The Pogues - BBC Sessions 1984-1985 (LP)

BBC Sessions 1984-1985 is the sound of The Pogues finding their balance on a moving train and then deciding it’s more fun to dance on the roof. Captured at the BBC’s Maida Vale studios for John Peel and other Radio 1 shows, these takes land with the kind of crackle you only get when a band has been playing to packed pubs the night before and still smells of smoke and stout. There’s no studio gloss here, just Shane MacGowan’s gravelly drawl riding a tide of accordion, banjo and tin whistle that feels both raucous and razor sharp.

What jumps out straight away is how taut the group already was. James Fearnley’s accordion locks with Jem Finer’s banjo, Andrew Ranken keeps everything charging forward, and Spider Stacy’s whistle cuts through like a bell on a foggy night. Cait O’Riordan holds down the bass with a steady pulse and a few well-placed harmonies, while Philip Chevron, who would become a key foil on guitar by 1985, adds a wiry bite when he appears. These sessions were done live to tape, so what you hear is what they could pull off in a room, and it’s thrilling how much detail and swagger they pack into three and four minute bursts.

The early trawl through Red Roses for Me material has a fire in the belly that makes “Streams of Whiskey” and “Boys From The County Hell” feel like dispatches from a very loud front bar. “Greenland Whale Fisheries” is a standout, a reminder of how confidently The Pogues retooled traditional songs without sanding off their rough edges. They weren’t museum keepers, they were brawlers and romantics, and you can hear that push and pull in the way the band surges behind MacGowan when the tale turns dark.

Move forward a few months and you’re into the Rum Sodomy & the Lash era, before Elvis Costello’s studio production gave those songs a sepia glow. The BBC versions of “A Pair of Brown Eyes” and “Sally MacLennane” are leaner, faster, a touch rawer around the corners. “A Pair of Brown Eyes” especially lands like a body blow, the melody still sweet but the performance closer to the bone, with Finer and Fearnley weaving a bed of sound that lets MacGowan’s lyric wander and sting. “The Old Main Drag” is devastating in this setting. Stripped of studio atmosphere, it becomes a plain spoken walk through the underbelly of London, every line hanging in the air a moment longer than you expect.

Part of the charm here is hearing how well the band responded to the BBC’s no fuss environment. The Maida Vale rooms have a particular bloom, and The Pogues fill them without ever sounding cluttered. You can practically picture the nods and grins as they rip through endings together, like a gang that’s learned each other’s tells on stages from Soho basements to festival tents. John Peel championed plenty of outliers, but he had a soft spot for groups who could walk into his studio and leave with lightning in a jar. The Pogues did it more than once, and these cuts show why.

For fans who came to the band through the studio albums, these performances are a great reminder of their punk bones. You can hear where Rum Sodomy & the Lash will end up, but these versions have the speed and scruff of a group still chasing the songs down alleyways. It makes the record a lovely companion to the official discography, a snapshot of momentum that leads directly to the acclaim that followed. No surprise that tracks from this period have remained fan favourites at shows and on late night playlists.

If you’re the sort who flips sleeves at a Melbourne record store on a Saturday, this is the kind of find that has you texting a mate before you’ve even reached the counter. BBC Sessions 1984-1985 vinyl copies don’t always hang around, and the package plays like a mixtape of the band’s most formative broadcasts. It sits neatly next to other The Pogues albums on vinyl, and it’s the sort of set that converts sceptics after one side. For collectors, it also scratches that itch for The Pogues vinyl that actually earns its shelf space rather than just filling a gap.

I’ve spun a few different pressings of this material over the years, and this collection pulls it together with a flow that makes sense, from bristling pub stormers to bruised ballads. If you’re hunting online, you’ll see it bundled with other radio sessions or paired with era singles, but this one tells its own story and tells it well. And yes, if you buy The Pogues records online from a trusted seller, or stumble across one in a bin of vinyl records Australia wide, this is a set worth grabbing on sight. It’s a reminder that before the big stages and seasonal singalongs, The Pogues were a street tough folk band with poetry to burn, and that those songs sounded best when the red light was on and the pints were still cold.