A limerick a week #58

It’s the Domino effect (or ‘How to segue from R&B to Cajun’)

I was just about to turn off DJ Chris Evans’ radio waffle this morning when he played a medley of Fats Domino hits to mark the R&B maestro’s death at the age of 89. I would never say that I had been an active listener to his songs, but I was amazed at how many of them seemed so very familiar. I guess that’s due to growing up with the radio often playing in the background.

The three songs that most resonated with me must have been among his best-known recordings: Blueberry Hill, Ain’t That a Shame, and Jambalaya (On the Bayou).

IMHO Domino’s version of Blueberry Hill, with his trademark R&B piano playing, trumps that of another famous son of New Orleans, Louis Armstrong, whose jazz version is just, well, jazz – not my favourite genre.

Sadly, the history of Ain’t That a Shame reflects the history of coloured performers in the United States as it came to national attention only after being recorded by the (white) singer Pat Boone. More encouragingly, and according to legend, Domino was impressed by Boone’s version (and the royalties it brought) so he once invited Boone on to the stage, showed the audience one of his big gold rings and said: “Pat Boone bought me this ring!

Jambalaya (On the Bayou), despite its seemingly Cajun origins, was originally a country song albeit one set to a Cajun melody and with faux Cajun lyrics sung in country fashion. Its originator was Hank Williams who had a mega-hit with it and Dr Google suggests that its popularity was due to a dilution of the ethnic origins of the music so that an audience could relate to it “in a way that it could never relate to a true Cajun two-step led by an asthmatic accordion and sung in patois” (I love that quote!). So Domino’s bluesy rendition of it is not a betrayal of any Cajun roots, but is instead a New Orleans R&B interpretation of a country classic and, as Domino’s origins were French Creole and his first language was Louisiana Creole, it all adds to the mix.

So here’s the limerick-as-eulogy for the late Antoine Dominique ‘Fats’ Domino …

There once was a pianist called ‘Fats’
One of R&B’s aristocrats
But the Grim Reaper came
(now Ain’t That a Shame)
And turned all of his sharps into flats.

Postscript: You can find loads of cover versions of Hank Williams’ Jambalaya (On the Bayou on the internet and it’s really interesting to compare versions. For example, at one end of the spectrum there is the saccharin-sweet Carpenters’ version, redeemed solely by Karen Carpenter’s hauntingly beautiful and honeyed voice, and Sonny and Cher’s light entertainment Comedy Hour duet that showcased Cher’s real talent in the days before she became a parody of herself.

A more energetic version that I really like is that from Creedence Clearwater Revival. Although its southern rock musical accompaniment is country-ish in origin, their vocals are closer to the harsh, slightly discordant tones of the Cajun tradition.

In fact, it seems that the ‘ethnic dilution’ inherent to the original version of Jambalaya has distanced the song from the purer Louisiana French and Creole traditions as it is nigh-on impossible to find a rootsy Cajun or Zydeco version on the internet. There are some that claim to be one or t’other, but they generally bear as much resemblance to ‘backyard’ Louisiana as mainstream country does to bluegrass. The nearest that I could find was a version by El-Jo Sonnier (and it’s okay other than it still betrays its country origins).

And what of the man himself? Well, this is his version.

Finally, there is an interesting cover of Domino’s Blueberry Hill

It is performed by a world leader oft implicated in the silencing of opposition and dissident voices, seen here to be murdering a song as well. Dear Reader, I give you ‘Fats’ Putin.

 

A limerick a week #52

Happy birthday ALAW & “Goodbye” Sir Peter Hall

The posting of ALAW #52 means that it is now a year since the first one was published (on 24 September 2016 to be precise). I suppose that is a modest achievement insofar as I managed not to miss a week. Some I thought good, some were make-weights, and some I was really pleased with. I think I shall carry on with them!

This week’s ALAW doesn’t celebrate the anniversary, instead it arises amidst a bit of a conundrum.

My profile on the blog says that I value decency over achievement. I do, but what if someone who has been described variously as controversial, vituperative, deceitful, detested, brutal, disloyal and embittered, and whose private life was unstable to say the least, had achieved something that gives you lasting pleasure? Is that to be valued? Well, I take the easy way out. “Yes”, it is to be valued, but with much less respect for the person whose achievement it was compared to the personal respect for someone that had achieved less but whose fundamental decency shone through in all things!

Sir Peter Hall, who died this week, founded the Royal Shakespeare Company. His obituaries tell of that and his many other accomplishments, with a couple reflecting on some of the adjectives listed above, but it is the RSC that does it for me thanks to the late John Kremer, an English Literature teacher who instilled his enthusiasm for the Bard into a fourteen year old rugby-playing, science-orientated schoolboy (one who, years later, ‘out-Shakespeared’ his more arts-inclined, academic and intellectual brother, much to the surprise of the said brother’s family!).

So, with whom did Hall fall out (apart from walking-out on three wives as soon as he had found ‘another’)? Well, Laurence Olivier, Kenneth Tynan, Jonathan Miller, John Osborne, Bill Kenright and Harold Pinter to name six from the top drawer of British theatre of the 50s, 60s and 70s. Quite a collection really.

Hamlet without the iambic pentameter. Sir Peter would not approve!

This is the RSC’s eulogy for Hall (a quote taken from Cassius’ lines in Julius Caesar):

“Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs and peep about

To find ourselves dishonorable graves.”

which is a bit double-edged because Cassius’ words actually reflect his concern that Caesar had put himself above others and attained too much power (which, ironically, was a criticism of Hall made by his detractors).

And so to the limerick …

His theatrical nous and esprit
Gave birth to the famed RSC.
All the world was his stage
‘Till that terminal age
When, alas, he was then ‘not to be’!

A limerick a week #43

Fade to black …

Yet another limerick-as-eulogy. That’s three in fairly quick succession; a bit worrying!

Anyway, for UK moviegoers during the 70s, 80s and 90s there was really only one credible film critic on TV. That was, of course, the recently deceased Barry Norman who solo presented the BBC’s review show from its inception as Film 72 through to his end credit on Film 98. (Clapperboard, hosted by Chris Kelly and aimed at children, was not a direct challenger to the primacy of Bazza’s show).

Norman was always fair in his reviews even if he personally disliked the actor whose film he was discussing, but I’m not so sure he was as well-balanced when he was utterly captivated by one. There was a fair number of the former with whom he went toe to toe, stars such as Charlton Heston, Robert De Niro, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Bruce Willis; at least one of whom he walked out on after being made to wait interminably (Madonna); and another, an inebriated John Wayne, who apparently called him a “goddamn pinko liberal f****t” for laughing aloud at him during an interview in which Wayne called for the US to consider bombing Russia as a reaction to the Vietnam war.

In truth Norman rarely appeared starstruck, although he did have a bit of a love-in with Tom Cruise and was wholly beguiled by Michelle Pfeiffer. I can still recall his reaction to her flirtations during a Film 92 Special and it’s hard to believe his protestations that he didn’t really have a crush on her (his wife appeared not to believe him either). It was just so funny to watch him almost drool as he interviewed her.

Michelle sings “Makin’ whoopee”, Bazza thinks “If only …”

And so to his tag line. Although his doppelgänger on the satirical puppet show Spitting Image often referenced his supposed catchphrase “… and why not?“, Norman himself credited the impressionist Rory Bremner with conceiving it and, although it was not his creation, and something of a myth that he regularly used it, he did later borrow it as the title of his autobiography.

Anyway, both Michelle P and his catchphrase inspired this week’s limerick:

Michelle made you blush on the spot
When it seemed that you’d quite lost the plot.
‘Twas not hard to decipher
Your thoughts on Ms Pfeiffer,
But as you said once yourself: “And why not!”

 

A limerick a week #7

The sight of them ducks …

Another memory from one’s youth fades 🙁

Jean Alexander who recently died aged 90 played Hilda Ogden, a pivotal character in Coronation Street during the soap’s heyday of the 60s and 70s.

Hilda was married to Stan, a hopeless and hapless layabout played by Bernard Youens. Everything in her life with him seemed to disappoint her. Yet when the make-believe Stan ‘died’ off-screen shortly after Youens himself had died, Hilda’s grief-stricken reaction was incredibly moving and remains memorable even 32 years later (Alexander won a Royal Television Society ‘best performance’ award for the scene).

I stopped watching ‘Corrie’ shortly afterwards when it ditched its warmth and humour in an attempt to match the more gritty ‘reality’ (aka ‘misery’) of the nascent EastEnders. (The same sad descent into miserable social issues also befell the Archers so ever since I have inhabited a soap-free zone). Anyway, this is for Hilda …

Your nagging just fell on deaf ears
While Stan carried on downing beers
But you sat there and cried
On hearing he’d died,
With genuine sorrow and tears.

The title of this post comes from one of Hilda’s last lines. She had a mural on her living room wall (that she always mispronounced as her ‘muriel’) and three plaster flying ducks (all of which Stan had damaged on the occasion that he let his bath overflow). On leaving the soap, Alexander’s character was to move away from the Street and her home of years at which point Percy Sugden suggested that she’d be glad to see the back of her decor.

Hilda’s reply was as dramatic as her response to Stan’s death: “I’ve come in here more times than I care to remember – cold, wet, tired out, not a penny in me purse – and the sight of them ducks, and that muriel… well, they’ve kept my hand away from the gas tap and that’s a fact“.

hilda
Hilda, Stan (right) and lodger Eddie Yates, with flying ducks and ‘muriel’

Postscript: The newspapers quoted some classic Hilda one-liners when reporting Alexander’s death; here’s a couple of them:

Elsie Tanner’s heart is where a fella’s wallet is – and the bigger the wallet, the more heart she’s got”.

Quite right Stanley, I wouldn’t give them to a working man, but since you don’t come under that category there’s no problem is there? Now get them ate”.

… Cuthbert, Dibble and Grubb.

Well, he had a good innings. Gordon Murray the creator of the stop-motion Trumptonshire Trilogy has died at the age of 95. Some favoured Camberwick Green – I don’t think Chigley was as popular – but for me the stand-out series was Trumpton. Perhaps it was Captain Flack’s weekly recital (Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble and Grubb) that called out his firemen to an emergency that seemed never to involve flames, or even smoke, that stuck in the mind. Or maybe it was the announcement at the start of the show that presaged the storyline for that episode:

Here is a box, a musical box,
wound up and ready to play.
But this box can hide a secret inside.
Can you guess what is in it today?

Dramatic goings-on in Trumpton
Dramatic goings-on in Trumpton

Either way, Murray’s were innocent stories for innocent minds, governed by his wish for children to have a joyful childhood (as quoted in the Graun’s obituary):

I am very upset, because I’m an old man now, at the short length of childhood that children have. They don’t have childhood for long and I think that’s a wicked shame, because childhood is the most marvellous thing you’ve got to remember for the rest of your life.

‘Amen’ to that. Here’s my tuppence worth:

You painted a bucolic scene
With your stories of Camberwick Green,
But with Pugh, Pugh
And Barney McGrew
It was Trumpton that lit up the screen.

“I thought Coq au Vin was love in a lorry”

… and now Victoria Wood has gone too; the comedian that penned the one-liner that passes for the title of this posting has died. There has been a heavy toll taken of performers recently, but, for me, hers is the most egregious loss. Too soon and too young. A genuine laugh-out-loud writer and a comedian that could turn her hand to serious drama. I would rank her wordsmithing, her comedic delivery and her characterisations (both serious and humorous) alongside that of Ronnie Barker. I don’t often rate the Daily Telegraph’s opinion highly, but it got it right in her case, “She made the mundane seem magical”.

Sometimes I’ll write a limerick in my own trivial way to mark the passing of a celebrity, just to amuse myself, but not on this occasion. Instead, I’ll be amused by a few phrases of hers taken from ‘The ballad of Barry and Freda’ (aka ‘Just do it’) on the unsated desires of a late-middle-age, libidinous housewife:

Some lines from Freda:

I’m on fire, with desire — I could handle half the tenors in a male voice choir

This folly is jolly; bend me over backwards on me hostess trolley!

Get drastic, gymnastic — wear your baggy Y-fronts with the loose elastic

No cautions, just contortions: smear an avocado on my lower portions!

Be mighty, be flighty, come and melt the buttons on my flame-proof nightie!

Not bleakly, not meekly — beat me on the bottom with the Woman’s Weekly

And some replies from a very reluctant Barry:

No derision, my decision: I’d rather watch the Spinners on the television.

I’m imploring — I’m boring — let me read this catalogue on vinyl flooring!

Stop stewing — Pooh-poohing — I’ve had a good look down there and there’s nothing doing.

Stop pouting! Stop shouting — you know I pulled a muscle when I did that grouting.

Stop nagging! I’m flagging; you know as well as I do that the pipes want lagging.

Don’t choose me, don’t use me, my mother sent a note to say you must excuse me.

Better still, see it all here.

Another one bites the dust

I wonder if there is a collective noun for a spate of deaths of the performers that comprised the theatrical and musical milieu of a chap’s childhood and teenage years. Of course it’s no surprise that a clutch of the memorable stars of one’s youth begins to fall off their perch when youth itself progresses to middle-age or beyond, but it does become a bit alarming when so many seem to expire in relatively quick succession. Warren Mitchell, the Alans Howard and Rickman, David Bowie, Val Doonican, Glenn Frey, Cilla Black (although I was not a fan), Andy M Stewart (“Who?” you ask) and now, at a grand old age, Ronnie Corbett. There have been tributes a-plenty to him so I’ll not reference them here other than to add my own small contribution:

The stage lights have finally gone dim
On a life that was full to the brim
Of mirth a propos
The Two Ronnies Show,
So now, it is “Goodnight from him”.

Ronnie C in one of his best-known guises, the meandering and tangential story-teller
Ronnie C in one of his best-known guises, the meandering and tangential story-teller