The collective memory of the Portsmouth music scene does not go back much further than the 1970s. When my old band, Say ZuZu, was touring pretty heavily, people in places like West Virginia would ask us where we were from, and their response was generally “New Hampshire? There’s places to play music up there?” For a long time I felt that we were one of the first generations of musicians in the Seacoast area to be trying to make a living in music. I knew that other groups—Truffle, Thanks to Gravity, Percy Hill and the Makem Brothers—had been doing it longer than us, and that folk musicians like Harvey Reid and David Surette, or rockers like Rod Wells, Jeff Landrock and others had roots that stretched back into the 1970s. But had anyone really played before that? Were Tom Rush and the Shaw Brothers really the only professional musicians to have made it out of the Granite State? Were we living in the Bermuda Triangle of rock?

The collective memory of the Portsmouth music scene does not go back much further than the 1970s. When my old band, Say ZuZu, was touring pretty heavily, people in places like West Virginia would ask us where we were from, and their response was generally “New Hampshire? There’s places to play music up there?” For a long time I felt that we were one of the first generations of musicians in the Seacoast area to be trying to make a living in music. I knew that other groups—Truffle, Thanks to Gravity, Percy Hill and the Makem Brothers—had been doing it longer than us, and that folk musicians like Harvey Reid and David Surette, or rockers like Rod Wells, Jeff Landrock and others had roots that stretched back into the 1970s. But had anyone really played before that? Were Tom Rush and the Shaw Brothers really the only professional musicians to have made it out of the Granite State? Were we living in the Bermuda Triangle of rock?

Well, part of the collective memory problem is simply a matter of population growth. There are twice as many people living in New Hampshire today than there were in 1960. Some of us are from families who’ve been here for many generations, but as our friendly neighbors to the north would say, most of us came “from away.” The population of Rockingham and Strafford counties has more than quadrupled since the 1930s and ’40s, the early days of radio and the record industry. That makes it hard to learn the stories of those who came before us, to hold onto our history.

Here’s a chance to meet five different musicians who have come out of Portsmouth and achieved significant national success in pretty different genres and in different eras. Like the rest of us, they’re still making music today, no matter where life’s road has taken them.

—Cliff Murphy

Downeasters, Down Homers, and Jerry & Sky
WHEB and country music on the Seacoast during the 1930s and ’40s

The town of Somersworth should erect a statue of native son Greg Kretschmar for his years of sneaking the occasional local musician past Big Brother and onto WHEB’s “The Morning Buzz.” Kretschmar’s untiring selflessness aside, it’s hard to remember that WHEB was ever anything other than the local face of Clear Channel. But this much is true: before “The Rock Station” was devoured by corporate giants and turned into a computer-generated Jurassic Rock jukebox, it was a tiny friend to local music, stretching back to the time of the Great Depression.

There are still those who remember a day when local radio’s prime time slots were filled by country-western bands playing live in the studio. Yes, even on WHEB—the so-called “Rock Station”—back before there was such a style as “rock.” The groups that provided WHEB with its music toured, worked harder than any of us ever have, and blazed a trail that leads directly to much of the music we know and love.

When radio came along—particularly strong AM radio signals from Boston’s WBZ and WWVA in Wheeling, W.V.—people began listening to the sounds of southern country music, urban blues, mountain blues, jazz, opera and a whole lot more. More importantly, just prior to the advent of radio, thousands of immigrants had arrived in New England from Europe to work in the mills of the Seacoast area, and the Navy and Army bases in the region teemed with transplanted Southerners. At the community dances held in the town halls, churches and Grange halls of the Seacoast, the proverbial melting pot was a’ melting. The sounds of Poland, Ireland, Italy, Quebec, the American South and Tin Pan Alley began to blend with the older Anglo-Irish folk sounds. You could hear everything from “Barbara Allan” to “The Yodel Polka.” By the late 1930s, this jumbling of styles resulted in what sounds like a white version of WWII-era Rhythm and Blues. Call it Western Swing without the drawl, or better yet, call it Northern Swing.

Rusty Rogers quit high school in New Harbor, Maine, in 1937 and hitchhiked to Mexico City, where he put out a hat and played country music for tips. He grew a moustache that made him look like Eroll Flynn. By 1938, he had settled in Newburyport and was playing with Esther King and Pals of the Golden West.

“I was getting twenty dollars a week,” he recalls, laughing. “Room and board.” But it didn’t take long before he was kicked out of the group. See, one of the band members managed the Newburyport town dump, and along with his musical role in the band, Rusty was expected to help sort the trash.

“They woke me up one mornin’, (and) said that part of the job is pickin’ the dump. And I says, ‘whaddaya mean?’ And they says, ‘well, you gotta separate the papers and everything,’ and so I said, ‘well, the hell with that.’”

His disgruntled bandmates dropped him off at the Newburyport Bridge in the middle of the hurricane of 1938. “And I’m thumbin’ in the middle of the damn hurricane, didn’t have a dime in my pocket.”

That same year, WHEB in Portsmouth was featuring a country-western duo named Jerry & Sky on their Saturday morning broadcasts. Jerry Howarth’s predilection for acrobatic yodeling played the perfect foil to Schuyler Snow’s steady vocals. And the two Nashua-area natives sang in such close harmony they were believed by most in the area to be brothers.

Within two years of arriving at WHEB (then dubbed “The Listening Habit of Central New England”), Jerry & Sky had achieved a level of success unparalleled by any country act from the state, with the possible exception of Manchester’s yodeling cowboy Ken Mackenzie. But by 1940, Mackenzie had taken his traveling show up to Portland, and Jerry & Sky took their act to Boston. By the end of the decade, the group had cut a series of 78 rpm records for the Sonora label, including their biggest-selling hit, “Sparkling Brown Eyes.” The song is one of the finest and most unusual recordings in American music. Its impact on the New England music scene can still be felt today. Joe Val, the Bill Monroe of New England bluegrass, is said to have used Jerry & Sky’s vocal style as his blueprint.

Jerry & Sky’s departure for Boston in 1940 left a vacancy at WHEB, which was handily filled by Bud Bailey and his Downeasters. Jerry & Sky’s vocals may have taken wild and unpredictable melodic turns, but in person they were staid and friendly in their humor. Bud Bailey and his Downeasters, on the other hand, were quite opposite—the music was smooth as silk, but they were a rough and tumble lot whose rhythm guitarist and yodeler was none other than Rusty Rogers. Rogers was not above pummeling any wiseacre who dared speak ill of the band, recalling with glee one occasion on which he toilet-bowled a square-dancer who kept telling the band, “You suck.”

In 1940, the Downeasters consisted of Rogers, Vinny “Jimmy Cal” Calderone on accordion, Ray Young on guitar and vocals, Little Rose Rio of Dover on songs like “I Wanna Be A Cowboy’s Sweetheart,” and jazz virtuoso Johnny Smith on lead guitar. While at WHEB, Smith had a side-project called The Airport Boys, whose style predicts Smith’s later world-famous recording of “Moonlight in Vermont.” Bud Bailey, the leader of the Downeasters, played a rather limited musical role in the group’s presentation.

Rogers recalls that the group played six mornings and afternoons a week on radio, and six nights on the road in sold-out halls that held 200-300 people. The band promoted their shows—or what they called “personal appearances”—on the radio, packed up after their lunchtime set, and drove to the town hall that generally fell within 200 miles of WHEB. The Downeasters would get started playing about 6 p.m. The “personal appearance” lasted four hours: two hours of ballads, novelty songs, comedy routines, and yodeling showcases; then chairs were cleared from the floor, and there would be two hours of square dancing. Until the arrival of rock ’n’ roll in the 1950s, these were all-age affairs. No alcohol was sold, and children were generally as enamored of the country stars as the adults were.

“We were the only thing in town,” Rusty says of most places the band went—like Newmarket, Rochester, Dover, and Portsmouth—so the personal appearances were always sold out.

Bud Bailey was both lecherous and cheap, and paid his band members weekly. “Very weakly,” adds Rusty with a chuckle. Band members were to be paid $10 per night, plus meals, plus any money they made selling their photos. One night Bud Bailey told the band “I got a new system. I been readin’ a lot about health products, so I’m gonna give you these pills. These pills is like havin’ a full course meal.” Rusty Rogers and Vinny Calderone were young and impressionable, and took the older man on his word. “’Course, we’re dumb,” explains Rogers. “We’re only like teenagers, and (Bailey) says, ‘This (pill) is equal to a steak.’ So he’d buy us a doughnut in the mornin’ and a couple pills at night. He was really cheap.”

The Downeasters left WHEB to work on radio in the Midwest, where Bailey was arrested on charges of statutory rape and incarcerated in Iowa for 10 years. Rusty Rogers left the Downeasters to join the Army in World War II, and upon returning home from Africa, he joined a group called the Down Homers, who had made a name for themselves on WKNE in Keene. “So the guy that I replaced (in the Down Homers) was Bill Haley.” Bill Haley (of “Rock Around The Clock” fame, that is) left the Down Homers in 1947, telling the band he planned on becoming star. “’Course everybody laughed at him,” says Rusty, because the Down Homers were each bringing in $150/week (big money in those days). It wasn’t long before Haley exacted revenge on the Down Homers, who’d scoffed at his aspirations for the big-time.

“We were playing up in New York state,” remembers Rusty with a smile, “and we stopped at an all-night diner. And who should drop in, but Bill Haley. And he come over to the table and everything, and he said to the boss, he said, ‘Well, how’d you do tonight?’ The boss (Guy Campbell, steel guitarist for the Down Homers) says, ‘Oh, yeah, full house and everything. Oh, we picked up, seven, eight hundred bucks or so.’ So Haley pulled out of his pocket a check for thirty-five hundred dollars. He says, ‘That’s what I made tonight. So I should stay with you guys, huh?’”

Most of Jerry & Sky’s music is now out of print, but two of their recordings—“Orange Blossom Special” and “Sparkling Brown Eyes”—are available on various bluegrass/pre-bluegrass compilations. To purchase the music of Rusty Rogers and the Down Homers, go to www.crosslink.net/~bigmack9/rusty.htm. The only recording known to exist of Bud Bailey and his Downeasters is a 1940 WHEB radio broadcast, currently being digitally restored by a local collector.
—Cliff Murphy

If you’re interested in learning more about what music in New England was like in the days prior to radio, check out a book called “Music in Rural New England Family and Community Life, 1870-1940” by Jennifer C. Post. The book (and accompanying CD) paint a vivid portrait of musical New England back in the really old days.

Cliff Murphy has spent much of the past three years seeking out old timers to talk about playing country music in New England in the 1930s and 1940s. If readers know of any other country music from New Hampshire of note, you can help him out by writing to him at Cliff.Murphy[at]Brown[dot]edu.

Russ Giguere and The Association
keeping the flame alive

Percussionist/guitarist Russ Giguere, 62, began playing with the folk rock band The Association when he was 21. Forty years later, he’s still touring with them at concerts across the country, still singing and playing the songs he and other original band members recorded in the 1960s, songs like “Along Comes Mary” and “Cherish.” The only differences are that the number of concerts per year has decreased (down to 30 or 40 from hundreds, says Giguere), and only two members of the original band (Giguere and Larry Ramos) are left.

Little else has changed. As Giguere says, “When I first sang ‘Cherish’ (1966) it was at the top and bottom of my vocal range. Today it’s still at the top and bottom of my range, and I’ve been singing it for 40 years.”

Called one of the more underrated bands to come out of the mid- to late ’60s, an era that produced groups like The Eagles, Simon and Garfunkel, The Who and Jimi Hendrix, the California-based ensemble recorded chart topping hits like “Cherish” (#1), “Windy” (#1), and “Never My Love” (#2), which are listed at classicbands.com as three of the 100 most-played tunes of all time on the radio. Portsmouth-born Giguere was one of the founding members of the band, almost by accident.

For Giguere, The Association was a showcase for talents that had been brewing since his early teens. Born into a Navy family and living in a house on Salter Street in Portsmouth until he was 5, Giguere moved with his mother and sister to the West Coast, where he’s been ever since. During high school he was an avid singer, part of the glee club, and learning to play guitar. After graduation, disappointed with the lack of a music scene in San Diego, Giguere traveled to Los Angeles to begin a career as a folk singer, until musicians Terry Kirkman and Jules (Gary) Alexander recruited him for their folk-rock band The Men. Giguere was with the 11-man group for only a month until a disagreement split the band in half.

After Giguere, Kirkman, Alexander and three other members walked out of a meeting discussing the band’s future, they formed their own band, The Association, and started rehearsing the following day.

“There were just too many people,” says Giguere about The Men. “It was like running a small country. After five of the band members left, Terry turned to the remaining guys and said, ‘Well, you just lost your group,’ and left also,” he recalls.

The six original members of The Association, Giguere, Kirkman (multi-instrumentalist), Alexander (guitarist), Ted Bluechel (drummer), Brian Cole (bass), and Jim Yester (rhythm guitar behind Alexander) gave themselves two years to produce a top 40 single. It only took one and a half.

With “Along Comes Mary” (1966) came the band’s quick yet significant skyrocket into stardom. The song, with all six band members singing, is a dynamic unison of upbeat voices and instruments, all rhythmically rising and falling, reminiscent of early Beatles and Beach Boys vocals, including solos by Kirkman on flute. Like many of The Association’s songs, it shows the group’s diverse influences from the genres of jazz, rock-and-roll and folk music and from bands like The Hi-Los (jazz), the Golden Gate Quartet (gospel) and the Beach Boys.

The song was propelled to #7 on the charts, spurred in part by its charm, in part by a belief that its lyrics were about marijuana, which led to its ban on half the radio stations in North America, says Giguere, which led it to quickly become an unofficial sports anthem for Catholic schools named St. Mary’s.

“The song definitely had legs of its own,” admits the singer.

Following “Along Comes Mary” came “Cherish” and the recruitment of Larry Ramos, of the New Christy Minstrels, to replace Alexander, who left until 1969. With the multi-talented Ramos, the band recorded “Windy” (leads sung by Giguere and Ramos) and “Never My Love.”

“‘Windy’ was the only song when I was recording the lead to it I actually thought, ‘God, this is going to be a giant smash,’ and it was indeed,” says Giguere. Driven by success and the popularity of their hits, they performed at concert gigs like the Ed Sullivan show, American Bandstand, the Greek Theatre (Los Angeles), Ravinia Festival (Chicago), and the Monterey International Pop Festival in 1967, alongside artists Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Otis Redding and other famous names in the music industry. By 1969 they had seven albums, including their “Greatest Hits,” which peaked at #4 on the charts.

But by this time The Association had also acquired the image of a soft, pop/rock band or “bubblegum band,” considered “un-cool” by the younger audiences that they had originally appealed to, audiences who now looked toward heavier sounding rock groups. In 1971, Giguere left the Association to begin a “disappointing” solo career, releasing one album (“Hexagram 16”) in 1972.

“We did a lot of good music, and it was hard to top,” says Giguere, whose solo album includes songs written by Randy Newman, Smokey Robinson, and the musical contribution of Bernie Leadon before he joined the Eagles.

The official break-up of The Association’s original members came in 1972 with the death of bassist Cole by cocaine overdose. By the mid-1970s the band had melted away, despite attempts by Bluechel, Yester and Ramos to keep it going with new band members.

However, in 1979 a reunion on the HBO special “Now and Then” spurred several band members, including Giguere, to continue playing and touring, replacing original band members with fresh talent throughout the years.

Today the young-at-heart musician lives in the hills near Los Angeles and continues to sing and play percussion with The Association. When not on the road performing, he’s playing at home with his dog, gardening, or spending peaceful days listening to tunes by jazz guitarist Django Reinhardt or big band music. Compared to his era, Giguere says that today’s music lovers can enjoy more variety. The competition has also increased, though, as more and more artists are producing songs.

He’s looking forward to his first gig in York, Pa., this February at the Strand Capital Performing Arts Center.

“Most of my adult life I’ve been in this band so this is what I know best,” says Giguere, who its taken many years to be comfortable playing on stage. And though the glory days of The Association are probably behind them, Giguere will continue playing and performing, seeing no reason not to keep doing what he loves until he drops.
--Nick Gosling

Ronnie James Dio
"Fuck you, Hell, we’re keeping him”

In 1942, Hell’s birth canal spat out Ronnie James Dio, and the earth he scorched lies right here in Portsmouth. In this rough military town and specifically, its Italian community, little Dio spent his formative years growing up by the blooddrenched waters of the Piscataqua. He didn’t take up music until his teens, after he moved to Cortland, N.Y., a town full of diners, bowling alleys and Genny Cream Ale.

The ’70s saw Dio hit the rock and roll highway, first in Elf, and then in Rainbow. But before he could move on to the Pansy-Assed Tinklewinks, Dio met his destiny: he replaced Ozzy as the frontman for Sabbath. Legend has it that Dio popularized the Devil Horns hand gesture—which he says he learned from his grandmother! The Devil Horns is easily one of Portsmouth’s greatest gifts to America. Next to that, Worcester and the smiley face can just eat it.

Even at age 63, Satan’s tool hasn’t grown rusty. Since the early ’80s Dio has fronted the band that bears his name, and they’re still on the road. They just got back from a tour of Scandinavia with—and I dare you to laugh—Uriah Heep and Asia, and this spring they hit South America. He sings the part of Dr. X on the next Queensryche album, “Operation Mindcrime II,” and he’s also making his film debut this spring in “Tenacious D: The Pick of Destiny.” And look for his new live DVD, “We Rock,” in stores now.

Cortland, N.Y., named a street after Dio. What the hell’s the matter with us?
—Chris Dahlen

Tom Rush
full circle

Before there was Rush, the Canadian sci-fi/fantasy math rock power trio, there was Tom Rush. Tom Rush’s early records—particularly 1965’s “Tom Rush”—capture everything that was good about the 1960s folk revival: great songs, stripped down arrangements and impeccable acoustic guitar tone.

Tom Rush was born in Portsmouth on February 8, 1941. As a student at St. Paul’s School in Concord, he dove headfirst into old blues, country and folk records. By the time he arrived on the folk circuit in Cambridge his freshman year at Harvard, he had the kind of poise and overt love of old music that garnered him about the same level of success as Bob Dylan (until Dylan’s “Freewheelin’” was released in ’63, propelling him into his own universe). Tom Rush was one of the pioneers of DIY—releasing his debut record (“Live at the Unicorn”) on his own label in 1962. When he landed on Elektra in 1965, he worked with producer Paul Rothchild (just prior to Rothchild’s production of the Doors’ debut record), and by the late 1960s Rush transitioned from folkie to singer-songwriter, using a backing band on his records and helping to launch the careers of Joni Mitchell, James Taylor, Jackson Browne, and others by being the first to bring their songs to a major label audience. Those looking for a Tom Rush primer would do well to seek out his 1999 retrospective, “The Very Best of Tom Rush: No Regrets” (Columbia/Legacy).

These days Tom lives out West but tours regularly through New England. Like the Joni Mitchell song he popularized on an Elektra release of the same name in 1968—“The Circle Game”—Rush’s career remains relevant and has come full circle: in 2003 he released “Trolling for Owls” on his own Nightlight Recordings label, and has embraced the world of downloading—selling songs (and occasionally giving them away, too) on www.tomrush.com.
—Cliff Murphy

Al Barr of The Dropkick Murphys
working class heroes with “The Best Job in the World”

In the late 1980s and into the mid ’90s, the underground scene around Boston was ruled by the raucous hard sounds of punk and hard core. Those who were there may remember slamming about to Sam Black Church, Madball, Sheer Terror, Agnostic Front, Sick of It All, and Portsmouth’s flag waving Oi! anthem screamers, The Bruisers. It was here we first got to know Al Barr.

In their 10-year run from 1988 to 1998, The Bruisers released nine records, were featured on numerous compilation records, toured the United States and Europe, endured hardships and underwent numerous line-up changes. At that point Al, the only original member remaining, disbanded The Bruisers to focus on his new gig, replacing singer Mike McColgan in Boston’s Dropkick Murphys.

How does one describe The Dropkick Murphys to someone who has never heard them? The three things that just about anyone would say are “Kick Ass!” “Punk!” and “Irish!” A standard rock lineup—two guitars, bass, vocals and drums—eventually grew to a lineup of seven that includes bagpipes and mandolin. Their sound is a fist waving, raucous combination of Punk, Irish Traditional, Hardcore and Rock n’ Roll. At their live shows, the band and the audience seem to meld into one unified energetic mass, supporting The Dropkick’s pledge to their fans, “Our stage and our microphone are yours.”

In the 10 years since they began playing in a barber shop basement, DKM has released 10 singles, two EPs, four full-length albums, and toured extensively across the United States, Canada, Europe, UK, Ireland, Scandinavia, and Australia. I had the pleasure of catching up with Al Barr to enjoy some of Portsmouth’s finest Turkish coffee and talk about his musical past, present and future.

Are you originally from Portsmouth?
I wasn’t born here, but I’ve been here since fourth grade.

What do you love about Portsmouth?
(Barr is careful to mention that The Dropkick Murphys don’t view themselves as celebrities but mentions they do get recognized by fans from time to time.) Portsmouth is great because nobody really cares. There’s anonymity, or if people do know who you are, they leave you alone.

As a guitar teacher, I’ve had the pleasure of seeing a lot of young punkers get turned onto DKM. In many cases they go to something like Warp Tour to see a popular band in heavy rotation on MTV, like Simple Plan or Good Charlotte. To my pleasant surprise they return with a Dropkicks T-shirt asking me to teach them how to play “Guns of Brixton” or “Skin Head on the MBTA.” What CDs from your personal collection do you think these kids would totally dig, but may never hear on mainstream radio or MTV?
If someone’s just getting into The Dropkick Murphys, they gotta take a look at our roots in British and American Punk. The Ramones, The Business, The Clash. The Pogues are great. Anything Joe Strummer did after the Clash—like The Mescalaros. They’re really amazing. It was still punk but went on to include world music influences, and his last album “Street Core” on Hell Cat Records was a testament to his talent. For new bands… Righteous Jams from Boston, Mass, The Unseen, Ice Pick from New York.

What artists have had the most impact on you?
Joe Strummer, Steve Earle. We’ve been lucky enough to tour with these bands that I’ve loved since I was a kid, and the only one who was never a disappointment was Joe Strummer.

(Barr goes on to caution: If you put your heroes on a pedestal, don’t meet them, because you’re going to find out they are human beings, they’re real people, and some of them are real assholes.)

Weirdest experience on the road?
There are so many weird things that happen on the road that the memories are kind of like pressed garbage in my head. At the end of one tour in Albany, I went to the bus to grab my bags and catch a ride home with my friend Joel and these two people followed me onto the bus. I figured they were friends or cousins of one of the other guys in the band, so I said “Hey” and got off the bus. Then I saw Mark (lead guitar) come off the bus and he looked like he just saw an accident. He knocked on the window and asked, ‘Do you know those people on the bus?’ and I said, ‘No, I thought you knew them.’ And Mark says, ‘They’re having sex right now!’ It turns out they started in the club, got stopped by a bouncer, followed me onto the bus, and as soon as I stepped off, they got right back into it. That seems to happen. I always hear about people having sex at our shows. Maybe we’re some weird aphrodisiac that should be bottled and sold.

Best experience on the road?
We had a radio hit in Holland and Belgium, and at the Lowlands Festival in Holland, we hit the stage and we were greeted like we were Ted Nugent or something. Twenty five thousand people just went apeshit when we hit the stage.”

On the last few tours we’ve had veterans come up to us, who’ve just returned from Iraq and tell us, ‘Your music kept me going over there. I hate this war. F— this president. And God Bless you guys.’ To have men and women come home from such a harrowing experience and tell you how much your music meant to them during that time, you just can’t put into words how that makes you feel. We really have the best job in the world.

There seems to be a lot of working class references in the songs. What kind of family backgrounds did most of the guys in the band come from?
Everybody in the band comes from working families. We all grew up knowing that if you want to make any money you have to work for it. Our bass player’s grandfather, John Kelly, started the first cold storage union in Boston, and the song “Boys from the Docks” is about him. We’re all members of the Musicians Union. We’re definitely a pro-union band.

On Warp Tour in Pittsburg, Local 3, the stage hands’ union, was on strike. There were scabs working the show so we decided we wouldn’t play. We weren’t going to cross the picket line. Then a representative from the union approached us, gave us T-shirts and asked us to play and make people aware of what’s going on. So we went on in front of nine or ten thousand people and made a speech on stage. We all put the shirts on as we got on stage and this guy tried to rip the shirt off our bass player, and if you know Kenny at all, you don’t touch Kenny. So Kenny laid the guy out. Then all these other scab workers came up telling us we couldn’t wear the shirts. So we said ‘Watch us.’ By this time there were a few other bands there watching our backs. So we played the show and told the audience to give the guys out front on the picket lines a honk and a wave to show some support on their way home. After the show we did a little acoustic set for the people out front picketing.

About two weeks later we received a letter from the union saying the strike was broke and the Union won all their concessions. The letter went on to say that what we helped bring about the end of the whole thing. The guys out there picketing every day are really the ones who did it. We just did our part and helped raise people’s awareness of what was going on.

What’s DKM’s writing process like? Do members show up with whole tunes arranged, or is it more of a collaborative construction project?
Usually pretty collaborative. There’s not really a set way of doing it, especially when you have seven guys. When I’m on tour I’ll wake up in the morning and write lyrics down, try to remember the melody. I’ve got a mini cassette recorder, and when the (band’s) writing process begins I’ll go back through a disheveled mess of ideas.

What’s you opinion on file sharing and trading music online? 
I don’t think it’s really a bad thing. What really bums me out is when you haven’t released your record yet and it leaks out on the Internet. It’s kind of like you’ve got this present you’ve worked on and you want to be the one to open it and then someone gets a hold of it and says “Guess what… I’m gonna open your present for you,” and all your hard work and time you put into the project gets taken away from you. That’s what I really don’t agree with.

Where were you when the Red Sox won the World Series?
At home watching the game, fielding calls from Kenny, who was on the field dancing for joy. I immediately gave him all the New York phone numbers I had so he could call all our friends in New York and rub it in.

If you weren’t a pro musician, what would your other dream job be?
I’d probably be a teacher.

Expect more from The Dropkick Murphys in 2006. They kick off a tour in late February with an appearance on The Conan O’Brien Show (Tuesday, Feb. 28). The tour will wrap up with the legendary St. Paddy’s Day series, four sold-out shows in three days, every year for St. Paddy’s Day at the Avalon Ballroom on Lansdowne Street in Boston. April brings a European tour with fellow punk band Less Than Jake to promote DKM’s latest release, “Warriors Code.” And though they have crossed the pond to rock the old world numerous times, this year marks the first time the band does a “proper tour” of Germany. In the summer of 2006, The Dropkicks will begin work on their next LP.
—Bob Beal