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A Man You Don't Meet Every Day
Nov. 30th, 2023 04:48 pm Dear Shane,
Well, bud, here we are. You've checked out, and I'm still here, and somehow, that seems a colossal ripoff to me.
I wish I had gotten off my dead ass and wrote to you while you were still with us in body, but when you just drift through life, putting off stuff like that can lead to regret, and that, dear Shane, will be my drink of choice tonight. Regret.
I regrest that I never put pen to paper and told you how much your music meant to me. About how after a breakup with a lovely girl, I put "Rainy Night in Soho" on repeat, cried, and drank Bushmills till I passed out. I regret never telling you that "Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash" was one of those rare albums I'd actually rush back into a burning building to save. Or telling you how you ignited my pipe dream of moving to Ireland to become a drunk poet. I was never very good at poetry, it turns out. I think it's a curse, personally, or maybe just karma biting me in the ass in this life.
I'd watch interviews with you. Some hosts were thoughtful, and could see the poet and story teller behind your sloshed expression, and slured speech. Some treated you as a clown. 'Let's have one with McGowan! He'll be tanked, and it'll be a riot!' And then I saw how you could intelligently answer one of their dumber questions, and they would be taken aback. There's something to this McGowan fella.
You and The Pogues ignited my own curiosity about my Irish heritage, and I came to know my ancestor, Kate Murray. She sailed from Cobh in County Cork bound to the port of New Orleans. Her and her parents. But only Kate would wind up reaching America's shores. Your song "Thousands are Sailing" really brought that home for me.
But Shane, you mad bastard, I'm glad I found you. I'm sad we couldn't share a pint, but you still made me smile, think, and even weep a little from afar. You didn't consider yourself a hero, but goddamn it, you were, are, and will always be to this kid born in the Irish section of Chicago. Belting out the song "Navigator" at the top of my lungs as I drove down I-35 in Dallas, or making people scratch their heads at karaoke here in Nashville when I sang "Body of an American" complete with your slurred pronunciation. Let's face it. If you're gonna karaoke The Pogues, go all out. I even had a pint in my hand.
Shane, I will miss you. I wish you could see all the lovely tributes to you. You are loved, dear Shane, so very loved.
I'll be having a glass of Tully tonight for you. I will light a candle, and I will have The Pogues on repeat into the night.
Your Mate You Never Met,
Dane
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