Category: Writing (my writing)

It doesn’t make sense for NewsRevue, this one, but by gosh it does make sense for me to play with it now (May 2017) as a practice/performance piece on my baritone ukuleles.

I republished it unchanged as The Woodstock Revival Song in October 1994 but I don’t think anyone picked up on it that time either.

I rather like it, mainly because I always disliked “A Horse With No Name” and the feeble attempts of non-talented guitar players to render both of its chords.  As I said, ideally suited for me to try out new techniques on my ukes.

A SONG WITH NO TUNE 

(To the Tune of “A Horse With No Name”)

 

(The singer’s voice should start to show strain from the middle of VERSE 2 onwards)

 

VERSE 1

 

In my first gig out in Bethel,

I was hoping the crowd was alive;

There were heads and hawks and hogs and freaks,

There for Woodstock to revive.

 

The first thing I played was a chord name of E,

And the second note was an E;

For the third chord, I thought I’d try me an E,

On the fourth I freaked out with an E.

 

CHORUS 1

 

I’m giving a concert with a song with no tune,

It’s so good to get out here and croon;

If you remember, it has no words either soon,

And the la las’ll send the crowd right over the moon;

La la, la la la la, la la la, la la;

(Wow-harmony) La la, la la la, la la la, la la;

 

VERSE 2

 

After two days in the Bethel rain,

My songs were sounding like Bread;

After three days, my throat is in so much pain,

I sound like Crosby Stills and Nash instead;

And the stories I told made them realise I’m old,

And the crowd wished that I was dead.

 

CHORUS 2

 

You see I’m giving a concert with a song with no range,

It’s so good to be out on the stage;

The lack of lyrics may appear to be strange,

But you can’t recall much when you get to my age;

La la, la la la la, la la la, la la;

(All together now) La la, la la la la, la la la, la la; (Key change….

….no only kidding) La la, la la la la, la la la, la la.

Here is America singing A Horse With No Name with lyrics up on the screen:

 

I normally left sport stories to the experts – we had several of those on the writing team for NewsRevue. But clearly I wanted to vent my spleen about Wimbledon ahead of time:

_ THE WIMBLEDON SONG _

(To the Tune of “The Wombling Song”)

CHORUS 1

Underdogs, over hyped,
Weak as gnats pee;
The weaklings of Wimbledon fortnight are we.
Tho’ we are English and on our home ground,
We’re over the moon if we reach the third round.

MIDDLE EIGHT 1

Auntie Virginia,
Can remember the days when we didn’t lose all the time,
(A very long time ago),
We’re ineffectual,
Cos our arms are weak and legs are slow.

CHORUS 2

Under stress, overpaid,
Tennis starlets;
The new breed of champions are space cadets;
They are clean cut and incredibly fit,
They don’t lose their tempers, they’re boring as shit.

MIDDLE EIGHT 2

Poor little Jennifer,
Capriati says that she wants to be like normal kids,
So she smokes crack, smack and dope;
England’s team should follow suit,
Except they should take speed and cortisone (and testosterone).

CHORUS 3

Under brollys, overcharged,
Crazed devotees,
The Wimbledon crowd are a bunch of loonies;
They pay five quid for a strawberry or ten,
Do Mexican waves and bring them all back again (blagggghhhh).

In 1997 I tried again with this lyric, changing only the second Middle Eight:

MIDDLE EIGHT 2
Tim Henman mania,
Anybody would think the poor bastard stands half a chance,
To stick around ’til week two;
English players could always win,
It’s just that they have better things to do.

Below is a video of The Wombles singing The Wombling Song:

Here is a link to the lyrics of that great piece, The Wombling Song.