Pog Mo Thoin

Went to see the Pogues last night for an early St. Patrick's Day party.

Shane McGowan and the boys are pretty great live, as promised. Shane managed to make it through most of the set, leaving the state every third song or so to refill his coffee mug and light another cigarette. (Smoking ban? Feck off.)

I noticed that there wasn't much interaction among the band members. Most are getting on, have got to be in their 50s. Holding up well, thin, fit, and still playing for a living, so great. Drinking water. I noted a few times when Spider Stacey (who also fronts a band with a great name: Filthy Thieving Bastards) looked at Shane with an unmistakable look of "I can't believe this drunken bastard is the one with all the talent."

This is how James Fearnley (who plays accordian) described one of their shows:

And, like a gig of old, was the way we played the rest of the show – by the seat of our pants, with almost bemused looks up from our instruments – or even not bothering to look up at all – when Shane neglects a cue, or rides off digging his stirrups into the flank of one of the verses after an instrumental break in Fiesta and would, at one time, have left us a mess of limbs, scrabbling in the dust. Nowadays, however, we’re cheek-by-jowl with his frothing steed and heading it round toward the paddock, or crashing into the barn..."

I wonder: if McGowan wasn't a great songwriter and poet and a classic rock character, would we put up with, giggle in fact, at him when he slurs and stumbles and rocks back and forth cause he's so loaded?