Finnegan’s Hell – One Finger Salute
Release Date: 25th November 2022
Label: Sound Pollution/Wild Kingdom
Stream/Order
Genre: Punk, Metal, Celtic.
FFO: Dropkick Murphys, Flogging Molly.
Review By: Kira L. Schlechter
The Ramones-esque line-up of Finnegan’s Hell all bear the surname Finnegan – Pabs (lead vocals, guitar), Mick (tin whistle, banjo, vocals), San (bass, vocals), Cozy (percussion, vocals), Ace (drums, percussion), and Old Roxy (accordion). They’re not Irish, though. Not even remotely. They’re Swedish.
But they do their blend of Celtic punk/rock/metal – with liberal lashings of folk and country – as if they were born to it. And maybe they were, who knows. Regardless, it’s a hell of a good time. Like the Ramones, Finnegan’s Hell’s songs are short, perfectly constructed, and completely memorable.
Their latest, “One Finger Salute,” is the even-better follow-up to their excellent 2020 album, “Work is the Curse of the Drinking Class.”
Set to whistle, accordion, and punches of guitar, the opener “What Have You Got in the End” is the Finnegans’ favorite (and effective) formula, slice-of-life vignettes: the first verse, “My father worked until he died/A struggle all the way … My mother tried to raise us/doing odd jobs on the side”; the second, “My brother’s working overtime/To pay all his bills … I saw him just the other day/The man looked like a ghost.” Each is sung by a different member, all in a whiskey-soaked rasp, nothing fancy. The chorus is wry commentary – “You scrape to get by/And you will til you die … Can’t take nothin’ with you, my friend” – and it hits particularly hard in these days of soaring inflation and financial insecurity. The last verse is the punchline: “So whatcha gonna do/With all your hopes and dreams?” they ask, and then avow, “I try to stay away from work/I do the best I can/In order not to turn into/A wreck like my old man.” The final line in the chorus then loses its bluster and defiance and becomes almost poignant.
A barely two-minute blast, the title track, with its sweet melody and lilting swing) is a pissed-off kiss-off to a crappy relationship. “I have tried to love you/Swear to God I’ve done my best,” he says, but she’s not worth the effort – “You’re a rotten apple/From a rotten family tree.” Which leads perfectly into the gleefully cathartic sing-along of the chorus: “Fuck you/Fuck your brother/Fuck your sis/Your mom and daddy too” (if you don’t laugh at this, you have no sense of humor). He continues reminiscing in the second verse – “Sure I like a challenge/But lovin’ you was tough … Your love was like a hammer/Designed to knock me down” – but in the final one, he really puts it to bed: “The more I think about it/I really hate your guts/I cannot stand your morals/Your bigotry drives me nuts.” A few more runs through the chorus are the definitive “get lost.”
“Mickey Finn” starts with its chorus, stripped-down and bare-bones, with the slightest of musical accompaniment, before leaping into the rollicking roll it maintains throughout. Each section begins with the same instrumental flourish or refrain, a practice taken directly from folk music and one they use throughout. The title refers to a drugged alcoholic drink given to someone in order to take advantage of them, and in a call-and-response, with different singers delivering each line, they tell the story: “Woke up this morning in a haze/My girl was gone without a trace” and “Ain’t got no pants, ain’t got no shoes/I’ve been a victim of abuse,” and finally, “My TV’s gone, my sofa too/And I am feeling kinda blue.” Each verse ends with the shouted, belligerent demand, “I lost my head, and now I want it put back on.”
“Read My Lips” reads exactly like Motorhead, with its punchy bass lead melody, evil minor-key accordion drone, and snarled lyrics. It’s an unintentional confession, or maybe it’s intentional, at that – “I’ve made a habit of just saying things you like to hear/It’s for your own good, to protect you/From a truth you fear,” he begins. He goes on to say, “It’s best you don’t find out exactly/How or where I spent last night,” then proceeds to admit exactly that: “I went to see your sister after dark/And she was dynamite.” Later on, he says, “Don’t ask me where our money went” and proceeds to say, “I won’t discuss my drinking/Or my gambling, or the cash I blew.” It’s hilarious. The bridge is so Lemmy-like in sound and attitude, it could actually BE him, from the guitar riff to the shredded-throat screams of “You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth!”
There’s barely any music accompanying the singer of the wrenching ballad “Godforsaken Town” – he says it “ain’t got no future/It’s a river all run dry.” He knows he has to leave, as the chorus says, and he wonders, “Why folks still stick around/I just cannot understand.” The second and third verses depict the town’s lost residents – Linda, who “stands outside a bar/Ready to be picked up,” and the homeless man who’s “pushing his belongings in a cart/They say he served in Vietnam and got a Purple Heart.” A great skill of this band is their ability to describe a scene and convey emotion in just a few words, with carefully-chosen details that deliver a gut punch.
“Run Boy Run” is the exact opposite of its predecessor, a romp of a story about one messed-up dude, starting with an introduction – “Boy, you were born on the wrong side of the tracks … Nobody’s expecting that you’ll ever turn out right” – and boy, yeah, he’s done some bad stuff. A whistle melody introduces each subsequent riotous description of his exploits – this is a guy who “robbed the movie theater, robbed the candy store,” who “stole money from a whore,” and who, hilariously, at a reggae concert “stole Bob Marley’s spliff.” It only gets worse in the final verse – trust me – but its hugely droll exaggeration makes it more funny than offensive.
It’s the beefy, stomping, funky groove that totally makes “Comin’ After You,” as well as Mick’s terrific banjo melody and Old Roxy’s sinister accordion. A bit of a riff on “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” this is that same devil, “searching for a soul to steal.” The chorus is shouted by all – “Lock your door and grab your gun,” but it’s inevitable that “He’s comin’ after you.” The second verse is rather a thoughtful contemplation, “Some people die and go to heaven/Others go down south, to hell/The consequences of the life you’ve led/Are sometimes hard to tell.” A solo section, led by more of Mick’s wonderful banjo, segues to a repeat of the first verse, one that builds and builds in tension before two final, almost desperate takes on the chorus.
The cheery jig that is “I’ll Make It Up To You” is devil-may-care, with a goofy plinking banjo line and a carefree whistle counterpart. It’s all based on a platitude – he knows damn well he’s a shit (“I forgot your birthday/And our wedding day too”), he knows “you’re disappointed/Your dreams went down the drain,” he knows she worries (“Whenever I go drinking/You just moan and weep/And if I don’t come home at night. You say you cannot sleep”). But you know he won’t “make it up” to her at all, despite his good intentions – or maybe they’re not so good, maybe it’s just to get her to shut up. There’s a sadness to it amid all the flippant bounce.
“Nothing Left To Lose,” then, is the B-side of that: he’s had it, and he just wants her out. It’s a bit darker musically too, as he tells her, “I don’t care about the future/Don’t care about you/If you’re gonna take the kids/Take the dog too,” and there’s more of that kind of ridiculous “if you’re gonna take” stuff too – “If you take my shoes/Don’t forget my hat” and “I don’t care about the pool/Don’t care about the boat/You can take my bathrobe/Take my trench coat.” San’s bass lead-in into the final verse adds drama, and the intentionally sloppy ending takes the song’s frustrated tone all the way out.
The pounding closer, “Oh Death,” is the band at their most metal, with syncopated pummeling drums and biting guitar adding heft to a nasty, foreboding banjo melody. It starts with its chorus, “oh death/Keep your cold dead hands away from me,” and its verses brood on feeling that the end is nigh – “Have you ever danced with the devil/Or looked him in the eye” and “Have you ever seen your corpse in the mirror/As it cracked from side to side” and the really cinematic “Ever seen the shadow of your dreams/In the water of a river run dry?” The chorus bookends Mick’s banjo solo, the guitars riffing away, and it fades eerily out on that great signature tune.
And that’s the best part of Finnegan’s Wake, their innate sense of balance – they can be light-hearted and goofy and drink-addled, and they can be thoughtful and observant and pointed as well. “One Finger Salute” deserves two thumbs up. 
(5 / 5)
