Irish Independent - A night of real festive warmth
Posted: Tue Dec 26, 2006 1:57 pmA night of real festive warmth . . . despite the singing
Irish Independent
23 Dec 2006
by ED POWER
Full URL<blockquote>
CONTRADICTIONS have dogged The Pogues from the very beginning.
Their music celebrates a ragbag of cliches about what it is to be Irish, although most of the band are actually from London.
Fiddles and accordions define their sound but the group swept to prominence as part of the UK punk scene. And, despite their worldly, hard-bitten demeanour, The Pogues owe their place in the pantheon to, of all things, a misty-eyed Christmas dirge.
The biggest contradiction, of course, is frontman Shane MacGowan, whose resemblance to Father Jack from the sitcom 'Father Ted' grows more pronounced with each passing year. Yet beneath the trampish exterior is a singer capable of genuinely poetic flourishes.
Few songwriters, in fact, have chronicled life from the perspective of the downtrodden and the self-destructive so wrenchingly as MacGowan. In 2006, however, there's little doubt as to which MacGowan has the upper hand.
Pointy-eared and snaggled-toothed, he stands rooted behind the microphone, delivering Pogues' standards such as 'Rainy Night in Soho' and 'Dirty Ol Town' in an often incomprehensible murmur.
As a vocalist, MacGowan was always an acquired taste. Today, his voice is the musical equivalent of cheap cider - listeners may be left feeling giddy, vaguely nauseous and in need of a lie-down. Weirdly, whenever MacGowan mooches into the wings for a break (he does so on at least three occasions) The Pogues morph into a different kind of group entirely.
At one point, tin whistle player Spider Stacy takes over for 'Tuesday Morning', a gorgeous new wave excursion which, bizarrely, puts one in mind of New Order.
For the encore The Pogues slip back into a more familiar persona: that of the world's greatest drinking band. They finish with 'Fairy Tale of New York' and good natured bedlam sweeps the room. </blockquote>
Irish Independent
23 Dec 2006
by ED POWER
Full URL<blockquote>
CONTRADICTIONS have dogged The Pogues from the very beginning.
Their music celebrates a ragbag of cliches about what it is to be Irish, although most of the band are actually from London.
Fiddles and accordions define their sound but the group swept to prominence as part of the UK punk scene. And, despite their worldly, hard-bitten demeanour, The Pogues owe their place in the pantheon to, of all things, a misty-eyed Christmas dirge.
The biggest contradiction, of course, is frontman Shane MacGowan, whose resemblance to Father Jack from the sitcom 'Father Ted' grows more pronounced with each passing year. Yet beneath the trampish exterior is a singer capable of genuinely poetic flourishes.
Few songwriters, in fact, have chronicled life from the perspective of the downtrodden and the self-destructive so wrenchingly as MacGowan. In 2006, however, there's little doubt as to which MacGowan has the upper hand.
Pointy-eared and snaggled-toothed, he stands rooted behind the microphone, delivering Pogues' standards such as 'Rainy Night in Soho' and 'Dirty Ol Town' in an often incomprehensible murmur.
As a vocalist, MacGowan was always an acquired taste. Today, his voice is the musical equivalent of cheap cider - listeners may be left feeling giddy, vaguely nauseous and in need of a lie-down. Weirdly, whenever MacGowan mooches into the wings for a break (he does so on at least three occasions) The Pogues morph into a different kind of group entirely.
At one point, tin whistle player Spider Stacy takes over for 'Tuesday Morning', a gorgeous new wave excursion which, bizarrely, puts one in mind of New Order.
For the encore The Pogues slip back into a more familiar persona: that of the world's greatest drinking band. They finish with 'Fairy Tale of New York' and good natured bedlam sweeps the room. </blockquote>