Pogue Monotone

I went through all my Shane McGowan pictures taken at Rogue’s Gallery Dublin and put the best of the bunch in a dedicated set.

You know I’d managed in all my gig going years never to have seen The Pogues live. I wasn’t into the ‘diddley aye – get drunk – pogo’ scene. I kind of wish I had made an effort to see them, I did enjoy the albums, particularly ‘Rum Sodomy and the Lash’, and ‘Peace and Love’ (Pogues discography).

My experiences with McGowan have been limited to spotting him hovering legless backstage at various gigs in Dublin and Ireland. The first time I saw him was particularly impressive as he was sat at a table upstairs at the Jazz Café in Camden with some the superheroes of goth: Nick Cave, Siouxsie, Steve Severin and Michael motherfuckin’ Gira. ‘t was like the night of the living dead. Some of my more gothic friends that night nearly orgasmed on the spot.

Watching Shane sing live twice last month, much more together at the Dublin show than at the one in London, I saw glimpses of the natural born performer that he is. He still throws himself into the songs and plays to the crowd, egged on by his rowdy fans.

There’s a sweet side too, apparent in the way Shane asked Lou Reed for a photo together like any other fan – the girl photographer said ‘smile’ but Reed didn’t move a muscle in his leathery face. His obvious appreciation of some of the other legendary performers on the bill is disarming, planting kisses on their cheeks or hands. Then there’s the toothless giggle. Inimitable.

“My Daddy was a sinner, but my
Mother was a saintly person
But I ruined my life by drinking, bad
Wives, taking pills and cursing
Rock and Roll you crucified me,
Left me all alone
I never should have turned my back on
The old folks back home”

All my Shane McGowan pictures on Flickr

Talking about Poland

Talking about Poland, I’m not a catholic but I like catholic religious imagery. Some six or seven years ago, I worked in the museum ‘Catharijne Convent’ in Utrecht, a museum of religious art, based in a medieval nunnery. When I left, I was given a piece from their collection, a statue of St Aloysius Gonzaga, Patron of Catholic youth. It was suggested I take him to Dublin, to save the poor unfortunate sinner musicians.