We were saddened, if not exactly surprised or shocked, by the news that Shane MacGowan – Pogues frontman, maverick trailblazer and songwriter of genuine substance left this mortal coil on Thursday30th November 2023. Our writer, John Barlass, pays a personal tribute to the man that gave folk and roots music a boot up the a*se when such an action was most needed.

It wasn’t really a surprise, less still a shock, but when my my phone buzzed (I was in WH Smith’s in Leamington Spa when it happened) with the news that Shane MacGowan had passed away after a lengthy illness, I was genuinely saddened. Loved by many and disliked mainly by those without the understanding or patience to allow his undoubted talents to shine through, there’s no doubt whatsoever that the music of today would be very different without the massive influence of Shane and his band, The Pogues.

I’m not going to relate Shane’s life story here – that story has been heavily documented and, if that’s what you’re after, I suggest that you check out books like Richard Balls’ A Furious Devotion, or, even better A Drink With Shane MacGowan, the riotous 2001 autobiography that Shane put together with the help of Irish Journalist Victoria Mary Clarke. No – I have a personal belief that Shane MacGowan and The Pogues gave music – a folk/roots-based music in particular – a shot in the arm – or a boot up the a*se if you prefer – when they burst onto the scene in the early to mid eighties, and that the effects of that boost are still around today, and I’d like to present a case to support that view.

The Pogues formed in 1982 but they first came to my attention via a 1985 article in Southern Rag magazine – the publication that morphed, first, into Folk Roots and later into FROOTS. Even at that early stage of the band’s career, it seems they were dividing opinion, judging from the coverage in the mag and the scathing comments in the readers letters section of the mag. Indeed the impact that The Pogues were having upon a folk scene that was passing through one of its staid, complacent periods, was as seismic – if not more so – than the tremours caused when Messrs Thompson, Hutchings, Swarbrick and Nicol plugged in their instruments to deliver 100dB jigs, reels and broadsheet ballads back in the late 60s. A 1985 appearance on The Old Grey Whistle Test – I may be mistaken but I recall they performed Streams Of Whiskey and Sally Maclennane – drove home that message and piqued my interest further – and I resolved to investigate.

I asked around and discovered that The Pogues had already amassed a significant following, with a sizeable pocket of that following located in the North-East of England with Mick Tyas, – someone clearly invigorated by this new folk energy that seemed to have dropped from the stars, – and soon to help found Durham’s Whisky Priests, at its helm. On the recommendation of those friends, I invested in the debut Pogues album, Red Roses For Me and discovered, amongst the rumbustious, cacophonous songs of seafaring, Irish diaspora and, of course, drinking, a songwriter of perception, imagination and remarkable insight.

Better was soon to follow. The Elvis Costello-produced Rum, Sodomy And The Lash remains highly placed in my list of favourite albums of all time. Pristine MacGowan originals, including The Old Main Drag, A Pair of Brown Eyes, Sally Maclennane and Navigator sit comfortably alongside perceptive interpretations of traditional songs – I’m a Man You Don’t Meet Every Day, Jesse James and The Gentleman Soldier – and definitive covers of Ewan McColl’s Dirty Old Town and, particularly, Eric Bogle’s And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda. MacGowan’s own songs were a shock to the senses – The Old Main Drag is as harrowing today as it was on the the day that I first heard it – and it was crystal clear that his interpretative skills were every bit as good as his songwriting.

By the time The Pogues got around to releasing their third album, 1988’s If I Should Fall From Grace With God, they were bona-fide pop stars, but the quality and commitment was unwavering. The album probably represents The Pogues at their zenith; it was their best-seller and includes some of MacGowan’s greatest songs – Thousands Are Sailing, the biting Streets Of Sorrow/ Birmingham Six and, above all, the ubiquitous Fairytale Of New York – surely the best Christmas song EVER written and one that will continue to be covered for years to come.

Things were never as good again for Shane or for The Pogues but, to a large extent, their work had been done. Roots-based music had been turned on its head by the Pogues’ whirlwind. The arrival of punk had banished it to the fringes, but the example of The Pogues encouraged a whole generation to look back to their own traditions and roots and to fly their folky banners high. Exciting young artists like Billy Bragg, The 3 Mustaphas 3 and Kathryn Tickell were soon to follow in their wake, interest in bands like The Oyster Band, Edward II and the Red Hot Polkas was revived and fans of roots music finally began to discover music from beyond the boundaries of these islands; suddenly it was OK to explore the sounds emanating from eastern Europe, Asia, Africa and Central and South America. I’m not saying that The Pogues – and Shane MacGowan – were wholly or solely responsible for this revolution, but they certainly played a big part in opening the doors of perception by making folk-based music socially acceptable once again.

And that revolution changed things for ever. Spend some time to leaf through the pages of At The Barrier – you’ll see that they’re crammed with articles and reviews of folk-leaning artists – many of them young – with great music on offer. Kate Rusby, Maz O’Connor, Merry Hell, Bellowhead, Skinny Lister, Harp, Lauren South, Christina Alden & Alex Patterson, Track Dogs – the list goes on, and on, and on. How different would everything have been had not Shane MacGowan and his band shaken everything apart almost 40 years ago…?

I managed to see The Pogues on two occasions, albeit during the band’s second incarnation after their 2001 reunion. By this time, they were becoming something of a ‘Greatest Hits’ act, but Shane still conveyed a sense of magic. At one of the shows, Shane came onstage holding a pint glass of clear liquid… As the show progressed, his speech became less and less decipherable, yet he still managed to remember all his lyrics. After his death, a friend of mine mentioned that Shane was fond of a drink – the penny dropped; I’d often wondered what it was in that pint glass and why he was slurring!

Watch The Pogues perform Sally Maclennane on a 1985 edition of The Tube – here:

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