THE SONG WENT ON THOUGH THE LIGHTS WERE GONE

Shane MacGowan ambled on stage like a golem, each size-12 foot pointing outward like a strategically placed plank, with a couple of hours of tenuous balance the end goal.

He sprayed the mike with something resembling “Misfarbinshungtumonibushgreadcodpiecefuggerwakinklickcick.” I caught mrs. brain coral’s eye and we both kind of shrugged and applauded.

As the night went on, it became apparent that these utterances were generally the song intros. I think I finally figured it out when I heard “sislymacnen” and then the band started playing Sally MacLennane…

And the band was great—rollicking and sloppy enough to remind you that for all the trad trappings, there was a significant punk undercurrent behind their formation.

Shane would lean over slightly between each song and peer at the set list taped to the stage, with a teeter here and a totter there. But when the band started playing, he actually did a fine job of delivering the goods. Where I expected gobs of garbled lyrics and more missed cues than a third-grade production of the Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat, I got a surprising fealty to the original content and structure of the material.

Sure, a couple of verses came too soon, and a couple of lines never reached their intended destination, but this was not Bicentennial Elvis or anything like that.

I am not an apologist, but anyone who tells you that it was a train wreck on a musical level must have an agenda.

As far as being a train wreck on a human level, well, yeah. But you had to know that going in. And it was then up to you to either celebrate it or make your peace with it.

The drunken 40-year olds driving the mosh pit down on the dance floor came to celebrate it, cheering loudly when Shane switched from a glass of whiskey to a bottle. They all had their reasons, I’m sure.

I made my peace with it, and I had my reasons as well…