The Pogues

If the universe’s 13-billion-year timeline were condensed to a single day, and human civilization were relegated to the final 13 minutes, one of those minutes would be given to the brief but vastly influential reign — over all life and matter — of the Pogues. And within that minute, a good four seconds would be us belting the chorus to “A Pair of Brown Eyes” at the top of our fucking lungs, drunk in some bar. The group’s heyday spanned only the latter half of the 1980s, but like the mighty Pat O’Saurus, their footstep was gargantuan, rumbling forth with an instantly classic blend of traditional Irish music and gutter-tramping punk so intuitively crafted, it’s a wonder that no one really sounded like the Pogues before the Pogues (and no wonder that many have tried since). Nearly every song off legacy-establishing albums Rum, Sodomy & the Lash (’85) and If I Should Fall From Grace With God (’88) captures the sad, joyous, unifying spirit that is the whole bloody point of rock and roll; the fact that they sound Celtic and tell stories of being Irish just makes us want to drink all the harder. Speaking of which, as with each of the band’s intermittent reunion tours over the past decade, talk abounds as to whether famously self-destructive frontman Shane MacGowan will keep it together to perform each night. Recent reviews report audiences going arse over tit for the wobbly MacGowan and his contrastingly spry bandmates. Besides, he has to keep going — there’s still roving to be done. (Log on to the Wayward Blog this week for a Q&A with guitarist Philip Chevron.)