Monday and Hallowe'en, "The Season of the Bitch" - I mean "Witch" - what an appropriate combination of horrors.
To cheer us all up on this Witchin' Tacky Music Monday, how about an unusual treatment of a familiar standard, that fits the day nicely?
Have a good week, dear reader.
Footnote
For my dear sister.
It's tradtional.
Hee hee!
On this grey and gloomy Sunday, with the nights creeping in far too early now that British Summer Time is officially over and the clocks have gone back, I think it's time for another showcase of some of the "newer" choons that have caught my ear of late.
Let's open with something sleazy, shall we? How about a bit of "bump'n'grind", courtesy of Sam Smith and Kim Petras..?
I've always loved the work of master mixer Dave Aude - and here's his latest:
For some bizarre reason Ukrainian pop sensation, the very lovely Max Barskih [see here and here] has just changed his name to "Mick Sunday" - but at least he's producing new music in the midst of all the horror his home nation is suffering. In his own words: "This war brought great changes to my life. Feeling negative emotions and constant stress, you seem to forget about the existence of joy, happiness and love... I hope this music can put a smile on your face and put you in a good mood.” It works!
You just know when you see the name Shapeshifters that you're in for a treat - and with this remake of an old Talking Heads classic, I'm not disappointed!
Finally, how about a sizeable portion of Robbie? Yes please!
As ever, dear reader - let me know your thoughts...
There's light at the end of the tunnel, dear reader, as we crawl towards the end of another week.
I got paid on Thursday, the unseasonable warm spell across the UK is set to continue for a pleasant change, and...
...we actually do have a party to go to tonight!
It's our friend John-John's birthday next week, and we're off to Wetherspoons in Holborn for copious amounts of drink and a laugh with chums.
Happy birthday, you old fart - and have some Abba!
Thank Disco It's Friday!
It's Hallowe'en next week, dear reader - as if you didn't already know, what with the amount of cobwebby tat in the shops, not to mention the so-called "spooky" food ranges. "Vampire Crumpets", anyone?
Of course, that also means that just about every radio show is playing some vaguely-horror-tinged music, which generally follows the lines of Saint-Saens' Danse Macabre, Dusty singing Spooky or the ubiquitous Bobby "Boris" Pickett and The Monster Mash...
Thank heavens for Dermot O'Leary's Alternative Sounds of the 90s show on Radio 2, as he gave a rare airing for this long-forgotten (by me, anyhow) gem:
Darling, stop confusing me
With your wishful thinking
Hopeful embraces
Don't you understand?
I have to go through this, I belong to here
Where no one cares and no one loves
No light, no air to live in
A place called Hate, The City of Fear
I play dead, it stops the hurting
I play dead and the hurt stops
Miserable, but I love it!
Air on public transport 72 per cent flatulence.
The air circulating in buses, trains and trams is nearly three-quarters anal emissions, a new study has revealed.
News of the density of arse fumes has come as a shock to the scientific community, despite decades of public transport users noticing the presence of noxious gasses when they inhale.
Professor Henry Brubaker, of the Institute for Studies, said: “72 per cent? Jesus. I expected the odd squeaky leakage here and there but this is nearly as vile as our coastal waters. Have you all been eating beans before setting off?
“I recommend decreasing the flatulence to oxygen ratio by cracking a window. That won’t help the poor sods trapped in Tube carriages from breathing in a lungful of intestinal vapours, but it’s a start.
“Luckily there’s no risk of suffocating on sphincter wind, it’s just revolting. Are you even trying to hold it in? You’re not animals, for Christ’s sake, so clench and wait until you get off.”
Commuter Martin Bishop said: “It’s sickening to think about everyone’s bum particles swirling in the air. I didn’t wear a face mask for Covid, but I’ll pop one on to stay safe from farts.”
Of course.
We here at Dolores Delargo Towers are distraught at the news that the very lovely Leslie Jordan, award winning comedian and actor and, in his own words, "the gayest man I know", has died in a car crash.
He was famous, of course, for his waspish "Beverley Leslie" in Will & Grace (a show I never watched), but we first encountered him in the fabulous Sordid Lives movie; he was hilarious as the over-the-top Tammy Wynette impersonator "Brother Boy". He made such an impression that when his stand-up one-man show Leslie Jordan: Fruit Fly came to London in 2013 [from the review of which came the quote that is the title of this post], we just had to book!
His stage shows were wildly successful, and "our gang" thoroughly enjoyed My Trip Down the Pink Carpet at one of our recent "film club" get-togethers. Here's the trailer, for your delectation:
RIP, Leslie Jordan (29th April 1955 – 24th October 2022)
We'll miss y'all!
And so, a generally grotty weekend - the storms yesterday were apocalyptic! - is over. It's time to welcome the world of work with open arms again. As if!
To cheer ourselves up on this Tacky Music Monday, let us celebrate the talents of yesterday's birthday girl and "national treasure", the sadly missed Diana Dors, shall we?
Hooray, indeed!
Diana Dors (born Diana Mary Fluck, 23rd October 1931 – 4th May 1984)
It's been an oddly disjointed Saturday pour moi today, dear reader. I was woken rather unceremoniously to the sound of the toddler upstairs [who's not normally a "demon child", unlike the screaming banshees next door] doing a full Riverdance impression above our bedroom. I need to have a word.
Then, after my usual coffee-and-fags "breakfast" I was off out, taking two buses to Tottenham for my COVID booster. The jab clinic's like a factory line, and from arrival to departure took all of ten minutes. The journey there and back took much, much longer and, after doing a bit of shopping, mainly for more picture frames (hoorah for Argos!), it was too late to do anything in the garden [more's the pity, as I really need to tackle to slimy yellow leaf-carpet some time soon before all the pots disappear under the mush].
Hey ho.
Let's have a bit of a pick-me-up, courtesy of one of Mr Bill McClintock's marvellous mash-ups, shall we?
Brilliant!
What a week... Work has been a bitch again, but on Wednesday evening we were treated to a luxurious slap-up meal at London's oldest - and one of its most-renowned - restaurant, Rules! It was splendid, and provided a much-needed compensation for the daily grind.
That "grind" is now teetering to its bitter end - and we need to get the party started!
How about a "meeting of two regular blog features" - Soft Tempo Lounge and Thank Disco It's Friday?!
You think the ladies are good? Wait till the "safety gays" get going..!
[Music: Al Escobar & His Orchestra - Tighten Up}
Have a great weekend, folks!
In the run-up to National Apple Day [yes! such a thing does exist], and with The National Trust offering "apple advice" and other apple-related activities all week, I think we need a song in praise of it, don't you?
Well, I think it's supposed to be about fruit (wink, wink):
I never tire of that song.
PS
NOT an apple.
The beautiful-but-annoying Black Walnut tree in a neighbour's garden, merrily shedding its leaves all over the extensive gardens here at Dolores Delargo Towers.
We have another centenary to celebrate today, dear reader - that of dear old Auntie Beeb, the BBC!
The world's oldest national broadcaster, it was born out of a desire by the government's licencing authority (then the General Post Office (GPO)) to avoid the chaotic situation in the US (where literally hundreds of rival commercial broadcasters were all licenced in different ways and it took ages to sort out the clashing airwave frequencies), and to create a single entity out of a consortium of former rival companies.
Its birth pre-dated television, of course, and it was to the array of educational and entertainment radio programmes it offered to a boggled nation that Britain (and later the world) became hooked.
Here are just a few of their enduring themes:
Of course, the "golden age of the wireless" wasn't to last - the era of television was upon us, and with it, myriad more classics. This selection can merely "scrape the surface"...
Many happy returns, the British Broadcasting Corporation (born 18th October 2022)
The weekend has breezed by in a flash, and after all the excesses of last week's family visit, I could have done with an extra day to catch up...
Never mind, eh? To cheer us all up on this Tacky Music Monday, how about some sage advice from those - ahem - uber-talented ladies of Arabesque?
I imagine struggling in and out of those preposterous jumpsuits might take the spontenaeity out of it, to be honest.
Have a good week, dear reader.
All last week our classical radio stations (BBC Radio 3, Classic FM and Scala Radio) have been celebrating the 150th anniversary of the birth of the venerable Ralph Vaughan Williams, one of the greatest British composers of the 20th century.
Son of a Welsh vicar, and descendant of both Josiah Wedgewood and Charles Darwin, it was no surprise that he was somewhat of a child prodigy, nor was it unexpected that his constant inquisitivesness led him on a quest to explore and reinterpret the vast tradition of British folk and classical musical history, as well as embracing the "modern".
I adore so many of his magnificent works, and as far as "Sunday Music" goes, there can be very few better ways to chill out than with a collection of his finest...
It's about time this blog had a bit of class.
Ralph Vaughan Williams, OM (12th October 1872 – 26th August 1958)
And so, farewell then, Mr Robbie Coltrane.
Although best known internationally for his "Hagrid" in Harry Potter films, I have far fonder memories of the man as a great comedian (his sketch show A Kick Up the Eighties, in which he starred alongside the likes of Tracey Ullman, Miriam Margolyes and Rik Mayall, was a firm fave), with roles in Blackadder, French and Saunders, Girls on Top, The Young Ones, The Lenny Henry Show and many more.
Always full of surprises, over the years he played an ageing rock'n'roller in Tutti Frutti, "Falstaff" in Kenneth Branagh's film version of Henry V, a drag queen in The Fruit Machine, a mysterious ex-KGB agent in Goldeneye and The World is Not Enough, the Pope in The Pope Must Die, "Charles Bronson playing Ken Livingstone" in the Comic Strip Presents, and was one of the Nuns On The Run. In 2000, he came sixth in a UK poll to find the “most famous Scot”, behind the Loch Ness monster, Rabbie Burns, Sean Connery, Robert the Bruce and William Wallace.
However, it was for his award-winning portrayal of the alcohol-fuelled-yet-brilliant criminal psychologist "Fitz" in Cracker that he really became recognised as a truly great actor - the nation was hooked, and so was I...
A sad loss.
By way of a sort-of tribute to one of Scotland's finest exports - how about something from another?
RIP, Robbie Coltrane (born Anthony Robert McMillan, 30th March 1950 - 14th October 2022)
This week has been particularly exhausting - notwithstanding the usual stresses of work, we have the Madam's sister and niece staying, and have been out drinking with them in the evenings as well. However, one last push and we'll be partying again to mark the end of another week!
Here in the UK we've just had National Curry Week, and Diwali is less than a fortnight away, so I thought a little "exotic" dance music might be in order - a song I adored when it first hit the charts forty years ago (gulp!)...
Disco ka shukr hai ki shukravar hai! *
Have a good weekend, my dears!
[* "Thank Disco It's Friday" in Hindi (I hope)]
If you’re a heterosexual man, you may foolishly believe homoerotic experiences are not for you. But these incredibly gay day-to-day activities can give the even the straightest men a sexual thrill.
Peeling back the plastic on a cucumber
Any straight man who’s rolled back the plastic film on a ripe, eight-inch cucumber understands the exciting and challenging feelings the task provokes. The trick is to enjoy how it feels without thinking about it too much – then put the cucumber away and pretend it never happened.Riding pillion on a motorbike
Grasping the firm torso of another man from behind is about as homoerotic as it gets. The added thrill of being on a motorbike – not to mention the vibrations of the engine – makes this one an absolute must for any open-minded straight guy. It’s a sensory buffet. Grip that waist extra hard on corners, it’s purely for safety.Eating a banana/ice lolly/hot dog
Eating food that’s shaped like a penis is about as close as you can get to giving a man oral sex without giving a man oral sex. And it just so happens that a lot of phallic food is really delicious. Does your love of hot dogs reveal something about your sexuality? Who cares? A mouthful of manly meat feels so right.Watching an action film
A huge number of action films – particularly those from the 80s and 90s – are virtually indistinguishable from gay pornography. Rewatch any classic movie with Schwarzenegger, Stallone or Van Damme and you’ll realise they’re all actually just 90-minute celebrations of the male form. There’s usually a token woman, but she’s just there for gay guys in denial.Playing basically any sport
It’s hard to deny most sports have some pretty heavily gay overtones. First a bunch of chiselled, athletic men roll around on some grass, then they have a shower together. Despite this, sport is inexplicably considered heterosexual and macho – when in fact everyone playing or spectating is clearly 100 per cent homosexual.Hanging out with other men
What could be more gay than a bunch of men hanging out together? The possibilities are endless. And, at the end of the day, what’s a handjob between friends? It’s not really gay if you’re just doing it for a laugh.
"I had the ability, but I didn't have the name. They could have built me, which is what they did with Deborah Kerr, but I don't think I was quite hot enough in the looks department, quite frankly. I was all talent and no looks."
As I said of her way back in 2016:
She's won five Tony Awards, six Golden Globes and an Olivier Award, as well as an Honorary Academy Award. In her eight decade career she's worked with them all, including Ingrid Bergman, Elizabeth Taylor, George Sanders, Judy Garland, Deborah Kerr, Lana Turner, Gene Kelly, Hedy Lamarr, Tony Curtis, Paul Newman, Sophia Loren, Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley - and all this even before landing her memorable turns in the star-studded Agatha Christie adaptations Death On The Nile and The Mirror Crack'd, and her later immortality as TV's "Jessica Fletcher" in Murder She Wrote (in which guest stars dropped like flies)...
The death of the magnificent Dame Angela Lansbury has hit us hard here at Dolores Delargo Towers.
Mere words cannot do the pinnacle of our pantheon of Patron Saints true justice, so instead let us wallow in highlights from her incredible career...
A "Dame-fest":
One of her many tributes to Sondheim...
...who cast her in one of the finest roles of her stage career:
Here she is in glittering form, performing her show-stopper Mame at the 1975 Tony awards...
...and again, with an all singing, all-high-kicking classic:
She held her own against the memory of The Merm, with one of our eternal theme tunes here at Dolores Delargo Towers:
...and she was the immortal "Salome Otterborne":
After all that, it's time for some gentle exercise...
RIP, Dame Angela Brigid Lansbury (16th October 1925 – 11th October 2022)
Sad to hear that another legend, and "cool dude" judging by that photo, departed for Fabulon last week - Ivy Jo Hunter.
Who??!! I hear you ask...
Mr Hunter (aka George) was one of the earliest in-house writers for Motown Records in the 1960s, and here are just a few of his creations:
RIP, Mr Ivy Jo Hunter (28th August 1940 – 6th October 2022)
With him and Lamont Dozier arriving in Fabulon within months of each other, there'll no doubt one helluva party going down!
Sigh. I have had a rather exhausting weekend, and could do with another day just to catch-up. But, no! Fucking Monday again.
Hey ho.
By way of a consolation - and in recognition of the fact that we have booked our apartment for Benalmadena in February next year [flights next!], so we have something to look forward to as autumn looms - here's something (ahem) appropriate to brighten up our Tacky Music Monday Morning! Sort of...
...at least she's singing about one of our favourite things. Dicky-dicky!
Another "Monday mindfuck", methinks!
Have a good week, dear reader.
I've knackered myself out today trying to do battle with the carpet of bastard sycamore seeds that are coating the extensive gardens here at Dolores Delargo Towers (thanks to the neglect of tenants next door who have allowed this most evil of weed trees to grow unchecked in their garden). I even invested in a "new toy", a garden vacuum/leaf blower, and it's still a punishing task (and somewhat never ending, as no sooner is the paving cleared, more of the damn things helicopter down)!
Time to wind-down, methinks...
It's been a little while since I visited the lovely Scott Bradlee's Postmodern Jukebox for a bit of "Sunday Music", but my heavens! With this formidable diva on board, I'm very glad I did:
Yo, Mama!!
Rylan just played a really catchy choon from 2018 on his Radio 2 show. I have heard it before, but I have always thought it sounded like something else - and that "something else" always eluded me. Now, with a little research, I think I may have solved it...
...take a pinch of this...
...and a dollop of this...
...and you end up with this!
A delicious recipe, indeed.
Another wearisome week is kicking and screaming its way to its demise, and for that we are very grateful.
As it would have been the 95th birthday of that former nightclub-crooner-turned-hitmaker Al Martino, here's something a little - ahem - unexpected to get the festivities underway.
Who the hell thought that great singalong number Volare would have made a good dance record..? No-one young, of that we can be certain - yet, here it is:
Thank - cough, cough! - Disco It's Friday!
Gave a great weekend, peeps!
Heavens! Possibly one of Britain's greatest exports, James Bond is 60 today! [Well, the film franchise is, anyhow...]
Any excuse, methinks, to indulge ourselves in the greatness of some of my favourite Bond themes over the last six decades!
Oh, I needed that wallow...
There's far too much telly and everyone’s always trying to talk to you about it. These 17 shows you’ll never get round to can be summed up as follows:
The Sopranos – Fat mob boss wears dressing gown, has mates with great names, ending was either genius or bollocks.
Succession – Excellent theme song followed by twats being twats to other twats, all of them rich, based on the Murdoch family about whom you don’t care.
Breaking Bad – Cancer-ridden teacher sells blue crystal meth with a lad clearly too old to be a teenager, following the rule of thumb that the balder Walt gets the more evil he is.
Mad Men – Advertising executive drama that’s cool as shit because everyone smokes and drinks like Wigan Working Men’s Club in the office during the day.
Lost – Cost a fortune to crash land a beautiful cast on an island that turns out to be up someone’s arse, for all the sense it ultimately made.
Game of Thrones – Fantasy epic with a cast so large you’re only just working out who someone is when they get killed, with gore, tits, dragons and a shite ending.
The X Files – 90s as fuck and not to be watched before bed, unless you want sex dreams about Scully that become nightmares about dated prosthetics.
The Handmaid’s Tale – A dystopian One Born Every Minute with more cloaks, hoods and public hangings.
Chernobyl – Spoiler alert, it doesn’t end well, and Trevor from Eastenders gets his knob out.
The West Wing – White House drama with busy people walking and talking through plotlines far less wildly imaginative than the Trump presidency.
The Wire – Baltimore crime epic with so much street drug slang that even now your mother refers to "five-oh", "the re-up", and "burner phones".
Our Friends In The North – Five Geordies live through a dizzying array of major political issues over three decades, ending with car-twocking.
Peaky Blinders – Mumbling men in flat caps like it’s last orders in a rural pub, except they’re all gorgeous murderers.
The Walking Dead – Post-apocalypse soap that, like its titular zombies, staggers on forever but is easily avoided.
Line of Duty – British cops pretend to be as thrillingly corrupt as American cops in long interrogation scenes where the best bit is changing the slides on a PowerPoint.
Deadwood – Western with mud, swearing, and Lovejoy being a right bastard but precisely no cowboys duel at high noon so fuck that.
The Crown – You’ve seen this one in real life and it’s no more interesting.
Of course.
From Victoria to Elizabeth: The Songs Go On! 86 Glorious Years of London's Famous Players' Theatre - the title says it all, really! Saturday's matinee show at the quaint Phoenix Artists Club by Britain's longest-serving Music Hall troupe was a brilliantly entertaining affair, and did indeed feature a vast range of songs from the centuries spanning both Queens' reigns; such standards as My Old Man Said Follow the Van, Hold Your Hand Out You Naughty Boy, A Little of What You Fancy (Does You Good), There's Something About a Sailor, Joshua, Joshua, On Mother Kelly's Doorstep, Dear Old Pals, Give Me The Moonlight, A Bird in a Gilded Cage and (the hilariously-performed) Oh, Oh, Antonio to name but a few, taking in Gilbert & Sullivan and Sandy Wilson for good measure, and we loved it.
We sang our hearts out, applauded like mad and congratulated the troupers after the event - including their new Honorary Vice President (the former "boy wonder of the piano") Mr Bobby Crush!
Host (and Chairman of the Players) Lee Taylor held proceedings together with his narratives about the long history of the Players Theatre Company - including the stars who launched their careers in the troupe, such as Clive Dunn, Peter Ustinov and Hattie Jacques, and the fact that that worldwide smash musical The Boy Friend began as a commission by the Players.
It was of course long-serving Players' Theatre stalwart Miss Jan Hunt who really "stole the show" - especially her brilliant Daddy Wouldn't Buy Me a Bow-Wow:
She, and the whole company, deserve glowing praise (yet again!) for giving us such a brilliant show.
Diverting somewhat (but not too far) away from the weekend's jolly japes, this being a Tacky Music Monday I think you too, dear reader, deserve nothing less than a good old-fashioned sing-a-long to lift the spirits! And here are some classics for you, starting with the very number Miss Hunt sang, performed here by a lady whose roots were also in Music Hall before she went on to bigger and brighter things:
From the biopic of the greatest Music Hall artiste of them all:
Quite a "surprise, surprise" indeed, from Cilla:
And to finish, a marvellous medley of mirth, merriment and musical mellifluousness (Oooh!):
Have a good week, “raise the roof — and to hell with the London, Chatham and Dover Railway!” *
[* read more about that in the New York Times, of all places]
