She’s back again! We tried to get rid of her bread crumb trail so that she would not return, but gadzooks – she had a sat nav that led her right (now turn left) back to the Emporium. The following shows the young Miss Bennett doing her very best Jimmy Saville impression (minus the jangle, clunk click of his jewellery and allegations of teen sex – Well, who didn’t suspect something was slightly amiss? I mean, honestly), as she takes her scalpel to some rather familiar lyrics sung by some rather-er familiar crooners …
Hello pop pickers, to this jingle jangle storm up the hit parade of days of old. I did originally mean to tell you of why Perry Como was the best philosopher of the 20th Century but once my brain had hit the decks, my thread meandered clean away with me. We shall get to Mr Como at the end of this piece, all being well and I promise there will be no mention of ‘Magic Moments’ as they are between The Big PC and his quiet nightly time. Firstly, I wish to speak to you of the deviant undertones in a couple of seemingly ‘Easy Listening’ popular tunes.
The first defendant I call to the disco court is a Mr Tom Jones. Oh how I usually love the glorious warble and enthusiasm of this Welsh Wizard but on playing some old tunes to myself I noted a murderous intention. I speak of the confession in song that is ‘Delilah’. Alas with a name like that and being immortalised in tune, things were not going to work out well for this young lady. The first four lines tell much of the background to the incident…
‘I saw the light on the night that I passed by her window
I saw the flickering shadows of love on her blind
She was my woman
As she deceived me, I watched and went out of my mind’
Mr Jones is clearly smitten by his lady-friend but the Facebook Relationship Status could possibly be ‘Complicated’ or at worst ‘I’m stalking her’. May I also add, Mr Jones…while I’m here, that if you go looking for something then you are more than likely to find it. And you may not like it. So there.
We continue with Delilah’s Death Ditty, after each verse with a rousing ‘Whoah whoah whoah Delilah!’. This accompanied by the later mentioned knife (sorry for the spoilers) gives me deep cause for concern. Sing a long a police statement courtesy of a Celt warbling Tom I’ll wager. Anyway, we continue to:
‘At break of day when that man drove away, I was waiting
I cross the street to her house and she opened the door
She stood there laughing
I felt the knife in my hand and she laughed no more’
He’s been there all night at least. Probably since the Wednesday previous. Just watching the object of his affections having it away with someone knifeless and less warbly. The horror of this song is really not that unusual Mr Jones….as I must haste to our second defendant of this sordid article..
Ladies and Gentlemen…I give you the one and only Cliff Richard with his lovestruck ballad ‘Living Doll’. May I make it clear that this is the version without The Young Ones and there is to be no shouting of ‘Get Down’ at any point. To the first verse:
‘Got myself a crying, talking, sleeping, walking, living doll
Got to do my best to please her, just ’cause she’s a living doll
Got a roving eye and that is why she satisfies my soul
Got the one and only walking talking, living doll’
I am quite sure that one could purchase such a thing on this internet Sir Richard. A website catering for the more discerning gentleman perhaps? Plus…..after reading of your own non-exploits, I am pretty certain that her soul (Dolls with souls!! One of Us!!) is not satisfied. To be honest, if I could take you to meet my late beloved mother, I have visions of her dropping major hints about lavender but bless you anyway. To the second verse!
‘Well, take a look at her hair, it’s real
And if you don’t believe what I say, just feel
Gonna lock her up in a trunk
So no big hunk can steal her away from me’
Let us take this bit by bit Sir…..her hair? Real you say? This is sounding even more freaky deaky as time passes. Why her hair? I do not wish to touch it. I am going to leave it though as I am most worried about upsetting you….because you then start talking of locking her up in a trunk. Why not just put her back in the box she came in? Take the batteries out. Aim for the head if it’s all too much. I know that it’s too much for me to handle. Luckily Mr Richard does not divulge any more information regarding his precious doll and the jury of readers can pass their own judgement.
I have now meandered myself meekly back to Perry Como and his life philosophy. May I give you the line from ‘Raindrops keep falling on my head”…:
‘I ain’t ever gonna stop the rain by complaining.’
H Bennett 2012