Courtesy of MCT
Concerts can range in musical genre, audience demographic, style, venue and overall atmosphere. Today, the word concert is most often associated with a musician or band performing for a specific group with two or three opening acts.
The focus is usually on the main act, rarely on the openers, but never on the people who make it all possible: the audience.
On Monday the Santa Ana Observatory, with its assorted concertgoers, welcomed Irish Punk and Boston heroes, The Dropkick Murphys.
With a honey-like consistency, The Dropkick Murphys did not let the eager and rambunctious crowd down. The group of 16-plus years churned out new and old hits, even giving fans a sample of a new Christmas song that will be released the day after Thanksgiving.
Through the headliner and two opening acts, the audience kept the momentum, energy and heart of the show alive.
Canadian Irish Punk band The Mahones was first to take the stage. What seemed like a short set had a lot of “already heard that” sounds that imitated the likes of Dropkick Murphys, Flogging Molly and Flatfoot 56.
With mediocre originality, and the distraction of a pixie-like woman prancing and dancing in short leather shorts and fishnets while playing the accordion, this opening band lost the battle for attention with the antics of a slightly scary mosh pit.
Yes, mosh pits are always a little scary. You get pushed, bumped and often hit. But the mosh pit at the Observatory on this night takes special notice. With the rowdy Irish Punk feel of The Mahones, the circles of violence blazed as audience members kept their eyes on the pit instead of the stage.
Sweat, tears and blood were drawn on this night—the mosh pit might as well have been on the bill. Throughout it all: the punches, bumps and various displays of “who’s bigger,” the code was never broken.
If one man fell (even if you were the one to initially push him down) you helped him back onto his feet. The code of the mosh pit is universal among punk rock shows, and in a way demonstrates the true solidarity of the diverse fans.
Next at bat to battle the pit was the Teenage Bottlerocket. This Wyoming-based band with clear garage punk influence came out of their set as equals, but not winners.
The music was faster, more original, although slightly still a reminder of any and all garage punk from the ‘90s. But the loud and fast music, along with a mascot holding up cue-cards for the audience, sparked more attention and appreciation.
The mosh pit, now closer to the headliner, was at this point overwhelmed with smelly (yes, smelly) male testosterone. The emission of farts, body odors and smelly feet (from all the lost shoes) was beginning to rise and suffocate innocent bystanders in the sold out auditorium.
The moment of the night eventually came, and the mosh-pit lost some steam and testosterone driven fuel to The Dropkick Murphys. Al Barr’s rough and harsh voice was finally enough to draw all eyes to the stage and away from the frenzied violence below.
Even when these Irish-Bostonian music legends took the stage, it was apparent that they not only remember the pit personally, but they still respect it.
Twice, band members Ken Casey and Al Barr walked off the stage, came back with water bottles and handed them to two members of the audience packed in for the performance.
This small gesture, although which can be overlooked by some, should be viewed as the ultimate tip of the hat—to the fans and to the wild ones brave enough to march into the mosh-pit. The Dropkick Murphys respect the pit, and the pit respects The Dropkick Murphys.
