For those of you who find Flogging Molly too restrained, melodic or musically talented, here’s Dropkick Murphys. Full-on Celtic punk rock, yelling and brogue and steel-toed boots, it’s all here with the Murphys. Their version of “The Auld Triangle” is what I always thought the Red Roses for Me out-take of the same song by the Pogues would sound like, I guess. But “The Warriors Code” is for true believers (and is just way too cheesy for me).
Danger Mouse, MF Doom, and [adult swim] — arguably the dopest producer, MC, and television block of irreverent cartoon programming out there — joined forces to create the ultimate theme album. Now, not all dream teams play out as well in real life as they do on paper (sorry, Yankees fans), but this one lives up to its full potential. [adult swim] players pop in and out of the album’s loose narrative while Doom and DM take their goading, goofing, and gabbing in stride. And what an ill stride it is…
A mature, well-crafted, dark bit of pop by an Australian trio who, if they enjoy any kind of longevity, are gonna have to face the music when they’re not so youthful. Hell, it’s worked for Sonic Youth after all these years. Perhaps by invoking youthfulness, they actually tap into the fabled fountain. I back Woody Allen’s take on the matter when he says, “I want to achieve immortality by not dying.”
In light of the recent discussion in Wisconsin to legalize cat hunting (if you haven’t heard about this, check here), it seems appropriate to post The Weakerthans, whose “Plea From a Cat Named Virtute” is actually told from the perspective of a cat. Katherine slipped me a disc of their melodic Canadian punk/pop, replete with a little steel guitar here and some blazing noise there, and it’s been the only rotation in my car’s CD player for a few weeks now. As for the licensed hunting of feral cats, it seems like The Weakerthans would likely not approve. To my knowledge, 3hive has no official position on the matter.
A sampling of favorites from 2003. Infamous indie intellectual Sage Francis proves he can spit heat with the best of them — watch yer back, Mr. Mathers.