Say what you will about Irish-flavored punk music (from can’t get enough of it to can’t stand it), a greater measure in music is honesty. I have no doubt in my mind that the Filthy Thieving Bastards believe in the songs they’re writing and in that, there’s a lot to chew on. If you can, erase the expectations of the Swingin’ Utters. Erase the expectation to be frozen in time like a caveman, only to be de-thawed to play anthems of yore. I’m a Son of a Gun follows the path of their previous outing: sitting instead of standing, weaving ‘60s pop and acoustic sensibilities in and out of hard knocks and alcohol-soaked triumphs and tragedies with a wry sense of humor. I never thought there’d be a musical parallel with The Utters in that Minor Threat to Fugazi way, but there is, and there you go. It takes some real grapes for these guys to follow their guts.