Now hey there people wont you lend an ear,
Cos Ive a story to tell and Im telling it here,
I was born in a town in the great UK,
From a baby to a boy to a man today,
And Im a musical man and Im a man of verse,
But I got a little problem and its getting worse,
My life was so well planned,
Survivin and a jivin in a funk band,
But rapping its my bread and butter,
But its hard to rap when youre born with a stutter
from Stutter Rap by Morris Minor and The Majors
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Much to my surprise I wasnt able to complete this book without the help of others. So, regretfully, it falls upon me to offer thanks to the following: Mark King, Hugo, Jason and Jason, Nigel and Liesa, James Harman, James Hodgkinson, Paul Cole, Paul Crockford, Robert and Sophie at PFD, Matt Bjerreggard, Kate and Vlad, Tony and Christian at the Kashmir, Sarah, Claire and all at Ebury, Brad, Steve and Robin, Jane for sorting things, Jake for good advice and crossing out bad jokes, Jakko for support and musicianship, and finally Willie, for all of the above, and for liking me enough to just keep on helping long after it would have been fair to tell me to piss off. Oh, and everyone else whos in the book.
Also available by Tony Hawks
Round Ireland with a Fridge
Playing the Moldovans at Tennis
A Piano in the Pyrenees
CHAPTER 1 TIGER FEET AND CUPS OF TEA
You dont have to do it, said Victoria, from the end of the phone-line. It was only a bit of a fun. Drunken high spirits and all that.
No, I want to, I said, keen to move the conversation on to a discussion about how we might go for a drink together soon. And by my reckoning, the terms of the bet should allow me enough time.
Well, one way or another, well know by the time I get back.
Get back?
Yes, Im moving to New York for a couple of years so I can work with some of the songwriters over there.
Oh, I said, hoping that my tone of voice hadnt revealed the deadening thud of disappointment which my heart had just felt. And when do you leave?
Thursday.
Oh. I see.
Good luck with the bet though.
Yes. Thanks.
Curses.
As a teenager, like most of my peers, I had always pretty much hated country music. As far as I was concerned, it was sung by old people wearing silly hats who churned out tunes which all sounded the same, with lyrics that made you feel nauseous. I had this picture of it being the kind of music that was enjoyed by people whod been bullied at school or and Im not sure how I ended up with such a specific category by those who walked with severe limps as a result of injuries sustained in the workplace. Myself, I eschewed this musical genre because I was hip, and as a hip person I listened to Mud, Sweet and Suzi Quatro like all the other hip people at my school. I was happy with my musical tastes and I didnt need anyone to come along and start meddling with them.
Consequently I was extremely concerned one day when I found myself inadvertently singing along with Blue Bayou by Linda Rondstadt and then, only moments later, turning up the radio when Kenny Rogers started crooning about Ruby not taking her love to town. More worryingly still was that I was forced to admit to myself that I actively liked the song Sundown by Gordon Lightfoot. What was happening to me? Had I gone soft? Of course at school I kept this information close to my chest whenever playground badinage turned to the subject of ones favourite songs of the day, and I would simply walk away if ever the conversation descended into a routine rubbishing of country music (although I did tend to stick around for discussions about the pros and cons of Dolly Parton, mainly because I had noticed that these very rarely focused on her melodic range or the timbre of her voice).
Only now do I understand what was happening to me all those years ago. I was beginning to appreciate lyrics. Somehow the pop songs of the day were failing to interest me on enough levels. I was becoming drawn to songs which could communicate an idea or arouse an emotion within me. Muds classic Tiger Feet was fine to jump around to excitedly, but it did little to stimulate any deeper thoughts.
Thats neat, thats neat, thats neat, thats neat,
I really love those Tiger Feet
What exactly were Tiger Feet? And why was the singer so keen on them? Trust me on this, a detailed study of the lyrics provides very few answers to these salient questions.
Country & Western music I discovered, however, offered a boldness in the lyrical department which defied belief. Kenny Rogers shamelessly sang about both Lucille and Ruby, two women who were leaving him, one despite two hungry children and a crop in the field, and the other because his legs (and presumably another valuable part of his anatomy) had been rendered inoperative by the Vietnam war. The contrast with Muds song couldnt have been greater, unless of course Tiger Feet is actually a term to describe the injured feet of a war veteran, but somehow I doubt it.
Another reason why I was drawn to country music was because it didnt appear to take itself too seriously, unless of course its fans were simply too daft to recognise the comic nature of some of the songs its writers had produced over the years. Proof of this was contained in an email which a friend sent me, listing the following country titles which, believe it or not, were actually written and recorded:
Drop Kick Me, Jesus, Through The Goalposts Of Life
I Fell In A Pile Of You And Got Love All Over Me
I Dont Know Whether To Kill Myself Or Go Bowling
Subtle they may not be in their imagery, but almost every aspect of life is covered in these masterpieces religion, love and death. Im particularly fond of the doleful I Dont Know Whether To Kill Myself Or Go Bowling, a song which is not afraid to confront this everyday social dilemma. But the country music writers didnt leave it there. The list goes on:
I Wanna Whip Your Cow
Id Rather Have A Bottle In Front Of Me
Than A Frontal Lobotomy
If My Nose Were Full of Nickels, Id Blow It All On You
None of lifes stones is left unturned by these intrepid lyricists. In these three titles we are forced to consider the vital issues of money, drink and animal flagellation. Some of us may be disturbed by the raw honesty of I Wanna Whip Your Cow, but isnt it a feeling that all of us have felt at some point or another? How much better to have the subject explored through music than for us to do what we do day after day when we see someone else with a cow lapse into denial and in spite of our natural urges, pretend that we dont want to whip it. There are yet further contributions to our understanding of life:
My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, And I Dont Love Jesus
She Got The Ring And I Got The Finger
You Cant Have Your Kate And Edith Too
The quality just doesnt dip.
You Cant Roller Skate In A Buffalo Herd
Pardon Me, Ive Got Someone To Kill
These are two of my particular favourites. Pardon Me, Ive Got Someone To Kill serves as a gentle reminder that manners are always important whatever the situation. Its also nice to see a song in there which tackles what we humans have done to our environment. In the plaintive You Cant Roller Skate In A Buffalo Herd, the writers draw our attention to Americas dwindling buffalo stocks and the sad repercussions for those of us who made it our business to roller skate among them. A song which works on so many levels, being variously melancholic, didactic, edifying and enlightening, while all the time remaining fundamentally not very good.
