We were lucky that Sam and I had misaligned holidays this Easter, so while he's back at school this week, I'm still off... allowing Louise and I the rare luxury of getting away to the Peak District for a couple of days peace and quiet. (Sam is being looked after by appropriate adults, in case you're on the phone to Child Services.)
So this is what passes for our Honeymoon. Appropriate (and inappropriate) tunes will follow...
This post was inspired by a new song from Stephen Wilson
Jr., an Americana artist I’ve only recently discovered. He’s worthy of further
investigation if this sort of thing is your bag.
Anyway, the chorus informs us, “There ain't a
lot of boys named Gary these days”, a reminder of how birth names fall in and
out of fashion. (Amusingly, they’ve got the actor Gary Sinise to star in the
video… although it doesn’t end well for him.) This got me thinking about
the names of the kids Sam goes to school with… versus the ones I went to school
with.
I have a nephew called Gary. He’s about ten or twelve years
younger than me. But there are no Garys in Sam’s school. Neither is there a
Neil or a Sean, the names of my other nephews.
I started to think about the most common names of kids I
grew up with.
Sam doesn’t know any Richards. No Ricks or Rickys either.
And while he probably knows a few dicks… there are definitely no Dicks.
The weird thing is, I didn’t go to school with a single one
of those. In fact, if you’d asked me when I was a kid, I would have told you
they were all old men names. Harry Bamforth was an old farmer who lived across
the fields from us. So was Arthur Lockwood. And Frank Shaw. Albert Tatlock and
Alf Roberts were old blokes on Coronation Street. Eli and Isaac were names I
only read about in Old Testament RE lessons.
I wonder if, in another 20 years’ time, the classrooms will be full of Garys, Darrens and Daves again? There probably won't be many Donalds... but I could be wrong.
A final word today from Nigel (no Nigels in Sam's school either)...
A woman who described herself as "a little bit 'Bridget', A little bit 'Ally', a little bit 'Sex and the City'" And chose to call her baby boy Fred As a childishly rebellious attempt at a clever reaction To those who might have expected her to call him Julian or Rupert Bit of advice, call him Rupert, it fits, and besides it's a good name Don't be calling him Fred or Archie With all its cheeky but lovable working class scamp connotations Unless you really do have plans for him To spend his life in William Hills waiting For them to weigh in at Newton Abbot
In case you're wondering - yes, there will be a follow-up to this post about girl's names.
The Warrington Times, from 1966, featuring Alan Taylor, Gordon Struthers, Kenneth Crank and Malcolm Unsworth. Proper rock star names, all of them. This was their second, and presumably last, single. Where did all the good Times go?
Dennis Burlage and his two brothers (plus a couple of mates) came from Norfolk, Virginia in 1967 and produced this "psychedelic masterpiece" / ripped off The Byrds.
I first became aware of Edward Philip Albert Tome Ball when he released the solo track The Mill Hill Self Hate Club, a Brit pop favourite from the glorious year of 1996. It was only later that I realised Ed Ball had been at this pop music lark for quite a while, starting in 1977 when he was a member of Television Personalities. As the 80s arrived, he formed his own band called The Times, featuring a rotating membership of musicians from the Wham! Records label (run by Ed and his mate Dan Treacy). The Times continued to release records on and off for the next 20 years. This tribute to The Prisoner is probably their most fondly-remembered tune...
Post-punk electronic band Venus In Furs hailed from Sussex in the early 80s. They started out as a four piece, then came back as a two piece, before eventually becoming a one man solo project. The man behind all these ventures occasionally called himself Jeremy Christ, but most of the time he went simply by the name: Times.
More tracks from the 87th in-car CD compilation I made for my son, Sam, in order to introduce him to as wide a variety of old pop music as possible in his formative years, before I lost him to Young Boy With A Broken Neck et al.
Track 15: The White Stripes – The Hardest Button To Button
Watching this video, which uses stop-motion to make Meg
White play an endless line of drums – a new one appears after every beat – I
started to wonder what had happened to Meg once the band broke up and Jack
ploughed on with his solo career.
Remember how back in the day, there was a big mystery over
whether Meg and Jack were brother and sister or husband and wife? I’m not sure
they’d be able to maintain that level of mystique in this day and age. It
finally transpired they had been married in the early days of the band’s
career, but divorced before their breakthrough in 2001, staying together for
the music. Jack’s only called White because he took Meg’s surname when they
married… his real name is Jack Gillis. (Neither Louise or I changed our names when we tied the knot last week, in case you were wondering.)
The White Stripes broke up in 2011, not through any
major disagreement, but purely to preserve their legacy… and maybe because
Meg had had enough. She hated the limelight, was always a very shy person, and
suffered from both acute anxiety and low self-esteem. It’s a miracle she was
able to get up on stage for as long as she did, and I hope she’s found some
peace and prefers her life as it is now. It’s kind of incredible that she’s
considered one of the best drummers of her era, yet she only learned to play
when she first met Jack in 1997.
Track 16: Billy Joel - You May Be Right
This would normally be the point where I get all defensive
and start trying to justify my love of Billy Joel… but sod it, if I’m not bored
with all that by now. Listen without prejudice, as I’m trying to teach my son
to do, or be damned. I ain’t changing my position.
You May Be Right was a Top Ten hit in the US and Canada but
didn’t chart at all in the UK. It’s from the 1980 album Glass Houses, and the
single that everyone remembers from that one is It's Still Rock and Roll to Me, but
there’s plenty more great songs. I’m not sure when my Billy Joel obsession
began, but I bought all his albums on CD (though I’m pretty sure I had Storm
Front and Greatest Hits on vinyl, so that suggests it was 88/89, probably not
long before I got my first CD player).
I’m part-way through watching a Billy Joel documentary that
came out recently, and it’s refreshing to see so many people discuss his work
with respect. Almost makes me feel justified. Then I checked out a couple of
the sniffy reviews for Glass Houses that are referenced on iffypedia, and I
could feel my hackles starting to rise again. The Rolling Stone critic at the
time remarked, “Billy Joel writes smooth and cunning melodies, and what many of
his defenders say is true: his material's catchy. But then, so's the flu.” Way
to turn a positive into a negative, you dick. Meanwhile, self-confessed muso-snob Robert
Thomas Christgau bleats, “it's all rock and roll to [Billy], but to me it's
closer to what pop meant before ironists and aesthetes, including yours truly,
appropriated the term. Closer than any skinny-tie bands, that's for sure:
gregarious, shameless, and above all profitable. Of course, if it doesn't make
up in reach what it lacks in edge, ironists and aesthetes needn't notice it's
there.” Careful there, Bobby, you almost said something nice, but I think you
managed to pull it back at the end by reminding us that you’re above this sort
of thing, so we probably should be too. God, I hate music critics. Or, to quote
Billy himself…
You may be right I may be crazy But it just may be a lunatic you’re looking for
I know I certainly was, but unlike some people - Robert Thomas Christgau - I’m not ashamed to admit it.
Track 17: The Fountains Of Wayne - It Must Be Summer
Another artist that fills me with unashamed joy whenever I
hear them, New York power-pop heroes The Fountains of Wayne, named after a
garden furniture store in New Jersey that sadly closed in 2009…
That joy is tempered with sadness though, since half the
band’s driving creative force, Adam Schlesinger, died of COVID-related
unhappiness a few years back.
It Must Be Summer is taken from the band’s second album,
Utopia Parkway from 1999. It’s the perfect summer anthem – sunshine mixed with
sadness – and if it’s a little power-pop-by-numbers in the tune department,
well, we can forgive that because power pop is ace.
Oh, and remember what I was saying about music critics? I
only hate them if I disagree with them. Here’s a quote from the Entertainment
Weekly review of 1999: “Oasis would give up a week's worth of pints for any one
of these pop hooks, though they'd never manage the humour or warmth.” That’ll
do, pig.
Track 18: John Lee Hooker - Boom
Boom
I probably don't need to tell you anything about Boom Boom, other than it was written after something a bartender kept saying to John Lee Hooker when he was consistently late for a gig.
Being a child of the 70s/80s, my first thought whenever I hear this is... of course... Basil Brush. Boom Boom, Mr. Rodney / Mr. Derek / Mr. Roy / Mr. Howard / Mr. Billy*.
This meths was clearly an anagram. And yes, I know The Smiths only appeared here a few weeks ago, but they had two excellent songs to share. First, the really obvious one...
