When it comes to Saturday Snapshots, you guys Don't Stop Till You Get Enough. And you didn't do Bad yesterday at all. It's good to know You Are Not Alone when you're playing this game, particularly this week as Alyson & Lynchie fought it out for top spot (I think Lynchie just clinched it), leaving Charity Chic, Walter, Chris and Rigid Digit to hoover up the leftovers. Thanks for playing, guys.
Back to Wales today, to a valley shaped by the mining industry... and arguably destroyed by the end of that industry. Today's song deals with that in heartbreaking detail.
Famous sons & daughters of the Rhondda include H from Steps, Denise Gyngell from Tight Fit (the lady married Pete Waterman, but there's no accounting for taste) and Mike Smash of Smashie & Nicey... Paul Whitehouse.
Despite what you may be thinking, the Beach Boys never recorded a song about Rhondda... but Rhyl band The Alarm did. And it must be their very best song, surely? A powerful indictment of "the rape of the fair country", it still sends shivers down my spine as it did when I first heard it, more than 30 years ago...
You will be glad to know that we're pretty much at the end of this particular tale. Other people who worked in the building at the same time as me, or even earlier, would be able to give you their own peculiar experiences... such as that of "Status Quo Sharon", a lady who answered the phones prior to me (I've only changed the Sharon part of her name) and reported finding an old lady sitting in the corner of the studio. Sharon stopped to ask her if she was all right or if she wanted a cup of tea or anything, but when she didn't get a reply, she went off to ask if anyone knew who the lady was... well, you can guess the rest.
In the end though, most of us started to take the ghost in our stride. We even gave it a name: Sidney. If weird things started happening, we'd shout out, "not tonight, Sidney!" I have a photograph of one of my colleagues standing in the studio with his arm out, as though putting it around someone's shoulders. We had the idea that when we got the photo developed, there might be a ghostly figure standing there... but of course, there wasn't.
Those of us who'd worked there awhile became accustomed to the electrical problems, the blurs of movement from the corner of your eye, the weird noises and drastic drops in temperature. It wasn't particularly pleasant if you were alone in the building (I remember the occasional Saturday night where at 2am, I'd sprint out of the building as fast as I could once the alarm was set, not wanting to stick around a second longer than I had to) but if other people were there, you just got on with it.
There was even the occasional practical joke played on those who were more easily spooked, the best of which was the station engineer who arrived really early one morning, entered the studio before the breakfast show presenter, hid under the on-air desk, waited patiently for the presenter to arrive... and then, during the first link... reached out and grabbed the unsuspecting DJ by the ankles.
"It's five past six, that was Culture Club, welcome to the.... Aaaaaaarrghh!"
Then one day, the bosses got the builders in to spruce up the downstairs offices. Corridors were moved, rooms were made bigger or smaller, new desks were built in Studio C and Studio B. For weeks there was dust and polythene sheets and exposed brickwork... and it was even colder than usual... but when all the work was done and the builders had gone, so had the ghost.
There was still the occasional sighting or shiver, but for most of us - certainly those of us who regularly worked nights and had become accustomed to the weirdness - it was almost as though the builders had driven Sidney out. As though the process of rearranging and rebuilding had changed the atmosphere or walled up that window to another dimension, however you might want to explain it.
Thinking back now, I do start to wonder... was it all just our imaginations? It's easy to ask that with 20 years' hindsight. But if you'd asked me back then, I'd have answered with no doubt in my mind. That place was haunted.
The Blue Room song comes from the soundtrack to Ferris Bueller's Day Off, which wins it enormous points. But I'm too afraid of Skin from Skunk Anansie to tell her she's a loser, so...
I'm Sorry, Moz... this one goes to the Flowers. Never mind, you'll get another chance in a moment.
Of course, the big problem with Morrissey is right there in the title of this song. He's not sorry. He's never sorry. If only he could be, just once...
Tough one. Normally I'd let The Clash beat The Beatles because Phoney Beatlemania has bitten the dust... but I have a soft spot for early Lennon when he's prepared to shred his vocal chords as he does here. The Fabs take it.
Bill Bixby used to tell us not to make him angry... we wouldn't like him when he's angry. We like Alice when he gets angry though... and I guess he's going to be angry at losing out to Elvis here, but it takes a lot to beat My Aim Is True.
There was a time when I'd have welcomed being followed by Aunty Madge... these days, I'd be quick to get a restraining order. (Warren Beatty duets with her here... he probably thought this song was about him.)
Edwyn, on the other hand, can follow me any time he likes.
I told you way back in 52 That I would never go with you
C wondered who did the original of that. RD replied that it was Smiley Lewis... and that if you listen carefully to the instrumental break, Dave gives a shout out to him, along with Huey 'Piano' Smith (who played piano on the original version), Fats Domino (who also covered it) and Chuck Berry (who doesn't appear to have recorded it at all, but maybe he played it live?).
RD then offered the controversial opinion that the cover versions by Ben Folds Five and Bruce Woolley & The Camera Club were both better than Trevor Horn's original. I'm not sure I agree with that - there's something about the original that just sends a shiver down my spine (in a good way) although they're both fine covers. I'd add the version by Presidents of the United States of America to the list of cracking covers.
Other songs I found that referenced 1952 included...
There are, of course, 52 weeks in a year, so I thought I might find loads of references to that. However, the only ones that leapt out at me were these...
However, I have to agree with both Lynchie and Rigid Digit that there was one very clear winner this week. It was the song that introduced me to this particular artist and established him in my mind as both a lyricist and guitar player of great note...
Said James, "In my opinion, there's nothing in this world Beats a '52 Vincent and a Redheaded girl. Now Nortons and Indians and Greavses won't do. Oh, they don't have a Soul like a Vincent '52
If that doesn't break your heart by the end of the song, then you've got granite in your chest...
51 next week... anyone got anything that can challenge The Swede's obvious suggestion?
I thought I'd jump on Drew's bandwagon this week and have a go at selecting a Long Song to ease us into Monday... just as The Swede, Swiss Adam, Walter and others have also been doing.
Anyway, here's twenty minutes of Ultrasound from their 2016 album Real Britannia, a song that encompasses Mel C's tears, shorts and scuffs and beans for tea, Tiny's dad's nervous breakdown, cross-dressing, sex like you thought only Jarvis could write it, Noggin The Nog, Jimmy Saville's shit-stained covers, 70s nostalgia in the Luke Haines vein... and blue remembered hills.
