Jonny Rubbish - Living In NW3 4JR/ The Other Side

If one Johnny Rotten sometimes exaggerates and lies, but the parody of Johnny Rotten always tells the truth, which one is actually right wing?

Label: United Artists
Year of Release: 1978

Novelty takes on punk rock were all the rage within minutes of the scene becoming mainstream news. Given that one of the primary objectives of punk was that anyone could do it, the doorway was left wide open for amateur aspiring comedians and social commentators to feel they could parody it too - it doesn't take a stand-up comedian more than a day to learn how to play a few chords badly, after all, making the movement easy pickings for quick and cheap laughs.

Enter Jonny Rubbish stage left, or Jon Gatward as his family knew him. He was a "punk comic" who supported The Stranglers on tour, being canned and spat off stage while he stood around in a dustbin mocking the careers of John Lydon, Paul McCartney and The Bee Gees with slightly heavy-handed parodies of their styles.

Only two singles of his seem to have hit the record shops, this one - by far the superior effort in my opinion - and a festive parody of The Bee Gees called "Santa's Alive" which is so awful I'm surprised The Stranglers didn't garrotte him for it. Both 45s are blunt takes on dominant trends and topical issues, with some lines which veer close to student revue stylings and others which are unexpectedly funny. NW3 4JR refers to the area of Belsize Park Gardens in South Hampstead, an area much sought after by the cream of North London society, and the track opens with Rubbish sneering "I am a Capita-LIST!" It's completely impossible to ascertain whether he's talking about himself as a defined comedy character or mocking the idea that John Lydon was ever a bog-standard prole with the kids' best interests at heart, but the track continues with all the savagely conservative, aspirational gusto of a man who sincerely wishes to attain the status of Hampstead.

The production is incredibly on-the-money though, sounding gritty, distorted, grainy and strangely thrilling, reminding us that underneath the alleged Great Rock and Roll Swindle lay some bloody astounding material which would have sounded exciting in just about anybody's amateur hands, even a comedy man in a trashcan.

The B-side, on the other hand, is largely some very dodgy spoken-word nonsense about Rabbis going on strike which might have halfway worked in Peter Cook and Dudley Moore's hands, but here just sounds badly thought through at best.

Larry Grayson - Shut That Door/ Slack Alice

Comedy catchphrase pop from British comedy giant

Label: York

Year of Release: 1972

While generalising about any art-form is a risky business, it's reasonably safe to say that comedy catchphrases usually serve two primary purposes - to either act as the pay-off line to a sketch or gag, one which the audience can usually sense is going to happen but are kept on tenterhooks finding out how, or as a unifying, call-and-response device to the audience (think Bruce Forsyth's "Nice to see you, to see you... nice!") Even in the hands of surrealists like Vic and Bob, catchphrases are normally inserted into the dialogue at the appropriate points rather than being disruptive, though the word "appropriate" often has an entirely different meaning in their world. 

Larry Grayson's random, irritated use of the phrase "Shut that door!" feels like a bit of an anomaly then, and one so absurd I find myself giggling just thinking about it. Frequently Grayson would be in the middle of a tall tale or a routine, when his brow would furrow, his lips would quiver and fall silent and he would suddenly blurt out the catchphrase in an aggravated fashion, occasionally followed by explanations such as "The draft in here is wicked!" before he picked up the threads of his routine again. It gave a lot away about his onstage character, this prissy, fussy man who was over-sensitive and irritated by mess, disagreeable temperatures, dust and dirt, but it otherwise often acted as an interruption and an unusual pause. It wasn't the only one in his routine, either, which was often littered with asides, pauses and diversions. He was clearly not afraid of possibly ruining the arc of any gag or tale he told. 

The catchphrase apparently originated from a live show he did at the New Pavilion Theatre at Redcar, where somebody had left a stage door wide open causing the cold sea air to blast across the stage (though alternative stories about its origins have also been told). The hilarity caused by this interjection clearly inspired him to work it into every show, where it remained even when he became a host of The Generation Game at the very peak of his career. It didn't really belong in the middle of a quiz show either, and it was no less incongruous being plonked slap at the start of the show's theme tune ("Shut that door and enjoy the Generation Game!" trilled the female singers) - but why mess with a formula that clearly worked? That idle stage-hand in Redcar can't possibly have known what a gift they gave Grayson by not doing their job properly.

Almost inevitably, there was also a "Shut That Door" single in 1972, which I present for your delight here. "Shut that door, shut that door, there's a terrible draft in here" sings Larry in his usual obsessive-compulsive manner, and the tune gayly swings along, tripping over numerous double-entendres on its way. It's everything you'd expect it to be, and further descriptions from me here aren't going to shed more light on his world. 

John Davidge - Fear Of Love/ Cold Road

'The British Lenny Bruce' on a gloomy Leonard Cohen tip

Label: Polydor

Year of Release: 1972

The British Alternative Comedy boom of the late seventies/ early eighties seemed to explode out of nowhere, but as key figures such as Alexei Sayle have noted, some of the elements were already in place. Out on the folk circuit, keen story-tellers such as Billy Connolly, Mike Harding, Jasper Carrott and Richard Digance delivered observational material a world away from the punchy gagmeisters on the working man's club circuits, and formed an interesting (and increasingly popular) splinter group of their own. This helped shift expectations of what could and could not be accepted by live audiences. 

On the working man's club circuit itself, there were also weird outliers, performers such as John Cooper Clarke who understood how to keep their audiences onside while also going in unexpected new directions with their material. John Davidge - aka John Paul Joans - was, however, possibly the biggest fish out of water in these venues; a man who, if the video evidence we have is anything to go by, couldn't have given a fig whether the audience 'got him' or not. Prowling around the stage menacingly while talking about 'wars, IRA and all this nonsense' (according to Bernard Manning), he had long hair and was also prone to hippified musings on love, peace and 'the bomb'. Understandably, while a few young people in the audience appreciated his stance, others didn't enjoy their meal of pie and peas being disrupted with such heavy topics of conversation, and were even openly shocked by his material. 

Davidge's left-wing leanings, wild, anarchic behaviour and ghoulish delight at being heckled or dismissed by audiences feels, while rough around the edges, very ahead of its time for the early seventies, and indeed he himself predicted it was the comedy of the future. He openly boasted to a Granada documentary crew: "Audiences are more aware now... and somebody has to provide the new jokes." His forward thinking nature didn't go entirely unnoticed, with Bob Monkhouse enthusiastically praising him as "Britain's answer to Lenny Bruce" and a "brilliantly bitter and hilariously tasteless comedian".  

Pam & The Paper Clips - Typing Pool/ Dear Katie

Label: EMI
Year of Release: 1980

Joining the ranks of "flop seventies and eighties singles which sound faintly like The Scissor Sisters" is this peculiar cut from the beginning of the decade which always seems to be illustrated by Rubik's Cubes by unimaginative arts editors and album sleeve designers. Information on this one has been difficult to come by, but there is one notable factor that makes it of particular interest to comedy fans - Nigel Planer (aka Neil out of "The Young Ones") co-wrote the A-side and certainly sounds as if he's handling some of the vocals.  Additionally, rumours have persisted for some time that the "Pam" here is Pamela Stephenson, and while it certainly sounds as if it could be her, there's no concrete evidence to prove this.

Sonically this disc is surprisingly acceptable, consisting of a collision between disco basslines and new wave quirk, two things which were highly in favour at the point of its release.  Comedically, however, it's a tad too bitter and scathing to actually be funny, and largely consists of Pam sneering angrily at her lecherous boss, complaining about sexism, glass ceilings in the workplace and the drudgery of a dull administrative job.  "Such a stupid little man/ How I wish that he was dead/ Don't wanna sit upon his knee/ I'd rather trample on his head" she snaps towards the end of the record, and it sounds genuine despite the rather "dopey secretary" voice she puts on mere moments before.  Any chirpy Lene Lovich styled oddballness is punctured by the vitriol of those lines.

Whilst it's not surprising that this flopped in 1980, it's surprising that this disc has fallen so much by the wayside since, purely because anything involving a member of "The Young Ones" team would usually be avidly snapped up by collectors.  The only conclusion I can sensibly draw is that Planer decided to tipp-ex it from his CV, which is a strange thing to do given that it's actually a lot better than the solo single ("Hole In My Shoe") he'd put out as Neil some years later.

Reupload - Marvin The Paranoid Android/ Metal Man

Label: Polydor
Year of Release: 1981

There are two songs I know of which reference a "paranoid android" - one features the line "kicking screaming gucci little piggy", the other "you know what really makes me mad?/ they clean me with a brillo pad". Guess which one this isn't?

The mania surrounding the television programme The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy in the early eighties was decidedly odd and almost unprecedented for a BBC2 show which only managed one measly television series, and the enthusiasm for its most popular character Marvin the terminally depressive robot led to this particular spin-off single. Whilst this failed to get inside "the only chart that counts" on Radio One, it did pick up a surprising volume of airplay and became a favourite during my childhood. I recently rediscovered it in a second hand store in Walthamstow, and upon getting it home was astonished by how geriatric it sounds now. What originally seemed like a piece of synthesiser wizardry with jokes thrown in now sounds like a rather creaky b-grade version of Landscape. I also had a false memory of it using parts of Donna Summer's "I Feel Love" in the mix, but in actual fact the chorus only bears a faint resemblance to that particular tune, although one has to wonder whether it's coincidental.

For all my carping, this single is far from being the worst spin-off effort I've ever heard, managing to perfect the balancing act between humour and an engaging tune, the net result being a fair imitation of a Gary Numan record with lyrics by Douglas Adams, which surely any sensible person should wish to hear. It certainly dumps from a big height all over rival robot Metal Mickey's vinyl drek which dogged the same decade, although he too would have to be remembered in a song title by somebody else - in this case Suede - before getting a mention in the big Top 40 rundown. It's a peculiar old world.

Life, don't talk to me about LIFE....

(This blog entry was originally uploaded in April 2009. When the Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy was remade as a film, a spin-off single involving Zooey Deschanel and Marvin would have been nigh-on perfect, but for some reason nobody was tempted. Spoilsports.)

Second Hand Record Dip Part 83 - Pookiesnackenburger - Pookiesnackenburger (Soundtrack LP)

Who: Pookiesnackenburger
What: Pookiesnackenburger (Soundtrack Album)
Where: Sister Ray, Soho, London
Label: Talkback
When: 1985
Cost: £1.99

The name Pookiesnackenburger may sound naggingly familiar to you, and that's probably because of all the bands to be featured on this blog, they probably went on to be among the most successful artists. They've been applauded by Hollywood, performed at The Oscars ceremony, and had regular West End shows in London to the point where their advertising is as much the backdrop to city life as the pigeons themselves.  None of the members of Dr Marigold's Prescription can claim such wonders.

To begin with, however, they were a modest Brighton-based theatre/ street performance ensemble who mixed comedy, parody and music together to create unique live shows which began to create a stir during the alternative comedy boom.  Recordings of their shows are difficult to come by, but it would seem that they incorporated a ragbag of various elements - radical percussive dustbin clattering, live music, audience interaction and goofed-out stupidity.  This period of activity led to a cover of the "Just One Cornetto" advert emerging on Stiff Records, a manic performance involving the popular trash can bashing element of their live shows, plus an album "Pookie Beach Party".  Both efforts flopped.

However, unlike other Stiff stiffs such as Any Trouble or Department S, Pookie clearly had more to offer than just music.  As such, interest from Channel 4 was perhaps inevitable given the keen eye executives there had for any well-drilled comedy act operating on the fringes, and they were initially asked to contribute shorts to a programme called "Alter Image", then finally given the go-ahead to create their own television show.

The resulting eponymous "Pookiesnackenburger" series has been strangely under-chronicled since.  Most British comedy websites acknowledge its existence but can't seem to offer more details about its contents.  Only one show has emerged on YouTube since, the heavy metal parodying "Hell Bent" which tells the twisted story of a group of obnoxious, arrogant black metallers who travel to an obscure residential country studio to summon the devil through their music.  Whilst clearly attempting to ape "The Wicker Man" in places, this episode also offers brilliantly astute parodies of two wildly opposing musical genres, namely metal and rustic folk music.  Elsewhere in the show, some (though by no means all) of the attempts at comedy creak slightly.  The gurning and over-acting of some members clearly highlighted their roots on the live circuit, and showed that they hadn't quite got into the swing of toning their act down for the camera yet.  Additionally, the special effects are largely of a Kenny Everett Video Show quality (which may have been intentional and seemed likeably silly at the time).  For all that, though, there's a unique and peculiar feel to the show, and a sense that it might have developed into something slicker had it been granted a second series.  The combination of horror, occasionally grotesque comedy and parody on display also proves that The League of Gentlemen really weren't first on the block with these ideas, whatever we may have supposed at a later date - although on the evidence we have available to us, their efforts seem stronger.

The soundtrack album that followed the series showcased the music, and stripped of their original context some of these struggle to make complete comedic sense.  "Mysteroids Theme/ Pop Go The Asteroids" was apparently from a Thunderbirds-apeing episode, but merely feels like a likeable piece of retro-kitsch here.  Of more interest to me is the track "Be Cool", which sounds like it's taking on the stylings of Dexys Midnight Runners (or perhaps the likes of the Joboxers) and actually succeeding in being enjoyable in its own right.  Likewise, the metal parodies ("Heavy Metal Life" and "The Lost Canticle of Beelzebub") are heavy-handed, but this was the eighties - Heavy Metal itself was hardly subtle at this point, and Pookiesnackenburger do successfully highlight some of its more ridiculous excesses.

Inevitably the album flopped, and Pookie were forced to rethink their approach.  For a brief period they renamed themselves Yes/No People, shed some members but gained others, and attempted to become slick, funky, near-serious artists.  One single was released ("Mr Johnson") which enjoyed a lot of publicity but failed to break the UK Top 100.  Given this disappointment, they returned to their roots as a theatre troupe, and - whether through smart business planning or just responding to public demand - gave the dustbin bashing element of their live shows complete focus.  A final name-change to "Stomp" occurred, and guided by original members Luke Cresswell and Steve McNicholas, they remain a serious live draw, performing all over the world to critical acclaim and large audiences.

I've offered a few clips of "Pookiesnackenburger" below, so you can listen to those before deciding whether it's worth your while downloading the album.

Tracklisting:
1. Dance With A Sexy Smile
2. Be Cool
3. Killing Time (The Work Song)
4. Mysteroids Theme/ Pop Go The Asteroids
5. River Of Love
6. Beach Party
7. Dustbin Dance
8. Restoration Scat
9. Oh My My
10. The King's Song
11. Heavy Metal Life
12. Green Man And Corn Dolly
13. The Lost Canticle of Beelzebub

Second Hand Record Dip Part 80 - Leslie Sarony - Three Cheers For The Undertaker/ The K-Hissing Song

Who: Leslie Sarony
What: Three Cheers For The Undertaker/ The K-Hissing Song
Label: Imperial
When: 193(?)
Where: Wood Street Market, Walthamstow, London
Cost: £1

I don't own many 78rpm gramophone records, and I very seldom bother to try to convert the ones I do have to mp3 - this is for the simple reason that it's a messy and often unsuccessful process.  What I have to do is record the record at the wrong speed from my modern deck which uses completely the wrong kind of stylus, convert it to the correct speed, and sit with fingers crossed as I attempt to reduce the overwhelming flood of background noise too.  Neighbours have heard me cussing and swearing during this duty, I can tell you, sir.

This one was worth the fight, though, even if the end results are definitely imperfect.  Leslie Sarony was a music hall performer in Great Britain from 1913 onwards, and issued a colossal number of 78rpm records of popular comedy songs and his own work.  Among his triumphs are the vegetable rights ditty "Don't Be Cruel To A Vegetabuel", the observationally faultless "Why Build A Wall Around A Graveyard", and the utterly timeless "Don't Do That To The Poor Puss Cat".  Sarony absolutely flooded the market with these discs to the extent that I haven't seen what I believe to be a truly accurate discography yet, and naturally when the Bonzo Dog Band went raiding junk shops for 78s, they found plenty of his and were inspired enough by "Jollity Farm" and "Hunting Tigers Out In Indi-ah" to cover both.

The A-side on offer here, "Three Cheers For The Undertaker", is a piece of pitch black humour which is (almost unbelievably) available on iTunes with much improved audio, so if the brief clip below arouses your curiosity you can always head that way to buy it.  However the flip, "The K-Hissing Song", is so absurd that one friend of mine completely refused to believe it was a record from the thirties and instead insisted I was winding him up.  In it, Sarony explains that ladies can be seduced with a clever combination of both kissing and hissing like a snake, and warns of the dangers of kissing women too vigorously who have used a lot of face cream (apparently this is liable to lead to a slide-slip into their ears).  It's not difficult to understand how it didn't capture the public's imagination as much as "Don't Do That To The Poor Puss Cat" as it perhaps lacked that tune's mainstream accessibility, but top marks must be awarded to Sarony for coming up with such an off-the-wall comedic idea.

Sarony performed for most of his life, appearing during his later years in the Monty Python film "The Meaning of Life" as one of the elderly insurance clerks at "Crimson Permanent Assurance", as well as featuring in the sitcom "Nearest and Dearest".  He died in 1985, but the impressive and bizarre back-catalogue of records he left behind isn't talked about enough for my liking, and nor is his obvious influence on British comedy.

Private Eye Sings - Recorded at Llandudno, October 1962

Label: Private Eye
Year of Release: 1962

It's been a rum old 2010 here on "Left and To The Back".  We've been recommended in "The Guardian", had more unique visitors in one calendar year than ever before, and found a hundred more pieces of garbage, goodness, gold-dust and novelty gilblets in second hand record shops (I couldn't think of another word beginning with 'g' - sorry).  Whilst wondering what I could upload here for your pleasure before waving farewell to you good people until the end of the month at least, this little item in the back of one of my record boxes immediately sprang to mind.  It is, to the best of my knowledge, Private Eye magazine's first ever excursion into recorded sound, although be warned... satire from 1962 can seem rather dated in places.

I hope you're at least surprised by this, and I shall see you with more treats and surprises soon.  Have a very merry Christmas, and keep an eye on the blog for another update once the last of the turkey is scraped off the bone and the final useless present is bunged in the local Oxfam.

Tracklisting:


Side One
1. Overture - A Letter From Sir Herbert Gussett
2. Lift Up Your Parts
3. The Common Market - A Great Nation Speaks


Side Two
1. Dramatic Readings From "The Times" - The National Theatre
2. A Word From Mervyn Poove
3. The True Story Of James Gaithen (Written By Christopher Logue)

Second Hand Record Dip Part 67 - Marty Feldman - A Joyous Time Of The Year

Who: Marty Feldman
What: A Joyous Time Of The Year/ The B Side
Label: Decca
When: 1968
Where: Wood Street Market, Walthamstow, London
Cost: 50p

It's surprising how infrequently Marty Feldman's name crops up in the British media these days.  At his peak, he was one of the foremost comedians of the sixties and seventies, winning two BAFTA awards, and appearing on a stream of TV shows which utilised his apparently "jazz influenced" comedy style to enormous success.  Here he is with John Cleese, and you can witness him playing the part of Igor here if that's your particular bag.

One of life's irrepressible performers, and by all accounts a bag of insane and unpredictable energy at times, Feldman took to the music industry in a manner which many of his contempories must have envied.  Whilst flop singles from British comedians are so ubiquitous in second hand shops that it seems pointless even mentioning it, Feldman's work is among the few I would argue is undeserving of the infamy.  His tunes are an extension of his personality, and the frothy excitement behind most of the work almost manages, in some cases, to give the impression that it was partly improvised (not entirely impossible, actually).

His Christmas single "A Joyous Time Of Year" is a sarcastic piece of nastiness stabbing a dirty digit at the inconveniences of Yuletide.  In it he lists the various miserable aspects of the season - the cost of his wife's present, for example, "could have bought Mornington Crescent", and idiots buying children trumpets ("blowing dischords in my ear") is another inconvenience which is given an airing.  The song is capped off brilliantly by Feldman listing an itinerary of utterly hopeless presents (which still sound better than my haul last year, incidentally).

More interesting still is the B-side where Feldman decides he can "say whatever he wants" because nobody listens to flipsides of records anymore, and proceeds to spread slander about various radio DJs, saving most of his unpleasantness for Tony Blackburn.  Perhaps they did hear the B-side after all, for this single simply did not sell, and Feldman's career as a comedy singer failed - but unbelievably, both tracks and his album "I Feel A Song Going Off" have been made available on iTunes by Decca Records.  To listen to the tracks in full, purchase them either from there or from another online retail outlet.  In the meantime, enjoy the snippets below.

Second Hand Record Dip Part 55 - Not The Nine o Clock News - The Ayatollah Song

Who: Not The Nine O Clock News

What: The Ayatollah Song (b/w "Gob On You")

Label: BBC

When: 1980

Where: Music and Video Exchange, Camden High Street

Cost: One pound

I sincerely hope that the comedy show "Not The Nine O'Clock News" doesn't need much in the way of introduction for most "Left and to the Back" readers - if it does, I'm afraid I'm going to direct you to the Wikipedia entry on the topic rather than spend paragraphs overworking the words "groundbreaking", "popular", and "seminal" before we even get to describe a note of the content of this record.

Whilst whole retrospective documentaries have been created about the show itself, the spin-off vinyl was actually relatively successful in the album charts and remains rather less explored as a subject matter. Two top five albums ("Not the Nine O'Clock News" and "Hedgehog Sandwich") boosted BBC Record and Tapes income where those gardening albums hopelessly failed, and these days it's odd to conceive of an audio spin-off of a comedy show achieving a similar feat. Even Flight of the Conchords can't pester the top ten. Back in the days when video recorders were luxury items, such seemingly bizarre shopping habits are entirely explicable. Monty Python even charted a few records of their own prior to the eighties, although the success of the NTNOCN product actually out-stripped even their sales performances.

The Beeb's decision to issue some of their musical sketches as singles perhaps shouldn't be seen as such a random act of folly, then. And even if it were, the mere outside chance of Mel Smith and Rowan Atkinson miming on Top of the Pops may well have tempted executives to take a chance on the whole idea by itself. Sadly, it didn't pay off, and the crew failed to find singles success where the albums had mopped up. In my statement for the prosecution, I may as well add that whatever the worth of the material here, the single is ruined by a cheap, idle mixdown which leaves the studio audience's laughter and applause intact. This is so distracting and unnecessary that you have to wonder how seriously anybody was taking this as a release.

Snipes aside, whilst "The Ayatollah Song" has never been one of my favourite sketches, the B-side "Gob On You" is one of the very few pieces of punk satire which nails some of the worst, cusp-of-the-eighties aspects of that genre, although because all we've got is the audio, we unfortunately have to do without the terrifying sight of Mel Smith plastered in make-up. But lyrically, "Gob on you/ in your Oxbridge punt/ Gob on you/ You're the NATIONAL FRONT!" is something Jimmy Pursey would probably have sacrificed his annual season ticket to Hersham for at one point in his career. Note also how the crew lead you to believe that they're going to use an unbroadcastable cuss word, eventually leading you up a more subtle but equally relevant alley instead. Now go away and compare that to another punk parody on the BBC label, "We Wanna Be Famous", to hear how such work really shouldn't be done.

Second Hand Record Dip Part 51 - Manuel and Los Por Favors - O Cheryl

Who: Manuel and Los Por Favors

What: Cheryl (b/w "Ode to England")

Label: Pye

When: 1979

Where: Music and Video Exchange, Camden High Street

Cost: One pound

It may not be the case that every single comedian or comedy character had their own single out in the seventies, but Jeez, it certainly feels like it. Very, very few of them actually sold in encouraging quantities, so why the music industry continued producing spin-off singles is a bit of a mystery. It wasn't even as if they had Comic Relief as an excuse yet (although some kind of low cost CD compilation of many of these tracks would be a neat fund-raiser, now I come to think of it, as well as giving all those flop efforts some sort of purpose).

"O Cheryl" by Manuel and Los Por Favors was almost entirely ignored on its 1979 release, despite launching during the same year as the final series of "Fawlty Towers". The positive feelings surrounding the series could have turned any old average ditty into a medium sized hit at the time, so it's disappointing to report that "O Cheryl" is dire, and therefore never stood a chance. Lacking in good humour, good melody or indeed good sense, it just consists of Andrew Sachs delivering a Manuel-styled performance about an English lady whom he loves. You could argue that Manuel always was supposed to be daft and incompetent, and he was merely being "in character" by dishing out a fairly tuneless piece of work, but what - ultimately - was the point if there were no laughs to be had? The best we can hope for is the triumphant delivery of the line "Now I am boss of fish and chip shop!", and even that won't have the whole of the world wide web rocking in the aisles.

The B-side "Ode to England" is much better, focussing on the benefits of this fine isle in a rather glib and ignorant way, and seemed like enough of a good idea at the time to feature on "The Secret Policeman's Ball". One could hardly call it comedy gold, but there are enough amusing lines and ludicrous misunderstandings to prevent this effort from being a waste of seven inches of vinyl.

Sidestepping dull news items involving the man in recent history, Andrew Sachs was last seen on "Coronation Street" playing the long-lost brother of the petulant, jowl-shaking Norris, before being written out within a matter of months. An emotive version of "Waltzing Matilda" was one of the last things viewers heard before the credits rolled after his character's death had been announced, and I'm relieved to say that a version of Sachs doing this is not on the release schedules of any record label at the moment.

Sadly, however, Sweeping the Nation have informed us that yer man did try to release a rival version of "Shaddap You Face" in Britain to steal the thunder from Joe Dolce's world-beating original. He failed miserably again, as the version climbed to 138 in the charts - although the fact that Dolce's label slapped an injunction on him preventing his single from seeing a release until theirs was on the market can't have helped. If anyone has a copy of this single to hand, I'd be keen to hear it.

Vic Reeves - Abide With Me

Label: Sense/ Island

Year of Release: 1991

Vic Reeves needs no introduction to UK readers, and I really can't be bothered to give him a detailed one for the benefit of overseas types. His comedy career has never really travelled successfully beyond these Isles, and isn't especially easy to explain to native newcomers, much less people with cultural barriers to contend with. Journalists tend to get around the problem by firing the words "surreal", "slapstick", "music hall", "dada", "Gilbert" and "George" around a bit in the hope it does the work justice, but in truth, it seldom does.

As somebody who had previously had a failed career as a lead singer for a variety of experimental and post-punk bands who never quite elevated themselves beyond the bottom of the bill in various small pub venues, let alone got a record contract, it shouldn't have been too surprising that Vic Reeves signed with Island when his career as a comedian took off. He had already been singing ironic cover versions (or were they?) of songs by The Smiths and Bryan Ferry in the "Vic Reeves Big Night Out" series, and the label must have been hoping for a pleasing Christmas stocking filler in 1991, perhaps consisting of similar material.

What we got was actually a very sympathetically produced comedy album in "I Will Cure You", which combined a number of party-pleasers with some oddball tunes of the man's own making, not least my personal favourite "Summer of '75" which combined rustic folk charm with crude Shane McGowanisms. "Abide With Me" featured on the album, but was a peculiar item, being neither funny nor frothy. The hymn itself was written by Henry Francis Lyte in 1847 as he lay dying from tuberculosis, and has since become something of a funeral standard, meaning that the associations many listeners have of it are not necessarily pleasant ones.

Uproar commenced from certain religious types in the UK when the track was then issued as dance remix single. "This is like dancing on people's graves!" shouted one Reverend, and a largely-forgotten campaign began to get the BBC to ban the record. Whilst the BBC never did officially ban it, I can't recall hearing it on the radio much during Christmas 1991, and Reeves was thwarted in his frankly bizarre attempt to get the number one spot that year, making do with the paltry number 47 instead.

The song itself is actually quite enjoyable with its vocoder declarations of "Abide With Me!", its sampled and treated choir noises, and Vic's rather too spirited vocals, not to mention the groovy house piano noises The Grid layered on to the single. It does somehow manage to over-ride its slightly morbid tone and become a winter solstice disco number rather than a pean to death, but it has to be said that of all the ideas Vic Reeves ever came out with, this surely has to be one of the oddest. That Island thought it might be a hit is odder still. When Lyte lay dying in his bed, his last thought surely can't have been "And when I die, at least my song will be immortalised by a surreal Northern comedian in the next century".

You can view the video here, and download the single by clicking on this link.

Tracklisting:

1. Abide With Me (12" Version)

2. Abide With Me (Holy Dub)

3. Black Night (Full Length 7")

4. Abide With Me (Acapella)

Second Hand Record Dip Part 43 - Larkin' Abaht!

Who: The Mike Sammes Singers plus assorted cast of actors

What: Larkin Abaht!

Where: Music and Video Exchange, Camden High Street

When: 1960

Label: Realm/ Oriole

Cost: 50p

Caw blimey, we're going back a bit with this 'un. "The Larkins" was a British television sitcom devised in the fifties, and apparently marketed to rival the American influx of such entertainment. It featured Alf Larkin (played by David Kossoff) a matter-of-fact cockney gent who was ruled over by his considerably more forthright wife (Peggy Mount). It had absolutely nothing to do with the "Darling Buds of May" despite the use of the "Larkin" surname.

Numerous critics praised the series for its sharpness of wit, and as a result the inevitable spin-offs - oh, there have always been spin-offs it seems, since the media began - emerged. One such production was the obligatory film-of-the-sit-com "Inn For Trouble" which was lunched into British cinemas in 1959. And then in 1960, the album "Larkin' Abaht" reared its head, only to remain largely unplayed by at least one punter who clearly dumped it in the Camden Music and Video Exchange some fifty years later. Truly, you don't come across albums from 1960 which are this "mint" very often.

Whether you're a fan of the original programme or not, it has to be said that this album does seem rather short of wit. It's essentially a compilation of cockney songs (as the title would suggest) performed by the Mike Sammes Singers, all linked together in the guise of a live pub performance, with bits of heckling and dialogue from the various actors between tracks. Given the popularity of the television series it's an important artefact, but an inessential overall piece of work, I'd say. There's some smileworthy glib comments here and there, and if you haven't heard "I'm Shy Mary Ellen, I'm Shy" before there are worse versions around than the one available here - but that's the most praise I can give, I'm afraid, apart from to add that the pub noise and dialogue does paint a fairly charming picture.

As I've mentioned on this blog before, Oriole Records did have a nasty habit of wiping their master tapes regularly, so I'm unsure if this particular album has been scrubbed clean by some daft executive. Regardless of whether that's true or not, this is a very pristine, virtually scratch-free copy of the record, and so may be the best version we're going to get for now whatever the state of the masters. Sorry for offering the entirety of the album in the form of two tracks ("Side One" and "Side Two"). Due to the continually flowing nature of the record, it's difficult to divide the content up in other ways using the technology I have available to me.

You can read more about "The Larkins" over on "Television Heaven".

Tracklisting:

1. Wot Cher! (Knock'd 'Em in The Old Kent Road)

2. For Old Times Sake

3. I'm Shy Mary Ellen, I'm Shy

4. The Hobnailed Boots That Farver Wore

5. Across The Bridge

6. Don't Have Any More Missus Moore

Side Two

7. When Father Papered The Parlour

8. The Miner's Dream Of Home

9. They Built Piccadilly For Me

10. It's A Great Big Shame

11. The Golden Wedding

12. If It Wasn't For The 'Ouses In Between

Download it Here

Bubonique - 20 Golden Showers

Label: Kitchenware
Year of Release: 1993

Way back in the early nineties when he was something more of a media darling and star than he is today (and could seemingly be found propping up the bar of every London gig you went to) the comedian Sean Hughes decided he wanted to make a record. This was at a time when Vic Reeves had recently hit the top spot with "Dizzy", and given the fact that Hughes regularly pranced around in front of the camera dancing to Morrissey and The Smiths on his series "Sean's Show", there was some speculation about what form his project might take. Would he cover the Mozmeister, perhaps, or do his own slightly doomy song in tribute to the great man?

In an interview in 1992 with the NME, it was revealed that he was recording with Cathal Coughlan of Microdisney and The Fatima Mansions, and speculation mounted. The fact that Sean revealed that he had mostly been improvising in the studio and could only remember singing "Play that funky music, Irish guy" should have thrown cold water over the entire thing, but there was still a lot of goodwill for the project. Coughlan was highly respected in the music press at this time for being a satirical maverick, and Hughes was also seen as being something of an emerging comedy genius, so the odds of a quality product seemed fairly high.

In the end, what we got was this. A fuzzy, lo-fi, scattershot, sprawling mess of an album which picked up good reviews, and was certainly startling and shocking enough to warrant a couple of listens, but was forgotten about quite quickly by everybody who came into contact with it. Porn and snuff movie samples jostle for space with Dave Lee Travis radio broadcasts (where he waffles about talented people working in bunkers away from the glare of the modern world), bizarre parodies of REM, Ice T and Guns and Roses, and frankly inexplicable jokes about necrophilia and fisting. The humour within seems considerably more Coughlan than Hughes, although reduced to crude basics rather than the "Swiftean satire" every music critic usually associated with him.

To make the album that bit more inaccessible, it was mastered as one long track so if you wanted to skip forward to particular parts of it, you had no choice but to hold down the "forward" button on your stereo, and on top of that the volume mastering was different at various points. During particularly quiet moments, a stinging blast of distortion sometimes kicks in so that any listener using headphones is forced to rip them off quickly. Please do consider yourselves warned about this aspect.

For anyone interested in the careers of either Cathal Coughlan or Sean Hughes, this CD has to be heard, but the balance between humour and self-indulgence is perhaps a bit amiss. The parodies, for example, are excellent, the GnR referencing "I Think You're Cool" hitting the nail firmly on the head, and the vicious REM mocking "East Sheep Station" doubtless being fuelled by Stipe's own misgivings about Coughlan's work (he once walked out of a Fatima Mansions gig snarling "I hate art rock bands", which was a rather unexpected criticism given some of REM's output). Beyond those, the obsession with bleak samples and strange in-jokes (who was Shak Parouk, for example?) have meant that this album doesn't really figure strongly on either artist's CV these days. You get the impression that it was something they had enormous fun producing, but didn't see as being an important piece of work.

They did, however, follow it up with another effort a couple of year's later. "Trance Arse Volume Three" parodied Blur in a track called "Oi Copper!", and was apparently otherwise more of the same. If anyone has a copy, I'd like to hear it. In the meantime, enjoy the link, all of you... but not the easily offended.

http://www.megaupload.com/?d=0653GOB8

Track Listing:
ACT I
1. Summer (The Fist Time)
2. I Think You're Cool
3. Play That Funky Music Irish Guy
4. Cop Lover
5. Codsucker Blues
6. My Baby Gave Me Rabies
7. Elvis '93 (You Can Fuck Elvis)

ACT II
8. Theme From "Chicken Arse"
9. Iron Child
10. Yoda Lady
11. Anytime, AnyPlace, It's Okay to Bubo With Shak Parouk
12. 2 J.G.
13. East Sheep Station
14. Love Me Deadly, Kiss Me Headley
15. DLT 666 No Idea (Insincere)
16. The Bubonique America's Top Ten
17. Frank is Frank (Hurry Up and Die, Buddy)
18. Jellypop Perky Jean
19. Dildo Neighbour
20. Ang On Ronno
21. Love Camp Seven
22. Nation of Bubonique
23. Closedown

Second Hand Record Dip Part 15 - Frank Sidebottom - Frank's Firm Favourites

Who: Frank Sidebottom
What: Frank's Firm Favourites
Label: Regal Zonophone ("Borrowed off EMI on Hire Purchase through their Christmas Club")
Year: 1985
Found: Reflex Records, Portsmouth (RIP)
Cost: One pound

Somehow I get the sneaking suspicion that I'm going to be wasting both my time and yours if I put any effort into analysing this one. Sticking entirely to the conceit the performer Chris Sievey developed for Frank, he is a man living with his mother in Timperley who has frustrated pop star ambitions which he attempts to realise via cheap recordings and instrumentation.

If you've never enjoyed his work or found it remotely amusing, chances are this showcase EP released via EMI (of all people) in 1985 is not going to change your mind one jot. The routine is well established, with clumsily delivered lyrics, inappropriately cheery vocals, and a general air of utter incompetence dominating the proceedings.

If you've never heard Frank Sidebottom before - and I'm willing to bet there might be a number of non-British readers that applies to - this isn't a bad place to start to get a general idea of the level of humour. It is, without question, very whacky, childish and frequently utterly ridiculous, and will irritate as many people as it will cheer. Speaking purely from a personal point of view, I found this EP was good for a couple of spins, then I promptly forgot all about it - if I hadn't chanced upon it in a bargain box in Portsmouth, I doubt very much I'd have ever bothered picking it up. Still though, it's an interesting diversion, and clips of his shows on YouTube show whole audiences crying with laughter at his versions of songs by The Fall and The Smiths.

For the record, the songs on the Popular Medley are:

You Spin Me Round (Like a Record) (Dead or Alive)
The War Song (Culture Club)
What is Love? (Howard Jones)
Last Christmas (Wham!)
The Power of Love (Frankie Goes to Hollywood)
Won't You Hold My Hand (King)
Wouldn't it Be Good (Nik Kershaw)

Thank you.

http://rapidshare.com/files/140236819/Frank.zip.html

The Second Hand Store Dip Part 1 - Ronnie Barker and Bernard Manning

What:
Bernard Manning - Everybody's Fool (Decca - 1974)
and
Ronnie Barker - Going Straight (EMI - 1978)

Where:
Wood Street Market, Wood Street, Upper Walthamstow, London

Cost:
One pound each

Welcome to the first in an ongoing series of dips into the budget boxes and bins of second hand record stores and charity shops of this fair isle - neatly alphabeticised collector's items and classic releases need not apply.

Comedians have been releasing records for some considerable time now, with usually dreadful results. As casually dismissed as Vic Reeves' forays into the musical arts seem to be these days, it's worth remembering that most comics usually only manage to make total gimps of themselves when the recording studio red light goes on. Even Ken Dodd, who forged a vinyl career which somehow lasted decades, caused fear and dread to penetrate the hearts of every right-thinking person whenever he appeared on Top of the Pops with his wild hair neatly slicked back. We could also, if we wished, examine Jimmy Tarbuck's limited singing career, or Hale and Pace's "The Stonk", or (worse still) Gary Wilmot's Jungle Book medley, but there are some areas even this blog wishes to stay clear from.

Given the above evidence, any person believing that Bernard Manning's 1974 waxing "Everybody's Fool" could be anything other than dire could surely be forgiven. One of Decca's many flop singles of the period, it's a seldom referenced curio from a man who was better known in his time for cracking bigoted jokes about ethnic minorities than releasing pop records. Anyone expecting a racist calypso record about immigration here is going to be disappointed, however - "Everybody's Fool" is in fact a self-pitying ballad which could possibly give fellow Mancunian Morrissey a run for his money.

Across its play time Bernard frequently wails that he is "crying inside" with a voice which is surprisingly strong and earnest, and would probably bring comfort to many of his detractors. As the man made a living out of singing on the variety circuit way before the comic muse ever struck him, the fact he manages to pull this off without making himself seem too foolish probably shouldn't surprise us much. And sure, there's nothing exceptional about this record, and it sounds rather old school in its arrangements even for 1974, but the fact he comes out of the other side with his dignity intact is alarming. It's certainly not offensive, which is more than could be said for Newman and Baddiel's dreadful "Three Lions", as anybody who has ever witnessed a German being punched repeatedly in the face whilst some English football "fans" scream "Football's coming HOME!!!" and "Thirty years of HURT!!!" will doubtless testify.



http://www.megaupload.com/?d=08JCS3B9

Ronnie Barker, on the other hand, doesn't quite cut the mustard during the same decade. "Going Straight" was the follow-up sit-com to "Porridge" which didn't capture the public's imagination in the same way. Perhaps most of them turned off after hearing the theme tune, which was released as a spin-off single. "Going Straight" is an unfunny, never-ending shaggy dog story of a record without a discernable punchline, lyrically consisting almost entirely of comparisons made between bent objects and Fletcher's character. Macaulay and Clements must be given credit for successfully thinking of so many - perhaps the men would also be good at one of those intelligence tests where you have to think of uses for the humble paper clip - but why did they have to bore us with the results of their experiment? At least two minutes too long, "Going Straight" is an unenthusiastic, anaemic, rinky-dink-dink tune which sold next to no copies and frankly deserved to.

So there we have it - in the world of the comedy performer releasing singles, Bernard Manning comes out on tops as the Frank Sinatra of his parish, whereas Ronnie Barker is rather more like the washed up, barely tolerated local pub singer in his. These things are all relative, though, and it should go without saying that this is a review of their musical careers rather than a comparison between their abilities as comedians.



http://www.megaupload.com/?d=P6197RKG