I'm not going to lie to you, ladies and gentlemen. I'm not going to leave out parts or change events in ways to save face. In fact, this will be a work of true events and more importantly, one of complete honesty:
I was drunk. Okay, I was really drunk. Let's be real honest- drunk enough to wake up on a sunny Tuesday morning fully clothed sitting in front of a blaring tv (ESPN), the remote in one hand and a burrito in the other. After a few moments, I concluded some key facts: the new hoody came from the Dropkick Murphy's merch table, Dirk Nowitski scored 28 points on 9 of 21 shooting and that the burrito was from a late night joint called Taco Loco. One glass of water later, I reflected on the marvels that was St. Patrick's Day at a Dropkick Murphy's show.
After deciding that ten beers was enough before we got to the show, we made it just in time to kick off the night with the Bouncing Souls. They take the stage like parents walk dogs in the local park. It's not until The Pete picks up a guitar and Greg winks at the crowd before going into "True Believers" that you apprieciate what's about to transpire. To a packed Avalon, we sweated thru a blazing set that included "Quick Check Girl" "The Ballad Of Johnny X" and "East Coast, Fuck You!" With the ten beers kicking in, I'm lucky enough to find myself on stage slurring thru the lyrics to "Manthem" with Bryan the bass player.
After the set, I made for the bar and began with the Jameson shots with a Guinness chaser from a bunch of kids I'd never met, but loved now that I feel close enough to God where I might give him a run for His almighty money if we played chess. The second round of shots arrive and there is a buzz in the crowd, everyone throwing looks toward the stage to see how the set up is going and if it's almost done. The mass of people slowly began staking claim to prime locations, anchoring themselves in with plenty of beer and close friends. Those truly mad with Irish cheer worked their way thru the swarming mass of bodies to find any available crack which got them closer to the front stage. I knocked back a quick beer and went off in search of my own digs amid the colorful tattoes, scally caps and Sambas, ready for that first brilliant blast of bagpipes.
The Dropkick Murphy's storm the stage, hands reaching for mandolins, bass guitars, picks, mikes, amp dials, anything that will get this show going. Now this is where I don't lie to you, ladies and gentlemen. I'm standing in the middle of an endless cloud of fists, arms, soaking shirts, drunk and glad to just be standing up. Al Barr adjusts the mike and off they go, me never quite keeping up with the pace of the Dropkicks.
I remember slurring my way thru "Rocky Road To Dublin," sliding off sweaty bodies during "Finnagean's Wake," and standing on my toes with fists in the air for "Wheel Of Misfortune." The entire place never stopped moving and I never grabbed so many strangers by the shoulders and sang with them. Lucky enough, I stumbled my way back to the bar in time to catch a boisterous rendition of "Spicy McHaggis Jig" and absorb the feeling of the Avalon, the entire place vibrating with Irish punk rock straight from Boston. After the show, a band of bagpipers walked Lansdowne street, stopping in at bars and continuing on. We followed as much as our drunk legs let us and then we made for home, thinking that St. Patrick's Day could be every day only if my liver was up to the challenge.
The new Dropkick Murphy's album, Blackout will be out on June 3rd.
All photos courtesy of James Cunningham.
