Richard Balls - A Furious Devotion: The Authorised Story of Shane MacGowan

In memory of Dave Lally a Saint among men

One person more than any other made this book happen: Shanes old friend Paul Ronan. When I wanted to interview Shane for my Stiff Records book back in 2012, he set up a meeting in London. We became friends and it was Paul who sounded Shane out about my interest in writing his biography. He gave me invaluable advice, made introductions and accompanied me on trips to Ireland, helping me steadily build Shanes trust. Without him, there would have been no book.

As well as a fount of knowledge, Shanes sister Siobhan MacGowan has been a rock of support. From my first visit to Tipperary, she was full of encouragement and no request was ever too much trouble. Thanks to Shiv and her husband, Anthony Hayes, I spent a wonderful afternoon gathered around the kitchen table at The Commons, listening to stories from her mothers family. That fireside chat in Shanes spiritual home was the perfect place to begin what would be a long and immensely enjoyable journey.

Maurice MacGowan, Shanes father, has also been a great advocate of this book and I am grateful for his backing. He is still sharp and great company, and it was a privilege to share a few pints with him in Nenagh.

Shane and his wife Victoria always made me feel welcome, allowing me to spend time and stay with them in Dublin. Being able to sit and chat with Shane in his home made it possible to talk to him when the time was right. The result was hours of recordings. Victoria kindly gave me a lengthy interview on my final trip to Dublin, during which she provided some telling insights into the man with whom she has spent much of the past four decades.

Dave Lally was a constant voice of encouragement, as well as a great friend prior to his death. A lifelong fan, as well as a friend of Shanes, he put me in contact with people and provided a wealth of information. This book is all the richer, thanks to him, and is dedicated to his memory.

I am also indebted to the following for giving interviews or contributing via other means:

Mark Addis, Justin Bairamian, Shanne Bradley, Mary Buxton, Vicky Cahill, Sen Cannon, Ted Carroll, Joey Cashman, Nick Cave, Johnny Cronin, Michael Cronin, Joy Crookes, Thomas Dolby, Debra Donnelly, Bob Dowling, John Dunford, James Fearnley, Jem Finer, Brendan Fitzpatrick, Bernie France, Finbar Furey, Aidan Gillen, Paul Harriman, Michele Harriman-Smith, Shelley Harris, Merrill Heatley, Darryl Hunt, Tom Kenneally, Noel Kenny, Scruffy Kenny, Ingrid Knetsch, Catherine Leech, Steve Lillywhite, Kathy MacMillan, Glen Matlock, Tomi May, Paul McGuinness, Christy Moore, Lauren Mulvihill, Lisa Mulvihill, Mundy, Cillian Murphy, Maeve Murphy, Fionna Murray, Gerry OBoyle, Sinad OConnor, Trish OFlynn, Dermot OLeary, Deirdre OMahony, Terry ONeill, Jane Perry-Woodgate, Philly Ryan, Ann Scanlon, Nick Skouras, Sharon Shannon, Tom Simpson, Jamie Spencer, Mary Taylor, Liam Teeling, Julien Temple, Richard Thomas, Terry Woods.

My sincere thanks also to the editorial team at Omnibus Press. David Barraclough showed great enthusiasm for this book from the moment I pitched the idea, and he and Imogen Gordon Clark were an absolute pleasure to work with.

I would also like to thank Steve Gedge, Sally Minogue, Ken Sweeney, Rob Webb and Jon Welch, who provided information and offered other support.

Most of all, I am grateful to my wife Anne and daughters Katherine and Jessie. They had to put up with me being locked away for hours at a time and hearing more about Shane MacGowan than is healthy for anyone. With all my heart, thank you.

June 2012, London

Across the road from a private clinic in Belgravia, I wait, watching for the door to open. Shane MacGowan has an appointment and I have arranged to meet him afterwards and interview him for a book about Stiff Records. The rendezvous has been set up by Shanes old friend Paul Ronan, with whom he stays in London. I havent met Shane before, so dont know what to expect. My instinct tells me to go with the flow.

The heavy door of the exclusive doctors surgery opens and the two of them emerge. Shane is tall, with a loping gait, his eyes obscured behind thick black shades. I introduce myself and we shake hands, but hes a man on a mission. He sets off gainfully alongside the black railings and its clear this is no time for conversation. At the end of the pavement, Shane turns into a cobbled side-street. Suddenly, he stops and sways, a gigantic trail of snot dangling from his nose. He snorts it onto the street, takes a slug of water from the plastic cup hes holding before throwing that down and carrying on.

Around the corner, we settle at a small table outside a bistro. Shane is anxious. His appointment has interrupted his drinking and he seems twitchy as he waits for his order to arrive. However, once the waiter returns with his bottle of ros champagne he relaxes and, when it seems safe to do so, I switch on my recorder and begin asking some questions. Paul helps to steer things along and encourages him to chat. Shanes rambling recollections about the record label that took a chance on The Pogues are punctuated with his notorious snigger tsscchh which sounds like someone gargling with gravel. At one point he falls asleep on the recorder and I have to gently prise it from under him.

He disappears off to the toilet and when after some time he doesnt return, I ask Paul if hes OK. He assures me Shane is fine. But Im not convinced, and I head to the gents to investigate. Inside, I discover Shane has locked himself in a cubicle and is hammering on the door for help. I encourage him to simply turn the handle, but its no good, and a key is fetched by the staff to get him out.

His motor skills seem shot. Several times, he clumsily knocks his cutlery through the slats in the wooden table, and I end up helping him light his cigarettes as he struggles to do it himself. Food is spilled down his shirt. He is not drunk, but the years of abuse have taken their toll, as indicated by the carrier bag of medication with which he emerged from the clinic.

It is clear that I am in the company of a highly intelligent, extremely well-read man, with an encyclopaedic knowledge of pretty much everything. There are moments of irascibility, but overall, Shane is good company. He enjoys recounting stories and chuckles away to himself as he remembers funny things that have happened. I ask him to sign a couple of items and he is happy to oblige. To Richard. You boring asshole! Shane x, he scrawls in the front of Victorias book. Paul takes a photograph of the two of us raising a glass. There is no ego at play here. Shane is generous and there is a kindness in his eyes. Definitely.

I want to know so much more about him than his association with Stiff Records and, a couple of years later, I ask Paul, with whom I have stayed in touch, if Shane would be open to me writing his biography. To my surprise, he replies that Shane is not against the idea. And thats how it starts.

June 2018, Dublin

My eyes open and I gaze around blearily. I am on a mattress on the floor of an office and it takes a few moments for the morning fug to lift. Then I remember. I am in Shane MacGowans flat and although last night was a late one for me, I had left the others to carry on, knowing they would still be at it by daylight. I pull on some clothes and pad along the corridor to the sitting room.

Shanes tousled hair is poking up over the top of his armchair. He hasnt gone to bed and is still watching TV. Sleep is something he does without any routine. It simply comes over him wherever he happens to be. Day blurs into night and night into day. When I leave the flat to go for a walk or to get food or a pint, I leave Shanes World and re-join the one outside. Or thats how it seems.