Last week we had another significant death in the Post-Punk Canon that I’m catching up on. I hadn’t planned on writing about his death as I have only a handful of his releases in the Record Cell, but it can be argued that Shane MacGowan’s impact on music extends far beyond my limited sense of taste. Irish folk music usually makes me break out in hives; and yet I own two Pogues releases with selected other appearances adding their own kind of spice to various compilations.
I might have first heard of them when Elvis Costello endeavored to produce the band’s second album, “Rum, Sodomy, And The Lash,” As ever, the Costello name turned heads, but I wasn’t ready to pounce; owing to the fact that I had never actually heard the first note from that album… or the first one,”Red Roses For Me.” All down to my reticence over Irish Folk music. It remained until 1987 [?] when the video for “Fairytale Of New York City” happened to crash MTV’s “120 Minutes” college rock ghetto. By now, everyone and their pet ferret has heard that alternative rock Christmas classic. As I was already something of a Kirsty MacColl fan, it was easy to fall for such a scabrous stab at what passed for Christmas cheer while staying completely free of the barest hint of mawkish sentimentality.
The full album as produced by Steve Lillywhite, was all over the map musically. The “Turkish Song Of The Damned” and “Fiesta” absorbed different musical traditions into the hybrid vigor of their approach which saw them grafting Punk attitude on what began as traditional Irish Folk music shoots. As much as I loved the MacColl duet, I’d have to say that my favorite song on the disc was the unusually upbeat racetrack tale in “Bottle Of Smoke” which dropped F-bombs like they were going out of style as the protagonist recounted the one time he beat the “twenty-fookin’-five-to-one” odds. When he revealed how he “slipped a fifty to the wife and gave each brat a crisp new five” it remained the kind of lyrical snapshot that built vivid worlds in a few words.
I was in position to graciously receive the band’s next release, the “Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah” EP in 1990. The differing approach moved the band further out from their Folk wheelhouse as the title track was a swinging beat combo rave up ennobled by the ragged glory of MacGowan’s delivery rubbing up against the commerciality of the tune. Elsewhere, covers of “Honky Tonk Women” and the almost cliché “Whiskey In A Jar” proved to be placeholders for a future that never arrived for me. After this period, I stopped watching MTV and from that point on, I never heard any further music from The Pogues.
MacGowan had come of age during the 77 period thanks to The Clash among others, complete with Punk moniker of Shane O’Hooligan and work on period fanzines under his belt. He was a member of the Nipple Erectors [later The Nips] who managed annual singles in the ’78-’80 period on Soho Records. By 1980 the band was demoing with Paul Weller producing at Polydor but nothing came of it. The band broke up in that year with drummer Jon Moss moving famously to the nascent Culture Club whole MacGowan joined Pogue Mahone by 1982; eventually dropping the Celtic name [roughly meaning “kiss my arse”] for the less offensive Pogues.
Ultimately, the chemical habits of MacGowan conspired to have him booted from The Pogues in 1991 citing his “unreliability.” In a shock move after getting the boot, he formed a new band: Shane MacGowan and The Popes, who signed to the weird, zombie-like version of ZTT that was kept aloft by Seal in the 90s. Two album would be released in the 90s. He and The Pogues would circle back together over the next few decades; owing to his relative sobriety at various times in his life.
The last decade of his life was not easy as his poor health came home to roost with the painful occurrence of frequent falls and broken bones that are no picnic for someone in their fifties and sixties. Recent years had him in a wheelchair and ultimately he spent this summer in intensive care before an infection ultimately took his life on the 30th of November.
But MacGowan will be immortalized for being the artist who first gave voice to the idea of fusing Punk attitude to traditional Folk music. In 1982 this was a radical thing to do and it had immediate effects; not unlike the earlier Ramones who probably inspired him, as well as the bands he looked up to. By decade’s end bands who followed in the wake of The Pogues were common as the Alternative Celtic scene birthed bands such as Black 47 who could map a straight line to their predecessors.
And in the 36 years since its release, Fairytale Of New York” had blossomed into a Christmas playlist perennial. Having charted several times in the last few decades in the UK. At the very least, it gives our ears blessed relief from painful Christmas treacle on the public music systems at this time of the year, and it will be doubtlessly be a shoo-in for Christmas number one in the UK this year in the coming weeks. We hoist a cap to the man and send our wished to his family, bandmates, and friends in this difficult time.
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Post-Punk Monk 
My arc and intersection with his work is very similar to yours.
One of the most joyful musical moments I’ve ever had was listening to a (VERY depressing) Christmas mixtape that a stranger had made.
Okervil Rivers’ Listening to Otis Redding at Christmas ended and then a voice from my childhood, “Isn’t there anyone who can tell me what Christmas is all about?” “Sure Charlie Brown, I can tell you, lights, please.”
And.
Then.
“It was Christmas Eve babe, in the drunk tank…..”
I laughed out loud and beamed.
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I can’t say I’m surprised by this news, given Shane MacGowan’s health issues and rampant alcoholism. I, too, suffer from extreme allergies to Irish folk/traditional music, but unlike you, I make no exception for The Pogues. Being of Irish descent, I find the whole “drunken Paddy lout” stereotype that Shane perpetuated to be deeply offensive and ridiculous. Even worse is the fact that Shane made homophobic remarks about Pet Shop Boys when PSB’ cover of Always On My Mind became the 1987 Christmas #1 hit in the U.K., beating out Fairytale of New York. Granted, I’m not a huge PSB fan, but there’s no excuse for homophobia.
As for Xmas songs, I’ll always consider The Waitresses’ Christmas Wrapping to be the greatest ever recorded, full stop. R.I.P. and much love to Mars Williams, who saxophone work helped make Christmas Wrapping a classic.
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Zach – You make a very cogent point that I, not being of known Irish descent, had never twigged on. The spectacle of an Irishman drinking himself into the grave [among other ill-advised activities he indulged in against any better judgement] is actually horrifyingly leaden, now that I think consider it. It’s tragic on many levels when artists perpetuate negative archetypes in that way. And not really following The Pogues back in the day in the UK music press [being American and too cheap to waste coin on expensive British music mags] I hadn’t heard about the PSB comments. And I’d have to agree that “Christmas Wrapping” was the best Xmas song from a Post-Punk band ever. I’d considered writing about Mars Williams’ passing, but his participation in The Psychedelic Furs and The Waitresses were mere slivers of achievement next to his far more prodigious accomplishments in the world of Jazz beyond my dalliances. And that fact stayed my hand.
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Apparently there’s a bit of a discrepancy as to whether Shane or the Pogues manager referred to Fairytale of New York being beaten to the Xmas #1 by “two queens and a drum machine.” I just love Fairytale (and worship the goddess that was Kirsty MacColl), but do wish that the f word wasn’t employed, if only so the damn controversy over bleep versus don’t bleep wouldn’t detract from the song’s potency.
Meanwhile, I will throw my ballot in with Christmas Wrapping being the most wonderful new wave (alternative?) Christmas tune ever, then, now and for all eternity.
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Taffy – Given that the persons in the song are definitely no angels (that’s the ironic point of it) where do we draw the line 36 years later? She refers to him as a “f*****,” an ugly slur, after he’s already referred to her as an “old s*** on junk.” Is misogyny more “acceptable” than homophobia in the changing social frame? Is that just down to patriarchal privilege? At least it’s not punching down! That is ultimately my test of what is offensive to me. It is still some kind of social progress that there’s any hand wringing and debate at all on the issue. That alone gives me hope. As does “Christmas Wrapping.” I can’t believe it took me decades to hear that one!
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Yeah, it’s never been definitively proven whether Shane or The Pogues’ manager made that unfortunate comment. However, such a crass, homophobic comment would definitely be in keeping with Shane’s deplorable public image and personality. I’m really sick of the whole downtrodden, sandpaper-voiced, middle-aged white guy loser trope (see also: Tom Waits, Charles Bukowski, Johnny Cash, Harry Dean Stanton) and hope that it fades from view as the demographics of the United States (and the world at large) change. I shed no tears for Shane’s passing and really found the overblown media attention to his funeral and legacy to be pure exaggeration and hagiography. The man was no humanitarian or hero.
In the pantheon of Irish (and British bands of Irish descent) bands, I’d rate Microdisney (a criminally ignored band, at least in the U.S.), Dexys Midnight Runners, Virgin Prunes, The Boomtown Rats, and even your much despised U2 above The Pogues on the likability scale.
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Zach – I’ve still yet to hear Microdisney, but adore Fatima Mansions. We have almost the full run of Boomtown Rats; they were a gateway artist for the New Wave for me. We still need the “new” one. Buckets of Virgin Prunes + Gavin Friday. Hell, we once saw Gavin Friday on St. Patrick’s Day in the 90s in Orlando, Florida! I often think of that magical show and its near impossibility of having occurred. Wow …so the ever punchable U2 over The Pogues? All right then. Apart from the obvious signs [worst teeth ever, alcoholism] I can’t say I ever knew too much about McGowan apart from the two Pogues releases I bought.
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Sophie Ellis Bextor is doing a Christmas gig now and performs a spirited take on Christmas Wrapping, there’s some pretty good quality audience captures on YouTube.
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A big thumbs up on the Waitresses song for sure.
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I wasn’t a fan per se. But everything you said about the fairytale is true and for that and for keeping Kirsty front and centre every Christmas I am indebted. Mind you, I’ve danced to Fiesta in happy fields a fair few times, I’ve hollered alonga Dirty Old Town a couple too and I do own a copy of Rum, Sodomy And The Lash so… Y’know.. Rest well Shane. You did a lot.
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steveforthedeaf – I had a hard time finding the right photo of the artiste to accompany the posting. I generally try to use photos from the person at the end of their life but with Shane, almost every era of his life looked kind of heartbreaking. So ultimately I went with his “Tony Hadley” look, which I had never seen before.
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I wasn’t sure you’d picked a picture of him at first.
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steveforthedeaf – I know??! Shock of the New to me as well.
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I liked The Pogues, full stop. I doubt I have every one of their albums, but I should have all of their (to borrow a Monk phrase) “imperial period.” I’m pretty sure the first one I bought was because Elvis was the producer, but I liked their raggety drunken punk fused with Irish traditions.
They took on traditional (boring) Irish songs and gave them fresh vigour, and Shane’s own songwriting was as rough-and-tumble as he was, but he knew what to borrow to make it work. My particular favourite (if I had to pick something other than “Fairytale”) is “The Sickbed of Cuchulainne,” which for me has the most Pogues-y lyrics (small quote follows)
When you pissed yourself in Frankfurt and got syph down in Cologne
And you heard the rattling death trains as you lay there all alone
Frank Ryan brought you whiskey in a brothel in Madrid
And you decked some fucking blackshirt who was cursing all the Yids
At the sick bed of Cuchulainn we’ll kneel and say a prayer
And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil’s in the chair
Pure bleedin’ poetry, that is.
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