It's an angry sea, and Saint Stiles' Voyages among the Mystical Isles of Celtic Rock have landed at Punk Archipelago, where there's gravel in the throat of every lough, an 8/4 tattoo from every beach, a volcano on every hill. I've come to review two of the very best bands that this beastly place has to offer. There is much disparity of opinion when it comes to articulating what "Punk" is. There are certainly numerous assholes using the sound to promote racist agendas. A different branch of the clan spews epithets like "Nazi Punks Fuck Off!". Then there's the mealy marketing phenomenon that hit the States...

A breed of Punk has emerged that speaks to the noire side of the human condition with a loud and often politically edged voice. Of this breed there is the Irish branch, pioneered largely by the Pogues. Like rock'n'roll itself, Irish Punk is a genre of music that's caught on and is here to stay. As the years tumble by, it is unbecoming to say that the practitioners of this genre are aping the Pogues. I believe that the Pogues' influence will someday be equated to that of Robert Johnson on the Blues or of Miles on Jazz.

The heavier versions of Irish Punk have carved out a style that builds a rhythm section out of a drum kit, bass, banjo and/or bouzouki, and a whistle. The strings and whistle afford the opportunity to sneak in a melody line, thereby opening a door to the entire traditional repertoire. Not every song on an Irish Punk CD is set to frenetic time signatures, either; some parts tread lighter, contrasting with and complementing the loud stuff.

But how does nihilism blend with the tradition? One recurring feature of this music is that it dispels the stereotype of the Irish as the eternal optimist. Eight centuries of the gravid by-line lay wearily, and few Blues artists can even come close to their ilk. This milieu not surprisingly shows up in Irish Punk songs as chronicles of some rather fucked up lives. The angst is accentuated by the Celtic ability to tell a story that pays close attention to grisly detail. When the dirty old town gets to be too much to stomach, you can sing with a growl in drum-driven double time.

On then to our first group. Their name was inspired, according to lead vocalist and bouzouki player Barney Murray, by an interlude with an older gentleman in a hostel who craved a taste and threatened violence if denied, shouting "Blood or whiskey! Blood or whiskey!" in alcoholic lust for Barney's bottle. The term resonated with Barney's bardic sensibilities and came to be the handle of his band. Based in Leixlip, County Kildare, Blood or Whiskey also features Dugs Mullooly on guitar and vocals; Colm Gallagher manning the tin whistle; Tomas Tuohy propounding bass and vocals; Chris O'Meara in command of drums, and vocal contributor; and Paul Walshe on non-stop banjo.

No Time to Explain charges out the gate with "Breaking Through," a bar pick-up song with notable bouzouki and a break starring bass and drum. It works well, like the other wanna-shag song, "Chloe." Paul's banjo leads the lads off on the second number, "Paranoid State," which advises "If you have to leave the house you have to wear expensive clothes / or they'll say that you're up to no good / if you look like money you might be left alone." Classic Punk sarcasm, but it isn't just the drink that's fueling the paranoia. The social and historical aspects of up-yours-ship are explored in the songs "Your Majesty," "Submission in Portarlington," "Geektime," and PJ McCall's "Follow Me Up to Carlow."

"Sober Again" is about taking a good look around you, at the fuck-ups you've been hanging with, and deciding that the only way to clean house is to go dry. "Never Be Me" is a working Punk's statement, "My girl she moved to the city / dope messed her up she don't look so pretty." Other songs about dreg friends are "Frank" and "Rudy."

The CD includes one rollicking instrumental number, the trad tune "King of the Fairies." Add all that to the earth tone colors and all-seeing cartoon characters on the cover by Dublin artist/musician Boz, and No Time to Explain is just what you should stuff into your mum's Christmas stocking. At their nastiest, Blood or Whiskey whacks you with a sound like the cracking of the ass end off a Bushmills bottle; loud, immediate, Irish.

For our next Irish Punk band, we go to Norway (Norway?) and visit with the Greenland Whalefishers. The Whalefishers roster in as Stig Blindheim (guitar, percussion), Tommy Bardsen (bass), Odin Dossland (fiddle), Arvid Grov (vocal, organ, mandolin, bass, perscussion), Gunnar "Two Sheds" Grov (mandolin, banjo, bouzouki, percussion), Orjan Risan (drums and "the most complicated perscussion"), and Agnes Skollevoll (tin whistle, harmonic, vocal). Guest sailor first class Kristian Nordeide is distinguished for bagpipes played with all the passion a punk can muster. The Whalefishers' sound is more orchestrated than Blood or Whiskey's but is just as intense. Loboville is a euphemism for long-term alcoholic degenerosis and describes very aptly the predominant mood of the CD. The outstanding dregs numbers include the sluttish title track and "Jane's Tragedy," a song about a teacher that ODs on drugs.

"July Morning" is a snappy "1, 2, Fuck You" piece with a nice drum, bass, and whistle break in the middle. "Jim Jam" is a Punk street story a la Tom Waits. The CD is fraught with a variety of musical styles: "Thirsty Cave," a waltz; "The Mutineer," featuring a Californian surfer-rock drum intro; and "Elisabeth," with its Punk Country flavor of lyrics like "I dropped 5 roses on the ground where they dug my Elisabeth down."

But the show stopper is the second tune, "Johhny Lee Roth," a ballad about a fiddle player rattlin' around Dublin town. Agnes starts the story off at breakneck jig speed to acoustic guitar. The bridge goes from whistle and fiddle to drums and then tears right into Arvid's raging vocals and a bracing group refrain of "will you wack fol the diddle day." "Hole in Our Hearts" wraps it up with some great bagpipes and a bit of a send-up of the melody of the Beatles' "Hey Jude."

No doubt about it, the Greenland Whalefishers can pack a song to the gunwales with misery and then beat the living shit into it. You won't find a lick of Scandinavian music on Loboville, but who cares?

[Mike Stiles]

What's your pleasure? Get your Blood or Whiskey here.

Come on up to the flensing deck of the heart with the Greenland Whalefishers here.