Say what you want about Shane MacGowan, his character, his lack of professionalism, his alcoholism, or the way he leads his life - but there's no denying his songwriting chops.
Even his so-called "sub-par" work, like this video for Lonesome Highway, is a fine Celtic-inspired ballad tha would have been at home on any rocker's album between 1987 and 1997; it's actually from the 1997 record The Crock Of Gold, by Shane MacGowan & The Popes, the band he started when he was kicked out of The Pogues. Because of his character, his lack of professionalism, his alcoholism, and the way he leads his life.
I'm currently looking back at my own songwriting output, as I'm preparing to release poetry books (including my lyrics) in both French and English, each accompanied by a compilation album. This is a song I would have liked to have written myself.
Showing posts with label Shane MacGowan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shane MacGowan. Show all posts
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Video Of The Week: The Pogues
As the quintessential ''Irish sound'' rock band, The Pogues have written and covered pretty much the entire cannon of what Westerners identify with the Celtic sound. Chief among their compositions are two of the best ballads of the past 75 years Fairytale Of New York, and this one, Rainy Night In Soho:
Soho has one of the best lines in rock ballad history with ''You're the measure of my dreams'', one that shows both the depth and humility often found in singer/composer Shane MacGowan's lyrics.
One weird twist with this song is that it was almost never released. Originally recorded during the sessions for Rum, Sodomy & The Lash (1985), over a dozen versions float around various bootleg recordings and studio vaults, primarily because of a rift between MacGowan and the album's pdoducer, Elvis Costello: Costello preferred a mix that featured an oboe, while MacGowan liked one with a cornet. Various versions were created mixing both to a certain extent to try to make them both happy, but the song was ultimately shelved and not put on the album.
It took until 1991 to released, on the Poguetry In Motion EP. Who won? You could say that MacGowan did, as the cornet version appeared on most versions of the release... except in Canada, where the oboe mix made the cut instead.
The Poguetry In Motion tracks were re-released, remastered and included in the 2004 re-editions of Rum, Sodomy & The Lash, and yet another version of Rainy Night In Soho was also included on the 2004 re-releases of 1990's Hell's Ditch.
The songs is also featured on every compilation of the band's music, with multiple versions making their way to the Just Look Them Straight in the Eye and Say... POGUE MAHONE!! box set, from 2008.
Nothing is ever easy with The Pogues, even releasing their best songs.
Soho has one of the best lines in rock ballad history with ''You're the measure of my dreams'', one that shows both the depth and humility often found in singer/composer Shane MacGowan's lyrics.
One weird twist with this song is that it was almost never released. Originally recorded during the sessions for Rum, Sodomy & The Lash (1985), over a dozen versions float around various bootleg recordings and studio vaults, primarily because of a rift between MacGowan and the album's pdoducer, Elvis Costello: Costello preferred a mix that featured an oboe, while MacGowan liked one with a cornet. Various versions were created mixing both to a certain extent to try to make them both happy, but the song was ultimately shelved and not put on the album.
It took until 1991 to released, on the Poguetry In Motion EP. Who won? You could say that MacGowan did, as the cornet version appeared on most versions of the release... except in Canada, where the oboe mix made the cut instead.
The Poguetry In Motion tracks were re-released, remastered and included in the 2004 re-editions of Rum, Sodomy & The Lash, and yet another version of Rainy Night In Soho was also included on the 2004 re-releases of 1990's Hell's Ditch.
The songs is also featured on every compilation of the band's music, with multiple versions making their way to the Just Look Them Straight in the Eye and Say... POGUE MAHONE!! box set, from 2008.
Nothing is ever easy with The Pogues, even releasing their best songs.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Video Of The Week: The Pogues
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
As is customary at this time of year, when winter is forced to disappear a bit a melting snow mixes with dirt to make for a cold, dirty, grey mushy substance that aims to make humans fall flat on their faces or asses, particularly if they drank too much, the soundtrack of the day is loaded with Celtic content and, more often than not, The Pogues end up being the most played band, despite their being a London-based band with Englishmen in it.
While I missed the St. Patrick's Day parade last Sunday that involved at least one loony, drunk 20-year old, I am celebrating the day by drinking a few Kilkennys, the beverage of champions, and playing NHL10 and getting into many fights.
Plus, I woke up this morning with a headache, induced likely from drinking too much last night.
All in all, neither a loss nor a cliché-free post from me.
And the second Holiday in a row that I use a Pogues song as Song Of The Week... Pogue Mahone (i.e. póg mo thóin)!
As is customary at this time of year, when winter is forced to disappear a bit a melting snow mixes with dirt to make for a cold, dirty, grey mushy substance that aims to make humans fall flat on their faces or asses, particularly if they drank too much, the soundtrack of the day is loaded with Celtic content and, more often than not, The Pogues end up being the most played band, despite their being a London-based band with Englishmen in it.
While I missed the St. Patrick's Day parade last Sunday that involved at least one loony, drunk 20-year old, I am celebrating the day by drinking a few Kilkennys, the beverage of champions, and playing NHL10 and getting into many fights.
Plus, I woke up this morning with a headache, induced likely from drinking too much last night.
All in all, neither a loss nor a cliché-free post from me.
And the second Holiday in a row that I use a Pogues song as Song Of The Week... Pogue Mahone (i.e. póg mo thóin)!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Video Of The Week: The Pogues With Kirsty MacColl
I touched upon the fate of Kirsty MacColl in a previous post, relatively recently, but the time of year has caught up with me and, really, I see no other song fitting and deserving to be Song Of The Week for Christmas - especially since everybody I know will listen to that Bowie & Crosby song anyway.
The Holidays aren't always a joyous occasion; as a matter of fact, when you're past the age of 12, more often than not, perhaps as a contrast to what they should represent, some mountain-sized pile of shit makes its way on your doorway, usually on fire.
That's where this song comes in, reminding you that, for better of for worse, someone's there for you; maybe not the person you'd rather have, maybe not maybe someone you're tired of, but still someone who gets you, knows you, your intricacies and idiosyncrasies, someone to make the pain seem bearable.
Because after all is said and done, really, the most important thing in life - considering you never when your last breath will take place - is having someone to slow dance with at the end of the night.
The Holidays aren't always a joyous occasion; as a matter of fact, when you're past the age of 12, more often than not, perhaps as a contrast to what they should represent, some mountain-sized pile of shit makes its way on your doorway, usually on fire.
That's where this song comes in, reminding you that, for better of for worse, someone's there for you; maybe not the person you'd rather have, maybe not maybe someone you're tired of, but still someone who gets you, knows you, your intricacies and idiosyncrasies, someone to make the pain seem bearable.
Because after all is said and done, really, the most important thing in life - considering you never when your last breath will take place - is having someone to slow dance with at the end of the night.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Fairytale Of New York... Ends In Tragedy
I've been listening to The Pogues' Fairytale Of New York today, over 10 times. It was cold out, bitter weather trying to bring the whole City down along with it. The sun looked grey, discoloured rays of discontent descended upon the streets, dull and unpolished, bleak. It smelled like winter, three months early.
The only thing that brought a smile to my face was the song - the saddest Christmas song ever written, ringing in my headphones.
It's a bittersweet time in the History Of Me, things are seemingly falling apart and I never know how to react to the blows that keep coming - so I just stand there and take them, like the strongest-jawed fighter in the history of boxing. And I keep standing, because it's how I was raised, even though it doesn't really make any sense to.
And the song... a duet bwteen Shane MacGowan and Kirsty MacColl - and I usually hate fucking duets!
The song was released as a single in late 1987, having appeared on the seminal Pogues record ''If I Should Fall From Grace With God'' and was an instant hit, going to #2 at the time; in years since, it has been voted Britain's 84th best song of all time, the best Christmas song ever - and even been re-released a bunch of times, all with chart success.
And yet, each time, with every listen, the spectre of Kirsty MacColl's useless death looms above it. For those who don't know, she died in 2000, in Mexico, while vacationning with her family. They had gone diving in an area where speed boats weren't allowed to venture, yet one came racing at her son as the family and their guide were surfacing. Her reflexes got the better of her, and she threw her son, Jamie, out of its path, but was hit herself and died instantly.
To this day, uncertainty looms regarding certain facts in her death, namely who was actually driving it (it was millionnaire Guillermo González Nova's boat, but he claims boathand José Cen Yam was actually manning the commands), and punishment for the accident - under Mexican law, Cen Yam took the blame and got to choose between almost three years in jail or a fine of 1034 pesos ($90 in U.S. funds). It would, technically, be conceivable for a millionnaire to give his employee the money to pay the ridiculous fine and walk away scott-free without even a blemish to his name, which led to MacColl's family launched the Justice For Kirsty campaign in response to the events surrounding her death.
So there you have it: the City has such a gloomy air nowadays that a sad Christmas song in which long-time lovers share bitterness and tenderness at once, sung by a drunken waste of talent (MacGowan) and a woman who died a horrible death that could easily have been avoided is the only thing turning the edges of my lips upwards even a little bit.
The only thing that brought a smile to my face was the song - the saddest Christmas song ever written, ringing in my headphones.
It's a bittersweet time in the History Of Me, things are seemingly falling apart and I never know how to react to the blows that keep coming - so I just stand there and take them, like the strongest-jawed fighter in the history of boxing. And I keep standing, because it's how I was raised, even though it doesn't really make any sense to.
And the song... a duet bwteen Shane MacGowan and Kirsty MacColl - and I usually hate fucking duets!
Shane: It was Christmas eve babe, In the drunk tankAnd if the lyrics weren't sad enough, there's the whole story-after-the-story...
An old man said to me: won't see another one
And then they sang a song, The rare old mountain dew
I turned my face away and dreamed about you
Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I´ve got a feeling
This year's for me and you
So happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
Where all our dreams come true.
Kirsty: They got cars big as bars, They got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you, It's no place for the old
When you first took my hand on a cold Christmas eve
You promised me Broadway was waiting for me
Shane: You were handsome, you were pretty
Queen of New York City, when the band finished playing they yelled out for more
Sinatra was swinging, all the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner - Then danced through the night.
Both: And the boys from the NYPD choir were singing Galway Bay
And the bells were ringing out for Christmas day.
Kirsty: You're a bum, you're a punk
Shane: You're an old slut on junk
Kirsty: Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse, I pray God it's our last.
Both: And the boys of the NYPD choir's still singing Galway Bay
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day.
Shane: I could have been someone
Kirsty: Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me, When I first found you
Shane: I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can't make it out alone
I've built my dreams around you
Both: And the boys of the NYPD choir's still singing Galway Bay
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day.
The song was released as a single in late 1987, having appeared on the seminal Pogues record ''If I Should Fall From Grace With God'' and was an instant hit, going to #2 at the time; in years since, it has been voted Britain's 84th best song of all time, the best Christmas song ever - and even been re-released a bunch of times, all with chart success.
And yet, each time, with every listen, the spectre of Kirsty MacColl's useless death looms above it. For those who don't know, she died in 2000, in Mexico, while vacationning with her family. They had gone diving in an area where speed boats weren't allowed to venture, yet one came racing at her son as the family and their guide were surfacing. Her reflexes got the better of her, and she threw her son, Jamie, out of its path, but was hit herself and died instantly.
To this day, uncertainty looms regarding certain facts in her death, namely who was actually driving it (it was millionnaire Guillermo González Nova's boat, but he claims boathand José Cen Yam was actually manning the commands), and punishment for the accident - under Mexican law, Cen Yam took the blame and got to choose between almost three years in jail or a fine of 1034 pesos ($90 in U.S. funds). It would, technically, be conceivable for a millionnaire to give his employee the money to pay the ridiculous fine and walk away scott-free without even a blemish to his name, which led to MacColl's family launched the Justice For Kirsty campaign in response to the events surrounding her death.
So there you have it: the City has such a gloomy air nowadays that a sad Christmas song in which long-time lovers share bitterness and tenderness at once, sung by a drunken waste of talent (MacGowan) and a woman who died a horrible death that could easily have been avoided is the only thing turning the edges of my lips upwards even a little bit.
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