The Pogues / If I Should Fall from Grace with God (1988)

Aaah, the Pogues. They took Irish folk music, stripped it down to the nerve, and then strapped what was left to the back of a freewheeling, green-eyed punk machine. The result was a radioactive new music that blasted through speaker cones like Godzilla in a donnybrook. Out of all the Pogues' original albums and EPs, it's damned hard for me to choose a favorite. I even like Waiting for Herb, just so you know who you're talking to. But it's this Pogues slab that gets the most play around my house, and quite possibly because it's the only one that survived.

If I Should Fall from Grace with God was produced by Steve Lillywhite in 1988. His approach retained the attitude and drive of the band, while showcasing their skills as instrumentalists and songwriters. MacGowan's lyrics, his poetry, are a joy to read even without music, and here they finally see the light of day at the front of the mix. There's plenty of barking and howling, too, but between the primal punctuation marks, a listener can actually make out what he's singing. If you've ever burned time trying to discern Michael Stipe's autistic mumble in an REM song only to come up with more riddles than you started with, you'll appreciate the relative no-brainer presented by Grace. MacGowan has a gift for turning a phrase within the kinetic context of a rock and roll song that few other songwriters can manage. The product is something that works both melodically and as a narrative. Sketches of story fly by, vague impressions are tossed out, and any guesswork is left to the imagination, guided by the mood of the music behind the words.

Lillywhite's slick production is evident from the outset (these tracks sound organized!), but you know you're getting a Pogues record when you hear the aftermath of the title track's cascading accordion intro, MacGowan's cracked snarl, and classic shoutalong chorus describing a victorious day at the races. Instead of a bridge, many songs employ a thundering interlude where the band breaks into another tune. "Turkish Song of the Damned" has a Middle Eastern feel but is backed by the banshee wails of fellow band members, and sudden modulations in key follow each determined section. There's even holiday appeal in the twisted Christmas carol "A Fairytale of New York" where MacGowan trades barbs with Kirsty MacColl in call-and-response format. The cynical quips and rich imagery are pure Poguetry.

There's almost too much good music to get into here. If you buy the CD, you'll get two extra tracks that were omitted from the LP and cassette releases due to time limitations. Looking at prices around the net, I'd say it's a stonking bargain.

If you've read enough of this review and want to buy the record, try hitting up a seller at Discogs.com.
If you'd like to learn about the Pogues from a more credible source, then visit the Pogues official website.