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Story Songs - 20 September 2011
Without You by Nilsson came on Magic 1170 yesterday. Usually I listen to Radio 4, but sometimes that gets a bit earnest, or there are breathless people out walking in the countryside talking about birds and my boredom becomes existential. I re-tune to Magic, or Absolute 80s, or even – if there are adverts playing there – to Gold, which is a little too gold for my taste: all too-often played Diana Ross and not enough quirk. I’d listen to Radio 2 but for Steve Wright and the talking, talking, talking and his spirit-sapping jingles. Steve Wright reminds me of working in the bank, because upstairs in the machine room, out of ear-shot of manager and customers, we two machinist girls could listen to Pop all day long. The machine room had those fly-paper-like blinds. Fly-paper blinds and Steve Wright do not very happy memories make, although we had our moments, processing cheques and trying to guess the mystery year from a hit by The Human League. (1980; the year was always 1980 – Geno by Dexy’s always a dead give away.)
Anyway, I’m chopping an onion (I’ve been imagining writing a cookery book: it would be called Take One Onion…Oh, and a Tin of Tomatoes, and if there’s any Garlic…) and Without You comes on and I stop and turn up the volume. No I can’t forget this evening, or your face as you were leaving…
I think I was around ten years old when I first heard Without You. I shared an attic bedroom with my sisters Helen and Rita, ten and four years older than me. I would pretend to be asleep; they would play Without You on a little record player and talk about a love affair that had ended unhappily. And this was an unhappy song, and so poignant and lovely; my heart would break for this man with his heart-broken voice singing for the girl who walked out on him, a girl who always smiled but in her eyes her sorrow showed. Sorrow; it’s a word that should be used more often; Nilsson must have understood the power of certain words, their resonance, and how they break into us and make us feel all the pity and the shame of it. I was ten and I was in love with Nilsson – although I had never seen him, he was too reclusive, not a Bowie or an Elton John. On Top of the Pops Pan’s People danced one of their soppy dances to Without You but nothing could stop this song being a hit. I believe it’s one of the greatest love songs in the world; lately I heard that John Lennon thought so too.
I like songs with a story. Dexy’s Geno is another one – On a night when flowers didn’t suit my shoes, after a week of flunking and bunking school…The lowest head in the crowd that night…polishing steps, keeping out of the fights…Or how about You keep saying you’ve got something for me – something you call love but confess – These Boots Were Made for Walkin’, and Nancy Sinatra is dancing in those knee-high boots and tiny shorts, a kind of sexy-skipping dance that is very young and very 1960’s and very long-blonde-haired-all-American-Girl. I was about five or six then and I knew that despite the up-beat tune Boots had a very worldly edge: I just got me a brand new box of matches and what he knows you aint had time to learn…No, of course I didn’t know what that meant, my brothers and I still loved playing with matches, knowing how naughty it was. But Nancy was so pretty and the song was naughty, too, I knew that, at least. And then there’s Dolly Parton singing Jolene, Jolene, Jolene Jo-leeen…I’m beggin’ of you please don’t take my man; and Glen Campbell being a Lineman for the County…and Ruby painting on her lips and how she rolled and curled her tinted hair – Ruby are you contemplating going out somewhere…? I have a weakness for Country & Western songs – those Please don’t take him just because you can lyrics, when the singer’s heart is on her sleeve – not just her heart, her very, very soul, her whole life and hopes and dreams. These are high stakes: If I could move I’d get my gun and put her in the ground…Ruby…For god’s sake…turn around…Now I’ve given myself goosebumps so if you see me walking down the street, and I start to cry each time we meet…
When I was growing up in the 1960s and 70s the radio was always on in our house, Family Favourites and the Sunday night chart show followed by Sing Something Simple – its theme tune cueing the dread of Monday morning school. We had a piano and my brother bought the sheet music for songs such as Words: it’s only words, and words are all I have…Songs were my first most influential exposure to words and how they can be made to fit together in clever and surprising, touching and amusing – entertaining – ways, the ordinary poetry of deep, common feeling. My mother would sing around the house, the songs from her childhood, often very sad songs, Oh my poor Nelly Grey, they have taken her away…a song about death that would very nearly make me cry, or I’ll be Seeing You, in all those old familiar places…Very sad songs because they had to do with the war: Goodnight, Sweetheart, which was my favourite of my mother’s songs, along with There’s no Business like Show Business! which is big and loud but still touching and about striving and hope, smiling when you are down: bravery – and what is more admirable than that? I always try to fit a song or two into my novels and short stories: Sitting on the Dock of the Bay for one. Advice? Have a character remember a song and be moved, it’s a good way into their hearts.
I could go on and on quoting, and this evening when I am chopping that onion again (my cooking life is the same onion over and over) I will no doubt think of a song I like even more – Hey Jude, don’t be afraid…No, enough, there are so many songs that tell stories; singing all the lyrics would try your patience because I’ve missed out your favourite, the one that made you sad when you were ten, or made you fall for that boy with that look about him…
I would put in a link to Without You but it’s been blocked on Youtube for copyright reasons, so here’s Nancy instead. Her shorts are wonderful. Sexy pretty or pretty sexy? - you decide.
These Boots Are Made For Walkin'
