Album review: Dreadnoughts: 'Victory Square'

DREADNOUGHTS: 'Victory Square' (Leech*Redda Records)

Describe any band as purveyors of Celtic or Irish punk and comparisons are instantly drawn to the grand daddies of the genre; your Dropkick Murphys, your Flogging Mollys and, indeed, the oldest and wisest of them all, your Pogues. These stalwarts have such a stranglehold on banjo/fiddle/violin/flute/whatever-the-hell-else-led music (and rightfully so mind you, since they do what they do frigging well), that it becomes difficult for any aspiring young upstarts to develop their own identity, to make their own mark in the sand; to get a foothold on the rope ladder of recognition.

Columbia's Dreadnoughts will undoubtedly encounter such problems. The sound, a brash amalgam of full throttle punk guitars and furiously assaulted ukulele/fiddle work, is somewhere between the Murphys and the Molly, channelling all the aggression of the Dropkicks - 'The Fang's voice is pure Al Barr - but demonstrating some of the delicate, wistful heart of Dave King's pet project too. At times, it is tempting to write them off as pretenders to the throne; indeed, there are a few moments on second long-player 'Victory Square' in which they become simply another Celtic punk band, lacking a spark of their own: 'Amsterdam' and 'Hottress', for example, are rather nondescript and predictable. However, judging the band on these alone would be a foolish move, ignoring the sheer unabashed fun of the rest of the record. Sure, theirs is a decidedly limited thematic palate, with its chief concerns being hot women (as on the aforementioned 'Hottress') and getting drunk ('pints of lager overflow/Way-hey Ivanhoe!' goes the rather spurious chorus of, um, 'Ivanhoe'), with the occasional ode to a much-loved locale thrown in for good measure, but then, this is hardly new territory. Such topics provide the fuel for the fires stoked by their peers, and it certainly doesn't hinder any of them. The trick, it seems, is to wrap it all up in the sort of musical 'knees-up' that guarantees that you'll want to get out of your chair and start shimmying, shaking and skanking your way across every square kilometre of your town.

The Dreadnoughts are absolute masters at this. For all its lyrical stupidity, it is impossible to deny 'Ivanhoe's flagrantly unyielding charms. 'The West Country' is even better, building from a quiet, swaying intro into a crescendoing drum roll that then explodes into a chorus so gargantuan, it threatens to trample all over you. There are sea shanties too: 'Grace O'Malley' is a brilliantly evocative ode to a beautiful lady that river dances its way to your heart, while the acapella 'Eliza Lee', a sister song to 'Legends Never Die''s 'Roll the Woodpile Down', infuses the record with a sort of authenticity, demonstrating that these guys are no chancers or bandwagon jumpers. They live and breathe this music; it may be fairly straightforward, unabashed, simple even, but therein lies its charm. There is verisimilitude here, a sense of reality and experience that is so sorely lacking in much contemporary rock music.

'Victory Square' isn't perfect - a few of the tracks feel a little too familiar for their own good - but even this, in itself, is quite endearing. Its imperfections make it more real and you just can't help but be struck by the passion, energy, heart and soul that has so clearly gone into every blisteringly intense second. The album is a labour of love for its authors, an expression of all that drives and inspires them, as well as a great big excuse to have one hell of a party; and really, do we need to ask for anything more? (8/10)