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The Pogues – Rum, Sodomy And The Lash + ‘Poguetry in Motion’ EP

The Pogues – Rum, Sodomy And The Lash
+ ‘Poguetry in Motion’ EP
mp3@192
Man, I played Rum, Sodomy And The Lash to death when it first came out!

A stone cold classic!

What’s more the CD issue comes replete with the wonderful Poguetry in Motion’ EP!

Get downloading now motherfuckers!

`Rum, Sodomy and the Lash’ was Winston Churchill’s famous description of the British Royal Navy and somehow suits the album down to the ground. The album its self is a masterpiece and certainly The Pogues most perfect and fully realised album, perfectly portraying their fantastic live performances of this period, the height of Shane MacGowan’s songwriting and there most inventive reinterpretation of traditional folk music.

Of the Shane MacGowan originals the singles `Sally MacLennane’ and `A Pair of Brown Eyes’ were obvious choices but `The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn’ `Billy’s Bones’ and `The Old Main Drag’ are equally accomplished songs. Only the instrumental `Wild Cats of Kilkenny’ smack of filler.

The choice and arrangement of the majority of the traditional standard are also inspired. `Dirty Old Town’ was possibly over produced to engineer it into their biggest single up to that point but the rough performances of `Navigator’, `The Gentleman Soldier’ and the Spider Stacey driven `Jesse James’ fit in with the album theme so much more. The one trick `I’m a Man You Don’t Meet Every Day’ is possibly the albums lowest point. The album ends perfectly with a fantastic performance on Eric Bogle’s `The Band Played Waltzing Matilda’.

The CD re-issue also includes the `Poguetry in Motion’ e.p. which is worth the cover price alone. Either of `The Body of an American’, `Rainy Night in Soho’ or `London Girl’ could have been singles in their own right and highlights the strength of MacGowan’s song writing during this period.

– Amazon reviewer

Tracklisting

1. Sick Bed of Cuchulainn
2. Old Main Drag
3. Wild Cats of Kilkenny
4. I’m a Man You Don’t Meet Every Day
5. Pair of Brown Eyes
6. Sally Mac Lennane
7. Pistol for Paddy Garcia
8. Dirty Old Town
9. Jesse James
10. Navigator
11. Billy’s Bones
12. Gentleman Soldier
13. Band Played Waltzing Matilda
14. A Pistol For Paddy Garcia (Bonus Track)
15. London Girl (Bonus Track)
16. Rainy Night In Soho (Bonus Track)
17. Body Of An American (Bonus Track)
18. Planxty Noel Hill (Bonus Track)
19. The Parting Glass (Bonus Track)

pw=gammon (if needed)
Big thanks to the original poster

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June 27, 2008 Posted by | Music_Alternative, Music_IrishMusic, Shane McGowan, The Pogues, _MUSIC | Leave a comment

The Pogues – Red Roses For Me + Bonus Tracks



The Pogues – Red Roses For Me
+ Bonus Tracks
mp3@192

The magnificent debut from Shane Mac Gowan and his pals!

A real kick in the ass for the music biz at the time … and especially for the rarified world of Irish traditional music!

This astounding debut appeared fully-formed and gloriously unique, preceded only by their single Dark Streets Of London (in a slightly different version to that on the album), its surface shambolics belying a solid musical and lyrical depth and maturity. Red Roses For Me was produced by Stan Brennan, who ran Rocks Off Records in West One, where Shane sometimes served behind the counter. It was his long term mission to get the band off the ground, and he managed to pour the Pogue magic, unspilled and distilled, into the flagon at Wapping’s tiny Elephant Studios.

The Anglo Celtic sound of the Pogues, fermented in London’s glamorous King’s Cross, is a mixture of pub and punk, both Shane and Mancunian Maestro Jimmy Fearnley having been veterans of punk band the Nips (formerly the Nipple Erectors), but played with an exuberance and an excellence that proved impossible to resist, despite the dark rising tide of New Romanticism, except by an old guard who thought the Pogues represented the stereotype of the drunken Irish paddy they were trying to escape. To be fair, it is rumoured that Shane likes a drink.

The album is embellished with six vital bonus tracks. And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda, Eric Bogle’s chilling account of Gallipoli, was revisited on Rum, Sodomy And The Lash, but this is the original flipside of their debut single. You may know the song by Eric Bogle or June Tabor, but not like this. Repeal Of The Licensing Laws was the B-side of the (cleaned-up) Boys From The County Hell. The band returned to Elephant in 1985 to record the B-sides Whiskey You’re The Devil and Muirshin Durkin, both for the single A Pair Of Brown Eyes, and The Wild Rover and The Leaving Of Liverpool backed up Sally MacLennane. Those last two A-sides are from Rum, Sodomy And The Lash, the next essential Pogues acquisition after this one.

Tracklisting

1. Transmetropolitan
2. Battle of Brisbane
3. Auld Triangle
4. Waxie’s Dargle
5. Boys from the Country Hell
6. Sea Shanty
7. Dark Streets of London
8. Streams of Whiskey
9. Poor Paddy
10. Dingle Regatta
11. Greenland Whale Fisheries
12. Down in the Ground Where the Deadmen Go
13. Kitty
14. The Leaving Of Liverpool (Bonus Track)
15. Muirshin Durkin (Bonus Track)
16. Repeal Of The Licensing Laws (Bonus Track)
17. And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda (Bonus Track)
18. Whiskey You’re The Devil (Bonus Track)
19. The Wild Rover (Bonus Track)

pw=gammon (if needed)
Big thanks to the original poster

Mail us: stupidand@gmail.com

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June 27, 2008 Posted by | Music_Alternative, Music_IrishMusic, Shane McGowan, The Pogues, _MUSIC | Leave a comment

The Essence of Muscial Sadness – Duende

This chick in the Guardian writes a piece on that indescribable essence of sadness, duende, that resides in much great music.

Erm … I saw a Nick Cave “lecture” on this about 10 years ago! Get the finger out, baby!! (I believe she’s got a scoop next week about a new Dylan album. I think it’s called “Blood on the Tracks” or something. Can’t wait!!)

Most of the songs that we love are sad songs, because we experience profound disappointment in our lives, all of us. And to hear it sung, well, that’s what this whole racket is about, isn’t it?

Leonard Cohen – LA Weekly, 2001

The article actually neglects to discuss an ancient practice of this duende found much nearer to Britland than the Iberian peninsula.

In Ireland there’s a whole sub-genre of traditional music called “Sean Nos” (meaning “the old style”) which specialises exclusively in this duende.

Sean Nos, at its purest, essentially comprises unaccompanied singing – often of long laments, or what could sometimes be described as a kind of keening. It’s somewhat akin to an extended chanting, that repetitive ritualised rhyrhmic recitation adopted by so many religions in their various ceremonies (man, I love alliteration!), and can have a similarly calming or soothing effect, betimes even therapeutic.

It’s origins are said to date back many many centuries to Arabia, having come north via shipping expeditions to the North Atlantic, where sailors, having made the distant shores, either voluntarily (e.g. having met a redhead booby nympho etc) or involuntarily (shipwrecks etc) did not return home.

This is most likely the same source as the traditional Portuguese and Spanish song styles discussed by Cave in his original lecture and in the article below.

Here’s an example of Sean Nos, with Seán de hOra singing Bean Dubh an Ghleanna (Dark Haired Lady of the Glens) in an Irish Church (aka Bar !) on the Dingle Peninsula, from 1980.

Dark Haired Lady of the Glens? Methinks Bobby Dylan was more than a tad aware of this ancient trad song before coming up with “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” (about his future wife Sara) !

BTW, if you ever do find yourself in Dingle, sup up as much Guinness as is physically possible, as the very best of the stuff is only to be had down there! Don’t worry – it won’t do any permanent harm. I’ve done it loads of times and I’m fine. Don’t worry – it won’t do any permanent harm. I’ve done it loads of times and I’m fine … I do however sometimes unknowingly repeat myself! Hic!!!

===========================================


‘I’ve long been a devotee of that particular, inexplicable sadness that lurks within so many great songs – but I never knew it had a name’


Laura Barton
Friday March 14, 2008
The Guardian

Not so very long ago I received an email upon the subject of duende, a topic about which I knew little, but which I have since learned is what Nick Cave has described as “the eerie and inexplicable sadness that lives at the heart of certain works of art”. It was nice, I felt, to put a name to a face.
Cave spoke about duende in a lecture at the Vienna poetry festival in 1999, drawing upon earlier work by Federico García Lorca. “In contemporary rock music, the area in which I operate, music seems less inclined to have at its soul, restless and quivering, the sadness that Lorca talks about,” Cave said. “Excitement, often; anger sometimes – but true sadness, rarely. Bob Dylan has always had it. Leonard Cohen deals specifically with it. It pursues Van Morrison like a black dog and though he tries to, he cannot escape it. Tom Waits and Neil Young can summon it. It haunts Polly Harvey. My friends the Dirty 3 have it by the bucketload …”

Duende was, in Latin American mythology, a goblin-like creature, but it was Lorca who first spoke about it in artistic terms. “The duende is a force, not a labour, a struggle, not a thought,” he said. “I heard an old maestro of the guitar say: ‘The duende is not in the throat: the duende surges up, inside, from the soles of the feet.’ Meaning, it’s not a question of skill, but of a style that’s truly alive: meaning, it’s in the veins.” Lorca identified its presence, particularly, in cante jondo, a kind of Andalusian folk music. “Behind these poems,” he wrote, “lurks a terrible question that has no answer.”

Duende is what I look for in a song, for that terrible, answerless question. It is a feeling one experiences less as an aural sensation but almost as one catches a fragrance, fleetingly, on the breeze. If there is a song that sets out duende’s stall it is surely Bonnie “Prince” Billy’s I See a Darkness: “But can you see its opposition come rising up sometimes/ That this dreadful imposition comes blacking in my mind.”

And if there is a voice that carries duende’s message it belongs to Karen Dalton ; it was her voice tangled round my head as I read Lorca’s words, in which he described the singing of Pastora Pavón: “It jetted up like blood, ennobled by sorrow and sincerity,” he said. Then I thought of Dalton harrowing her way through Katie Cruel: “It opened up like 10 fingers of a hand around the nailed feet of a Christ by Juan de Juni – tempestuous!”

To Lorca, to Cave, duende is associated with a proximity to death. It is a different force to that of the angel or the muse, Lorca argued, for they work externally; duende moves internally, with the brain and the blood and the bile duct. A couple of years ago Jan Zwicky of the University of Victoria explored its relationship with popular music further, noting that we catch the air of death on such songs: “We sense the gleam of the knife, we smell the blood.”

To me the fragrance is of a less violent mortality, of the less extraordinary deaths that we are likely to meet. I sniff out that scent of duende more readily, to use Cave’s work as an example, not in the high colour of his murder ballads, but in the blossoms and the morning bird of People Ain’t No Good, in all of its forlorn insistences that seem to rise up from the feet, through the veins, to Cave’s voice: “To our love send back all the letters/ To our love a valentine of blood/ To our love let all the jilted lovers cry/ That people they just ain’t no good.”

March 17, 2008 Posted by | Music_IrishMusic, Nick Cave, _MUSIC | 3 Comments

The Essence of Muscial Sadness – Duende

This chick in the Guardian writes a piece on that indescribable essence of sadness, duende, that resides in much great music.

Erm … I saw a Nick Cave “lecture” on this about 10 years ago! Get the finger out, baby!! (I believe she’s got a scoop next week about a new Dylan album. I think it’s called “Blood on the Tracks” or something. Can’t wait!!)

Most of the songs that we love are sad songs, because we experience profound disappointment in our lives, all of us. And to hear it sung, well, that’s what this whole racket is about, isn’t it?

Leonard Cohen – LA Weekly, 2001

The article actually neglects to discuss an ancient practice of this duende found much nearer to Britland than the Iberian peninsula.

In Ireland there’s a whole sub-genre of traditional music called “Sean Nos” (meaning “the old style”) which specialises exclusively in this duende.

Sean Nos, at its purest, essentially comprises unaccompanied singing – often of long laments, or what could sometimes be described as a kind of keening. It’s somewhat akin to an extended chanting, that repetitive ritualised rhyrhmic recitation adopted by so many religions in their various ceremonies (man, I love alliteration!), and can have a similarly calming or soothing effect, betimes even therapeutic.

It’s origins are said to date back many many centuries to Arabia, having come north via shipping expeditions to the North Atlantic, where sailors, having made the distant shores, either voluntarily (e.g. having met a redhead booby nympho etc) or involuntarily (shipwrecks etc) did not return home.

This is most likely the same source as the traditional Portuguese and Spanish song styles discussed by Cave in his original lecture and in the article below.

Here’s an example of Sean Nos, with Seán de hOra singing Bean Dubh an Ghleanna (Dark Haired Lady of the Glens) in an Irish Church (aka Bar !) on the Dingle Peninsula, from 1980.

Dark Haired Lady of the Glens? Methinks Bobby Dylan was more than a tad aware of this ancient trad song before coming up with “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” (about his future wife Sara) !

BTW, if you ever do find yourself in Dingle, sup up as much Guinness as is physically possible, as the very best of the stuff is only to be had down there! Don’t worry – it won’t do any permanent harm. I’ve done it loads of times and I’m fine. Don’t worry – it won’t do any permanent harm. I’ve done it loads of times and I’m fine … I do however sometimes unknowingly repeat myself! Hic!!!

http://www.youtube.com/v/2MeaOZKY80o&hl=en

===========================================


‘I’ve long been a devotee of that particular, inexplicable sadness that lurks within so many great songs – but I never knew it had a name’


Laura Barton
Friday March 14, 2008
The Guardian

Not so very long ago I received an email upon the subject of duende, a topic about which I knew little, but which I have since learned is what Nick Cave has described as “the eerie and inexplicable sadness that lives at the heart of certain works of art”. It was nice, I felt, to put a name to a face.
Cave spoke about duende in a lecture at the Vienna poetry festival in 1999, drawing upon earlier work by Federico García Lorca. “In contemporary rock music, the area in which I operate, music seems less inclined to have at its soul, restless and quivering, the sadness that Lorca talks about,” Cave said. “Excitement, often; anger sometimes – but true sadness, rarely. Bob Dylan has always had it. Leonard Cohen deals specifically with it. It pursues Van Morrison like a black dog and though he tries to, he cannot escape it. Tom Waits and Neil Young can summon it. It haunts Polly Harvey. My friends the Dirty 3 have it by the bucketload …”

Duende was, in Latin American mythology, a goblin-like creature, but it was Lorca who first spoke about it in artistic terms. “The duende is a force, not a labour, a struggle, not a thought,” he said. “I heard an old maestro of the guitar say: ‘The duende is not in the throat: the duende surges up, inside, from the soles of the feet.’ Meaning, it’s not a question of skill, but of a style that’s truly alive: meaning, it’s in the veins.” Lorca identified its presence, particularly, in cante jondo, a kind of Andalusian folk music. “Behind these poems,” he wrote, “lurks a terrible question that has no answer.”

Duende is what I look for in a song, for that terrible, answerless question. It is a feeling one experiences less as an aural sensation but almost as one catches a fragrance, fleetingly, on the breeze. If there is a song that sets out duende’s stall it is surely Bonnie “Prince” Billy’s I See a Darkness: “But can you see its opposition come rising up sometimes/ That this dreadful imposition comes blacking in my mind.”

And if there is a voice that carries duende’s message it belongs to Karen Dalton ; it was her voice tangled round my head as I read Lorca’s words, in which he described the singing of Pastora Pavón: “It jetted up like blood, ennobled by sorrow and sincerity,” he said. Then I thought of Dalton harrowing her way through Katie Cruel: “It opened up like 10 fingers of a hand around the nailed feet of a Christ by Juan de Juni – tempestuous!”

To Lorca, to Cave, duende is associated with a proximity to death. It is a different force to that of the angel or the muse, Lorca argued, for they work externally; duende moves internally, with the brain and the blood and the bile duct. A couple of years ago Jan Zwicky of the University of Victoria explored its relationship with popular music further, noting that we catch the air of death on such songs: “We sense the gleam of the knife, we smell the blood.”

To me the fragrance is of a less violent mortality, of the less extraordinary deaths that we are likely to meet. I sniff out that scent of duende more readily, to use Cave’s work as an example, not in the high colour of his murder ballads, but in the blossoms and the morning bird of People Ain’t No Good, in all of its forlorn insistences that seem to rise up from the feet, through the veins, to Cave’s voice: “To our love send back all the letters/ To our love a valentine of blood/ To our love let all the jilted lovers cry/ That people they just ain’t no good.”

March 17, 2008 Posted by | Music_IrishMusic, Nick Cave, _MUSIC, _RELIGION | Leave a comment