FAIRYTALE OF NEW YORK by THE POGUES AND KIRSTY MACOLL. Story by Smokie Dawson.

Christmas Day, the Dawson household, Williamstown, Australia

It is not the exchanging of gifts, the promise of an afternoon spent with family, nor even the smell of lamb or turkey roasting in the bar-b-que that signals Christmas has arrived. No, in our house, Christmas Day does not officially commence until the air is filled with the opening bars of the greatest Christmas song of all. Those familiar introductory piano chords and the hint of strings, so easily imagined as snow falling, usher in a Christmas song so different, and – on the face of it – so at odds with the traditional White Christmas / Feliz Navidad narrative. Yet, the underlying, undeniable thread which runs through Fairytale of New York is one that is eternal: it is a love story.

It is around this time of year, in the days preceding December 25^th, that I regularly contemplate Fairytale of New York and why it so enraptures and entrances me. Naturally, as a fan of The Pogues, I am aware of the mythology, both real and supposed, that has developed around the track: of how Elvis Costello challenged Shane MacGowan to pen a timeless Christmas tune; of how it was the melding of two song ideas, one of which was the tale of a seafarer longing for home; of how its gestation was elephantine, the band tinkering about with it for more than two years prior to its release; and of how producer Steve Lillywhite took the tape home for his then wife, the late Kirsty MacColl, to record a “guide” vocal for the female part.

While the melody is a work of art, by the third verse morphing from a wistful piano-based ballad into a type of fairground hurdy-gurdy waltz, it is the lyrics that are true genius. The opening line is like no other – “It was Christmas Eve, babe, in the drunk tank” -immediately informing the listener that this is no Jingle Bells. MacGowan’s protagonist is behind bars, but dreaming of his love and “a better time” when their dreams will come true.

Is he still dreaming when MacColl enters the picture, extolling the virtues of New York (“cars big as bars” and “rivers of gold”) and briefly painting a glorious picture of the streets and Broadway? Having once been to the Big Apple in December, I can vouch for how magical the city looks and feels in the leadup to Christmas. But the Irish references (The Rare Old Mountain Dew, Galway Bay) are reminders that the two are slightly foreign to the city.

However, the starry-eyed reminiscing shortly ends, and the true nature of the couple’s relationship is revealed in a form of call and response. The pair hurl insults at each other until MacGowan again becomes contemplative. “I could have been someone” he reflects, a line so sorrowful that my heart almost aches every time I hear it. “Well so could anyone” is MacColl’s clever and pithy response, claiming that he stole her dreams. “I kept them with me, babe” is his rejoinder. MacGowan then finishes with one of his most beautiful lines: “I’ve built my dreams around you”. Even for the listener, the anguish is almost unbearable.

Fairytale of New York is a true Christmas parable, acknowledging that this time of the year can be messy, and fraught with mixed emotions. There are many reasons why I love the song, but mainly it is because it is a tale of remorse and regret, and conversely one of longing and hope. Overwhelmingly, it is a story of love and all of its glory and beauty, its flaws and imperfections.

Last year on Christmas Day, my oldest son – the first to fly the nest some years back –  was last to arrive, just as the final strains of Fairytale of New York were fading out. He was only half joking when he exclaimed “I can’t believe that you started Christmas Day without me!” I will not make that same mistake this year.

Stereo Story #820