My Review : The Pogues (Featuring Kirsty MacColl) Fairytale of New York

 

The Pogues - Fairytale of New York

There are anniversaries that advance, reveal themselves, have desires, and all this would already suggest good fortune...

Then there are deeper, more attentive hearts that pass by, in silent parade, to explore those sides of existence without headlights. These are not fairy tales, poems, or even beautiful dreams, but rather the foundation of troubled relationships, where precariousness burns the skin of the heart, and more.

In those places, hardship, tears, discomfort, and anguish are an unwanted but ever-present embrace. And those who look upon them have the wisdom of judicious intimacy, in generous empathy and solidarity. Christmas has become a corrupt holiday and needs to be corrected with songs like this one, which for the Old Scribe is the only one that truly shows interest in events that are earth-shattering and which are, unfortunately, hidden under the decorations, lights and noise of people who have no respect for those who instead have a bus full of heartbreaking and complex tragedies.

But even an argument can give rise to a rainbow that illuminates the cerebral cortex with new visual perspectives.

Blessed be the narrative duet, the Irish folk melody, the suitcase and the vision of narrow, sky-less streets in New York. A piano and a keyboard are the seeds of an imaginative meadow that slowly covers the story of sweetness and melancholy, in a punk theatre inside a film, while exploring human sides that seem like bandits in search of surrender...

Epic and nostalgia take waltz steps as the band takes Shane and Kirsty and puts them face to face in the ring, in a boxing match in which no one throws in the towel until the climate knows the reason to change everything.

The song has a deadly alternation, on emotional and rational levels, as well as musical ones, which leads to reflection but only as a succession of tears, emotions and screams thrown into the wind of a drama that illuminates even those who are stingy with all of this: here is the true miracle of Christmas...

Contrasts find space in the new dreams and disappointments that the lyrics summarise, but with gentle kindness, while not lacking vulgar expressions, which are nevertheless necessary.

Sincerity in music cannot be silenced, and FONY proves this fully, without hesitation.

It all starts in a prison, with alcohol marking the breath of the protagonist (MacGowan), here with the only voice that seems to bring before our eyes one hundred litres of bitterness and dreams.

And, while listening to an old song (The Rare Old Mountain), the sadness of memory condenses, tormenting him, with the love for a woman who reappears, unleashing the ardour of a feeling that has never been dormant. The two battle, struggle, put up barriers until surrender comes thanks to his dreams, never ready to give up on the one who makes his heart beat fast and who forgets his problems and moves on.

In the self-destruction of love, there are petals and rays that move between curses and insults, but with the intention of silencing everything.

Here, the disillusionment of the American dream finds its boundaries, the limits and the sloppiness of a democracy that has caused new poverty. To solve this problem, all that remains is love, which unites.

In memories, Ireland becomes a balcony, a need for unspoilt views, where everything flows without the deception of modernity. It is no coincidence that many of its citizens went to the United States in the 1980s at the wrong time: Reagan was destroying without hindrance and the profound humanity of these new emigrants suddenly found itself facing a red light, a kick in the teeth to their dreams, suffering a series of terrible humiliations and ending up in an unimaginable cage.

In all this, the composition manages to give our vision of the events recounted in a detailed analysis of those who, in a war unseen and never highlighted, find themselves between alcohol, anger and the consolation of impossible loves...

Shane's hoarse, alienated voice, full of fog and shivers, takes us into the channels of a sensitive and therefore vulnerable mind, with wide strides into the walls of desires that he struggles to resist. In this astonishing credibility, he is accompanied by a fairy with red cheeks (like his voice) who kicks and declares war on her beloved. A duet/duel that explores the flood of differences between the singer born in Pembury and then became Irish and the girl from Croydon, transported as if by magic to a place far from their roots. The song meticulously brings everything together, spotlighting the energetic Celtic rock drive of a band that, starting from well-established historical foundations, knows how to add something new to a marriage that proves to be perfect. They dance, slowly at first (embracing) and then quickly, as if in a rowdy physical ritual that involves movement and the distribution of real sweat.

And here is the obvious opposition to Christmas, like a non-fiction book that is not contemplated but considered absolutely necessary by the artists in question. Seemingly light, the composition is a delicate surgical operation, an unexpected added value, a combination of street languages, of those who have nothing to improvise and nothing to lose...

The Pogues offer a helping hand, a blanket to make hope and the exchange of gifts a chance for enrichment, which does not pass through the mediocrity of gifts, which are only possible for those who have had fortunes and abilities that certainly do not gravitate towards those who experience poverty with all its shocks.

Fairytale of New York is a chimney, a harbour of the heart, a gasp, with the undeniable ability to turn the song into redemption, a project, a memory, a kiss, an endless drink with miles of drizzly beats, a silent delirium in the dynamics of musical harmonies which, between muscles and caresses, manages to glide through a story that makes the segregated world a paradise where dignity is not measured by wealth, social position and the arrogance of domination, and where the only, questionable thirst is that of power and not that of a healthy Guinness...

The text evokes the sting of an abrasion caused by a fall (both physical and moral), then disinfects the wound and restores balance and strength. Much more than a metaphor, this episode passes through reality, mythology and ancient traditions to give the Irish heart a flag that flies and will always fly with unquestionable pride. When it offers the past the chance to console, it never stops creating the present and new memories, perfectly encapsulating the true identity of the land of the shamrock.

And when it alludes to gambling (in order to change the protagonists' fortunes), we see that in the abyss, questionable but necessary choices still lie ahead. And it is apotheosis: it passes through a naivety that becomes poetry, a very high form of irony, with bitter petals falling into the heart of the story... 

When the city of apples shows itself to be inhospitable and cruel to those who are not lucky, the text reveals a bitter observation that becomes, however, a source of strength and distinction for an identity that is not afraid to highlight differences. 

It makes you want to strip down, go to Dublin and its surroundings, have an empty jute bag and the inclination to put in it the faces and stories of those who, in this song, made us cry and feel proud to want to reach a new goal... 

Alex Dematteis (Vecchio Scriba)

Musicshockworld

Salford

24 12 2025