photo: redadeg · cc by-sa 3.0 ↗The Pogues came together in London in 1982, founded by Shane MacGowan — a Tipperary-rooted, London-raised veteran of the early punk scene — under the name Pogue Mahone. Their innovation was brute and simple: play traditional Irish folk with the speed, volume and abandon of punk rock. On 'Red Roses for Me' (1984) and the Elvis Costello-produced 'Rum Sodomy & the Lash' (1985), tin whistle, accordion and banjo careened behind MacGowan's slurred, literate songwriting about emigration, drink and the Irish in England. 'Fairytale of New York,' their 1987 duet with Kirsty MacColl, became a perennial Christmas standard. MacGowan's drinking forced him out of the band in 1991; the Pogues carried on and reunited intermittently until 2014.
The Dubliners were the template The Pogues both revered and vandalised. Asked how his band differed from traditional acts like The Dubliners, MacGowan reportedly answered that they played faster and took more speed. The repertoire — drinking songs, emigration ballads, rebel tunes — and the instrumentation of banjo, accordion and whistle come straight from the Dubliners' pub-session tradition; The Pogues simply detonated it at punk tempo. The two bands later recorded 'The Irish Rover' together, a passing of the torch made explicit.
listen forCompare the Dubliners' 'Seven Drunken Nights' with 'Sally MacLennane' — the same rollicking, verse-piling folk singalong with banjo and accordion to the fore, but MacGowan takes it at a breathless, headlong gallop where the older band ambled.
MacGowan was a fixture of London's first punk wave — famously bloodied at a 1976 Clash gig — and The Clash's ragged, politically charged energy is half of the Pogues' DNA, critics dubbing the band a meeting of The Clancy Brothers and The Clash. What carries over is the Clash's conviction that amateur ferocity beats polish, and their knack for anthemic, shout-along choruses about the dispossessed.
listen forSet 'London Calling' beside 'Boys from the County Hell' — both barrel forward on a crude, driving strum and a hoarse, hollered vocal, trading melodic finesse for sheer momentum and a chorus built to be bellowed back.
MacGowan has credited the Sex Pistols — and Johnny Rotten's loud, obvious Irishness in particular — with pulling him into music at all; before the Pogues he ran a punk fanzine and fronted the Nipple Erectors. The Pistols' snarling velocity and two-minute blasts of nihilism are audible whenever the Pogues drop the ballad for full-tilt chaos.
listen forPlay 'Anarchy in the U.K.' then 'The Sick Bed of Cúchulainn' — both are frantic, sneering rushes that pile up words and speed until they nearly fall apart, the vocal spat rather than sung.