Gloomy Tunes: The Pogues, “And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda”

Ah, St Patrick’s Day. I’m sure I could remember them fondly…if I could remember them at all. I’m not Irish, but it seemed like everyone in New York City wore green and buttons reading “Erin go bragh!”   . There’s the parade, and the businessmen’s bars in midtown opening earlier that usual; by 10am, there were lines outside every Blarney Stone on the westside. And they weren’t there for the cheap corned beef and cabbage. The Guinness was dark, and McDonald’s vanilla shakes were dyed the same color green as the faces of amateur drinkers who decided that St. Paddy’s Day is as good a day as any to have their first Jameson’s. And then there were the people who thought a day that encouraged alcoholic excess gave them license to be assholes.

And there was the music. Outside of the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, I didn’t hear much Irish music growing up. That changed after I heard the Pogues, who mixed traditional Irish sounds with a punk rock attitude, setting the template for Black 47, the Dropkick Murphys,  and just about any bar band with a gig on the 17th. They lit out for unknown territory blind drunk, an attitude that appealed to me. But as roaring as they could get, they always displayed a fatalist heart, sober reflection jockeying for position with booze-fueled foolishness. (Sadly, in singer Shane MacGowan’s case, the foolishness won. The last time I saw the band, in 2007,  he was so drunk he couldn’t remain upright, even after a amp case was wheeled out and locked in place for him to sit. I had to leave after the second time he fell off of it, if only to keep my fond memories of earlier performances intact.)

“And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda,” their cover of Eric Bogle’s 1971 classic, is one of their  saddest recordings. The tale of a soldier maimed at the battle of Gallipoli, but finds survival a tough road, as the war, the battle,  and the heroes are soon forgotten.  The one constant is”Waltzing Matilda”:  played as he’s sent to battle,  buries the dead on the battlefield, and at the parades (and later wakes) of the comrades. It’s a restrained, mournful performance, a slowly unfolding tragedy.

Steven Mirkin

Steven Mirkin’s diverse career has taken him from politics to pop culture to high art, offering him a front row seat to some of the most fascinating events and personalities of our time: writing speeches, fundraising appeals and campaign materials for Ed Koch, John Heinz and independent presidential candidate John B. Anderson; chronicling the punk/new wave scenes in New York and London; interviewing musicians such as Elton John, John Lydon and Buck Owens; profiling modern masters Julian Schnabel, Paul Schrader and Jonathan Safran Foer; and writing for TV shows including 21, The Chamber, Let's Make A Deal, and Rock Star: INXS.