I recently read somewhere, most excellent and genteel reader, about a contest in England to choose the worst lyrics to a song ever.
I don’t really know about this sort of thing. It is a fairly obvious effort to cash in on a less appealing aspect of human nature, the propensity to sneer.
Having said that, the winner did seem worthy, being from a song called “Life” by Des’ree.
For those who did not hear, the offending lines were:
“I don’t want to see a ghost,
It’s the sight that I fear most
I’d rather have a piece of toast
Watch the evening news.”
Now I don’t want to sound negative, but really could anyone come up with the above then put down his or her pen and think “that’s a good day’s work”? Surely not.
I understand that it has become something of a joke and generally gets mentioned in “Worst Lyrics Ever” discussions, so I suppose that is some sort of comfort for the writer.
Another one that I have trouble with is John Schumann’s song “I Was Only 19”.
Most Australians are familiar with this very popular song and it would take a stronger man than me to listen to it without being moved by the plight of the Vietnam veterans to whom it is a tribute.
Of course, that doesn’t mean that the song itself shouldn’t be held up to artistic scrutiny.
I ask you to scrute the following lines:
“Frankie kicked a mine the day that mankind kicked the moon,
God help me. He was going home in June.”
Presumably Schumann is suggesting that it was a bitter irony that Frankie should have been seriously injured, probably killed – it is not made clear, at a time that his departure was imminent.
Unfortunately that doesn’t quite work.
Man landed on the moon on 16 July 1969. I can still remember getting the day off school. Mum bought me a chocolate doughnut for lunch.
That being the case, Frankie had almost a whole year to wait before he was going home. The tour of Vietnam was one year. In other works, Frankie had practically all of his tour to wait before he got home.
That is not really what troubles me. What troubles me is that Schumann has used artistic licence to strain history and good taste in order to rhyme “moon” with “June”. Again, one cannot imagine a feeling of achievement flooding through him after that effort.
That pitiful rhyme has long been the most tedious cliché in verse. In this case “soon” would surely have been a far preferable rhyme.
Finally, I draw your attention to the perennially problematic “Macarthur Park”. There is practically no line in the song that could not be held up to ridicule by anyone who wished so to do. I don’t really need to do that here.
I was listening to it recently during a quieter moment. I blush slightly to confess that it was not the deliciously cracked Richard Harris version, but the slightly spicier one by Donna Summer. When pain and anguish rack the brow, I find that electric drums do a lot to ease the pain.
Anyway, the song had just started and I knew that the pinging of the electric drums would be with me soon. I was half dreaming but for some reason the following lines from the first verse penetrated my consciousness:
“..Between the parted pages and were pressed
In love’s hot fevered iron
Like a striped pair of pants”
I won’t dwell on what this means, I don’t have the slightest idea. I don’t understand how being between the parted pages would work, I have no experience of being pressed by love’s iron and although I can accept that such an appliance might be hot, I don’t see how it can have a fever.
What really struck me, though, is that I thought Donna was singing “..a stripy pair of pants”. That would have been ludicrous enough, but it turns out that the word is “striped”. To make the song scan you have to give it 2 syllables by giving full value to the “e”. Stripe-ed.
What bunkum. Surely when the lyrics don’t make any sense at all, you should at least be able to pronounce them naturally?
There is not really any point in suggesting an alternative. The song is too well established and is already surrounded in sufficient controversy. All I ask is that in future a little more care is taken. A little more care and a lot less chemical stimulation.
May 24, 2007 at 1:37 pm |
Using an online translator English-Italian-French and back again, we can sense of it slightly more make.
“Between the separate pages and it was bottle pincers fevered hot of the amore introduces like a coupling with bands of the trousers”
May 24, 2007 at 3:22 pm |
Olly,
What’s this all about? News doesn’t rhyme with toast, ghost or the other one.
In my day lyrics meant something, like “Read my lips” by that hot (then) new australian singer.
Phillip
May 24, 2007 at 3:22 pm |
Johnny,
Nice to see that you have overcome your difficulties in making your melifluous voice heard.
A great tip re the translations, it is starting to make more sense. I think all we can do now to perfect the meaning is to render it in the Cyrillic alphabet.
Love
Big Olly
May 24, 2007 at 3:27 pm |
Sorry Phillip, your contribution came in when I was catering to the ever demanding Johnny.
I think that the problem is that the poet has chosen an AAAB rhyme structure. I don’t know that this was actually a choice or whether she or he just ran out of “oast” words.
Boast, coast, host, post, and roast come to mind, but how could they possibly have been included without ruining the sense of the lyric. I stand by my contention that we should not be too harsh on this work.
Love
Big Olly
May 24, 2007 at 3:43 pm |
This raises two issues. Firstly how can she force the toast to watch the news?
Secondly, if we accept the anthropomorphic theme then its an AAAB CCCB work, and Olly has only one half of the amulet:
The toast takes its dishes to the sink,
then goes to the pub to have a drink,
but has so much it cannot think
and then it bloody spews.
May 24, 2007 at 3:56 pm |
Professor Fairweather;
I think you have been led astray by one with a far greater tolerance for swear words than my gentle readership. I am the last one to shrink from the salty language when it is appropriate, but here it is a little gratuitous.
Amulet?
Love
Big Olly
May 24, 2007 at 8:33 pm |
Big Olly
Johnny raises an interesting point.
While I have not yet had cause to visit the Google translator myself, I accept that could have its place, but perhaps not in music, which is surely a universal language.
A case in point is the song “Da Da Da” by Trio, which in the original German contains the lyric, “Ich lieb dich nicht, du liebs mich nicht.”
Now, even though many generations have passed since fluency in German was at all common in my family, I still find this delightful phrase tripping lightly from my tongue when I least expect it.
May 25, 2007 at 8:10 am |
Big Olly, I tried to avoid this contest, but now you’ve mentioned it, I have to enter the following for your considered opinion:
The George W Bush award for manglederised grammaticismicality goes to The Steve Miller Band (can’t seem to escape this on the radio at the moment!)
“Billy Mack is a detective down in Texas
You know, he knows just exactly what the facts is
He ain’t gonna let those two escape justice
He makes his living off of the people’s taxes”
My own personal choice for the most forced rhyme courtesy of The Icicle Works:
“My friend and I, were talking one evening,
Beside some burning wood,
Trading tales of places we came upon,
When the times were good”
Some burning wood? It’s a fire for flips sake! One of the oldest nouns in the history of human communication, ignored for the sake of this lame couplet. A shame really as I like the song! Whereas Steve Miller can go take a running jump…
May 25, 2007 at 8:18 am |
ugh I hate it when boxes are automatically filled… how do you delete the publicity??
May 25, 2007 at 9:57 am |
Sigusmund, it is good to see that you are, despite your advancing years, keeping up with the young people and their “googols” and such. I do hope that you don’t take it too far and become like one of those sassy grandmothers seen on American television programs.
As for “Da Da Da” by Trio, I remember it well. It was somewhat dirgelike and fairly long. It could bring a sharp end to the most riotous party. As I recall, on the version released locally, knowledge of German was not required as they sang the words in English as well.
It is an interesting rhyming structure. “dich nicht” and “mich nicht”. Is the rhyme the rather unstatisfying “nicht” and “nicht” or is it the internal rhyme of “dich” and “mich”?
Vivity. Viv. I appreciate that I have lowered myself a little in entering this arena. The observations lack the empirical scientific backing for which I have been striving lately. Having said that, the examples you give amply demonstrate my point that some lyricists are just a bit too easy on themselves. Particularly disappointing in an otherwise estimable work.
Anne, your comments are almost indecipherable to me but I detect a subtext of criticism of Vivity, the previous correspondant. If that is the case I beg you to be a little more open minded. A good way of becoming so might be to ply your mouse up there on her funny coloured name. Or so my nephew tells me.
Love
Big Olly
May 25, 2007 at 11:34 am |
Well Olly,
Although I sense a growing tension in our relationship, I will “post” once more:
it’s all very well to attack the boys who are just trying to make a few honest millions out of music industry so they can purchase drugs, and might cut a few corners of the sake of scansion.
What about your hero William Shakespeare? He commits the heinous crime of producing a rhyme to the visual eye but one that can never rhyme aurally.
I instance with this reference to The Scottish Play:
seal it with a baboon’s blood,
to make the potion firm and good.
May 25, 2007 at 11:37 am |
Yes I hate that Shakespeare, he makes my blued boil
May 25, 2007 at 11:59 am |
My dear Prof Fairweather, I would never allow a slight slip into vulgarity to mar our robust and mutually profitable relationship. I am so pleased that you have not felt the need to tarnish your contribution by resorting to the language of the docks.
Your point about Shakespeare is well made, even if your suggestion that I idolise him is unsupported. Nontheless, it strikes me that the weird sisters in the Scottish play would probably themselves have been Scottish. I hesitate to render the accent in print. Mr. Irvine Welsh, but it seems to me that the pronunciation might have been:
“Cool it wie a baboon’s blude
Then the charm is firm and gude”.
I suppose that is what new correspondent, Alims is getting at. But why use one line when ten will do the same thing?
Love
Big Olly
May 25, 2007 at 12:32 pm |
I give you Smooth Operater by Sade: “Coast to coast; LA to Chicago…”. Clearly not a cartographer. As Sean McAullif once said ‘Into the trash can!!”.
Daffy
(Or was it Margaret Mickey?)
May 25, 2007 at 12:49 pm |
Ah, well spotted Daffy. That is just wrong and cannot be passed off as a mere straining of poetic license. Your friend, the late and much lamented MacAuliffe, was indeed an astute judge of what was other than acceptable.
I invite readers to pause and lift a glass of their finest energised wine to his memory.
MaCawliffe, we hardly knew ye.
Love
Big Olly
May 25, 2007 at 4:32 pm |
How has it taken so long, and no one has mentioned that master wordsmith, Sir Paul McCartney. I mean, “Oh blah di Oh blah dah life goes on….BRA!!!” It makes Da Da Da look like one of Mozart’s operas.
I mean, who’s life goes on “BRA”? Granted it allowed us when younger to giggle at the use of what was then adult or naughty language. But why is it there in the song. What was the thought process? “Hmmm, I need something to rhyme with dah…. Got it!! Bra.”
Might the first draft have read “Oh blah di, Oh blah dox, life goes on …. JOCKS!!!” (mmm doesn’t sound so bad)
This gets him a knighthood. And he scores a legless ex nudie chick.
May 26, 2007 at 12:43 pm |
Lex, your point is a good one. Of course the Beatles did nod from time to time. If Homer is allowed to I can’t see why they should not be.
Might I also say that I do like your jocks song. It has a kind of punky feel and satisfies my artistic needs.
Love
Big Olly
May 27, 2007 at 3:11 pm |
Bapu,
I have read with relish your risible comments regarding the absurdity of certain song lyrics. This is no less true of certain eastern songs as it is in the west. Consider these lyrics from a recent album by Omkarnath Thakur (My Bird Trembles in a Vagabond Shoe). The lyrics are in Urdu but I think the silliness is universal. Enjoy:
āآپ سب
تُم تُم لوگ تُم سب
تُو مہرباآپ لوگنی
Sajit
May 27, 2007 at 3:14 pm |
Please note that Sajit (who I met through your blog) is staying with me on holiday. Tomorrow we visit the Bolivar Sewage Farm to feed the ducks.
Daffy
May 27, 2007 at 5:20 pm |
On the other hand, all this does is just show the perfect construct of the theme song from “The Milton the Monster Show”, a vastly under-rated song, (and indeed the series, upon reflection).
You know precisely what is needed to make the monster “6 drops of essence of terror, 5 drops of sinister sauce”, you know that the mixture is edible, and just as you’re wondering why the hell Professor Wierdo is adding a “tincture of tenderness”, you find out that self preservation is the key.
tincture
/tingkchr/
• noun 1 a medicine made by dissolving a drug in alcohol. 2 a slight trace. 3 Heraldry any of the conventional colours used in coats of arms.
• verb (be tinctured) be tinged or flavoured with a slight trace of.
Quite brilliant.
May 27, 2007 at 5:22 pm |
Don’t get me started on Sir Paul.
“I’ve heard it all before, Michael, she told me that I’m her forever lover,
You know, don’t you remember”
Maybe I’m just freaked out by Michael Jackson and Paul loving the same girl. What must she be?
May 27, 2007 at 5:27 pm |
Some Bloke, your post was in progress while I was composing my weak offering. Anyways, everyone please enjoy the perfect construction so mentioned by SB,
at
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZYF8X0jOT4
and
May 27, 2007 at 5:36 pm |
P.S. The words mentioned by SB are at the end of the second clip.
May 28, 2007 at 9:20 am |
Totally enlightening, thank you. (& am I much mistaken, or is the ‘Cowboy in Africa’ in The Blues Brothers Good Old Boys Band?)
May 28, 2007 at 9:26 am |
Well what about the unpopular late 80s hit: “Take the ‘L’ out of lover and it’s over”.
Lazy
Rubbish
Unlike the masterpeice,”Shoop shoop diddy wop cumma cumma wang dang”, or the majestic: “Who put the bop in the bop de bop de bop?”, the song doesn’t explian why the “L” is important so that it’s removal from the word lover has that special and clever meaning.
One could as pointlessly say: “Add the ‘you’d’ to ‘blood’ and it rhymes with good”*
*If you take out some other bits.
May 28, 2007 at 9:35 am |
Big Olly,
Good to see you bring up the Rock Dinosaur, old Adelaide boy Sean Metcalf.
A flood of memories of his domination of the Adelaide stage in a time where street lights, TV and the radio would turn off at 12.15 brought a nostalgic tear to my eye.
Critics still talk about his Nana in Peter Pan, and why wouldn’t they?
Widely tipped to be the next Malcolm Harslett, nay Rick Marshall, Sean was lured off to the big pond of the eastern seaboard and never heard of again.
Yet my fondest TV memories are “On This Day” when Chico entertained the troops with an irreverant “Waltz-ing-a Matilda” and Sean’s powerhouse “Thank you I’ll have another” in the Halls ad.
Thank You Big Olly
s.
May 28, 2007 at 12:17 pm |
Err, well, thanks for the comments to both Daffy and Sajit. It is delightful to think that friendships are being forged by reason of my humble offerings. Do be careful at Bolivar. Those ducks have no fear.
Some Bloke, it was with tears of mirth that I read your observations about Milton the Monster and I am so pleased that someone was able to make a positive contribution. I always seem to be the voice of pedantry and smugness.
Johnny, your bitterness toward Sir Paul should be tempered by the recollection that he has not been lucky in love. His first wife died and the next woman he married has, I understand, one foot in the grave. So unfortunate. I am pleased to report that my nephew was able to retrieve the items that you had on your tube and greatly enjoyable they were.
Anna, I believe that this is “welcome aboard”. I hope that you find your journey with us to be enjoyable and educational. I am pleased that you have been able to start with the fun of “Milton”. As for your thought provoking observation about the African Cowboy, I must say that I think you might be right.
Professor Fairweather, again you have brought the benefit of your learning to the group, leaving us all the richer – as usual. I recall our old mutual friend, Treeless Marty Braun’s hilarious version of that same song, in which he substitued “Llama” for “love” and was able to amusingly assert that the removal of the “L” didn’t make any difference. How we laughed at the Amity Society annual smoking concert when he did that one.
Ms McD, I don’t know that we should dwell on Shane Macallaf. It is, after all, a thankless task to speak ill of those who have gone before. We should remember the good things, the happy times. We will always have “I didn’t order that” to cheer us up in our sad moments. Let’s leave it at that.
Love
Big Olly
May 28, 2007 at 1:56 pm |
Ahem, Olly, I was speaking well of him…
May 28, 2007 at 2:20 pm |
OK, Ms McD, if that is the interpretation you ask us to put on it, I am prepared to strain credulity and do so.
Thankyou for your constructive input.
Love
Big Olly
May 28, 2007 at 5:53 pm |
Big O,
I have been absent from these dialogues for some time now but had to join with you in lamenting the excruciating lyrics of MacArthur Park. I have one matter of clarification tough, my recollection is that lyrics as sung by Frank Sinatra went as follows;
“Between the parted pages that were pressed,
A love hot fevered like a striped pair of pants…”
Which makes it no clearer at all.
But the nadir of the lyrics comes about half way through;
“I still see the yellow cotton dress foaming like a wave upon the ground
Around your knees, and the birds like tender babies in your hands…”
Now all of this happens after the cake was left out in the rain. The only sort of rain I can think of which would cause a yellow cotton dress to dissolve into foam like a wave would be acid rain. Very strong acid rain. This would explain why the park itself is melting and not just the cake. It may also explain the angst ridden nature of the lyrics. He may never have that recipe again because like the foaming cotton dress he may not make it home. He will drink the wine while it is warm and never let you catch him staring at the sun. There will only be warm wine and very little sun in the post apocalyptic nighmare posited by the lyricist. By the conclusion it is curtains for the central character and it is no wonder the song ends with the words ‘Oh no! Oh no!’.
I could be wrong about the lyricist being inspired by the threat of acid rain. It could simply have been acid that was getting him all worked up.
T, G of H
May 28, 2007 at 7:35 pm |
Big Olly
Perhaps you could explain to the great unwashed the concept of the song “You’re So Vain.”
The main thrust is that this bloke she knows is so vain that he’d automatically think that this song is about him. As if! Then she proceeds to detail various parts of his private life (including a rather lame criticism about his horse “naturally”winning ~ personally, I think this angst is better directed at the trainer and jockey).
Put yourself in this bloke’s shoes for a moment ~ yep, my horse won at Saratoga, I flew up to see that eclipse of the sun, I’ve got an apricot scarf and, come to think of it, I AM where I should be all the time. Ergo, it’s me.
But immediately, that other voice in his head telling him not to be so vain, because she knew he ‘d probably think the song is about him.
Either she’s a genius, and the song cannot actually be about anyone, or she sacrificed common sense to complete the line.
Mind you, rhyming gavotte with apricot is sublime. Paul McCartney would be kicking himself for not thinking of that one ~ no doubt with the ex’s leg, in the midst of another cowardly assault on her….
May 28, 2007 at 9:27 pm |
Alas, poor Metcalfe! I knew him, McDagio
A fellow of infinite jest…where be his gibes now?
Which brings me to a matter that is troubling me greatly. I have not slept since reading Mr OneHat’s (or is it Mr Hat? Apologies if I have erred) most distressing post about The Girl Is Mine – partly due to the unpleasant subject matter, but mainly because it brought to mind the soliloquy in Thriller
“Creatures crawl in search of blood
To terrify your neighbourhood”
Big Olly, is Michael Jackson -as I have always suspected -a great scholar of the Bard? Or is he Scottish? or does it just not rhyme?
Sleepless and stumped,
DF.
May 28, 2007 at 9:39 pm |
Hoy Olly,
I was just set to thinking that Sir Paul McCartney and his wife, Lady Heather McCartstump could do a world wide benefit to raise millions of money for their divorce.
She could do some Frank Spencer impersonations like that leg dance in Mame or homourously sing “Creature of the Night” from Phantom (and Rocky Horror), and he could use her prothesis to do Jake the Peg.
Throw in Ringo on drums (and someone good to play another set) and you’ve got a 44 carrat hit! The audience could sit on barrels.
Noted messy divorce knight Sir Bob Geldorf would be rubbing his one hit wonder hands together over this one.
What do you think? Personally, unlike Lady Heather, I think its got legs.
Phillip
May 29, 2007 at 11:50 am |
Well, quite a rush of thoughts there.
Ms. McD, I am awfully sorry to have misinterpreted you so badly. Imagine describing someone as “the new Ric Marshall” and being complimentary. I am sure that Ric would be delighted if he found out. If he is still with us. By which I mean both alive and at liberty.
Timmo, I speak for all when I say how pleased we all are to have you back in our warm bosom. Your analysis of “MacArthur Park” bears the closest scrutiny and is compelling. I feel confident that we will be presented with a MAJOR MOTION PICTURE in the near future. I see Sir Anthony Hopkins in the main role. Him or Leonardo DiCaprio.
Some Bloke, you have asked for my interpretation, but in the same breath you provide, Timmo style, an analysis so closely reasoned that my interpretation must be derived entirely from yours.
Diana Frances, you give cause for pause and reflection. Could Michael Jackson be Scottish? A fascinating theory and supported by the rhyme to which you refer. I note that he does seem comfortable in the company of Scottish types – such as McCartney. An eerie circle is described in popular culture.
Finally, Phillip, friend of my youth! How I laughed at your delicious fantasy!
I don’t know if the lovely Lady Heather can sing. I suspect we may not find out, as I doubt that she will be required to sing for her supper from now on.
Love
Big Olly
May 29, 2007 at 1:15 pm |
Big Olly,
After many years of prayerful contemplation I believe that I too have something to contribute to this debate. My area of expertise is of course the lyrics to popular Hymns. In the solitude of my cell here at the Convent I have found myself experiencing the rapture of God on countless occassions through the power of remembered music. What is divine love if not a song from Him to us? Two thoughts have brought me comfort in recent years and I would like to share them with you.
1. Did you know that the verses of ‘Once in Royal David City’ can be sung to the tune of ‘I Was Made For Lovin’ You Baby” ? Try it, it scans perfectly.
2. What, if anything do the lyrics of the hymn ‘Lord of the Dance’ have to do with Michael Flatley? Do the lyrics suggest that Christ, like Micheal Flatley was a flashy dancer in tight black pants and a puffy shirt. After so many years Olly, such a thought would send a quiver through my desicated nether regions. Perhaps prayer is answered after all.
OR, to the contrary, in naming his own show ‘Lord of the Dance’ did Mr Flatley intend to imply that he was such a pretty dancer that he could only rightfully be compared with Our Lord and Saviour, the Nazarene, Jesus son of Mary. Such a vanity would be more worthy of Lucifer himself, the prettiest of all the Angels before his fall.
Still, I suppose we should find it in our hearts to forgive Mr Flatley, shouldn’t we Big Olly? After all, it would be pretty hard to peddle a stage show based around Irish Dancing and the sound of a few tin whistles if it was called ‘Satan Prince of Darkness’ or ‘Dancing with the Wicked One’.
Yours etc
Sr Cornelia
May 29, 2007 at 3:25 pm |
Welcome, Sister. How delightful to have access to the views of one of the lucky cloistered few. A note of caution though, we generally refrain from referring to anything dessicated except for, perhaps, cocoanut.
Might I also say that to fit “Once in Royal David’s City” into “I Was Made”, I find that I have to stretch “David’s” into “Da-a-vid’s”, which is quite acceptable but possibly not perfect scansion. Otherwise your observation is both correct and delightful.
As for the work of Mr. Flatley, I find myself torn. Perhaps “Dark Lord of the Dance” would be appropriate. Having said that, I suspect that Mr. Flatley must be about ready for one of those “Whatever Happened To?” specials, isn’t he?
Love
Big Olly
May 29, 2007 at 7:37 pm |
Mnsr Olly,
allow me to introduce myself. My name is Norberto. May I call you Big?
Big, I haff until now watched your blerg from afar. But I must ecrivez l’effilochure, as we French are wont to say. It is incorrect of you to suggest that the correspondent who calls herself Sr Cornelia has made an erreur of ’scansion’ as you call it with such affectation. I haff heard the Christmas carol discussed above many times with the ‘David’ scanning three beats or what have you. So all our amis has done is to trade one three beat ‘Da-a-vid’ with anotheur. So there.
But on anotheur note, I doubt the credentials of this so called lucky cloistered one. How does a cloistered Nun develope such a knowlege of pop culture? She is clearly an accomplissez et poussez l’article truque! So there again!
bon soir
Mnsr N Quim
May 29, 2007 at 9:18 pm |
Big Olly,
I had not thought that I would be called upon so soon to defend myself from attacks from the likes of Quim. Even after so many years of refelction in a convent I am unable to fathom how I could work Quim into such a lather.
So a little of my story, lest I be accused again of being chimerical.
I was born in County Westmeath which as you will know Big Olly, is west of Meath and have never once left it. For forty years I have resided in a convent. We are a silent order except at meal and prayer times. In all that time I have had only a transistor radio secreted in a hollowed out copy of ‘The Imitation of Christ’ and occassional glimpses of a telly hidden by Sister Rothgar behind the multiple leather bound copies of the ‘Hite Report into Female Sexuality’ in the Scriptorium to keep me in touch with the outside world. Oh, and of course, some limited access to the Internet via the laptop in the bursar’s office when I slip out of Vespers on the pretext of going to the bog.
And for those of you with ‘durty minds’, when I say ‘the bog’, I am NOT referring to the water closet. How dare you! I am talking about a soggy field made of peat which abutts the outer walls of the convent, and where, as is well known, I sneak out to of an evening to park a turd in the open air. I trust I have made myself clear. In fact, my internet browsing has become so frequent of late that my fellow Sisters in Christ have become quite concerned about the apparent frequency of my motions. As I heard the Mother Superior mutter in the refectory only yesterday, ‘Jaysus, Sister Cornelia’s arse must be completely banjaxed!’
Anyway, I spend much of my time sitting in my cold cell contemplating paradise and listening to the tranny. As I joke to some of the younger and more musical postulants,
‘I’ve been to Paradise,
But I’ve never been to Meath..’
They feckin’ shite themselves. Every time.
So that’s me and that’s it for now. There is no more for today.
In Pace Christi,
Yours etc,
Sr Cornelia
May 30, 2007 at 8:29 am |
Olly,
As creator of Louie the Fly and The Power of One, I was surprised that none of your obviously clever readers have raised the crimes of advertising agency Mojo in their Hungry Jack’s period.
Firstly they promoted “shades” sunglasses which had the withdrawal for causing blindness.
Then they gave us the Jack and Jill Value meal, based on the false premise that Jill rhymes with meal.
The song went:
I met her down at Hungry Jacks
her name was Jill the place was packed
she was the answer to all my dreams
she liked chicken I like beef
I mean, like how lame is that? Only in their dreams does beef rhyme with dream.
May 30, 2007 at 10:08 am |
Well, merci indeed for your contribution, Monsieur Quim and how delightful to welcome another European contribution. It strikes me that, there beinga an extra syllable in the relevant lines of each song, they can’t match exactly, but I accept that it is close enough to be a delicious parlour game. I suppose one should be able to sing the popular song words to the tune of the hymn as well.
Sister Cornelia, I appreciate that you have been upset by Norbert’s curiosity as to the breadth of your learning, but you do yourself no favours by responding after you have clearly been nipping at the altar wine.
There is no need for reference to anyone’s fundament in this discussion, nor to give vent to your simple Irish peasant’s whimsical descriptions of ordinary physical functions. Indeed I do not see the need to descend to that sort of comment at all. Having said that, you give a fascinating insight into a world most of us can only dream of. That of the convent. Indeed I was having just such a dream the night before last.
B Courtney, welcome. I am not surprised that advertisers take greater liberties with the language and the beauty of verse than do the poets. Having said that, “Jacks” and “packed” is not such a hot rhyme, either.
On another note, it seems as though there is a small amount of activity over at “Organ Donor”, for those who are interested.
Love
Big Olly
May 30, 2007 at 11:53 am |
Big, here’s one for your mailbag of future topics. Thin shoelaces vs thick? Some would say it depends on the shoe. But does it really? I look forward to reading the heat of debate.
May 30, 2007 at 11:54 am |
P.S. I’m off to the Organ Donor blog.
May 30, 2007 at 3:27 pm |
Thanks for that, Johnny. I hope to deal with that interesting topic soon. There is, as you suggest, much to be covered and I anticipate a range of personal opinions.
Love
Big Olly
May 31, 2007 at 8:03 pm |
Big,
I notice a few people, you included, indulging in that great Australian tall poppie tradition and bagging William Shakespeare on this forum. I don’t know all of his songs, but for mine you could not fault “My Little Angel”. Well, I suppose, someone of your nit-pickery could fault the following:
“Now I miss her-er dearly since she left tha-at day
But I know she is near me every hour, every day-ay
Because she’s, because she’s my, my little angel
My little angel, my little angel, yes she’s mi-i-i-ine.”
I realise that day and day-ay are the only rhymes, and that both lack the, what was it, Johnny Scanlon… scanclon.. scanion…?.
Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t invented in Bill’s day.
May 31, 2007 at 11:02 pm |
Dear olly, I dear that the discussion has wandered somewhat off track. I think you are being a little niave by assuming John schumann didn’t know what he was doing. He is deconstructing aussie mateship. “frankie” is obviously frank Sinatra, in a refernce to both his syrupy love songs and “the manchurian candidate”. Note the restraint in not rhyming “loon” or “poon”- obviously a coded message to us all. Need I say more?
Yrs etc……
June 1, 2007 at 11:08 am |
Some Bloke, I had forgotten all about William Shakespeare. For some reason he always makes me think of Gilbert O’Sullivan. We all recall his splendid lyric;
“He had a brother
Like any other
Who got his nose caught
In a ga-ate
And when they freed him
It so relieved him
That he said “ooh whacka doo whacka day”.
That stands alone. I do not feel the need to comment further.
As for William Shakespeare, he had enough problems of his own what with the nasty accusations coming from those pesky little girls. He didn’t have time to concentrate on the lyrics of “My Little Angel”. He was giving the quality time direct to the little angels themselves.
Dr. Hackenbacker, nice to hear from you. Your “take” is a fascinating one and eases my discomfort at feeling compelled to criticise an iconic song. Great is my relief at realising that it is I who have been too shallow. Obviously when Schumann sings
“I can still see Frankie drinking tinnies in the Grand Hotel
On a 36 hour rec leave in Vung Tau.
And I can still hear Frankie lying screaming in the jungle
‘Til the morphine came and killed the bloody row.”
He is referring to a strange meld of some sort of USO concert and the effect of the accidental consumption of one disprin too many while in the grip of a hangover.
What could be more matey than that?
Love
Big Olly
June 1, 2007 at 3:10 pm |
Orry-san,
Perhaps we should be looking at this from another angle. Instead of just criticising the various lyricists, why not do a bit of “brainstorming” to come up with a better result, philosophically, historically and scansionisationally.
For instance:
“Frankie kicked a mine the day that Fitzroy won the flag.
God help me… my mum cleans with a rag.”
Not so dramatic, sure, but otherwise complete. Hang on… did Fitzroy ever win the flag?
I daren’t not try to come up with an alternative to MacArthtur Park though. That’s in the Shane McLoughlin league.
Konnichiwa!
June 1, 2007 at 6:36 pm |
Big Olly
Takahashi–san raises an interesting point, but I am afraid his assessment is flawed.
Schumann’s lyric is a lily that will stand no gilding.
I refer you to the work of those great Australian Hip Hop innovators “the Herd” who made a cover version of song. Many parts of the song they sought to improve. For instance the first two lines:
“Mum and Dad and Denny saw the passing out parade at Puckapunyal,
(1t was long march from cadets)”
the Herd rewrites thus:
“Mum, Dad and Denny
were some amongst many
who turned up to see the passing out parade at Puckapunyal
Seemed every man and his mongrel
watched cadets stumble
on the long march to the Viet jungle.
“Oh Christ”, I mumbled as I drew that card
and my mates came to slap me on the back with due regard
We were the sixth battalion and the next to tour
we did Canungra and Shoalwater before we left, rest assured”
So we can see that they are not afraid to introduce change where it is warranted. However, even these bold young men left the Moon-June lines unchanged.
June 1, 2007 at 6:55 pm |
Mr Olly,
I watched this for too long. And you have got off the point.
The problem with the Red Gum song was that Schumann’s obsession with the “moon and June” couplet meant that he could not, to a man of your education, convey the emotional trauma of the juxtaposition of Frankie’s injury and he is imminent return to Australia, and relative safety therein.
Whilst one never wants to interfere with the artist at his work, one might, if one was Schumann’s friend, suggest the following:
And Frankie kicked a mine the day that mankind kicked the moon,
God help me [ta dum ta dum] he was going home real soon.
F#cken wanker
June 1, 2007 at 7:03 pm |
Big Olly
I would like to introduce further evidence that the creation of the Moon-June lines was Mr Schumann’s finest hour. The effort of writing them left him without further inspiration, and since that time his most noteworthy achievement has been an appearance on the short-lived kids’ TV show Mulligrubs.
(I should clarify that the show was short-lived, not that it was a successful show for short-lived kids. That would be too cruel.)
June 2, 2007 at 7:51 am |
Dear Big Olly,
If we are to embark upon a debate about Mr Schumann’s greatest moment, I can not in good conscience allow the discussion to continue without mentioning his lesser known work I’ve Been To Bali Too which I believe contains the lines:
Touch down, touch down, Tullamarine
They sprayed me on the plane so I’d be real clean
For my own part, I wish Mr Schumann was really clean in the same way that I would prefer Frankie’s tour of duty expired historically inaccurately in June, than real soon. If Frankie had been due to come home really soon, I would be happy as Larry.
Yours Sincerely,
P. Hookham
June 2, 2007 at 10:28 am |
Someone, probably Phil Leepeens, described Sir Bob Geldorf as a “one hit wonder”. That’s a little harsh. For mine, I think ‘I Don’t Like Mondays’ WAS a hit, so add that to the wildly successful ‘Banana Republic’ and he must be a 2 hit wonder.
Take your hand and lead you
Up a garden path
Let me stand aside here
And watch you pass
Striking up a soldier’s song
I know that tune
It begs too many questions
And answers too
Ah yes, a positively devastating critique of the generic police state by Sir Bob.
By the way, yes, I’ve been to Bali, too. But not a passing out parade parade at Puckapanyal, so another miss for Schumann.
June 3, 2007 at 8:54 am |
Big,
I can assure Some Bloke and your other readers that Mr Lipeens would have taken account of “Bannana republic” when he described Sir Robert Geldoff as a one hit wonder. Doubtless it brought him no joy to do so.
Plastic Bertram produced other songs as well, so the mere output of songs where the rhyme has been sacraficed on the alter of modernity as correctly instanced by Some, accompanied with luridly coloured film clips (doubtless to show Sir Robert’s lighter side after the moody “Mondays”) does not equate a hit.
Stealing artistic credibility from others by whipping up “live aid” or “cool aid” or whatever, was a masterstroke.
June 3, 2007 at 8:56 am |
Look, be honest I had forgotten Bannana Republic. Sorry about that.
Phillip
June 4, 2007 at 10:33 am |
Well, an active weekend for some correspondents. Well done, my friends.
Ohira, you have clearly been pursuing your studies in English as the flow of your writing and your familiarity with Australian Rules Football have improved immensely. Perhaps your first suggestion could do with a little polishing up. Perhaps your mum could take her rag to it?
Sigismund, I take your point but would be keen to know the Herd’s motivations. Were they aware of the historical facts as revealed here by your fearless correspondent? Me, I mean.
Oscar, welcome aboard. Your suggestion is a tantalising one and I can see where you are going. Possibly Schumann could have affected a Scottish accent and said “God help me, I saw him fall doon”. It would be a stretch but a better option than “moon” “June” as far as I am concerned.
Peggy, again welcome aboard. It is always lovely to have the input of a fresh voice, particularly one as well versed in the subject matter as yours. An interesting historical and grammatical perspective that you have taken. Do I assume that Schumann was in Bali while his contemporaries were slogging around the jungles of Vietnam? And then he goes and cashes in on their suffering by writing a song about them? No actually I think he was in Bali much later and anyway, he donated most of the profits from “I was only 19″.
I think.
Some Bloke, you have raised a rich area for the amateur of lyrics and I think your observations stand on their own. If I might descend from the loftier plane to the more earthly one for a moment, might not Sir Robert make a fine match for Lady Mills? What a perfect couple. I wonder if someone would be so kind as to introduce them for me? I would consider it a lovely favour.
Professor Fairweather, I am so pleased to see that your bout of cerebral excitation has passed and that you are now leaping to the defence of fellow correspondents rather than trying to bring them low. Unfortunately in this case your defence is a little misguided though your analysis of Sir Robert’s work and its contrast to that of Plastique Bertrand is startling. Congratulations.
Love
Big Olly
June 4, 2007 at 1:59 pm |
Big Olly,
the suspense is killing me. Shut this dialogue down and post another topic.
T, G of H
June 4, 2007 at 6:21 pm |
My dear Ollie,
I was delighted to see your reference to the exquisite rhyme of the Scottish “down” with anything that has two zeros in it, from baboon to blood.
Clearly you have seen one of my earlier works “Brigadoon” (which word curiously enough rhymes with clown in the original Gaelic).
Keep up the excellent work,
O H 3rd
June 4, 2007 at 6:59 pm |
Dear Senor Hammerstein;
Again I am made to blush by the effusive praise of a contributor.
Brigadoon is indeed a favourite. How could it be otherwise. The mention of Brigadoon often makes me think of that grand old standard “How Are Things in Glocca Morra”, which is perhaps a bit unusual as that song is in fact from “Finnian’s Rainbow”. The reason I confuse them is because I have not the least interest in either of these insipid works. Having said that, I cannot help wondering wether that little brook is still babbling there.
Can anyone advise?
Love
Big Olly
June 4, 2007 at 7:32 pm |
Finnian’s Rainbow, that load of American blather about all manner of things ‘Oirish’ (some mythical nationalilty whose people all say ‘Top o’ the Mornin’ and ‘To be sure’) was directed by that famous Son of Erin, the Hibernian Hero Himself, that son of a Bogtrotter, Francis Ford Coppolla. No shite. It starred Fred Astaire, for whom Coppolla obviously had an affinity. Rumour has it that Coppolla begged Astaire to play the part of Luca Brasi in the Gobfather but Fred, hopelessly hooked on the black stuff since playing the part of Finnian, held out for the role of that Sicilian scrubber what got blown to smithereens in the car. Gobshite. It’s only talk mind.
Yours etc,
Sr Cornelia
June 4, 2007 at 7:41 pm |
Sister Cornelia, what a pleasure to see that you are out and about again afther your recent bout of ill health. And yes, I do mean afther.
Astaire would have made a magnificent Luca Brasi. One can see him, in one’s mind’s eye, expressing the hope that the Don’s grandchildren would be masculine, then setting the sound stage alight with a song and dance number on that very theme. It sends a shiver down my spine.
Of course, some would say that Sinatra’s appearance in the Godfather was not so much an acting role as inspiration for part of the story. I am not at liberty to comment on that, lest Toothy Anderson’s head turns up under the eiderdown.
Love
Big Olly
June 5, 2007 at 9:02 am |
Big Olly ,
you have my meaning exactly. Astaire would have done a wonderful dancing rendition of ‘I hope their children are masculine children’ and possibly thrown in a bit of the old dancing on the ceiling around Don Corleone’s study. Brando would have been comfortable with the idea, having put in such a fine turn in ‘Guys and Dolls’. Instead the nancy boy in Freddo made him refuse the role and he thereby NEARLY RUINED THE WHOLE SHEBANG!
Yours etc,
Sr Cornelia.
June 5, 2007 at 10:35 am |
Sister, bestill yourself, I beg you! These ponderings have clearly touched a long untroubled nerve and I wonder whether this can be quite healthy for you.
Having said that, the whole wedding scene would have had a much needed injection of gaity had Fred taken the role of Luca Brasi, the role he was clearly born to play.
Love
Big Olly
June 6, 2007 at 11:19 am |
To what order does Sr Cordelia’s belong? She has the tone of my grade 3 (three) teacher at St. Joseph’s Brompton. Firm but fair. We thought she was about 100 (C) at the time but she was probably just a slip.
June 7, 2007 at 9:13 am |
They should never have let the Carmelites get access to the Internet.
Go in peace etc
June 7, 2007 at 1:09 pm |
Were they Carmelites because they have a soft centre? (Asks this while clutching scapular to breast).
June 8, 2007 at 6:33 am |
Was bequiffed 80’s pop songstress Carmel one?
I always thought scapular meant shoulder blade. Maybe it does & you have unusual clutching habits…
June 12, 2007 at 10:50 am |
I am not sure, StabiloBOSS, to what order Sr Cordelia belongs but I don’t think that it is important in the context of this discussion. I mean, I don’t wish to horrify you, but I have reason to believe that one of my corrspondents uses a pseudonym. In particular, I don’t know if she is a Carmelite or whether Carmel was a Carmelite. Indeed I am going to need my nephew’s assistance to identify said bequffed chanteuse.
The Scapular I can help with. It is sort of a holy picture on the end of a bootlace which your adherent to the Roman church is given to draping about his person to ward off sin or something.
Love
Big Olly