The Pogues - Fairytale of New York

For Shane, 1957-2023

It was Christmas Eve, babe, in the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won't see another one

-The Pogues, Fairytale of New York

1. I’d say “go easy,” Shane MacGowan, but that really wouldn’t be his style, would it? Born on Christmas Day 1957, Shane was many things. Easy wasn’t one of them. He was the maestro of the poetic gutter - his vocals a gravelly cocktail of defiance and vulnerability. His intellect earned him a scholarship to the Westminster School, the same place that educated several British prime ministers. His addictions chased him out of the Westminster School and into London’s famous Bethlam psychiatric hospital, sometimes known as Bedlam. Ain’t that prime Shane MacGowan? That’s the kind of mind who writes the yuletide yarn Fairytale of New York, the most beautifully dichotomous and possibly the most highly praised song in the Pogues’ catalog. It’s certainly no saccharine carol, but rather a place where love and strife unite in the detritus of dashed hopes. Alongside the ethereal Kirsty MacColl, Shane takes us on a Dickensian journey through a couple’s years together, the good and the… well…

   You're a bum, you're a punk,

   You're an old slut on junk
   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

2. With the acclaim came controversy, a shadow that followed MacGowan's creation. The song's unapologetic use of raw language has ignited debates about political correctness and artistic expression. MacGowan, ever the provocateur, stood by his creation as an unfiltered reflection of the human experience, flaws and all. This is the part where I tell you The Pogues’ original name was Pogue Mahone, Gaelic for “kiss my ass.” In the spirit of gonzo journalism, he spat in the face of convention, daring the listener to keep listening and confront convention. Shane, the enigmatic Irish bard, was no stranger to sordid tales. His saga, a tapestry of hedonism, substance abuse, and creative brilliance, mirrors the Fairytale's narrative. The Pogues, under MacGowan's magnetic influence, carved a niche where traditional Irish folk collided with the anarchy of punk, birthing a sound that resonated like a scream from the soul of the dispossessed. The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn is a prime example of this. Shane and Kirsty bring us home, however, and that’s what makes Fairytale so listenable. That and the Pogues may never have been better or tighter.

   I could have been someone

   Well, so could anyone
   You took my dreams from me when I first found you
   I kept them with me, babe, I put them with my own
   Can't make it all alone, I've built my dreams around you

3. As the years roll on, Fairytale of New York endures, an anthem of defiance against the commercial gloss of holiday cheer. MacGowan's impact extends beyond the festive season; it's a festive call to arms for those who prefer their carols drenched in the raw, unfiltered spirit of truth (and whiskey). In the tumult of Fairytale, we find the essence of Shane MacGowan – a raconteur, a rebel, and an unwavering purveyor of musical mayhem in the face of a sanitized world.