Drug­store Cow­boy, Barfly, Leav­ing Las Vegas, even Bon­nie and Clyde… we love a good sto­ry about doomed, down-and-out lovers. What­ev­er emo­tion­al reser­voir they tap into, when writ­ten well and hon­est­ly, such sto­ries have broad cul­tur­al appeal. Which in part explains the over­whelm­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty of The Pogues’ 1987 clas­sic “Fairy­tale of New York,” the kind of “anti-Christ­mas song,” writes Dori­an Lyn­sky at The Guardian, “that end­ed up being, for a gen­er­a­tion, the Christ­mas song.”

Many hol­i­day sto­ries cyn­i­cal­ly trade on the fact that, for a great many peo­ple, the hol­i­days are filled with pain and loss. But “Fairy­tale of New York” doesn’t play this for laughs, nor does it pull the old trick of cheap last-minute redemp­tion.

Sung as a duet by Shane Mac­Gowan and Kirsty Mac­Coll to the boozy tune of an Irish folk bal­lad, the song “is loved because it feels more emo­tion­al­ly ‘real’ than the home­sick sen­ti­men­tal­i­ty of ‘White Christ­mas.’ ” Even if we can’t iden­ti­fy with the plight of a burned-out Irish dream­er spend­ing Christ­mas in a New York drunk tank, we can feel the ache of bro­ken dreams set in high relief against hol­i­day lights.

The song’s his­to­ry itself makes for a com­pelling tale, whether we believe the ori­gin sto­ry in accor­dion play­er James Fearnley’s mem­oir Here Comes Every­body: The Sto­ry of the Pogues or that told by Mac­Gowan, who main­tains that Elvis Costel­lo, the band’s pro­duc­er, bet the singer that he couldn’t write a Christ­mas duet. (Fearn­ley writes that they were try­ing to top The Band’s 1977 “Christ­mas Must Be Tonight.”)

Either way, a Christ­mas song was a good idea. “For a band like the Pogues, very strong­ly root­ed in all kinds of tra­di­tions rather than the present, it was a no-brain­er,” says ban­jo-play­er and co-writer Jem Fin­er. Not to men­tion the fact that Mac­Gowan was born on Christ­mas Day 1957.

Fin­er began the song as a tale about a sailor miss­ing his wife on Christ­mas, but after the ban­jo play­er’s wife called it “corny” he took her sug­ges­tion to adapt the “true sto­ry of some mutu­al friends liv­ing in New York.” Mac­Gowan took the title from J.P. Donleavy’s 1973 nov­el A Fairy Tale of New York, which hap­pened to be lying around the record­ing stu­dio. After a promis­ing start, the song then went through two years of revi­sions and re-record­ings before the band final­ly set­tled on the ver­sion mil­lions know and love, pro­duced by Steve Lil­ly­white and released on the 1988 album If I Should Fall From Grace with God.

Orig­i­nal­ly intend­ed as a duet between Mac­Gowan and bass play­er Cait O’Riordan, a ver­sion record­ed with her was “not quite there,” gui­tarist Philip Chevron has said. Soon after, O’Riordan left the band, and Mac­Gowan record­ed the song again at Abbey Road in 1987, singing both the male and female vocal parts him­self. Even­tu­al­ly Lil­ly­white took the track home to have his wife, Eng­lish singer Kirsty Mac­Coll, record a tem­po­rary guide vocal for the female parts. When Mac­Gowan heard it, he knew he had found the right foil for the char­ac­ter he plays in the song.

“Kirsty knew exact­ly the right mea­sure of vicious­ness and fem­i­nin­i­ty and romance to put into it and she had a very strong char­ac­ter and it came across in a big way,” Mac­Gowan lat­er remarked in an inter­view. “In operas, if you have a dou­ble aria, it’s what the woman does that real­ly mat­ters. the man lies, the woman tells the truth.” As part of her character’s “vicious­ness”, she hurls the slur “f*ggot” at Mac­Gowan, who calls her a “slut.” The offen­sive words have been cen­sored on radio sta­tions, then uncen­sored, and good cas­es have been made for bleep­ing them out (most recent­ly by Irish DJ Eoghan McDer­mott on Twit­ter).

Mac­Gowan him­self has issued a state­ment defend­ing the lyrics as in keep­ing with the char­ac­ters. “Some­times char­ac­ters in songs and sto­ries have to be evil or nasty in order to tell the sto­ry effec­tive­ly,” he writes, adding, “If peo­ple don’t under­stand that I was try­ing to accu­rate­ly por­tray the char­ac­ter as authen­ti­cal­ly as pos­si­ble then I am absolute­ly fine with them bleep­ing the word but I don’t want to get into an argu­ment.” What­ev­er posi­tion one takes on this, it’s hard to deny that Mac­Gowan, co-writer Fin­er, and Mac­Coll total­ly hit the mark when it comes to authen­tic­i­ty.

The gen­uine emo­tions “Fairy­tale of New York” taps into has made it the most beloved Christ­mas song of all time in TV, radio, and mag­a­zine polls in the UK and Ire­land. It has become “far big­ger than the peo­ple who made it,” writes Lynskey. Or, as Fearn­ley puts it, “It’s like ‘Fairy­tale of New York’ went off and inhab­it­ed its own plan­et.” An artist can’t ask for more. See mak­ing-of videos by the BBC and Poly­phon­ic at the top. Watch the band slop­pi­ly mime the song with Mac­Coll on Top of the Pops fur­ther up (Mac­Gowan can­not actu­al­ly play the piano). And just above, see the offi­cial video, star­ring Drug­store Cow­boy’s Matt Dillon—filmed inside a real police sta­tion on the Low­er East Side dur­ing a freez­ing Thanks­giv­ing week in 1987, for max­i­mum hol­i­day vérité.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Bowie & Bing Cros­by Sing “The Lit­tle Drum­mer Boy”: A Won­der­ful Christ­mas Chest­nut from 1977

Stream 22 Hours of Funky, Rock­ing & Swing­ing Christ­mas Albums: From James Brown and John­ny Cash to Christo­pher Lee & The Ven­tures

Stream a Playlist of 68 Punk Rock Christ­mas Songs: The Ramones, The Damned, Bad Reli­gion & More

Hear Paul McCartney’s Exper­i­men­tal Christ­mas Mix­tape: A Rare & For­got­ten Record­ing from 1965

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The influ­ence of J.R.R. Tolkien on met­al is so wide and deep it has become almost cliché. There are count­less Tolkien-themed songs, albums, band names, and an entire sub­genre of Tolkien met­al in which the fan­ta­sy mas­ter’s work has become “the foun­da­tion,” as Loud­wire writes, that such bands “have built their per­sona upon.” After all, “the doomy hellscape of Mor­dor is a set­ting that rivals hell itself, mak­ing it the per­fect fod­der for lyri­cal bru­tal­i­ty.”

Of course, there’s more to the fas­ci­na­tion than doomy hellscape. Mys­ti­cism, mag­ic, and mythol­o­gy; “themes of friend­ship, adven­ture, betray­al, greed, and mor­tal­i­ty.” The Hob­bit and Lord of the Rings tril­o­gy fold lit­er­ary rich­ness and depth into a ful­ly real­ized alter­nate real­i­ty full of swords and sor­cery, gob­lins, orcs, and walk­ing trees. What met­al­head can resist? Even those who might want to have a hard time get­ting away from Tolkien.

He’s in the source code of the genre, in its clas­sic rock chro­mo­somes. The most promi­nent pre­cur­sor of Tolkien met­al, Led Zep­pelin, real­ly loved Tolkien. As Robert Plant put it in a lat­er inter­view, “when I read those books, they kind of dis­solved into me.” In the short video above from Poly­phon­ic, we get a sur­vey of the num­ber of Tolkien ref­er­ences not only in Zep­pelin, but in Gen­e­sis, Rush, and oth­er pro­to-met­al prog-rock bands.

One key fea­ture of Tolkien that makes his work such great mate­r­i­al for epic songs is that the nov­els are already full of epic songs (and poems, in Elvish and oth­er lan­guages). “Music plays an inte­gral role in the very found­ing of Mid­dle Earth.” Tolkien ref­er­ences crop up in Black Sab­bath, Uri­ah Heep, and dozens of 70s pro­gres­sive rock bands whose influ­ence exceeds their fame.

One band the Poly­phon­ic video doesn’t men­tion, The Bea­t­les, aren’t often thought of as Tolkienesque, or as hav­ing much influ­ence on heavy met­al. But they were mas­sive Tolkien fans and even approached the author in the 60s about mak­ing a Lord of the Rings film, with John as Gol­lum, Paul as Fro­do, Ringo as Sam, and George as Gan­dalf. McCart­ney even approached Stan­ley Kubrick to direct.

Report­ed­ly, when McCart­ney told Peter Jack­son the sto­ry, the direc­tor replied, “It’s the songs I feel bad­ly about. You guys could have banged out a few good tunes for this.” Tolkien him­self didn’t think so and turned them down imme­di­ate­ly. We don’t have any record of his thoughts on the 70s rock bands who enthu­si­as­ti­cal­ly adopt­ed him, if he even knew of their exis­tence. But we do know that he didn’t like The Bea­t­les.

Does this mean he wouldn’t care for any of the clas­sic rock and met­al to whom he has inad­ver­tent­ly giv­en so much? Prob­a­bly. But one com­menter in a dis­cus­sion thread on this very ques­tion imag­ines anoth­er reac­tion Tolkien might have to hear­ing “Ram­ble On,” etc.: “I believe he raised a fist into the air and extend­ed the index and lit­tle fin­gers in imi­ta­tion of a horned crea­ture, while vig­or­ous­ly, emphat­i­cal­ly nod­ding his head back and forth, toss­ing his hair to and fro like a fish­ing boat caught in a rag­ing storm.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Lord of the Rings Mythol­o­gy Explained in 10 Min­utes, in Two Illus­trat­ed Videos

Map of Mid­dle-Earth Anno­tat­ed by Tolkien Found in a Copy of Lord of the Rings

The Ori­gins of the Death Growl in Met­al Music

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness