Organized chaos and communion for Dropkick Murphys' Paris show
- Anaïs Schacher
- Dec 15, 2025
- 3 min read
There are nights when a concert feels less like a tour date and more like a closing ritual. This was one of those nights. For their final show, the Dropkick Murphys chose Paris—or rather, Paris chose them, as the place to finish what they started. Behind the stage, a gigantic screen displayed high-definition visuals and details, transforming each song into a moving tableau.
photo : Marine Russo / @shotsofchaos
From the very first song, the scene is set: frontman Ken Casey remains hanging onto the barrier for a long time, shaking hands as if taking a dip in the crowd to catch his breath. From then on, the atmosphere never lets up. The entire venue is in a state of communion. As the concert progresses, the platforms set up in front of the crash barriers become a giant playground: the musicians circulate constantly, and the singer himself helps the slam dancers reach the crowd.
“It's the last show of the tour, and we couldn't have wanted anywhere else but Paris for the finale”, he says, as if stating the obvious rather than making a speech.
During First Class Loser, the rear screen shows Donald Trump in various situations. The reaction is instantaneous: boos, shouts, and bursts of laughter. And when Emmanuel Macron appears at his side, shaking his hand with a big smile, the crowd erupts again, in a mixture of whistles and jubilation.
Later, in a gesture that is half provocative, half poetic, he throws a copy of their latest vinyl into the audience with a “fuck Spotify, let's listen to music the old way”, reminding us that our relationship with sound is also a loyalty to objects.
There are also those moments suspended in time that only a live show can offer: a child from the audience hoisted onto the stage, a hoodie offered and handed over directly by the singer, an almost paternal gesture amid the tumult. A little further away, sitting back on the side, his mother, attending one of his French concerts for the first time, watches the scene with tender calm.
The setlist alternates between quiet songs and very danceable tracks, with peaks of hysteria on The Boys Are Back and Johnny I Hardly Knew Ya. At times, the screens display the lyrics to the choruses, transforming the entire arena into a giant karaoke bar.
And then Rose Tattoo arrives. A female audience member, spotted for having started building a giant tower of eco-cups before the concert, is invited on stage with two other people. The band then asks the crowd to throw cups so she can start her work again live. What follows resembles a scene of organized chaos: a veritable rain of cups rains down on the stage, leaving even the band and their crew speechless at the mass of projectiles coming from all sides.
The show ends with a huge circle pit, a final explosion before the lights go out. A sharp, vibrant ending, before the hall lights come back on to the sound of Johnny I Hardly Knew Ya.
A final tour date like few others: no distance, no restraint, no artifice. Just the music, the audience, and that palpable closeness that made the concert's heart beat. But on par with what Dropkick Murphys has been offering on stage for so many years.
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