http://uk.launch.yahoo.com/050119/33/1xiaz.html
The Pogues - Brixton Academy, London
(Wednesday January 4, 2006 10:20 AM )
Gig played on 22/12/05
Following last year's seasonal reformation, a Pogues reunion is quick becoming part and parcel of our pre-Christmas celebrations. Already a number of well-respected rituals are in place: the green and white hooped Celtic shirts, "The Irish Rover", beery singalongs, "Fairytale Of New York" and the confirmation that walking booze sponge Shane MacGowan has made it through another year. Until his last sip of the black stuff you sense that, for this audience at least, all will be OK with the world. Certainly, the relief that greets the portly, slightly unsteady and ashen-faced frontman is tangible. Inevitably, thoughts of George Best spring to mind.
Ironically, like watching Brian Wilson play with The Wondermints, MacGowan is potentially the weakest link on stage, even if it is thanks to their talisman that the Pogues were/are considered one of the last great literate bands. That's a rare enough phenomenon in this spin-doctored era - where the likes of Coldplay sound fantastic but say absolutely nothing - and it's MacGowan's timeless tales of drinking, lowlife and romance that we've come here to celebrate. For all the Paddy paraphernalia, let's not also forget that the Pogues were a great London band. MacGowan did his growing-up this side of the Irish Sea, and many of his greatest works are littered with the detritus and squalor of our fair capital.
Appearances aside, the man himself is in fine fettle. Surprisingly so. His banter may be restricted to a slurring drain rattle (a shout-out to Al Qaeda is one of the few intelligible moments) but he invests his songs with experience and attitude. That voice, a guttural hole of broken teeth and wasted nights, remains one of the last century's most distinctive - the sound and soul of a true libertine. As proof that all faculties lie intact, he even balances a beer glass on his head for all of two seconds.
Cantering off with "Streams Of Whiskey", the set-list is practically all highlights. "If I Should Fall From Grace With God", "Lullaby Of London", "Sally Maclennane", "Body Of An American" and "Dirty Old Town" are greeted like long lost friends; Spider Stacey takes the mic for "Tuesday Morning", Philip Chevron and Andrew Rankin deliver stirring renditions of "Thousand's Are Sailing" and "Star Of The County Down" respectively; while "The Old Main Drag", "Lullaby Of London" and "A Rainy Night In Soho" are emotive tour-de-forces. Sentimental songs lacking all sentiment, these are the antidote to a year of James Blunt, leading perfectly to "Fairytale".
Now performed in tribute to the late lamented Kirsty MacColl, with Jem Finer's daughter < ably filling her shoes, this truly strange and wonderful piece of music has long entered the realms of a true classic. Hearing it in the flesh is to witness Dylan sing "Like A Rolling Stone" or the Stones play "Satisfaction". As the crowd take over, MacGowan waltzes with the young woman 30-years his junior and snow flakes drift down on his bandmates.
It might be three days early, but tonight was a Christmas present for us all.
by Adam Webb

