A brilliant comet, he burned bright for six years. Then came his sharp fall from grace
From the shambolic early shows to The Pogues becoming globally famous, Shane seemed to cram several lifetimes into a few years
HE SWAYED forward until he hit the bar counter, grabbed the brass rail with one hand and raised the other to order a drink. ‘Gisss a dry Martini,’ he belched. ‘Oi,’ he hollered, shaking his head when he saw me go for the stainless steel drinks measure. ‘A pint of Martini.’
Then that laugh – a raspy mix of a car tyre skidding across gravel and a Ford Escort engine being turned over by a dying battery.
As I poured measure after measure into a tulip pint glass, he lurched sideways and slid along the bar, feet entangled in themselves, until the counter met the wall.
There, propped up by the corner, he came to a stop and someone put a chair underneath him.
This was my brief introduction to what remained of Shane MacGowan in 1998, as I worked in Cassidy’s Hotel, opposite the Gate Theatre in Dublin.
My job, as night porter, mostly consisted of letting people, in various hues of intoxication, in the door and keeping them out of the bar after a certain hour – a management rule that made the place easier to run at night.
MacGowan, though, spent the night in that corner, rather than his room, accompanied by a handful of others who fussed after him.
In the morning, as the sun rose over O’Connell Street and guests began appearing for breakfast, they obligingly hauled him away. That corner of Groom’s Bar looked like the inside of a chicken coop when they’d gone.
Scrubbing the mix of cigarette ash, bile, spilt booze and God knows what else from the tables and floor, I found it hard to reconcile the man I had just served with the timeless genius he was.
I kept a room-charge receipt that night which he’d drunkenly signed twice, scribbling out the first effort. Today, the ink on the thin, yellowing till roll has faded into nothing.
But the two MacGowan signatures in blue biro remain, looking sozzled. Somehow, despite his addictions – or because of them – that same hand wrote some of the most recognisable bittersweet story-telling lyrics ever laid down on paper.
The story of the flaring comet that was the best of MacGowan’s career can be encapsulated in a frenetic burst of fewer than six years between 1984, when the Pogues’ first album (Red Roses For Me) was released, and 1991, when he was sacked from the band.
Having formed in 1982, the Pogues really began to be noticed beyond their London stomping ground as they promoted their first album.
Typically, a lot of the press focused on their unconventional looks – something the band played up.
‘Some of the most evil-looking people in the history of popular music’, New Musical Express declared that year, as the buzz around the band grew.
Such comments were largely inspired by MacGowan’s famed teeth, whose ‘influence on modern dentistry’, one newspaper wrote, is equivalent to the Japanese air force’s impact on Pearl Harbour’.
Mostly, though, the Pogues were noted for astonishingly raucous, punk-like performances of trad-inspired tunes.
‘Dubliners on speed – never meant for anything as delicate as stereo equipment,’ one early reviewer in London declared.
In Dublin, the Evening Herald described how such performances included ‘a tin whistle player (Spider Stacy) much given to smashing himself on the head with a beer tray during the more exhilarating numbers’.
Yet the man fronting this frenetic chaos would go on to pen some of the best-crafted traditional ballads of all time – best listened to on the very best stereo equipment.
‘I’d like to think there’s an attempt to make the lyrics something above your normal rock lyrics,’ MacGowan told the Evening Herald in 1984 as the band’s debut single, Dark Streets Of London, was released.
MacGowan spoke of wanting his lyrics to be ‘poetically sound’ with a ‘bit of imagination in them’. He wanted his songs to be like ‘Irish songs’, which he described as being ‘very literary songs, more than most folk traditions.’
At the time, he was unsure if his family in Ireland liked the record.
‘People in the family have taken the record over and I believe it’s generally liked but I’m not sure.
‘Phone calls cost money, especially when you have to go up to the post office,’ he said.
Reviews after the early Dublin gigs were mixed but, vitally, MacGowan’s songwriting talents were noted.
‘They never miss a moment to push a song to its ultimate limit,’ the Irish Times wrote after an early September 1985 SFX show.
‘The anger, chaos, drunkenness with which they play leads to some of the songs stumbling and falling over themselves, almost as much as the group. That said, the honesty and ferociousness of The Pogues’ delivery was at times brilliant.’
The Irish Press added: ‘While the Pogues have given country/
Some of the most evil-looking people in the history of popular music
traditionalmusicanoriginalandwelcometwist,thedeliveryoftheproductonFridaynightwasnothingshortofatrocious.’
AndamongthethrongsofpogoingMohawkedpunksatthelivelySFX gig, Dave Fanning spottedsomethingspecial.
‘IfThePogueswantmorethanthe15 minutes of fame allotted to somany bands, then their futuresuccessandprogressionwilldependonthecompositionaltalentsofleadvocalistShaneMacGowan.’
At this point, a second album,Rum,Sodomy&The Lash had beenreleased. The record got ravereviewsandspawnedtheband’sfirst UK top 100 hit, A Pair OfBrown Eyes–a slow andpoignantodetoalost love.
The following year, in 1986,another gentle classic was bornwhen Rainy Night In Soho wasreleasedasanEP.
Then,in1987,thePogueshitthemainstream like never before,takingtraditionalmusictoplacesithadneverbeenbefore.
The Irish Rover – releasedtogether with the Dubliners –propelledbothbandsontoTopOfThePopsforthefirsttime.
It is difficult to appreciate now,but at the time this was anextraordinary breakthrough forIrish artists who were notmainstream.Despite refusing tobehave like a conventional pop star ,MacGowan, who deliberatelyflouted socialconvention , was atthe peak of his powers.
The main stream now laudedhimasthegiftedsongwriterhehadalwaysbeen.
‘AnyonewhoassumedThePogues’songsweresimplyanthemstodrinkand to more drink has evidentlynever listened past the raucous,bantering music to the lyrics thatliebelow,’wrotetheIrishIndependentinaprofilesparkedbytheTopOfThePopssuccess.
These were prescient word sat atime when MacGowan’s lyricalprowess was about to deliver as ongthatwoul den sure hisim mortality .
Fairytale Of New York wasreleased in December 1987, makingit as far as No 2 in the UK Christmascharts ,although it did hit the tops po tin Ireland .
‘Going to No 1 in Ireland was whatmattered tome ,’ Mac Go wan wouldlater say .‘ I wouldn’ t have expectedthe English to have great taste .’
Today,thisgrittytaleoflostyouthandbrokendreamsisoneofthemostlovedandinstantlyrecognisedsongseverwritten.
Butearlierthatyear,intheleadupto the release, there had beensomeworryingsigns.
ThePoguessupportedU2ontheDublinband’sJoshuaTreetourthatyearintheUSandtheUK–sharingthe stage with what was fastbecomingtheworld’sbiggestband.
But the audience at WembleyStadium were described as ‘lessthanenthralledbytheoff-keyandoutoftuneperformance’.
It didn’t help that hundreds ofspectators were continuously ‘ drenched in beer , coke , urine andwater ’ flung from the stands ontothe crowd below.
InJanuary1988,theaccompanyingalbum,IfIShouldFallFromGraceWithGod,landed,followedbyaforthalbum–Peace&Love–inthesummerof1989.
Butbynow,justfouryearssinceThe Pogues’ first release, somepeoplehadfinallylostpatiencewithShaneMacGowan.
‘Thisisasad,sadrecord,’wrotetheEveningHeraldinJuly1989.
‘Shane’svoiceisgone.Thesongwritingtalentisgone(almost)…Maybeafterthissoggy,tiredandunconvincingalbumsomeonewillgetdowntotheseriousbusinessofsaving Shane MacGowan fromhimself.Tragic.’
In 1989, MacGowan was alternatelylaudedbyTimeMagazineintheUS,hospitalisedforaweekaftercollapsing in Dublin, fined forpossessionofcannabisinLondonandinvitedtoplayforBobDylan.
The Pogues went ahead withplayingtheDylangigsbutwithoutMacGowan,whobowedoutsufferingfrom‘nervousexhaustion’.
Meanwhile the reviews ofMacGowan’s live performanceswere beginning to reflect hisspirallingdrinking.
MacGowan’s drunkenness, onceseenastherenegadebehaviourofawildpunkspirit,wasnowgettinginthewayofhisabilitytoperform.
‘Raisinghisglassofbeeraloft,heflashedamanic,stupidsmileandmumbled,“It’sgreattobebackinDublin,” the Irish ExaminerreportedfromagiginCork.
‘Body movement became moredifficultastheeveningprogressed,’thepaperreported.
‘Hecouldsingthelyricsofthesongsalrightbutwhenitcametointroducing a number, he waspracticallyincoherent.
‘It seems both tragic and ironicthat such a talented and giftedsongwritershouldhavehisfingerso perilously close to the selfdestructbutton.’
MacGowan’s incoherence onstage,andattimesonrecords,wasjokingly addressed by his father,Maurice,whenabookofthesinger’slyricswaspublishedthatyear.
‘It’sgreattobeabletoreadthelyrics because I could neverunderstandthemontherecords,’hequipped.
In1990,afifthalbum,Hell’sDitch,wasreleased.
Bynow,injustfivemanicyears,MacGowanhadwrittenallthesongsthatwouldmakehimimmortal.
His comet had come and gone,thoughtheglowfromitstrailwouldremainforever.
That January, he stumbled offstage after two songs during aconcert in Michigan in the US,amongvariousotherincidents.
These incidentsincluded anappearance at the London Irish festival in Fins bury Park where hewas reported to be ‘ conspicuously ’drunk and lagging behind the bandfor the first song.
‘Hetriedtopullhimselftogetherforthesecondnumberandcamein on cue but he was singing thelyrics of another song,’ onereviewernoted.
MacGowan then left the stage togo to bar and never came back,leaving the band to deputise onvocalswithouthim.
The Irish Examiner, referring tothe Hell’s Ditch tour that year,wrote:‘Thesightofthisneargeniusgrown man falling down on stageaftertwosongsandlaterhavinghisstomach pumped didn’t quitemeasureup.Itjustwasn’tfunnyany more. We waited to hear ofShane’s death. Both of themsurvived.Hair’sbreadth.’
Laterthatyear,anotherreviewerremarked that he half-expected
Maybe someone will get down to saving Shane from himself
I do not see why I should not take loads of drugs if I want to
MacGowan’s gigs to be reviewedbytheMedicalTimesratherthanthe musical press – such was hisintakeofalcohol.
On the August Bank HolidayWeekendof1991,ThePogueswereon the line up for Féile and againMacGowan walked off stage midperformance.Thefollowingmonth,MacGowanwassackedbythebandhestartedjustnineyearsearlier.
‘What took you so long?’ hereplied.
A record-label press statementsaid he had begun to experiencehealth problems during a recenttourofJapan.
In a post-sac king interview withthe LondonIndependent , Mac Go wanclarified the cause oft hi sill health ;
He’d consumed so much Sake hewas paralytic for day sand ended upknocking himself out . The bandcould take no more.
‘Sakeisaverydeceptivedrink,’he said. ‘One minute you are allright,thenextyouarelegless. Hewasalsounrepentant. ‘Idon’tseewhyIshouldnottakeloadsofdrugsifIwantto.Itdoesnot affect the way that I work. Imean, that I come out with betterwork.ARainyNightInSohowasinspiredbydrugs.’
Healsodescribedhisfavouritedrink–aLongIslandIceTea,withtwoshotsofBacardirum,twoshotsofvodka,twoshotsoftequilaandCoca-Cola.
‘Youneedabigglass,’headvised,evenashespokeofhavingdetoxedtothepointwherehewasdrinking‘onlyglassesoflager’.