It’s a rather rum do. In a tiny Highgate pub, Shane MacGowan, one of the greatest songwriters of the past 25 years and former frontman of the Pogues, is roaring through one of his finest songs, A Rainy Night in Soho. There are about 60 people in the small room and a smattering of celebrities, including Kate Moss (“He’s just amazing,” she’ll say later) and the bloke who plays Billy Mitchell in EastEnders (“Brilliant, excellent,” is his insightful analysis). MacGowan’s voice is a smidgen too low in the mix but the granular rasp is intact.
Indeed, his voice is sounding better than it has for ages, and better than it has any right to do given the abuse to which he has subjected his body for the last 32 of his 46 years. And the audience can be thankful that, unlike on one recent occasion, he didn’t vomit mid-performance.
This little shindig is ostensibly to celebrate the launch of The Bhoys from Paradise, a three-track single, with contributions from MacGowan, Jim Kerr of Simple Minds and John McLaughlin, in aid of the Motor Neurone Disease Tribute Fund and, more specifically, the former-Celtic footballer Jimmy Johnstone, who has been battling the disease since 2002.
However, it’s more than just a promotional event. After all, there’s no sign of Jim Kerr. It’s the quality of MacGowan’s contribution, Road to Paradise, that has stirred up a minor mêlée. It is, whisper it, “fantastic”, a return to form that few thought possible. It would not seem out of place on a Pogues classic such as If I Should Fall From Grace With God.
The man himself doesn’t really see it that way. “A return to form?” he said when we sat down for a chat before the show. He almost scoffed. “Sure, I might have suffered a little writer’s block over the past few years but I have never been away.”
MacGowan may not take a great picture, but he is looking better than he has for years. Indeed, beneath his surprisingly pristine, pressed black suit hides a wee paunch. That said, it’s all relative — he still talks in a rumbling, rambling mumble and his laugh is more of a hiss than a thing of joy. And then there’s the drink. He has lined up four glasses in front of him: a pint of lager, two gin and tonics, and a milky concoction that looks like Baileys. I ask him what it is. “Baileys and brandy,” he says. “Go on, try it.” I do. It’s diluted Baileys. There’s not a trace of brandy in it. Someone’s looking after him.
That someone is likely to be Gerry O’Boyle, former landlord of the one- time MacGowan haunt, the Filthy McNasties pub in Islington, North London, and now landlord of Boogaloos, the establishment in which we’re sitting.
It was O’Boyle who had called me, saying that MacGowan had specifically asked for me to come along. MacGowan then greeted me like an old friend. “D’ya remember back in the day,” he said. I didn’t, as I had never met him before but, perhaps to my discredit, I played along.
That’s the thing with MacGowan — you want to please him. And it’s not just that you feel sorry for this shambling middle-aged man who may have destroyed an enormous natural talent with his fondness for the ale (and the gin, whiskey and Baileys). It’s also that there’s something fierce about him. With his incoherent speech and child-like attention span he’s simply a nightmare to interview and you cling to any foothold or advantage.
Worst of all, he is defensive in the extreme. I ask him about his estranged ex-girlfriend, Victoria Clarke, with whom he wrote A Drink With Shane MacGowan in 2001. Does he still see her? “Sure, sure,” he says. “She’s upstairs now.” Does he miss her? His watery blue eyes fasten on to mine. “I’m not talking about that — that’s got nothing to do with the music.”
In essence, MacGowan is painfully shy and a borderline social inadequate. Those four drinks on the table act as his shield, his drunken act (and I’m certain a good deal of it is a front), a method of keeping people at arm’s length. When he wants to, he can throw off this disguise and talk passionately about everything from contemporary literature and music to the Middle East and the nature of Irish sentimentality (“The Irish get criticised for being overly romantic and sentimental about their country. But most people miss the dark, dark humour at the heart of the so-called romanticism.”). He is, as his friend Bono attests, a good deal sharper than he lets on.
After the show I ask O’Boyle why MacGowan asked for me. I mention the fact that he seemed to think he recognised me. O Boyle smiled. “Not at all. Shane was bluffing. He reads your work and likes it — you’ve also written some nice stuff about him before. And then there’s the clincher: you have an Irish name. You’re never going to be too nasty about one of your own!”
The Bhoys From Paradise is out now on Active records