aaamusic | On 08, May 2011

Flogging Molly: within their 14-odd years, they’re one of the iconic pillars of the Celtic punk scene. Not the watery folk-punk we’ve seen a rise in recently, we’re talking the full sweat, blood and booze deal, with fiddle parts that riff and roll alongside the guitars to not just support but supply excitement, and a real earthy musicality all round.

We open with the tense, spine tingling feedback of the title track, which explodes into a no-holds-barred Celtic punk juggernaut. A fearsome banjo melody is echoed by snarlingly distorted guitar, and the stop/start fiddles in the verses create a thrilling momentum not so much suggesting a good album as announcing it from the rooftops.

Chaser ‘Revolution’ isn’t so much snotty iconoclasm as a suggestion of what would happen in Bad Religion were to go Irish folk on us. Pop punk bounce collides with social commentary and a real energy in its bass-driven violin dances. ‘The Heart Of The Sea’ brings up a wonderful lurching jig reel on fiddles, acoustic guitars, thick bass deepened by tired bluesy vocals alongside malevolent melodic twists and dark anti-romantic lyricism.

This twosome sums up the two halves of the album: on the one hand we have the rockers, blending punk rock sensibilities with a manic folk instrument dance. ‘Don’t Shut ‘Em Down’ has a golden chorus to this effect, with choppy guitar chords wreathed in a tuneful and fervent fiddle. ‘Saints And Sinners’ ups the ante to a new whipcrack ferocity, an almost funky bassline pounced upon by the multi-instrumental attack of the band, a furiously rattling percussion driving the searing mandolin riff and banjo bite, the instruments playing all pandemonium, and few singers could pull off such a silken sneer with such power.

The other half is the folky flights to elsewhere. ‘So Sail On’ throws a semi-acoustic grog-stained shanty into the mix, a bleeding heart of regrets backed by bittersweet strumming and accordions. Deliciously sombre and romantic in its waltzing melancholy and warm, tender instrumentation, this is definitely the nautical breakup song of the decade, and then some. ‘This Present State Of Grace’ is very much its sonic twin, a bittersweet accordion/acoustic oasis of tenderness, albeit this time not so much a lament as a statement of strength.

A fantastic soliloquy and arguably a crowning glory of the band is, oddly enough the laconic yet bile-drenched stomp of ‘The Power’s Out’. Despite its slower tempo, the thudding drums create an air of drudgery, and the upbeat melody provides not so much a contradiction as an emphasis on the sheer bitterness of the Detroit-inspired lyricism and the world-worn snarl of the vocals, as the track builds from a beaten-down start to a climactic celebration of never-say-die spirit.

Of course, where would an album from an experienced band be without a ballad, and here we have ‘The Cradle Of Humankind’ which, while it plays into the old piano stereotypes, tries and mostly succeeds lyrically in avoiding the navel-gazing it falls into musically until the rousing singalong of the last minute or so. Unfortunately, this marks a slight waver in the album that lingers until the end – the last few tracks feel a little throwaway at times. Once ‘Oliver Boy’ gets going, it really does roar past with the magnificence of a Social Distortion belter, but it’s the getting going that doesn’t really come across well, bogged down in its own atmosphere, and the ballad moments simply feel too indulgent, even when booted up the rear by ‘Rise Up’, there’s just the sinking feeling that you’ve just listened to some (admittedly rather good) filler material.

So I guess that ‘Speed Of Darkness’ could be better, especially from such an iconic band. The songs can lurch from stunning to pedestrian and back again in seconds, which proves frustrating. However, the production is beautifully precise, the music giving an anarchic fuck-you to the idea that punks can’t play their instruments, and how many times could I honestly say that the best riff on an album comes courtesy of a mandolin that has most likely seen more well-earned moshpits than yours truly?

Author: Katie H-Halinski