"Truly fertile Music, the only kind that will move us, that we shall truly appreciate, will be a Music conducive to Dream, which banishes all reason and analysis. One must not wish first to understand and then to feel. Art does not tolerate Reason." --Albert Camus

The irony of using this quote as a prelude to a review of Dropkick Murphy's The Meanest of Times is, I hope, apparent. The quote itself is even more analysis than The Meanest of Times can bear.

Sometimes you just need to listen. A lemon is yellow; now squeeze it and move on.

Which brings me — and it's about time — to the band itself, a group that surely needs no analysis. Here are the important facts: they're Irish, South Boston Irish, Irish Catholic, and they play hardcore, shatter-your-vocal-cords punk rock music. [Note: I'm not really sure I know what punk rock means, and mostly don't like it, but the band is referred to as a punk band so I'm sticking with it.] And while you may need to take them in small doses, because their kind of intensity can fray your nerves, you need to hear them nonetheless, especially their most recent disc, The Meanest of Times, certainly one of the most aptly titled discs I've ever heard.

"Famous for Nothing," the opening track, begins as if in the middle of a bar fight. Let's not waste time here, gentlemen; let's get to it. It smacks you in the face, your brain takes a sledgehammer straight on, and off you go. Al Barr, on lead vocals, sings like he just put a blow torch to his vocal cords. In this opening piece, he's both barrels in: "It was us against the world / Famous for nothing / Yeah, nothing was our world." And near the end: "The good Lord was calling me / But I wasn't us / From the convent to the rectory / And over in the sacristy / I'm a goddamn travesty / And that's just my luck."

Well, maybe there is room for analysis here. Whatever their sonic explosions and scalded esophageal rants, they are addressing issues of sorrow and loss and hurt.

No doubt this opening tune sets the tone for The Meanest of Times: friends come and go, they die, we lose our innocence and try without success to scrap our way back to a hopefulness that's just beyond us; death lurks around every corner and behind every raucous bar in the neighborhood, and we can't do a goddamn thing about it but shout out that we at least have knowledge of it. Knowing counts for something.