For Shane

 

By Jack Rafferty

“I’ve been chosen to lead us out of the wilderness.”

—Shane MacGowan

I don’t really know what to say about Shane MacGowan that others haven’t said better. I did not know him personally, so all I can really write about is my experience with Shane’s music and the little I know about him and his life. What goes without saying is that Shane was one of the best songwriters of his generation. The Dunes remains, to me, one of the best poems of the twentieth century. 

I saw dark shadows rise up from the sand

And dance all around the dunes

And they danced the rattling dance of the dead

To a set of mournful tunes

To a set of mournful tunes.

A crack of lightning split the sky.

The rain on the dunes it poured.

I left them lying where I shot them down

The bailiff and the landlord.

Then I went for a drink in Westport.

I think Shane was greatly mistreated as a public figure for most of his life. Whether it be for his heritage, his drinking, his teeth, or his demeanor, there were many who did not treat his work with the seriousness that it deserved. It often seemed like the more mainstream audience to his art were more concerned in the tormented “starving artist” idealization they viewed in him, as opposed to the human being and creator he was. They were more concerned with talk show antics and speculating when substance abuse would end his life, like some sick celebrity death pool. 

There were thankfully always those who respected Shane, and each respective member of The Pogues, for their contribution to a deep and powerful lineage of Irish music and poetry, of unapologetically loving and preserving their culture, which the British strived so fervently to snuff out. 

Shane was not afraid of depicting ugliness in his work. He spent his life immersed in the struggle that so many had experienced, and he knew to take pride in being a voice for the oppressed, in all its brutal honesty. Shane was a deeply flawed person like us all, but he never pretended to be anything other than that. I’ve always admired Shane’s uncompromising approach to not being anything other than what he was, and being proud of what others told him to be ashamed of. “You want paddy? I’ll give you fuckin paddy.”

From growing up in Tipperary, to the concrete prison of Barbican Estate, drug wards named Bedlam, to the old main drag, Shane’s life and art seethed with the messiness and urgency of the material conditions that initiated much of the content and emotion in his music. Squatting, addiction, staying up all night to get in line early for the dole—these are the things that many bootlicking onlookers criticized and condescended about, and also what made the music of the Pogues and punk as a movement so important. Most of the characters of Shane’s songs were inspired by unsheltered folks he met in the park, whom he shared his bottles and conversation with. He didn’t judge or turn his nose up to anyone. He carried a wad of cash around with the singular purpose of giving it away to those who asked for it and needed it. His heart was a deeply caring, and deeply proletarian one. 

One thing I’ve always loved about Shane, which causes me to reminisce also of Nina Simone (others as well, Nina is just the most immediate to come to mind), is how people always celebrated him at his highs, and spat on him at his lows; how they always had an opinion on him, on his life, his health, what his music meant, what it didn’t mean, how it could be used, misused. But he, like Nina, faced it down like a warrior, and always made these people deeply uncomfortable with how blunt, honest, and confrontational he was. He didn’t give a fuck if his words made pampered asses shift in seats. He was going to be heard, and he didn’t give a fuck what these people thought. He had an impenetrable integrity to himself and his art, which is what makes seeing what The Pogues became in later years all the more painful. Shane himself acknowledged this in reflection of the deviation that their music and meaning took, “I compromised, I should never have wavered from the path.”

It really cannot be understated what The Pogues did for the revitalization and visibility of traditional Irish music during their time, not to mention establishing the first synthesis of punk and traditional Irish music. In Shane’s words, “to give the tradition a kick in the arse.” Which they certainly did. From their rendition of “Waxie’s Dargle,” which is still one of the most hard-hitting, energetic, aggressive songs out there, to “Boys from the County Hell,” “Sea Shanty,” “Dark Streets of London,” “Poor Paddy,” and so many other of my favorites. But the purpose behind it all is what resonates most as I write this, which Shane explains plainly. “My crusade was to make Irish music hip again. From the Irish music, to make the language hip, and the literature hip. To build Irish self-esteem, and for the whole world to know what an incredible wealth of culture we’ve contributed to the world.” They were a voice for the dispossessed and the diaspora. 

I was happy seeing Shane’s sixtieth birthday celebration, with him receiving such love and recognition from so many great people and wonderful artists. To see musicians, singers, and songwriters like Lankum, Lisa O’Neill, Nick Cave, Sinéad O’Connor (who we also tragically lost this year), and others celebrate Shane’s legacy was truly endearing. It was a lovely thing to see Shane receiving the admiration and love he deserved. I got very emotional when they announced Shane’s lifetime achievement award, and Sinéad ran up and kissed Shane on his forehead. It is such a happy moment for both of them, and it is now such a sad memory for me. 

I don’t like to pretend I know what happens when we die, and I don’t like to presume I know what others anticipate either, but when I think of Shane, and what comes beyond life, I can’t help thinking about “Streams of Whiskey,” where he questions the ghost of Brendan Behan about “the crux of life’s philosophies”:

There’s nothing ever gained

By a wet thing called a tear

When the world is too dark

And I need the light inside of me

I’ll walk into a bar

And drink fifteen pints of beer

I am going, I am going

Any which way the wind may be blowing

I am going, I am going

Where streams of whiskey are flowing.