5. The Pogues
I choose Shane MacGowan over Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Lou Reed, Leonard Cohen and even more obviously, Mark E Smith and Nick Cave, all of whom I love, because he best addresses the mystery of why one voice sharply reminds you of the whereabouts of your heart, while others that you love nearly as much, slightly less so. The stories these other giants sung of never felt so much mine as their own, which makes my connection with The Pogues deeper and more astonishing, as I loved them before I was old enough for my first cigarette, drink, or bet, and that even though the sum total of their oeuvre is thin next to those other names, they were more central to my development as a writer. Of all the songs I have chosen, ‘Lullaby’ is the only one where I have to resist an A-Level English Lit line by line analysis, because it seems to me to merit that level of attention.
At the time of this song Shane was still in his mid-twenties, and sounded young and old at the same time, suggesting that the soul is eternal and will feel fresh to the bearer no matter how battered his physical equipment might be. Once set up (“as I walked down by the riverside one evening in the spring”), the song becomes one of reflection and natural exhilaration, in which past pleasures that feel quite incidental to the course the singer has embarked on, are raked up from an unconscious that is still gently informed by them. Shane packs every line with details that ponder the marvellous inexplicability of existence, as apparent in those things closest to hand, walking on with “a heavy heart” as those far away, “a stone danced in the tide”. Then as now, Shane is unrepentant, and for all his warmth and humanity, never truly sorry for anything — it’s all gist to stories, bound within the tradition of human imperfection that we can take comfort in, before facing anything as truly devastating as regret or remorse.
