Where do I even begin with Shane MacGowan? The former and eventually reinstated lead singer of the Pogues always seemed like a likely casualty of himself, burning out from hard living that was exacerbated by live performance venue green rooms well stocked with beer and liquor. Through the late nineteen-eighties and early nineties, whenever the band got a prime showcase to perform, say on Saturday Night Live, MacGowan wavered on stage like a slender bamboo pole in a brisk wind. By all indications he lived his life according to the credo suggested by the title of a 1942 Louis Jordan song: “What’s the Use of Getting Sober (When You’re Gonna Get Drunk Again).” Sinéad O’Connor once told an interviewer that she was sure in he was in the final days of his life. That was around ten years ago. This past Christmas, he celebrated his 54th birthday.

I’ve seen MacGowan play live a couple of times, in consecutive years at right around the time O’Connor was polishing up her eulogy. The Guinness Fleadh music festival played Chicago, and I attended with a whole caravan of friends, all of us under the mistaken notion that tall plastic cups of stout were a fine idea in the punishing summer sun. In the two different years we went, we saw Elvis Costello, Van Morrison, O’Connor and, god help us, the Saw Doctors. Both years, MacGowan headlined one of the side stages with his new backing band, the Popes, although one year there were rumors he wouldn’t be able to play because he was being detained at his home in Ireland because the police found a dead body there.

MacGowan’s live performance was a wonder to behold, a strangely thrilling exhibition of unlikely endurance. As far as I could tell, there was one roadie who’s entirely job was keeping MacGowan constantly supplied with cigarettes and jugs of wine. That’s jugs, not bottles. One of the instances when MacGowan briefly left the stage to let the Popes fill the night with their incredible tight playing, he almost did a Black Swan dive down the stairs. The music was great, but the suspense over whether or not MacGowan would make it through the show was even more memorable.

I sometimes feel guilty about deriving so much entertainment from the teetering results of MacGowan’s abuse of drugs and alcohol. But I’m honestly not just there for the reality show ready train wreck. MacGowan’s songwriting was always first-rate and his raw, ragged vocals suited the material perfectly. That hard life of his (MacGowan has claimed he’d been regularly drinking beer since he was four-years-old and whiskey since he was ten) lends a purity of purpose to the songs he sings. When he snarls out, “That woman’s got me drinking/ Look at the shape I’m in,” there’s no doubting his sincerity.

Shane MacGowan and the Popes, “That Woman’s Got Me Drinking”

(Disclaimer: A cursory perusal of various online sources seems to indicate that The Snake, the album that houses this song, is out of print. I suppose this song may have found its way onto some sort of Pogues “best of” compilation, but I don’t have the energy to dig through all of that stuff. Most of the Pogues material remains in print, and you should run, not walk, to your favorite local, independently-owned record store and snap up anything from Peace and Love earlier. That’s probably the best way to put a little beer money into Shane’s pocket, which he probably needs because I doubt he’s especially careful with his funds. The last time I heard him talk explicitly about it, he was urging an audience to be his record because he was “fucking broke,” which of course sounded more like, “bekushn ahm fughin BROKE.” Even though I don’t think there is way to acquire this song through measures that provide remuneration to both the artist and a record store proprietor, I will still remove it from the interweb if I’m asked to do so by a party with due authority to make such a request.)