Debbie Barham was one of the most talented young writers to enter our NewsRevue orbit back in the early-mid Nineties. She really was just a kid when she first showed up; pretending to be a drop-out after a year at University whereas she was actually a fifteen year old runaway from school and family. Her untimely demise was a genuine tragedy.
But by late 1994/early 1995 she and I had started corresponding by e-mail and attempted to write a little bit together, with very limited success.
This lyric is one of just a couple of joint submissions we made to NewsRevue. I don’t remember it making the cut.
TORY REBEL
(To the Tune of “Rebel Rebel”)
VERSE 1
REBELS: We’ve got John Major in a whirl,
(Cos) Theresa Gorman’s our kind of girl;
MAJOR Hey guys, you’re so far right,
Hey guys, please party tonight;
REBELS: We hate Frogs, Krauts and Wops we shun,
We love hanging even more than the Sun;
MAJOR You sound off like Attilla the Hun,
How many of you are with me?
REBELS None!
MIDDLE BIT
REBELS: We’ll stick our ground, ‘cos we’re no drips,
MAJOR: We’re cracking down with our Tory whips.
CHORUS 1
ALL: Tory rebels,
MAJOR You’re past your best,
ALL Tory rebels,
REBELS: John Major’s a mess;
ALL: Tory rebels,
REBELS You look forlorn,
MAJOR Tough shit, you’re whip’s withdrawn.
CHORUS 2
ALL Tory rebels,
REBELS: We’ve earned some credit,
ALL Tory rebels,
REBELS: From Thatcher and Tebbit;
ALL Tory rebels,
MAJOR: Most people know,
You’re as bent as Portillo.
Here is Bowie singing Rebel Rebel with lyrics in English and Italian – that might get up the Eurosceptics’ noses…
Hmmm, I’m not too sure about this one. There was a lot not to like about Gillian Shepherd and her education policies, but this lyric feels a bit personal in a way that one probably wouldn’t direct bile at a male politician.
Mind you, writing in April 2017, I can think of another senior Tory female who makes me feel angry enough…
…and the Gillian Shepherd lyric is supposed to have a “nasty kids” feel to it…
GILLIAN SHEPHERD
(To the Tune of “Jennifer Eccles”)
(Sung by a chorus of nasty schoolkids)
VERSE 1
White chalk written on red brick,
Our funds bound to withdraw;
That’s why we’ve got no blackboard,
Tough bitch, hateful old bore.
CHORUS 1
We hate Gillian Shepherd (ugh-ugh),
We know that she’s ugly;
We hate Gillian Shepherd (ugh-ugh),
We know she’s not cuddly.
La la, la-la-la, la la,
La la, la-la-la, la;
La la, la-la-la. la la,
La la, la-la-la, la;
MIDDLE BIT
One rotten morning,
Found out we’d failed our grades;
Started us thinking,
That vixen ought to be spayed.
VERSE 2
We hope Gillian Shepherd (ugh-ugh),
Will soon be down on her knees;
She screwed up agriculture,
And got mad cows disease.
CHORUS 2
We hate Gillian Shepherd (ugh-ugh),
We know that she’s cutting;
We hate Gillian Shepherd (ugh-ugh)
She looks like pigs rutting.
WE hate Gillian Shepherd!!
Here is Jennifer Eccles by The Hollies – lyrics are there below if you fully load YouTube:
I don’t think I was at my very best as a lyricist in the opening overs of 1995. I think my mind was more on “baby Z/Yen” than on humour. A few hits but more misses, just for a few months.
This is one of the misses from that period. I don’t think it got used. I think I was very keen to do something to the tune of The Peanut Vendor. That aspect I still applaud. But the piece almost feels unfinished to me – like some fragments I can still find on my old jotters that never got past the “decent idea” or “good line or two” stage.
THE PEANUT FARMER
(To the Tune of “The Peanut Vendor”)
INTRO
Jimmy Carter, he’s such a brick,
Jimmy Carter, he’s old and thick,
(refrain throughout)
MAIN BIT
Carter,
If you languish in Korea or Port-au-Prince,
Meet the fella with a mouth full of foot prints;
One day he’s out in Bosnia,
Next day with strike torn US baseball stars;
So if he swings a Balkan compromise,
Will they give him a Nobel Peaceful Prize?
But Jimmy would have gone there anyway,
On a low price Saga Holiday;
The peace talks saved him the fare.
Bill Clinton ought to learn from Carter’s aid,
And just lie low for at least a decade,
Or maybe two to be fair.
If Bill lies low he’ll do no harm,
Should leave his nuts on Jimmy’s peanut farm.
Jimmy’s revered, an autumn flower,
But he was a failure when in power.
Here’s the tune of The Peanut Vendor, by Alvin “Snake Eyes” Tyler. It’s an instrumental really, despite the “jungle fresh” lyric stuck in the heads of all of us who are of a certain age.
I don’t think this one was ever used…while Intel are for sure still going.
INTEL
(To the Tune of “Inchworm”)
INTRO – REVOLTING CHILDREN
Two and two are four,
Four and four are eight,
Eight and eight are sixteen,
Sixteen and sixteen are thirty-one (losing note slightly on the one)
VERSE 1 – IDEALLY A DANNY KAYE SOUNDALIKE
Intel, Intel (two and two are three),
Churning out the Pentiums (four and four are six);
You and your arithmetic (eight and eight are thirteen),
You’re bound to catch a cold (sixteen and sixteen are thirty-nine).
VERSE 2 – IDEALLY A DANNY KAYE SOUNDALIKE
Intel, Intel (two and two are nine),
Hailing the millennium (four and four are twelve);
Bitterly divided now (eight and eight are plenty),
By then you’re bound to fold.
(sixteen and sixteen are beeeeeeeep…………error………..it does not compute………….).
Here’s Danny Kaye – you need to wait a minute or so for Inchworm:
Just sometimes a slow number would be a huge hit in NewsRevue. Privatise was one of those – it was in the show for yonks and frequently got the audience going big time.
One of my best ever lyrics in my opinion. At times (e.g. now in 2017) it could be in the show still.
Beware friends; the chords look straightforward I’ll be working this one up on the baritone ukulele myself.
PRIVATISE
(To the Tune of “Bright Eyes”)
VERSE 1
Is it a kind of scheme,
Dreamt up by the right?
Making utilities less safe and clean,
The price is obscene.
VERSE 2
There is cold comfort for staff,
And hot gas from the mighty;
Silently bosses look after themselves;
Milking them clean,
With pay rise extremes.
CHORUS 1
Privatise,
Post, health and power,
Privatise,
Industry, coal and rail;
How can a trade that’s done quite nicely,
Suddenly turn and fail,
Privatise.
CHORUS 2
Privatise,
Lords, House and Whitehall,
Privatise,
Number Ten Downing Street;
Then maybe berks who’ve caused this nightmare,
Will end up on the street,
Privatise.
The tune is Bright Eyes; here is Art Garfunkle’s delightful rendering:
I also wrote an update 28 May 1996:
PRIVATISE – 1996 REMIX
(To the Tune of “Bright Eyes”)
VERSE 1
Is it a kind of scheme,
Dreamt up by the right?
Making utilities less safe and clean,
The price is obscene.
VERSE 2
There is outsourcing for staff,
And increase for directors;
Silently bosses look after themselves;
Milking us clean,
With pay rise extremes.
CHORUS 1
Privatise,
Trains, health and power,
Privatise,
Military, coal and rail;
How can a trade that’s done quite nicely,
Suddenly turn and fail,
Privatise.
CHORUS 2
Privatise,
Lords, House and Whitehall,
Privatise,
Number Ten Downing Street;
Then maybe berks who’ve caused this nightmare,
Will end up on the street,
Privatise.
Odd one, this. I don’t have a printed copy on file and it has a slightly unfinished feel to it – I’m not sure I ever finished/submitted it.
One or two good lines, though.
2-4-6-8 INTERNET
(To the Tune of “2-4-6-8 Motorway”)
VERSE 1
Whizz kid sitting pretty with a new style Pentium,
Ain’t no 486 , you get speed on your side;
Ain’t no use unless Intel’s been ammending ’em,
Unless you never want to long divide.
CHORUS 1
And it’s 2-4-6-8 Internet,
Me and my modem buzzing all through the night;
3-5-7-9 bug on the line,
Superhighway, crashed, got a warning light.
VERSE 2
Well there ain’t better news if you choose to cruise the Compuserve,
And World-Wide-Web’s like astronomy in a smog;
No one knows if this highway’s leading nowhere,
Cos most people still think Kermit’s just a frog.
CHORUS 2
So let’s start a British Internet,
Too few modems, all get stuck in a jam;
3-5-7-9 work on the line,
Highway’s shut, use an envelope and a stamp.
Here is the Tom Robinson Band singing 2-4-6-8 Motorway, with lyrics on the screen:
I don’t mean “my first flame” in the romance sense. Good heavens no. I was over 20 when Africa was released as a single, in my third year at Keele.
No, no, no, I mean my first internet flame.
I started using the internet in the second half of 1994, while setting up Z/Yen, primarily because I/we expected it eventually to be useful for business.
But there wasn’t much going on commercially on the net in those days, so, to get into the swing of using the net, I used it quite extensively for my personal interests. Not least, at that time, subscribing to some Usenet groups that I thought would help me with my development of comedy lyrics, including one where people simply discussed the lyrics of songs.
One correspondent on that lyrics group stated that Africa by Toto was their favourite lyric of all time. That posting made me recall the spring of 1983 and the way that my flatmate, Alan “The Great Yorkshire Pudding” Gorman and I would mimic the line
As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti,
which at the time we thought might be the most pretentious lyrical line ever, not least because it barely rhymes with “solitary company” and also barely scans the beat of the song. You sort of need to rush through that line like a broadside balladeer or a calypso singer with too much to say and not enough beats in which to say it.
I made these points about Africa by Toto on that Usenet group and then went about my business for the next 12 or perhaps even 24 hours, as was the dial-up method in those days.
When I returned to the group, I had been comprehensively flamed by the Africa-lover. Their beef was only partly a disagreement with my feelings about the lyric, which was understandable. It was primarily a character assassination suggesting that I was not qualified to discuss that lyric, on the basis that I had failed correctly to transcribe the line in question.
That line actually reads, “as sure as Kilimanjaro rises like a lepress above the Serengeti”,
explained the angry song-lover.
In those days, there was no Google or YouTube or Wikipedia or on-line repository of lyrics to turn to. But I couldn’t even work out what a “lepress” might be. Nor why anything other than “Olympus” might make sense as the simile in question. I even spent a few minutes looking through the dictionary to see if there was a word which had slipped my mind, the feminine form of which might be lepress and make sense in context. The only word I could think of that might take the feminine form “lepress” was “leper”, which didn’t make sense to me in context.
I made these points on the Usenet group and then went about my business for the next 12 or perhaps even 24 hours.
When I returned to the group, I had been even more comprehensively flamed by the Africa-lover.
You know ******* well that a lepress is a female leopard. Don’t be so ******* insulting.
The flamer had also acquired one or two supporters who joined in the flaming, mostly on the grounds that they like the song, a view which I find fair and with which I have some sympathy. I also sort-of like the song; it’s just that one line that has always grated on me and was the source of our 1983 mirth.
But also, by now, I had acquired quite a few supporters, some of whom were supporting the logic of my specific argument about the lyric, while others were simply arguing that I was entitled to my opinion and that the purpose of the group was, after all, to debate lyrics.
I also received a private message with a plea from one of the group’s moderators, who told me that she felt that I had been unfairly flamed but asked me to post a conciliatory message to try to calm the group down. She was asking me to do this, she said, because she sensed that I was the more likely of the combatants to acquiesce to her request.
I thought about the moderator’s conciliation request, while also consulting my English and American dictionaries, to try to work out what a female leopard might actually be called. “A leopardess”, since you asked. I also listened to Africa by Toto again, just to see if I could detect anything other than “Olympus” in that line.
So I did post a conciliatory note.
I apologised to the original poster for my not liking the Africa lyric as much as they did. I apologised to any females or lepers who had been offended by my attempt to define the mystery word “lepress”. I asserted that the female leopard is a leopardess in both English and American usage. I suggested a compromise lyric, with neither Olympus nor lepress, which might just make sense and satisfy everyone’s sensibilities:
As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like a left breast above the Serengeti.
I dialed-in to that group a couple more times over the next day or so to watch the flaming discussion peter out. Then I unsubscribed from that group.
Anyway, here is Africa by Toto with the lyrics shown in all their glory and accuracy on the screen.
We were pretty sure the funding was secured and wanted to keep the funders, not least Eli, sweet.
Word was, Eli’s favourite dish was Lobster Thermidor. Janie, bless her, decided to invite Eli and his family and Michael and Elisabeth over for a Lobster Thermidor fest.
After all, how difficult can it possibly be to prepare Lobster Thermidor from first principles?
Reader, I am here to tell you that it is a heck of a lot of work to prepare Lobster Thermidor from first principles and it is really, really difficult to prepare Lobster Thermidor for seven people in a small domestic kitchen.
To add to the difficulties, I also prepared, for the same meal, my famous wonton soup from first principles in that small kitchen.
Before the soup
And to had to the hard work of it all, it transpired that Eli was one of those people who constantly needs to be entertained…like…constantly. Games, stories, food, drink…no quiet periods just savouring the moment.
Exhausted, post guests, some left over soupExhausted, post guests, some left over Lobster Thermidor
Twas the season of goodwill, a week before Christmas 1994, so we shall not report here Janie’s retrospective views on the subsequent debacle over Z/Yen’s start-up financing arrangements. Suffice it to say that Z/Yen survived it and thrived despite it. So we should, in a way, remain grateful to Z/Yen’s initial finance guarantors.
Traditions have to start somewhere; this was the first Z/Yen Seasonal party lyric.
I’d forgotten about this one until I found it in my electronic lyric archive, dated 9 December 1994. Reading the lyric brought it all back to me. I previously thought the lyric for the second seasonal party was the first lyric, probably because that is the earliest one that found its way to the Z/Yen web site. We’ll put that right soon enough.
We sang the following at the first ever seasonal gathering of Z/Yen, on 16 December 1994. We were at the Paris House, Woburn, same venue as the following year. A plaintiff little song; I rather like it. Very different in style and tone to later Z/Yen seasonal songs.
Elisabeth, Michael and Katie
We had a meeting and a Shareholders’ Agreement signing ceremony before dinner, although Michael couldn’t subscribe to Z/Yen until a couple of months later. I think he might be going through the Christmas card list in the photo above.
Steve at Paris House in 1994
Stuart subscribing, Janie in the background.
Z/YEN
(To the Tune of “Ben”)
VERSE 1
Z/Yen, the group of us need look no more,
We have founded what we’re looking for;
Tense, and some might say up tight,
We’re working half the night,
Because, my friends, you see,
We’ve got our Main-ell-i
(You’ve got your Mainelli).
From February……… allegedly…..
VERSE 2
Z/Yen, we’re always running here and there,
(Here and there),
That’s why we’ve all lost half of our hair,
(Half of your hair);
Then a project falls behind,
And we’re all hard to find,
But somehow, as you know,
We always make a go.
(The weekend tends to go).
MIDDLE EIGHT
We used to say, “we are bored”,
Now it’s “risk and reward”;
You used to seek dark and rest
Now it’s light, now it’s zest.
VERSE 3
Z/Yen, although we are still very small,
(Very small),
We can puff it up if we talk big,
(if you talk balls);
When, you learn the things we do,
You’ll all want to join too,
So, if we’d start again,
We’d still form a firm like Z/Yen.
Here is Michael Jackson singing Ben, with the lyrics on the screen:
… there were times when I thought the business wouldn’t be ready to start trading on 1 October 1994. But of course we were able to open our sole door, to our sole room in Garrard House, 31-45 Gresham Street, on that prescribed day. No death in a ditch for me.
Click and look at the images for that address and you will see a grand City building, opposite Wax Chandler’s Hall, which at the time of writing has been home to Schroders plc for decades.
In the autumn of 1994, though, it was an old 1930’s building, in a state of some distress, which was about to be emptied for the purposes of a massive makeover for Schroders.
There were just five of us on the payroll that first autumn; Kate Carty, me, Stuart Otter, Steve Taylor and John Thompson. Michael Mainelli was with us, in spirit and informally, but technically Michael was unable to join the firm until February 1995.
Kate Carty got something akin to cabin fever in those early months, as so few of us went nigh nor by the place. Yet somehow Kate and Steve got it together during that early period of Z/Yen’s life, such that our tiny business of just six people; the other four of whom were attached, managed to yield an office romance and then marriage which, like Z/Yen, has endured to this day (as I write 25 years later).
Kate (standing) with Elisabeth and MichaelSteve
One abiding memory from that room is the day in early December when we needed to splurge on getting our first year’s Christmas cards out. We thought this to be a very important marketing campaign…
…in truth the Christmas cards was our only marketing campaign for the first year or so of our existence.
A rare occasion when several of us were in the room at the same time; me, Kate and John Thompson.
In the early days of a business, everyone needs to muck in for all tasks, including stuffing envelopes and labelling up Christmas cards…
…but John Thompson seemed a little reluctant for such menial tasks.
I said:
I must be the highest paid envelope-stuffer in the City right now.
John, a competitive fellow who was being paid considerably more than me at that time, immediately jumped up and exclaimed,
No, I am the highest paid envelope-stuffer in the City.
