I feel compelled to respond to the overwhelming flood of enquiries regarding the title of my blog “Bottle of Smoke”. No it’s not the latest spice mix from Alton Brown, it’s one of my favorite Pogues songs.
I first heard about the Pogues back in 1984. I used to pick up copies of NME, the British music magazine. It had all kind of insider references that I couldn’t follow, but they kept printing articles abut a bunch of drunken Irish reprobates who were tearing up every music pub in the UK. I was able to find a copy of Rum Sodomy and the Lash and Red Roses for Me at the mall. Yes, at a chain music store in a mall. In Syracuse New York. Don’t ask me how those two chunks of vinyl found their way to the "Imports" section in the whitest of whitebread cities, I’ve always suspected divine intervention.
It took more than a few spins (and a few dozen beers) to get what they were trying to do, but I was hooked. Shane’s voice was still strong, his lyrics were amazing and the rest of the band had enough energy to reach right into my head and give everything a good spin. While they might have come out of the London punk scene, they could actually play their instruments, not always a given back then.
Now after a lifetime of whiskey and cigarettes (and no teeth) Shane sounds like Ernest Borgnine with a bad cold, but it almost doesn’t matter. His songs are beautiful, but never pretty.
For the last few years I have been celebrating my birthday at Belmont Park. It’s a surprisingly pleasant place to have a picnic, though I have always wanted to bet on “A Bottle of Smoke”
I first heard about the Pogues back in 1984. I used to pick up copies of NME, the British music magazine. It had all kind of insider references that I couldn’t follow, but they kept printing articles abut a bunch of drunken Irish reprobates who were tearing up every music pub in the UK. I was able to find a copy of Rum Sodomy and the Lash and Red Roses for Me at the mall. Yes, at a chain music store in a mall. In Syracuse New York. Don’t ask me how those two chunks of vinyl found their way to the "Imports" section in the whitest of whitebread cities, I’ve always suspected divine intervention.
It took more than a few spins (and a few dozen beers) to get what they were trying to do, but I was hooked. Shane’s voice was still strong, his lyrics were amazing and the rest of the band had enough energy to reach right into my head and give everything a good spin. While they might have come out of the London punk scene, they could actually play their instruments, not always a given back then.
Now after a lifetime of whiskey and cigarettes (and no teeth) Shane sounds like Ernest Borgnine with a bad cold, but it almost doesn’t matter. His songs are beautiful, but never pretty.
For the last few years I have been celebrating my birthday at Belmont Park. It’s a surprisingly pleasant place to have a picnic, though I have always wanted to bet on “A Bottle of Smoke”
Bottle Of Smoke
By Shane MacGowan / Jem Finer (1988)
Thanks and praises
Thanks to Jesus
I bet on the Bottle of Smoke
I went to Hell
And to the races
To bet on the Bottle of Smoke
The day being clear
The sky being bright
He came up on the left
Like a streak of light
Like a drunken fuck
On a Saturday night
Up came the Bottle of Smoke
Twenty fucking five to one
My gambling days are done
I bet on a horse called the Bottle of Smoke
And my horse won
Stewards inquiries
Swift and fiery
I had the Bottle of Smoke
Inquisitions and suppositions
I had the Bottle of Smoke
Fuck the stewards
A trip to Lourdes
Might give the old fuckers
The power of sight
Screaming springers and stoppers
And call out coppers
But the money still gleams in my hand like a light
Bookies cursing
Cars reversing
I had the Bottle of Smoke
Glasses steaming
Vessels bursting
I had the Bottle of Smoke
Slip a fifty to the wife
And for each brat a crisp new five
To give me a break on a Saturday night
When I had the Bottle of Smoke
Priests and maidens
Drunk as pagans
They had the Bottle of Smoke
Sins forgiven and celebrations
They had the Bottle of Smoke
Fuck the Yanks
And drink their wives
The moon is clear
The sky is bright
I'm happy as the horses shite
Up came the Bottle of Smoke
By Shane MacGowan / Jem Finer (1988)
Thanks and praises
Thanks to Jesus
I bet on the Bottle of Smoke
I went to Hell
And to the races
To bet on the Bottle of Smoke
The day being clear
The sky being bright
He came up on the left
Like a streak of light
Like a drunken fuck
On a Saturday night
Up came the Bottle of Smoke
Twenty fucking five to one
My gambling days are done
I bet on a horse called the Bottle of Smoke
And my horse won
Stewards inquiries
Swift and fiery
I had the Bottle of Smoke
Inquisitions and suppositions
I had the Bottle of Smoke
Fuck the stewards
A trip to Lourdes
Might give the old fuckers
The power of sight
Screaming springers and stoppers
And call out coppers
But the money still gleams in my hand like a light
Bookies cursing
Cars reversing
I had the Bottle of Smoke
Glasses steaming
Vessels bursting
I had the Bottle of Smoke
Slip a fifty to the wife
And for each brat a crisp new five
To give me a break on a Saturday night
When I had the Bottle of Smoke
Priests and maidens
Drunk as pagans
They had the Bottle of Smoke
Sins forgiven and celebrations
They had the Bottle of Smoke
Fuck the Yanks
And drink their wives
The moon is clear
The sky is bright
I'm happy as the horses shite
Up came the Bottle of Smoke
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