Sea Shanties, Ska, and Polka Punk:
Skully’s in Columbus, Ohio Hosts
Brave the Sea, The Boy Detective, The Dreadnoughts
I hesitate to call myself part of the music industry. I’m just a tourist with a camera — passing through, stealing moments, leaving proof for the people who weren’t there. Sometimes it’s the big shows: huge budgets, light rigs that cost more than my car, armies of fans. Sometimes it’s the small ones: no money, no crowd, just grit. But every once in a while, you get both. The magic alignment. The night at Skully’s was one of those.
The whole evening started tense. Another promoter had hijacked the venue with a show right before ours, forcing load-in into chaos and pushing back start times by nearly an hour. By the time their crowd cleared out, the line for our show stretched down High Street, a living, restless coil. The air buzzed with anticipation.
Brave the Sea opened like old friends crashing through the door. I know these guys. I’ve toured with them, worked with them, and drank with them. They never disappoint. Vito’s voice thundered across the room, proof that a big man with bigger vocal cords can command any stage. Mattie on mandolin ran wild — because of course he did — while the rest of the band kept the whole ship steady, propelling the room into frenzy. And when they closed with their notorious cover of The Black Parade, the floor split open. The crowd lost its collective mind.
Then came The Boy Detective. Ska. God help me. If there’s one genre I’ve never been able to stomach, it’s that. Horn sections usually feel like nails on my soul. My enthusiasm drained the moment I saw brass getting lined up for soundcheck. But duty is duty — I raised the camera anyway.
And then it happened. Vocalist Benny wished me luck before their set. I asked why. He just laughed. A few songs in, I understood. Benny didn’t just step off the stage — he lived in the pit, dancing, singing, sweating with the crowd while never losing a note. Security followed him with flashlights like he was an act of God, helping me get the shots. The whole band played with the kind of precision you usually don’t associate with chaos. By the end of the set, I was grinning despite myself. The Boy Detective didn’t just change my attitude — they damn near stole the night.
Finally, the Dreadnoughts. Lederhosen and all. Five different people had already told me this was their “favorite band EVER” before they even picked up an instrument. Polka, punk, folk — whatever you want to call it — they turned Skully’s into a firestorm. Every note was matched by a roar from the crowd, every chorus bellowed back like scripture. It wasn’t about novelty; it was about energy. They’ve found a way to modernize old-world music without sanding off its wild edges, and the loyalty they inspire is staggering.
By the end of the night, the floor was slick, the crowd was hoarse, and I had another reminder of why I keep doing this. Because sometimes, in a sweaty club with no photo pit, you stumble into the kind of night where everything works.
