Almanac Music: A Pogues Life
Smokie at the Grand Canyon,1990.
“I wore that Pogues t-shirt everywhere”
There are musical artists whom one admires, whom one likes, whom one loves. And then there is the rare musical artist who becomes a piece of you, who informs you, who leeches into your soul to become essential to your very essence.
The Pogues are a part of me. They have been since I first saw them on Countdown, when a bemused Molly Meldrum introduced Dirty Old Town. It was 1985, I was 19 years old, and in those minutes as I sat enthralled, watching that film-clip, something deep within me stirred.
Not long after, I purchased Rum Sodomy and the Lash and it was through this album that my love of The Pogues began in earnest. There was an edginess that hooked into me, and a rawness that had me living in hope that one day I would be fortunate enough to see them performing live. The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn was an opening track like nothing else, a tale of drunkenness infused with doses of Celtic mythology, references to Irish classical musicians John McCormack and Richard Tauber, and the namechecking of the IRA’s Frank Ryan. Slowly but surely, I began to make more sense of the stories that my grandfather told me about ‘The Troubles’ and the Ireland in which he spent had his youth.
The Pogues were unlocking parts of my being which I had not previously known to have existed. They sang the story of my grandparents’ emigration (Thousands Are Sailing), cursed the treatment by Cromwell of my forebears (Young Ned of the Hill), and even created one of the greatest of all Christmas songs (Fairytale of New York). Thanks to The Pogues, I gained a new appreciation of my ancestry. They encouraged me to discover more about myself and my origins. Desperate to know more, I soon read Dan Breen’s My Fight for Irish Freedom, and I was off and running. I read Joyce’s Ulysses and Brendan Behan’s Borstal Boy. I have The Pogues to thank for lighting this fire which continues to burn: only this year I read Patrick Radden Keefe’s Say Nothing.
Out front of The Pogues was Shane MacGowan. Extraordinary songwriter and prodigious abuser of liquor and other substances. His ability to tell a story, such as in The Body of an American, was virtually incomparable. The beauty in tracks such as Lullaby of London and Broad Majestic Shannon is almost enough to bring me to tears, depending on my mood. I did get to see The Pogues on three memorable occasions, with MacGowan in varying states of sobriety. Each time, however, the band’s musicianship was faultless. The Pogues also sent me on a musical journey, introducing me to The Dubliners, the Clancy Brothers, and their punk progeny Dropkick Murphys and Flogging Molly. I cannot imagine a life without this music.
Having recently witnessed photographs and online articles detailing his declining health, it was obvious that Shane’s prospects were not good. But it still rocks you when someone with whose work you have been intimately connected departs this mortal coil, as we all must. He is the third Pogue to leave, behind guitarist Phil Chevron (2013) and bassist Darryl Hunt (2022).
My bewildered wife would not abide my desire to have Sick Bed of Cuchulainn play as we walked from the church on our wedding day, but she has promised that a Pogues tune will be played at my funeral, as I have insisted. My three sons have grown up with The Pogues. Indeed, for our family the first order of business on every Christmas Day is to play Fairytale of New York on repeat. My eldest is 28 now, and when he was an infant I often held him in my arms and danced raucously to Shane’s brilliant White City. It still makes me wistful, like many Pogues tracks.
Farewell, Shane. Tonight I will sup from the parting glass. The Pogues remain a part of me. They always will. And I will love them ‘til the end.
You can read more from Smokie HERE
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Great tribute Smokie! Shane certainly one of a kind who will be sadly missed but fortunately the music will live on.
Smokie – I’m with you. There’s somethng about the Pogues that pulls at our Celtic roots. I too had a Pogues T shirt from a Festival Hall gig mid 80’s; worn until it disintegrated off my shouders. Shane’s passing probably comes later than anticipated given the life he lived, but what a musical legacy he leaves.
Good on ya Smoke.
The Pogues were quintessentially Irish: irreverent, challenging, talented. He will be missed.
Great read Smokie.
My first introduction to the Footy Almanac has been reading about The Pogues and Shane and the effect their music has had on us and millions of others over the years. My beautiful partner spoilt me with tickets to see them at Brixton Academy when I first moved to London a gig I will never ever forget and music that will live forever.
My Guinness inspired Pogues T shirt has also been worn more times than I can remember.
Thanks again.
James.
I love how music evokes time and place and The Pogues has clearly done this for you. I remember the first time ‘Dirty Old Town’ caught my attention when I heard, of all places, on Triple J breakfast years ago. An annual highlight during my time just outside of London was BBC Radio 2 playing ‘Fairytale’ about five times a day each December, but I never tired of it and loved the affection with which the locals held it. It was fundamental to the Christmas experience. Yes, much like ‘Gravy’ here.
Thanks Smokie.
Love how The Pogues lit the smouldering fire inside you of your Irish heritage. The something we are; that we can’t put our finger on, but recognise intuitively. My favourite line of verse is TS Eliot’s:
“We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring. Will be to arrive where we started. And know the place for the first time.”
Powerfully done, Smokie.
I didn’t’t even know the bugger was crook. (Though, TBH, he’s been on borrowed time this whole millennium.)
And I wrote, “I’d be a fangless wreck like Shane MacGowan if revenge didn’t motivate me.’ in my column this week. Filed it the Thursday before last. He ups and dies on Friday, and it’s published on Saturday. You can imagine I’m copping a bit of stick now. Letters to Ed. will be interesting this week.
I, too, wore my Pogues T-shirt with pride, until it fell to shreds. There’s been nothing else like them – or him.
A wonderful obit on Shane in The New Yorker by Amanda Petrusich.
PS The use of Body of an American in The Wire is worth revisiting.
Thank you all for your comments.
Much appreciated.
Slaintè
Yes, well said Smokie.
Not with the Pogues in 1985 like you, much, much later.. when I did discover them I was instantly taken in. Lyrics ,sound, echoes from somewhere in the past.
Well done!
Good words Smokie.
I was introduced to the Pogues back in 1985-86 when a mate returned from a trip to the UK, Europe with music, and tales, of an amazing band: I was quickly sold.
I saw the Pogues at Festival Hall on a Friday night, that being the end of 1987,start of 1988 .Fronted by Shane MacGowan, drunk as can be but in splendid voice, and fine form, the Pogues performed a wonderful show. The following night we saw Shane MacGowan being walked,helped down, Fitzroy Street: he was due on stage later that night, and of course fronted. Ohh well, that was Shane.
The Pogues next hit Melbourne in the early 1990’s: (1990-91?). Again I saw them, again Shane MacGowan led with a ‘style’ entirely his ow. In my old memory this performance was at the Old Greek Theatre in Richmond. Sadly I don’t recall any further Pogues tours down under.
Shane MacGowan was one of a kind, a chap who packed an enormous amount in his time on earth. Now he’s gone. Like Brendan Behan of whom he sung so fondly, he was going,now he’s gone. Hopefully he’s where the streams of whiskey are flowing.
Vale Shane.
Slainte,Glen!
Wonderfully written personal piece Smokie.
I can’t remember whether it was a conversation with you or from reading one of your pieces, but either way I started listening to The Pogues based on that. Thank you.
Vale Shane.
Only just read this fabulous piece, I too am/was a great fan of The Pogues and miss Shane dearly – i watched his funeral several times (who else but Shane would have people dancing at a funeral?) and the version of Fairytale that was sung really got me – even now, some months after his passing, I find myself at night, usually after a few reds and the wife has gone to bed, searching through YouTube to find videos of The Pogues and I sit and listen and watch at what a phenomenon they were. None other than Nick Cave stated that Shane was the greatest songwriter of his generation and I think how lucky we were that he came into our lives through his music which will live on forever. RIP Shane.