I think I saw these guys play a packed bar in Santa Monica and somehow got caught up in all the Irish drunkenness. These bands are great live while watching a bunch of stocky, red-faced dudes and willowy lasses doing jigs and shit, but get it home and you’ll soon learn that Irish Catholic rhetoric and bagpipes can be seriously wearing on the nerves. James Connolly and the working class? Not exactly riveting to us Yanks. There’s only so many times I can hear about the poor, Irish family on the lower east side (or the Bronx) before I just want to ask this guy what year he thinks it is. Fat, drunk and untalented is no way to go through life, son.
