Release The Hounds!
They might be four albums deep already, but Boston’s STREET DOGS are just getting started.
Story: Brendan Manley
Photos: Cindy Frey
The great irony of last summer’s Warped Tour was that if you took stock of the ever-widening assortment of bands on the bill (from kitschy’80s synth-pop to extreme Christian metalcore) it was Street Dogs’ classic, back-to-basics Boston punk that ended up sticking out like a sore thumb. And they have no plans of picking up a keytar anytime soon.
Nor should they. Street Dogs’ latest studio release, State Of Grace, is arguably their best work to date. Filled with heartfelt odes to family members and friends who’ve passed on, as well as tasteful political commentary permeated with the band’s blue-collar ethos, the disc is a much-needed dose of reality amid a scene increasingly obsessed with fashion and novelty. Thanks to the strength of SG’s music, their all-out live show and a recent affiliation with Epitaph Records’ Hellcat imprint, the band’s message is now reaching-and hopefully inspiring-more ears than ever.
“We were always a day late and a dollar short, but we always manage to come out of that better and stronger than before,” says bassist Johnny Rioux, who formed the band back in 2002 along with frontman Mike McColgan, formerly of Beantown Celt-punk icons Dropkick Murphys. “It’s kind of amazing. It’s like, ‘Let’s go out and try to do something that isn’t viable at all.’ If we were smart, we’d pick up keyboard-guitars and wear neon clothes and window-shade sunglasses. Instead, we decided to just do a real-deal rock ’n’ roll band with songs about real-life experiences, and put on a great live show, and see what happens. It’s really paid off for us.”
Street Dogs-who also include guitarists Marcus Hollar and Tobe Bean III, and drummer Paul Rucker-were originally conceived as a “poker night” for members of the Boston punk scene. Besides McColgan’s considerable pedigree, Rioux earned his stripes playing alongside current Murphys singer Al Barr in the Bruisers, while Joe Sirois, drummer for ska-core stalwarts the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, manned the kit until recent years, then departed once the Bosstones decided to dust off their plaid suits and reunite. In the early days, the Dogs were little more than an escape for Rioux-who was then employed by a music management company-and McColgan, who was a firefighter with the Boston Fire Department-a lifelong dream of his, and his main impetus for leaving DKM. However, once the band got rolling, both Rioux and McColgan began to feel the void their retreat from music had left.
“I think I really underestimated the impact that music had on me personally,” says McColgan, chilling out between shows in Oslo, Norway, during a recent European run. “When I started singing again with Street Dogs, it was a casual thing; just to write and maybe do local shows and have fun. But it blossomed into more than that and kind of took a hold of me.”
Although he’s the last person you’ll see patting himself on the back, McColgan would be well within his rights to boast of his exploits, which dwarf just about any life story you’ll hear among today’s bands. The singer’s journey began nearly 20 years ago: After graduating from high school, he enlisted in the U.S. Army, hoping to someday take advantage of the G.I. Bill and Army College Fund. Placed within an artillery unit, he soon found himself in Saudi Arabia during Operation Desert Storm/Desert Shield, en route to the eventual ground war in Iraq and the liberation of Kuwait. [see sidebar.] Having served his time, McColgan returned to Boston, where he enrolled in college and began working as a printer at a newspaper. What came next would quickly become the stuff of legend. McColgan teamed up with bassist Ken Casey and the rest of Dropkick Murphys’ original lineup, and the band began gigging extensively, tightening their songs and sound. They entered the studio with producer/Rancid guitarist Lars Frederiksen to record 1998’s Do Or Die, an absolutely essential modern punk album, and quintessential encapsulation of the band’s Irish influence.
Then, just when you’d expect McColgan to assume the role of punk’s next great mouthpiece, he simply walked away from it all. Not because of any inter-band strife or musical differences: He wanted to become a Boston firefighter.
“It was just a really tough call to make. There was never a point in time when there were any creative tensions or things like that; I just had an overwhelming urge to take that leap of faith and try that occupation, take the test, go through the process, and do it,” McColgan reflects. “I guess I just don’t play life safe. I take chances. I go for things, for better or worse. I’ve never second-guessed the decision or regretted it.”
While DKM continued to flourish, McColgan dove deeply into his new occupation, which having started just prior to 9/11, was far from the lifestyle of a touring punk band. Like his time in Iraq, McColgan soon found himself dealing with death on a daily basis. He spent the latter parts of 2001 commuting to New York City to attend funerals of the fellow firefighters and first responders who never returned from their calls to the Twin Towers. It was the kind of experience that left a deep imprint on McColgan’s psyche.
“In the fire service, no two days were the same. A great deal of medical calls get dealt with, and the nature of the job is such that you can be in the firehouse having dinner, and everybody’s laughing, and an hour later you could be in the middle of a building fire, and two- and three-family homes are up in flames, and you’re committed to that for six or seven hours on a winter night when it’s snowing and shit’s going crazy,” he says. “You have to take the job very seriously and be trained and vigilant and prepared… I’m grateful to have done it. It was an amazing, amazing experience.”
“Certain people are kind of hard-wired for that sort of thing,” adds Rioux. “This one time, Mike and I were driving down the street and there was a car wreck in front of us, and he just leapt out of the car, ran up, put jackets on people, ripped his shirt off and wrapped it around a wound. He just excels in those types of situations.”
Once Street Dogs got rolling in 2002, McColgan had more to write about than ever, pouring his heart into the band’s debut, 2003’s Savin Hill, named after the neighborhood where he grew up. From the very beginning it was clear Street Dogs were making music that meant something, with McColgan re-emerging as a powerful voice of the everyman (“I always relate Mike, half-jokingly, [to] a sort of punk-rock Springsteen,” says Rioux.). With some gentle nudging from Rioux, McColgan began taking time off from the fire department to tour. Back To The World followed in 2004, and with momentum continuing to build, McColgan was once again faced with the prospect of a career change. “There was one specific conversation we had at a truck stop in New York,” remembers Rioux. “It was late at night, we were coming back from Buffalo-we’d played a weekend with Flogging Molly-and Mike said, ‘Let’s do this thing full time.’ That was the breaking point.”
“I remember in September 2004 making that conscious decision, ‘Why not? You only live once. Why not just go for it?’” says McColgan. “I did. I haven’t looked back since, and it’s been amazing. I think I’ve come to terms with where I belong, and what I want to do, for better or for worse. For the most part it’s been better, and I stay eternally grateful to music.”
Fortified by McColgan’s increased commitment to the band, Street Dogs continued to fight to get their message across show by show, fan by fan. The group released the politically charged Fading American Dream in 2006, at the height of the world’s discontent with the Bush administration. Last year’s Hellcat debut, State Of Grace, however, takes on a much more intimate slant than its predecessor. Working again with British producer Ted Hutt (Bouncing Souls, Flogging Molly), the group crafted 11 impressive tracks, each telling a unique tale, whether it be one of family members that have passed (“Kevin J. O’Toole,” “Elizabeth”), personal struggles (“State Of Grace,” “Free”) or long-lost chapters of American history (“San Patricios”). It’s the sort of album that reaches into your chest and grabs you by the heart, while also reflecting the dramatically different state of world affairs now that change is finally happening on Pennsylvania Avenue.
“When we did Fading American Dream, Bush was just elected to a second term, and we all felt really dismal. We were watching our friends get killed in Iraq and overseas, and everything was falling apart,” says Rioux. “With State Of Grace, there’s a little more hope involved in it; there’s a little more positivity and a greater outlook for the future.”
Street Dogs have plenty of reasons to also feel a similar sense of hope when it comes to their own future. With four records already under their belt, a new home at Hellcat and perhaps one of punk’s most charismatic frontmen at the helm, it appears the band are just getting started. With State still less than a year old, a spring headlining tour is in the works, as well as a potential return to Warped Tour come summer. There’s no telling where the band will venture next creatively; just don’t expect them to don turquoise Members Only jackets onstage.
“We have this ability to be unafraid of anything musically,” says Rioux. “Our next [disc] could be this 30-minute hardcore record. You just never know.”
“Life’s unbelievable,” adds McColgan. “Expect the unexpected and you’ll be fine.” alt
A VETERAN’S VIEW
Plenty of bands these days write about the state of the Middle East and the ugly, protracted wars in which our nation is mired. But few can sing from the perspective of someone who’s actually fought over there. For Street Dogs singer Mike McColgan, the oil fields of Kuwait and the rubble of Iraq are sights he knows all too well. Joining the U.S. Army after high school and winding up in an artillery division, McColgan was first sent to Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, on December 26, 1990.
“We got our howitzers, which are cannons, but appear to be like tanks and are on a track; they’re self-propelled,” McColgan remembers. “We went to a place in Western Saudi Arabia, staged there, and in February, probably around the 18th or 19th, we moved into Southern Iraq. Then the ground war started. We were in Southern Iraq all the way up until April of ’91, then we moved to Northern Kuwait for about a month, then we flew back to Germany. It was definitely one of the more poignant, intense, powerful experiences of my life, for sure.”
Having served in the Gulf, McColgan returned to Boston with a newfound perspective. Once he started attending college and assimilated his experience with a great understanding of world history, he began to form the views he holds today, which inevitably find their way into Street Dogs’ music.
“I got up to speed real quick on what motivates us to be there and to have concerns. It’s clearly the oil, and anyone who thinks otherwise is out of step and out of touch,” he says. “It’s the world’s second-largest oil reserve. So, it wasn’t about weapons of mass destruction at all. I think it’s about some out-of-control notion about nation-building and oil security; oil depletion protocol, even. I have a lot of views and opinions on policy that were never in step with the Bush administration, and I feel at the same time I can empathize, pray and hope for the best for our troops.”
So now that we have a new president who seems committed to fixing the mess in Iraq, what does McColgan think future strategies should entail? “You have to let [Iraq] be their own nation, and you have to pull out responsibly, and over a staggered period of time. You can’t just pull everything out immediately and say, ‘Okay, bye-bye.’ I don’t think that would be pragmatic, cautious or anything near wise…. I think that’s how [President-Elect Obama] will approach Iraq-a phased withdrawal over a period of time, with Iraq being an autonomous nation that governs itself, and [with] enough space for Shia, Sunni and Kurds to coexist and get along and not get into sectarian violence and civil strife.”
