New York City's labyrinth of despair and desire can breed either creative epiphanies or utter misery, especially for up-and-coming bands trying to break into the scene. But combine determination with the biting humor and political anger of an immigrant Irishman named Larry Kirwan, add the spirited skill of four band mates adept in a bizarre mix of rap, post-postpunk, rock and Gaelic fervor, and the result is a revelatory Manhattan bar band – Black 47.

Named after the worst year of Ireland's potato famine in the nineteenth century, Black 47 eschews people's stereotypical expectations of Gaelic music for its own mongrel sound. On its new album, Black 47, the band – usually most comfortable playing loud and live with upraised fists and chunky guitar riffs in local hangouts – explodes with declarations of gnashing street poetry punctuated with wailing uilleann pipes, Joe Strummer-style chord chops and Bourbon Street sax sojourns.

Green card in hand, singer-guitarist Kirwan proudly exercises his freedom of speech. Moods swing from the autobiographical band rap "Rockin' the Bronx" to the incendiary politics of "Fanatic Heart" and "Free Joe Now," about the U.S. imprisonment of Joe Doherty, charged with killing a British special forces officer. The subtle sax work of Jeff Blythe and Fred Parcells's jazzy trombone embellish the reggae shuffle of "Desperate," and the thunderous charge of Chris Byrne's pipes kick the jig 'n' reel-ish "Funky Ceili" into Celtic chaos: "I think of you, Bridie, whenever I'm sober/Which isn't too often, I have to confess."

Passion and politics make for a heady brew, but Black 47 holds its own without succumbing to melodrama or sloshy sentimentality. Black 47 is a defiant statement of unequivocal commitment to visceral ideals – and as cathartic as a long, sweaty night in a rowdy Irish bar.

Black 47 is available from BLK, c/o Paddy Reilly's, 495 Second Avenue, New York, NY 10016. (RS 626)

KARA MANNING