The sticker affixed to the front of Float (Side One Dummy, 2008) brags that The Alternative Press considers it “one of the most important records of the year, if not the decade.” That’s somewhat of a stretch, but there’s no doubt that Flogging Molly’s latest release is its most mature and significant. What little the record lacks in the brash, raucous fun that used to define the band’s sound is more than compensated for by a marked increase in the quality of songwriting.It’s unfortunate that a group this good needs an introduction, but for most of Massachusetts, Flogging Molly is probably known as “that band that sounds like the Dropkick Murphys.” Following the (not undeserved) commercial success of the Murphys in the wake of “Shipping Up To Boston’s” memorable scene in The Departed, it’s easy to forget that Flogging Molly has been around just as long, has more authentic Irish street cred and is a better band. Formed in the mid-’90s by Irish expatriate Dave King, the septet has released four albums of consistently high quality and endeared itself to legions of fans by virtue of their relentless enthusiasm onstage.Yet I’ve always wondered how this band can peacefully coexist with its more popular doppelgänger—the two groups have the same number of members, very similar instrumentation, the same infectious blending of Celtic melodies with punk-rock speed and intensity and the same affinity for rolling 12/8 rhythms. During a recent trip to Newbury Comics, I noticed that Float and DKM’s latest release, The Meanest of Times, were right next to each other on the best-sellers rack, and was taken aback for a minute by the redundancy. But Float, whether deliberately or not, clearly delineates Flogging Molly’s presence in the Irish-American rock sphere as different from that of the Murphys. The Meanest of Times proves that the Dropkick Murphys have mastered their signature sound, but that sword cuts both ways; while a lot of fun to listen to, it’s unmistakably the product of a band trapped by precedent and expectations.Much of Float, on the other hand, represents a marked departure from the rowdy shout-along aesthetic of “Drunken Lullabies,” “Shipping Up to Boston,” “Devil’s Dance Floor” and “The State of Massachusetts.” Though it’s just as fast as Flogging Molly’s old work, the choruses are just as hummable and George Schwindt’s drumming is just as frenetic as it’s always been, on the whole it’s quieter and a little more nuanced even at its loudest moments. It’s content to set the ferocious guitars that defined much of Molly’s previous sound (see “Rebels of the Sacred Heart”) in the background and bring the mandolin, accordion, tin whistle and fiddle to the forefront of the mix. Credit must go to Ryan Hewitt, the album’s producer, for deftly balancing every piece of such a large ensemble and giving Float such a rich, full-bodied sound—a bold choice for a group that’s used the garage-punk aesthetic to great effect in the past. Indeed, there seems to be a conscious effort on this album to shift the emphasis away from the Anglo-American punk sound that informed so much of Drunken Lullabies and Swagger and toward traditional Irish folk music while maintaining the band’s trademark intensity. It’s a fine line to walk, but Flogging Molly pulls it off.The result is a set of songs that features a strong rock foundation but sounds more distinctly Celtic than anything else Flogging Molly has released. For whereas the Murphys seem to have found themselves in the hyphen between “Irish” and “American”—it seems it’s in love with the idea of being Irish in Boston, as opposed to actually being from Ireland—Flogging Molly has always comfortably projected an aura of pure, unadulterated Irishness. (Appropriately, Float was recorded in Ireland.) A lot of that has to do with the quintessentially Irish spirit of anger and rebellion that has always been at the foundation of their songs, and many of King’s new lyrics smolder with the same righteous fury that gave tracks like “Drunken Lullabies” and “Tobacco” meaning beyond their kick-up-your-heels exuberance. “You Won’t Make a Fool Out of Me” shouts defiance in typical Flogging Molly damn-the-torpedoes fashion: “Green is the heart of your greed/That much I can tell/You may think you’re the captain of me/But I’m your coffinship from hell.” “On the Back of a Broken Dream” turns anger into a sheltering embrace for returning veterans who’ve seen too much, and dares someone to drag them back to the war: “Come tell of all you’ve seen/To the soul you’re no longer killing/And rest your weary voice/The last battle song has cried.” At first it seems disconcerting to hear these sobering lyrics sung over such upbeat, energetic musical backdrops, but the juxtaposition gives each piece a simultaneous resignation and optimism. It’s charming and even a little touching. The standout song, though, is the melancholy title track. It’s quiet, mostly acoustic and wouldn’t sound totally out of place on R.E.M.’s classic Automatic for the People. Its message—“be thankful/that’s all you can”—also resounds with that reserved optimism.Indeed, for a band that once celebrated “puking till you fall asleep” in drinking songs like “Salty Dog,” Float has some surprisingly important things to say. The recording’s closing refrain says it all: “I don’t care what I’ve lost/I just thank God I’m alive/Makes it all who you are/That’s the story so far.” This newfound self-awareness and maturity, expressed both through the album’s lyrics and its music, will demand a little bit of acclimatization from old Flogging Molly fans. But for newcomers and diehards alike, Float is a rewarding listen.