Back to the trawl through the pages of my original blog, picking out selected bits that seem interesting or timely. I found a list of my Top 60 Songs from 2006. I'll spare you, but I was surprised by how many of them I'd completely forgotten...
I also found a review of the last time Billy Bragg played Holmfirth - Saturday the 2nd of December 2006. This is timely because I'll be seeing him on the same stage, 18 years later, next Saturday night. I might compare reviews then.
But it was the post below that caught my attention, particularly as it tackled a similar topic to this week's Self-Help For Cynics. This was written when I was still working in the wonderful world of radio advertising...
FRIDAY 15 DECEMBER 2006
It occurred to me this morning that a blog, by its very nature, must always wear your polite, public face. For obvious reasons, I can’t come here to carp about my job or the noxious individuals I come into contact with through said job, those especially maleficent characters I’d cheer to see floating face-down in the Leeds-Liverpool canal. (Does that make me a bad person? Why don’t bad things happen to bad people? I refer you back to Jarvis Cocker’s song of the year, ‘Running The World’.) I suppose I could set up a second, anonymous blog for that purpose, or use an alias… but even then, I’d have to remain circumspect with the details to avoid giving away my true identity. How many of us cherish a dream of the day when we no longer need this job, when we can finally interrupt our meeting with that complete and utter bumhole and tell them what we really think? But you can’t use a blog for that, even anonymously (though I’m sure some people do, braver – or foolhardier - souls than me). Still, that’s what I have my fiction for. It’s how I deal with the world.
Fortunately I work with much nicer people these days. (Except Bob.) Unfortunately, I don't write fiction any more. Unless you think this all might be made up?
On a related issue, please take care when receiving emails from the sort of person mentioned above, and forwarding them on to your like-minded, co-suffering workmates. Be careful about adding a little comment, such as, say, ‘What an absolute tool!’ Be extra-careful that you’re not – rather than hitting ‘forward’ – actually replying to the worthless piece of gutter-froth who sent you the email in the first place. Believe me when I say you’ll wake up at 3am in a cold sweat regretting an error such as this.
Still good advice, almost two decades on.
The perfect excuse to listen to a shamelessly OTT chunk of hair metal...
Due to failing eyesight, my mum stopped driving more than twenty years ago. However, the stories about when she was a driver are the stuff of family legend.
And the time she almost drove me and my grandma (her mum) off a cliff. (They were arguing about which way to go. I was in the backseat, clinging on for deer life.)
Perhaps most famous of all is the time that she stalled in the middle of roadworks and the policeman who was directing traffic got down on his knees in front of her car and put his hands together in prayer, begging her to move.
We remember all these stories with good humour, even though our lives may have been at risk on one or more occasion... let's face it, none of us were wearing safety belts back then.
What it's easy to forget though, is how much mum (and dad) drove me around, wherever I wanted to go, when I was a kid. Music lessons, band practice, comic marts in Leeds... we were reminiscing about the latter recently, about the time my mate Liam (who was notoriously car-sick) came with us, and when Liam started looking a bit queasy, Mum just handed him a paper bag and said, "do it in there". Or the time she went to pay for parking and the ticket machine started spitting out money. She shared it out between the two of us and we bought a few extra comics that day.
Then, when I started working in radio, Mum would get up early on a Saturday morning to drive me to Bradford in time for the 9am show I worked on... at least until I'd passed my driving test, which wasn't until I was 18, so she must have done it every Saturday for at least two years. One Saturday, I had a piano exam at the same time. I'd told the presenter I was working with that I was going to be half an hour late, but he'd forgotten, and in the pre-mobile phone era, there was no way of reminding him. Driving in, listening to the radio, we kept hearing him saying, "Where's Rol this morning? I've got nobody to answer my phones." Mum remembered that when she finally dropped me off and I sprinted into the studio, the first link she heard on her way home was, "Oh look, Rol's arrived... still wearing his pyjamas."
These days, when I spent many of my weeknights and weekends ferrying Sam to a variety of sporting activities and pre-teen social engagements, I like to remind myself that I'm paying it forwards. Thanks, Mum.
There's an obvious song to close today, but one that was over-played to the point that most people are sick to the back teeth of it. Never fear - Aimee Mann to the rescue!
Jarvis Cocker is a hoarder. His attic is full of a lifetime of tat - some of it of great historical significance in tracing the origins of his pop career, much of it merely the detritus of memory. Broken spectacles, Imperial Leather soap bars worn down to their labels, carrier bags, ring pulls, charity shop ties. For each one, Jarvis wants to decide whether to "keep or cob" (chuck out). But each one is part of his life, his story.
Good Pop, Bad Pop is described as "an inventory" but it's really a unique autobiography... albeit one that only goes as far as the moment he falls out of a window while trying to impress a girl and ends up in hospital for weeks. Although his band, Pulp, had been in existence for years by this point, it's only while convalescing that he really finds his muse. Everything up till that point has merely been about finding the right ingredients for his masterplan, which he encapsulates with the equation "Scott (Walker) + Barry (White) + Eurodisco + Gritty Northern Realism = The Future". This isn't a book that deals with that future... I guess we'll have to wait for volume 2. It's not a book that deals in great detail with his songs either - Leonard Cohen advises him against that. Although it's easy to make links. No, it's a book that's full of the wit and wisdom of one of our greatest everyman entertainers... the fact that he repeatedly wonders how much he can get for some of this tat on eBay says it all. Fame hasn't changed Jarvis Cocker. He's still one of us. And if you love his songs, you'll love this book.
Here's one of my favourite early Pulp songs which springs to life in Good Pop, Bad Pop...
Today is the 15th anniversary of my life as a blogger. My first ever blog post (not here, but on this blog's predecessor, Sunset Over Slawit) was dated December 3rd 2006.
My how things have changed. One thing that hasn't is my need to record my favourite albums of the year in December. Here's the Top Ten from 2006, complete with my commentary...
10. Teddy Thompson – Separate Ways. Released at the back end of last year, but the singles came out in ’06. Mature, emotional song-writing… not entirely in his dad’s class (and obviously he can’t play guitar like Pops – who can?), but he deserves to stand on his own.
9. The Crimea – Tragedy Rocks. Also released back-end of 2005, this is a new band led by former Crocketts lead-singer Dave McManus. From what I remember of The Crocketts, they had one really good song. Here, there’s a whole album of them.
8. Belle & Sebastian – The Life Pursuit. Not as strong as (and less commercially successful than) Dear Catastrophe Waitress (maybe I’m just a sucker for Trevor Horn), but a definite grower. Stuart’s decision to let the rest of the band chip in with some of the songwriting might have something to do with this. Saw them live this year and it was all a bit of a shambles, but enjoyably so.
7. Jarvis Cocker – Jarvis. Very excited to finally have Jarvis back, and half this album is really strong. The other half, while good, strives a little too hard to be… well, not commercial, because I think he’s given up on that… but perhaps the word I’m looking for is ‘tuneful’. Jarv made a big deal before the record came out that it wasn’t going to be just him whinging on about life, that there would be some proper songs in there too. I’d have preferred more of the whinging!
6. Monkey Swallows The Universe – The Bright Carvings. Saw this lot supporting Richard Hawley earlier this year, and although they looked like a bunch of sixth-formers, they made a lovely noise.
5. Thea Gilmore – Harpo’s Ghost. The critics call her “the best British singer-songwriter of the last ten years” and I find it hard to disagree. Unfortunately, we seem to be the only ones listening. She’s hard working too – when I saw her live this autumn, she was 35 weeks pregnant, and she’s back on the road in the New Year.
4. Morrissey – Ringleader Of The Tormentors. Only Number 4? Moz, you’re slipping! No, ROTT was a good album, but just didn’t have the staying power of YATQ.
3. The Arctic Monkeys – Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not. Far too much has been written about them already… if only this album didn’t live up to the hype!
2. The Handsome Family – The Last Days Of Wonder. Grower of the year. I’ve been a HF fan for ages, and couldn’t get into their new one at first… but now, I just can’t stop. Rennie Sparks is one of the best short story writers stuck in a songwriter’s body you’ll ever encounter, and her husband Brett looks and sings like Walter from The Big Lebowski. An album about the life of Nikola Tesla, the frustrations of being a ghost, and falling in love with the girl at the drive-thru window.
1. The Divine Comedy – Victory For The Comic Muse. Sometimes it seems the better a songwriter gets, the fewer people listen. That certainly seems to be the case with Neil Hannon, who delivered possibly his strongest record to date this year, then shot himself in the foot by releasing its weakest track (‘Diva Lady’) as the lead single. A collection that is in turn touching (‘Lady Of A Certain Age’), hilarious (‘To Die A Virgin’), quirky (‘Arthur C. Clarke’s Mysterious World’, which I still think could have been a crossover hit in the vein of ‘National Express’ if he’d bothered to release it), inspiring (‘Light Of Day’) and literate (‘The Plough’). He also gave us the year’s best b-sides, which could easily have placed a second album in this Top Ten had he compiled them. Great live too, possibly my gig of the year.. I do hope he makes enough money to keep at it!
And now back to the present...
19. Smith & Burrows - Only Smith & Burrows Is Good Enough
Here's one that probably won't appear on many year end lists, more's the pity. Tom Smith is the lead singer of The Editors. Andy Burrows was the drummer in Razorlight, but don't hold that against him. He was also the drummer in We Are Scientists. And he played drums in David Brent's band, so give the guy some credit. He'll work with anyone!
Lately though, he's been doing more of the singer-songwriter thing, with a particular penchant for the 70s. It's therefore not completely absurd to call this record a modern day version of Godley & Creme... or maybe even Wax... which is about as uncool as you can get.
But I like uncool.
Ten catchy, quirky pop songs that feel like they've fallen out of a time warp. You might need to give them a few listens, but they soon work their way under your skin...
The lady above is Anne Hall, "one of England’s greatest rally drivers", and also the lady who taught me to drive in the early 90s (when she herself was in her 70s). I suspect my dad knew her and her husband through his time as a car auctioneer. As well as racing, she ran her own driving school, and taught many people in Huddersfield how to drive... carefully, not like a rally champion!
She was a tough but fair instructor and I loved my lessons. She got quite upset when I didn't pass first time - not at me, but at the examiner, who "didn't know what he was talking about".
But I knew why I failed first time. Halfway through the test, I pulled up at a big set of traffic lights in the centre of Huddersfield and glanced in my rear view mirror. A car pulled up behind me and I recognised it immediately... it was my mum. I could see her peering through the windscreen, trying to see if that was me in the car ahead. After that, my concentration was shot.
I'm not saying I blame my mum for failing first time... but I certainly don't blame the late Mrs. Hall.
Jarvis Cocker would have been an excellent driving instructor, had he not followed the pop star route. Here he is in collaboration with fellow-Sheffield noise-makers, The All-Seeing I, who I remember seeing live in the late 90s, around the time their album Pickled Eggs & Sherbert was released... although Jarvis was absent that night.
The neighbours on the other side seemed a bit less annoying than hipster-bearded, Maroon 5-loving, summer house boy. Their daughter, a young trainee nurse, even liked to bake cakes and share them with her neighbours. Ah, the dream.
Then, inexplicably, she bought a boy racer car with two huge exhaust pipes that you could hear coming all the way from Heckmondwyke. And because she was a nurse, and worked shifts, she would often arrive home at 1, 2am and park up on their drive with the engine running while she… actually, I have no idea what she was doing, but she had to keep the engine rumbling for it.
Just getting it all off my chest…
Three old favourites released new music this year. All fine records in their own right, but hardly up there with their best.
Jarvis Cocker continued his descent into weirdness with Beyond The Pale, moving further than ever from a Pulp reunion… with some amusing offerings, but nothing quite essential.
Sparks released another strong late-stage Sparks album. A Steady Drip, Drip, Drip, that captivated me for a couple of weeks, but soon slipped out of rotation. iPhone is still one of my songs of the year though.
And Eddie Argos furthered the Art Brut comeback by teaming up with We Are Scientists for The WASABI EP. They recorded each others’ songs, covered The Travelling Wilburys, and stuck a couple of enjoyable new Art Brut tracks on the end. Record Store Day remains a favourite.
(I think that photo was taken during his porn movie days. Not that I've ever seen a porn movie.)
3. Writing this blog... with a debt to Macca.
Writing this blog is my favourite waste of time.
I'm owing Paul.
(Alyson thought this was an answer two weeks ago. A bizarre coincidence, because I'd already compiled this post when she suggested it. I almost said "come back in a couple of weeks".)
Taken from Rufus Wainwright's album of Shakespeare Sonnets, Take All My Loves.
Onto the business at hand then: what did you have for me this week?
Let's start with last week's winner, Douglas, who found himself struggling a little this time...
"I can offer little new regarding the 29s from my own corpus of beloved songs and artists, despite having scoured through some 2500 LPs, 500 CDs, and a few thousand files on the hard drives and mp3s."
Blimey - that's dedication.
"So I hit the search engines, and came across a few songs that were new to me, with 29 in the title, including:"
"29" by Loic Nottet (who, despite being a young male Belgian singer, here most puts me in mind of Adele)
I can definitely hear that. "Loïc Nottet", on the other hand, is an anagram waiting to happen.
"Ryan Adams - 29 (an artist entirely on my periphery, and who, on the strength of this song, seems likely to remain there)"
Ryan Adams made two or three excellent albums early in his career, although he lost his quality control over the years and has recently been dragged into a bit of a #metoo scandal, so he loses points for that as well.
"And perhaps the best of the 3, Gin Blossoms - 29, who at very least fit in some nice jangly guitars into a pretty decent tune with some appropriately wistful lyrics."
Yes. I'm rather fond of the Gin Blossoms also, so that would be my winner from your selections.
Over to Martin, who ticked quite a few off my list...
Then came Alyson, who's petitioning for a return of Randy Tuesdays or Kenny Wednesdays. One thing at once, eh? I'm still not back up to full steam. She did have this to offer though...
"A date this week rather than a time but Chicago did an anti-war kind of song called Someday (August 29, 1968) - Included is real audio of the crowds at an infamous demonstration."
Never heard that before, but I did like it. I always enjoy early Chicago when they had a brass section.
Martin stole many of Rigid Digit's suggestions this week, but RD did dig out the following...
"Simultaneously the best and worst album ever released..."
"From it, Pachuco Cadaver opens with the philosophical line:"
A squid eating dough in a Polyethylene bag is fast and bulbous
"Fanciful nonsense?"
I've to admit, RD, I tried very hard with TMR back in the day, but couldn't ever find my way into it.
"But the 29 bit comes later:"
Got her wheel out of a B-29 Bomber, Brody knob amber
I'm less surprised nobody predicted this week's winner though. It has featured on this blog previously, but probably isn't that well known in the real world.
The iffypedia page for Ipswich has a picture of Ed Sheeran on it. Maybe because he grew up in Framlingham, which is not too far away. It turns out though that he was born in the same place... maybe even the same hospital!... my son was born in: Halifax. But this post isn't about Ed Sheeran, you'll be glad to know... it's about Ipswich.
Brian Cant was from Ipswich. So is Richard Ayoade. Ralph Fiennes and Percy Edwards.
Musically, Alan Davies, the bassist from Hawkwind was from Ipswich. As was John Mayhew, the man who gave up his seat behind the drumkit in Genesis so that one Phillip Collins could sit there.
Steve Wright came from Ipswich too. The serial killer, not the DJ.
I've never been anywhere near Ipswich, but there are some very pretty pictures of it on the internet. It certainly doesn't look anything like Auschwitz. But the point Jarvis was making... evil people can come from anywhere: beautiful places and ugly ones.
It's weird listening to this song now: it's like he predicted Brexit ten years before it happened. Ladies and gentlemen, a prophet for our terrible times... Mr. Jarvis Branson Cocker.
"They want our way of life"
Well, they can take mine any time they like
Cause god knows, I know I ain't living right:
I'm wrong
Oh, I know I'm so wrong
So like the Roman Empire fell away
Let me tell you; we are going the same way
Ah, behold the Decline and Fall
All hold hands with our backs to the wall
It's the end,
Why don't you admit it?
It's the same from Auschwitz to Ipswich
Evil comes
I know from not where
But if you take a look inside yourself,
Maybe you'll find some in there
250 miles north next week, to a Lancashire town in need of a fair bit of repair...
If I'm going to do a series on Talky Songs, the sooner I get to Jarvis Cocker, the better. Jarvis is a master, and I can guarantee it won't be long before he features here again and again.
2. Pulp - David's Last Summer
I chose this one to start with as we've had some pretty fine weather of late. The weather people are reporting that it'll continue. I've even heard tell that "the last time we had greenfly swarms like these was just prior to the summer of '76". Wow.
Of course, as I write this on Tuesday the 22nd of May, I can all but guarantee that by the time I publish it the temperature will have dropped by fifteen and the Daily Express will be predicting snow again. But it's nice to dream of summers being "like they were when we were young".
David's Last Summer is about one of those mythical endless summers of our youth. As much as we enjoy them while they're happening, there's always a part of us waiting for them to end. The title is ambiguous. Is it David's last happy summer? Is it his last summer with the girl in question? Is he waiting for their relationship to end just as summer eventually will because he knows good things do not last? Or did all this happen last summer and is all this just regret that it's now a distant memory?
Whatever the truth, you won't find a better evocation of summers past than in this talky song...
We made our way slowly down the path that led to the stream, Swaying slightly, Drunk on the sun, I suppose. It was a real summer's day. The air humming with heat whilst the trees beckoned us into their cool green shade. And when we reached the stream I put a bottle of cider into the water to chill, Both of us knowing that we'd drink it long before it had the chance.
Magic box / Upon which life leaves a stain / Which we can watch / Again and again / Oh you taught us to kiss / Taught us so many things / Do you mind if I ask: When do we get to join in? / A magic window / A most marvelous confection / But windows are for looking through /Not for checking out your reflection
Room 29, the new Jarvis Cocker album, is sure to confound and delight old Pulp fans in equal measure. Lyrically, it is classic Jarvis: a suite of songs set in sumptuous and seedy hotel rooms, full of the sly wit, outsider chic and unashamed sleaze that set Pulp apart from all other Britpop bands. Musically, it's a whole new kettle of fish. No guitars. No drums. No keyboards... except for Chilly Gonzales's grand piano. Occasionally they drag a string section in, but mostly this is smoky lounge bar stuff with occasional deviations into classical piano. It took me about one and a half listens to make up my mind.
I love it.
Closest comparison I can make is when Elvis Costello made The Juliet Letters with The Brodsky Quartet... although this is much, much better.
If Room 29 isn't in My Top Ten Albums of 2017, it will have been a blinding year for music.
Couldn't choose between these two tracks, so give them both a listen. I hope you love them like I do.
You are such a jerk You are a tearjerker You don't need a girlfriend You need a social worker...
Life could be a bed of roses... If it wasn't full of so many pricks... Who want to take it out On the Belle Boy
So I was listening to Cerys Matthews on 6Music a couple of weekends back and I heard a song which sounded instantly familiar... even though I was convinced I'd never heard it before. One thing was certain: I wanted to hear more by this artist.
One of the many great music blogs I often frequent via my sidebar is Badger & SWC's When You Can't Remember Anything. I'm not entirely sure why they call their blog that, but it's a title which sums up so much of my life. My memory is not the greatest thing. I drive my significant other insane by writing notes to remind me of even the slightest little household task, because I know without them I'll forget. And yet... I can remember the lyrics of a song I haven't listened to in 25 years when it pops up on the radio. The mind is a cruel, cruel mistress.
However.
Occasionally in the comments section here, someone will commend me on my musical memory. To be honest though (despite what I said above), I don't really think it's that great. Yes, I can remember lyrics. But I can't remember where I bought the LPs of my youth (like Brian can) or recall entire conversations I had 20 years ago that revolved around obscure novelty records (like Jez can). I certainly can't bring back the kind of heartwarming musical anecdotes that Badger, SWC, Alyson, and others manage to regale us with on a regular basis. Half the time I feel like I've forgotten more than I'll ever remember about the music of my past...
...which brings us to this:
7. Jake Thackray - The Blacksmith & The Toffee Maker
If you're a year or two older than me, you probably remember Jake Thackray from his many television appearances in the late 60s and early 70s. Having done my research, I now think I do too. I recognise his voice (notable as it's local to me: he's from Kirkstall, a half hour drive away, but a place I have visited since I was a teenager as it is home to the first and oldest multiplex cinema round these parts) as well as his wry, minutely detailed songwriting. Morrissey & Jarvis were both early fans - and you can hear his influence on their witty lyricism. According to iffypedia, Jake fell out of favour in the 80s as his songs were seen as both bawdy and occasionally sexist... nothing wrong with the former, and as to the latter, well... as I'm now the proud owner of a 4 disc collection of his work*, I say: bull. (I could write more about that, but this post is already going on way too long.)
The point? I'd forgotten Jake Thackray completely until Cerys played the song below. And now I feel like a long lost friend from my childhood has come knocking. Except... could I be imagining that? Could I actually not remember Jake Thackray at all? Could it be he's exactly the kind of amusingly erudite wordsmith I adore, and I secretly want to claim him as mine when really we're complete strangers? I just don't know.
I can't remember anything...
*I had to buy the digital collection, sadly, as the OOP CDs would have set me back a couple of hundred quid.
Let's celebrate the bank holiday weekend with a good argument, as so many couples do.
Here are ten of the best arguing couples on record... although I had plenty more to choose from, so don't be surprised to hear a Volume 2 one day soon...
Way, way back in the year 2000... before many of today's 16 year olds were even born... German musical actress Ute Lemper teamed up with the likes of Scott Walker, Nick Cave, Elvis Costello and the Divine Mr. Hannon for a "pop" album. This was one of the acrimonious highlights...
Neil:
I was there for you.
You were there for me...
And him,
And half of the western world it seems...
Ute:
No, baby, that's not fair,
There were two or three...
Okay.
...At most
But I don't like to boast.
I
first heard this duet as recorded by one of my favourite bands of the
noughties: The Indelicates. In fact, I'd be featuring their version here
if it was on youtube: they really do make it their own. Hunt it down if
you can.
In its youtube absence though, the original
recording by Loretta and Conway is pretty damned cool too. Because looks
ain't everything and money ain't everything...
Dexys' (minus the Midnight Runners of their youth) 2012 album One Day I'm Going To Soar is one of the greatest comeback records in the history of pop... and these two songs are undoubtedly the highlight. It all begins with a passionate fling between Kevin Rowland and new recruit Madeleine Hyland which goes awry when Kev admits he doesn't know how to love her. (Men!) After a bitter row, she chucks him out... which leads directly into the explanations and recriminations of the following track. Too-ray-aye this ain't...
John and Iris take turns listing their faults... but in spite of all that, they're still very much in love. Which is always nice to hear.
John:
She don't like her eggs all runny
She thinks crossin' her legs is funny
She looks down her nose at money
She gets it on like the Easter Bunny
She's my baby, I'm her honey
I'm never gonna let her go
Iris:
He ain't got laid in a month of Sundays
I caught him once and he was sniffin' my undies
He ain't too sharp but he gets things done
Drinks his beer like it's oxygen
He's my baby
And I'm his honey
Never gonna let him go
Space are unfairly remembered as another bunch of Britpop also-rans, but listen to this again and it's a thing of unique beauty that sets them on an entirely different platform from the likes of Cast, Menswear and those two idiot brothers. It's weird, yes, but never too self-consciously quirky. The lyrical detail saves it, along with the genius move of employing Cerys for guest vocals: who else could have sung, "I have never thrown my knickers at you!" with such conviction (not to mention perfectly setting up Tommy Scott's comeback, "And I don't come from Wales")?
Best thing about it? This was actually their biggest chart hit... although we probably remember them more for Me & You Vs. The World or Female of the Species. Seriously, give this one another listen and remember: this song was on radio station A-lists all across the country. That's something which would never happen today...
Paul Heaton has probably written more bickering couple songs than anyone else I can think of (see also You Keep It All In, Your Father & I, Even A Palm Tree, etc. etc.).
The beauty of A Little Time though is that on first hearing it sounds more like a traditional love duet. Heaton wisely chose not to sing this one himself, instead giving the male part to the much less sarky-sounding Dave Hemingway, while original Beautiful South femme fatale Brianna Corrigan could well be singing the Diana Ross part of Endless Love. Until you listen to the lyrics. Or watch the video...
Tom and Crystal love to have a good whinge about the state the other one leaves the house in... makes you think they deserve each other. Things do get a little personal at times though. Highlight for me is when Tom asks Crystal...
Tell me - how long have you been combing your hair with a wrench?
Another forgotten classic from the Britpop era in which Lush's Miki Berenyi trades barbs with Jarvis, celebrating the demise of their "relationship". Methinks they doth protest too much...
Jarvis:
'Cause I've met this girl and she's so good to me
She's really beautiful, fantastic company
Oh, when I'm with her I realise what love can be
'Cause she's fifty times the person you will ever be
Miki:
Good luck, mister, do you think I care?
Since you've been gone the offers have been everywhere
I've got a million guys just lining up for me
I've turned a corner, boy, my life is ecstasy...
Marsa was uncredited on Friedman's biggest hit, yet she plays an essential part. It's Dean's lyrics that make this most like a real couple's argument though. The song's filled with non-sequiturs, rhetorical questions, clumsy inference, misunderstanding, sarcasm and the two of them finishing each other's sentences. You may consider it cheesy 70s MOR (sax break and all), but it's much deeper and smarter than that.
Plus, unlike a lot of the arguments on this list, this one has a happy ending...
1. Otis Redding & Carla Thomas - Tramp
Nobody bickers like Otis & Carla... there's not a wasted line in this classic. Best bicker? Without question...
Carla: Look here. You ain't got no money. Otis: I got everything.
Carla: You can't buy me all those minks and sables and all that stuff I want.
Otis: I can buy you minks, rats, frogs, squirrels, rabbits, ...anything you want, Woman.
Tramp wasn't written as a duet. The original version by Lowell Fulsom is just one guy bragging about what a lover-lover man he is. The beat's been sampled by everybody from Joe Tex to Ice Cube to Prince (on 7). The song's been covered by everyone from Salt 'n' Pepa to ZZ Top to the Steve Miller Band. But no other version comes close to Carla and Otis...
What are the chances of you agreeing with any of those? Bloody zero! You'll just disagree to be awkward. I know you.
Fatal Attraction, boil a bunny while I breakdance
Fart in my hotpants in a crowded theatre at Sundance (must have been the hot ranch)
...here's Princess Superstar to kill the mood. I like my rappers with a wicked sense of humour, and PS flips more puns than Eminem. This is the same song where she confesses:
Ahh, enough of this, I killed Snuffalufagus
With pills and made a snuff film to prove to Big Bird he exists (See he is real!)
Which is top quality rhyming, whichever way you cut it.
Saying
this sounds like every other James Brown jam is kinda missing the
point. I think for a large part of his career (and with a few obvious
exceptions such as It's A Man's Man's Man's World), James Brown pretty
much released the same record. When I saw
him live about 20 years ago, the whole show felt like one long song
(and The Godfather didn't even come on stage for the first half hour!). Still, it's funky in all the right places: that's what counts.
Back in 1964 when they formed, The Dramatics were originally called The Dynamics. There was a printing error on their third record though and I guess it was cheaper to change the name of the band than get all those labels reprinted...
And the main lesson to be had here: even if you want his advice on hotpants, don't accept a ride in Jarvis Cocker's cab.
4. Prince - Peach
Uh-oh... here she comes with those gold hot pants on again...
Sexist guff of the highest order, of course. And yet, because it was Prince, somehow he got away with it...
The thing is, while even Prince was pushing it here, it's far less offensive than the majority of modern day r 'n' b which seems to have set objectification to eleven to the point that everyone takes it for granted. I joke about the 70s, but the way women are portrayed (or even choose to portray themselves) in mainstream pop these days is far worse than it was in the 70s... because we should know better by now.
So says an old stick in the mud who's been teaching media studies as a sideline for the last couple of years and can't get his head round what the kids take for granted these days.
A
rarity in pop music: a song that objectifies both women and men in
equal measure. Gotta give Fred and Kate credit for that...
(Fred:) I'm in shippin', if you're receivin' 'Cause what I see I ain't believin' The longest legs in the shortest pants You got me doin' a matin' dance
(Kate:) Sap's up spring's on the rise I'm bustin' out my tube top tonight Workin' the night shift, I get off at three Breakin' out of that factory Thunder thighs-hangin' out! Moon beams, dancin' about (Both:) If you would be so kind Put on those red hot pants and take a stroll through my mind
Don't wear hotpants around the Donnas, and certainly don't try it on with their blokes... just a friendly warning.
Hey little girl, you're tryin to get with my guy
I've got two words: hands off, or baby I'll make you cry
I don't pull hair and I don't fight dirty
But piss me off at 9 and you're lunchmeat by 9:30
1. Loretta Lynn - The Pill
If you want to find the toughest, sassiest, "girl power" recording artists of the last 50 years, country music would be a great place to start looking. Dolly, Tammy, Loretta... these ladies took no shit and told it like it was. The Pill is a 1975 hit by the Coal Miner's Daughter, although it was recorded three years earlier: the record company were just too chicken to put it out. Even when they did, half the country stations in America refused to play it.
The Pill tells of a wife who's sick of being pregnant over and over again (Loretta herself had 6 kids; three before she was 19!) so is proud to switch to birth control when it becomes widley available so she can enjoy a little of the freedom her husband's been relishing. If you thought this post was destined to end up sexist... here's to Loretta's hotpants!
All these years I've stayed at home while you had all your fun
And every years that's gone by, another baby's come
There's gonna be some changes made right here on nursery hill
You've set this chicken your last time cause now I've got the pill
This old maternity dress I've got is going in the garbage
The clothes I'm wearing from now on won't take up so much yardage
Miniskirts, hot pants and a few little fancy frills
Yeah, I'm making up for all those years since I've got the pill
Final word goes to the B52s this time...
Who says hot pants are dead and gone? Wait'll they see what you've got on Yeah, I never saw nothin' so doggone hot You belong in Ripley's Believe It Or Not!
Which one gets you screaming, "Supercalihalitosis, oooh that outfit's the absolute mostest!"
Bill Bailey does an excellent Billy Bragg impersonation / homage / mickey take... so good, if you close your eyes, it could be Billy himself.
I wanted to free her In my dreams, I would see her Running naked through the woods round Rainham If I had some tigers, I'd train 'em To protect her From the sexual fascism that was lurking Round the gherkins
I think it's a shame Elvis Costello got a bit sniffy about his early pun-littered lyrics, because he wrote some absolute belters - and often threw them away on album tracks. This is a typically bilious rant against the tabloid press, probably only bettered by Billy Bragg's Scousers Never Buy The Sun.
If you've got something to hide, if you've got something to sell
If you've got somebody's pride she might kiss and tell
Or wind up with a fight fan in the Hammersmith Hotel
You better speak up now if you want your piece
You better speak up now
It won't mean a thing later
Yesterday's news is tomorrow's fish and chip paper
Dark and scary, it's Jarvis returning to his Sheffield roots, along with The All Seeing I's J.P. Buckle and Richard Hawley on guest guitar. They're all off on a dangerous night out in South Yorkshire, where it's not only the fish that'll get battered.
Being a full-blooded Yorkshireman, I can only grudgingly award this song fourth place. If I lived a few miles in the other direction over the Pennines, I might have made it Number One. But look, I let them win against Sheffield, just this once... because the first ever Fish 'n' Chip shop was in Oldham.
This one's a bit of a cheat since Chips Ahoy! is the name of a racehorse in the song, not a chip shop. But it would be a great name for a chip shop and this is one of my favourite Hold Steady songs. So until I get around to compiling a chart based around Horseracing Songs...
It's still one of the greatest lyrics in the history of music (and arguably the best punk song ever), courtesy of the man who would become John Shuttleworth...
I was so upset that I cried all the way to the chip shop...
1. Kirsty MacColl - There's A Guy Work Down The Chip Shop Swears He's Elvis
Ah, Kirsty. We miss you so much.
Although They Don't Know had been a big radio hit a couple of years earlier, it failed to hit the chart due to distribution shenanigans. Which makes this, two years later, Kirsty's first chart smash. It always felt like a country song to me (despite the very British location: re-recorded for American radio as There's A Guy Works Down The Truck Stop...), but just to confirm that, Kirsty also recorded a full on yee-haw version. They don't write 'em like this anymore...
He’s a liar and I’m not sure about you...
Do you want bits with any of those? (Or scraps, if you're not from round these parts.)
From Spearmint's wonderful Christmas album, Oklahoma, but allowed here because the girl in question's birthday is on Christmas Eve. Other than that, too good to miss out.
Just before the tipping point where Stevie went from genius to goon. I Just Called To Say I Love You was still a few years off. Plus, it's a tribute to Martin Luther King, so extra point for that. Still, the 80s electric keyboard sounds very Casio. He should have stuck with a proper piano.
Those were my birthday songs. Which do you wish me?
At last, the fourth issue of my comic Too Much Sex & Violence is out! (Should you be at all interested, you can buy it here.)
Way back through the mists of time when I published issue #3, I marked the occasion by compiling My Top Ten Sex Songs and My Top Ten Sexy Songs. At the time, I promised to complete that particular ménage à trois...but I'm afraid I've been a bit of a tease, haven't I? Hopefully you've not lost your appetite for this...
I'm jealous of the dangling men
You know you'll never go to bed with
I've felt the fire that fires them
I've known the unrequited love it's fed with
And I don't believe in Platonic love
But I'm still jealous of Plato
What a bore!
A Complete History of Sexual Jealousy Parts 17 to 24
Would have been Number One if it wasn't for a steward's enquiry. Any song that begins thus...
Baby, I'm hot just like an oven I need some lovin'
...deserves your respect and admiration.
Radio stations put the S-word in brackets, in case it upset impressionable listeners. BBC DJs at the time of its release were only allowed to call it 'Healing'.
1. Billy Bragg - Sexuality
It was almost too close to call, but how could I relegate Billy's finest pop moment (with a little help from Johnny Marr, Kirsty MacColl and Phil Jupitus) into second place? So many great lines, it's hard to pick a favourite...
I'm sure that everybody knows how much my body hates me
It lets me down most every time and makes me rash and hasty
I feel a total jerk before your naked body of work
Those were my sexual secrets... but which one gets you in the mood?
