The Pogues, and by the Pogues I mean songwriter and lead singer Shane Patrick Lysaght Macgowan, were the last and greatest Irish rock band, a band that delved deep into the myth of folk and Ireland and always found where the music meets the Emerald Isle and where all the strands of history, culture, and past dreams of a world which no longer seems to exist, lives on. Here in nyc, the huge Irish population have been quiet since the war with England receded and the economically floundering country lost its romantic hue. But the legend lives on with the Pogues, and while “Fairytale Of New York” and “The Old Main Drag” are the rocks wherein the Pogue story lies, “Streams Of Whiskey” is where even the rocks need to tip their hats
A jig and a dream, literally to both descriptions, here is the lyric:
Last night as I slept
I dreamt I met with Behan
I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day
When questioned on his views
On the crux of life’s philosophies
He had but these few clear and simple words to say
I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
I have cursed, bled and sworn
Jumped bail and landed up in jail
Life has often tried to stretch me
But the rope always was slack
And now that I’ve a pile
I’ll go down to the Chelsea
I’ll walk in on my feet
But I’ll leave there on my back
Because I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Oh the words that he spoke
Seemed the wisest of philosophies
There’s nothing ever gained
By a wet thing called a tear
When the world is too dark
And I need the light inside of me
I’ll walk into a bar
And drink fifteen pints of beer
Shane tells of dreaming he met the late great Brendan Behan who taught him the wisest of philosophies, when the world is too dark go into a bar and drink fifteen pints of beer. I have tried to explain the joys of drunkenness but it gets tangled in the horrors of alcoholism. I had to stop drinking, it was killing me and I was warned that one more episode and I would be dead, but I miss alcohol more than any one person in my life. As a tightly wound man, it relaxed me and I am not easy to relax.It used to drive one of my exes crazy how every morning she would hit snooze for an hour and I’d be jumping up the moment the bell rang… unless I was hungover. I used to date another girl who hated me when I was sober, she’d say “unless you’re drunk don’t call”.
I, myself, I don’t know how to express the joys of drinking. After a period of abstinence at the turn of the decade, I remember being at a club and thinking “you know, one bacardi and coke can’t kill” and walking to the subway later that night I felt happy, truly happy, for the first time since I’d stopped drinking. The problem is, like everything, the high doesn’t last, within a month I was lying on the floor of my apartment puking, crying and feeling about as worthless as a man can feel. There is no real middle ground, either the joy or the horror nothing in between. Alcohol took a lot from me, including a wife and children, but I wouldn’t want them. One way or the other, it is no match and every single day, every time I walk by a bar, a little voice says, “go on… one night and stop.” I dream and about getting drunk often.
Shane’s tribute to Behan and to whisky is an Irish jig with whistles and fiddles and a chorus which begs to be sung along to. I saw the Pogues one St. Patty’s Day at Roseland and I have never seen an audience react quite like this, it was a community who were doing what they were singing what they were doing, everybody seemed drunk, but not belligerent, and with the Irish you never know, and it was one of those moments you just wish wouldn’t end, the song is only two and a half minutes and it is over as you are ready to join your voice on the chorus again again and again. Shane dreams of meeting Brendan, (who once called himself “a drinker with a writing problem” and claiming “I only drink on two occasions—when I’m thirsty and when I’m not”) and asking his philosophy but finding philosophy lost in streams of whiskey. Shane, a notorious drunk himself, joins Brendan and together they extol the one thing that gets them through.
But not for that long.
Brendan died from diabetes seriously exasperated through his heavy drinking and Shane? This is from the Irish Post during the summer: “We’re trying to get some messages of support across to him. His sister just texted to say that he isn’t in good form; that he is bad. Things have obviously been bad over the years but this is one of the worst ones. So fingers crossed he’s okay.”
I reviewed the Pogues final concert, St. Patrick’s day 2011 here, and Spider Stacey took exception to my claiming the only Pogue that mattered was Shane, although, in fact, the only Pogue that mattered was Shane, as his next band, the Popes, proved. But Spider made at least one undeniable point, the Pogues managed Shane so he was able to actually get on stage and perform.
So alcohol is something Brendan, Shane and I have in common and it is the sort of thing where either you get it or you don’t. It is a secret society where streams of whiskey set you free for all time, unto dreams or death or both, or the morning after where everything has been stripped from you, everything everything everything. Maybe the greatest song ever written about wasting your life in a drunken stupor, it is all joy.
