Happy Christmas, Your Arse, I Pray God It’s Our Last

Happy Christmas, Your Arse, I Pray God It’s Our Last

This morning on my walk to work, I listened to my favorite Christmas song,
“Fairytale of New York” by the Pogues and Kirsty McColl. Actually, it’s not
just my favorite Christmas song, it’s one of my top five favorite songs of
all time*. I first heard it when I was just an impressionable young lass in
1987, and it affected me profoundly, making me think that future Christmases
would be all about doomed love and being drunk (turns out, I wasn’t too far
off the mark). In its own depressing way, it’s the most wonderful Christmas
song ever, combining the miserable:

She: You’re a bum
You’re a punk
He: You’re an old slut on junk

She: You scum bag
You maggot
You cheap lousy faggot

with the sublime:

She: When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me

She: You took my dreams from me when I first found you
He: I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can’t make it all alone
I’ve built my dreams around you

Some years later, I was living in Ireland, and I listened to the song on my
Walkman as I looked out over Galway Bay (“And the boys of the NYPD Choir
were sing ‘Galway Bay’…”) shortly before Christmas. It’s a lovely memory,
even if that Christmas was all about the doomed love (and the being drunk).

I thought I didn’t have a copy of the song anymore, my copy of the Pogues’
If I Should Fall from Grace with God having gone missing after a party a few
years back, but then I remembered that I had picked up Kirsty McColl’s
Greatest Hits on a trip to London*, and it’s on that. The Pogues are, of
course, one of the greatest bands of all time, but what really makes this
song work are Kirsty’s poignant vocals. It feels appropriate to remember
Kirsty at this time of year; it was six years ago this week that she was
killed, run down by an out of control speedboat as she pushed her children
to safety. (Those responsible have yet to be brought to justice.) So, when
you hear “Fairytale of New York” this season, please pour out a 40 in
Kirsty’s memory. And check out her Greatest Hits, which contains some of her
original songs (like “They Don’t Know,” a hit for Tracey Ullman in the 80s,
and “There’s a Guy Works Down the Chip Shop Swears He’s Elvis”), fantastic
covers (Billy Bragg’s “New England” and the Smiths’ “You Just Haven’t Earned
It Yet, Baby”), and another collaboration with the Pogues (Cole Porter’s
“Miss Otis Regrets”). It’s great stuff.

Posting will be sporadic for the next few weeks (even more sporadic than
it’s been lately, I should say), because of the holidays and some computer
issues (it’s hard to compose a coherent post when the t, g, and keys only
work part of the time). See you sometime in January.

*Yes, I actually make lists like this in my head.
**That phrase sounds ever so pretentious. I was with Lord Kissington, and he
said, “Who’s Kirsty McColl” and I replied, “Oh, you have so much to learn,
grasshopper.” Actually, it’s more likely that I said something along the
lines of, “Dude, you’ve never heard of Kirsty McColl? We are so over.”