Given that Flogging Molly, despite claiming to be an Irish punk band, was actually formed in LA, I’m sure the group’s Dublin-born lead singer/rhythm guitarist Dave King will forgive me for drinking bourbon while writing this rather than a proper Irish whiskey – at least we both spell it the same way. But I digress.
This Saturday is a little-known religious holiday observed in just a few parts of the world, celebrating the emergence of Catholicism in Ireland and some guy named Patrick. It’s a magical, topsy-turvy day where stout beer is used to bake cakes, entire cities dye their rivers the color of American money, and the Irish and British drink about as much alcohol as on any other day… and if you’re younger than 40, you probably turn on some Flogging Molly.
The somewhat clichéd practice is not a bad thing, just a comment on the group’s heightened popularity since 2002’s Drunken Lullabies. If you’re hosting a holiday party, chances are your guests will find Molly (named for the bar – wait, "pub" – the group played repeatedly [hence "flogging"] before making it big) agreeable thanks to their fairly articulate musicianship, generally discernible lyrics, and infectious, upbeat brand of Irish-influenced rock, especially compared to their somewhat brasher (if not more "authentic") influences and contemporaries such as The Pogues, The Dubliners, or The Dropkick Murphys. Though you could always level the playing field with an Irish Car Bomb or five.
As jams go, the folks from the "Emerald Isle" can crank ‘em out as well as anyone. Flogging Molly carries that ginger torch admirably and, despite their widespread popularity, there’s no denying FM’s ability to inspire erratic movement (read: unbridled dances of inebriated happiness) in the masses with King’s furious strumming and an accompaniment of spritely tin whistle, accordion, fiddle, etc. As the band desperately tries to escape the time signature of a fast two, their blistering anthems of nostalgia and religious (ir)reverence ("What savior rests while on his cross we die/Forgotten freedom burns/Has the Shepard led his lambs astray/to the bigot and the gun") fill the listener with a reckless devil-may-care (suck it 'til tomorrow, Lent!) energy.
Truth be told, I thought it might be fun to choose an acoustic live recording of these guys (they do exist); sometimes songs can elicit a different type of appreciation when performed with stripped-down instrumentation and at lower volume. Flogging Molly? Piss off. These blokes simply need to play as fast and loud as possible to get their point across. Anything less puts the listener in danger of losing interest – like the bus from the Keanu Reeves classic Speed of Irish-based pop rock. So, Jameson, Bailey's, and Guiness at the ready… turn it up and press play.
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