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knack of making new songs sound old and at the same time older traditional numbers sound new until all you are left with is this punkesque folk melting pot. Largely played on acoustic instruments, mandolins, banjos, guitars, accordions and the like, this is still very much a folk line up, but the intensity and snotty nosed delivery is what sets these boys apart from what you were expecting. And if you had to hastily rethink what the band are about due to the opening number, as if to mess with your head, the next song "The Battle of Brisbane" is total Irish pub folk music. As if to pay homage to their roots this is one of two instrumentals on the album, and both this and the later "Dingle Regatta" could be the Dubliners or the Chieftains. And if you thought that you had been treated to both extremes of the band in swift succession, "The Auld Triangle" gives you a new dimension to the band, the ballad as they rework a Brendan Behan composition and even though it's a cover and a departure for the band, it still sounds totally at home on this album. Muted drums roll along in the background, an accordion plays a drone of simple notes and MacGowan's rather unique voice holds the tune, the words being the focal point of the song.

The oddly familiar "Waxie's Dargle" returns us to the bile soaked spirit of the open song. Its infectious tune and drunken yobbish delivery from the twin vocals make it hard to not tap your foot or even leap about madly depending on how many drinks you have had. Pogues albums always seem to be a trade off in many ways. Some of the songs, such as the one just gone, seem raw and amateurish when heard in the cold controlled media of the CD player. What you need to remember is that the Pogues are essentially a live band and these songs are best appreciated with a drink in one hand and the other slapping the table in the smoky back room of a late night venue, ahhthose were the days. What you gain however in the place of that loss of atmosphere is a greater appreciation of Shane McGowan's writing ability. I'm sure that he would be the first to admit that he is far from the best singer in the world, but if you want glossy soulless over produced vocals then you always have Westlife or every other pop band since. As a live act his lack of clarity, 15 words to the dozen songs and often half cut state meant that the splendid lyrics were often lost in the chaos on stage. On album however, you get a chance to appreciate just how good his story telling

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