Dropkick Murphys For The People Review
Dropkick Murphys
For The People
Dummy Luck Records
2025
I’m late for the feast, but some records don’t wait. They don’t knock politely at the door. They kick it in, drag you from your chair, and shove a pint in your hand before the foam settles. Dropkick Murphys’ “For the People”, was descended into the world on the Fourth of July, is that kind of record. And the title is no accident. It’s a banner, a battle cry, a truth carved deep as stone: this band has always been, and always will be, for us. For the broken-fingered workers, for the dreamers, for the ones who fight and the ones who remember.
From the first blare of “Who’ll Stand with Us,” the ground shakes with pipes, guitars, and drums like a thousand boots pounding cobblestone. This is a summons. A call to arms for the men and women who build the world while the hollow suits in glass towers figure out new ways to bleed us dry. Some would call it politics. But the Murphys know better. Earning your bread, sweating for your pay, standing shoulder to shoulder, that ain’t politics. It’s birthright.
And the clan is bigger this time. Billy Bragg lends his thunder, The Scratch and The Mary Wallopers bring folklore and fury, and then, like a ghost stepping back into the fire, Al Barr returns. On “The Vultures Circle,” his voice crashes against Ken Casey’s like waves on rock, fierce and familiar. His absence has been a wound, his return a reminder: this band is more than music, it’s blood and brotherhood. We wait and hope he stays.
But the heart of this record, for me, beats in “Chesterfields and Aftershave.” A folk hymn, a grandson’s song, a memory stitched in tobacco smoke and spilled whiskey. If “Rose Tattoo” carved its mark into your skin, this one will haunt your bones. I didn’t have a grandfather who taught me life, but I had my older brother. His Nova groaned like an old drunk, the air inside thick with cigarette ash and cheap bourbon. He hauled me to pool halls where I stood on chairs to reach the table, my hands too small for the cue, the old-timers roaring with laughter. When he had a gig at the legion, we loaded his guitar, his amp, his damned hat, always the hat, as essential as the guitar itself. He told me, “We have a show tonight.” I wasn’t on stage, but I believed him. He played for both of us. He was the spark, the teacher, the master, and I’ll say it until the grave swallows me: one of the greatest guitarists I’ve ever seen. Blood or no blood, that’s truth.
Dropkick don’t let you linger too long in sorrow. “Bury the Bones,” with the Mary Wallopers, kicks the dirt and dances on it, a jig of whiskey and history. “Kids Games” tears through wasted youth with sneering riffs and clenched fists, if you don’t feel it, you haven’t lived. “Streetlights” is Casey’s ode to his father, a song of innocence held and lost, a reminder that family is fleeting as smoke. And then there’s “One Last Goodbye,” their farewell to Shane MacGowan, poet king of The Pogues. It’s no dirge, it’s a passing of the torch, a salute from one band of balladeers to the giant who lit their path.
“For the People” is more than an album. It’s a tapestry of the living and the dead, a record of working-class struggle and the ghosts who still sit beside us at the bar. It’s a hymn, a fight song, a eulogy, a rallying cry. The Murphys aren’t just a band, they’re the voice in the crowd, the hand on your shoulder, the song you didn’t know you needed until the pipes screamed and the boots stomped in time with your heart.
And for the faithful, there’s treasure buried deeper: the vinyl comes with five more tracks, hidden like flasks under the floorboards. I preordered mine before the pint glass was empty. If you haven’t yet, what are you waiting for? The music is here, the truth is here, the people’s band is here. Raise your glass, raise your voice, and make a stand.