Submission To Charles Riley, NewsRevue, 31 March 1994

LIST OF SONGS SUBMITTED AND TAPE TRACK LISTING

                                     CHARLES RILEY APRIL-MAY 1994 RUN
 
Dear Charles
 
I enclose your starter pack of lyrics and tape for my offerings.  The pack consists of new songs, songs currently in the show and one or two rewrites of older ones etc. If you want me to work on an old chestnut of mine that you might have uncovered in the archive, just let me know.
 
Feel free to call me and let me know if you are short of any subjects or styles and I shall try to oblige.  Also, if any of these need a bit of rewrite then I am happy to change them on request.
 
Hopefully the bank holiday should give me time to write some more, if the inspiration is forthcoming.
 
Looking forward to seeing you again soon.
 

Teach Your Children Sex, NewsRevue Lyric, 28 March 1994

There must have been something in the news about sex education to trigger this one. Probably the perennial debate about whether it should be a job for parents or teachers.

Nice idea but doesn’t really work as a lyric, in retrospect.

_ TEACH YOUR CHILDREN SEX _

(To the Tune of “Teach Your Children Well”)

VERSE 1 – PARENTS

You, who are under age, must have a stage,
Prone to suggestion;
And you, who are in your youth, are so uncouth,
That you ask questions.

CHORUS 1 – STILL THE PARENTS

Teach your children sex, make sure the text,
Is not offensive;
And teach, the birds and bees, the storks and trees,
To be defensive.
Why are our brats carping us, what’s the point of asking us,
“Mummy, what’s cunnilingus?” (parents look at each other, shrug, and concede.)
An Irish airline?.
(Bickering alternately. “Isn’t it?” “I don’t know. You tell them.” “Ask your father.” “Ask your mum.” “Ask one of your teachers.”)

VERSE 2 – CHILDREN {WITH PARENTS HARMONICALLY}

Adults, do not always know, what they should show,
{Don’t ask questions, no suggestions, don’t be rude dear, don’t be crude dear}
In pocket sex guides;
Like cults, in the back of cars, with a king size Mars,
{Generations, revelations, explanations, sexplanations,}
And packs of girl guides.

CHORUS 2 – THE CHILDREN CONCLUDE

Teach your parents sex, a bag and flex,
Is not suggested;
And tease them with your dream, Hagan Daz ice cream,
Can be digested;
Don’t you ask them what they know, they are as thick as Fabio,
And so they think fellatio’s an Eyetie model.
(Father in Fabio voice: “I believe that love between two people is fantastic, as long as you are between the right two people. I never got that joke neither and I’m really intelligent”).

Below is a video with Crosby Stills Nash and Young singing Teach Your Children Well and some scenes from a movie named Melody:

Sunbed, NewsRevue Lyric, 27 March 1994

It really isn’t easy to turn cancer into comedy. This might be the only time I did it with any success.

I have a very clear memory of writing this one; it popped into my head while I was “squatting” in Gordon McVie’s office while doing some work for Cancer Research Campaign (which became part of Cancer Research UK), back in the Binders days.

I assigned the rights to the lyric to the charity, which will have made it a few bob.

The version below is dated November 1995 on the computer, but the original was written in March 1994; I think I might have revived it unchanged because of a fresh sunbed cancer scare story.

SUNBED
(To the Tune of “Sunny”)

VERSE 1

Sunbed, yesterday my skin was pale and white,
Sunbed, until I used your ultraviolet light;
Now my sunbed is made, I look like a joke,
Indoors with my shades and rum and coke;
Sunbed tan of gold, I’ve been sold.

VERSE 2

Sunbed, thank you for your ultraviolet rays,
Sunbed, you took away the acne from my face;
You gave to me a golden tan,
But may decrease my life span;
Sunbed I feel swell, I look well.

VERSE 3

Sunbed, now my skin looks like taramasalata,
Sunbed, I hope these blotches aren’t melanomata,
You made me dream of Barcelona,
Now I’ve gleaned carcinoma,
Sunbed I’m not telling, I’ve seen swelling.

VERSE 4

Sunbed, yesterday I lost my sense of humour,
Sunbed, when they diagnosed malignant tumour;
I spent all my cash, to try to look sunned,
I wish I’d endowed a cancer fund;
Sunbed you’re a curse,
I look worse,
Than my Macmillan nurse.
(Rather sinister looking Macmillan nurse – man in drag? – helps the victim off the stage)

Here’s Bobby Hebb singing Sunny with lyrics:

Letter To Steve Parsons Re NewsRevue, 27 March 1994

Steve Parsons 27 March 1994
News Revue
 
 
Dear Steve
 
NEW MATERIAL / NOTE FROM PARENTS

 
I enclose my latest pieces.
 
I apologise for the recent dearth of my material or indeed my very appearance. I can only attribute the problem to vast excesses of work. Unfortunately, I have been too busy even to get an absence note from my parents. Fear not. I expect to be with you this week with some friends in tow. I also hope the bank holiday weekend will give me a chance to produce yet more fresh material.
 
I also have some news for the “where are they now?” department. I spied Richard Katz (ex Laura’s run, October 1992) at the National Theatre in Caryl Churchill’s new play “The Skriker”. I must admit, I didn’t recognise him until about half way through the play during a song and dance routine with Richard wearing plastic flowers on his back. (Naturally, this behaviour made the News Revue memories come flooding back).
 
Be that as it may, I look forward to seeing you all on Thursday.
 
Yours sincerely
 
 
 
 
 
 
Ian Harris
 
encs

Letter To Chris Edge At Spitting Image, 27 March 1994

The saga of Spitting Image having put me in touch with NewsRevue in the first place and then tentatively coming back into my writing life (never to be fulfilled in a Spitting Image sense) continued…

Chris Edge 27 March 1994
Spitting Image
17-19 Plumber’s Row
London
E1 1EQ
 

Dear Chris
 
SONG TORTURE


Thank you for your kind note and for passing my Domestic fuel song on to the new worthies.
 
I write a great many lyrics (about 50 pieces a year), many of which are performed at News Revue. I enclose a small sample of work from the past few months.
 
Your new regime might be seeking new approaches to the show. I should be happy to try and match my writing to your requirements if you let me know what you want.
 
Yours sincerely
 
 
 
 
 
 
Ian Harris
 
encs

The Skriker by Caryl Churchill, Cottesloe Theatre, 26 March 1994

A strange play, this. Here is a link to its Wikipedia entry. Writing about it 25 yrars later, it seems in some ways more relevant now than it did then, as evidenced by the several revivals of it in recent years.

According to my log, Janie and I both found the play and the original RNT production we saw very good. Here is a link to the Theatricalia entry for that production.

The wonderful Kathryn Hunter was in it. As was Richard Katz, who had, at that time, fairly recently done a grand job with my material in NewsRevue. I’m pretty sure it was Richard who belted this one, for example:

I’m struggling to find reviews, but this preview from the Independent is interesting.

Here is a clipping from The Guardian:

Billington On The SkrikerBillington On The Skriker Sat, Jan 29, 1994 – 24 · The Guardian (London, Greater London, England) · Newspapers.com

While here is a 79 page doctoral thesis about this play, which posits that our whole political and social system comprises patriarchal binary oppositions. So there.

And there was Janie and I thinking that we’d spent an evening seeing an interesting play by Caryl Churchill performed exceptionally well. What simple souls we were/are.

Comedy, NewsRevue Lyric (Incomplete), 20 March 1994

Clearly it was becoming a Sunday habit for me to write these lyrics for NewsRevue – all of the March 1994 ones were written on a Sunday – apart from one which I finished off on the Monday.

This one I didn’t finish off, nor, as a result, did I even catalogue it. I discover it now in the electronic folder with the others, looking sad and forgotten…

…which is exactly what it was.

_ COMEDY _

(To the Tune of "Tragedy")

VERSE 1

Here I lie in a lost and lonely Parliament,
Screw a spy and appeal up to the firmament;
Getting off with Bienvenida,
Army toff those boss men need her,
Holding them, moulding them, scolding them, balding men.

CHORUS 1

Comedy, when you need a fuck with a tart named Buck,
A travesty, kissing in the dark with your research clerk,
It’s tough out there, so men who are faithful are going nowhere.
You’re history, with a Kings Cross slag or a plastic bag;
It’s parody, when your MPs lie and you know well why,
It’s hard to say, why men who hold power behave in this way.

VERSE 2

Ev’ry day another top dog bites the dust,
Spokesmen say “a private tragedy”, you must…
Not believe this explanation,
They deceive, the entire nation;
Absurdity with birds you see ain’t tragedy or savagery.

CHORUS 2

Comedy, when the knickers drop pants are down and the

Here are the Bee Gees singing Tragedy with the lyrics on the screen:

Shooting Four Mortars At Heathrow, NewsRevue Lyric, 13 March 1994

Yes, I think I can see what I was trying to doi here. Neat idea, reads quite well, but was not destined for a long run in the show, if indeed it got a go at all.

_ SHOOTING FOUR MORTARS AT HEATHROW _

(To the Tune of "24 Hours From Tulsa")

(Irish accents are virtually compulsory for this song)

VERSE 1

Gerry Adams,
Called us to say that the IRA might not fight no more,
But in the voice of an actor,
He also said that we should get rid of our old mortars.
So we were only taking four mortars to Heathrow,
Only transporting our aged arms,
Our Micra looked odd en route,
With missiles aimed out the boot….

VERSE 2

Stuck in an M4 tailback,
When we all saw the Excelsior with a huge car park,
Right by a Heathrow runway,
We stopped the car and aimed our mortars to fire after dark;
Cos we were only, shooting four mortars at Heathrow,
Only 24 yards from a plane;
Some bastard sold us a pup,
The fire bombs failed to erupt,
But our car blew up.

(You could try an instrumental with a little Irish jig type dancing at this juncture, or you might decide to give that a miss)

VERSE 3

But still we’d left some mortars,
Home we returned but as our car burned we went home by tube;
Set off some more bombs remotely,
Somewhere obscure like Terminal Four when the Queen was due.
And we were only firing more mortars at Heathrow,
Only discharging all of our arms;
Our mortars were a damp squib,
Security was so glib,
Gave us the rib,
So we shall never never never go there again…..
……ho, ho, ho, maybe?

Below is a video of Gene Pitney singing 24 Hours From Tulsa:

Here is a link to the lyrics of 24 Hours From Tulsa.

Little Willie Waldegrave, NewsRevue Lyric, 13 March 1994

William Waldegrave was a cabinet minister in John Major’s government.

It transpired that he was also a neighbour of mine in Notting Hill Gate and a regular at our favourite Chinese restaurant around the corner, The Park Inn, where he and his family became nodding acquaintances of ours.

But I didn’t discover the latter until after I had written this lyric (and others) about him. As far as I know, Waldegrave never discovered that I, his fellow diner, was also that lyricist.

                                         _ LITTLE WILLIE WALDEGRAVE _

                                      (To the Tune of “Little Willy”)
 
(Abba wigs might come in handy for this song)
 
VERSE 1
 
Big lies, small lies, Little Willie Waldegrave’s so fair he’s a chevalier,
Touchy, Duchy, Willie looks so silly with his bouffant funny looking hair;
Way past one and Willie’s such a sight,
Cos when Waldegrave debates he may talk all night,
Hey there, stay there, grey hairs, flair.
 
CHORUS 1
 
Cos Little Willie Willie’s hair, won’t comb,
And you can’t make Willie wear hair styling foam;
Tried telling him that he looks like a coxcomb,
Little Willie Willie’s hair, won’t comb.
 
VERSE 2
 
Left wing, right wing Little Wally Willie says its couth to express an untruth,
Hanky-panky Willie drives em silly on Profumo and Hartley Booth,
Tories sell arms to Iraq and Iran,
But Willie pins the lies on James Callaghan,
Forsooth, war sleuth, half-truth, proof.
 
CHORUS 2
 
Cos Little Willie Willie won’t tell lies,
Though he says all other MPs tell pork pies;
Now Willie Waldegrave’s the one they despise,
Cos Little Willie says MPs tell lies.
 
CHORUS 3
 
Little Willie says he won’t resign,
Though the Scott Inquiry says Willie did sign;
He oughtta style hair like Michael Hestletine,
Michael is ascendant while Willie’s in decline.

Here’s a video that plays Little Willy by The Sweet with the lyrics on screen:

While here is The Sweet on TOTP performing their song. Brian Connolly’s tank top and yellow outfit has to be seen to be believed – remember that this stuff was described as “Glam Rock” at the time, 1972:

The Life Of Galileo by Bertolt Brecht, Adapted by David Hare, Almeida Theatre, 12 March 1994

Janie and I see a lot of theatre and on the whole go to see productions that we find good or very good. But just occasionally we see something that is a cut above and is truly memorable as one of the best productions we have ever seen.

That is how my memory (25 years later) recalls this adaptation/production of The Life Of Galileo and my log from the time registers the simple phrase, “excellent production”.

Here is the Theatricalia record for this production.

Contemporaneous reviews only through the following clippings of Michael Billington’s review:

Billington On GalileoBillington On Galileo Fri, Feb 18, 1994 – 34 · The Guardian (London, Greater London, England) · Newspapers.com Billington On Galileo Part TwoBillington On Galileo Part Two Fri, Feb 18, 1994 – 35 · The Guardian (London, Greater London, England) · Newspapers.com

My take is that Richard Griffiths was superb as Galileo, ably supported by a top notch cast dirtected by Jonanathan Kent.

This a David Hare adaptation was revived at The National some 12 years later; there are on-line reviews of that production – e.g. this one, which mentions the 1994 production.

The Wikipedia entry for the play provides a good synopsis.

An exceptionally good night at the theatre, I remember it well.