Open Writing

Silly songs and song titles are a constant source of delight to me, and I collect them much as geeky little boys used to collect butterflies. (I hope they don’t still do this – Poor Butterfly indeed, snuffed out and pinned to a board.)

Country music abounds in absurd and arcane song titles. And if I may digress a little – what would the opposite of country music be? Town music? Sounds like quite a good description of jazz. So from the archives of my collection, here are a few prime examples, with comments:

Mama Fetch the Hammer There’s a Fly on Papa’s Head

Poor old Papa! I imagine him, minding his own business in his rocking chair on the porch, when – BANG! OW! A bit like a few stanzas from a song sung by Mildred Bailey, “Ol’ Pappy”

“I can see you in the evening
Free from every care
With your old clay pipe a-smokin’
While you’re talking you’ll be rocking
In your easy chair”

(Well he was but some old harridan cracked him over the cranium.)

Ma Head Hurts, Ma Feet Stink and Ah Don’t Lurve Jeez-us

Rendered phonetically, of course. What can I say about this one? Trouble at both ends and on the inside – this boy sure got problems. Did he find out about his head first, or his feet? I imagine the latter, and the pain in the bonce is the result of Mama with her hammer (she should have a licence for the thing), she having had enough of the cheesy miasma emanating from Papa’s feet. Poor old Papa (reprise) – all he wants is a smoke and a rock. NO – I said a smoke AND a rock, not to smoke a rock! Do pay attention. Character assassination and assault with a deadly weapon – no wonder he don’t love nobody no more.

If The Phone Don't Ring, Baby, You'll Know It's Me

This reminds me of the kind of pleasingly inverted logic much used by my friend Donal. He’s a piano player and once in rehearsal remarked “I think I recall this tune – the chords are on the tip of me tongue”. Much hilarity from the band and me – and Donal, who didn’t mind being laughed at. I imagine “baby” sitting in her living room, musing: “Well the phone hasn’t rung for three days. Must have been Bill. I think it’s safe now – (leaning out of window) – Algernon, you can climb back in now; looks like Bill Bailey’s not coming home!” Incidentally, who was the reeds player who used to break off a solo to announce, deadpan, “Just heard from Bill Bailey. He’s not coming home?” Answers on a postcard please to Granty. I will think of a suitable prize later.

I Fell In A Pile Of You And Got Love All Over Me

Oh, the romance of it! Maybe I could twist it a little – “I stepped in a doo-doo from you-you and now I’ve got happy feet”. Just a thought. To digress once again, one of my earliest memories is falling in a large cow-pat when I was about two or three. I was all dressed in my best and being taken out for the day by two of the neighbouring “big girls”. They loved to do this and could often be seen pushing a neighbour’s baby around it its pram or clutching a snotty brat (i.e. me) by the hand. Gawd knows why – when I reached their age I was busy going to gigs and hanging around the bandstand. Anyway, I was skipping along a country lane, happy as a lark, when I landed flat on my back in a big pile of sweet violets. They got me home – luckily the bus conductor let us on the bus (splitting his sides, he was) and Mum just about laughed herself daft when she saw her malodorous and woebegone daughter.

I Flushed You From The Toilets Of My Heart

Ooh-wer! Toilets in your heart? That would give any heart surgeon material enough for several research papers. And how would you flush them? A bijou chain-ette effect situated just below the left nipple? Conjures up quite a vision. Also, I can think of a few related song ideas. Like “I called in Dyno-Rod and they cleared you from the S-bend of my soul” or even “I got relief from you with a pint of Epsom Salts”.

Witch Doctor

No, nothing odd about this title. However, the record, popular in the late Fifties, had a completely ridiculous refrain:

“Ooh eeh a ooh ah-ah
Ting! Tang! Walla walla bing bang
Ooh eeh a ooh ah-ah
Ting tang walla walla banga bang!”

This, according to Don Lang who had a huge hit with it, was the way to his sweetheart’s heart. A lady easy to please, it seems. I’d prefer flowers and champagne myself. Amazing to think someone actually sits down and writes stuff like this. On the other hand, Ella Fitzgerald’s first big hit was “A-Tisket, A-Tasket” and then there were Slim and Slam’s various efforts, such as “Cement Mixer (Puti-Puti)” and “Flat Foot Floogie (with a Floy Floy)”. T’ain’t what ya do and all that, I suppose.

Woolly Boots for Baby Jesus

The late and lovely Joyce Grenfell used to receive songs and song titles written by her devoted fans – I guess they hoped she would perform their stuff or write a song around a title, and give them their place in the sun. The gloriously surreal title above is one of them. It stands by itself really, so I think I’ll sign off right here – toodle pip boys and girls, and if you can’t be good, keep quiet about it.