Appreciation

Shane MacGowan was my friend – and nothing like his wild-man reputation

He could be chaotic, for sure, but the Pogues frontman was very different in private from his public persona. His biographer Richard Balls remembers a man who revealed his innermost thoughts over glasses of white wine and Westerns

Sunday 24 December 2023 01:30 EST

The author (right) with Shane MacGowan: ‘For someone who wrote such powerful and poetic words, Shane was a man of very few’ (Paul Ronan)

Fairytale of New York”, Shane MacGowan’s epic composition that captured the Irish experience, has become the song of Christmas. Since it first graced the charts back in 1987, it has possessed a unique pathos for a festive record. Shane’s passing at the age of 65 – just a few weeks before his Christmas Day birthday – has bestowed on it an even greater poignancy this year.

There was never any doubt outside of Ireland as to Shane’s stature in his beloved country, and they did him proud. Dublin was thronged with fans as the glass, horse-drawn carriage carrying his remains wound its way slowly through the streets, the Artane Band leading the procession. There were tears, but the singing of his best-loved songs gave the occasion a respectful sense of celebration that was replicated in Nenagh, the Tipperary town where his extraordinary, star-studded funeral service eventually took place.

It is a huge privilege to have been there, and to have known the man who has become an icon for so many. I was a fan from the moment I stumbled on The Pogues supporting Elvis Costello on Halloween night in 1984, and their songs became part of the soundtrack to the rest of that decade and beyond. When I found myself, years later, sitting with him in his home and talking about his life, it was surreal but a great honour, and I became very fond of him and his sister Siobhan, who was a huge support.

The responsibility for telling the story of his life had always weighed heavily, and so it felt right that I was there to pay my respects after his death. I wanted not only to be present for the sake of his family, but to honour the man I had come to know.

Johnny Depp arrives for the funeral at the church of St Mary of the Rosary in Nenagh (PA)

Local people crammed into the back of the church of St Mary of the Rosary, desperate to witness the service first hand along with the “Who’s Who” of Irish music in attendance. Poignantly, it took place on Sinead O’Connor’s birthday, and only four months after she herself had passed away. She had also given me an interview for my book, speaking frankly and lovingly about her friend. At the funeral, singer-songwriter Mundy and singer-musician Camille O’Sullivan delivered a stirring reprise of “Haunted”, which Sinead had recorded with Shane.

I entered the church through a side door, and found a makeshift backstage area, with musicians tuning up and making last-minute technical checks for a service that would be broadcast live around the world. Among those present were members of The Pogues, Sharon Shannon, Imelda May, and Glen Hansard, the man tasked with choreographing the extensive musical programme.

Celebrity faces who had come to see Shane off included actors Johnny Depp and Aidan Gillen. Johnny had developed a lifelong bond with Shane after meeting his hero for the first time in a Camden studio in the 1990s. They met frequently over the years, and he spoke often about his love for the singer. At the service, Johnny was first up to read a prayer, on peace, love and forgiveness, and was among the pallbearers as Shane’s coffin was carried out of the church.

Imelda May and Declan O’Rourke combined for a touching rendition of “You’re the One”, originally sung by Shane and Clannad’s Moya Brennan. It was “Fairytale of New York”, however, that drew the most emotional response. People rose to their feet, singing along to those unmistakeable lyrics. Shane’s widow, Victoria Clarke, his sister and other family members left their front-row pew to dance beside his wicker casket. As Shane was a one-off, this was a funeral like no other.

Shane’s family dance to ‘Fairytale of New York’ during the funeral service (Shane MacGowan)

I wondered what Shane, a modest and private man, would have made of it. Yes, he was the frontman of a group with global appeal, but he was never one to push himself forward. Yet, recognition in Ireland – the country to which he nailed his identity – was important to him. He had cried at his 60th birthday celebrations when the Irish president Michael D Higgins presented him with a lifetime achievement award at the National Concert Hall. Almost six years later, the president was here to witness Shane’s final journey.

In the crisp December air, we walked from the church to Philly Ryan’s pub – Shane’s favourite haunt – where, before his illness, he’d often drink with friends. The pub was crammed with people, and Pogues songs were blaring from the speakers. We stood beneath a large screen, which showed the band playing “The Irish Rover” with The Dubliners. I remembered a photo of Shane pouring a pint behind the same bar, and wished he was still with us enjoying the craic. Such a packed room, and yet such a gaping hole.

It was in 1990, as a journalist in Dublin, when I first watched the recording of the video for World Cup song “Jack’s Heroes” by The Pogues and The Dubliners. But it wasn’t until 2012 that I first met Shane at a Belgravia bistro. We had met to talk about a book I was writing about Stiff Records. Over the course of several hours, I found him personable and fascinating. He fell asleep on my Dictaphone, which I had to prise from under him. When he failed to return from the toilet, I went to investigate and found him locked in a cubicle, unable to turn the handle.

A young Shane MacGowan with his mother when they lived in Tipperary (The MacGowan family)

That first session was arranged by his old pal Paul Ronan, and a few years later, I began accompanying Paul to Dublin to embark on a biography of Shane. I never interviewed Shane as such. He hated being interviewed, especially about his work. Instead, I would sit with him and just chat, often as he watched television. He devoured gangster movies like The Godfather and Goodfellas, and classic Westerns such as Hang ’Em High. I captured his fractured reminiscences over shared bottles of sauvignon blanc.

Shane was always likeable and sometimes difficult. One night he complained he was “exhausted from trying to explain the bloody obvious things”. I had asked for details about his schooling – he attended Holmewood House prep school in Kent before his gift for language won him a partial scholarship to Westminster – but he told me it was more fun being interviewed by the police than answering my questions. I apologised profusely, and asked hesitantly if I could turn the volume of the TV down so I could hear. “Yes, turn it down, but don’t f***ing go on all night about it,” he growled. “I’ve got some great stories about the filth [the police].” I replied: “Well, let’s hear them,” and off we went again as if nothing had happened.

You could never quite tell what you were going to get from him. It was like walking a tightrope, but never scary or intimidating. There was an endearing softness to him that he couldn’t help showing. I told a fan who had come over to speak to him in a pub that I was “a friend of Shane’s”. “You’re not a friend of mine,” Shane said. Tactfully, I agreed. Then, after a pause, he looked at me and said: “Actually, you are a friend of mine.”

The Shane I got to know was so different from his wild-man reputation. The Shane who took so much acid he ate a Beach Boys LP, or the Shane who painted his body and an entire New Zealand hotel room blue. Instead, the Shane I got to know loved the company of his closest and most loyal friends, such as Paul Ronan and Joey Cashman. For someone who wrote such powerful and poetic words, he was a man of very few. On the occasions when he was forced to meet a fellow musician or a famous fan, you could estimate the lifespan of such encounters in seconds.

His close friend Gerry O’Boyle said “Shane lives in his head most of the time,” and that became truer still when he lost the ability to walk following a fall in 2015 and had to rely on carers. He spent most of his time in his south Dublin apartment, where he lived for several years.

Only one thing betrayed his feelings in the time I spent with him: his piercing blue eyes. They revealed his compassion and empathy for people, and his vulnerability. They revealed the child within; the boy who grew up straddling the contrasting worlds of middle England and rural Ireland, whose boyhood passion for the motherland never dimmed.

Crowds gather to pay their respects at the funeral procession in Ireland (Getty)

I will think of him this Christmas Day, reflecting on a life cut short and a day when he should have been marking his 66th birthday. The last time I saw him was at a special tribute on RTE’s The Late Late Show in December 2019, before the world went into lockdown. He looked frail in his wheelchair, and older than his years. But there was no mistaking his punk spirit as he led a band – including members of The Pogues – through some of the songs he had written.

Bruce Springsteen said people will still be listening to Shane’s songs 100 years from now. “Fairytale of New York” is no bauble on pop’s Christmas tree, but a song of real substance, which has guaranteed his place among the greatest songwriters of his generation. This Christmas, if you haven’t already, open your ears to “A Pair of Brown Eyes”, “A Rainy Night in Soho” and “The Broad Majestic Shannon”, and you will understand why his words and music continue to resonate with people of all ages across the world.