LEFTOVERS: OVER: IS IT?

If you are of a certain age (old) and in the UK, there is the classic line: "They think it's all over; it is now!" It refers to the football world cup final of 1966, which the more jingoistic members of the community of football fans and union flag wavers treat, along with "the" war, as one of the twin pillars of an Englishness I have never subscribed to. Probably because I consider myself scots, but, anyway, these were the classic last lines uttered by the hoarse, excitable TV commentator, Kenneth Wostenholme, as Geoff Hurst scraped in a last gasp fourth goal, right on the blast of the referees final whistle. No football fan me, but I do remember watching the game, aged 9, as it was probably watched by near every adult and child in the country, assuming, that is, they had a telly. There wouldn't have been anything else on anyway. But it is a lovely line, bearing repeating whenever something seems to be at and and then, suddenly, perhaps with an additional slight surprise, now is.

Which set me thinking about all this break-up songs out there, and the differing responses to the news that may transpire. With good old i-tunes coming up trumps on that score.

Fool:

Fool, If You Think It's Over

I had forgotten how impossibly young Chris Rea actually ever was. I remember thinking this song great, when it came out, back in 1978. From his debut album, which garnered him a grammy, Best New Artist, if actually little then much to further his career. Indeed, so prophetic was it, Rea was thinking of turning his back on music thereafter, returning to running the family restaurant his parents wanted of him. Luckily, it wasn't, and he would have been a fool had he thought so. It was only after he drove home, that Christmas, that he found a substantive royalty check on his doormat, sufficient to reverse his fortunes and set up a sensible pension plan. (Actually not; he bought a Ferrari, but, should you wonder, yes, it was that Christmas!)

Fuck:

Fuck You, It's Over

I still wonder whether I am allowed to spell that word out, so much a product of my times and upbringing I am. Sure, I say it a lot, and enjoy doing so. But, having got that out of the way, I believe it a totally valid use of the word in this context, the combination of dismay, contempt and dawning realisation, and I praise the sometimes somewhat histrionic Glasgow band for its use. I may be wrong, but they sound dumpee rather than dumper. Fuck is a common word in Scotland's second city, finding application as a noun, a verb, an adjective and probably many others, adverb, pronoun, preposition or conjunction. Heck, even a good old interjection too, from time to time. Glasvegas seemed only to have a brief window of opportunity, always seeming to promise more than delivered, but were fun. (Stop press: they tour their new, 4th album next year!)

Glad:

Glad It's Over

A curious little number from Jeff Tweedy's Wilco, one that was initially pencilled in for 2007's Sky Blue Sky, later ditched, appearing on the Alpha Mike Foxtrot rarities compendium, as well as OST appearance for Heroes, the TV series about special powered mutants. Very Beatle-y, I feel, as well as containing considerably sour grapey misogynistic lyrics. Unless you subscribe to it being a reverse projection of 10cc's I'm Not In Love. Which it could be, I guess, I didn't listen to the end.

Dream (or not):

Don't Dream It's Over

I like this song, the sentiment being very much of reassurance and reconciliation, even if against all the odds. Old suckers like me are always up for that. of course, it is New Zealand's finest, Crowded House, who did the original version you remember better, but I like the salty tang of this version, Sarakh Blasko's voice full of antipodean charm. Can do without the choral oohs and aah, mind, but still a great version. It comes from a not half bad Australasian tribute to the music of Neil and Tim Finn, occasionally bandmates in both Split Enz and Crowded House, the former Tim's band, the latter seen as Neil's, even if Tim stayed around for a while, ahead of some classic sibling frictions got the better of the two of them.

Don't:

Don't Tell Me That It's Over

Well, that was a surprise! I was actually looking for the Amy McDonald song of the similar name, she occupying possibly similar territory as Glasvegas, being remembered more for her 15 minutes than the fact she still plays and performs. Blink-182 are seldom my bag, but their snotty nose brat schtick can appeal on occasion. Like here. But, like most snotty nosed brats, I can only stomach small doses.

And, talking of small doses, this brief interlude of a post is over.

Blink*, Blasko, Wilco, 'Vegas, Rea

*So sue me!

MAIN: LINE

So this mainline Jesus is on, right, what is it actually? I always thought it was about a train, especially with the world of gospel awash with songs about trains. Surely it must be God's preferred form of transport, such is the plethora of references, from the Staples Singers to the Carter Family, each espousing the sure-fire way to heaven is by locomotive. It's an odd idea, given how few were around in nothing A.D., but it seems a good idea. Plus it sort of fits that the journey in the other direction is more often by road, if only to please the optimist in me; more folk fit on a train than a car.

But then I got confused. Mainline is also a word associated with drugs and with addiction. Jesus doesn't have that mainline, does he? Scouring the literature, only a few are saying that. But it is interesting how the imagery continues, the tell-tale signs being also tracks. Few encapsulate it better than these guys. Even the rhythm sounds like a choo-choo. 

Pity we can't ask Lou how, or if, he got to Heaven, in the end, by train. Or did he take a car in the other direction. 

But it seems I got it all wrong. It seems Jesus was on the mainline as in telephone line. Or was, at least, available to take a call. With supportive evidence lobbied. Again it's a rum 'un, wondering how such discussions took place before Alexander Graham Bell. Written, I guess. 

Well, that cleared that up. Little else to say.

Trains or telephones. Or just plain Jesus.

JOKES, PRANKS & FOOLS: FOOL (IF YOU THINK IT OVER)/Chris Rea

And, indeed, those who bought this as a single, in it's first incarnation, in 1978, could indeed be deemed as potential fools if they then thought the tousle-haired soul-lite balladeer would still be at it a full 40 years later. Number 12 in the U.S. Billboard chart that year, with 3 weeks at the top of the (do they still call it that) Adult Contemporary Chart, bagging a grammy the following year. That was his peak stateside, but he has gone on to have a number of careers in different markets, different genres even, as the years have rolled by. Ironically, for what he states is still his only song not performed on the guitar, he was pitched headlong into the Elton John/Billy Joel marketplace, a place he has never quite fitted. When the next 2 or 3 albums flopped, he was dropped.

Not that you could tell from the featured song, his first love was actually the blues, the real delta bottleneck variety, Charlie Patton through  Howlin' Wolf. Born in Middlesborough, in England's industrial north east, his first band was alongside later rock screecher David Coverdale. Rea only began to sing when the singer failed to show for a gig. In some debt to his record company, he then had a surprise hit in europe, I Can Hear Your Heart Beat, which displays his gradual transition into a (slightly) rockier style, albeit with a retained pop sensibility. Building on this momentum, he then toured constantly, gaining an especially big fanbase in Germany. His home country took a few years yet to catch his drift, with 1985's Shamrock Diaries, which broke him on the back of the success of the song  Stainsby Girls, a paean to the girls, his wife included, of his (Stainsby, north Derbyshire) youth. This is where I first caught sight of him, and remains my favourite of his songs. This album, and the next 2 each sold over a million and, buoyed by a run of further hit singles, finally allowed him to repay his initial advance to the record company of 10 years earlier.

It took his next album, New Light Through Old Windows, to break him back into the U.S. market. Then a relatively unusual step, now much more commonplace, this was the trick of re-reording and reprising his back-catalogue, principally the hits, thus gaining control of his own songbook. The 2nd version of Fool, above, is lifted from that and, whilst broadly similar, shows the more gravelly tones he is now more recognised by, with a little more oomph in the rhythm track. Singles found themselves back in the Adult Contemporary and, yay, finally the Rock Mainstream charts. (Who defines these genres?)

For several years he could do no wrong, albeit still a greater pull in Europe and the U.K., each record getting greater sales and accolade until the early to mid 90s. Whilst The Road to Hell gave him his biggest hit in 1989, an ill-conceived Part 2 a decade later, signed the end of this second wind. This was an unexpected foray into sax'n'electronica . The less said.

In 2001 he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, an illness with a dire reputation that is generally well onto the killing of you before its discovery. He was lucky, caught early he had a Whipple's procedure, massive surgery to remove the pancreas and much of the gut, transforming you instantly into being dependent both on insulin and the need to take extra digestive enzymes to manage any sort of normal diet. Promising himself that, should he survive, he would espouse his more commercial persona and return to his blues roots, this is exactly what he has done. Setting up his own label and distribution, and often a sidesman and/or producer, allowing other musicians the limelight, he released a number of largely instrumental albums. building up to his major opus of 2005, Blue Guitars, an 11(!!) cd set featuring 137 tracks. Each disc covered a separate theme, to include Chicago blues, Texas blues, electric Memphis blues, country blues etc etc. (The featured selection is from electric Memphis blues. He also painted the cover.

Since then he has produced further and similarly ambitious pieces and tried to get back on the road, albeit dogged by poor health, suffering a stroke in 2016. At the time of writing his last tour remains unfinished, an onstage collapse in December 2017 possibly calling an end to any such further plans. But with all his luck, good and bad, you'd be a fool if you thought him over.......

Fill yer boots.......

Footwear: Red shoes edition

We've already had two posts on red shoes (Loretta Lynn's Little Red Shoes and Elvis Costello's Red Shoes), but there are plenty more out there. Quite why the fascination with red I do not know, but it's certainly a popular colour when it comes to footwear songs! I like to think, as a 'friend of Dorothy' that it's all about the magical ruby slippers in The Wizard of Oz...but, then again, perhaps not.

Whilst there are a load of songs about red shoes in particular, possibly the most famous 'shoe song' features a different colour...I'm truly surprised that no-one has posted it yet!

Chris Rea: Red Shoes [purchase]
(Not so much because it's a great song as because he comes from my home town!)

Tom Waits: Red Shoes By the Drugstore [purchase]

Sawyer Brown: Ruby Red Shoes [purchase]

Elton John: Ballad of the Boy in the Red Shoes [purchase]

Kate Bush: The Red Shoes [purchase]

Throwing Muses: Red Shoes [purchase]

David Bowie: Let's Dance [purchase]



N.B. The Raincoats also did a song called Red Shoes, but it's pretty awful, so that's why I didn't include it here!

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