An Irish Note

Somewhere deep down in my DNA is a strain we call Irish, which American culture conveniently allows me to use as an excuse for excessive drink, irrational temper, artistic flights of fancy, maniacal frugality AND fiscal prodigality, grudge-harboring, vagabonding, loquacity, verbosity and heat stroke...should I care to take part in any of that. Regarding the last one, of course, I'm sort of at the mercy of Mother Nature, that capricious wench.

Now, I've been remiss in updating things here, and I dearly need to write up a note about getting stranded in Chicago and having to cancel my Memphis rambles because of it, but I'll have to do that catching up tonight. For midday here, having just inhaled a sandwich and bottle of wild berry "Flavor Splash" water (Outstanding, by the way), I would like to say SEE THE WILD COLONIAL BHOYS. The photo above has been stolen from their site (though I've written for permission). They were a duo last night, but that photo was snapped at the same venue in which I saw them.

Caught 'em last night at the Dubliner Pub here in Saint Paul on the tail of an Easter Rising ceremony and Irish history quiz (which we won, thanks to having a real Irish ringer on the team). Great fun, all around. Should write about the ceremony too. I carried the people's army flag. Anyhow....

The Bhoys are a gas. Sharp band. They play the Dub every Sunday, I think. Good use of traditional but upbeat acoustic guitar, good harmony (of that shout-along-with-me Irish sort), and slightly hoarse lead vocals that suggest a right fine background in music such as the Dropkick Murphys crank out.

Slainte!
-cK