LOUDER THAN FASCISM

DROPKICK MURPHYS ARE COMING TO WASHINGTON, D.C. ON 11/22.

There are bands you like, and then there are bands that grab you by the spine and yell, “Get the hell up, we have a country to save.” Dropkick Murphys are the latter. They don’t write songs for brunch playlists or artisanal-pickle-eating passive citizens. They write anthems for dock workers, nurses, punks, welders, union halls, people on their fifteenth hour of a ten-hour shift, and everyone who knows deep in their bones that this country only works when we do — not when some bloviating wannabe-king barks orders from a gold couch.

Their music has always been a raised fist for the working class — bagpipes, guitars, and righteous adrenaline fused into a sound that smells like sweat, beer, and democracy. When “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” hits, something ancient fires in your nervous system. You stand a little straighter. You remember you come from people who didn’t kneel for kings, didn’t flinch from fights, and didn’t ask permission to claim their dignity. America needs that energy right now — desperately — because we are up against a regime that wants blind loyalty, crushed dissent, and the quiet obedience of tired citizens who stop believing their voice matters.

Dropkick Murphys exist to stop that rot. They’ve spent decades publicly telling Nazis and racists to get the fuck out. No winks. No hedging. No “both sides.” They don’t platform hate, they don’t serenade authoritarians, and they don’t buckle when bullies puff their chests. In a political era full of cowardly centrists, spineless pundits, and flag-draped con men, that clarity is everything. It’s moral oxygen. And it’s contagious.

That’s why they matter in 2025, and that’s why you’re reading about them on Closer to the Edge — because when a democracy is under attack, culture becomes a battlefield. Authoritarians try to control stories, symbols, and sound. They want nationalism without humanity, patriotism without accountability, and music that worships power instead of challenging it. Fascism cannot survive in a country where millions of people can still look each other in the eye and shout the same truth at the same time. That’s why regimes fear crowds. That’s why they fear art. That’s why they fear joy itself.

On November 22 in Washington, D.C., Dropkick Murphys will stand on a stage at REMOVE THE REGIME not as celebrities, not as props, but as ammunition. They’re coming because music reaches people speeches can’t. Because morale wins movements. Because fascists don’t shake when you whisper — they shake when the streets roar.

And we are going to roar.

We’re not gathering to pout, cope, or “raise awareness.” We are gathering to lawfully, forcefully, relentlessly remove a corrupt authoritarian presidency from power through constitutional means and unstoppable public pressure. Impeach. Convict. Remove. That’s the mission. Not vague. Not symbolic. Not someday. Now.

Dropkick Murphys are the soundtrack of that moment because they embody the thing authoritarians fear most: working-class solidarity with a pulse and a voice. When a massive crowd of people shout the same lyric in unison — not for nostalgia, but for democracy — that’s when the ground moves.

November 22. Washington, D.C.

We take our country back — loudly.

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