Irish punk rock band Flogging Molly’s concert was a heart-warming banger.
Tiocfaidth ár lá! Just in time for St. Patrick’s Day, Flogging Molly arrived at the Cain’s for an Irish punk rock jam on March 11, 2018. It was wild, loud and truly Irish.
Rockers filled the venue to its capacity, and that was before people started dancing. If you have never been to a punk rock concert, there is a fine line between dancing and rioting. On occasion, it crossed that line and people stopped rioting to dance.
Frontman Dave King and his band had quite an ensemble: three electric guitars, a drum set, a few microphones, an accordion, a fiddle and a pin-whistle. Awesome.
King and his band began with some opening tracks unfamiliar to me before addressing the crowd. I loved his dialect as much as what he said.
“So this is Tulsa on a Sunday night!” he yelled above the crowd. The fans cheered back in an excited roar of indistinguishable sounds.
The first song they played that I recognized, “Drunken Lullabies,” surprised me with its timing. Usually a band waits to play their most famous song until a little bit later. I assume they wanted to get the mosh pit started early. It worked.
About three yards from where I was standing brewed a violent mosh pit of millennials having the time of their lives. I felt the urge to experience it, but this feeling felt too akin to veering your car into oncoming traffic on a two lane road at night. Maybe next time.
King then introduced his wife as the lady playing the pin-whistle, an essential instrument in any good punk rock band. She played a quick solo that led to the next song.
The night’s wildest song came with the second one I recognized, “Devil’s Dance Floor.” That song’s catchy rhythm and punk sound could get a grandma to go nuts. The mosh pit expanded to dangerous ferocity, and the concert was better for it.
King addressed the crowd again by calling out someone on the front row.
“I love the people who made their own Flogging Molly T-shirts. Especially that guy with the one that says, ‘Who the Hell is Dave King?’” The audience laughed again, with King pretending to look a little mad.
He forwent a segue into his next statement. He talked about Irish Mother’s Day, and then about his mother.
“She passed away,” King said. The crowd sighed and gave a long “Aww.” King responded quickly.
“No none of that! I’ll tell ya, she’s having a hell of a better time wherever she is now!” I’ll be honest, this guy grew on me. He continued.
“Before she died, she gave me one piece of advice: enjoy your life.”
The vignette set up the last song I recognized of the evening, “Rebels of the Sacred Heart.” With everyone singing the verses together, I felt like I was a part of something. That something was reliving my teenage rebellious phase but with an accent that made me sound like a drunken leprechaun. In my defense, proper Irish accents are hard to master.
Flogging Molly represented something unique. A hearty and excited rebellion, hellbent on trying to have the greatest time possible in life.
“Go mbeire muid beo ar an am seo arís.” May we be here at this time next year.
