1987 · From the album The Best of the Pogues
Fairytale of New York (feat. Kirsty MacColl)
by The Pogues
The reading
Two Irish immigrants in New York trade a shared Christmas Eve memory and a bitter present-day argument, mourning the American dream they sold each other
02 · Interpretation
Fairytale of New York: The Christmas Song That Refuses to Lie
Shane MacGowan and Kirsty MacColl's duet opens in a New York drunk tank and ends with church bells, and the distance between those two places is the whole song. Released at the tail end of 1987, it arrived as a deliberate anti-Christmas carol: a holiday standard that refuses to pretend the holiday is uncomplicated, especially for the Irish diaspora it speaks from and to.
The first verse sets a frame story. A man sleeping off a bender hears an old drunk predict his own death and sing an Irish drinking song, "The Rare Old Mountain Dew." That song cues the memory that follows. He turns his face away and dreams of her, and from here the lyric slips between past and present without warning. His next thought is a horse that came in at long odds, which gives him just enough optimism to wish her a happy Christmas and imagine a better year ahead.
Then the song pivots to what New York looked like when they arrived. The couplet about cars as big as bars and rivers of gold is the immigrant myth in miniature, immediately undercut by a wind that goes right through you. The city is wealthy and cold in the same breath. She remembers him promising Broadway; he remembers her as the queen of New York City, dancing through a night when Sinatra was on the jukebox and the band played encores. This is the fairytale the title half-promises and half-mocks.
The NYPD choir singing "Galway Bay" is the song's central image, and it is pointedly fictional. There is no NYPD choir in that sense, and "Galway Bay" is an Irish emigrant's lament for a homeland he cannot return to. The song places that lament in the mouths of American policemen on Christmas morning, which is exactly the kind of sentimental vision a lonely, drunk immigrant would conjure. The bells ringing for Christmas Day sit on top of it like a film score.
Then comes the argument. The exchange of insults, culminating in the notorious "Happy Christmas, your arse," is written as the kind of fight only people with a long shared history can have. She is on a drip, possibly in a hospital bed; he is, by her account, a bum and a punk. Both are using Christmas as a weapon. The language is ugly on purpose. The word "faggot," which has been edited or debated in broadcast versions for years, is placed in the mouth of a character at her worst moment, not offered as the song's own voice. Whatever one makes of that choice, the song is clearly dramatising cruelty, not endorsing it.
The last verse is where the fairytale gives up its last defences. "I could have been someone," he says, and she answers, "Well, so could anyone." It is the flattest, truest line in the song. Then she accuses him of taking her dreams, and he answers that he kept them safe with his own because he cannot make it alone. It is simultaneously a confession of love and an admission of codependency. The NYPD choir returns one more time, and the song ends without resolving whether these two will reconcile, separate, or simply wake up hungover on Christmas Day.
Why it endures
Most Christmas songs flatten the holiday into one emotion. "Fairytale of New York" holds several at once: nostalgia, bitterness, tenderness, humiliation, and a stubborn flicker of hope that this year, maybe, the horse comes in. It became a perennial in Britain and Ireland because it sounds like how Christmas actually feels to a lot of people, especially those far from home. MacColl's voice, bright and unsentimental, keeps the song from tipping into self-pity; MacGowan's slurred grandeur keeps it from tipping into cynicism. Between them they built the rare holiday song that gets better the older you get.
Themes catalogued
03 · Lyrics
"Fairytale of New York (feat. Kirsty MacColl)"
It was Christmas Eve, babe, in the drunk tank
An old man said to me, "Won't see another one"
And then he sang a song, "The Rare Old Mountain Dew"
I turned my face away and dreamed about you
Got on a lucky one, came in 18 to one
I've got a feeling this year's for me and you
So, Happy Christmas, I love you, baby
I can see a better time when all our dreams come true
They've got cars big as bars, they've got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you, it's no place for the old
When you first took my hand on a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me Broadway was waiting for me
You were handsome, you were pretty, queen of New York City
When the band finished playing, they howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging, all the drunks, they were singing
We kissed on a corner, then danced through the night
The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing, "Galway Bay"
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas Day
You're a bum, you're a punk, you're an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap, lousy faggot
Happy Christmas, your arse, I pray God it's our last
The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing, "Galway Bay"
And the bells are ringing out
For Christmas Day
I could have been someone, well, so could anyone
You took my dreams from me when I first found you
I kept them with me, babe, I put them with my own
Can't make it all alone, I've built my dreams around you
The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing, "Galway Bay"
And the bells are ringing out
For Christmas Day
Lyrics via Google. Copyright belongs to rights holders.
04 · FAQ