A Reading From Drinking With The Pogues (1985)
Heya,
Shared this memory of Shane MacGowan Monday night at Joe Bendik’s Anti-Hoot Open Mic in the East Village.
I excerpted it from Drinking With The Pogues, an account I penned at age 21, shortly after spending a non-stop week of drinking til dawn, hosting (and burning) breakfasts in my —nightclub ghetto— Chelsea loft, and generally raising hell showing The Pogues “da real Noo Yoak” on their first ever week and first ever U.S. tour.
For reasons explained in the full manuscript —to be fabulously chronicled herein within the next days, as soon as I get it typed up - I, fortuitously, was one of the few actual friends the band had upon their arrival this side of the pond.
I can’t think of a better crew with whom to’ve shared this early arrival story about the magnificent, soulful, harmonic-tonic Shane, four days after his too-soon departure, than the crew of stellar musicians and poets at this ‘23 revival of The Fort (a moving feast founded by LACH in 1980s). They are a community of artists who keep going decade after decade, verse by verse, refrain by refrain, day job by old main drag, and never miss a heartbeat.
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