ongoing - Wed. March 17

It's a St. Paddy's Day tradition: The Dropkick Murphys play to packed houses on Lansdowne Street.  Maybe a dozen or so years ago, there was some skepticism about Dropkick Murphys. Ok, hometown Celtic/punk modeled on the Pogues, but concerning issues not of England or Ireland, but the local environs. Could work. But, derivative, you know. Well, any thoughts like that have been blown away partially because the Murphys have become huge locally and internationally and they so credit the Pogues. For their part, the Pogues return the favor by saying the Murphys constant name-dropping helped revive their band and helped them develop a new audience. Also: the Murphys are more of a punk band with a Celtic flavor and the Pogues tip the scales the other way. Plus the Pogues Shane MacGowan has sung with the Murphys on a record.

The Murphys are back on Lansdowne Street through Wed. March 17 - seven shows in six days at the House of Blues. I did an interview with Ken Casey ffor the Boston Phoenix on last year's skein and amended and added to it here. I also reviewed one of the shows and have an edited version of that, too.

 Review:  If Dennis Lehane has a rock ‘n’ roll equivalent, it’s Dropkick Murphys. And just as Lehane, author of “Mystic River” and “The Given Day.” deserves his props, so do the Murphys, the 14-year-old Celtic punk band. Has there ever been a more parochial rock entity? And we don’t just mean the Red Sox-and Bruins-identified anthems, “Tessie” and “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” – although those were obvious highlights of their hour-and-45 minute set. There was “The State of Massachusetts,” a furious punk song about living here and spousal abuse, and there was “Alcohol,” the closer and a cover of Boston hardcore band Gang Green’s best song, a dark celebration of substance abuse. Contradictory? Sure, so is the city; so is life; so is the band. They played in front of a scrim showing huge stain-glassed windows and a Celtic cross.
     Fronted by singer Al Barr and singer-bassist Ken Casey, the septet came across both as an Irish-flavored Ramones and a more sledgehammer-like Pogues. They are, at the core, a punk band, one steeped in the sound and values of the late-‘70s, with fist-pumpers like “Do or Die” and “Time to Go.” But they’re a punk band that makes room for Scruffy Wallace’s bagpipes and tin whistle; Jeff DaRosa’s mandolin and Tim Brennan’s accordion. They’re a punk band that dedicates a touching ballad, “Forever,” to their families. And, if you listen close enough, you’ll find them staunchly pro-union.
    A couple of songs featured female step dancers (first women, then girls) and several utilized a four-piece string section. There was, y’know, a touch of class. But near the end, they were playing “Kiss Me, I’m Shitfaced,” a raucous tongue-in-cheek song about drunken boasting and sexual conquest. And, then, in another turnaround, they roared through “Badlands,” a hard-driving cover of Bruce Springsteen’s song of broken dreams and resilience.
    Dropkick Murphys favor call-and-response vocals, fast and faster tempos, a loud volume and, at least, a veneer of rage. But the tone is more of celebration than anger, or the celebration that can evolve from anger. The Murphys love wallowing in gritty trenches, telling stories of lives on the rocks, but also offering a group bonding experience in the choruses and the camaraderie. Dozens of folks were allowed to flood the stage for “Kiss Me …” (mostly gals) and “Thick Skin of Defiance” (mostly guys). Everyone won, band and fans.

Interview:

JSInk: You recorded the just-out live CD from last year’s House of Blues shows, "Live on Lansdowne."
Casey: It was to document the end of an era. Our first live album encompassed our first three albums, and we’ve done three albums since then, so we want to get down on record everything we’ve been doing. It’s a culmination of the last eight years. We’re gonna record every show, so who can screw up seven shows in a row? The venue itself is a change for the better. A great venue, great sight lines, big stage. For us, it’s always been, “Where do we put all our people?” You’ve got seven guys [in the band] with big families, who know a lot of people in the town and there’s 300 people trying to get on the stage.
And it seems most find a way. You’re demi-gods here. How about out of town?
I don’t know whether it’s the nature of punk rock in general – going back years ago, people supported you as if you were one of theirs, no matter what city you’re in. Now, I think it’s a matter of Internet; every city’s really the same. You get the wider age bracket where some kid might be in his 30s and tells his Dad he’ll like this band because of the Irish influence. Or, vice versa, he’ll he bring his 10-year-old kid.
Your last studio album, “The Meanest of Times” came out in the fall of 2007, before the big crash. People experience a lot of adversity in those songs. And now we really seem to be in the meanest of times. Were you prescient?
I think I would have thrown a little more venom behind the lyrics if I’d known it was gonna get this bad. We don’t try to be too overtly political and soapboxing, but we do try and document what’s going on around us. The writing was on the wall for the last eight years. Even though we went through some great economic upswings, there was some stuff going on with the man at the helm I was very distrustful of and here we are.
The songs are very story-specific, not broad-based. I know you take creative license, but they seem rooted in reality. It’s really people we know. We come across stories. Sometimes the names and places are changed to protect the guilty, but on the other hand, I always found – and this comes from the Irish music end of things - why tell it vaguely? The storyteller approach seems to fit. Look at Boston. The history has such a cast of characters. Why wouldn’t you document someone’s life and give them the history they deserve? That’s the cool part about being able to make music. Somewhere, some day, somebody’s going to be going through an attic long after we’re all gone, and maybe find a bad EP called “Boys on the Dock,” recorded poorly. They’ll look back and laugh at that, as we did when we heard the original version of “Tessie” from 1903. Then, they might pick up the lyrics and read about my grandfather.
I love the mixture of anger, rage and celebration.
There’s nothing better than going on stage and getting to vent that pent-up feeling of whether it’s rage or anger or frustration. But there’s also nothing better than putting a smile on people’s faces and making them want to jump up and down and want to party. I’d say once again it goes back to influence of Irish music: What other style of music can you sing the most depressing, potentially angry song about death and people are arm-in-arm like you’re singing “Happy Birthday” or something?
Do you tend toward optimism or pessimism in your own life?
I’m a born pessimist who’s worked very hard to become an optimist. I come from a long line of pessimists. Maybe I have a house and a car now, but you can never change what you were born into. I certainly don’t run in a circle of socialites. And I still want to document life for the people I know.
How many dates do you do in a year?
I don’t keep track of that stuff, but someone had done the research in last six months (up to March 2009) it was 30 states, 16 countries, four continents. Wow, it doesn’t feel like that. I used to get so terribly homesick and upset and freaked out – and not that I still don’t miss home – but you almost get used to the places and acclimated.
You’ve been at it 14 years but touring tends to be a young man’s game, doesn’t it?
This past (2008-09) tour was very exciting. We had some time to see the sights and do things. Australians are so welcoming, not every country is so welcoming to Americans. We had a show in Mexico last summer where the kids are in the show are rocking out and they loved it, the band goes out and gets in the van and they’re all throwing bottles at the van afterwards, they’re wearing our t-shirts. I was in the van. That’s what you get from anti-Americanism. Australia opens you with open arms, [even though it was the] beginning of horrible heat wave, 112 degrees, and the shows were outdoor festivals.
Your 2009 tour was called “All Roads Lead ot Boston.” Isn’t that a bit insulting to the other cities?
Someone might take it as that, but we settled on that based on some artwork that we had and, at the end. we did have seven shows in Boston. People know they’ll get a more diverse set here in Boston. We’ll break it up, play older songs, whereas we might be playing a similar set along the way on the tour.
You’re on Lansdowne Street, a familiar spot for you with the run you used to do at Avalon. Now you’re at the 2400-capacity House of Blues.
There’s balconies, a big open floor, I like to look out and see we’re playing to a large open area, which is better for a punk show. We’ll pull out all the usual stops.
The title of your latest album, “The Meanest of Times,” seems rather appropriate now doesn’t it?
I wish that wasn’t the case. To be honest with you, even though the songs on the album deal with some of those issues, the title was about people fed up being in Iraq. That’s within the song. The album title came based on the album cover we shot with the young kids on the schoolyard, which is supposed to be a play on some of us, our upbringing. They had the angry look.And the first song on the album, “Famous for Nothing” being about those days. The joke was you thought that was as hard as life was gonna be – Sister Mary David keeping you in detention and this and that, you had a fight on the schoolyard afterwards – and those were the easiest, most carefree times in your life. And it was, obviously, without it being our intention, it fits a bit of what’s going on these days.
In the song, “Vices and Virtue” three’s a lot of death, by suicide, guns, whiskey, war ….
That was definitely one where we were counting on the amount of fingers and hands how many times we’ve known someone who’s passed away because those things. We’vbe watched the effect, the grief at the funeral. You envision it all as one [big] family. Half the time the same people are at the same wakes and we went through a spate of those through the years where it was non-stop. Hopefully, things are cyclical and we’re on the upswing at least, our friends being healthy for a year or two.
How do envision your show?
I think the music we do,  we play an hour and a half if it didn’t have the ebb and flow … When I go see a band that leans in a certain direction - if you’re too far in one direction you say ‘Man that band bummed me out’ - and a party band is too far in the other direction. It’s just like real life. There’s ups and downs, some songs are up and some songs are down.
Your characters go through some tough times in song. You’ve said you were a born pessimist, trying hard to be an optimist.
I guess having children and all that makes it hard to be pessimistic. [I was] more [pessimistic] in my teens. It was “F everybody” and don’t trust them. It was in my nature, but for me, children changed everything. Also, you just stop think about doing this for 13 years, being so long on the go. The band  is most important [thing] and somewhere we all stopped along the line and have taken a look at what we’re doing, taking a look at each other, and going ‘Man, thank God I got these guys in my life’ and ‘Thank god I got my friends and my family in my life.’ I’ve got two kids, a  third on the way, 14 years of  marriage. Look, I didn’t venture outside [Route] 128, let alone go to other countries. I definitely have looked at the laminates and passes and can't believe I've gotten to see the world. I never wanted to see the world, to be honest. As a kid my mother would say, “Why don’t you do something? Why don’t you go somewhere?” and I’d say “I don’t want to. It’s all here.” I think the biggest transition for us, is I’m glad that I did [travel] and I learned to appreciate people I met in Australia. Some people in Melbourne, complete strangers, had me over for dinner, had their newborn baby and this family, and for me that’s very bizarre. As a kid, I hung around with the same 20 guys and if I didn’t know you I didn’t want to know you. Now, to have my horizons broadened by the opportunities the band presented is pretty cool.
You guys have changed personnel over the years, I know, but still hung together as a unit and become almost Boston’s ambassadors of rock.
I know if I read an interview with a band saying that I’d probably go “F those guys,” and we don’t by any means think we’re that. However, we are out travelling the world and there is that funny thing where people, to show support, with the Burins or Red Sox. We’ll go to Australia and there’s five kids in the front with Bruins shirts and they don’t even know who the Bruins are. I definitely think for better or for worse we represent Boston in their eyes.
Tell about McCreevy’s, the recreated old sports bar you opened.
We opened on Marathon Monday 2008. I co-own it with the original owner Joe Cimino. One of the owners, Pete Nash, is a baseball historian and he had built a replica of [the original] McGreevy’s in Cooperstown and he’s saying, ‘Let’s bring it to Boston.’ The front bar is a replica of the original McGreevy’s and the rest of it retains a similar feel and theme. It’s definitely not a cheesy sports bar with neon signs all over the place. We do have TVs. We have old-time, legit memorabilia, from [the original] McGreeevy’s collection which was in the Boston Public Library or stuff that was in the bar. It’s definitely authentic. A lot of the Bruins come in, some of the Red Sox come in. It can be tough on them on a Saturday night because times have changed and once they’re at the back bar with their back to the crowd, people stare at them like animals in a cage, taking photos. But there’s a crew of those guys that are pretty down to earth, pretty sociable to the best of their abilities. … I’ve always been a fan of the Red Sox – the Youkilises and Pedorias – how do you not root for a team that’s got that, as opposed to a team that has A-Rods?
There’s this theory – which punk rock is part of going back to the Ramones and Sex Pistols – that out of hard times comes great music.
Absolutely. For whatever reason. We’ve come to a point of somehow being grown up enough to write about happy subjects, but there was a time for me where I couldn’t write unless it was an emotionally disturbing situation. It goes along the lines of you get a thousand compliments and one day something negative … When it’s good times, things are rolling [along] and in bad times, you stop and think and that makes you put pen to paper or paint the canvass.
You’ve gone through some changes of players over the years, including your original singer Mike McColgan, being replaced by Al Barr.. How long have this septet been together?
A couple of years. It seems like we lose one [member] every two years. In the early days, it was the money, figuring we’d never get there, and at other points it was a girl or just crackin’ up or the desire to do other music. What’s been great for us, we’ve always had this love-it-or-leave-it mentality and when I say leave it, it isn’t like “Leave it, get the hell out.” It’s like the band is not going to be successful with a group of disgruntled people so if you want to do something else, as long as the core guys are putting their heart and soul into it. The newest guy Jeff DeRosa … Now, it’s like maybe our kids will be doing it. It’s about the songs and the atmosphere, more than any individual member. We’ll be the Irish Menudo.
What’s the most common misconception about Dropkick Murphys?
I think there’s that side that doesn’t listen to the music that thinks it’s Neanderthals and subsequently that we’re Neanderthals as well. I think when it’s all said and done, who gives a crap what people think of the music, but hopefully people who got to know us will say, “Hey, they’re pretty good guys and they’re trying to help people when they could.” I was sitting at a Red Sox game last year [with the Murphys’ “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” playing] and the guy behind me was like “This band sucks, you gotta be kidding me!” and the guy I was with was like “Doesn’t this piss you off?’ and I said, ‘I don’t care, they’re playing my music at Fenway. What do I think, that 37,000 people arer gonna like it? If  51 percent of the people like it and 49 don’t you’re doing good.
For the House of Blues shows, the opening lineup changes night to night.  Doors are at 7. Face value of the tickets: $29.50. (This year's shows are sold out. We've found however that tix can oft be bought on the street and sometimes, given the vagaries of the market, it's a buyer's market. No guarantees, but hit Lansdowne around 7 p.m. and think lucky thoughts.) Also, there's a new interview I did with Casey up at www.BostonHerald.com/entertainment. Same place for a review of Saturday's all-ages show.

15 Lansdowne St., 888-693-BLUE  www.hob.com