One more fan review. Almost ecstatic.
The Pogues- Roseland Ballroom, NYC 3/15
Written by Spazz
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On a cold, rainy night in the dirty town of Manhattan, eight old men played the music they were put on this good earth to play. It was a cosmic event. The Pogues can’t help but inspire poetic hyperbole, but for this night, such sentiments are the only ones that fit.
Sadly, the band is known better for the debauched state of their brilliant and tragic front man, Shane MacGowan. The spectacle that Shane has become unfortunately overshadows the enduring truth behind the band’s legend: the boys can fucking play. I’ve been a Pogues fan for 15 years. Their albums hold all that is dear to me in music: skilled musicians playing intricate arrangements, lyrics from the literary successor to Joyce, Yeats and Behan, passion, politics, beauty, pain, sin and redemption. All of it poured over me last night in a baptismal orgy of sound and fury, leaving me purged and purified.
Now, about the wheelchair…
Yes, Shane performed comfortably seated in a wheelchair. He’s not a particularly mobile sort even under the best of circumstances- he was struck by a taxi in the early eighties and has had leg problems ever since- but he took a nasty fall at a show in Boston. He hobbled his way through that show, but was forced to cancel the 3/14 in NYC. We were holding our collective breaths that he’d be up for this one and like the trooper he is, the man found a way. Self-medication can be a beautiful thing (Ed. Note: WORD)
Walking into the Roseland Ballroom, with the blue stage lights and starry background, and seeing the lads lined up, with Shane sitting on His Throne in front, was equally parts sacred and hysterical. But this would not be a one man show. The band started out with three raucous numbers in a row; Repeal of the Licensing Laws, Streams of Whiskey (with a bottle of whiskey at the foot of Shane’s wheelchair) and If I Should Fall from Grace with God.
By this last one, I was, as they say, “fired up”, and by then both the band and the crowd had gotten their legs under them. Straight after the mania of If I Should Fall, they launched into the ballad The Broad Majestic Shannon. From one personal favorite to another, my mood turned from blood thirsty to wistful with the strum of a chord. Shane was in good form, the music produces enough frenetic energy that a wild front man bouncing about is unnecessary.
By the Boys from County Hell I had made my way up front and reunited with my people, previously lost on a beer run. Bottle of Smoke and the Sick Bed of Culchulain produced some first class moshing. To use the parlance of our times, it was wicked fucking nuts.
Other highlights for me included Dirty Old Town (Shane’s triumph) and Young Ned of the Hill (vocals by Spider Stacey). They played a surprising number of songs that I didn’t know, but drunkenly swayed along to. The juxtaposition of the savage and the lovely is a theme the band has always used to great effect and it is exponentially more powerful at a live show. After several encores, they closed it with Fiesta, as per tradition. Fiesta indeed, as the entire crowd screamed along.
Needless to say, I had my Irish up, but had I been sober, I would have walked out of there feeling drunk. Incredible experience, whenever they’re in town I’ll be there. I woke up this morning with last night playing in my head.
Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.
I couldn't help it, as you can probably tell by watching it, but I'm sorry anyway!
