“Don’t Ever Tell Us to Shut Up and Sing:” Dropkick Murphys at The Anthem

Any Dropkick Murphys fan will tell you that Boston is in their blood. This made for a certain air at The Anthem on February 27th, one of strong convictions and brash self-confidence, one that I at times like to indulge in.

The Dropkick Murphys concert transformed The Anthem into the bleacher seats of any Sox game. As I people-watched, I found myself asking: Is that Bill Burr? Is that Bill Burr? No, of course not, but the crowd embodied an aging Generation X who still seems to think everyone is out to get them. And maybe that’s the true spirit of Boston seeping in.

I secured a spot near the stage while the crowd sang along to The Menzingers’ rousing rendition of “There’s No Place in This World for Me.” I found myself enjoying the music, though it got me thinking about the genre of punk rock as a whole. What happens to punk past its prime? The presentation on the stage was not the glamorous lifestyle of sex, drugs, and rock and roll, it was 50-year-old men swearing like 13-year-old boys. But the men on stage were clearly having the time of their lives, and there was something endearing about that.

And then, like a family reunion, Dropkick Murphys took the stage. The crowd roared as they played “The Boys Are Back” to open the show. For the next hour and a half, Dropkick Murphys rocked the room, their performance accentuated by the occasional bagpipe solo and a constant smile plastered on lead singer Ken Casey’s face. I was particularly impressed by the spirited performances of “Walk Away,” an almost soulful ballad, and “Rose Tattoo,” an apparent fan favorite.

The energy peaked as exuberant (and presumably, very drunk) members of the audience began to crowd surf. Square that I am, I worried that the participants would get in trouble. In the end, it seemed to be encouraged, as were all forms of audience participation. The crowd broke out into “Let’s go Murphys” chants throughout the night. During the iconic “Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ya,” the band handed a young fan the microphone to scream the chorus. The band took time to emphasize that their fans were truly a part of their family and applauded those who brought their children to the show.

But of course, the most electric moment of the night was “I’m Shipping Up To Boston.” The red lights flashed. The bass beat roared. The audience jumped up and down, resembling a team of uncoordinated Irish step-dancers. I had to wonder if Dropkick Murphys viewed “I’m Shipping Up To Boston” as their version of Radiohead’s “Creep.” Did they resent that one of their songs was so disproportionately beloved? I ultimately determined that they did not. The band seemed to relish in singing their staple to close out the show, and the fans brought a loyal intensity to each song that made this one all the more worthwhile.

As the conclusion of the show neared, Dropkick Murphys became more outspoken, fitting for the D.C. crowd. Casey adamantly proclaimed, “Don’t ever tell us to shut up and sing” to a largely positive (albeit somewhat mixed) response from the audience. They advocated for union rights and for Native recognition. Casey went as far to say “You cannot be a union member and vote for Trump,” acknowledging that some fans might disagree. I respected their commitment to activism in conjunction with their tough-guy personas, a subversion of social expectations. After all, this dedication “to the union workers and public servants” has defined the Dropkick Murphys ethos since their founding. Underneath the grizzled voices and the hard-rock coarseness, Dropkick Murphys maintain an authenticity that we should all aspire to.