I’m not Irish. And even though I wish that I were, I don’t even pretend to be Irish – smugly so, in fact. For example, whenever I see an individual wearing a “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” t-shirt, I want to walk up to that individual and ask where in Ireland he or she had been born. Don’t misunderstand; I love Ireland and the Emerald Isle’s culture. I love William Butler Yeats, crubeens, and, of course, bacon and cabbage. Not to mention that Irish whiskey and Irish music go great with Irish literature and cuisine. I love Ireland. I’m just not a fan of frat boys and sorority girls claiming an ethnic heritage because ancestors.com turned up that their rich great, great grandpa had a penchant for hiring young Irish girls fresh off the boat to work in his factory/de facto immigrant prison.
I wanted to clear up any confusion about where I stand on Ireland and those who claim Irish heritage before I wrote a review about a Celtic rock band[1]. In summation: I love Ireland and Irish culture, but I openly sneer at drunken people claiming an Irish heritage while taking part in a bar crawl on St. Patrick’s Day. And, I especially love kick-ass Celtic rock – I don’t think that I mentioned that in the opening paragraph, though.
A week ago, I wasn’t even familiar with Whiskey of the Damned, and my life was more contemptible because of that unfortunate negative. But, this past week, I received a friend request on Facebook from someone I had never heard of before. My wife mocks me for “friending” people that I’ve never actually met, but, hey, I can’t promote my writing in a vacuum. That being said, almost immediately after accepting the friend request, I began to regret it; I received a Facebook message asking me if I would be willing to listen to an album if this person emailed me the promo file. I’m not a famous enough music critic yet (translation: at all) to be a complete asshole to people, or even a minor asshole. So, I messaged back and said that I’d love to listen to whatever album they wanted to email me, all while cussing myself out for not doing more research before friending a band publicist[2].
Well, the publicist promptly emailed me a copy of the album. It sat in my inbox for a day and a half as I tried to think up an excuse that would let the publicist down gently. Lacking any sort of imagination, I was forced to listen to the album. Boy, I am glad that I did! (And, boy, do I wish that I hadn’t used “boy” as an explicative in a review of a Celtic rock album.) Whiskey of the Damned rocks, and listening to their music specifically their album Monsters Are Real makes me want to jump into a mosh pit while holding a plate of bangers and mash.
Whiskey of the Damned, which borrows its name, changing “brandy” to “whiskey,” from a line in a George Bernard Shaw play[3], was founded in 2011 by Eoin McCarthy. If his name isn’t enough of a hint, Eoin, having been born in Dublin, can rightfully and proudly wear a “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” t-shirt. Besides his place of birth, Eoin McCarthy can lay claim to a purely Irish anecdote about receiving guitar playing tips when he was fifteen from Van Morrison in a Dublin pub. With McCarthy on lead vocals and guitar, the rest of the band is comprised of violinist Gina Romantini, bassist Matt Schuetz, accordionist Brian Link, and drummer Andrew Weber. Monsters Are Real is the band’s first LP, and judging by the album, Whiskey of the Damned is not to be missed live.
Monsters Are Real contains eight tracks of high-energy Celtic rock with McCarthy’s punk roots threatening to wonderfully rip apart and stomp the catchy melodies into Irish whiskey soaked submission. As much as I love the band’s high energy that is exhibited on most of the album, for me, the highlight of Monsters Are Real are the other three songs that allow the sensitivity of the Irish poet/troubadour to weep under the spotlight – “The Unknown,” “Maria,” and “When It All Comes Down.” Those moments, amidst the swirling and infectious maelstrom of punk-tinged Celtic rock, encourages the musicians and the audience to pause and view each other through the lens of McCarthy’s thoughtful lyrics of self-realization through the never-ending struggle with personal demons.
However, that juxtaposition would not be as poignant without the balls-to-the-wall blistering provided by the rest of the tracks on Monsters Are Real. Down some Guinness, shove some bangers into your mouth (or vice versa), and then a start a moshpit wherever you find yourself while you listen to “Shutdown” and “The Good Rat,” to name my two favorite out of the eight aforementioned kick-ass tracks.
The twelfth track on Monsters Are Real provides a fitting end to the eight tracks of Celtic rock and the the other three tracks of sensitivity and is a song that is deeply rooted in the Emerald Isle. “Chuck” is a great ode to Irish traditional music that leaves no doubt that punk and Ireland, even punk with acoustic traditional instruments, are as synonymous as whiskey and Ireland. Crank “Chuck” all the way up, and raise a glass of your favorite Irish whiskey out of respect to a great Celtic rock band that knows and honors its roots. You can’t do that, of course, unless you first buy Monsters Are Real. And, if you’re fortunate enough to catch Whiskey of the Damned in concert, don’t be afraid to give Eoin McCarthy a big, sloppy kiss; he is truly Irish, after all.
Rating: 4/5
[1] Truth be told, I saw an opportunity to take an underhanded, though deserved, dig at douchebag posers sporting “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” t-shirts.
[2] While not necessarily backtracking on what I wrote, the publicist was doing her job. Hey, it got her band a review in Bearded Gentleman besides creating at least one new fan.
[3] The play is Man and Superman, which happens to be one of my favorite G.B. Shaw plays.