Showing posts with label Flanders and Swann. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flanders and Swann. Show all posts

Thursday, 23 January 2020

Mud, mud, glorious mud; nothing quite like it for cooling the blood





Hils, Crog, Madam Arcati and I paid another visit to one of our fave venues, the Art Deco glory that is Crazy Coqs at Brasserie Zedel last night - this time to see a tribute to one of the most popular entertainment partnerships of the 1950s and 60s, Messrs Flanders and Swann!

For the uninitiated (and that's presumably everyone on the windward side of the pond, although the gents did make quite an impression on Broadway in their day), Michael Flanders and Donald Swann were accomplished "revue" players; a cabaret genre that evolved out of a combination of operetta, Music Hall and satire, was embraced by a wealth of artists such as Noel Coward, Tom Lehrer, Joyce Grenfell and Hermione Gingold, and itself spawned variations on the theme, including Burlesque, Follies and "variety entertainment". They wrote and composed numerous sketches and songs, both for their own shows and for others, and in the UK - a nation suffering post-War austerity and deprivation - became "national treasures". Their compilation LPs At the Drop of a Hat, At the Drop of Another Hat and The Bestiary of Flanders & Swann were even produced by the legendary George Martin.



Being fanatics for preserving the legacy of two such great men, our performers last night Tim FitzHigham and Duncan Walsh Atkins were definitely not there to do "impersonations" of the duo, but rather to lovingly recreate the wit, the interplay, the tone, the joie de vivre, the timing and the sheer professionalism that was the secret to Flanders & Swann's success, with a selection of their greatest numbers including In the Bath, The Gasman Cometh, Ill Wind (a song about a stolen French Horn, set to Mozart's Horn Concerto No. 4 in E flat major), Misalliance (aka "The Honeysuckle and the Bindweed"), A Transport of Delight ("The Omnibus")...

...and these two brilliant sing-a-long numbers that I fondly remember from my childhood:



If there's one song, however, that could provide both an insight into creative genius and a sign of the times in which they were at the peak of their success, it's this. Who else but they would have dreamt of writing a sad musical lament for all the railway lines and stations that were cut as part of the general "belt-tightening", money-saving, "modernisation" programme latterly known as "The Beeching Axe" (after Dr Beeching of British Railways who presented the report)? Messrs FitzHigham and Atkins did this one perfectly...


Miller's Dale for Tideswell
Kirby Muxloe
Mow Cop and Scholar Green

No more will I go to Blandford Forum and Mortehoe
On the slow train from Midsomer Norton and Mumby Road
No churns, no porter, no cat on a seat
At Chorlton-cum-Hardy or Chester-le-Street
We won't be meeting again
On the Slow Train

I'll travel no more from Littleton Badsey to Openshaw
At Long Stanton I'll stand well clear of the doors no more
No whitewashed pebbles, no Up and no Down
From Formby Four Crosses to Dunstable Town
I won't be going again
On the Slow Train

On the Main Line and the Goods Siding
The grass grows high
At Dog Dyke, Tumby Woodside
And Trouble House Halt

The Sleepers sleep at Audlem and Ambergate
No passenger waits on Chittening platform or Cheslyn Hay
No one departs, no one arrives
From Selby to Goole, from St Erth to St Ives
They've all passed out of our lives
On the Slow Train, on the Slow Train

Cockermouth for Buttermere ... on the Slow Train
Armley Moor Arram
Pye Hill and Somercotes ... on the Slow Train
Windmill End


Beautiful.

It was a splendid evening's entertainment. Well done, old chaps!

And here they are...


Read more about Mr FitzHigham and Mr Atkins, as well as Mr Flanders and Mr Swann, at their Flanders & Swann: A Drop of a Hippopotamus site.

Thursday, 31 July 2008

Oom-pah-pah

We went to a fab sing-a-long at The Golden Eagle in Marylebone Lane tonight! Possibly one of the smallest pubs in the West End, nevertheless the Eagle plays host to a wonderfully eccentric old bloke playing requests at his (slightly out-of-tune) piano three times a week, and it is so much fun!

All together now...


Oom-pah-pah
There's a little ditty they're singin' in the city
Especially when they've been on the gin or the beer
If you've got the patience your own imaginations will tell you just exactly what you want to hear
Oom pah pah, oom pah pah, that's how it goes
Oom pah pah, oom pah pah, everyone knows
And they all suppose what they want to suppose when they hear oom pah pah

Mr. Percy Snodgrass would often have the odd glass
But never when he thought anybody could see
Secretly he'd buy it, and drink it on the quiet
And dream he was an Earl with a girl on his knee
Oom pah pah, oom pah pah, that's how it goes
Oom pah pah, oom pah pah, everyone knows
What is the cuase of his red shiny nose?
Could it be oom pah pah?

Pretty little Sally goes walking down the alley
Displays her pretty ankles to all of the men
They could see her garters, but not for free and gratis
An inch or two and then she knows when to say when
Oom pah pah, oom pah pah, that's how it goes
Oom pah pah, oom pah pah, everyone knows
Whether its hidden or whether it shows
It's the same oom pah pah

She was from the country, but now she's up a gumtree
She let a fellow beat her, and lead her along
What's the use of cryin', she made her bed to lie in
She's glad to bring a coin in, and join in this song
Oom pah pah, oom pah pah, that's how it goes
Oom pah pah, oom pah pah, everyone knows
She is no longer the same blushing rose
Ever since oom pah pah

Oom pah pah, oom pah pah, that's how it goes
Oom pah pah, oom pah pah, everyone knows
And they all suppose what they want to suppose
When they hear oom pah pah



Have some Madeira, M'Dear
She was young, she was pure, she was new, she was nice
She was fair, she was sweet seventeen
He was old, he was vile, and no stranger to vice
He was base, he was bad, he was mean
He had slyly inveigled her up to his flat
To view his collection of stamps
And he said as he hastened to put out the cat
The wine, his cigar and the lamps

Have some Madeira, m'dear
You really have nothing to fear
I'm not trying to tempt you, that wouldn't be right
You shouldn't drink spirits at this time of night
Have some Madeira, m'dear
It's really much nicer than beer
I don't care for sherry, one cannot drink stout
And port is a wine I can well do without
It's simply a case of chacun a son gout
Have some Madeira, m'dear

Unaware of the wiles of the snake-in-the-grass
And the fate of the maiden who topes
She lowered her standards by raising her glass
Her courage, her eyes and his hopes
She sipped it, she drank it, she drained it, she did
He promptly refilled it again
And he said as he secretly carved one more notch
On the butt of his gold-headed cane

Have some Madeira, m'dear, I've got a small cask of it here
And once it's been opened, you know it won't keep
Do finish it up, it will help you to sleep
Have some Madeira, m'dear, it's really an excellent year
Now if it were gin, you'd be wrong to say yes
The evil gin does would be hard to assess
Besides it's inclined to affect me prowess
Have some Madeira, m'dear

Then there flashed through her mind what her mother had said
With her antepenultimate breath
"Oh my child, should you look on the wine that is red
Be prepared for a fate worse than death"
She let go her glass with a shrill little cry
Crash! tinkle! it fell to the floor
When he asked, "What in Heaven?" she made no reply
Up her mind, and a dash for the door

Have some Madeira, m'dear, rang out down the hall loud and clear
A tremulous cry that was filled with despair
As she paused to take breath in the cool midnight air
Have some Madeira, m'dear, the words seemed to ring in her ear
Until the next morning, she woke up in bed
With a smile on her lips and an ache in her head
And a beard in her ear 'ole that tickled and said
Have some Madeira, m'dear