Quinn and the Pogues

How one winnipeg man has a found a way to build a bond with his teen daughter.

I’m a dad. Three kids. Nineteen and 17 year old girls, and a 12-year-old boy. And, I have to say–so far, so good.  My wife Lisa, and I think we’ve got good people living with us. They seem to have a good sense of themselves, treat others well, are curious, smart, and interested in exploring what the world has to offer. Things crumble a bit when we consider the state of their rooms, and their complete inability to notice things such as the grass needing to be cut, or that the dog hasn’t been fed. But other than that, we seem to be on a good footing.

Like any dad, what I want from my kids–besides a comfortable retirement–is a relationship. A connection that goes beyond “because I said so”, and takes into account that they are independent, free-thinking, and capable people. People worth spending time with. But it’s hard. The first obstacle is the fact that a parent’s job is to make decisions on their kids’ behalf, and that sometimes those decisions will involve a “because I said so”.  Parents don’t like using them, and kids certainly don’t like hearing them. But, for the sake of expediency and efficiency–they’re a fact of life.  

The second factor getting in the way of a parent/child bond or connection is the age difference. Parents and their kids are defined by the fact that they are a generation apart. Young people and older people think differently. For most parents, the simple fact that they are parents has caused them to become more calculated and reflective. The spontaneous and invincible approach to life their kids enjoy isn’t really a factor for parents. To paraphrase Corinthians: “When I was a kid, I thought, talked, and acted like a kid.  Now that I’m a man–I don’t.”

Finally, and this is especially the case with kids in their later teens, they’re becoming their own people and developing lives removed from the family home.  University, jobs, boyfriends, girlfriends, and unbelievably active social lives contribute to that inevitable distance.
This is where I was with our oldest daughter Quinn.

Quinn and I have always been close, but as she started to establish a life outside the house, I found the opportunities we had to really talk to each other were being replaced by hurried conversations regarding using the car, what time will she be home, and why can’t so-and-so get out of his car when he picks her up, and actually come to the door and shake my hand?  All the clichés of life with teenage girls were starting to happen to me.  And, as I had no intention of living life out of an Archie comic, I looked for something to get Quinn and me back on track.

Imagine my surprise when that something turned out to be a group of 50–60 year old Irish/English traditional Celtic musicians with a keenly developed punk sensibility whose band name is a shortened version of a vulgar Irish expression.  Ladies and gentlemen–the Pogues.

The Pogues (from Pogue Mahone–the Anglicized version of the Irish for “kiss my arse”), formed in London in the early ‘80s, and from the moment I heard the first notes of “London Girl” in the Unicity Sam the Record Man in early 1986, my musical life changed forever.  Sometimes described as a cross between the Sex Pistols and the Chieftains, the Pogues are known and notorious for a few things.  Primary among these is the fact that Shane MacGowan, their lead singer and songwriter, is still alive and probably shouldn’t be.  Shane’s alcohol consumption is legendary, and unfortunately most of what is written about him focuses too much attention on that and not nearly enough on the fact that he is considered by folks such as Elvis Costello, Van Morrison, Tom Waits, and Bono as one of the best songwriters of the 20th century. The man’s a genius. And, the man likes a drink.

Another important aspect of the Pogues is that they are one of the best live acts out there. They are frequently cited in “Bands You Must See Before You Die” lists, as their concerts are chaotic, shambolic, often drunken affairs that feature positively brilliant music played by a truly superb group of musicians. And if Shane is “on” (he’s always drunk, but occasionally he’s catatonic) it’s a concert experience unlike any other.  A true rollicker.

The band has had a troubled history. The mid-to-late ‘80s were their heyday.  Several albums and non-stop touring. Then, in 1991, the band grew so tired of Shane’s boozing that they kicked him out partway through a Japanese tour. The band continued on in various forms before coming to a shuddering halt in 1996.
In 2001, the band reformed for a brief Christmas tour of the UK. This happened again in 2004 and 2005. Encouraged by the overwhelming response, in the spring of 2006 they started an annual tradition of an eastern US tour that culminated with a St. Patrick’s Day show in New York.

I went to New York in ’06, Chicago in ’07 and ’08, back to New York in ’09, and then returned to Chicago this year.  (The band didn’t tour the US in 2010.)  In each case, the concert was the primary reason for making the trip, but the rest of the 2 or 3 day trip became full-on guys’ weekends.  My travel partners were my brother on a couple of occasions, and other guy friends on the others.  (And, in 2009 in NYC, my friend Dust Rhino Blair and I took our wives.  Which was very nice.)  The weekend usually involved a hockey game, dingy blues bars, and as many pubs as we could encounter.

When the Pogues announced in late 2010 that they would be returning to the eastern US in the spring of 2011, I immediately put plans in motion to be in Chicago for the first show of the tour.  My first phone calls were to my previous trip-mates, all of whom were unable to make it, and it was starting to look as if this Pogues trip would be solo.  Until Quinn asked if she could come.

My first reaction was vague panic–for a couple of reasons. First, did I really want my beautiful 18 year old daughter in the middle of a Pogues audience?  While not necessarily dangerous, the typical crowd at these shows is probably 75 per cent male, all of whom are beer-soaked as they bounce along in the mosh pit and bellow along with Shane.  It’s St. Patrick’s Day every night–without the fights or the puking–and as much fun as these shows are, did I really want Quinn in the middle of it?

Secondly, we were going to be in Chicago for three nights and three full days.  The concert was on the first night–leaving a lot of time to fill before we came home.  What the hell were we going to do, and more to the point, what were we going to talk about all that time? Quinn and I have never had a problem communicating, but this was the first time ever it was just going to be the two of us for an extended period of time.  The potential for dead air was very real.

Then, I realized this was it. This was the opportunity I had been hoping for to reconnect with my oldest kid.  As well, it would be a useful way of establishing a relationship with each other as adults.  Three nights and three days of just the two of us was exactly what we needed.

And, I’m happy to report it all worked out beautifully. Quinn and I had an absolutely fantastic time.  The concert was brilliant, Shane was in fine form, and I’m very proud to say that Quinn spent almost the entire show up against the barricades at the foot of the stage bellowing along with the beer-soaked hooligans that surrounded her.

The rest of the weekend was occupied with two other concerts, a little shopping and sightseeing, the Art Institute, and hours and hours of talking.  About music, politics, relationships, her future, my comfortable retirement, and so much more.  We don’t see eye-to-eye on everything, but that’s good. The weekend gave us the opportunity to discover that about each other. Quinn’s a smart, informed young woman, and is somebody I’m going to enjoy getting to know from this point on.

So, to the Pogues–thanks. You’re not likely the first choice most would make when looking for relationship guidance, but you outdid yourselves when it came to Quinn and me.  Cheers.