20th Century Paddy provides a bloated, if heartfelt, tribute to Shane MacGowan
"20th Century Paddy – The Songs of Shane MacGowan"
The late Pogues frontman Shane MacGowan is a Great Irish Songbook unto himself, so it stands to reason that many fellow musicians would jump at the chance to cover his work.
Add to the mix the worthiness of the project, with 50% of artist royalties going to homelessness charity Dublin Simon Community, and you’ve a solid concept on your hands: a late-in-the-year tribute to that most festive of rockstars. But then you begin to skim the tracklist, and keep skimming… and keep skimming.
There are a whopping 36 tracks on this thing, presumably in the interest of keeping egos unbruised. You’d be forgiven – and correct – for assuming quality control wasn’t a priority. As is standard for a tribute record, efforts can be filed broadly into three categories: faithful renditions, reinventions (successful and otherwise), and acts doing their usual routine with a new set of chords.
The first category provokes mostly yawns. There’s a touch of The X Factor to Hozier and Jessie Buckey’s “Fairytale Of New York” (it doesn’t work if the MacGowan character has a pretty voice), and Johnny Mac & The Faithful’s “Fiesta” sounds a blast to play but does nothing new. An exception can be made for David Gray’s sinew-straining, fully dedicated version of “The Old Main Drag”, even if his shot-by-shot remake extends to the final, weary exhalation of the title.
The long-in-the-tooth acts doing things their own way are for the most part more interesting. Tom Waits croons / groans “Summer In Siam” quite as you’d expect, while The Jesus & Mary Chain smartly choose “I’ll Be Your Handbag”, perhaps the only MacGowan cut that would already sound at home on Creation Records.
But then there’s Primal Scream’s “A Pair Of Brown Eyes”. Gillespie et al. make the intriguing decision to sap all emotion one of the most beautiful songs ever written, turning the baleful, seasick sway of the original into yet another faux-Americana 4/4 stomper. Shockingly, flattening the rhythm and adding twangy guitars and backing singers hasn’t improved this one.
Given MacGowan’s unapeable idiosyncrasies, it’s unsurprising that the less reverent efforts make for more interesting, generally successful work. Liam O’Maonlai’s “The Broad Majestic Shannon” is at the very least an intriguing take, finding a ghost story in one of The Pogues’ finest melodies.
Kate Moss, of all people, scores high on a Best Coast-esque “Lonesome Highway” (she certainly fares better than contemporaneous style icon Johnny Depp, embarrassing himself as per usual). The Murder Capital’s blown out “The Song With No Name” stands on its own for daringness and sheer quality, and Lisa O’Neill naturally kills it on “Dark Streets Of London”, turning an early Pogues knees-up into a tortured night of the soul.
While the majority of acts acquit themselves well or at least pay touching respects to the late great, there’s just no reason for the record to be so long other than paying fealty to the stars it had attracted. Perhaps a straightforward tribute to a Pogues album would have been the better approach; or, maybe, someone could’ve plucked up the courage to tell Mr Springsteen that his rather dull “Rainy Night In Soho” didn’t make the cut.
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