Tonight, Whelan’s is heaving. Punters can hardly move a centimetre, the crowd a restless sea of jostling elbows and sheepishly mumbled apologies. With just a couple singles to the folk duo's name, it seems the word of DUG has already spread like wildfire; people of all ages are desperate to witness the Dublin-based band’s unique brand of cutting trad melodies and punk, protean bluegrass riffage in person.

They’re one of the hottest acts to emerge out of Dublin in the last year. But make no mistake, these guys are nowhere near rookie-level, and their rip-roaring, sold-out Whelan’s headliner confirms the band's musical prowess ten times over.

DUG at Whelan's. Copyright Patrik Meier/hotpress.com

Exceptional displays of the transatlantic folk scene flow through DUG, comprised of SoCal native Jonny Pickett and Scottish singer-songwriter Lorkin O’Reilly, who spent much of the last decade in Upstate New York. Their endless stream of dirges, ditties and dins is inspiriting and invokes a flagship moment for the broad strokes of a genre crying out for innovation.

DUG's sprawling setlist meanders as any staggeringly good story should, with a slew  of atavistic trad covers and a well-wrought spell of their own offerings, from their as-yet-unannounced upcoming record. The duo were backed by a floor-shaking full band, including Gareth Quinn Redmond on violin, Michael McCarthy on drums and Aidan Gray on bass.

DUG at Whelan's. Copyright Patrik Meier/hotpress.com

While the duo are able to muster an astounding degree of polish on their studio releases, the live stage and backing outfit allow for each track to take on a new spirit.

In action, every sonic tendon is flexed and amplified: the raw Irish trad inflection soars with grit, while the old-time American contrasts emphasise the communal sense of awe.

Stand-outs include riveting renditions of traditional classics like ‘Katie Cruel’, ‘The Blacksmith’ with a wondrous ‘Blacksmithereens’ breakdown, and ‘Cumberland Gap,’ which pierced the heart of this homesick Appalachian native. DUG's original material stands up on its own feet too, especially on the fiery opener 'Big Sundown', and 'Promoter (Man!)', a pummelling warning shot aimed at the ghosts of  talent bookers past.

The latter track especially showcases the biting comedy, and deftly-crafted commentary, infusing the DUG lyrical trademark.

"Shakey clammy hands and a backstage pass to the promised land / Hair slick back and my shirt’s undone, taking twenty percent of your merch dude", one verse sounds –  while the hysterical refrain echoes "Whatcha gonna do about it, go tell your mom?".

DUG at Whelan's. Copyright Patrik Meier/hotpress.com

Underscoring the incredible lyricism are the band's undeniable instrumental finesse. Coupled with the mastery of his silvery resophonic guitar, Lorkin O’Reilly’s vocals occupy a world of their own, mixing a dour Townes Van Zandt drawl with Damien Jurado's rock intonation and Loudon Wainwright III’s tongue-in-cheek disposition. Likewise, Jonny Pickett’s wildly impressive banjo chops, musical acumen and his Béla-Flek-meets-Beach-Boys air offer a perfect complement to his counterpart.

The crowd seemingly can't get enough of them. From middle-aged punters raising their pints high to salute and belting every lyric to young women going gaga for Lorkin and Jonny ["Did you see that? He just made eye contact with me!"] as they danced gleefully to the mountain swing.

DUG at Whelan's. Copyright Patrik Meier/hotpress.com

It is as much a concert prefacing a bright future as it is a gaze back to the past. Having already sold-out Whelan's Upstairs twice this year, tonight's gig sees the band embrace a well-earned moment of reflection.

Just after they played those Upstairs gigs a few months ago, DUG made a pact with themselves for when they'd perform the main venue later in the year.

On stage, before about 500 people, that pact is due for fulfilment.

Pulling out his phone, Lorkin proceeds to open a voice memo recorded after their second gig in February. Holding his phone speaker to the mic, Jonny’s voice rings through the PA system:

“If we sell out Whelan’s on July 12th, then I will eat an entire napkin on stage."

Now, anyone lacking the guts to follow through would surely retreat, perhaps even acquiesce. But Jonny happily accepts. His forbearance prompts Chef Diarmuid (of Ye Vagabonds fame) in a French Laundry tallboy to saunter onstage with a silver platter in hand, revealing a napkin as he dramatically opens the lid.

DUG at Whelan's. Copyright Patrik Meier/hotpress.com

Jonny, with a Guinness can in one hand and a folded napkin in the other, barely hesitates before diving straight in. He impressively shovels it down, chasing the pulp serviette with his stout, the crowd responding with a fever-pitch of rollicking laughter and jaws to the floor.

Upon the final stomach-turning swallow, Jonny throws both arms up in triumph and downs the last of his chaser. As I look around, each and every audience member can't help but exalt their banjo-wielding Rocky Balboa. Even the bar staff pause to whip out their phone cameras.

DUG at Whelan's. Copyright Patrik Meier/hotpress.com

As the finale inches closer and closer, I can't help but wonder what stop they'll pull out next. Then and there, my eyes are drawn towards an interactive display where people are crouching over bar tables.

Next to the merch stand sits the curiously titled 'Jubilation Station,' a table displaying hundreds of paper scraps, pens and a jar. People manning the station implore the attendees to write down one word that describes what brought them jubilation in 2024 and place it the jar.

DUG at Whelan's. Copyright Patrik Meier/hotpress.com

Before their final song, a figure innocuously dressed as a goblin carts out the jar with an arsenal of confetti canons. With eyes closed, Jonny grabs a few from the scrap stockpile and prefaces, "something that brought me jubilation..." – before reading aloud: "shelter", "my three dogs" [shoutout Cooper, Alfie and Buster], "sleep", "music" and "bubbles", to name just a few. By the handful, Jonny stuffs every piece of paper down the barrel of the canon.

As they burst into 'Jubilee,' DUG's first release, three sudden blasts of confetti spark a triumphant and celebratory snowstorm of affirmations and exultation.

"It's the year of jubilee," DUG sing with at0m-smashing intensity.

It's true – but I can't help but highlight the obvious: as much as it is "the year of jubilee," it's truly the year of DUG.

DUG at Whelan's. Copyright Patrik Meier/hotpress.com