Debauchery and tears. The second effort from the legendary Pogues promises it from the outset. From the cover piss-take on the painting “Le Radueau De La Medusa (The Wake of the Medusa)” to it’s fiery, howling mad content; “Rum, Sodomy and the Lash” delivers in spades. From puking up in Church to fighting the Turks in Gallipoli, from courting Sally MacLennane to riding with Jesse James, it’s all here, wrapped in the familiar wails of the Wildcats of Kilkenny.
Generally lauded by both critics and fans as the Pogues finest hour (no argument from me, except to add that “If I Should Fall From Grace…” is as good) and produced by the master himself, Elvis Costello, “RSATL” is nothing short of a perfect album. I remember finding the vinyl for $3 in a second-hand shop many years ago, and having no idea what awaited me, and if any of you bastards haven’t heard the album, then I envy you, for the first time you listen to it is almost a religious experience.
Shane’s twisted poetry has arguably never been as clear as it is on this record. Every cut a winner. Inspired. Original line-up. (A good companion to this record is the Pogues book “The Lost Decade” which details the history of the band, and also the making of this record.) It just seems the band were at their tip-top, like they never were before, and never quite would be again. Shane vocals would never be as purely emotive as they are here. He’s always the master, but this is him in his prime. The rest of the band follows his lead – From Spider’s speed demon tin whistle to Cait O’Riordan’s bass playing (always had a soft spot for ol’ Rocky) it all just works.
You can tell you’re in for a helluva ride from the outset. “The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn” promises: “there’s devils on each side of you with bottles in their hands/you need one more drop of poison and you’ll dream of foreign lands.” And off we’re whisked. The boy-prostitutes of “The Old Main Drag” sing a woe-begotten tale, which is quickly drowned out by the cries of “The Wildcats of Kilkenny.”
Up until then, things had been a wild, violent, drunken ride. Debauchery. Now come the tears. The old standard “I’m a Man You Don’t Meet Everyday” with a twist – Cait on vocals. Beautifully rendered. Tugs at the old heartstrings this. But then. Oh, but then. Perhaps Shane’s finest moment. Perhaps his purest vocals. “A Pair of Brown Eyes.” Jesus Christ, what a fucking tune. No use trying to describe the tale of war, love, loss, redemption. Just listen to it yourself. I sure as hell can’t do it justice. Modern Irish poetry.
Things pick back up for the crowd favorite “Sally MacLennane” with it’s tale of Jimmy’s exploits round the world but him never forgetting he loved the town where he was born and poor ol’ Sally. “Jimmy drank until he choked and took the road to heaven in the morning.” And what a trip it most assuredly was. The highlights just keep coming: Ewan McColl’s “Dirty Old Town” might as well have been written by Shane because after this recording, he has owned it ever since. “The Gentleman Soldier” is a sentimental favorite, million miles an hour, with punk rock vocals by the one and only Spider Stacy, and then things wrap up with the ultimate anti-war sentiment “The Band Played Waltzing Matilda” and once it ends, just try to swallow the lump in your throat.
To me, it’s simple: The genre of Irish punk owes most everything to this one record. Sure, it wasn’t their first, and certainly not their last grand moment, but for a time, there wasn’t a band on Earth that could touch the Pogues. They could turn it up like the best punk bands only wished they could, and then could choke you up like the best balladeers. From the amount of bands that cover songs from this record, it’s clear – untouchable. Legend. I think it may be the most emotionally charged record I’ve ever had the good fortune to listen to and it’s enduring quality remains even today. So grab a drink and some tissues, put the record on and travel to foreign lands, have a drink and fight the good fight one more time with the first and the best. The Pogues.
April 2002
Review by Sean Holland
