Alec Sillifant

 

Keeping It Real

 

The other day, as is a common occurrence, I was elbow deep in Fairy liquid (the washing-up liquid, not some twisted Tolkien creature’s seepage) doing the dishes, because as I’ve said before in a previous rant others are incapable of doing the job properly, and ‘Desert Island Discs’ was playing in the background. The castaway was some marine biologist or trad. jazz muso or fashion guru, no one I had ever heard of or had any interest in and if they had actually been abandoned on a lump of sand with the obligatory palm tree sticking out of it exactly like the one of many spot cartoons’ fame not a hair of mine would have turned.

“And your second disc?”

“Well, Kirsty, this one reminds me of a video of a cat I once saw on the internet mowing a lawn and running over a puppy, it’s ‘You to me are everything’ by ‘The Real Thing’.”

‘Ah, I know this one…’ I thought, ‘…or the chorus at least.’ So I got myself ready to unleash my angelic voice on the world once the bit I was familiar with started but for the first time in my life I took notice of the verse leading up to the, often sung by drunks, famous refrain. And here is what I heard…

‘I would take the stars out of the sky for you…’

“Not likely,” I muttered.

‘Stop the rain from failing if you asked me to…’

“Impossible,” I sneered.

‘I’d do anything for you your wish is my command…’

“A fucking genie are ya, mate?”

‘I could move a mountain when your hand is in my hand…’

“Bullshit! First off you’d need at least two hands to move even the smallest of hills, let alone a bloody gert big mountain. This song is utter bollocks.”

I didn’t listen to the rest of the track as my rage at these obvious inaccuracies, possibly employed I suspected so the bloke could get his leg over, enraged me to the point of stuffing my ears full of Marigold. How could such falsehoods get past the censor? Then a stomach plummeting thought hit me: ‘What if there isn’t such a thing as a nonsense censor?’ And do you know what, after a little digging, I found out…there isn’t one. This is where, once again, I am going to fill an obvious gaping hole in the fabric of society. A hole that’s letting parched particles of pernicious pap slip through to settle heavy upon our collective shoulders like bollock dandruff. Luckily I am here to sweep our souls clean of the disgusting, deceptive, detritus and you’re very welcome as always.

I began to wonder how much of this shoddy, fantastical lyric abuse abounds in the back catalogue of the world’s music. It looked like I was in for a long haul of internet based research through many years of recorded and written material and the thought did not please me. It displeased me so much that I thought: ‘Fuck it, I’ll just do a quick half-arsed Google search and see what comes up if I type in something like: ‘What did they just sing?’ or some such catch-all net until I reap the fruit I seek.’ Here for your consumption is the main nuggets of my findings…

‘…you saw the whole of the moon…’ Unless the person being talked about here is some kind of trans-dimensional, omnipresent entity this is an ocular impossibility; more accurate would be to say, ‘…you saw the same side of the moon as me…’ though I admit that does wreck the scan of the song.

‘…you know it’s going to be, the ace of spades…’ Not true. You cannot know it’s going to be the ace of spades unless you’re a) cheating; b) it’s the last card in the pack about to be dealt out and hasn’t been seen yet; c) true psychic abilities run in your family. None of these are suggested or even alluded to in the lyrics before or after this line so without such an adjustment I’m afraid, and I am truly pained to say it, Lemmy is playing loose and free with reality.

‘…you are the wind beneath my wings…’ If sung by a parrot or a woman with wings of the bingo variety and the word ‘bingo’ is inserted in the line, okay, but otherwise this is a biological impossibility, stop singing this song unless you meet one of the aforementioned criteria.

‘Everyday I’m shuffling…’ Really? Are you? Not even Sunday off?

‘…I am the egg man…’ Okay, there is the possibility you might be delivering eggs. ‘…I am the walrus…’ Piss off, Lennon, ya prick.

There you have it, several famous instances of the impossible, or very highly improbable, passing themselves off as acceptable song lyrics. I know there will be many, many more and I encourage you to find further examples and let the whole world (which you haven’t got in your hands) know about them but in the meantime I shall share with you my plans to put a stop to this melodic madness.

I have begun the process of forming an organisation that shall observe future song releases and ensure they totally comply with the laws of physics, biology, chemistry and possibly public decency. No longer will we have to put up with lazily written lines like, ‘Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones…’ sick and twisted, Mr Martin, sick and twisted; because from now on ‘War Against Nonsensical Content’ will be watching and acting.

And I’m not going to stop at songs. Literature, movies, all forms of entertainment and communication will fall under the umbrella of my new organisation which means most of you using the internet for your moronic, fatuous outpourings will be logged off until you get your standards up and in-line with the new way of thinking. Draconian you may say but I know you have no bleeding clue what that means, so up yours.

I truly didn’t want to take this Cromwellian route but my hand was forced, I had no choice, we can’t allow the world to wallow in this substandard content one minute longer. If you’re looking for a pot to piss your blame into for this aggressive reaction I refer you back to ‘The Real Thing’ because without their grandiose, braggadocious*, unrealistic claims being blatantly broadcast on Radio 4 none of this would have been brought to my attention. Truly in my heart I do hope, when all is put right and things are as they should be, I look forward to a time when we won’t need a W.A.N.C. anymore.

Yes. Yes, I did. I wrote this whole rant to shoehorn that one immature schoolboy acronym joke in…although I do still think there are stupid lines in songs that shouldn’t be tolerated and at the very least should be ridiculed.

W.A.N.C.

Oh dear, far too much time on my hands and still not a success at anything.

 

*Bugger me, that’s a real word, apparently…well, in America anyway so I’m not sure if that counts.