It must be the time of year. Every Autumn, without fail, I get almost unbearably introspective. This year, especially, feels fraught with transition. Several life-changing events seem destined to intersect this Fall and inevitably I find myself going over what has come before. I have been reading much lately about history, about the struggle of human beings in war, fighting to survive so that their families might thrive in later generations. This has caused me to think about my own genealogy in ways I have not for some time. I have always identified my genealogy as Irish and German, though I believe I also have French Canadian roots. My mother’s family are Irish Catholic, which is quite common throughout New England, where I was raised. My father’s family, on his mother’s side, are German and Episcopalian, which, though Anglican, has many of the same motifs and rituals as Catholicism. Although I was raised in a non-practicing home, that is, we did not attend church nor was religious education part of my upbringing (aside from an errant week of Vacation Bible School sometime in the early 1990’s), the mythology of Christianity reigned heavy over me as an adolescent. My father, especially, is devoutly Evangelical, and my upbringing was peppered with Biblical stories, the learning of right from wrong often taught using Biblical examples and proxies. The effects have been long-lasting. As with many Catholics, I am often struck by short bouts of overwhelming guilt and shame. I also identify (with heaping sentimentality) with the history and culture of my Irish ancestors. That love of Irish culture, its roots in the plight of the working man, its cherishing of tradition, the staple of the pub as a community center and performance space, all have seeped into my sense of self. And it is all those things that drew me to the music of The Pogues, including their brilliant third album If I Should Fall From Grace With God.

The late D. Boon of The Minutemen once sang of Punk Rock, “This is Bob Dylan to me. My story could be his songs. I’m his soldier child.” Other artists, including Joe Strummer (who would later briefly join The Pogues) identified that Punk Rock was at its core Folk music reinterpreted. Both genres are rooted in their immediacy, their directness, their commitment to social and political change, and their identification with the working man. The Pogues, formed in 1982 in London. married the bracing immediacy and brashness of Punk Rock with the traditions and instrumentation of traditional Celtic music to create a sound that captured the best of both genres, while sounding entirely unique.

The early years of Punk were a systematic destruction of the musical tropes of the previous two decades. The Clash sang of “No Beatles, No Rolling Stones” while several other bands admonished Rock Music for its decadence, the unmooring from its roots, and its slavish dependency to money, fame, and fashion. By the early 1980’s however, many of Punk’s stalwarts had moved to incorporate new influences into their sound. For many bands, it was a matter of evolve or die. The Clash almost immediately began adding influences from Reggae, Funk, and Rockabilly while John Lydon (formerly of The Sex Pistols) and his new band Public Image LTD experimented with grating noise and dub influences. The Pogues came into being right in the middle of Punk’s great branching out. After gaining local notoriety, including opening stints for The Clash, the band was signed and recorded their debut in 1984. Two years later, their follow-up Rum, Sodomy, & The Lash was produced by Elvis Costello and featured the band moving away from cover songs into more assured original material. By 1988, the band was operating in peak form, constantly tightening and tweaking their sound. For their third album, the band brought in renowned producer Steve Lillywhite to help capture their more evolved, fuller sound. Incorporating Latin, Middle Eastern, and Jazz influences in addition to their Celtic and Punk foundation, If I Should Fall From Grace With God is the band’s most diverse and accomplished record.

The album begins with the title track, one that finds lead singer Shane MacGowan in a typically drunken, brash state, declaring that should he “fall from Grace with God” and “if the angels won’t receive me […] let me go down in the mud where the rivers all run dry.” On “Bottle of Smoke”, he recalls when he “went down to Hell and to the races” where the odds are “twenty fucking five to one” and “the money still gleams in my hand like a light.” MacGowan constantly uses traditional Catholic imagery as well as staples of Irish social life (stereotypical or not): Christ, drinking, gambling, whoring, sin, redemption, faith, fighting, suffering. Sailing and seamanship are also prevalent throughout the record. On the title track, MacGown asks that his friends “bury me at sea where no murdered ghost can haunt me” while on “Turkish Song of The Damned”, he “come[s], old friend, from Hell tonight, across the rotting sea.”

One of the strongest, and perhaps the most affecting theme of the album (as it is in Irish music itself) is the immigrant experience. On the heartbreaking “Thousands Are Sailing”, MacGowan (though the song is actually written by guitarist Phil Chevron) revisits Ellis Island, the most culturally significant point of immigration in American History. Where others may see the greatness, the narrator sees only “the ghosts [that] still haunt the waves and the torch lights up a famished man who fortune could not save.” The narrator recalls the Irish-American experiences in America in the 19th and 20th centuries, asking the listener “Did you work upon the railroad? Did you rid the streets of crime?” a knowing reference to Irish Americans’ prominence first in manual labor and later in law enforcement, a tradition that is still very much alive today in New England cities such as Boston and Providence. Returning to themes of guilt and shame, the narrator questions “Do the old songs taunt or cheer you? And did they still make you cry?” For Irish Americans, and I am sure for many other groups, the process of immigrating to the States was one of conflicting emotions: Hope that they will “break the chains of poverty”, fear of the unknown (“We stepped hand in hand on Broadway like the first men on the Moon”), guilt and shame for leaving their homeland (“When I got back to my empty room, I suppose I must have cried”).

There is a foreboding forlornness about being an immigrant in America. One holds so tight to their heritage but is irrevocably removed from it and is forced to adapt. Though ostensibly the land of freedom, tolerance, and opportunity, America is often a hotbed of xenophobia, prejudice, and flat-out racism. Upon their arrival in America, the Irish were seen as culturally backwards, alcoholics who were monopolizing job markets and stealing opportunities from the more established Anglo-Saxon peoples (Sound familiar?). The truth of the matter is that the Irish were coming to America for survival, their homeland decimated by a seven-year famine that killed an estimated one million people. Another million would make their way across the Atlantic ocean to America where they hoped to survive as individuals, as well as a culture. Once settled, however, they endured seething hatred and discrimination which they worked for decades to overcome. They then had to watch from across the sea while their country was split in two and sectarian violence threatened to engulf their people. The bitterness, anger, frustration, and deep and emotional pride are all a part of The Pogues heritage. Throughout If I Should Fall From Grace With God, the band plays like there could be no tomorrow, just as so many times before it has felt as though there would not be one. Defiant, triumphant, deviant, angry, and deliriously patriotic, the Pogues embody the vast contradictions of the Irish like no other band has.

Which brings me back to my yearly dive into my sense of identity and the story of my ancestors. I feel so close to the empathy and the warmth of my Irish heritage, though I often am inclined to embrace the more disillusioned, “everything is fucked” side of things. I have also had the good fortune to marry into a family that is equally if not more zealous about their Irish roots, and now more than ever I feel connected to my ancestors. I feel at home by a fire with a drink in my hand and a book in my lap. I appreciate the importance of family and community more. Even if I cannot in good conscience share their religion, I certainly cherish and share in their traditions. The music of The Pogues (and the countless bands they’ve influenced, Flogging Molly and Dropkick Murphys among them) have provided me with a link to my past that I never understood until the songs and their accompanying culture were brought into view.