booed
off stage. This though, is no other performer. This is Shane Macgowan,
and his thousands of fans here tonight would seemingly expect nothing
less, cheering and laughing along at his drunken demeanour. Thankfully,
being worse for wear doesn’t prevent Shane-o from leading his band
through a spirited performance.
Christmas comes but once a year, and so too do The Pogues; the original
line-up getting together every year since 2001 to cash in on that single
and bring their dark tales of death and the lash to arenas up and down
the country. As you’d probably expect from what is essentially their
annual ‘Greatest Hits’ tour, all the old favourites are here, from the
fantastic re-working of Ewan McColl’s “Dirty Old Town” and old classic
“The Irish Rover” to the likes of “A Pair of Brown Eyes” and “Sunny Side
of the Street”. Every one of them bursts with an energy and spirit that
spreads deep into the crowd who become equally as part of the show as
the band. Indeed, if it weren’t for the huge video screens adjourning
either side of the stage and the sheer size of the venue, you’d be
forgiven for believing that you were amidst the throes of an exuberant
party, dancing along, caught up in the music.
Whilst on record The Pogues always sound fine, live, they give every
song that extra kick, lifting them high and throwing them around with
abandon.
At times though, it seems our Shane just can’t take the heat,
disappearing every now and again to leave lead vocal duties to his
comrades. Usually it’s the dapper Spider Stacey, but several other
members also take their turns. Munchkin guitarist Phillip Chevron
dedicates his heartfelt rendition of “Thousand Are Sailing” to ‘Georgie
Boy’ and drummer Andrew Ranken inspires a full instrument change for him
to get up and belt out an impressive number.
It’s an impressive show, but as they take their bows and bugger off, you
can’t help but feel that something’s missing; namely a host of other
well known tunes. Fear not though, as after a brief break by the side of
the stage, they head back out for another few tunes then disappear
again. However, it seems they forgot a few tunes, and so head back out
for a trio of their greatest numbers. First up comes the jaunty,
fantastic “Sally McLenanne” which sounds greater here as it ever has
done. Then come the euphoric celebrations as banjo-player Jem Finer’s
daughter Ella joins them onstage for a rendition of, yes, you guessed
it, “Fairytale of New York”. For as drunk as Macgowan has been tonight,
there’s no doubting that he does a marvellous job here, word perfect,
throwing himself into what is widely regarded as the greatest Christmas
tune ever with everything he has. There isn’t a single person in the
building who doesn’t know this song word for word, everyone joins in
with each other, grown-up blokes with their arms round each other,
singing along like old drunkards. It’s almost beautiful. Almost.
The band sign off with their second most well known tune, the “I didn’t
know it was The Pogues who did this” flamenco party vibes of “Fiesta”
that leaves everyone begging for more. Sadly though, the old Pogues have
nothing left to give other than a smile and wave and some enigmatic
advice from the ever-cool Stacy.
“If you’re going out this evening, wear white!”
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