Despite the rebellion we all preach as we barrel down the highway to hell with the middle finger as a hood ornament, it's still nice to know mom and dad dig what you do. Flogging Molly's Dennis Casey hails from Irondequoit, so whenever the band hits town it's a homecoming.
Casey is an intense guitar player who leans in loud and proud. His guitar sounded big and bold Wednesday, October 18, amidst the hyper-Celtic reels and thrash in WaterStreetMusic Hall. The band's modus operandi starts frequently with a lilting ditty from the flute, fiddle, or squeeze box before whirling maniacally with blinding speed and exuberance like a leprechaun in a blender of whiskey. Casey with his guitar (in lieu of a bat) tears around the stage like Curly in a karate flick. And at the side of the stage on this particular night, at his feet, stood his father. They frequently acknowledged one another with a smile and a toast. Mr. Casey couldn't have looked more proud.
I've never really been jealous of any musician, I don't think. While I've wished for some of their talent from time to time I've always been happy working with what I had (and faking the rest). But watching Casey's dad dig his rock 'n' roll made me miss my dad and wish my music hadn't make him cringe as much as it did.
The German House Theatre is cool venue. I prefer it in a general admission set up as opposed to filled with folding chairs, but the crowd last Thursday was in for a mellow show --- suitable for sitting --- from The Cowboy Junkies. The band (with their drummer parked behind a sneeze guard) played quiet and lush bordering on lonesome and atmospheric. Los Fadeaways' guitarist J.P. Schepp and I stood in awe of the band's soft restraint. Schepp was pretty sure his guitar couldn't play that quiet. The band played dreamily and off one other with a seasoned grace. It was peaceful and a nice cap to the day. The show was sold out and I found myself surrounded by nice folks in sensible shoes and designer eyewear.