Decades ago I was on a train in Ireland and he was sitting at the table opposite to him. Like most on the train carriage, I recognised him but left him alone. Eventually someone walking through the carriage saw him and approached to quickly express his admiration/gratitude for his music and asked if he minded that he had a question about the lyrics of one of his songs. He seemed genuinely happy to engage in a conversation.

I listened, of course, and for the next 30 minutes or so, was treated to a whirlwind but fascinating tour of his ideas covering politics, philosophy, history as well as literature. He was extremely well-read. I wish I could remember the details. Maybe this transcript - https://thequietus.com/articles/09277-mark-e-smith-nick-cave... - captures the tone of the conversation.

  One summer evening drunk to hell
  I stood there nearly lifeless
  An old man in the corner sang
  Where the water lilies grow
  And on the jukebox johnny sang
  About a thing called love
  And its how are you kid and whats your name
  And how would you bloody know?
  In blood and death neath a screaming sky
  I lay down on the ground
  And the arms and legs of other men
  Were scattered all around
  Some cursed, some prayed, some prayed then cursed
  Then prayed and bled some more
  And the only thing that I could see
  Was a pair of brown eyes that was looking at me
  But when we got back, labeled parts one to three
  There was no pair of brown eyes waiting for me
  
  And a rovin, a rovin, a rovin I'll go
  For a pair of brown eyes
  
  I looked at him he looked at me
  All I could do was hate him
  While Ray and Philomena sang
  Of my elusive dream
  I saw the streams, the rolling hills
  Where his brown eyes were waiting
  And I thought about a pair of brown eyes
  That waited once for me
  So drunk to hell I left the place
  Sometimes crawling sometimes walking
  A hungry sound came across the breeze
  So I gave the walls a talking
  And I heard the sounds of long ago
  From the old canal
  And the birds were whistling in the trees
  Where the wind was gently laughing
  
  And a rovin, a rovin, a rovin I'll go
  A rovin, a rovin, a rovin I'll go
  And a rovin, a rovin, a rovin I'll go
  For a pair of brown eyes
  For a pair of brown eyes

  And a rovin, a rovin, a rovin I'll go
  And a rovin, a rovin, a rovin I'll go
  And a rovin, a rovin, a rovin I'll go
  For a pair of brown eyes
  For a pair of brown eyes

> I didn’t, of course, expect him to look like the gangly youth with the terrible teeth who looked as if he’d bleed adrenalin. I knew that the terrible teeth, or at least a lot of the terrible teeth, had gone. But I didn’t expect him to look like this. He has, it’s true, been ill. He has, apparently, had gastroenteritis. (The doctor said he could only eat clear liquids, which MacGowan, unfortunately, took to mean gin). But the man sitting opposite me, behind a table covered with packets of pills and cigarettes, reminds me both of a hobbit and a china doll. His hair is wild. His skin is pale. His lips cover gums where there should be teeth. But his eyes are clear, bright, piercing, beautiful blue.

and

> I’m not quite sure how to follow this, so I ask what ambitions he’s got left. This time there’s no pause. “To live as long as I possibly can, and to come to terms with dying before I do.”

> For a moment, we’re both quiet. For some people, this might seem like a small thing. But when you’ve drunk as much as Shane MacGowan (and not all that many people have drunk as much as Shane MacGowan) then staying alive isn’t a small thing at all.

https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/music/featu...

"It was not until he formed Pogue Mahone (a variant of Irish phrase póg mo thóin, which means "kiss my a*se"), that he was finally able to mix the rawness of punk with the Irish poetry and sentimentality of his lyrics, to huge critical and commercial acclaim."

Fairytale of New York on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9jbdgZidu8

Shane, Kirsty - RIP