Taking
up the guitar, fiddle, drum and a bottle or eight these firewater fiends
can't help but draw parallels with The Pogues. Irish ancestry, hardcore
drinking songs, troubadours torments and social laments are all here in
full vivid narratives that are the hallmark of the Irish of which MacGowan
is just one (albeit one of the best) example. What do you mean 'What does
it sound like then?' It has the sheer spirit and ribald rabble-rousing
fire and sheer class of The Pogues classic 'Rum, Sodomy And The Lash' and,
as importantly, it contains some damn fine songs to match many a Pogue
moment sang in a voice more like Mike Ness than MacGowan's toothless
cackle. It has real warmth, of both whisky (of course) and also of the
hearthside humanity, boiling broth followed by a beer and a song on the
bench outside. Pleasingly, they have no pretension to the Oirish-Oi
blitz of Dropkick Murphy's and play it straight as a fiddle bow. And if a
thought crosses your head about it bearing resemblances to The Pogues
(also with a name that the British institutions would still shy away
from!) then just remember that they were merely (!) twisting traditional
forms into their own uninhibitedly inebriated ideology, and y'know, one
day you could have a slurp of Laphroig followed by Talisker, they more
than hold their own with their more illustrious compadres in roguery down
back to The Dubliners and Chieftans who may be considered by some to be
the instigators of this raucous run down traditional pathways, grogged up
and garrulous. I'm sure they'd be proud to have these particular
Tossers in tow. ________________________________________________________
Taking
up the guitar, fiddle, drum and a bottle or eight these firewater fiends
can't help but draw parallels with The Pogues. Irish ancestry, hardcore
drinking songs, troubadours torments and social laments are all here in
full vivid narratives that are the hallmark of the Irish of which MacGowan
is just one (albeit one of the best) example. What do you mean 'What does
it sound like then?' It has the sheer spirit and ribald rabble-rousing
fire and sheer class of The Pogues classic 'Rum, Sodomy And The Lash' and,
as importantly, it contains some damn fine songs to match many a Pogue
moment sang in a voice more like Mike Ness than MacGowan's toothless
cackle. It has real warmth, of both whisky (of course) and also of the
hearthside humanity, boiling broth followed by a beer and a song on the
bench outside. Pleasingly, they have no pretension to the Oirish-Oi
blitz of Dropkick Murphy's and play it straight as a fiddle bow. And if a
thought crosses your head about it bearing resemblances to The Pogues
(also with a name that the British institutions would still shy away
from!) then just remember that they were merely (!) twisting traditional
forms into their own uninhibitedly inebriated ideology, and y'know, one
day you could have a slurp of Laphroig followed by Talisker, they more
than hold their own with their more illustrious compadres in roguery down
back to The Dubliners and Chieftans who may be considered by some to be
the instigators of this raucous run down traditional pathways, grogged up
and garrulous. I'm sure they'd be proud to have these particular
Tossers in tow.