The world is a different place from the one in which Whipping Boy released Heartworm in 1995. And, while it would be trite of me to list the changes we’ve undergone, it’s fair to say that in this day and age 16 years counts as a long time. But there’s always the wish to turn the clock back and it’s fair to say that the crowd in the Button Factory (mostly men in their 20s or 30s) want Whipping Boy to play like it’s 1995 again.
The audience builds during the two solid but unspectacular support groups, North Sea and Dead School. The only real item of note to come out of either was an anecdote by Dead School’s lead singer: “When I was younger, one of my mates was going out with a Spanish girl. They went out for a few months, but it came to a time when she had to go home. She wanted something to bring back to Spain to show them what Dublin was like. When she asked him what to get, he went out and bought a copy of Heartworm. ‘This is everything you need to know about Dublin,’ he said.”
Two comedians then hit the stage while the last checks are being done for the main men. They did their bit, killed some time, but will probably think twice before performing in front of crowd waiting for a rock band again. The moment people had been waiting for comes just before 10 o’clock as Whipping Boy take the stage. “This is a Russian poem,” Fergal McKee declares as they launch into their first number. It’s grandiose, it’s ludicrous, it’s cabaret. But it works. The crowd don’t seem to know it but there is appreciation all-round. Then comes ‘Blinded’, the first track of the night from Heartworm. The audience gets worked up with that distinctive opening and as McKee opens his mouth to sing the whole place was at fever pitch.
But wait. What’s this? The lush voice from the album isn’t here. That distinctive deep yet soft voice seems to now be no more than a ragged shout. It’s a shocking disappointment. The audience seems stunned for a moment before regrouping. They jump around to the music and sing the words they know so well. Many seem to be doing a better job of it than McKee himself.
The same goes for much of the rest of the set. The songs from Heartworm chanted back by the audience while the other bring only nodding and sideways glances. The honeymoon is over to quote their song title. That’s not to say there isn’t a show to be had. McKee is still a great showman and his eccentrics on stage are entertaining. As are those off stage as on the occasions he enters the crowd and gets them to sing his own words back to him. There is even a point later on where the band and the audience to swap places.
The madness ends and all parties are returned to their default locations. But something is awry. “Can whoever took the set list tell us what song is next?” guitarist Killian McGowan asks. What’s next is perhaps the evenings highlight in ‘We Don’t Need Nobody Else’. It is played with enthusiasm and vigour and, while the vocals are again a letdown, the crowd really get into it.
The night may have ended there, but there were a few more songs left. McKee took to adorning some form of woollen mask before a mirror ball helmet for the last few songs. It didn’t necessarily detract from the show, but the energy in the room was gone.
The last few songs were played out – including a play by numbers rendition of ‘Tripped’ – but you can’t help thinking that the show, like the band, had its point well before now.