Punk Rock Heroes

I would be most gratified if anyone could pick out the common thread in my lifelong musical tastes, as have yet to figure that out myself. I grew up on a mix of Kenny Loggins, the Beatles, Manhattan Transfer, and lesser-known Christian artists like Rich Mullins, Keith Green, and Michael Kelley Blanchard. Add in a healthy dose of KUSC Los Angeles classical music station, and that was approximately the field of my early listening.

In my teenage years, I expanded in a couple of odd and opposing directions. I took up Evanescence as a reflection of my depressed emotional state, but I also found a most unlikely Irish punk rock band called Flogging Molly.

I don't remember the exact details of how or when I fell in love with it, I only remember that first album, Drunken Lullabies, and how raucously alive it sounded. In the middle of my struggle with depression, it made me want to kick up my heels and dance. It inspired me to be a bit mischievous. It got a friend and me dancing to its beat in my front yard while spraying each other with water hoses. It gave me one of my all-time favorite songs that I can still sing beginning to end, almost twenty years after I first heard it.

Flash forward to 2023. This is the year I first realized that I could book tickets to concerts that I wanted to attend. Funny what you don't think of until you get word that the band you fell in love with as a teenager is coming to town. Way back then, it felt like the popular bands were Nsync or Backstreet Boys, and if it was possible for a boy band to last this long I bet most ladies my age would flood the venue, shrieking.

Me? I needed me rough'n'rowdy Irish singers. So, a couple months ago I booked a pair of tickets for me and my youngest sister to attend Flogging Molly's 2023 Houston concert at the House of Blues.

I was not disappointed.

It took me the embarrassing length of four songs to realize that the first band on stage was not Flogging Molly. In my defense,

• The lead singer of the first band (which I later learned was called The Vandoliers) was wearing a Flogging Molly tank top.
• I hadn't looked at the details of the concert and had no idea that two other bands were touring with Flogging Molly.
• That big flag behind them that said The Vandoliers could have been a special House of Blues inside joke/salute flag, right?
• Nobody specifically introduced the first band, they just came on and started playing...
• I hadn't kept up with Flogging Molly in years and it was marginally conceivable that they had replaced members of the band with younger people... maybe?

Yeah, I blew that one big. But on the plus side, I picked up an extra band to dig into. Houston's own The Vandoliers are nothing to sneeze at.

I could feel the little hairs in my ears curling up and weeping for mercy. I felt every beat of the drums and bass in my throat and collarbone. I was grinning from ear to ear as they launched into a 30-40 minute setlist. These guys had me bouncing on my feet for nearly the whole set.

After them came The Bronx. I saw the Dodger hats, I heard them yell, "From LA!" and to my eternal chagrin, something inside me hollered back, "YEAH, REPRESENT!"

I guess I'll never stop being from LA, no matter where I go. The nostalgia clings to me despite all attempts to scrape it off.

The Bronx is a band with a harsher, darker sound and is not a sound that I'd pursue on my own. As Flogging Molly's lead singer put it, "There's a band I would'na want ta meet down a dark alley!" But they worked hard to warm up the crowd and get us all moving and excited. They were full of energy, full of life, and I certainly didn't dislike what I heard. I began to notice a pattern in the music, even as we the audience continued getting middle finger salutes and heavy doses of profanity.

It was longer than I thought before we got to the main act. When Flogging Molly took the stage with Drunken Lullabies, my sister and I were shrieking at the stage. Middle finger salutes continued, and I started to realize that in the punk rock setting that's just how you greet each other. That, and liberally salting your speech with the F-word, because other swear words no longer carry enough of an edge.

The pattern I'd picked up during The Bronx setlist manifested itself fully with Flogging Molly's setlist: Music. Having a good time. Life. Life lived fully. Life lived raw. Frustration and ecstasy. Joy with an edge.

I used to think of Flogging Molly as my "angry Irish punk rock" music, however, of the three bands we saw, Flogging Molly seemed the most lighthearted, the most joyful and carefree. I will have to revise my description of them.

Twenty years later and they made me fall in love with them all over again and refreshed my interest in the genre to boot.

What's a nice Irish Jew doing in the front row of a punk rock concert? Could be she's expressing the disagreeable part of her personality that rarely sees the light of day. Could be she needs some kind of opposite to help her express it. Could be she's grateful for the minor weapons it gave her in the fight against depression. Or could be she just recognizes a raring good time wrapped up in lively music and can't pass up a chance for a decent jig.

These days I still like what feels like a wide mix of music. I reach for Owl City and Enya when I need a calming tone, then Abney Park and Bastille when I need a steampunk-ish edge in my listening, and I've fallen head over heels in love with electro-swing's best like Tape 5 and Caravan Palace. Trans Siberian Orchestra dominates my Christmas playlist, much to the startlement of anyone who hasn't associated that sound as closely with the holiday as I have.

But it's long past time that I revisit some old favorites. Here's to the band that split some of the dark clouds hanging over my head in my teen years. Here's to Flogging Molly, and a little rowdy music. Here's to the Punk Rock Heroes, long may they roll.