BORN TO RUM

Dragging traditional folk into the rock sphere while on the precipice of international stardom, The Pogues looked like a chaotically ramshackle and dysfunctional unit in the mid-80s with second album Rum, Sodomy & The Lash. In reality they were a resolutely determined hard-working band.

- Alex Burrows

Banjo player, folk music aficionado and actor/comedian Billy Connolly once described The Dubliners as “folk music’s Rolling Stones”. If that’s the case, then The Pogues were its Sex Pistols: controversial, outspoken, unapologetic, but ultimately revered and respected for breaking the mould, and evolving the Celtic folk sound. Released towards the end of summer 40 years ago, The Pogues’ classic second album, Rum, Sodomy & The Lash, was a remarkable progression from the previous year’s debut Red Roses For Me – in terms of lead vocalist Shane MacGowan’s songwriting as well as the band’s rapidly accelerating popularity and notoriety.

Formed in London’s King’s Cross in 1982, The Pogues were originally named Pogue Mahone – an Anglicisation of the Irish phrase ‘póg mo thóin’, meaning ‘kiss my arse’. (Shane’s previous band, punk rock upstarts The Nipple Erectors, similarly abbreviated their name to the slightly less puerile The Nips).

With their punk background, their singer’s insatiable thirst and the exuberance of their early material, it’s easy to assume that life in The Pogues followed a clichéd rock’n’roll template of wild living and non-stop partying. But the famously raucous party atmosphere of the band’s live shows belied the dedication of the self-taught musicians.

“I wouldn’t say it was that chaotic,” says tin whistle player and vocalist Spider Stacy. “We were following a steady trajectory; we were getting more and more popular. Shane’s songwriting was just expanding.”

“There certainly was a fair amount of hard drinking,” says drummer Andrew Ranken. “But we were also working hard. There was a degree of professionalism and discipline, if somewhat unconventional and hard to recognise at times. We liked to get things done.”

Rocketing out of the vinyl, the three-minute blast of The Sick Bed of Cúchulainn is a perfect opener for