O
GILBERT O’SULLIVAN
GREATEST HITS
Welcome oh surfer of
the web. How did you get here? Where have you come from? What strange fateful
click of the mouse deposited you here?
We salute you. You have arrived at a
crucial point in history, for we here at Drunken Vinyls are cataloguing all the
vinyl records known to man and we invite YOU to play along with us tonight – or
indeed any night. It’s not easy – we started at A and intend our quest to end
at Z. That’s 26 records. And there are rules. Plenty good rules. But we’ll come
to those later. For now, even now, very now, we arrive at ‘O’. Not a vintage
letter to be sure – but what a find have we for you tonight!
O
GILBERT O’SULLIVAN
GREATEST HITS
‘Clair…The
Moment I Met You I Swear…’
Swearing at a girl? Really? Do you
want some, Gilbert? Do you?
Thus began
an immortal career. Often imitated, never bettered, always controversial,
Gilbert O’Sullivan was the still point at the centre of the sonic seventies storm
that was hobo-boho rock: he dominated
the scene with his outlandish costumes, outer space rocketeer headwear
and his outrageous claims: ‘The O’Sullivans were the first family to land on
the moon and open up a pie and mash shop’ he memorably told a surprised Michael
Parkinson during his famous late night chat show, ‘And I wrote this song to
commemorate the occasion’ before launching into ‘Ma the Kettle’s Boiling – What
Could be Nicer?’
Tonight you
can read the full story behind his incredible career. The highs. The lows. The
hits. The misses. The missus. The shits that blighted his nether regions. The
infamous and intense head to head rivalry between himself and Leo Sayer
culminating in the oft talked about ‘Race for Top Space’ against which Blur v
Oasis pales into insignificance. It’s a rollicking rollercoaster of a rock and
roll ride!
But first a word from
our sponsors.
Tonight’s Drunken Vinyls
is sponsored by the smooth, smooth taste of:
SPAR PILSNER LAGER
For the GREAT taste of
SPA!”
AND NOW
It’s TIME
for our NEW
REGULAR FEATURE!
DRUNKEN VINYLS PRESENTS:
TOWNS OF DEATH!!
A cut out and keep monthly guide to
modern living. Tear along the dotted line and it folds to a handy credit card
size for your wallet. You need never get caught short again.
Every month, our investigative
journalists or Investo-Journs, as we (cleverly) dub them, are sent forth to
investigate the horrors of suburban dwelling. The facts about the crime, misery
and mayhem of cash strapped Britain will astonish and amaze you. And provide
you with a handy cut-out-and-keep portable wallet sized guide to Britain’s most
horrible and dangerous town hazards.
“I was so astonished and amazed by ‘Towns of Death’ that I
immediately wrote a protest-rap and set up a Facebook tribute site to this
vital new resource!” (The Hip Hop Artist
formerly known as Reveal but now not
known as Reveal but known by an arbitrary Symbol that I designed myself out of
some old coat hangers which you can
purchase from T K Maxx for £29.99)
Do you live in a town or city? Then you cannot afford to miss this new
monthly feature! Ignore – if you dare!
This week: Kerb Stones.
Timothy Whites reports:
Kerb stones.
Innocuous, aren’t they? Surely there is nothing more harmless than an elongated
concrete block that marks the point where the pavement (or sidewalk) ends and
the road (or highway) begins. But these seemingly innocent utilitarian blocks
have, most recently, been at the centre of a media whirlwind (or storm).
I planned to
ask some residents of a typical leafy suburban town what they thought of ‘Kerb
Stones’. But, as I was in Droitwich-Cum-Stourton, a dingy, slime infested
shithole in the Black Country, this proved to be impossible. So I tripped over
the few shuffling residents who were doing passable imitations of human beings
and thrust my microphone in their faces instead. The following mumbled pig ignorant
comments were a typical reflection of their disinterest in kerb stones and in
living generally. I would have liked to honour their requests to preserve their
anonymity but couldn’t be bothered.
‘What does yam think of Kerb Stones? I
likes them, they yam aesthetically pleasing.’ Lord Smingleby Teasdale
‘Yam kerb stones perform a vital
function, yow know!’ Lady Fluckington Bucket.
‘They be long and square and be
squatting by the road, yow.’ Sir Boris Bastard
‘The kerb is on his shoulder
And the kerb is getting grimmer
Cos it’s high above the ground
And it’s waiting for its dinner
It’s just hanging around (hanging
around)
Hanging around (hanging around)’
So there we
have it, proof irrefutable if proof be needed that kerbstones represent the
greatest danger known to man since the last greatest danger known to man was
discovered. But who is responsible? Who is behind these concrete perils that
bestrew our highways and byways?
Step forward
former champion wrestler and football manager Alan ‘Kerbs’ Curbishley.
Wrestling
legend Curbishley invented the infamous hold known as the ‘Kerby Grip’
responsible for slitting up and ending the careers of the likes of Giant
Haystacks, Big Daddy and that bloke from ‘Auf Weidersehen, Pet’ that nobody
remembers. Curbishley would watch, somewhat enviously, from the sidelines of
the ring as Dickie Davies would commentate with untamed excitement at those
super seventies tussles from somewhere ‘up north’ which was most of the content
of ITV’s cheap ‘Grandstand’ knock off ‘World of Sport’. Other sports included
‘International Stadium Mouse Trap’, ‘Home Nations Kerr-plunk’ and ‘Pigeon
Racing from Didcott’.
Televised
wrestling consisted of some very fat, old blokes grunting, farting, wobbling
and sweating horribly around the ring, for anything up to five minutes, wearing
ghastly speedo ‘budgie smugglers’. A wrestling ‘bout’ entailed bouncing other
people off their stomachs and groinal areas. Inevitably, when the recipients of
this could stand the stench no longer, they would faint. This was known as the
knock out.
Here’s
Curbishley himself, in his original cockney, quoted from a completely made up
interview for ‘Junior TV Times’ in 1976. ‘Yeah. I was outside the old bee sting,
finking, ‘ow can I muscle in on that action? Easy. I fought ‘ard then came up
wiv the old Kerby Grip which was me dangling a kerb stone from some string
above the old ring. When them fat bastards come underneath it, bosh! I’d cut
the string. Hahaha. That was curtains for them. The never knew wot hit ‘em, dirty
northern bastards. I’d snatch the pot and beat it, down to the old rub a dub
for a pint of Double Diamond.
After the
Kerby Grip did its damage, the ending of wrestling was soon to follow and with
it the demise of Dickie Davies’ World of Sport. And Curbishley himself? Those
pints came at a heavy price. Is it any coincidence that after the interview
went viral, he was turned down as England manager and his career has stalled?
He was momentarily forced into seriously considering working for Wolverhampton
Wanderers? Coincidence? I think not.
Next time you
go shopping, please take my advice and watch out for Kerb Stones. They’re not
just concrete blocks, you know.
AND NOW,
DRUNKEN VINYLS PRESENTS:
SETTING UP
TIME!
THIS
WEEK: Solar flares head towards the Earth disrupting communications across the
globe and causing a billion spiders to cover the Australian town of Wonga
Wongabaloo in a fine web of fear. Seriously. And just as seriously, we here at
Drunken Vinyls pose the important question – who’s got the greatest flares? The
Sun, our interstellar companion and giver of life, heat and warmth OR trendy
seventies super group, Showaddywaddy?
We
at Drunken Vinyls have given this difficult question some considerable thought
and came up with some suitable success criteria in order to finally put this
knotty problem to bed once and for all:
Meanwhile,
as you get ready to play along with us here at DeeVeeHQ and we set up our
beautiful Technics Decks, Gilbert O’Sullivan himself challenges you to complete
his very tricky word search wherein you can find the names of all his most
famous greatest hits. See how many you can spot!!
O
GILBERT O’SULLIVAN
GREATEST HITS
WHAT’S THE STORY?
Gilbert O’Sullivan
‘I’m not Leo Sayer. I’m better
than him!’
In a scene
reminiscent of the Deep South of America (United States) during the sixties
Beatles Burnings, a dismayed Gilbert O’Sullivan faced the press, November 1975.
Behind him his career lay in tatters. His timeless masterworks were burning on
pyres lit by disgruntled fans across the country and straw effigies of himself,
dressed in hobo boho flat caps blackened horribly atop of them like some
ghastly ragged pop versions of Guy Fawkes.
This Armageddon
of modern music was the fallout, the detritus, the result of his unwise unwinnable
battle with one of the heavyweights of rock – Leo Sayer.
Gilbert
reminisces about happier times: ‘Pappy O’Sullivan had this scheme to build the
first tunnel under the Irish Sea to link Waterford to Aberystwyth.’ He recalled.
‘For sure he would take a concrete girder in his teeth and dive under the sea
holding his breath for as long as possible until it was just in the place he
wanted. In this way he would build underwater constructions with the intention
of linking these and pumping out the sea water later. I remember quite clearly
the pain he would endure for his family, the jelly fish stings and seaweed
rashes – he was always dripping wet and suffering from flue, so he was.’
This selfless
dedication to Welsh / Irish relations by the O’Sullivan patriarch inspired
young Gilbert to write his first hit ‘Nothing Rhymed’ but the controversial lyrics
were the first in a long string to hit the headlines and Gilbert would begin to
enjoy an uneasy relationship with the press and the establishment – later exploited
by arch rival and nemesis Leo Sayer. ‘Sipping my Bonaparte Shandy’ was taken to
be a none too disguised attack on the French, who, in all fairness, had done
nothing at this point to annoy Gilbert. Gilbert protested at the time: ‘It was
a tribute to Pappy,’ he claimed, ‘He was often to be seen sipping sea water
during his underwater activities.’
Worse was to
come, however. There were the ‘two frozen peas’ of ‘Matrimony’ interpreted as a
criticism of Findus, Birds Eye and other frozen food manufacturers, ‘Oo Wakka
Do Wakka Day’ a thinly veiled blast at Australian cricket, ‘Get Down’, dogs and
the RSPCA and, of course, ‘Claire’ which endorsed swearing at children. It
seemed that whatever he wrote, Gilbert was constantly courting controversy.
Then came the
denouement. Gilbert O’Sullivan, dismayed at the slipping sales of his 45s,
began to suspect that best enemy and chart topper Leo Sayer was deliberately
sabotaging his chart career. ‘Firstly, he deliberately modelled his appearance
on mine!’ he moaned, to Record Mirror in 1975. ‘Then I noticed something really
strange. I’d release a record and then a couple of months later he’d release
one. This went on and on throughout 1973 and 1974! And, what’s worse, his were
deliberately better than mine!’
There was
nothing for it. Gilbert took his appeal to the dodgy goals panel. They found
him guilty of insurrection, ordered the mass burning of his vinyls and awarded
Leo Sayer on OBE. It was almost as if he was airbrushed from history.
THE NOT QUITE TEN COMMANDMENTS
OF DRUNKEN VINYLS
- 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
O
GILBERT O’SULLIVAN
GREATEST HITS
Tonight’s Sponsors:
The SPARKLING wonder of
low alcohol and no DISCERNIBLE flavour!
We made it
together, you with your girly countenance and us with our Technics. Let’s slap
it on shall we? Slap it on for the great taste of Brut. Here we go you drunken
beauties – it’s GILBERT time!
SIDE ONE
Alone Again Naturally
Gilbert
starts in a low mellow key tinkling away on the ivories and delivers his first
sermon. He treats on the subject of being alone. He’s cheerful, bright and gay.
It’s a savage attack on God. We always find with Gilbert that his middle eights
tend to be bolted on and don’t quite fit. Often his lines have one syllable too
many. Anyhow, this is reasonably pleasant accompaniment to a Spar Lager. Let’s
have another one.
Clair
The moment he
met you he swore. Well we dealt with this. A mid tempo love song – with and
twist, and how! Do you know what it is reader? Do you, do you? How many ways do
you know how to spell Clare, eh? We’ll tell you something, there’s too many. Is
that bleeding Stevie Wonder on the harmonica? Clare, Clair, Claire, Clear…what?
Did he just say, ‘wait a min’? And he goes and spoils it with fairy liquid
giggling at the end.
Christmas Song
This one’s
got them jingle bells low down in the mix, we can just hear them. This song is
going to take a stiff drink to get through. How do we describe it? Simple
lyrics. He’s not dreaming of a white Christmas, he’s not dreaming of a white
Christmas – and it’s a tribute to those ‘who live in fear’. Ugh – rancid children
have suddenly appeared like some proto St Winifred’s School Choir doing ‘Grandma
We Love You’. The vocal line is paralleled by a bassoon. Truly ghastly. We’ll
bet it appears on many Christmas compilations.
We Will
We will listen to this, ha ha. This is the
third track that features children in it. It’s making our Spar taste horrible.
Hang on – so this is the fourth slow tempo piano led ballad on this side
accompanied by a light orchestra which swells to a crescendo then fades away in
order to create pathos – and the lyrics meander all over the place, now here
you go: ‘who’ll be eating snowflakes, instead of those flakes?’ What?? It’s like
a monologue from a truly poor Alan Bennett play. There must be a Ritz cracker
under the settee. We shall go to mass on Monday. We will.
Nothing Rhymed
This is the
classic. It’s in waltz time with end stops at the end of the phrasing and the
lyrics are pleasingly convoluted. No kids so far, we notice. The light
orchestra is lower in the mix and is not as cloying, neither. But will he spoil
it? Yes, yes he will by making some strangled moaning noises for no good
reason. Never mind. Not bad this one.
Why Oh Why Oh Why Oh Why
The moaning minnie.
If we were her we’d leave you too, knobber! List of moans: she don’t love him,
she’s had enough of him, he always has to cry, she hates his friends, she’s
cruel, her toes are cold. Listen Gilbert, mate, ditch her and move on, mate.
Another slow tempo orchestra and piano number that winds around the moaning git’s
lyrics
SIDE TWO
Get Down
This one is
about dogs but at least it rocks. We saw Pan’s People do a routine to this with
some rancid, flea ridden pooches on Top of the Pops. They was wagging their
fingers at the mutts and wriggling their bums. One dog yawned, did in fact get
down, and wandered off, bored. No bloody orchestra, instead a nice moog
synthesizer and a nice swing to it.
Matrimony
What do you
know, this one swings as well, no orchestra or children yet. He saved all the
rockers for Side 2. Good boy Gilbert. Oh hang on. I hear the unwanted and
unwelcome sounds of some violins doing their best to take us back to the fifties.
And know we’ve broken into a samba for no good reason. Matrimony, eh? We’ve
been married here at DeeVee towers. We love them all you know. Must be the
lager but we like this one.
OO Wakka Doo Wakka Day
Up tempo, a
kind of walking bass and piano affair which strolls across the octaves. This is
reminiscent of the songs that Brian Cant used to do mime routines to in ‘Play
School’ or, even better, ‘Play Away’. It’s rock n roll kids, but not as we know
it. That guitar was almost heavy there, Gilbert. Bleeping bleeepy bleep. You
said it, not us. What is Oo Wakka Day anyway?
No Matter How I Try
Imagine
waking up and realising that you were stuck with this all your life. This time
the song is still up tempo – hooray – sort of four four time with a guitar
break that’s almost raucous and he’s mumbling on about a poor relationship
because she’s six foot five and he’s five foot two. Mercifully brief? No, false
ending. We think this is an attempt at a comedy song.
Ooh Baby
Now, good,
now – yes very traditional dance number with that seventies moog funking it up
in the background. This is the nearest we’ve got to a proper pop and bop song
tonight. Will the middle eight ruin it? The jury’s out. Side 2 is infinitesimally
better than Side 1 – largely because Gilbert’s ditched the Kiddy vocals and
slushy muzak orchestra in favour of a beat combo.
It Isn’t Out of Question
He’s done
gone and spoilt it all. The sequencing of this LP is awful – we’re back in
Rogers and Hammerstein territory – oh, that middle eight was simply shoehorned
in – no bridge back to the verse / chorus. Poor construction, Gilbert.
What Have We Learnt
Tonight?
Why. Why oh
why oh why oh why. That is the question, not ‘to be or not to be’. Lionel Messi
– is he the greatest footballer in the history of mankind? He may be from
Argentina but then so was Ossy Ardiles. He sang on that Chas and Dave tune ‘In
dee cup for Tottingham’ and endeared himself to a nation with his madcap antics
and funny accent. We cannot say why. And Athletico Bilbao. What’s that all
about? How did they trounce Manchester United. Who is Lloriente? Is he the new
Messi? Will he ever sing ‘in dee cup for Bilbaoington’? Why not? We have learnt
tonight that when Gilbert sings ‘Why oh why oh why’ he poses many questions
that cannot be possibly answered by the likes of us. Possibly the confusion
arises from solar flares heading towards the Earth like mighty beams of light.
It could get Messi. Ahahaha. Messy. Get it? Oh well, please yourselves.
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