The time: 1996. The place: Dublin’s Tivoli Theatre. A lithe Fearghal McKee stealthily struts the stage with his dole-queue rhetoric and brooding air, before wrapping his head with cling-film.
Fast-forward a decade. A frisson of pure excitement waves through the capital upon hearing news of the band’s reunion, which does little to explain the somewhat muted reception the band receives tonight.
Still, most of us get a brief, giddy rush at the opening strains of ‘When We Were Young’. McKee, looking sufficiently unfashionable in a military jacket and PVC trousers, can seemingly barely contain his excitement. “It’s good to be back,” he says, and we can’t agree more.
By no means the lithe animal they once were, Whipping Boy still cut a purposeful dash as a potent force. The Britpop-era exaltation of ‘Tripped’ and ‘The Honeymoon Is Over’ is undercut by the likes of ‘Bad Book’, which offers respite from the band’s angsty, brooding rock.
Predictably, the crowd stirs to life for ‘Twinkle’ and for ‘So Much for Love’, when the band are joined onstage by The Thrills' Daniel Ryan. The performance is a true anti-climax, but at least the dreams of one young southsider came true.
Alas, the Buckfast kicks in soon after, and McKee spews forth a number of ‘I’m weird, me’ nuggets that simply don’t wash with this crowd. “All I can do is talk...I can’t act anymore,” he ponders, before setting alight to a Sunday newspaper and crowing about wanting a revolution. All we can think of is how impressionable our collegiate minds once were.
Donning a ‘mad scientist’ coat (“you’re all my patients now”), he then attempts that great ‘90s ritual, the stage-dive. Two minutes later, a woman walks past with a nosebleed. It was that kind of evening.
In all, tonight’s festivities teach us two things. One – those stage barriers are there for a reason. Two – the only sound sweeter that the songs you remember is the sound of the ones you’ve forgotten.