Tag: songs

7 Reasons That This Is The Worst Song Ever

Incredible news, 7 Reasons readers: I’ve discovered the worst song of all time. Surprisingly it’s not Mull of Kintyre, We Didn’t Start The Fire or that turgid Whitney Houston one that I first heard in 1993 and for all I know is still playing in the room I ran screaming from. It’s a song called Don’t Have Any More Mrs Moore that was made famous by Lily Morris in the 1920s. I didn’t mean to discover it. It snuck up and pounced on me while I was watching a documentary about Pathe News. It’s embedded below. I recommend that you don’t listen to it. Here are seven reasons that it’s the worst song ever.

1. It’s…Aarrgghhhh! Okay, you may have ignored my recommendation and if you did, that’s probably something approximating the noise you made on listening to it. I know that my initial reaction to hearing the jaunty and rather creaking string introduction followed by the first few bars of Lily Morris warbling about Mrs Moore was to shriek obstreperously and try to jam a dining table, a map of Scotland and half finished packet of Foxes Glacier Fruits into my ears. Sadly, they did not completely muffle the ear-grating, fingernails-down-a-blackboard, mating-sounds-of-a-half-strangled-cat-in-a-biscuit-tin, out-of-tune-soprano-with-her-on-fire-hair-caught-in-a-blender sheer unremitting screeching bloody cacophony that is this song. Listening to it is the aural equivalent of putting your penis on a desk and having it repeatedly struck with a hammer by an addled and vengeful dandruff-specked minicab driver with halitosis and grey shoes; something that every right-minded person would choose to spend an entire Saturday doing when given the choice between that or hearing a fraction of a nanosecond of a bar of this song again. It may well have been the first recorded instance of a father waking his baby up by screaming in the middle of the night. It is popularly said of ugly celebrities that, “…he/she has a face for radio”. Similarly, Lily Morris has a voice for cinema. Silent cinema. A silent cinema buried deep under the ground. Under Peru. In fact, under a very noisy thing in Peru. Under a man having his penis repeatedly struck with a hammer by an addled and vengeful dandruff-specked minicab driver with halitosis and grey shoes in Peru. Between the airport and the pneumatic drill testing centre.

2. It Fails The Test Of Time. Cole Porter; George and Ira Gershwin; Ivor Novello; Hoagy Carmichael; Kurt Weil; Irving Berlin: Just a few of the talented songwriters working in the 1920s that had absolutely cock-all to do with this song. Sadly, while their work has aged well, this song has not. It is the Mickey Rourke of popular song. It clearly had some sort of popular appeal in its day because Lily Morris sang it many times and I can find no written accounts of pandemonium as masses of horrified music-lovers stampeded from music-halls.   But there’s another possible explanation. Perhaps those that witnessed this horror were simply too traumatised to write about it; I wish I was. Perhaps people back then – who were able to vividly recount the sheer bloody horror of mechanised war and mass genocide – were far too disturbed by the ordeal of hearkening to this interminable and harrowing din to leave their descendants a warning from history. That seems eminently possible.

3. It’s Strange. In the song, Lily Morris is singing as a character, rather than as herself, addressing Mrs Moore. Not content with singing in her own character’s voice (and who would be content with that) for the whole of the song, Lily Morris inexplicably sings a verse of it as a Dutch vicar. From Namibia. I have no idea why she sings it as a Dutch vicar from Namibia, but I suppose if you’re going to pretend to be a vicar, you have to come from somewhere, even if it is Namibia. And you are Dutch.

4. It’s Ironic. The central theme of the song is a woman using drunkenness as a euphemism for wantonness or wantonness as a euphemism for drunkenness (I thought of checking, but I decided I’d rather have rusty razor blades stapled to my forehead instead) and cautioning another woman (Mrs Moore) against one or the other (or both). The irony is, however, that this is a song that positively no one could ever bear sober. This is a song that no sane person could experience (even partially) without having imbibed so much strong alcohol in one sitting that their liver would have a half-life of several millennia and would smell pungently of juniper berries for at least four and a half eternities.* The only way that anyone could possibly listen to this song without alcohol is if they were dead, and even then they would have to have been dead for at least a century and would need to have their wrists bound and the remains of their chest pinned to the floor by an anvil with Eamonn Holmes and the cast of Gandhi seated upon it, to ensure that they did not rise up and scamper from the room squealing in terror and urinating uncontrollably on the carpet.

5. It’s Historic. The discovery of this song has created a wholly astonishing and unforeseen development of historical proportions. A transpiration so unexpected that no one will ever have conceived of reading the words I’m about to write together in the same sentence. So momentous is this situation that, if I were to tell Nostradamus, Zephania, Philip the Evangelist and Derren Brown what I’m about to tell you, their reaction would be “Blimey! I didn’t see that one coming”. This song would be improved if covered by Jedward.

6. It’s Immortal. Once heard, this song cannot be killed. It’s an ear-worm that refuses to leave. Once it gets into your head (even if you only hear it once) this song becomes that bloody glittery vampire – the one that all sane people wish would just go away and die – that never goes away and dies. Of all the songs that you could ever get stuck in your head, this is the stickiest and most recalcitrant. It literally seems to bond itself to the inside of your brain somewhere between thoughts about tiramisu and thoughts about ducks. It is said that men think about sex every seven seconds. That is not true of men that have heard this song. Men that have heard this song think of this song every seven seconds (even when they’re asleep or flying an aeroplane). This song is no mere musical entertainment, it is a frightening disease of the mind.

7. It’s…Aaaaaarrrrrgghhh!!! Don’t Read This Reason!   If you think about this song long enough – every seven seconds since last Friday night, for example – it spawns the song of Satan. Because sooner or later (in a variant of infinite monkey theorem known as infinite poor suffering bastard that heard Don’t Have Any More Mrs Moore once and is now hearing it internally and infinitely for infinity theorem) the song will mutate. As you think of – or hear – another song this song will begin to segue into it. And then, with a creeping sense of trepidation and mounting dread, you will one day hear something so abominable and ghastly that it might well prove to be one of the signs of the apocalypse. You will hear the chorus of this song segue into that of another. You will hear:

Don’t have any more Mrs Moore

When there’s room on my horse for two

And with that perfectly seamless transition you’ll discover that you have, in your head, a mutant Lily Morris/Rolf Harris hybrid creature (Rily Marris?) singing a mash-up of Don’t Have Any Moore Mrs Moore and Two Little Boys at you every seven seconds for the rest of time. See, I told you not to read it.

*And why the hell does the word eternity have a plural?!

September 6, 2011
7 Reasons To Embrace Christmas Traffic Jams

Strictly speaking, there is no such thing as a Christmas traffic jam, in the same way as there is no such thing as a Christmas turkey, but you know what I mean. Which is just as well, because if I had used ‘7 Reasons To Embrace The Traffic Jams You Experience While Travelling Somewhere For Christmas’ both of you may have decided not to read. I’m glad you have though, because I have importance to impart on you. If you are travelling this Christmas, this is the most helpful thing you will read this half-hour.

1. In-Laws. If you are very lucky, your in-laws, or – if you are sans wedding-ring – your partner’s family, will be normal. This is fairly uncommon however, so we shall assume that the in-laws are a weird bunch. The mother-in-law smokes a pipe and keeps singing sea shanties and the father-in-law insists on wearing novelty ties and very little else. That type of weird. The type of weird that means you want to spend as little time in their company as possible over Christmas. The type of weird that makes traffic jams seem like a little piece of heaven.*

2. Christmas Playlist. Unless you really are a Scrooge (or deaf), Christmas songs evoke the festive spirit. And no one can tell me that after listening to Wham! and Chris Rea over and over and over and over and over again you’re not going to be in the mood for mulled wine. And beer. And brandy. And anything else that might numb the pain.

3. Excuses. Despite having 364 days to buy your loved one a present, you seem to have forgotten to buy one. This means you need a damn good excuse. And to think of a damn good excuse you need time. And time comes with traffic jams. Lots of them. By the time you get to your destination, your loved one will be too tired and relieved to care about presents. Which gives you time to whip down to B&Q.

4. Traditional Games. What with the advent of Game Boys and Game Gears and PSPs, the traditional in car entertainment was shelved. Mammoth games of ‘i-Spy’ and ‘I Went On My Holidays…’ were swapped for games featuring a hedgehog called Sonic and a footballer who looked like Shrek. Christmas traffic jams are the perfect opportunity to relive those golden days. A chance to remember those simpler times. Times where the use of the brain was more important than the use of the thumbs. Admittedly, i-Spy will only last until someone has guessed BOOORRRIIINNNGGG!!! but, despite someone not quite understanding the joys of the game, it will be fun while it lasts. Honest.

5. Scenery. Ever wanted to see Slough look pretty? Get stuck there in the snow. It’s your only hope.

6. Accents. Have you ever wondered what people sound like in the area you are driving through? No, probably not. That’s because you are driving through them. But what if you are stuck in them? No, probably not. But you should. Because it will open your eyes to the world around you. And you don’t need to do it by winding down the window and freezing to death. Just tune in to the local radio station. If you are lucky they’ll be interviewing someone who thought they had grown a six-foot cucumber only to discover it was in fact a marrow. And that never happens where you live.

7. Challenge. Despite what we are encouraging here, we know no one likes sitting in a traffic jam and, given the opportunity, they will find a way of getting out of it. Which is where the road map comes in handy. I can’t think of anything more rewarding than plotting a way out of a jam and then executing it perfectly. Especially if you set yourself a time limit and pretend you are being chased by members of the KGB. Such circumstances can turn pain and despair into exhilaration and triumph. And is a case in itself for joining a jam if you see one. We’ll see you in there.

*I would just like to point out that I am very lucky. Despite their annoying habit of making me look a very average tennis player, my girlfriend’s parents are a delight.**

**No, I am not just saying this. How cynical of you.

December 20, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons That Christmas ALWAYS Gets Me in the End

It’s Saturday, and the 7 Reasons team have abandoned the sofa in order to rush, blinking out into the sunlight like pit-ponies escaping from their daily labour. But, fear not, for the sofa is in safe hands. Guest hosting this week is the lovely Liz Gregory – that’s right, her of Things to do in Manchester fame – who despite being from Manchester, isn’t going to prattle on about Coronation Street, she’s going to talk about Christmas. Now settle down, children, and she’ll begin.

Every year it’s the same. I roll my eyes at those poor souls who have done all their present shopping by August; I can tut as cynically as anyone at the Christmas songs repeated on an endless, hideous loop in certain shops from the beginning of November. I am a grown woman with a full time job, and the shameless commercial enterprise that is Christmas has no place in my busy and important lifestyle. But by December, I’m hooked, brimming with festive excitement. Again. Here’s why….

1. The weather. Surely even the most hardened and wizened of souls must admit that nothing looks more enticingly festive than a fresh coating of snow, with the power to wipe out an ugly urban landscape of wheelie bins and cat poo, and replace it with pristine perfection. And I say this despite the fact that I am seemingly the only teacher in the UK not to have received a single snow day in the recent bad weather – I have had to go to work and perform the job for which I am paid EVERY SINGLE DAY.

2. Rosy-cheeked children. No, not the bratty whiny ones running amok in the supermarket trying to grab everything in sight – they are the ones to avoid if you’re trying to be misty-eyed and non-cynical about Christmas. I mean the angelic ones who assemble at Christmas lights switch-ons, warbling traditional festive songs and obligingly going “ooohhh” when the lights are turned on.

3. The Christmas Radio Times. I take enormous comfort in the fact that even though we live in a high-tech, culturally diverse society where we celebrate individuality and cutting-edge modernity, at least fifty percent of the UK will have spent the last week leafing through the Christmas Radio Times, armed with a marker pen, drawing wonky circles around the plethora of bad television they wish to watch this Yuletide. The fact that you will only actually watch three of these programmes is entirely besides the point – the pleasure lies in the selection, not the viewing.

4. Alcohol. One of the overwhelming perks of December is that it becomes socially acceptable to consume alcohol at virtually any time of day without anyone raising their eyebrows and calling you an alky. So that means sherry at elevenses is fine, as is bucks fizz at breakfast and Amaretto Sours at lunch. I do not, of course, live like this at other times of the year.

5. Decorations. Yes, Nigella is annoying, but I do admire the fact that her house (or her studio-masquerading-as-house, one is never quite sure) appears to be permanently bedecked with fairy lights. I am not brave enough to try to convince my husband that this is acceptable all year round, which means I must make the most of the carte blanche that Christmas brings. Turn the big light off, switch the fairy lights on, and hey presto! Your house instantly looks clean and tidy in the murky pixie gloom.

6. Food. I am by nature a most abstemious person, unlikely to over-indulge in any way, but the range of tasty morsels positively flung one’s way at this time of year makes it impossible to refuse. As with the alcohol, it is de rigueur to adjust one’s notions of what acceptably constitutes a balanced meal – as long as you select items from both the savoury AND the sweet party food ranges, you should be absolutely fine.

7. Two weeks off. I enjoy my job, and by anyone’s standards, working in a college in the run up to Christmas must surely be as good a place to be as any. Giant tins of Quality Street lurk at every turn, and teaching English means that the final week offers plenty of chances to watch Wuthering Heights and eat popcorn. And yet, the prospect of two weeks off, spent lolling on the sofa, opening the odd present and reverting to a lifestyle where your mum brings you a cup of tea in bed in the morning, is surely something to be cherished.

So, if anyone fancies a mince pie or three in the semi-gloom of my Nigella kitchen I’ll see you shortly; only visitors bearing sherry will be admitted, mind.

December 11, 2010
7 Reasons Your Heart Goes Boom (According To Lyricists)

There are many words that appear many times in many songs. ‘Love’ for example. Or ‘the’. Another three words are ‘heart’, ‘goes’ and ‘boom’. In that order. And it is those three words we are going to concentrate on today. Though we will replace ‘goes’ with ‘went’ more frequently than initially anticipated. You see, ‘heart goes boom’/’heart went boom’ are phrases that rarely pop up in general conversation. Marc has never said to me, ‘I went cycling earlier. I saw a cow and my heart went boom’. And I have never said to Marc, ‘I went cycling earlier.’ Mainly because I don’t have a bike. But I digress, despite the fact that we don’t readily use such phrases, it doesn’t prevent them popping up in lyrics. Here are seven such examples of hearts going boom:

This Heart Has The Potential To Go Boom

1. ‘Zoom, Just One Look’. The idea that it takes just one look – and apparently a Zoom! ice lolly – for one’s heart to boom, is the brainchild of Fat Larry’s Band. And I find it hard to disagree. Zoom! ice lollies were substantially underrated by many at Nutley CofE Primary School.

2. ‘When You Are Near’. The first of two Eurovision entrants in today’s post comes from pint-sized Scottish singer Lulu. Her heart goes boom when you are near. Which must be quite embarrassing if she is surround by more than six people. Especially when you consider that her heart also goes bang-a-bang. I imagine that’s probably enough booming and bang-a-banging to unhook her bra. Not that I’m imagining that. But if I were – which I’m not – then, erm, that would be embarrassing.

3. ‘Walk Into An Empty Room’. Annie Lennox has got a problem. If her heart keeps going boom whenever she walks into an empty room – and it has been at least 25 years since it started – she needs to do one of two things. Go to the doctors or avoid empty rooms. Mind you, she also reckons an angel is playing with her heart…

4. ‘Walking Down The Street’. That’s when the hearts of French Affair went boom. Who? Yes, exactly. I had never heard of them either. And I liked it that way. But the thing about doing 7 Reasons as opposed to, say, 3 Reasons, is that you have to scour the internet for reasons that didn’t immediately strike you. As such, I found the above atrocity. It’s not so much that the song is rubbish…well, actually, yes it is. But they also speak French in it. They may as well have insulted my mother. Perhaps they did. My French is not what is used to be.

5. ‘Walked Right Out Of The Machinery’. Peter Gabriel should probably think himself quite lucky that his heart is still with him to go boom if he has just walked out of the machinery. Generally speaking, if one gets trapped in machinery, they die. Either quickly. Or slowly. You probably won’t listen to Solsbury Hill in the same way ever again.

6. ‘When She Walks In The Room’. Given that ‘walking’ has provided the reason for heart booms three times in a row, it would seem inappropriate to stop. So I haven’t. I now have the pleasure of presenting you with The Moffats. Who? Yes, exactly. I had never heard of them either. On first inspections – and there will only ever be one – I would position them somewhere between Hanson and McFly. Though I would probably wear gloves during the process. For what it’s worth The Moffats are from the same stock as Lulu. Their hearts feature additionally banging. And why not? (Find out next Monday. Probably.)

7. ‘When they see you baby’. Not before time, we have our second Eurovision contestants. And they come in the form of Charmed. Who? Yes, exactly. I had never heard of the either. Now I know that’s getting repetitive, but you have to believe me. Before today I had never heard of the Norwegian entrants to Eurovision 2000. And, to be frank, I wish it had remained that way. They appear to be a poor witches B*Witched. On the plus side, at least they are more inventive with their lyrics than some of the above. Not a mention of the word ‘walking’ anywhere.

November 16, 2010
7 Reasons It’s Not My Fault I Thought He Was A Woman

Today is World Tourism Day and as I couldn’t think of one single reason as to why we should celebrate it, I decided to write about men who I once thought were women instead. So here are 7 men, who to me, were once women. Enjoy.

Josephine Rebecca Rachel Tolkien

1. J.R.R.Tolkien. I have absolutely no idea why I thought Tolkien was a woman. Maybe it was the slightly effeminate font on my copy of The Fellowship Of The Ring or maybe it was something in the tone of voice on the first page. (I don’t think I actually got to page two). Either way, for a good few months I thought John Ronald Reuel Tolkien was in fact Josephine Rebecca Rachel Tolkien. Sorry about that John.

2. Leslie Neilsen. Oh come on. Anyone could make this mistake. Admittedly it may have taken them slightly less than five viewings of Naked Gun to realise that the person who they initially thought was Leslie Nielsen was actually Priscilla Presley, but hey, we all make mistakes.

3. John Denver. How the hell did I think John Denver was a woman? Probably because I thought he was called Joan Denver.

4. Neil Sedaka. I didn’t know the name at the time, I had just heard the song. Laughter In The Rain probably. And, well, he just sounds like a girl doesn’t he?

5. Lily Savage. Yes, seriously. For a good ten minutes, I actually thought Paul O’Grady’s alter-ego – the one who looked like a man and spoke like a man, but wore a dress, heels and wig – was a woman. I was naive. I didn’t know cross-dressers – or as I prefer to call them, perverts – existed. I clearly lived a sheltered childhood. In a house where Lily Savage was on the TV.

6. Ashley Smith. If this name is not familiar to you, then good. One day, in circa 1996, my friend Tom came into school and told a select group of us that he had kissed someone called Ashley the night before. Being the lads we were we ‘high-fived’ and congratulated him on his conquest. As a spotty 13 year-old at the time, I was outwardly happy for him. Inside though, I was full of jealousy. I had never kissed a girl – not properly anyway. I wanted a go. (Frustratingly, I would have to wait another four years for that particular delight to occur. And even then, I am not entirely sure she knew much about it). But anyway, I digress. We were very happy for Tom and he seemed very happy for himself. Then Tom went ten-pin bowling. And he invited a few of his friends along too. Including me. And Ashley. And that was when I realised Tom was gay.

7. The Stylistics. Okay, so this is more a group, than a singular person, but the theme still remains. I still thought they were women. And you can’t blame me. I’ve tried many an implement in many a painful place to try and get my voice that high. Cricket bats, clothes pegs, garden rakes, soldering irons (not on purpose), next door’s cat. You name it, I’ve tried it. But to no avail. I just can’t sound like The Stylistics.

September 27, 2010
7 Reasons Why Songwriting Is Easy

1. Tackle Dangerous Ground. You can take two areas that should just not work together, i.e.: sex and fire, and merge them. You couldn’t show two people having a fondle on a bonfire in a TV show, but you can write a song called Sex On Fire and it’s fine.

2. Huge Creative License. You can call something something when it’s not actually that something. Alanis Morissette’s Ironic for example. “It’s like rain on your wedding day.” This is not ironic. It’s unlucky. Or to be expected if you book your wedding for a Tuesday afternoon in January. It always rains on a Tuesday afternoon in January.

3. Endorse Nonsense. You can write things that don’t make sense and never will make sense. Yet listeners will spend ages being confused by them. “Are we human or are we dancer?” I haven’t got a clue what Brandon Flowers is on about. And are the two things really mutually exclusive? Can’t we be a human who dances? Or is he suggesting we’re puppets? I am no puppet Flowers. I’m going to go and listen to Coldplay.

4. Lack Genius. You can be a simpleton and write a song. No offence to Lady Gaga, but I am pretty sure I came up with the lyrics to Bad Romance when I was about two months old. “Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-mamaa! Ga-ga-ooh-la-la! Want your bad romance.” Just shut up you silly, silly woman.

5. Promote Drugs. You can tell people what it’s like to be addicted to drugs and, in the process, make it sound awesome. “We skipped a light fandango. Turned cartwheels cross the floor. I was feeling kind of seasick. But the crowd called out for more.” Whatever Procol Harum were on, I want some.

6. Promote Drugs. You can tell people what it’s like to be addicted to drugs and, in the process, make it sound bloody awful. “I am the eggman. They are the eggman. I am the walrus. Goo Goo g’joob.” Whatever The Beatles were on, I don’t want to go anywhere near it.

7. Promote Sex. And more to the point, promote extramarital sex. All you have to do is write the lyrics in French and get the singer to have an orgasm at the end of the song. Then Bingo! There is your hit. Between you and me I think Jane Birkin was faking it though. Je vais et je viens, entre tes reins.

November 15, 2009