Tired and musing on possibly the worst song lyric ever
Tuesday, February 26th, 2008 10:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caddymanInterrupted sleep last night on account, I think, of two things.
Firstly I expended a great deal of nervous energy during the day. I’m not usually like that at interviews, but yesterday I was. I was wound up like a clock spring and found it hard to relax at any point. I’m not sure how I managed to work myself into that state: I am usually quite placid and let things wash over me.
Secondly, being games night, we ordered in a takeaway and last night it was pizza. As I’ve observed before, I love pizza, but the feeling is not reciprocated. I thought I’d got away with it, but no – at 5.30 this morning I awoke with indigestion – not as bad as on other occasions, but enough to wake me up. I had woken up briefly before then, but without the acid, which is why I thought that I’d dodged the bullet. Sadly it seems that the bullet was travelling a little slower than usual.
Anyway, the upshot is that I am a little tired this morning, though the coffee will kick in shortly I have no doubt.
On the way home last night I picked up Goldfrapp’s new album, Seventh Tree. I have only managed to have a cursory listen to the first few tracks, but it sounds promising. A more in depth listen tonight, with luck. I also picked up Katie Melua’s latest album, though I haven’t listened to it yet. Such is the quality of her voice, that I can even forgive the awful words of the first single from the album, Mary Pickford. Actually, that’s a lie: the words are really awful and I have to consciously ignore them to listen to Katie’s singing voice. I expect that song was written by Mike Batt:
Mary Pickford used to eat roses
Thought that they'd make her beautiful and they did,
One supposes.
Douglas Fairbanks, he was so handsome,
He wore a moustache,
Must-a had much cash, too,
Worth a king's ransom,
Charlie Chaplin, he was invited,
When these artists became united.
When these artists became united.
David Griffith worked as an extra,
Then as a stagehand,
Until they let him be
A director
Dave was brave, a mover and shaker,
A true pioneer,
He seemed to show no fear,
A real film maker
Just like Chaplin, he was invited,
When these artists became united.
When these artists became united.
They tied the knot together,
Groom and bride couldn't hide their pleasure.
They tried to pick fair weather,
But love died, didn't last forever.
Mary Pickford used to eat roses,
Thought that they'd make her beautiful and they did,
One supposes.
Douglas Fairbanks, he was so handsome,
He wore a moustache,
Must-a had much cash too,
Worth a king's ransom.
Charlie Chaplin, he was invited,
When these artists became united.
When these artists became united.
When these artists became united
[ Mary Pickford lyrics found on http://www.completealbumlyrics.com ]
I mean really, there should be laws against this. The interweb confirms that this was perpetrated by Mike Batt. Kudos to the man for discovering her, but minus several million points for “guiding” her into recording songs like this and minus several million more for writing them in the first place. He’ll have her recording a new arrangement of The Wombles next.
I read somewhere that their contract runs out with this album, so maybe she can ditch his Svengali-like presence and get herself a music arranger who can come up with better words.
Luckily the rest of the album is rather better, but I suspect that I shall be starting each listen from track two.
Firstly I expended a great deal of nervous energy during the day. I’m not usually like that at interviews, but yesterday I was. I was wound up like a clock spring and found it hard to relax at any point. I’m not sure how I managed to work myself into that state: I am usually quite placid and let things wash over me.
Secondly, being games night, we ordered in a takeaway and last night it was pizza. As I’ve observed before, I love pizza, but the feeling is not reciprocated. I thought I’d got away with it, but no – at 5.30 this morning I awoke with indigestion – not as bad as on other occasions, but enough to wake me up. I had woken up briefly before then, but without the acid, which is why I thought that I’d dodged the bullet. Sadly it seems that the bullet was travelling a little slower than usual.
Anyway, the upshot is that I am a little tired this morning, though the coffee will kick in shortly I have no doubt.
On the way home last night I picked up Goldfrapp’s new album, Seventh Tree. I have only managed to have a cursory listen to the first few tracks, but it sounds promising. A more in depth listen tonight, with luck. I also picked up Katie Melua’s latest album, though I haven’t listened to it yet. Such is the quality of her voice, that I can even forgive the awful words of the first single from the album, Mary Pickford. Actually, that’s a lie: the words are really awful and I have to consciously ignore them to listen to Katie’s singing voice. I expect that song was written by Mike Batt:
Thought that they'd make her beautiful and they did,
One supposes.
Douglas Fairbanks, he was so handsome,
He wore a moustache,
Must-a had much cash, too,
Worth a king's ransom,
Charlie Chaplin, he was invited,
When these artists became united.
When these artists became united.
David Griffith worked as an extra,
Then as a stagehand,
Until they let him be
A director
Dave was brave, a mover and shaker,
A true pioneer,
He seemed to show no fear,
A real film maker
Just like Chaplin, he was invited,
When these artists became united.
When these artists became united.
They tied the knot together,
Groom and bride couldn't hide their pleasure.
They tried to pick fair weather,
But love died, didn't last forever.
Mary Pickford used to eat roses,
Thought that they'd make her beautiful and they did,
One supposes.
Douglas Fairbanks, he was so handsome,
He wore a moustache,
Must-a had much cash too,
Worth a king's ransom.
Charlie Chaplin, he was invited,
When these artists became united.
When these artists became united.
When these artists became united
[ Mary Pickford lyrics found on http://www.completealbumlyrics.com ]
I mean really, there should be laws against this. The interweb confirms that this was perpetrated by Mike Batt. Kudos to the man for discovering her, but minus several million points for “guiding” her into recording songs like this and minus several million more for writing them in the first place. He’ll have her recording a new arrangement of The Wombles next.
I read somewhere that their contract runs out with this album, so maybe she can ditch his Svengali-like presence and get herself a music arranger who can come up with better words.
Luckily the rest of the album is rather better, but I suspect that I shall be starting each listen from track two.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-26 11:43 am (UTC)Thank you.
Usually when it comes to songs I can avoid your sort of reaction, I tend to have an ear for the 'general music' rather than the lyrics.
(But as you say, those are pretty rotten lyrics)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-26 02:04 pm (UTC)Still, we're talking about contemporary popular music here, so it's a rare lyric that will stand up to scrutiny when separated from its musical framework.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-26 02:12 pm (UTC)If I am listening to a glorious piece of prog by Crimso (or, to be honest any of them), with multilayered instruments and long breaks, the music will get me first. That's harder to do with a ballad where the singer is the prime instrument - unless it's a song in a language you don't speak.
I love Katie Melua's voice, but some of her song lyrics are a bit twee (not so much on those she's written herself). In the case of thios particualr song, Mary Pickford, I could see myself enjoying it if it was sung in a foreign language, then the voice is just the solo instrument.
Because I'm a rat...
Date: 2008-02-26 03:57 pm (UTC)Underground, overground, wombling free,
The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we.
Making good use of the things that we find,
Things that the everyday folks leave behind.
Uncle Bulgaria,
He can remember the days when he wasn't behind the times,
With his map of the world.
Pick up the papers and take them to Tobermory!
Wombles are organised, work as a team.
Wombles are tidy and Wombles are clean.
Underground, overground, wombling free,
The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we!
People don't notice us, they never see,
Under their noses a Womble may be.
We womble by night and we womble by day,
Looking for litter to trundle away.
We're so incredibly, utterly devious
Making the most of everything.
Even bottles and tins.
Pick up the pieces and make them into something new,
Is what we do!
Underground, overground, wombling free,
The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we.
Making good use of the things that we find,
Things that the everyday folks leave behind.
Re: Because I'm a rat...
Date: 2008-02-26 04:16 pm (UTC)Re: Because I'm a rat...
Date: 2008-02-26 04:55 pm (UTC)Do you think we could get a petition going...?
Re: Because I'm a rat...
Date: 2008-02-26 07:47 pm (UTC)Remember you're a womble,