March 9 2008, Washington DC

[Eric V]

Loved the show but I HATE the 9:30 club. There are many better venues in the DC area that the band could play.

I spit on teh 9:30 club.

[Billy]

I'll go ahead and be one to piss and moan about setlists then!

I'm bummed Transmetropolitan was dropped.

Transmetropolitan is a real gem, one of my fav's, especially when you get all the lyrics - KMRIA

[mrdarcey]

Loved the show but I HATE the 9:30 club. There are many better venues in the DC area that the band could play.

Why and where? I love the 9:30. Granted, I grew up with the 9:30 in both iterations. It's got good acoustics, is a fair size and usually a majority of the crowd doesn't behave like they're on valium (Sunday being the most sedate crowd I've ever seen at a Pogues gig -- I felt like a liar telling someone that third row center stage might get rowdy). The 9:30 is miles better for instance, than the Nokia in NYC. That place was awful.

In anycase, it isn't everyday that The Pogues or Body of an American get mentioned in any paper, but the Washington Post managed to squeeze them in three whole times on Tuesday:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/co ... 02823.html
(about the end of the Wire)

http://www.washingtonpost.com/ac2/wp-dy ... st=pogues&
(about David Simon and Martin O'Malley being at the show. And, hey, it isn't everyday you can see the Pogues mentioned in the same piece as J Edgar Hoover)

And the review. I don't know what to think about this one. I think he liked it...
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/co ... 02990.html

The Pogues

You know that feeling when the singer reaches the second verse of the national anthem, and the crowd switches from bellowing every syllable to awkwardly slurring the melody? That's what the vocals at a Pogues gig sound like. And we're not just talking about the crush of Guinness-sweating punters waiting impatiently to howl the chorus of "Sally MacLennane" or "The Body of an American." It's Pogues frontman Shane MacGowan, too -- especially him. Even back in the Irish trad-punk ensemble's Thatcher-era heyday, he disguised his poignant, funny lyrics beneath an unintelligible delivery.

Watching MacGowan, now puffy and paunchy, amble onstage at the 9:30 club on Sunday recalled Keith Richards's customary concert greeting, "It's good to be here. It's good to be anywhere." The years since the band sacked MacGowan for Winehouse-style problems in 1991 and reinstated him in 2001 (sporadic tours followed, but no new music) appear to have been anything but kind. But MacGowan still has a banshee wail to beat Howard Dean's, and the singer's abrasive growl is all a band this marvelous needs to give its amphetamine-spiked take on Irish folk a focal point.

The set started off shaky, MacGowan singing of "goin' where streams of whiskey are flowin'," and looking like he'd arrived there already. He grew more lucid and powerful as the evening gathered steam, through two hours and 26 songs, mostly from the Pogues' first three (and best) albums.

Singing their lone post-MacGowan hit, "Tuesday Morning," and other tunes, tin-whistler Spider Stacy proved himself an animated frontman, banging his head against a metal tray to give the closing "Fiesta" some extra percussion. Guitarist Phil Chevron, treated last year for throat cancer, sounded weak singing his own "Thousands Are Sailing" -- one of the band's finest recorded moments -- but you were glad he tried. Hearing him reminded us it's good to be anywhere. But to be here, with this band on this night, well, that was great.

-- Chris Klimek

[Billy]

Loved the show but I HATE the 9:30 club. There are many better venues in the DC area that the band could play.

And the review. I don't know what to think about this one. I think he liked it...

The Media...

[lowland_scot]

And the review. I don't know what to think about this one. I think he liked it...

The Media...

It was better than the one the Post horked up in 2006. I'm still not sure the reviewer and I were at the same show.

[skier mike]

by lowland_scot Mon Mar 10, 2008 1:21 pm

We were in the very front, between Shane and Spider. Our two daughters, aged 19 and 13, were with us. Thank you for putting on such a wonderful show. Anne, the 13-year-old, was disappointed at no Young Ned of the Hill, but Sickbed, Star of the County Down, Bottle of Smoke and Irish Rover are other great favorites of hers and nothing could have made her more wide-eyed with amazement than to see and hear them played by fellows standing not ten feet from her. I do hope she doesn't try Spider's beer tray trick in her school cafeteria, though. This is the second DC show we're seen (also went in 2006) and we'll keep going back as long as you keep touring.

I am going with my wife, daughter, and two friends on 3/19. I can't wait for my daughter to finally see the Pogues. She is will be 19, and absolutely loves the band. It is so great to be able to enjoy some of the same music, and all the meanings with her. She has been a fan since my wife and I had FTONY as our wedding song (second marriage). How did your other daughter enjoy the show? My wife and I saw them last year in Boston and it was one of the greatest shows I have ever seen. My musical taste tends toward bands that are usually not touring anymore, and to actually get to see my favorite band after assuming I would never see them was incredible. It is going to just as incredible to be able to see them with my daughter this time. I can not wait. Phil glad you are back and all the best to you!

[Billy]

And the review. I don't know what to think about this one. I think he liked it...

The Media...

It was better than the one the Post horked up in 2006. I'm still not sure the reviewer and I were at the same show.

I have made a bit of a point of watching events (full interview, live broadcasts etc) and then seeing how the press reports it and the delta is mind blowing. The distortion is incredible. All media is one big editorial.

[lowland_scot]

How did your other daughter enjoy the show?

She absolutely loved it. We take her to a lot of live music, mostly local folk-maritime-Celtic stuff (we live in southern Maryland and the folk music here is very heavily influenced by sea chanty/pirate/Celtic tradition) but national bands when we get the chance. It's funny, both the girls like a lot of the music we listen to. Anne's first concert was the B52s last summer. One of our favorite local bands, The Pyrates Royale, covers Young Ned of the Hill, and Anne startled a waiter at a pub one night by singing, or rather bellowing, along. "Good Lord -- this child knows *all* the words!" She's also a drummer -- both standard school band stuff, plus bodhran and medieval rope tension drum, and she was fascinated by those two drummers in the opening band, Urban Voodoo Machine.

[MacRua]

Another fan review:

By Bethany Shaffer (March 11, 2008, Full URL)

What Are You Laughing At?

I had heard the stories. I had heard the live recordings-the ones where he forgets the words and slurs his way through the chorus hoping the all-knowing loyal-to-the-end audience will fill in the blanks. I had even seen the pictures, but not until you see it in person will you ever know the true nature of a Shane McGowan performance. I say "a Shane McGowan performance" and not "Shane McGowan" because I don't know the man and I am losing tolerance of fans and critics assuming they know a person under the spotlight of public attention beyond what is shown in the actual spotlight.
The Shane McGowan performance is one that is experienced in stages:

First: Horror. What makes the sight of this sad, drunk man horrifying isn't that he falls off the stage, takes his pants off, pees on the accordion player, or calls all the women in the front row whores. Because, he doesn't do any of that. Perhaps he did at one point in his youth when his liver allowed for more vibrancy, but he didn't do it last night at the 9:30 Club.
No, if he had actually done these things, the reaction wouldn't be so much of horror, but rather of redundancy. The horror comes from the stillness, the calm, the resignation of the rest of the band to the slobbered, slurred rants, the random walks offstage and the overall sense that this man really may not know where he is. The horror also comes, at least in my case, from the fact that this talented songwriter and vocalist (when sober) sounds like complete and utter shite, forgetting the words at least 25% of the time and mumbling out the rest in an incoherent blaze of rasp and spittle. After the first song, I felt overwhelmingly grateful that I hadn't spent my own money on the ticket.

Second: Anger. If I had spent money on the ticket I have no doubt that the feeling that would have inevitably blocked my enjoying the rest of the concert would have been anger. Anger at the cost of the damn thing. Anger at the fact that I came out of my nice warm home to deal with a large crowd that never fails to trigger my anxiety. Anger at the fact that this is a really good band (and the rest of the band did a really terrific job) that is being overshadowed by their trainwreck of a frontman.

Third and final: Pity and sadness. Finally, after an hour or more of spouting telepathic curses at the poor man, your ire relents and, looking around at the crowd shaking their heads in patronizing good-humour (Oh, Shane) and laughing outright at his between song outtakes, you realize that this whole situation is really truly sad. I know I may sound like an old stick in the mud, and maybe Mr. McGowan doesn't want my pity/support/defense but jesus christ, the man needs help! Now, I know that sounds naive because obviously the man has been through rehab, been kicked out of the band and experienced numerous other ramifications due to his lifestyle, but it is my feeling that because of that knowledge, these so-called fans are the credulous ones. What kind of support is it to simultaneously cheer and jeer a man broken by addiction? This kind of "fan-base" smacks reminiscent of Britney Spears "fans" reading US Weekly and watching TMZ in wait for the next commando flash or paparazzi love affair.

Now, I know what some of you will say: you love the music, you are supporting the band. I get it. A lot of musicians I have supported over the years have dealt with similar issues. I guess what I'm railing against most of all is the crowd's reaction to and treatment of the issue. Doesn't anyone else see the line drawn between happy-go-lucky pint-swigging Irishmen and a man battling the demon of alcoholism

[Clash Cadillac]

Pity and sadness

Pity and sadness for this reviewer who did not see the beauty right in front of her eyes.

[philofbelloni]

Another fan review:

By Bethany Shaffer (March 11, 2008, Full URL)

What Are You Laughing At?

I had heard the stories. I had heard the live recordings-the ones where he forgets the words and slurs his way through the chorus hoping the all-knowing loyal-to-the-end audience will fill in the blanks. I had even seen the pictures, but not until you see it in person will you ever know the true nature of a Shane McGowan performance. I say "a Shane McGowan performance" and not "Shane McGowan" because I don't know the man and I am losing tolerance of fans and critics assuming they know a person under the spotlight of public attention beyond what is shown in the actual spotlight.
The Shane McGowan performance is one that is experienced in stages:

First: Horror. What makes the sight of this sad, drunk man horrifying isn't that he falls off the stage, takes his pants off, pees on the accordion player, or calls all the women in the front row whores. Because, he doesn't do any of that. Perhaps he did at one point in his youth when his liver allowed for more vibrancy, but he didn't do it last night at the 9:30 Club.
No, if he had actually done these things, the reaction wouldn't be so much of horror, but rather of redundancy. The horror comes from the stillness, the calm, the resignation of the rest of the band to the slobbered, slurred rants, the random walks offstage and the overall sense that this man really may not know where he is. The horror also comes, at least in my case, from the fact that this talented songwriter and vocalist (when sober) sounds like complete and utter shite, forgetting the words at least 25% of the time and mumbling out the rest in an incoherent blaze of rasp and spittle. After the first song, I felt overwhelmingly grateful that I hadn't spent my own money on the ticket.

Second: Anger. If I had spent money on the ticket I have no doubt that the feeling that would have inevitably blocked my enjoying the rest of the concert would have been anger. Anger at the cost of the damn thing. Anger at the fact that I came out of my nice warm home to deal with a large crowd that never fails to trigger my anxiety. Anger at the fact that this is a really good band (and the rest of the band did a really terrific job) that is being overshadowed by their trainwreck of a frontman.

Third and final: Pity and sadness. Finally, after an hour or more of spouting telepathic curses at the poor man, your ire relents and, looking around at the crowd shaking their heads in patronizing good-humour (Oh, Shane) and laughing outright at his between song outtakes, you realize that this whole situation is really truly sad. I know I may sound like an old stick in the mud, and maybe Mr. McGowan doesn't want my pity/support/defense but jesus christ, the man needs help! Now, I know that sounds naive because obviously the man has been through rehab, been kicked out of the band and experienced numerous other ramifications due to his lifestyle, but it is my feeling that because of that knowledge, these so-called fans are the credulous ones. What kind of support is it to simultaneously cheer and jeer a man broken by addiction? This kind of "fan-base" smacks reminiscent of Britney Spears "fans" reading US Weekly and watching TMZ in wait for the next commando flash or paparazzi love affair.

Now, I know what some of you will say: you love the music, you are supporting the band. I get it. A lot of musicians I have supported over the years have dealt with similar issues. I guess what I'm railing against most of all is the crowd's reaction to and treatment of the issue. Doesn't anyone else see the line drawn between happy-go-lucky pint-swigging Irishmen and a man battling the demon of alcoholism

Forget betting on a bottle of smoke. I'd put the house that whomever went to the concert with this chick didn't get laid.
Try Paxil, honey. It works wonders for social anxiety.

[Jon]

Another fan review:
I guess what I'm railing against most of all is the crowd's reaction to and treatment of the issue. Doesn't anyone else see the line drawn between happy-go-lucky pint-swigging Irishmen and a man battling the demon of alcoholism[/indent]

It's funny, I had some kind of empathy up until the last sentance when the inevitable stereotype comes flying in through the open window and clips the reader gently on the back of the ear.

A lot of folks seem to feel the same annoyance at parting with their cash to see a similar 'display', but when you chat to them they don't see the Pogues as a one man band but can draw some enjoyment out of the show regardless, 'critics' (cause they aren't reviewers) don't seem to be able to do this.

[Saucier]

...this gal is a sanctimonious windbag and she didn't even get his name right.

Ms Shaffer, that is.

[CMG]

Another fan review:

By Bethany Shaffer (March 11, 2008, Full URL)

What Are You Laughing At?

I had heard the stories...

Referencing bethany:
I suppose Brendon Behan was just a limerick writer, Ernest Hemmingway was just a readers digest stringer, Oscar Wilde was just a fag, Jackson Pollack was just a paint thrower, Vincent Van Gogh was paint by numbers???
I guess when you are small minded you fail to see the big beauty, the poetry in motion.
Embrace the madness bethany get, beyond the smallness of your judgemental self.
Would You sacrifice Your life for the Poetry of the Universe?

[DzM]

Would You sacrifice Your life for the Poetry of the Universe?

Don't we all, every day, whether we choose to or not?