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An utterly brilliant lyricist -- the Irish Tom Waits -- MacGowan spins his tales of demons, salvation and the ones that got away (they were pushed) and it's as if the Pogues are back together again, because despite his unreliability, MacGowan was the heart, soul, head and feet of the Pogues. And though his voice is ragged and troubled by quicker tempos, MacGowan proves himself a masterful songwriter, who can't taint his gift with the daily gallons of stout.
Just before MacGowan was booted from the Pogues, the band was moving in harder, punkier directions, and that continues with The Snake, which is a little unfortunate. The best things about this album are the broad majesty of such tunes as The Song With No Name and The Rising of the Moon, with all the Irish instrumentation and the yearning lyrics.
Like any cool drunk, MacGowan wants you to have a drink with him, and this album is like your average barroom conversation: boisterous, sloppy and a little unsatisfying. But it's a sod better than going alone.