By Sean O’Hagan

In 1988, in a motel room in Atlanta, Georgia, I sat down with Shane to do an interview on the last night of a week-long trip through the American south with the band. It was a Sunday evening as I recall, and Shane, who hated interviews, was for once in a sober and reflective mood. When I asked him about the mixture of tenderness and brutal realism that characterised his songs, he said: “People don’t understand what it takes to write a truthful song, a song that is trying to be pure and honest.” Though I pressed him to elucidate, that was all he would say on the matter.

For a time, some would say too short a time, Shane MacGowan wrote pure and honest songs like no one else. Last week, when I chatted with his friend and fellow songwriter Nick Cave, at a public event in St Martin-in-the-Fields in London, we began with a kind of impromptu tribute to Shane, who had died that morning. Nick spoke candidly about his “pure spirit”, as well as how envious he had once felt about Shane’s ability to cut to the heart of things in his songs, and the empathy he evinced for the outsiders and marginalised who inhabited them. He regarded Shane with obvious awe as “the songwriter of his generation”.

Though this is not the time to go into it too deeply, it would be remiss not to acknowledge that Shane’s lifestyle of dogged excess – and the darkness that sometimes descended in its wake, at considerable cost to himself and those in his sway – diminished his extraordinary talent. “You call it chaos,” he once admonished me, when I asked about his rapidly advancing state of dissolution. “I don’t regard it as chaos. I regard it as natural living.”