shane macgowan

If you’ve never come across Shane MacGowan, you’re missing something huge – not unlike stumbling into the then-unknown American continent on your westward way from Europe to Asia for riches in silks and baubles. You would disembark your ship all awed at the beautiful land, arms stretched to frame your view, and then you would take an arrow in the chest. And from the coastal wood line your dying ears would discern a snicker or two. That snicker would be Shane, who would then absently walk in another direction. Your death was just to see the look of shock on your face: “Bet he won’t see this coming!” [ZING! THWAP!] (snicker) “Hee, hee, hee. What say we get a drink? Which way?”

Shane’s an incredible songwriter. His lyrics run the gambit from drinking songs to sober love songs. He’s got this stage presence now that is heavily influenced by his constant consumption of whiskey. His teeth were never good. But how can you criticize a guy whose first band was named the “Nipple Erectors”? (The record label said no - so they changed it to the "Nips." I learned that from an interview he gave. The next band of his, "The Pogues," was a name of which I never knew the origin, but just stumbled on this, " ... took his band’s name from the Irish phrase 'póg mo thóin' (meaning 'kiss my arse')." I was going to source that find, but I googled it and found several sources. Pick the one you like.)

He’s worth googling and checking out his youtube videos.

Just a sidenote ... I spent some good time wandering the net for material. I have some interview/documentary video at the house. I've listened to Shane and followed his travails loosely for a few years. It is real easy to point and laugh in this world. I find that the clowns that write about his drunken exploits usually do not have the intellectual depth to wrote a coherent sentence, let alone write lyrics or compose music. Everyone has a talent; everyone has a shameful side. Enjoy Shane for his talents.

The videos I selected begin around 1983 with Dirty Old Town. The same song is the last video – 20-some years later. No, didn’t age well. I’ll do a quick intro on the other videos. All the lyrics are at the end.



This song is beautiful - Haunted. Sinead O'Connor actually looks like a normal person. Her voice can be so pretty. I wish she wasn’t so into performance art in the rest of her stuff.



Shane did not write this song. Christy Moore is an old Irish favorite. I like Shane’s presence – walks on, walks off. Gotta love him. Spancil Hill. Quick story – song is based on a poem a 23 year-old guy wrote a little before 1873. He came to America and never saved enough to have his wife come over from Ireland. He was sickly, and wrote the poem knowing he would die soon. He did in 1873.



It’s Christmas Eve in the drunk tank. Beautiful line. Fairytale of New York with Kirsty MacColl.



Live performance. Get drunk and sing along. A Pair of Brown Eyes.



This is the later performance of Dirty Old Town, performed on the Henry Rollins Show. Yeah, his politics suck, but he’s drunk all the time, so I’ll cut him a break.



”Dirty Old Town”

I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
I Kissed my girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Clouds are drifting across the moon
Cats are prowling on their beat
Spring's a girl from the streets at night
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I Heard a siren from the docks
Saw a train set the night on fire
I Smelled the spring on the smoky wind
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I'm gonna make me a big sharp axe
Shining steel tempered in the fire
I'll chop you down like an old dead tree
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
I kissed my girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

“Haunted”

Do you remember that sunny day
Somewhere in London
In the middle of nowhere
Didn't have nothing to do that day
Didn't want to do nothing anyway

You got a way of walking
You got a way of talking
And there's something about you
And now I know I never ever
Want to be without you

I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
of your precious love
of your precious love

The first time I saw you
Standing in the street
You were so cool you could have
Put out Vietnam

All the girls say "Whats he like?"
I said "He's kind of shy
But that's the kind of girl I am,
He's my kind of guy"

I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
of your precious love
of your precious love

I'll build my world around you
I'll bless the day that I found you
I'll stay beside you and I'll never leave
Or tell you all those lies you'd never believe
Uh huh huh

I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
of your precious love
of your precious love

You got a way of walking
You got a way of talking
And there's something about you
That's the kind of girl I am,
He's my kind of guy
And now I know I never ever
Want to be without you

I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
I want to be haunted by the ghost
And now I know I never ever
Want to be without you

Haunted... Haunted... Haunted...

“Spancil Hill”

Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
My mind being bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly
I stepped on board a vision and I followed with the wind
And I shortly came to anchor at the cross of Spancil Hill

It being the 23rd June the day before the fair
When lreland's sons and daughters in crowds assembled there
The young and the old, the brave and the bold their journey to fulfill
There were jovial conversations at the fair of Spancil Hill

I went to see my neighbors to hear what they might say
The old ones were all dead and gone and the young one's turning grey
I met with the tailor Quigley, he's a bould as ever still
Sure he used to make my britches when I lived in Spancil Hill

I paid a flying visit to my first and only love
She's as white as any lily and as gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me saying "Johnny, I love you still"
Oh she's Ned the farmers daughter and the flower of Spancil Hill

I dreamt I held and kissed her as in the days of yore
She said, "Johnny you're only joking like many's the time before"
The cock he crew in the morning he crew both loud and shrill
And I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill.

“Fairytale of New York”

It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won't see another one
And then he 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
When all our dreams come true

They've got cars big as bars
They've 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

You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing "Galway Bay"
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day

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

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

“A Pair of Brown Eyes”

One summer evening drunk to hell
I stood there nearly lifeless
An old man in the corner sang
Where the water lilies grow
And on the jukebox Johnny sang
About a thing called love
And it's how are you kid and what's your name
And how would you bloody know?
In blood and death 'neath a screaming sky
I lay down on the ground
And the arms and legs of other men
Were scattered all around
Some cursed, some prayed, some prayed then cursed
Then prayed and bled some more
And the only thing that I could see
Was a pair of brown eyes that was looking at me
But when we got back, labeled parts one to three
There was no pair of brown eyes waiting for me

And a rovin' a rovin' a rovin' I'll go
For a pair of brown eyes

I looked at him he looked at me
All I could do was hate him
While Ray and Philomena sang
Of my elusive dream
I saw the streams, the rolling hills
Where his brown eyes were waiting
And I thought about a pair of brown eyes
That waited once for me
So drunk to hell I left the place
Sometimes crawling sometimes walking
A hungry sound came across the breeze
So I gave the walls a talking
And I heard the sounds of long ago
From the old canal
And the wind was whistling in the trees
Where the birds were gently laughing

And a rovin' a rovin' a rovin' I'll go
For a pair of brown eyes