“The rich are fucking cuntiums”. ‘Irish Rock n Roll’ takes over 02 Academy Brixton on Samhain for a free-flowing evening of pints, anti-landlord working class solidarity. A rebellion against the ruling elite and pure madcap chaos can only mean one thing: The Mary Wallopers are back with Cliffords in tow.
The Mary Wallopers are back in Brixton, predictably on the eve of Samhain, the Gaelic version of Halloween (of which, Halloween wouldn’t have happened without) and it being the start of the darker half of the year.
The last time I saw them there it was part of a two-night fare, where on night one, they bought out The Pogues for a riot of an evening.
This swan-song for the latest chapter of their tour is as every bit as crazy – the Dundalk firestarters able to whip the crowd into a frenzy that encourages the moshers, the crowd-surfers and the pits to swirl – the Academy is entirely bouncing by the end of the evening. A mix of traditional covers and Mary Wallopers’ own creations guide the night – now on album number two; ‘Paddywhackery’ – as they take their turns in being one of the forerunners of the bands in current Irish culture. ‘Castlecoe Hill’ opens – named for the rise overlooking Clogerhead, not far from the Hendy’s home turf – and it’s a call to home as much as it is a call to arms.
Before that – support band Cliffords come on who have been around for seven years and following a stint on the discovery stage at Rock Werchter last summer have earned their first support slot.
They are very Kings of Leon inspired but warm up the crowd nicely, as rebellious in spirit as the Mary Wallopers themselves. They drift into dreampop at times – Iona Lynch keeping the audience on their toes from beginning to end. ‘Antihero’ is the one that demonstrates this band’s transition into being able to play as venues as big as Academy Brixton even on supporting duties, their stage presence is incredible and when Lynch comes back on the stage mid Mary Wallopers set for a crowd surf; the entire audience holds her aloft.
“This is Irish rock ’n’ roll,” they lead with on ‘The Juice’ - brothers Charles and Andrew Hendy working in perfect sync - deployed later in the set-list, and it’s the ultimate Mary Wallopers DNA best befitting of a live show – launching immediately into ‘Crowns of England’; we get pints, anti-landlord insults, a reminder that nobody in this room is a rich man – they’re all going to hell so they might as well enjoy a song and dance and a call for rebellion while they’re there. “There’s no photos of Maggie or Pecker on the walls / The lads over here don’t sing or dance, they just watch football” ‘Crowns of England’ represents a calling for back home and a daring battle cry in one; goading the crowd into movement from very early on.
The place becomes a sweatbox in seconds – thunderous movement brings the Academy to life. Seán McKenna may have departed the Mary Wallopers in 2025 but the band has lost none of its chemistry - Róisín Barrett’s bass, Ken Mooney’s drums, Finnian O'Connor's pipes and whistles, and Catriona Gribben’s accordion all play key roles here and are highlighted through the set with gravitas and importance as to their role to the band. ‘Landlords Demise’ follows next – a song about the fall of Empire in Ireland, the expression of the anti-landlord resentment that runs through the night, and it’s incredibly powerful and an ode to those who will never be able to own their own home.
Here the Mary Wallopers are throwing their lot in with working class solidarity and the people and this is an evening of rebellion – rage-inducing in the best way possible. It makes you feel the pain; the anger of a culture and a class – and to ram their point home immediately; a traditional cover also taken up by The Dubliners’ ‘The Banks of the Roses’ follows suit. Throughout Mary Wallopers’ setlist you see songs traditionally repurposed by folk bands turned into a melting pot – and Charles Hendy knows he doesn’t have to do much to start the fire.
Tracks like ‘Smuggling the Tin’ and ‘The Rich Man and the Poor Man’; traditional covers, go down a storm – ‘The Rich Man and the Poor Man’ lyrics are as pointed at they come, taking aim at the Elon Musks, the Trumps of the world. “Once there was a rich man, his name it was Diviizium,” the song goes – taking about how the rich use class divisions and right-wing talking points to keep the people divided looking at each other rather than looking at those above them.
The odds and differences between the rich and the poor man go down a storm; the band preaching class unification and division with the enemy coming from above rather than from within: “the poor man died and he went up to heavenium… the rich man died and he didn’t do so wellium… Auld Nick came and dragged him down to helium.” This has an added touch; evolved to the present day: “The rich are fucking cuntiums” which predictably goes down a storm. The likes of Nigel Farage are immediately placed on the back foot here. This is not for them. This has never been for them.
A Palestinian flag is all the band have for a stripped-down stage set that leaves nothing left to the imagination on where the band stand; in line with many of their Irish brethren. The riot keeps swirling – ‘The Big Mixer’ into ‘Kit Kat Club’ is downright bedlam, and the latter was played with the band recalling their time spent in a Berlin club, where if you know you know – and the ballads maximise the uillean pipes and the bodhrán to make them sound sonically distinctive from others of their kinship; the fact that they can still make pits swirl and move is an incredible feat of distinction – closer in tone perhaps to the likes of The Scratch than say, the Euro-country pop of CMAT, the rap of Kneecap or the folk of Madra Salach. There is of course, folk here – but there is also a lot of punk – rowdy and rebellious. ‘Kit-Kat Club’ builds and builds – its primal, raw guitar riff expands on drinking culture in ways you must witness to believe.
The Christy Moore cover of ‘Building Up and Tearing England Down’ kickstarts a slew of traditional covers – ‘The Holy Ground’, ‘The Blarney Stone’, ‘Eileen Og’ all play next with it backended by a cover of ‘Cod Liver Oil and the Orange Juice’ by Hamish Imlach, the one-two punch of ‘The Juice’. “There's nothin' in the press There's nothin' on the telly I feel a bit sick 'cause there's nothing in my belly” bellows throughout the room of 02 Academy Brixton – but audiences are very much fulfilled here – there is plenty to do and plenty to dance to and the crowd are in free flowing, crowd-surfing chaos mode. “We’re always in the pub now / that’s the way to be / They have central heating and the pints are free” gives revellers a chance to delight in the moment.
It is Halloween. It is Samhain. Would you be anywhere else but watching Mary Wallopers play?
PhotographY IS Sean McMahon