“Alright, Manchester!” Spider Stacy’s unmistakable voice, a blend of grit and warmth, resonated through the O2 Apollo, met by a thunderous wave of cheers that affirmed the city’s anticipation. Tonight’s gathering was a pilgrimage of sorts, a communal revisiting of The Pogues’ seminal 1985 album, Rum Sodomy & the Lash. Though the shadow of Shane MacGowan, the band’s iconic bard who passed away in late 2023, inevitably lingered, this performance felt less like a sombre memorial and more like a vibrant continuation of a legacy etched in spirited rebellion and poetic heart. Original pillars Jem Finer, his banjo a steadfast anchor, and the multi-talented James Fearnley stood alongside a dynamic ensemble featuring younger musicians and a rotating cast of compelling guest vocalists, each adding their own hue to the Pogues’ rich tapestry.
There were initial concerns about this tour—a brief series of dates celebrating the album’s anniversary—that it might turn into a respectful but ultimately static tribute. However, the energy in the Apollo venue quickly dispelled any such doubts. The carefully chosen lineup of guest vocalists played a key role in this. Nadine Shah delivered a haunting rendition of the anti-war song “Pair of Brown Eyes.” While the audience enthusiastically joined in the sing-along, her unique vocal timbre shone through, particularly on tracks like “The Old Main Drag.” John Francis Flynn performed “The Band Played Waltzing Matilda” with a blend of tenderness and determination, paying homage to its bittersweet narrative.
While MacGowan’s name was spoken sparingly, a poignant dedication preceding a stirring rendition of “The Parting Glass,” his spirit permeated the very essence of the evening. It’s a familiar refrain to say an artist lives on through their work, but within the confines of that Manchester venue, it felt palpably true. The unbroken chain of his songs, each delivered with the band’s signature blend of raw energy and heartfelt emotion, seemed to conjure his enduring presence. Even Stacy’s occasionally slurred but always impassioned vocal delivery, a characteristic that often mirrored MacGowan’s own live performances, served as an unintentional yet fitting link to the band’s past.
The enduring magic of The Pogues has always resided in their beautiful contradiction: poignant lyricism delivered with a raucous, almost drunken abandon. This very paradox was on full display in Manchester. Heartbreakingly tender words were belted out by a crowd in full voice, their joyous energy occasionally spilling over into spontaneous crowd-surfing during the achingly beautiful ballad “I’m a Man You Don’t Meet Every Day,” sung with captivating vulnerability by harpist Iona Zajac. This seemingly incongruous blend of raw energy and profound emotion remains the very heart of The Pogues’ enduring appeal.
“Now the song is nearly over,” O’Neill sang, her voice carrying the bittersweet weight of loss and the enduring power of art. “We may never find out what it means / Still there’s a light I hold before me / You’re the measure of my dreams.” While the absence of Shane MacGowan remains a wound that time may heal, on this night in Manchester, his incandescent genius lived on. It stood as a vibrant testament to a legacy that continues to inspire and unite.
