Tonight, the air vibrates with anticipation. This is Dropkick Murphys’ first return to Australia since their explosive set at Good Things Festival in 2018. Alkaline Trio hasn’t set foot on Australian soil in a decade. The weight of absence makes this reunion electric, even before the first chord. Strolling toward the Roundhouse, it’s hard to miss the sea of inked arms and impressive beards out tonight.
Since ’96, Dropkick Murphys have been the soundtrack for moments that demand defiance—a chant at last call, a rallying cry in packed arenas, or the anthem of a comeback when the game hangs by a thread. Their catalogue, rooted in grit and community, reads like a survival manual. Four albums launched into the Billboard Top 10 (including Turn Up That Dial and Going Out in Style), with The Warrior’s Code going gold and “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” earning double platinum.
In late 2023, the band roared back to full-electric form after a bold detour into acoustic territory. Two albums—2022’s This Machine Still Kills Fascists and 2023’s Okemah Rising—reimagined Woody Guthrie’s words for a restless generation, recorded in Tulsa with producer Ted Hutt.
But tonight is about amplification. About electricity coursing through the floorboards. The Roundhouse pulses with expectation. The crowd is restless, shuffling drinks and many sporting green, Dropkick Murphy T shirts.
First to hit the stage are Alkaline Trio, dressed sharp enough to crash a funeral—or host one. In their crisp black suits and ties, they unleash a blistering set, proving that punk rock can be both dapper and dangerous. By the time they’re done, the crowd is buzzing, primed and ready for the riotous chaos that is the Dropkick Murphys.
When Ken Casey strides out, flanked by the rest of the band, the roar is deafening, he raises his fist, and the night kicks off like a rally and a celebration rolled into one. From the very first song, Casey launches himself into the crowd, setting the tone for a night of relentless energy. He’s a live wire, darting from side to side, impossible to pin down. Behind him, the band unleashes a whirlwind of sound—banjos, flutes, accordions—melding into a full-throttle sonic assault. It’s a masterclass in organised chaos, and the packed crowd can’t get enough, feeding off every note and movement like it’s pure electricity.Dropkick Murphys have always been political—not in the way of soapbox speeches, but in their marrow. They’re a band that champions the underdog, the working class, the misfits, and the fighters. Their music is a reminder that the fight isn’t over and that community is the lifeblood of resistance.
