Lapsed poster Robert Emmett wrote an article on Shinrone once ā¦ it had nothing to do with the Pogues.
Thatās the best of them.
A Pair of Brown Eyes, A Rainy Night in Soho and White City not far behind.
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Their hearts in Tipperary wherever they go
- Thousands are Sailing
- Pair of Brown Eyes
- Lullaby of London
- Fairytale of New York
- Rainy Night in Soho
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Many moons ago one of my mates thought it would be great craic spiking me with a pill ā¦ anyway - I was coming up on it and Rainy Night in Soho came on in the gaffā¦ I had to listen to it about 20 times I was so blown away with it ā¦ I was on drugs tho.
I think they are the band with the most top class songs given their number of songs in total.
Some of them fell into heavenā¦
Their appeal is also heightened by the fact that most of them are written by a barely functioning alcoholic mess with a songwriting gift from the Gods.
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From 1990 to 1998, I was accountant for MacGowan, and Frank Murray (RIP) the Pogues manager. Life was good back then.
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Jaysus Fagan I was at that very gig myself, only a garcun. We got a minibus from Ennis. One of the lads got Spider Stacyās Tin Whistle that night and still has it. To say it was bedlam up at the front would be like saying Shane most probably had a drink or two that day. Outside I still remember a biker looking fella covered in blood. He was after been hit by a brick- inside ! Crazy times.
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Joe McKenna ?
Favourite Pogues lyrics?
This is from MacGowan in A Pair of Brown Eyes:
I think there are two narrators in this song - MacGowan in his severely drunken state and some old bastard in a pub, as MacGowan later put it. The old bastard rants on about how he went to war and how would MacGowan know anything about life in comparison to him, which generally pisses MacGowan off.
In blood and death neath a screaming sky
I lay down on the ground
And the arms and legs of other men
Were scattered all around
MacGowan draws comparison to his drunken state of hell (and everyone elseās) to the old bastardās war experiences.
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I saw the waterboys there around 1988. It was a huge hall for a small parish .
āYouāre the measure of my dreamsā Is the most perfect lyric any person could ever hope to dream up. Sheer romantic perfection.
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A noble song too. Fuck it the pogues were unreal
Iām going to have to sit down and listen to some pogues albums good and proper.
Dont take this the wrong way - youāre a great guy who has a kind and caring disposition - but the Pogues werenāt meant for Latte drinkers.
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My favourite lines are the ones just after:
Some cursed, some prayed, some prayed then cursed
Then prayed and bled some more
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The Pogues were good and all but they havenāt had the overall cultural impact on this country that The High Kings have had.
Not my favourite lyrics but I love the start in particular of Bottle of Smoke.
And in a piece of TFK-Pogues trivia, I bought the domain inquisitionsandsuppositions.com which was an early contender for the name of this website. But it was too long winded.
Thanks and praises
Thanks to Jesus
I bet on the Bottle of Smoke
I went to hell
And to the races
To bet on the Bottle of Smoke
The day being clear
The sky being bright
He came up on the left
Like a streak of light
Like a drunken fuck
On a Saturday night
Up came the Bottle of Smoke
Twenty fucking five to one
Me gambling days are done
I bet on a horse called the Bottle of Smoke
And my horse won
Stewards inquiries
Swift and fiery
I had the Bottle of Smoke
Inquisitions and suppositions
I had the Bottle of Smoke
Fuck the stewards
A trip to Lourdes
Might give the old fuckers
The power of sight
Screaming springers and stoppers
And call out coppers
But the money still gleams in my hand like a light
Bookies cursing
Cars reversing
I had the Bottle of Smoke
Glasses steaming
Vessels bursting
I had the Bottle of Smoke
Slip a fifty to the wife
And for each brat a crisp new five
To give me a break on a Saturday night
When I had the Bottle of Smoke
Priests and maidens
Drunk as pagans
They had the Bottle of Smoke
Sins forgiven and celebrations
They had the Bottle of Smoke
Fuck the Yanks
And drink their wives
The moon is clear
The sky is bright
Iām happy as the horses shite
Up came the Bottle of Smoke
Iāve seen them a few times. By the end they had managed to blend his voice into a background guttural thing and played the music over it.
Last time I saw them was at the barrowlands in Glasgow and he was so drunk he couldnāt drink from his glass anymore. āUuup cellicā at the end was the only legible thing he said all night.
He was wheeled out in a chair at the end of the Liverpool feis last year.
I met him wan time in the angel in Islington and got his autograph. He was carried in by two bouncers at about 1am and sat at the bar drinking a pint of vodka.
My bro commented that he didnāt know who was drunker, me or Shane McGowan.
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I think the entirety of rainy night in soho matches this, but I concur. It is a beautiful line.