M
M C HAMMER
PLEASE HAMMER, DON’T HURT ‘EM
‘And Incidentally, A Merry Christmas To All You At Home’
Well, look here! Half way through the year and half way through our voyage from east to west exploring all vinyl records known to man. Already we have been contacted by Future-Kind here at DVHQ registering their interest in our historical account, our time capsule if you will, our attempt to recapture the past. As we have travelled, so have we adapted – from the crudity of our first postings to our sophisticated format now evident – but always, always we have never faltered in our attempt to reject all that is false about modern living – no texting, X Box, Blueberries or Hoodies here, thank you - and to role back history to a happier, more innocent time when vinyl records ruled the world, buying them at Woolworths at pocket money prices was an event, where owning them became our religion and when we were jiving along with Noel Edmonds, Tony Blackburn and Sir Lord Jimmy Saville (R.I.P.) to the super soar-away Top 40 on a Sunday evening after tea.
Role back history? We needn’t have bothered. Over the last fortnight, history has come to us. Hurrah! We give you: The Great Strike: 30 November 2011.
Cultural Primer: What exactly is a strike? What does the withdrawal of labour mean? This question has been posed by several of our younger correspondents who had difficulty grasping the concept of withdrawing their labour as a protest for better pay or working conditions. Two of these simply had no concept of work whatsoever: Quote: ‘Work, what’s that dude?’ Fifteen others – presumably female (but we couldn’t swear to it) confused the concept with unmarried pregnancy and only asked because they thought we knew where they could claim nappy benefits or municipal housing and four others assumed it referred to actions appropriate to ‘lighting some puff’. We could go into the philosophy and mechanics of striking but fear we would be wasting our time as all of the above admitted that they could not read. Suffice it to say that strikes were banned by Her Majesty the Queen back in 1979 and a jolly good thing too. Arch traitor and treacherous fly-boy Jeremy Clarkson admitted last week on national television: ‘I would go on strike like a shot!’ and we could never condone such rash action by a so called television personality and spokesman for a generation. We have always lived our lives according to the gentle wisdom and insight of Hip-Hop Artist Named Reveal and our interpretations of his hymnal lyrics.
Now you may well be asking yourselves that why, after thirty years of peaceful cooperation between the workers and the owners of the means of production there was even a strike in the first place? It is claimed that two million workers poured like a torrent out from the factories and onto the streets simmering with anger and anguish in equal measure. But, this is a blatant lie, spun by the left wing communist press! We know this is a lie because there aren’t any factories anymore.
But no, we hear you cry! Wait! Those two million must have come from somewhere, surely? Well, yes - yes they did. They came from the schools, the car park attendant boxes, the council tax offices, the underground public toilets and they came to protest. It was just like the old days when there was a power cut twice nightly and we were forced – ahem – to make our own entertainment. Just ask Sir Bruce Forsyth, he knows all about it. (Please see ‘Fox by Fox’ our September posting for further details)
But why was this allowed to happen? Still you howl at us in fear and despair. Why? We’ll tell you why – politicians, that’s why! All those years ago, Her Majesty the Queen of Great Britain decreed that all politicians should be old, tough, ugly and stand for no nonsense. It was a country where twaddle was banned and claptrap was driven out of town like a leprous rat found foraging amongst the debris newly spilt from a BJ doner kebab dustbin of a Friday night.
However, these fine upstanding citizens and leaders have since been quietly retired to a seaside town near Worthing, with just the faintest whiff of conspiracy, or old age, you choose, to be replaced by a new breed, soft and flabby around the edges, spouting rubbish like ‘we care’, ‘we listen’ and ‘the big society’ (whatever the heck that is) and they are the ultimate procrastinators. Faced with the decision of how to punish an ugly misbegotten militant worker standing in defiance and insolently brandishing a ballot paper these ninnies would forego the proffered flogging option of yore and most probably banish him to the naughty step like Supernanny. Which, ironically, is what the rest of the world now calls modern Britain Rome
And where were our so called leaders when this debacle was allowed to occur? You may well ask, indeed you may well. Well ponder no more, dear readers, for we’ll tell you exactly where they were: they were held up on the M1 in North Yorkshire because of a Marmite Slick. Yes, that’s right – a giant black clammy slick of Britain’s most controversial toast topping due to a tanker coming face to face with two innocent, industrious German musicians who were innocently perfecting their meisterwork and inadvertently causing the misnegotiation by the Marmite juggernaut of the notoriously narrow exit slip of Junction 34, the (Dawn) Tinsley Viaduct. Disaster, inevitably, ensued with hilarious consequences:
Ralph: Ve must carefully observe zee process, Florian, but vait! Where is Leon, mein chum?
Florian: Leon
Ralph: Zoological park! Oh vot a witty rejoinder, you dummkopf!
Florian: But I could not resist, mein pal. Shall I hit zee motorway like so?
Ralph: Ja and I shall apply zee portable tape recorder like so.
Florian: Mein pal, I have zee confusion, no? Zee hammer it sticks to the tarmac!
Ralph: Vill you stop already with zee gut sense of zee humour, alten kumpel!
Florian: Nicht! Achtung! Donner und blitzen! Und giant slick of zee Marmite! Aaaargh! Save me, I drown!
Ralph: Vell, you either love it or hate it, Florian. Av you got any of zee Englander toast?
If you need any further proof than this as to whom the real culprits for the great strike of November 2011 were, then look no further than this ready reckoner of the leaders of our Great Britain
But, we’re here to confront a widely held common myth too: strikes aren’t always bad so don’t believe everything you read. Much good can come from militant behaviour! Without strikers and their confrontational red leaders, there would be virtually no seventies television or classic film comedy for a culturally starved modern British populace to enjoy on You Tube. Writers were positively inspired by the bad behaviour of the unions. Just enjoy some of these classic lines from our very own legendary British situation comedies, and keep a straight face, if you dare!
Major: Strike, strike, strike, why do we bother, eh, Fawlty?
Basil: Shut up you rancid, elderly, fascist bastard. Oh, my word, a kipper. (Pratfalls)
Smithy: Power to the people!
Tucker: But Smiffy, the miners are on strike and there is no power at all!
Smithy: Well, shine a light…
Tucker: Exactly, Smiffy. Doner kebab? Or shall we steal a tank?
Beryl: Oh-ey, Sand, the biscuit factory’s on strike again! Couldn’t get nuttin!
Sandra: Pickets?
Beryl: Oh –ey, no! There were no biscuits!
Sandra: Piss off and talk properly you common slag!
CJ: Morning Reggie, sit down.
Reggie: Morning, CJ (Chair makes a farting noise). Sorry, CJ, I think it’s the chair.
CJ: Yes, most embarrassing, I must complain to the manufacturers, cigar?
Reggie: Thank you, CJ. (CJ traps Reggie’s fingers in cigar tin)
CJ: Reggie! Would it surprise you to know that production is down by 98%?
Reggie: Not really, CJ, the factory’s gone on strike.
Tony: Great!
David: Super!
CJ: Strike, eh? I didn’t get where I am today by going on strike! It’s not the British way! Neither Mrs CJ or I have ever humped a placard on a picket line!
Reggie: I imagine not, CJ. (Reggie daydreams a fantasy where he and Joan are licking coal lumps in slow motion whilst CJ rapidly humps a striking miner until the candle on his helmet is extinguished in ecstasy)
But surely, the absolute gem on the top of the diamond mine is the 1985 entry to the ever popular ‘Carry On’ series: ‘Carry on Shafting’ an affectionate look at the trials and tribulations of some comedy miners, their trade union spokespeople and their effeminate boss Arthur Biscuit, leader of the not so tough Coal Union of National Toilers, played by the evergreen Kenneth Williams. It was set in the fictional grimy northern mining town of Dumpborough
Arthur: (strolling over to a pit) Oo-er! Look at that hole! It’s ever so inviting!
Sid Pottle: (running, out of breath) Arfur! Arfur! Timmy’s trapped up the shaft!
Arthur: Ooooo! Get away! How did he get up your shaft?
Sid Pottle: We’ll need a big rod to prize open a hole!
Arthur: Ooooo! I’ve seen your big rod, Sid Pottle, and it’s won prizes!
In the meantime we cut to a nurse walking in high heels across the slag heap. Cue comedy music with brass band to signify being ‘Up North’. POV shot from Sid Pottle and then zoom into enormous bouncing assets of actress. (Note: possibly Barbara, if available)
Sid Pottle: Phwoooooooaaaaarrr!
Arthur: Oh yes, look at that slag!
Sid Pottle: Now that’s not right gentlemanly, Arfur!
Arthur: No, I meant that slag. The pile of clinker! The mountains!
Sid Pottle: Yes I’d like to get me hands on them mountains alright. Yakyakyak!
Camera pans slowly across a grim landscape. Stock footage of collieries – insert. At this point musical director to insert ‘that tune from the Hovis bread advert’, signifying ‘northern grimness’ but remember to delete voiceover from same advertisement during post production. Crash-zoom into window where large, horrendously ugly woman is polishing some jugs. (Note possibly Hattie, if not recording season 12 of ‘Sykes’)
Nora Pottle: (screeching loudly) I can see you, Sydney Pottle! You’re dirty, that’s what you are, dirty! Not like these jugs I’m polishing!
Sid Pottle: I wouldn’t mind polishing her jugs. Yakyakyakyak!
Camera cuts to two little birds tweeting and playing on the slag heap – use stock footage from some Attenborough wildlife programme or other.
Arthur: Look at the tits on that slag heap, playing with each other!
Sid Pottle: I wouldn’t mind playing with the tits on that slag, and that’s no lie! Yakyakyakyak!
M
M C HAMMER
PLEASE HAMMER, DON’T HURT ‘EM
The History of Rap and Hip Hop
In the days before downloads, texting and iPods, when vinyl records ruled the super seventies, a new phenomena, called rapping, hit the charts. It was deemed a novelty then, a fad, a mere bagatelle. But now, some thirty years on since ‘Rappers Delight’ by The Sugarhill Gang, it dominates our cultural and musical landscape. Once R and B was shorthand for grungy 12 bar blues brought from America and subsequently adopted by poseurs like The Yardbirds and The Rolling Stones; now it equates to endless screeching melismas by female chanteuses whilst some grotty bloke dressed in a hoody and baseball cap grunts ‘uh – uh’ in the background whilst waving his fingers around manically. No matter. So it goes.
Top of the heap and king of the shag pile was our artist tonight, M C Hammer, the undisputed rap-meister supreme as acknowledged by all his peers of the time. With his grintastic big trousers, his masterful preening and pirouetting and catchphrase ‘Stop! Hammer Time!’ he dominated the charts of the time and the ensuing history of this great art form. It is his record that we review tonight. But, before we get to the music, and as you set up your decks, let’s cast a fond look back at the records that influenced him and their place in musical heritage.
- Thou shalt play both sides of the record in their entirety
- Thou shalt drink one can of Fosters or its alcohol equivalent per song
- Thou shalt record ramblings as they occur to thee for the duration of the running time
- Thou shalt edit out the swearing the next day
- Thou shalt not suffer a Blueberry user to live
M
M C HAMMER
PLEASE HAMMER, DON’T HURT ‘EM
Tonight’s Sponsors: Dow’s Trademark Finest Reserve Port
All set up, are we? Well pull on your Best Bling, switch on the M.I.C. and let’s all scowl down the camera, shall we? Now don’t forget to wave your fingers, will you?
1. "Here Comes the Hammer"
How do we describe this? Well there’s somebody with a Cassio mini synthesiser playing one note with one finger – the same note. Some people are chanting oh-ee-oh-oh-oh in the background; mixed as though they were in the next studio. Memorable lyrics? ‘Let’s make it smooth.’ ‘Pick up the hammer’ ‘No, no, damn, they call me the Hammer’ ‘Woof Woof!’ ‘Let’s make it smooth’ (again). This could be a very long evening, dear readers. We sweat for you, we really do. Love us, love us.
2. "U Can't Touch This"
Plenty of trademark ‘woahs’ and a smingey cassio keyboard again. Wobble wobble wobble. The bass is quite good on this one – we seem to remember enormous trousers. ‘Break it Down!’ Oh yes – ‘Stop, Hammer Time!’ ‘Wobble wobble wobble’. We was robbed. This got in the charts? We once broke down on the A303, near Podimore, and, believe it or not, when Jack Plectrum’s Breakdown Truck turned up, they did actually use a hammer. You know you’re onto a less than classic record when your mind slips like Timeslip. Timeslip: – now there was a good programme – more of which during track three, our lovelies. We though that this shitting record has gone on for ages and then we noticed the needle was stuck. Why would Hammer ever stop doing this? Please, Hammer, please stop.
3. "Have You Seen Her"
Aw! We loved the Chilites – ‘Homely Girl, used to being lonely, you’re a beautiful woman!’ So what is Mr Hammer going to do with this classic? Ruin it, most probably. Do you remember when Johnny Rotten said, ‘Have you ever felt cheated?’ He was most probably listening to Hip Hop at the time. But we must not prejudge. Let’s listen to it. Well it’s slowed right down; the backing sample is second to none. Of course it is – we’re back in the seventies. What we have here, listener is a classic record completely spoilt by some complete tosser talking bollocks over it. An experience reminiscent to being in the cinema with some popcorn rustling twats behind you.
4. "On Your Face"
We’re in funkadelic territory here – another pretty good brassy funk backing track – but just when you think it’s okay and cool, some tosser starts wittering on and on and on about how Britain was better with a Labour prime minister and how there’s too much sexual innuendo in Carry On movies these days. God knows what he means by ‘On Your Face’ – we imagine he’s used to wiping lots of fluid off his face – now he’s shouting ‘This world can race, but what about sadness?’ Now that’s a non sequitur if ever we heard one.
5. "Help the Children"
Oh sweet life. This is most probably some tribute to that wretched boreathon ‘Children In Need’ which turns up every November like an unwanted turd that you can’t flush away. With Gabby Roslin and Terry Wigon? And then all these tossers off Eastenders turn up and start sing ‘What the World Needs Now is Love Sweet Love’ or something, ‘All the Good Girls Love a Sailor’ – this vaguely reminds you of Marvin Gaye’s ‘Mercy Mercy Me’ and therefore you instantly wish you were listening to that instead. Hammer just said he was dying for a crap. We ain’t lying! Help the children? All you have to do, dear Hammer, is stop making records like this. ‘A better day is coming?’ Yes when we get past this.
Oh Hip Hop, Up Yours.
Side Two.
6. "Dancin' Machine"
Ah!!! Side Two – the good thing about records, we reckon, and something we’ve lost, with CDs and Downloads – which you can programme – is the satisfaction of turning the record over – and starting afresh. So a stinker of a Side 1 can be offset by a brilliant Side 2 which makes you replay the Side 1 and realise – hey – that wasn’t so bad as I thought! So, here we go, wit: Dancing Machine! And we, for two, are looking forward to that dancing experience! Last night one of us was in the pub when Barry White came on and one of us started playing ‘Air Bass-guitar’. We were challenged by a lovely lady. ‘Are you playing air-bass?’ The one of us nodded. She joined us for ‘Red red robin’. How can we describe this? Very similar to the last few tracks. ‘Come on Hammer!’, ‘We’re Dancing!’, ‘M C Hammer’, ‘ Tell ‘em, tell ‘em’ ‘I do my thing on a video screen.’ Eh? Shit. Shitey Shit Shit Shit.
7. "Pray"
The last refuge of a scoundrel. Ripping off the mighty Prince. Or Tafkap, we care not. This song is a bit like ‘When Doves Cry’ by Prince, but with extremely trite lyrics (almost as if composed by a five year old child) and some complete berk talking over the top of it – again. You don’t believe us? Well dig this, if you dare. ‘That’s why we pray, that’s why we pray, we need to pray, just to make it today.’ Make what? He doesn’t tell us. If he was on Blue Peter, he would have made one earlier with sticky backed plastic.
8. "Crime Story"
This is the philosophical heart of the LP – the ‘Within You Without You’ if you will – every hip hop LP has to have one – and it takes a look of the dark underbelly of Western civilization – a searing expose of all that is wrong – and we really like the synthesised fart half way through which adds so much to the aural experience. The lyrics add much to this: ‘Crime Story! No Glory! (Synthesised fart) We took those suckers out!’ This is so good it makes us wonder if Hammer knows Hip Hop Artist and Guru to a Generation, Reveal?
9. "She's Soft and Wet"
Now what could this be about? And anyway it’s another Prince sample The Hammer is incorrigible. All he makes us want to do is play the proper record – Mercy Mercy Me, When Doves Cry and Timeslip. That was a scary old programme though, with its clones, its burn ups, its ice box and so on. We were relieved to hear that the same kids we used to hang out with in the seventies are still carving out a living by writing make-believe tales about Blake and Avon . Again, this went on for a suspiciously long time – until we realised the needle was stuck. ‘They call me Hammer, move a little bit closer, I’m a little bit different to the average Joe, I don’t mean no disrespect, but tell me girl are you soft and wet?’. Get away.
10. "Let's Go Deeper"
Oh, please Hammer, let’s not go any deeper. No? O.K. then – all the homeboys like them soft and wet, as you say. Execrable.
What Have We Learnt Tonight?
Well we’re not bloody turning this record over, that’s for sure, Steve Bruce.
We finish on a sad note tonight, as sometimes we must. We were upset to hear the distressing story of a woman – let’s call her Noreen – who was faced with a bill that she could not pay. Her son had spent some time on his mobile phone and had run up an invoice of £900. She was horrified and heartbroken when the company – let’s call it ‘Lemon’ - informed her by text that she was to be cut off. Her solution? To telephone the BBC on the mobile phone to warn others of the perfidious and treacherous phone company and its tariff. She should sue them for breach of contract in that they failed to warn her earlier about her son’s legitimate and charming proclivities. We offer our deepest sympathies here at DeeVees
Oh Noreen. Can’t you see it? Auf Weidersehen, Pet.
No comments:
Post a Comment