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June 07 - issue 2

Dearly Bewildered

WAYS TO BE A GOOD PARISHIONER

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WHAT NOT TO WEAR

Parishioner Jeff Carmack:

Back in 1969 or '70 (I was probably 15 years old) I went to see Jefferson Airplane when they played my hometown, Oklahoma City, Okla. I wanted to look cool, so I opted to wear jeans, an Oxford cloth shirt and no tie to the show. My father took one look and said, "Surely you are not going to the concert dressed like that. I assure you that the Jefferson Airplanes [sic] will be wearing jackets and ties." This was not the first time my father was wrong about rock music (his first and most memorable was when he declared the Beatles "a flash in the pan"), nor was it the last. I got to the show and was astounded to discover that my boring old hometown boasted a sizable contingent of long-haired freaks. As for the Jefferson Airplanes, I recall as if it were yesterday that lead guitarist Jorma Kaukonen was wearing fringed, knee-high moccasins, a Che Guevara t-shirt, and a swastika on a chain

around his neck. Myself, I could not have looked like a bigger geek.

Parishioner Capn Nikko:

An unfortunate weight training accident in the early 70s put paid to my budding sporting career. Instead this previously clean-living boy discovered the holy trinity of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Still recovering from my injury I was wearing a full plaster jacket from chest to groin - but this didn't stop me from attending a momentous gig at Birmingham Town Hall by Californian acid rockers, The Flock. I quickly found out that a tight-fitting plaster jacket is not ideal garb for a concert hall. Sweat poured down within, causing intolerable itchiness which alas could not be assuaged due to access problems. On leaving the gig, however, this constricting garment came into its own. I was going through a subway when about 100 skinheads came running towards me. (Remember when gangs of them used to literally run around city centres all night?). They passed by me (I should say pased over me)

delivering a good kicking en route. More than one of em I'll warrant was perplexed that his DMs met what seemed to be like body armour. Thankfully due to my invisible protection I was almost totally unhurt (except for the kicks to the head of course). So what I had been cursing not 15 minutes before actually turned out to be a lifesaver. Since then I have made a point of wearing full body armour to all gigs just in case.

VEXATIOUS MISPRONUNCIATION AND THE THINGS THAT PARENTS SAY

Parishioner Jiji:

Although in our house, we talk rarely of the Goss twins, Matt and Luke, it is customary to refer to them as Boris.

Parishioner Mark Bryer:

I remember that Dusty Springfield morphed into Rusty Bedsprings in our house.

Dad also came up with Ned Zeppelin (although he was good enough to drive us from Berkshire to Earl's Court to see Ned Zeppelin in '75, and spent the intervening 3 hours or so sitting through my mother's choice of film, Streisand and Redford in The Way We Were. No small feat for confirmed Cagney, Wayne and Bogart man).

"Who's this?" he'd ask.

"The Who," I'd reply.

"Who?" etc, etc, etc.

He would also walk around at Xmas singing "Good Christian men rejoice, The Beatles have lost their voice."

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Parishioner Val:

Spencer Leigh's recollections of his mother's opinion of his record buying habits reminded me that my mother would greet every new purchase I made from One Stop Records in Richmond in the 70s with the phrase "Haven't you got enough records?" This always seemed to me to show that she was missing the point by implying that they were all exactly the same, almost as though as I was buying identical figurines to put on a shelf.

Parishioner Jamie:

Way back in about 1981 we had some suburban teenage punks living next to our family home in Maidenhead. Mum thought they were a bad influence on the neighbourhood and reguarly criticised the hair, clothes, behaviour etc. One time I remember one of them was wearing a crude, handmade t-shirt with the slogan 'Kraftwerk' written across it. "See?" said mum triumphantly. "They can't even spell!"

Parishioner Gary Selwyn:

Depeche Mode have always been referred to as Depressed Toad in this parish, as it seems to provide a greater insight into their musical offerings

Parishioner Geoff:

I love to irritate my American friends by speaking of those Texas boogiers Zed Zed Top.

Parishioner Steve:

As a 14 year old punk during the white heat of musical revolution in 1976, I had adapted one of my old school jackets by ripping off the arms and writing "Clash" and "Ramones" on the back in felt tip. Upon seeing this sartorial triumph my dad asked "Whose this Clash Ramone bloke then ?" . He quickly picked up on my irritation when I explained his mistake and spent a great deal of the next couple of years informing his friends, family etc that Clash Ramone was my favourite pop singer

Parishioner Matt:

I am faintly embarrased (but amused enough by the realisation that I am not alone) to admit that for many years I have referred to Spandau Ballet as "Splendid Wallets" - I know; it doesn't really work does it? Beverley Craven, the tampon-sponsored songstress will always be "Heavily Laden" and Julia Fordham forever "Julia Boredom". Well, they will to me anyway. Thing is - I don't remember if they are made-up creations of my own fevered 80's mind or further exmaple of the genius they called Smash Hits. Anyone got an idea?

Parishioner Mike Mortimer:

My parents didn't mispronounce the names of any musicians I liked, they just referred to the music as: that crap. From 1986 to 1989 I was an all-night D.J. for an elevator music radio station here in Canada. There are music content regulations here that require 30% of the music going out on air be Canadian. For an easy-listening radio station, this was quite difficult to accomplish and management had us playing a lot of Dan Hill (Sometimes When We Touch). I took to calling this drivel producing musician, Down Hill. Yes, I was fired.

Parishioner Adam Doughty:

My mate Steve Burton's blind and batty Nana always said how much she liked that Elsie Brookes.

Parishioner Ogsy:

Ever since my teenage years, I have referred to Reg Dwight as Elton's John, which is the answer to surely the worst rock 'n' roll joke of all time: what's pink and sits on the piano? And from a misprint from a 1983 Arsenal programme, in which Charlie Nicholas was questioned on his favourite music, we now have The Psychedelic Fuzz. Must have been the Glaswegian accent.

Parishioner Paul Grimshaw:

I have no idea why, but New York's Priestess of Punk has always been Patti Smurf to me..... Perhaps it was the image that once came to me in a dream of her painted blue and wearing a little white pixie hat. I don't drink Stella Artois anymore....

Parishioner Toby:

While my dear old dad does not and never did indulge in "vexatious mispronunciation" (that was far more my mum's remit, and I shall bore you with hers at another time), he can be a fantastic old fart about "the young people's music." A music lover himself, having faintly nasty busts of both Mozart and Beethoven on the desk in his home office, he has been wont to make pompous pronouncements on the music the younger members of the family are in to. Two favourites spring to mind, the first being his fairly recent and perfectly serious statement, "Anything written after 1750 is dangerously modern." And I also remember an early 80s car journey, during which the rest of the family spent the remainder of the trip in severe danger of wetting themselves, when he asked, genuinely bemused, "What is a Kate

Bush?"

Parishioner Tim Earnshaw:

My dad used to refer to Captain Beefheart as "Captain Bee Fart", chuckling smugly the whilst. THAT was vexatious.

Parishioner Stuart:

The late dad of a dear friend could never come to terms with her copy of THE WHO LIVE AT LEEDS, as upon reading the LP sleeve he always commented, ".....but I thought they were a West London lot"

PARISH APPEALS - CAN YOU HELP?

Parishioner David Marriott:

Near where I live is a little village (remember them?) called Clyffe Pypard. Is this the only place in the UK that sounds a bit like.....OK, I thought so.

Parishioner James Hill:

Whilst listening to the excellent new Shins album - "Wincing the Night Away" i got to thinking great cd, dreadful title. Can fellow parishioners think of any other examples or conversely terrible albums with great titles?

Parishioner Mike Walters:

There must be other examples of this, but I've never noticed it before... A while ago, I bought the Hal Willner produced compilation, 'Rogue's Gallery' - as you'll be aware, a collection of pirate songs, sea shanties and the like performed by a mix of quasi-folkies (Richard Thompson, Loudon Wainwright, Martin Carthy et al) and various rock luminaries slumming it for the day (including, inevitably, Sting, Bryan Ferry and the lead singer from the popular beat combo U2). When I came to load it on to my iPod recently, I duly stuck the CD into the PC and waited for that clever Gracenotes database to do its stuff. Sure enough, the tracks all appeared, correctly credited. Except that whoever had entered the data had chosen, with that lack of respect so typical of the younger generation, to assign the aforementioned Greatest Living Irishman a more complete soubriquet - namely 'That Wanker

Bono'. Are parishioners aware of any similar examples of such critical judgements being disseminated through this particular medium?

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