Shane MacGowan was a punk. He seemed to fully embrace the Sid Vicious nihillistic way of life in terms of pumping his body full of whatever is going and if it kills him then so be it. The picture painted in various different accounts of his life was addiction, to prescription drugs in his teens to heroin in later life alongside his old favourite, the ginger lady, alcohol.
Was there a childhood trauma there like Paul McGrath suffered? Who knows? His bandmate in the Pogues, James Fearnley, wrote of Shane being a quiet, shy fella mainly who always had a bag of drink with him. The clink of the bottles in a plastic bag was a common noise on the way to the studio or to a gig. He was never actually without them.
John Lydon was a friend of Shane’s with the shared Irish punk heritage. He claimed that Shane always had the grá for Irish music and that is the avenue he went down. Irish punk folk. Shane had a vision of what he wanted to do. And he had the gift. The gift of an air. And the gift of expression through the written word.
Maybe in later years he regretted the abuse he gave his body down the years. Or probably more likely he didn’t regret one bit of it. Because Shane was a punk to the end.
While I bear little ill will to the man, I dont think you can speak of Christy Dignam in the same breath as Sinead and Shane, not on a talent pov anyway. Maybe thats just me, but I never rated Aslan all that much. But anyway. Sad to lose the 3 in the one year, all tragic stories interspersed with some or a lot of genius.
Oscar Fingal O’Fflahertie Wills Wilde[a] (16 October 1854 – 30 November 1900) Patrick Kavanagh (21 October 1904 – 30 November 1967) Shane Patrick Lysaght MacGowan (25 December 1957 – 30 November 2023)
A disturbing book in many ways. He loves his virgins and talks of maybe attacking them when no one is around but doesn’t as their ‘squeals’ will be heard. He also paints a vivid picture of his sister flinging the contents of her chamber pot against the dunghill in the yard.
Occasionally, an artistic genius emerges, and their creations resonate with the collective soul of ordinary individuals, enduring far beyond their mortal existence; the splendor of their legacy radiates in perpetuity. Rest in peace, Mr. MacGowan.
I’d love to see ‘Haunted’ played to death and make Christmas number 1.
Tough few weeks for my missus, that was the two, Sinead and Shane.
I seen them both a few times, my God we loved them,
Pogues in Dolans at a Christmas gig when they turned up over an hour late and Shane absolutely buckled was one of the best night ever
Broad majestic Shannon was my favourite, perfection
