If you know, you know.
Shane: "I could've been someone."
Kirsty: "Well, so could anyone."
Shane MacGowan of The Pogues died this week. His run of drugs and alcohol was legendary, even in rock and roll. He will be remembered for his great voice and lack of teeth. I was surprised to see so many social media posts from friends — all quiet Pogues fans. When a band has an album titled Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash, it's easy to think of them as an Irish punk band and nothing more. But their music was so tight and complex that even a non-musician like myself could tell they were something different. Black 47, Flogging Molly, and the DK Murphy's are all great bands, but The Pogues were the gold standard.
"Fairytale of New York" is the closest The Pogues ever came to sounding Top 40. Sentimental, harsh, romantic. A strange chorus about the nonexistent "NYPD choir singing 'Galway Bay.'" The outro is a rolling melody like the finale of Springsteen's "Thunder Road," meant to sound like a movie's final credits. The story starts in the drunk tank, flashes back to a first meeting on a cold Christmas night on Broadway, continues to lyrics about how much the couple love one another, followed by the dissolution: "you scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot, Merry Christmas my ass, I prayed God it's our last." Then those final words about shared dreams, a prayer. A fairytale is supposed to have a happy ending. Those lines give the listener hope this couple will find a way to stay together.
It is one of the most romantic songs you will ever hear. Funny story, Calene and I accidentally stumbled backstage on a Pogues sound check one afternoon during our honeymoon. Had only a vague awareness who they were at the time, but "Fairytale" was their brand new hit.
Recently, I heard about something called "Arrival Fallacy." It's the belief that once we reach some great life goal the good times will never end. Struggles will be over. But like my good friend Dan McClory said in a dinner toast last night, "These are the good old days." The here and now. Life doesn't get easy when a goal is realized. The process of struggle just starts all over again. You have to find happiness in the midst of struggle.
This week has been interesting. A litany of petty struggles. I got into a telephone argument with a hotel front desk clerk about a reservation I cancelled one month ago, but which the hotel insisted I still pay for in full. I may or may not have insulted this individual for a thousand dollar charge I do not owe. I may or may not have been put on his hotel's "no fly" list for verbally doubting his truthfulness and professionalism. I do not mourn not being unable to stay at his hotel, but I sure do get angry at myself for losing control.
On top of that, I'm experiencing post cross-country let down (Calene was right: it's been just one week and I'm already planning next season). I do not like the fit of the suit I'm wearing to my son's wedding next weekend. I also do not like that the suit is years out of style, because I never wear suits, meaning I will look like a Cold War Soviet diplomat rather than the cool rocking dude I prefer to think of myself. And let's not get into the anxiety that keeps me awake at 3 am each and every night, origins completely unknown.
The problems encountered by the couple in the song — among them gambling, heroin abuse, and infidelity — are far more intense than the financial feast or famine years we endured.
If you go back through my writing, I've referenced "Fairytale of New York" several times. I remember quite clearly one Bastille Day while covering the Tour de France, stepping out of the press center in the Alps, air smelling like warm July rain. I was listening to "Fairytale" as I stood alone, breathing in fresh mountain air after hours inside. I used to write 5,000 words a day at the Tour, stories long lost somewhere on the Internet. Some of my best stuff. Each year, I would work alone in France for 23 days while Calene remained home with the boys. She always believed I could make it as a writer. My unspoken promise was that I would hold up my end of the bargain so we could both see our dreams come true.
Kirsty: "You took my dreams from me, when I first found you."
Shane: "I kept'm with me, babe. I packed them with my own. Can't make it all alone. I built my dreams around you."
So, you see, "Fairytale of New York" and The Pogues have special meaning for me. The fact the couple found hope inspired me to feel the same, which is why the song has meant so much for so many years. If you believe, there is no arrival fallacy, just the peaks and valleys that make a marriage and a career. These are the good old days.
RIP Shane MacGowan. Thanks for the hope.