He will be around forever

There are a zillion words already written about Shane MacGowan, and there will be a zillion more to come. There’s nothing left to say without falling short of how much of a giant he is.

All I can do is give my own experiences from The Boneyard.

I was first in the presence of Shane MacGowan about 20 years ago.

The Pogues had just got back together for a string of live dates, and my old band, The Basement, were asked to open some of the shows.

The gigs were as chaotic and fun and beautiful as we expected.

I don’t remember much about the nights, or the craic that was had… It’s all a big dizzy blur.

It was a different lifetime ago; like looking into somebody else’s surreal dream.

Ten or so years later, my second band, The Lost Brothers, got a phone call from Frank Murray, who offered to manage us.

I knew who Frank was.

I had read about him in Shane MacGowan’s book.

Frank had managed not only The Pogues, but also Thin Lizzy, Van Morrison, and even Elton John for five minutes.

Frank was a legend.

In the years that followed, he brought us into his world.

The Pogues were obviously a big part of that world, and we often found ourselves in their presence.

We played a good few gigs and sessions with a few members.

Cait O’Riordan and also Terry Woods, both from The Pogues, played as part of our band on a number of separate occasions, in New York and in Ireland.

Probably somewhere else, too.

We were on a few festival line-ups with Shane, and were in his company a couple times, but never had the honour of singing a song with him.

Frank told us he liked our nod to John Fante on one of our albums.

The last time we saw him was at Frank’s funeral, about five years ago.

We were handed a couple of guitars to play along and back up Glen Hansard (who was also managed by Frank) while he sang ‘Rainy Night In Soho’.

Shane was sitting right beside us while we played it, with his wife, Victoria.

A surreal moment where lots of different worlds swam together.

Time didn’t exist.

Like everybody else in the world, I fell in love with Shane’s music from the very first time I heard it.

There’s something primal about it.

My two-year-old daughter jumped with pure joy the very first time she heard the opening two seconds of ‘Sally MacLenanne’.

It was like she always knew it.

His music is instant; in the DNA.

The news that he passed away came when I was in a practice room playing music with some friends.

We did a few bars of a Pogues song while the news sank in, but it still hasn’t hit me with sadness or a sense of loss.

Probably because he isn’t really gone.

He was always here, as ancient as the hills, and he will be around forever.

It’s a stroke of luck that we all got to be on this earth at the same point in time to witness this man be an antenna for an ancient energy, and channel it into music and song.

That’s the stuff that will last forever, and will never die.