By all accounts, Boston-based Irish punk act the Dropkick Murphys has hit the stardom threshold.
The band tours the world. It made a lot of money on its most recent release, 2007's "Meanest of Times." The Boston Red Sox basically endorsed them, for the love of god.
So they're to that point at which we'll all pay to see the band no questions asked, at whatever cost, and it won't matter whether they play a disheartened 30 minute set and wander off the stage with no encore.
Instead, on July 16 at Sokol Auditorium in Omaha, Dropkick enthused a sold-out crowd with all the energy and stamina of kids playing those basement rock shows we loved so much when we were 15.
For $33 (a third of it Ticketmaster charges), I walked in expecting to be disappointed. Who pays that much for a good rock show?
My initial depression was buoyed by the lead-off act, Chicago's Flatfoot 56. The "Christian Celtic Punk" genre (they've played the uber-Christ Cornerstone Festival) doesn't initially set off alarms of good cheer at a punk show, but it's tough to say no to these guys.
Josh Robieson is all over the stage with his bagpipes/mandolin/whatever, and frontman Tobin Bawinkel's seven foot frame on the stage is a joy in itself. And they still go to their merch table to hang out after shows, a big feather in the cap for anyone who appreciates nice guys in good bands.
It's a shame Flatfoot didn't play right ahead of the Dropkick Murphys, but that honor was reserved for Civet, a three-piece girl band from L.A.
The basic problem with Civet is the overwhelming desire for all of the girls in the band to be Brody Dalle, lead singer for the Distillers (and, incidentally, the woman I will one day marry). This idol-worship makes Civet's music sound like off-brand Distillers, which in turn made listening to the band feel a lot like drinking off-brand Vodka. Straight. For an hour.
At the very least, Civet's horrid shrieking made everyone that much more excited for Dropkick to play. I'd not seen the band for more than four years, and wondered whether the band's rise to stardom since then would deteriorate the intensity of the show. Utterly false. In rocking through the majority of "Meanest of Times," along with a smattering of older songs, the band never let up.
The on-stage antics and banter bands generally use (to excess) as a mechanism to rest simply didn't happen with Dropkick - the band members played slower songs when they couldn't jump around anymore. The band easily played two and a half full sets, never letting up, and even came out for a three-song encore. Dropkick played like it still has something to prove, which, incidentally, it doesn't.
That's the sort of show that makes you feel good to be a fan, and it's something I'll remember the next time Dropkick makes a stop in the area.
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