By happy coincidence, my CD Of Galore, The Best of Kirsty MacColl, and my taped-off-vinyl of Rum, Sodomy and the Lash get to be played in close proximity.
Kirsty MacColl is in that great league of artists that I would surely have bought Albums if I had had the money. So the production of a Greatest Hits was fortuitous. There's not a bad song on it. I remember precisely where I was when I heard of her death - in the front seat of a 45 bus outside my then office on Walworth Road, on the phone to Jimmy. I let out a cry of anguish.
One of the greatest song titles of all time, "There's a Guy Works Down The Chip Shop Swears He's Elvis" , gets me on my feet rockin' and a reelin' to the clangy piano. Energy energy energy.
I love They Don't Know , which was capably covered by Tracey Ullmann, but Kirsty's original is better. Then there is Don't Come the Cowboy with Me, Sunny Jim, which is possibly the weakest track on the album, but if you could see Jimmy right now, out in the garden in a plaid shirt and jeans, you would find it funny.
This album demonstrates not only that Kirsty was a great songwriter, but also she was a not inconsiderable coverer of great tracks by greats eg You Just Haven't Earned It Yet Baby (Morrissey and Marr - the epitome of great songtitle writers), and New England (Billy Bragg). Not to mention the Perfect Day duet with Evan Dando, a man with a haunting voice, singing a haunting song. I was so annoyed when this became popular due to a)Trainspotting and b) that great BBC trailer-cum-charidee fundraiser that had thirty zillion artists singing it. There was also the Harry Enfield version, with all his various characters singing. Still, I think Kirsty and Evan are the match of Lou Reed.
And the song that links the two artists in the title - Fairytale of New York. This is on my list of Twenty Two top songs of all time. (My father was also inordinately fond of it). There is an irony that Shane McGowan still lives whilst Kirsty doesn't - a Dead Pool a few years back saw most of us sharing out The Queen Mum, Pope, Thatcher, Reagan etc. One friend insisted he would win with Shane McGowan. Still he goes on...
This is a song I would love to do at a karaoke (if I did karaoke), if I could find someone to be my Shane. Or maybe I could be Shane and find someone to be my Kirsty. But then I would miss out on the opportunity to sing
You scumbag, you maggotI'm surprised Mike Read didn't ban it from Radio One.
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
And thank God it's our last
Rum, Sodomy and the Lash contains a plethora of songs that I am convinced are genuine Irish folksongs and, (say it quietly), are much much better than Irish folk songs.
The album opens with the immortal line
McCormack and Richard Tauber are singing by the bed...Immortal, because John McCormack is a running joke in our family. My Uncle Noel, thirty-plus years dead was a an obsessive John McCormack fan, to the extent that my cousins used to flee the house on the (frequent) occasions that his records were played. My father had a liking, too, although not to the point of obsession. He was not to my taste - indeed, I couldn't bear to listen to him singing. Mind you, the discography is interesting eg Cylinder Recordings 1904-1906. And look at the variable speeds. I bet I am the only person of my age (and you, now that I've told you) that knows that 78s didn't all play at anything like 78rpm....
Fairly recently, my mother offloaded all the John McCormack 78s to a dealer somewhere. My cousin was outraged - she's become all nostalgic for them, despite a traumatic teenage spent fleeing the house.
Back to the Pogues. I spent very many hours travelling between Manchester and Nottingham with this album playing in my head. I must express my gratitude to Dave, Mike and Andrew, whose attempts to de-mainstream my musical tastes never proceded much beyond Billy Bragg and the Pogues. But what a jolly good job they did with these two.
I remember venturing into the City of Salford (quite a risk for a nice Sale girl). My mission was the Manchester United training ground, The Cliff. I remember walking down Lower Broughton Road with 'Dirty Old Town' playing in my ears, and getting excited because I was actually listening to it in Salford. It was, of course, written by Ewan MacColl, Kirsty's father - another great favourite of my father's.
And the greatest track on this album is "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda". A brief history here about this moving song, and news story about the State Funeral given to Australia's last Gallipoli veteran. I wonder if Britain will be brave enough to give a State Funeral when our last World War One veteran dies?
Hmm, I'm sure I promised you loads of proof of me being an Eighties Pop Tart. I bet you think I'm a folky at heart. Maybe I am...
