'Rebels are we... Though heavy our hearts shall always be... No ball or chain no prison shall keep we're the rebels of the sacred heart.' - Dave King

A Pointless Note From Out Fearless Heroine

Let it be known right off hand that I am fairly eccentric. (Meaning I'm a right peculiar girl, as if you didn't already know.) Let it also be known that I have some fairly eccentric friends (which I'm fairly sure surprises very few people). Let it be known thirdly and lastly that I like some fairly eclectic music. And after all this I'm fairly sure you won't be scared anymore... At least not so much as you might have been otherwise.

This said, try, at some point, getting a repeatable quote out of a friend after going to something fun. (Especially if your friends are weird like me, and especially if they're running on two hours sleep.) Just try. It's quite likely that you'll get something like:
'The most memorable thing from that night was when we played 'I'm going on a picnic' in the car...'

Or
'And then when those prats behind us thought you were from Ireland and I was like 'yeah she's from Texas.'

Or
Molly was terribly good, that washboard dude came out, and they sequestered the drunks in a pen where they belong.'

In short, don't try to get quotes from friends.

Prior Happenstances

We started the day in Segue's car, driving to Ft. Collins. Ivan suggested we play the license plate game, and I of course made a 'Eurrg', noise. So Segue said 'Hey! How about 'I'm going on a picnic!' And of course this was great fun, but such things always degrade into 'I'm going on a picnic and I'm bringing an angel statuary, Bilbo Baggins, some cookies, Dig Dug, eggses, a foetus, 'lots and lots of garnish', Harry Potter, the internet, Jack Nicholson, Keanu Reeves, lubricant, Michael Jackson', and the list goes on, right down the line. (Yes, we were that bored. But you try not being bored driving 75 miles out of the way in Segue's dad's car (which smelled like a pachyderm house for much of the beginning of the ride!).

Regardless, the ride couldn't possibly last forever (and indeed it didn't,) and we arrived in Ft Collins more or less on schedule. We went to dinner, we played with weapons from Star Trek that had been fashioned out of duct tape in car parks, and Ivan played on the Game Cube in my boyfriend's dorm... Things, quite generally, happened.
Eventually it came time to head down to Old Town, (a smallish bit of Ft Collins that is made up mostly of quaint little specialty shops and bistro-style restaurants,) and inevitably the Aggie Theatre.
We parked in the lot for a nearby supermarket and headed on down. Ivan and I started speaking (actually it was more insulting,) each other in very decidedly cockney accents. Unbeknownst to us there were two young men behind us listening to our every word.

When we reached the Aggie the line was still quite far down the block, but we of course didn't mind too terribly much and joined the queue. And of course all the while Ivan and I continue trading insults (as is to be expected from either of us, to be sure. I mean, 'We're the kids of America!' and all that. You know, spittin' on sidewalks, wearin' our hair in Mohawks, beatin' people with chains, insultin' one another in cockney accents... That sort of thing.), and laughing about it.

After a few minutes of being in line, I decided to run off to an ATM to get a bit more cash for the night, and take Ivan off with me¹. The two young men from earlier began nudging each other conspiratorially.
'I had a feeling she was Irish', said one to the other.

'Yeah', said the other to the one.

And then of course Segue artfully spun about and said 'Dude, she's from Texas', and then they were like 'Ahhh, ahh... well then', (or something to the effect.)... As Segue later said, 'And the Oscar goes to Jadie'.

The Briggs

So after waiting for near to two hours (Because while the show was supposed to start at eight it didn't really get to actually doing so until nearer to ten,) the band The Briggs got up on stage. They were punchy and had a lot of energy and quite generally good. I ended up buying their newest CD, (from the lead singer, in fact,) and am generally pleased with it, even now that I am hearing more or less exactly what I heard in their set, only without the distortion and screaming people and smoke.

Throw Rag

The next band was Throw Rag... And godness, what can I possibly say about them besides they were frightening. They got up onstage, and we were all thinking (by their mode of dress,) that they were some sort of creepy rockabilly band. (And of course we were right.) They were punk. They were very punk. But they were also very rockabilly. (I mean, hard b****y core rockabilly.) They even had a man of the English persuasion playing a washboard. With spoons - in full washboard-playin' glory.

They made comments of a decidedly political nature, in which the washboard guy stole the microphone away from the guy with the hat (Hey, I don't have to know names, it isn't as if they're my favourite band or anything,) and said some very profane things about Tony Blair. Which were 1) not at all meant seriously, and 2) were, while extremely lewd, extremely funny. (Sorry Tony Blair.)

Flogging Molly

Right, so after Throw Rag finally left ², and after about a half an hour of set change, the lights went out and Dave King (Oh that wonderful talented man,) started singing 'Oh Danny Boy'. The crowd, appropriately, went mad and began bludgeoning the air with their fists and screeching, and whooping, and carrying on and generally making a scene - as you can very clearly see at the bottom of this picture.

And then the lights went up, and Dave and the gang walked onstage. Dave is a very small man, more than like no taller than I (and I only stand at 5'4,), and more than likely as old as my father (who is somewhere around fifty,), and they rocked... about as hard as a band can rock that has a mandolin, fiddle, drums - and odd ones at that - , pennywhistle, accordion, (rock that squeeze box!) acoustic guitar, bass, and electric six-string. All things considered, is pretty blooming hard.

They played for a solid two hours and actually more than like a bit longer than that, but truthfully I was too busy snapping pictures and being generally immersed to pay too entirely much attention, and went through very near to every song they've ever written - which may or may not be true, but they certainly played all my favourites. Every song seemed, pardon my blatant LotR paraphrasing here, as long as a life-age, and it didn't really seem that anyone had a problem with that. We were all having too much fun to care.

Case in point, Dave himself said 'Sometimes you just get the feeling that you're gonna have a great time... This is lookin' like it'.

And then he, like Throw Rag before him, had some interesting things to say about the current war in Iraq. He said - and keep in mind that I'm paraphrasing here;
I grew up with my mum going to the store for a loaf of bread, and we never knew if she was gonna come back or not, if a bomb was gonna be dropped on it, whatever. And no one should have to live through anything like that, man. So when I say that I am anti-war, when I say I'm a pacifist, it don't mean for a da*n moment that I'm anti-American.'

And the crowd went wild. And I loved the man even more.

The show ended with the band walking off the stage to thunderous applause. And of course none of the crowd was ready for it to end, and so we all chorused 'ole' until Dave came back and sang³ 'For the Grace of God Go I'. And he sang with such passion and, quite believable piety - Dave's an Irishman, and apparently a very devout Catholic - that I teared up. And then the band all came back and they sang 'Sentimental Johnny', and then left the stage, and began packing up.

Now don't get me wrong here. I had the most fun I've ever had at a concert at the Flogging Molly show. I left feeling very connected with the universe in general. I usually feel that way after a really good show. I mean, who needs church when you can have revelations and [proverbial] flashes of light at a punk show? But I have to admit I felt more than a bit confused. Because after hearing two quite honestly hardcore punk bands, here was my Flogging Molly playing for all intents and purposes b***dy folk music. And the people on the level below me in the mosh pit were going madder than ever.

Why is this? Perhaps it's the intoxicating energy of Bridget's fiddle, or Dave swilling whiskey after (and occasionally during) every tune. Perhaps it's just the mad energy they toss out into the crowd with such reckless abandon. In truth anything at all is simply vain speculation. No one really knows, I think. More than like not even Dave and the gang. But I'm sure we wouldn't have it any other way.

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