Short post for me but just wanted to end the weekend on an upbeat note. All this autumnal melancholy is getting me down. Had a look through the digital music library and remembered that a few years ago, this happy, upbeat song turned up in the television series Lost, that bizarre show set on a deserted tropical island. Was it sci-fi or was it just plain weird? Not sure, and after a while we abandoned it as it was obvious the writers were just trying to spin it out for another few seasons, with more and more unlikely twists and turns.
Anyway, at one point the people lost on the island found an old abandoned bunker and inside was Desmond who had been there on his own for some time, with only a record player for company. The track he played every morning after waking up was this one – Make Your Own Kind of Music by Mama Cass Elliotfrom way back in 1969.
Make Your Own Kind of Music by Cass Elliot:
I definitely had Mamas and Papas albums in my collection, but had forgotten all about this particular track until listening to it on that show. I decided to take it into work to gee up the troops if anyone was flagging. Worked for me but not sure if the rest of the team or the “big boss” quite got it (sadly), so it had to go.
I must have been an odd ’70s teenager in that I collected a lot of this kind of music which was probably seen as a bit old hat by my peers. I blame life as an only child and a rural upbringing – Meant I probably watched way too many old movies on television and I loved ones from the ’60s as they showed a totally different kind of world to the one I had experienced in my small Scottish village. Flower Power and the hippy era passed us by I’m afraid, but then so did glam rock, punk and everything else in-between.
Poor Cass Elliot died in her hotel room in London aged only 32, as a result of heart failure. She was instantly recognisable and the physical contrast with fellow Mama, the elfin Michelle Phillips, was striking. But what a voice and glad that I thought of it tonight as now heading off to bed (far too late again) ahead of a new working week in a happy frame of mind.
Make Your Own Kind of Music Lyrics (Song by Barry Mann/Cynthia Weil)
Nobody can tell ya There’s only one song worth singin’ They may try and sell ya ‘Cause it hangs them up to see someone like you
But you’ve gotta make your own music Sing your own special song Make your own kind of music even if nobody else sings along
You’re gonna be knowing The loneliest kind of lonely It may be rough goin’ Just to do your thing’s the hardest thing to do
But you’ve gotta make your own music Sing your own special song Make your own kind of music even if nobody else sings along
So if you cannot take my hand And if you must be goin’ I will understand
But you’ve gotta make your own music Sing your own special song Make your own kind of music even if nobody else sings along
Well, here we are into the month of September already and there is definitely a feeling of “autumnal-ness” in the air today. There is always a slight sadness at this time of year if like me you live in the North of Scotland, as we pretty much know that summer is now behind us for another year and barring the odd exceptional day, the weather will just get that little bit colder and wetter every day now until the seasons turn again next year.
On the other hand, if like me you enjoy knitwear, coats and woollen accessories, or indeed if you manufacture and sell these items, I imagine you are quite happy that autumn is now upon us. I do have a large collection of polo neck jumpers and although I can wear some of the sleeveless and cottony ones during the summer months, my signature black polos have had to sit unworn for quite a few months now. Looking forward in a way to reacquainting myself with the rest of my wardrobe.
Local girl Tilda Swinton – The new face of Pringle knitwear
A few years ago I set myself the challenge of taking an “interesting” photo of the natural world, every day, for a year. Unlike with this blogging malarkey that has taken up most of my free time this year, it was an excellent hobby for getting incidental exercise, as I had to do a sizeable walk every day in search of new scenes and subjects. I probably gained a bit of a reputation in the area as I didn’t have a dog to explain the walking; I tended to be on my own; and, at a moment’s notice I would suddenly jump down into a ditch and appear to get up close and personal with what might to others, look like a weed (good for a picture though sometimes).
Anyway, I did end up with a great set of 365 photographs that pretty much told the story of our seasons that year. Ironically it turned out to be the snowiest winter we’d had in years, so lots of brilliant snow-scenes. As we’ve meteorologically reached autumn today, I have looked back at my “365” photo for the 1st September and it turned out to be this one, my neighbour’s hydrangea shrub. I probably walked a few miles that day only to discover that the best picture came from a few yards away, in the garden next door! It looks as if I’ve “special-effectified” it as I was wont to do back then, but you can still see the signs of approaching autumn in the leaves. Sad for me too as this neighbour, who ended up being like a granny to our daughter, died later on that year so this would have been the last time she would have seen these giant flowers in the garden she so loved.
But this is supposed to be a blog that features songs and of course all day I had that line in my head about September, from the song Try to Remember. Having just looked it up, I discovered that it was written for a long-running musical comedy called The Fantastickswhich is one I had never heard of before. It was originally performed by the show’s lead actor Jerry Orbach in 1960 and again although I didn’t recognise that name, I certainly recognised him, as it was Baby’s dad from Dirty Dancing a good few years on.
This song famously makes use of rhyming to an extreme degree and looking at the lyrics, each verse specialises in a different type of rhyming word. If it wasn’t such a melancholy sounding song it would be quite comical but the sadness in it is apt for today I think, and although I’m not sure what we’re supposed to be “following”, I suspect it’s the memory. Here is a clip of Jerry Orbach singing his version of the song in 1982.
And here is a really schmaltzy version of The Way We Were byGladys Knight(seemingly without her ever-present Pips) that got to No. 4 in the UK Singles Chart in 1975, where in the preamble, she makes great use of the first line from Try to Remember. I keep having to remind myself here that although I am enjoying this nostalgic revisitation of the songs of my youth and the memories they conjure up, I mustn’t get too melancholy about it all, but you know what, on this, the first day of autumn, I think I just might.
The Way We Were / Try to Remember by Gladys Knight & The Pips:
Try To Remember Lyrics (Song by Harvey Schmidt/Tom Jones – the other one)
Try to remember the kind of September when life was slow and oh, so mellow Try to remember the kind of September when grass was green and grain was yellow Try to remember the kind of September when you were a tender and callow fellow Try to remember and if you remember then follow
Try to remember when life was so tender that no one wept except the willow Try to remember when life was so tender that dreams were kept beside your pillow Try to remember when life was so tender that love was an ember about to billow Try to remember and if you remember then follow
Deep in December it’s nice to remember although you know the snow will follow Deep in December it’s nice to remember without the hurt the heart is hollow Deep in December it’s nice to remember the fire of September that made us mellow Deep in December our hearts should remember and follow
Well it seems ages since I’ve written what I would call a conventional post – One intro, one song, one back story, one memory and one, “Wow, didn’t realise that back in the day” moment. Blame those very compelling Olympics, the fact that summer eventually came to Scotland and a lot of blog admin to be done (who knew that as time goes by there could be so much, but in for a penny in for a pound and all that).
I’m sure all bloggers are the same but even if I haven’t been posting much of late I’ve had plenty of ideas and I find myself scribbling these down on scraps of paper in the course of the day (surreptitiously of course when I’m at work and supposed to be thinking of very serious statistical analysis type stuff). I have now found these scraps of paper and the topics, if I can read them, are as follows:
Random pick from music app – Visions by Cliff Richard
Concerts at Capitol Theatre, Aberdeen
Anthony Newley, Fiddle liddle I doh
Songs from every Olympics since 1968
Duets where girl is forgotten about – Cherrelle, Denise Marsa, Marilyn Martin
Chic – “Don’t live in the past but it’s a nice place to visit” song
Songs from daughter’s time in musical theatre
Inter-Oil Company Pop Quiz 1985
So lots to choose from there but the random picks of the day are turning out to be quite embarrassing and if from your iTunes library it means you’ve actually parted with hard-earned cash to own them. I can only confess to purchasing Visions because I sometimes struggle with sleep and discovered that Cliff‘s voice and the sentiment of the song are both quite soporific and lullaby-like (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it).
Strawberry Fair by Anthony Newley:
Lots of stories to relate about the excellent concerts I witnessed in a small Art Deco theatre in Aberdeen in the ’70s and ’80s but will keep that one for another day. Anthony Newley‘s Strawberry Fairis our favourite novelty song as a family and if there is a chance to get the phrase “fiddle liddle I doh” into a conversation in the course of the day, we will. (Yes I know the actual phrase is “ri-fol ri-fol tol-de-riddle-li-do, but we never heard it that way.)
As for the Olympics, they have been great but as they end this weekend, anything related to all things Olympian will no longer be topical. I have already written about those very memorable duets, like Lucky Stars, where the girl is kind of forgotten about and wasn’t credited (Denise Marsa) then did it myself last week when I wrote about Saturday Love by Alexander O’Neal. As it turns out the song was actually a Cherrelle one and it was Alexander who was asked to duet with her later – My bad.
Chic, a band that epitomised the whole disco scene of the late ’70s, came back last year with I’ll Be There which was heavily played on the radio at the time. Not that their creator Nile Rodgers has ever been away, as he is the genius behind some of the best-selling albums of all-time which I often hadn’t realised until doing research for this blog. The track popped up this week on the radio and I do like that line, “Don’t live in the past but it’s a nice place to visit” especially when spending time on a project like this – Lovely to look back nostalgically but there is a whole world out there still to be discovered and experienced. Got to remind ourselves sometimes that the relationship we have with our laptops is never going to be as important as real-life relationships (and not being smutty here).
I’ll Be There by Chic:
I’ve mentioned before that my daughter was an aficionado of musical theatre and at some point I’m going to post one of her great recordings but to save embarrassment I will probably have to wait until she goes travelling, to a zone with no Wi-Fi. As an aside, anyone who wants to make a lot of money very easily – Set up a Musical Theatre school for little girls! Don’t put your daughter on the stage Mrs Worthington was told, but you know what, that’s exactly what lots of mums are intent on doing nowadays and from what I can see it’s money for old rope. You hire a church hall for a Saturday, get some music teachers to give up a few hours of their weekend, set yourself up with some fancy branding and logos and you’re away. Fees for the “term”, fees to appear in a show, fees for the costumes, fees for the tickets to go and watch the show and all the petrol for the running around. The “teachers” then get very generous Christmas gifts from some parents (which I always cynically thought was a bribe to get star-billing for their offspring – quite rightly it never worked though) and lo and behold come the teenage years they announce they don’t want to do it any more. Hallelujah.
You can tell quite early on however whether your progeny is going to be the next Barbra Streisand or whether they are more likely to make up the chorus. I remember well paying a fortune for tickets so that all the family could see our daughter appear in the local musical theatre school’s extravaganza. There are usually a few favourites that get the starring roles in any show but the vast majority of the other 200 or so make a very brief appearance and this time aforementioned daughter was in the chorus of Cats so no-one even spotted her or knew which “cat” she was! A lot of frustrated impresarios run these schools I feel and their students are not always given age-appropriate material – Fourteen-year-olds performing theCell Block Tango from Chicago anyone? No I didn’t think so either. Anyway rant over but I still love my daughter’s singing voice and now she sings just for pleasure. Best way to go I think.
So, finally got to the last topic and I think I have used up too many words already so definitely one for next time – Yes the Inter-Oil Company Pop Quiz of 1985. A few funny stories about that one, a bit of of name-dropping and a few good tunes as well so will work on it over the next few days. In the meantime I will leave you with the sage and very witty words of Mr Noel Coward and his Don’t Put Your Daughter on the Stage, Mrs Worthington.
Don’t Put Your Daughter on the Stage, Mrs Worthington Lyrics (Song by Noel Coward)
Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs. Worthington Don’t put your daughter on the stage The profession is overcrowded The struggle’s pretty tough And admitting the fact she’s burning to act That isn’t quite enough She’s a nice girl and though her teeth are fairly good She’s not the type I ever would be eager to engage I repeat, Mrs. Worthington, sweet Mrs. Worthington Don’t put your daughter on the stage
Regarding yours, dear Mrs. Worthington Of Wednesday, the 23rd. Although your baby may be keen on a stage career How can I make it clear that this is not a good idea For her to hope and appear, Mrs. Worthington Is on the face of it absurd Her personality is not in reality quite big enough, inviting enough For this particular sphere
Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs. Worthington Don’t put your daughter on the stage She’s a bit of an ugly duckling, you must honestly confess And the width of her seat would surely defeat Her chances of her success It’s – it’s a loud voice, and though it’s not exactly flat She’ll need a little more than that to earn a living wage On my knees, Mrs. Worthington, please Mrs. Worthington Don’t put your daughter on the stage
Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs. Worthington Don’t put your daughter on the stage Though they said at the school of acting She was lovely as Peer Gynt I’m afraid, on the whole, an ingénue role might emphasize her squint She has nice hands, to give the wretched girl her due But don’t you think her bust is too developed for her age No more buts, Mrs. Worthington, nuts! Mrs. Worthington Don’t put your daughter on the stage
Well, many apologies to anyone new to this blog as this post is not representative, but I just couldn’t let the massive event that is the Games of the XXXI Olympiad, commonly known as Rio 2016, pass by without a musical mention. So in one fell swoop I’m going to get all those songs out of my system and into the blog so that I can move on to other, more worthy contenders.
The Opening Ceremony last Friday night was impressive indeed but of course nothing could have ever surpassed the joy I felt watching Danny Boyle’s “Isles of Wonder” Opening Ceremony at London 2012. But hey that was our Olympics, where we showed the world what we were all about and what with Mr Bean, James Bond, parachuting monarchs, Mary Poppins, Dancing NHS nurses and 50 years of music, I think we did that with bells on.
In terms of mood, Athens was apparently Classical, Beijing Grandiose, London Smart but Rio was going to be Cool. Well I don’t know about cool but it was definitely very green, in every sense of the word and also very sensual. We watched supermodel Giselle sashay (to walk in a slow and confident way that makes people notice you – tick) across the arena to the strains of Girl From Ipanema– Yes very sensual indeed. This song was about the only one I would have associated with Brazil, as the whole of South America, being non-English speaking, is still pretty much a mystery to me in terms of its music and film. The Girl From Ipanema was recorded by Astrud Gilberto and Stan Getz in 1964 and immediately became an international hit. It is a song I have always loved but it was not until last week that I came to understand that it was of a “bossa nova” persuasion. Brazil in the early ’60s developed a genre called “new wave” (bossa nova) but unlike in ’70s Britain, their genre didn’t involve safety pins, Johnny Rotten or agitated guitar playing, oh no, they combined samba with jazz to create a whole new sultry sound, the sound of Brazil.
Girl From Ipanema:
And so we come to my musical montage, and just to warn you this is not going to be pretty! The whole point of revisiting the “tracks of our years” is that they shouldn’t be carefully thought out so as to weed out all the slightly embarrassing stuff, it should just flow, and as some of my fellow bloggers know, some very dubious tracks can come out of the woodwork.
To kick things off I have a couple of very obvious contenders –Rio by Duran Duran and Gold by Spandau Ballet. Had I been a young teenager in 1983 I would have probably joined in the rivalry between their groups of fans, called Duranies and Fan-daus respectively, but I was too old for all that malarkey by then and was far too busy perming my bleached hair, visiting the sunbed and laundering my all-white clothing anyway. Yes Tony, those were my salad days!
Ok enough of all that but as Simon Le Bon sang, “Her name is Rio”, Dolores del Rio to be precise and if not for her, the magical pairing between Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers might never have happened. If anyone asked me what my favourite three films were, I would have to include as one choice, the complete set of 1930s RKO musicals starring aforementioned Fred and Ginger. They first paired up in the 1933 film Flying Down to Rio and although Dolores del Rio was the main star along with Gene Raymond, it was Fred and Ginger who sparkled in that one and in no time at all they were the ones getting top billing.
But enough of all that because also Flying down to Rio, this time in the 1970s, was that erstwhile Monkee Mike Nesmith who had by this time set up his own music video company (which explains a lot).
Of course having reached Rio you may want to head to the beach and what is the name of the beach again? Why it’s the Copacabana, and although Barry Manilow in 1978 wasn’t singing about the beach (he was singing about the New York nightclub), it is a story song with a very Latin vibe.
Just to be a bit different I won’t include Barry Manilow’s version but one from the television show Glee, which we used to watch with my daughter who was a bit of an afionado of musical theatre herself. The kids are having a bit of a meeting here and it could be called ELA (Easy-Listening Anonymous) where one by one they actually admit to loving the work of Barry Manilow. Anyone reading this blog will know that I myself would be a frequent attender of ELA if it existed, so glad to see that these cool kids are similarly afflicted.
And there we have it except that I want to include just two more clips, one simply as a reminder of just how differently we did things in London, and the other just because it feels right.
We don’t really do sultry samba combined with jazz in Britain, but we are very good at the old rock and pop, and the stand out performance for me was when The Arctic Monkeys got on stage at London 2012 to perform The Beatles’ Come Together. Loved those guys on bicycles, and what a great sound from Alex Turner and the boys. Summed the whole thing up for me really.
Although I just pointed out that we don’t really do sultry jazz in Britain, of course we very much did when the late Amy Winehousewas still with us and this is a great version of the “song of the moment” from her. Enjoy.
Back to business as usual for next time but phew, glad I’ve got it all out of my system. I will now just concentrate on the sport (albeit all happening during the night in the main) and I hear from hubby that Chris Froome has just won a medal, so well done him.
Girl From Ipanema Lyrics (Song by Antônio Carlos Jobim/Vinicius de Moraes/Norman Gimbel)
Tall and tan and young and lovely, The girl from Ipanema goes walking And when she passes, each one she passes goes, “Aaah…” When she walks, she’s like a samba That swings so cool and sways so gently That when she passes, each one she passes goes, “Aaah…” Oh, but he watches so sadly – How can he tell her he loves her? Yes, he would give his heart gladly, But each day when she walks to the sea, She looks straight ahead – not at he… Tall and tan and young and lovely, The girl from Ipanema goes walking And when she passes, he smiles, but she doesn’t see…
Oh, but he sees her so sadly – How can he tell her he loves her? Yes, he would give his heart gladly, But each day when she walks to the sea, She looks straight ahead – not at he… Tall and tan and young and lovely, The girl from Ipanema goes walking And when she passes, he smiles, but she doesn’t see… She just doesn’t see… No, she doesn’t see… But she doesn’t see… She doesn’t see… No, she doesn’t see…
An interlude to the thread that had been developing relating to songs from the 1960s because I want to send a message, through the medium of “the blog”, to my two favourite young people. It’s a big week in our house and if I tell you that the song Home Thoughts From Abroad by Clifford T Ward immediately sprang to mind, you’ll probably have an idea why.
Home Thoughts From Abroad by Clifford T Ward:
Anyway, the great thing about revisiting our musical past in 2016, is that by simply tapping return on a keyboard we can find out the whole back story to a song and to the artist who performed/wrote it. This just wasn’t possible in 1973 when the album “Home Thoughts” came out so I didn’t really know anything about Mr Ward other than that he had enviably long, luscious, locks. Yes in those days, when you pretty much just had to roll with the hand you were dealt in the hair department as sophisticated conditioning, colouring and styling techniques weren’t available to us, even we girls couldn’t help but admire those tresses!
First of all I am surprised that the song Home Thoughts From Abroad was never released as a single because it seems to pop up on the radio quite a lot but no, it was only ever a track on the album. The song Gaye was in fact the single release that did well for him in the UK in the summer of ’73 and why he is so familiar to me. Turns out that Home Thoughts From Abroad was written much earlier, in the ’60s, when his beat band performed in France at American Army bases. Clifford was only 17 when he formed this band and, wait for it, he was already married and also had a child – Certainly explains the very personal lyrics in the song.
Not long after his stint in France, the responsibilities of fatherhood took over and Clifford trained to be an English teacher. Again this explains more of the lyrics in the song as it sounds as if he was a bookish sort and used the famous Robert Browning poem as inspiration. Sadly he was diagnosed with MS aged only 43 and died at 57 having been cared for by wife Pat, whom he had been with since they were both young teenagers.
Well my favourite young people have also been together since they were teenagers but now “aeroplanes and boats” are going to come betweenthem for some time. The world of course is a much smaller place than it was back in the ’60s but I do think it would be nice for them not to rely entirely on modern technology to keep in touch but to do what Mr Ward did and “put a line or two on paper”. It will mean so much more in the future when all the photos, texts and memes (whatever they are) have disappeared from long-redundant devices. Just saying…..
Home Thoughts From Abroad Lyrics (Song by Clifford T Ward)
I could be a millionaire if I had the money I could own a mansion No, I don’t think I’d like that But I might write a song that makes you laugh Now, that would be funny And you could tell your friends in Scotland you’d like that
Now I’ve chosen aeroplanes and boats to come between us And a line or two on paper wouldn’t go amiss How is Inverness-shire? Is it still the same between us? Do you still use television to send you fast asleep? Can you last another week? Does the cistern still leak? Or have you found a man to mend it? Oh, and by the way, how’s your broken heart? Is that mended too? I miss you, I miss you I really do
I’ve been reading Browning Keats and William Wordsworth And they all seem to be saying the same thing for me Well I like the words they use, and I like the way they use them You know, Home Thoughts from Abroad is such a beautiful poem
And I know how Robert Browning must have felt ‘Cause I’m feeling the same way about you Wondering what you’re doing And if you need some help Do I still occupy your mind? Am I being so unkind? Do you find it very lonely, or have you found someone to laugh with? Oh, and by the way, are you laughing now? ‘Cause I’m not I miss you, I miss you I really do
Yesterday’s foray into the musical output of Andy Williams, has reminded me of some of those other great songs from the 1960s. Turns out many hits from that era were recorded by a whole host of other artists and Petula Clarkoften released songs previously recorded by Mr Williams.
A good few years ago after discovering iTunes, we went a bit mad revisiting the “tracks of our years” and probably down to the nostalgia element of remembering happy times as a child with my family, I ended up purchasing quite a few songs from 1967, which was probably the first year I really started to take heed of anything from the world of grown-up music. One of these songs was Don’t Sleep In The Subway by Petula Clark simply because it summed up the sound ofmy 1960s. The whole hippy thing was happening on the West Coast of America but flower power and psychedelia definitely didn’t come to my Scottish village so the kind of music listened to by families like mine, who watched mainstream television, came from people like Pet Clark, Cilla, Dusty, Lulu and The Seekers. The song was written by Tony Hatch (along with his wife Jackie Trent) and the relationship he had with Petula was likened to the one between Burt Bacharach and Dionne Warwick. They also worked together on Downtown, I Couldn’t Live Without Your LoveandThe Other Man’s Grass Is Always Greener.
Don’t Sleep In The Subway by Petula Clark:
Listening to this song again, it’s about a couple having a “domestic” so not really the jaunty, upbeat number I had always considered it to be. There are a few lyrics in there I find vaguely amusing, and don’t quite fit the rhythm of the music (’cause it hurts when your ego is deflated, um-m-um-um-um-um), but I don’t profess to be an expert at this kind of thing and it did sell an awful lot of records, so who am I to pick holes?
As a matter of interest, a couple of the other songs I purchased from that year were Georgy Girl by The Seekers and To Sir With Love by Lulu. Neither of the films that these songs came from were about particularly jaunty, upbeat topics either but they are still great songs, so well worth another listen.
Georgy Girl by The Seekers:
To Sir With Love by Lulu:
As it turns out my rose-coloured spectacles regarding the 1960s were severely tested this week as I watched the 1966 Ken Loach television play Cathy Come Home starring Carol White and Ray Brooks. It was a landmark piece of broadcasting at the time and told the harrowing story of an initially happy young couple with children, who due to unfortunate circumstances suffer the trauma of unemployment, poverty and homelessness. It was filmed in a doumentary-style which made it all the more poignant but for me the worst aspect was that fifty years on, many young couples with children still suffer the same problems today. It does sadden me that although we have made amazing advances in certain aspects of life (having the technology to amuse ourselves with all this malarkey), we still have people sleeping in subways, and that just can’t be right.
Getting too maudlin now so will leave it there for today but realising as I revisit the tracks of my years, that those seemingly happy, up-tempo songs often told a very different tale, and one which I am only now appreciating.
Don’t Sleep in the Subway Lyrics (Song by Tony Hatch/Jackie Trent)
You wander around on your own little cloud when you don’t see the why or the wherefore
Ooh, you walk out on me when we both disagree ’cause to reason is not what you care for
I’ve heard it all a million times before Take off your coat, my love, and close the door
Don’t sleep in the subway, darlin’ Don’t stand in the pouring rain Don’t sleep in the subway, darlin’ The night is long Forget your foolish pride Nothing’s wrong, now you’re beside me again
You try to be smart then you take it apart ’cause it hurts when your ego is deflated um-m-um-um-um-um You don’t realise that it’s all compromise and the problems are so over-rated
Good-bye means nothing when it’s all for show So why pretend you’ve somewhere else to go?
Until I come up with some inspiration for which thread to follow next (might involve the Olympics but not too much Brazilian music amongst the “tracks of my years”), here is the earworm that has been haunting me all week.
I am really lucky in that I don’t have to practically get up in the middle of the night to get to work on time, so my alarm is set for 7.30am. As anyone who listens to BBC Radio 2’s breakfast show will know, right after the news at that time we have a “golden oldie” selected by a listener. To qualify as a golden oldie the track really has to come from the ’50s or ’60s so a bit before my time, but earlier this week there was a lovely story read out about the song Almost There by Andy Williams.
Almost There by Andy Williams:
As summer holiday season is upon us lots of families are embarking on long car journeys with kids piled in the back, and of course it has become a bit of a ritual for the driver to be continually asked, “Are We There Yet?”. The person who had sent in the request, who must have been about my age as this song was a No. 2 hit in the UK in 1964, recalled that their dad always had a copy of the song in their family car and at the appropriate time, when they were not too far from their destination, he put it on. This is just the kind of thing my dad would have done back in the day (had our car been equipped with a more sophisticated sound system that is) so it made me feel all warm and fuzzy.
As anyone who has read my posts will know, I am a bit of a fan of the old easy-listenin’ and any song performed by someone who can sing mellifluously (one of my favourite words) is a winner for me. Andy may not sing quite as mellifluously as Gentleman Jim Reeves or Karen Carpenter but he comes close. Waking up to Almost There earlier this week was quite a treat, like being wrapped up in a warm and cosy duvet (oh that’s right, I was).
I hadn’t realised before that Andy Williams had actually appeared in movies in the 1960s and this song was from the film I’d Rather Be Rich in which he starred along with Sandra Dee and Maurice Chevalier. My memories of Mr Williams are mainly from watching him on television as a child when he always closed his show with Moon River. (More warm and fuzzy feelings about “Huckleberry friends” this time.)
It was also on his show that the world was introduced to a family of brothers called Osmond who entertained us with their barbershop-style singing. In a few years time they would become the most famous boy band in the world but at that time they were happy to don their smart little jackets and bring out a new brother every now and again as they came-of-age. I will no doubt revisit these brothers again at some point as they certainly do feature heavily in the tracks of my years, but for the moment, I think I will listen to the mellifluousness of Almost There, just one more time!
Almost There Lyrics (Song by Jack Keller and Gloria Shayne)
Almost there, we’re almost there How wonderful, wonderful our love will be For you, for me
We’re almost there where we will share A warm caress, tenderness, a dream come true For me, for you
Love has waited such a long time Now we’re a kiss apart Darling, this is the right time To let the kisses start
For you’re almost mine and soon we’ll find Our paradise, paradise so rare Close your eyes for we’re almost there
For you’re almost mine and soon we’ll find Our paradise, paradise so rare Close your eyes for we’re almost there
A short interlude to my themed week of writing about songs by those Scottish bands who were just so prolific in the late ’80s.
I had been meaning to write about the song She’s Leaving Home by The Beatles at some point anyway, but today seems to be the appropriate day. All through my daughter’s teenage years, I couldn’t bear to listen to it as I knew that the day would come when she would fly the nest and I just didn’t want to contemplate the concept yet. Would I be able to cope or would I crumble?
She’s Leaving Home by The Beatles:
As it turned out she didn’t fly the nest at the appointed hour, as many of her friends did, but entered into that period of limbo called the “gap year”. The gap year can be a bit vague but it does involve suddenly having no routine to your day, taking your benevolent parents for granted and becoming the source of much door-banging. When the time came for her to eventually leave home, it was a source of great jubilation all round as we had all pretty much had enough of each other. The song that I thought would cause so much distress come the hour, caused absolutely none!
The song She’s Leaving Home was of course from The Beatles “Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” album, which often tops polls of Best Albums Ever Made. There is absolutely nothing I can add to all that has already been written about Sgt Pepper other than I was just a bit too young for it when it came out, so only really got to know the various songs when I was a bit older. Even then, I preferred the red greatest hits album to the blue one when they came out in 1973, mainly because those earlier very simple pop songs suited someone still not a teenager. Also I had become familiar with their films A Hard Days Night and Help! which were shown regularly on television.
But back to the song mentioned above, as is wont to happen nowadays our adult children tend to return home to live quite frequently, and that is what happened to us this weekend. The modus of her earlier departure was not quite as per the song (we ended up paying her rent) but there was a note involved, so all a bit traumatic at the time. Anyway a couple of years down the line and we have a very mature young woman back to live with us who has very quickly learnt the lessons that many of her peer group still have to learn – a) It takes a heck of a lot of money just to tick over nowadays so best to buckle down and gain the qualifications, skills and experience needed to earn a decent salary and b) It may seem that your parents “nag” rather a lot in your teenage years but they truly do have your best interests at heart.
Sadly the days of leaving school or University, getting a decent job and buying a house are now beyond the realms of possibility for most young people. The reasons for that of course would lead me down a totally different thread and one I just don’t want to get into, so for now, I am going to enjoy having my adult daughter around a lot more. I also have a feeling she will try to educate me on “what the young people are listening to nowadays”, so interesting times for the blog. Welcome back darling daughter (but please keep your room tidy and let us know if you’re going to be back late!).
She’s Leaving Home Lyrics (Song by John Lennon/Paul McCartney)
Wednesday morning at five o’clock as the day begins Silently closing her bedroom door Leaving the note that she hope would say more She goes downstairs to the kitchen clutching her handkerchief Quietly turning the backdoor key Stepping outside she is free
She (We gave her most of our lives) Is leaving (Sacrificed most of our lives) Home (We gave her everything money could buy) She’s leaving home after living alone for so many years. Bye, bye
Father snores as his wife gets into the dressing gown Picks up the letter that’s lying there Standing alone at the top of the stairs She breaks down and cries to her husband Daddy, our baby’s gone Why would she treat us so thoughtlessly How could she do this to me
She (We never thought of ourselves) Is leaving (Never a thought for ourselves) Home (We gave her everything money could buy) She’s leaving home after living alone for so many years. Bye, bye
Friday morning at nine o’clock she is far away Waiting to keep the appointment she made Meeting a man from a motor trade
She (What did we do that was wrong) Is having (We didn’t know it was wrong) Fun (Fun is the one thing that money can’t buy)
Something inside that was always denied for so many years She’s leaving home, bye, bye.
For reasons too boring to mention, we decided to have a short “staycation” this summer – That term came into being a few years ago after the global recession really started to kick in and the spending frenzy on things like luxury holidays went out of fashion for a while. To be honest, in view of what is happening around the world at the moment, I am pretty sure many more of us are thinking along those lines this year but of course the problem with staycations in the UK is that our green and pleasant land is not renowned for reliable, hot, sunny, weather.
Dornoch – Nantucket By The North Sea
True to form, the first three days of our holiday have been beset by heavy rain at worst and light drizzle at best. Brave faces put on though and my husband, Mr Sporty Spice, has still been able to head off with his boys’ toys which involve wheels, sails and boards. As for me, my plan was to do some reading, writing and attempt to take some “artsy” photographs. Turns out that the reading has been easy but something I could have done at home, the photography has been challenging due to the inclement weather but as for the writing, and more specifically blogging – downright impossible. I am incredibly lucky to live within an hour’s drive from some of the most spectacular scenery and beaches in the country but the downside of all this natural glory is……. Not a lot of Wi-Fi or even a paltry little phone signal – Missin’ the Wi-Fi, really missin’ the Wi-Fi.
Fortunately day four is now upon us however and as forecast (when I eventually managed to pick up a signal last night in a slightly dodgy bar) the weather today is absolutely glorious. Already had a long walk along the beach this morning taking some pretty spectacular shots, and children are now out of their cagoules and into building sandcastles. I have to say, all of a sudden life is sweet – Not “missin’ the Wi-Fi” so much at all, and to be honest, feeling a tad guilty that I seem to have become so addicted to it. (I’m definitely not alone though, as a group of sullen teens who are obviously similarly afflicted are hogging the one and only hotspot in the area.)
Well hello!
Our short-lived sand sculpture
So, what song inevitably came to mind when I walked along the beach this morning? One from my days of listening to Junior Choice on a Saturday morning presented by another name from the long list of those sadly departed in 2016, Ed “Stewpot” Stewart – Hello Mother, Hello Father (A Letter From Camp) was a novelty song recorded by American comedy writer Allan Sherman in 1963 as a result of receiving letters of complaint from his son Robert whilst at camp in upstate New York. The first few days at the fictional Camp Granada were beset by problems and homesickness but inevitably as soon as the sun came out and the fun began, Dad was told to disregard the letter!
I still find this song really funny and if you have kids, an oh-so familiar tale. Sadly today, assuming kids who go to camp do actually get a phone signal, after the first few texts of complaint and homesickness to parents, they will probably be metaphorically helicoptered out asap, not letting them get past the initial settling in phase which is sometimes needed to get onto the really good, memorable stuff.
I am reminded of a postcard in my collection of family memorabilia sent to my grandmother in the early 1950s by my uncle, who had headed off with The Scouts to a camp in our capital city, Edinburgh. Now I can’t emphasise enough how far this was from his home in rural North-East Scotland and I’m not just talking miles here. What he wrote on the postcard was as follows, “Arrived here safely but I have lost the other boys. Hoping I will find them later on but don’t worry I’m sure I will be fine”. When I found this in with a load of old photographs I had to laugh – My poor little granny must have had a fit when she received this postcard two or three days later. But then again as Mr Sporty Spice and I often remark, much better to just rely on that good old-fashioned maxim – No news is good news. If there is no mobile phone in the first place, there is no anxiety when it is not answered, which in 99.9% of cases is just down to a lack of signal or battery power. A policeman didn’t arrive at the door back in 1951 about my lost uncle, he ended up finding the other boys and had a great holiday so his epistle, like in the song, should definitely have had the postscript “please disregard this letter”.
As for me, I’m off to skulk with the sullen teenagers – If they know where the elusive hot spot is, I want a piece of that action!
Hello Mother, Hello Father (A Letter From Camp) Lyrics
(Song by Allan Sherman/Lou Busch)
Hello Muddah, hello Fadduh, Here I am at Camp Granada Camp is very entertaining and they say we’ll have some fun if it stops raining.
I went hiking with Joe Spivy He developed poison ivy You remember Leonard Skinner He got ptomaine poisoning last night after dinner.
All the counselors hate the waiters And the lake has alligators And the head coach wants no sissies So he reads to us from something called Ulysses.
Now I don’t want this should scare ya But my bunkmate has malaria You remember Jeffrey Hardy They’re about to organize a searching party.
Take me home, oh muddah fadduh, take me home, I hate Granada Don’t leave me out in the forest where I might get eaten by a bear. Take me home, I promise I will not make noise or mess the house with other boys, oh please don’t make me stay, I’ve been here one whole day.
Dearest fadduh, darling muddah, How’s my precious little bruddah? Let me come home if ya miss me I will even let Aunt Bertha hug and kiss me.
Wait a minute, it stopped hailing, Guys are swimming, guys are sailing, Playing baseball, gee that’s better, Muddah Fadduh please disregard this letter.
Postscript:
As it turns out I never did find the elusive hot spot so have had to wait until returning home to post this piece of nostalgia. Now out of date but it turns out Tuesday was indeed the hottest day of the summer so far and was followed by more beautiful sunny days so a really enjoyable, relaxing holiday in the end (and our sand sculpture, coming in at 30 feet long, caused quite a sensation!). Doing my bit for the Scottish Tourist Industry I feel with these photographs and although taken on the Dornoch Firth in East Sutherland, it could almost be Nantucket!
One final thought, the recent discovery I made about the late Clash founder Joe Strummer (that his mother came from a small village in the Scottish Highlands) made me realise that my “staycation” was spent on the very beach he would have no doubt frequented as a child if on a visit to his grandparents. Somehow, I find that quite endearing.
Well it’s still raining and I’m still waiting for summer to begin – So much for getting all excited on the 1st of June when I thought the song of the day should be June Is Bustin’ Out All Over from Carousel. And, so much for rethinking it all at the solstice when I redefined the start of summer based on “seasonal lag” (yes new to me too). No I can see it’s going to be one of those summers where we need Cliff Richard to come along in that red London bus to whisk us off to Athens.
If you’ve ever watched the 1963 film Summer Holiday, you’ll know that the title sequence starts off in black and white and shows scene after scene of miserable looking holiday-makers trying to shelter from torrential rain at Britain’s various seaside resorts and piers. A group of mechanics at London Transport’s main “works” are looking out at the rain and, apart from not looking very convincing as mechanics (but we’ll come to that), are not hopeful about their forthcoming holiday. All of a sudden through the pouring rain a bus emerges, colour comes to the screen (turning the bus bright red) and a very young looking Cliff Richard runs in to tell them, through the medium of song, that he’s got the go-ahead to convert the bus into a giant 1960s Winnebago so that they can tour the continent (a trial run for fee-paying passengers the following year).
Now we all know that Don (Cliff’s character) will never have picked up a spanner in his life nor will any of his friends (they are all talented dancers, actors and singers) but even in those days it must have been hard to suppress a snigger when listening to Don’s rallying cry to the “fellows” on the shop floor (in reality I know where they would have told him to go) but this is a musical so they get the job done on time and off they set on their travels. Cue the scene where Don/Cliff sings the very memorable title track, also called Summer Holiday.
Summer Holiday by Cliff Richard:
If ever you needed a song to lift the spirits, this is it, and I remember well waking up to it one morning when working as a breakfast waitress the summer after leaving school. I was sharing a room with my best friend in a cottage on the grounds of a very grand country house hotel, but come the weekend, we had to get up at the crack of dawn ready to serve unsuspecting guests. In those days we could burn the candle at both ends so had probably been out the night before, but at 6am we were not exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Fortunately the gods of radio playlists must have known of our plight and offered up Cliff with Summer Holiday. Within seconds of hearing the very jaunty, upbeat intro, a big smile crept onto our faces. Getting “up and at it” suddenly didn’t seem such an effort with this song playing in the background.
The film of course looks dated now but is still great fun to watch with some amazing performances from the cast – Una Stubbs is perfect as Sandy, lead singer with the girl trio they meet on the way and the dancer Teddy Green, although appalling at acting, can definitely move on a dance floor. The girls and boys all pair up pretty quickly leaving poor old Don (by far the most attractive of the bunch) on his own, just drivin’ the bus. Fortunately for him however they pick up a young runaway lad who soon ends up being his love interest (what?), this lad being thinly disguised American stage actress Lauri Peters, initially posing as a boy (ah that explains it). Even in those days it seems we needed an American in any film being pushed towards that market. Anyway, many adventures later they reach Athens and end up in the Mediterranean joined by The Shadows, Hank playing a Bouzouki rather than the famed Fender Stratocaster Cliff bought him in the early days.
If ever a post needed a postscript however, this is it – All about a happy, upbeat song with a few fond memories thrown in. As it turns out I can’t share any of these happy memories with the afore-mentioned friend as she passed away over 15 years ago aged only 41. After being joined at the hip for at least four of our most formative years, boys and relationships got in the way and after a silly misunderstanding we had a falling out and subsequently lost touch. Writing to her parents after her death, telling them that she was probably the best friend I’d ever had, was a massive case of too much too late.
So, “What’s It All About?” – It’s definitely about making up with old friends before it’s too late, being able to share some really special memories unique to just the two of you. It’s fun reminiscing about the past, but much more fun when you are doing it with the people involved and not just typing it all out on a computer screen. Sorry to end on a sombre note but worth saying. As for me I think I’m off to look for, and dust off, some of those old address books.
Until next time….
Summer Holiday Lyrics
(Song by Bruce Welch/Brian Bennett)
We’re all going on a summer holiday
No more working for a week or two Fun and laughter on our summer holiday No more worries for me or you For a week or two
We’re going where the sun shines brightly We’re going where the sea is blue We’ve seen it in the movies Now let’s see if it’s true
Everybody has a summer holiday Doing things they always wanted to So we’re going on a summer holiday To make our dreams come true For me and you
What's It All About? 