 |
| ON THE TOWN, ON THE PROWL with SHANE MACGOWAN |
| NICE PEGS, SHANE ABOUT THE FACE Post-Punk musical poet Shane MacGowan's been slurring out a few songs again. Belfast Limelight 15th March 2004 It's just before 1 O'clock on the 15th March. We're in the Limelight on Belfast's Ormeau Avenue and Shane MacGowan is in the building - apparently. It's a very full house tonight and most of the crowd have been waiting for the best part of two hours to see the main act, but the humour is good. It's two days before St Patricks Day you see, and the ceIebrations have started already. Six deep at the bar, a man at the back howling like a wolf (yeee haaa - PDC) and hardly room to scratch your nose on the dance-floor as the crowd heaves and pogoes looking for a breath of air. It's also hot - very hot. The only thing cooling the crowd down is the regular glasses of beer being flung across the crowd - plastic luckily! But that's the way it should be for a Shane McGowan gig. For these are the venues that made Shane - the early eighties, London, sweaty heaving Irish clubs on Friday nights, like the Galtimore - Kilburn High Road. The Electric Ballroom - Camden, The Irish Centre - Hammersmith, full of first and second generation Irish; not quite sure where they bad came from and less sure where they were going; searching for a voice. In the days before Riverdance and The Celtic Tiger, before the rise of U2, before the peace process. Maggie hadn't yet come to power and punk was in its prime, and from the messy and angry entrails of punk came the Irish diaspora's most eloquent and visceral voice. MacGowan's song writing transcended punk, transcended tradition, transcended time. And the crowd tonight have come to pay homage to their favourite voice. From the moment MatGowan shuffles on stage, the crowd erupts. The band launch into 'If I Snould Fall From Grace With God' and Shane lifts his hands and head to the audience. He's ready to go. He's drunk of course - that much we've come to expect. but that doesn't stop him singing with a passion and conviction that many younger singers would kill for. It's not always easy to pick out the words as he slurs his way through 'Dirty Old Town'; 'Sick Bed of Cuchulainn' ; 'Body of an American' ; 'A Pair of Brown Eyes'; and even Hank Williams 'Angel of Death', but we're not here to listen every note and word. We know them all already. We've listened, marvelled and dreamed with Shane all our lives, and tonight isn't any different. Shane finishes his encore with 'Sally MacLellane', and the line rings out: "I'm sad to say I must be on my way..." and with that he shuffles off the stage and into the night, punk poet and dreamer voice for a whole generation. BRENDAN DELL (Cheers to Joe Donnelly for supplying the review) ON THE TOWN, THE PROWL, Also on Tuesday, (March 16th) but up in Dublin, SHANE MacGOWAN proved he's still got an eye for ladies as the hard-drinkin' legend took to the dance floor in Renards to groove behind the gorgeous GLENDA GILSON. Despite the late night, the following day (St Patricks Day March 17th) Shane was up on stage in Belfast to entertain the crowds only for Belfast's Lord Mayor Martin Morgan to complain he was drunk and a bad example to the audience that were mainly teenage kids and their parents. Eh, hello...what did you expect? He was expected to perform a gig in Belfast on the same night but the gig was cancelled when the street the venue was situated on was co-ordened off after a subsequent ficticious bombscare. Nihilism On The Prowl points an accusing finger in the direction of the pious Lord Mayor. However I'm sure the blaggard Mr MacGowan was busy sampling the stock behind the local bars that were still left open!!! |
 |
 |
 |
|
|
|