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Source: San Fancisco Chronicle
Author: Steffan Chirazi
Date: Sunday, June 21, 1998
Contributor: Marjorie Kaufman
With teeth like a mossy picket fence and a love of revelry that embraces old Irish legend, singer-songwriter Shane MacGowan knows a thing or two about the Fleadh -- the decades-old Irish music festival coming to the United States for the first time this summer.
"That's what they call it when the towns back in Ireland get together to play music, dance, drink and celebrate life," says the 41 -year-old MacGowan, his voice beaten into a mumble by years of reckless living. With layovers in New York and Chicago, the Guinness Fleadh (Irish for "festival") sets up camp at San Jose's Spartan Stadium Field next Sunday: the wide range of performers includes Tracy Chapman, Sinead O'Connor, Chumbawamba and John Lee Hooker. "As for these touring ones, they started in London, and they're a great way to spread Irish music around the world. l've played about 20 at least, and the audiences love them because they know it's irresistible dance music -- not like synthesizers and drum machines, but in the real traditional dancing sense."
Cut from the same uniquely weathered cloth as Tom Waits and Charles Bukowski, MacGowan is the unofficial patron saint of contemporary Irish music. For 22 years he has skillfully mixed rebellious punk spirit with traditional Irish folk sounds, first as the heart of the Pogues and now as a solo artist. In turn, MacGowan's work has earned him respect from Irish legends such as Van Morrison and the Dubliners, making his appearance at the first Bay Area Fleadh compulsory.
"The Fleadh has become a wide-angled thing," he says, referring to the festival's diverse bill. "Besides, Irish music has very wide angles itself. It's been around for years. I mean, it's older than Christ, so along the way there have been many different styles coming off it."
Born in Kent, England, on Christmas Day, MacGowan grew up in the Irish town of Tipperary, culling his primary musical influence from family gatherings. "In my own kitchen_ we had musical evenings where we were playing music, dancing and singing," he says. "(lt was) homemade entertainment that was as exciting as any rock gig l've ever been to. Plus it happened on a regular basis, because there was no telly when I was a kid."
After moving to London as a teenager and fronting various punk groups, MacGowan formed the Pogues in 1983. The band successfully transported its home-kitchen spirit to audiences worldwide, but endless whiskey-saturated tours took their toll, and in 1992 MacGowan left.
"I have great memories, but things went sour at the end," he says. "We were touring too much, and then the musical differences started to come up. They were moving away from the Irish thing, and I was sticking firmly to it."
MacGowan remains a happy Luddite when it comes to musical trends and changes. "Technology and computers are gradually taking the humanity out of everything, including music," he says. , 'There are great advances made medically by technology, but otherwise an awful lot of this computers -- really gives me the willies."
MacGowan's frail appearance and persistent lost-weekend lifestyle make his imminent demise a constant rumor. "I do get my kicks," he acknowledges dryly. "But people have tried to make me out to be this mad drunk who's got six months to live. It gets a bit boring, really. Not to mention it's racist stereotyping, with the whole 'drunken Paddy' stuff, though l suppose it's the truth to a large extent. But the thing about it is that (the Irish are) just people who know how to celebrate life, and just celebrate death."
Currently negotiating a U.S. deal for his solo album, just out in Europe and titled "A Crock of Gold," MacGowan has a simple wish for those going to see him at the Fleadh. "Anybody who wants to come along, dance, get into it and give us back the energy we put out, that'll be great," he says. "I'm trying to bring the spirit of those childhood Fleadhs to these ones."