"Eh, what was that?" This week, with the lead singer of Coroner.
Created | Updated Dec 23, 2003
Three chords and some earplugs.
SFX: Sax solo by Snowy White from Pink Floyd's "We can't believe we're still recording, either.", from the album "Dave Wrote It all", playing under the following on a loop until further notice.
Much as we hate to imagine it, we at Irritating Public Radio, Your Friends In The Air, have listened to way too much music at way too high a volume over the years. While we may have been under the influence, in many ways, one of the reasons we probably turned it up was in order to decipher the lyrics. While some records and cassettes were kind enough to show up with lyrics printed somewhere about their person, that even wasn't enough to keep us from counting grooves or tracks to try to see which printed words alledgedly went with which shouted consonants.
In a feeble effort to inable some of us to rest easier and to give others an excuse to finally learn what they are singing about when they batter these songs about in cover bands, karaoke bars and hot showers, we present that venerable dialectician and erudite peruser of popular culture and yoghurt, Dr. E. B. Blanc, PhD, DDS, and RMC, Ret'd.
Dr. E.B.B.: Good Evening. It is well known that while language itself has a certain tidal effect, with dialectical and colluquial influences ebbing and flowing along rivulets into tributaries of thought and expression, popular music itself has often flown above the tides in a windswept glide of parody, misattribution and strangeness, often creating a negligible but worrisome influence on general speech and expression itself, to a degree that can be charted.
So, this morning, we will try to decipher, with the help of one of the purveyors of this linguistic anomaly, a "lead singer" of the eighties pipe gourp "Coroner", who had hits with such poetry as "I am here, you are here", "Boiling for your", "Disco Incinerator", and, the one we are dealing with at the moment, "Pelican Blues."
Now, I would like to introduce you to that "lead singer" I mentioned a minute ago. Here he is, straight from the Isle of Wight Inclined Railway, where he is now executive director of waste reduction, Ian Outie!
Ian: Murning.
Dr. E.B.B.: Mr. Outie, this "song", this "hit", this "single", was a massive success for you and your bandmates, wasn't it?
Ian: Murning. Um, yeah, the sinkle garnished three or four gold records and the entended mix got a platinum, um, blonde?
Dr. E.B.B.: Now, the lyrics to this five and a half minute opus of lacrymose opining...
Ian: Eh?
Dr. E.B.B.: erm, have confused a generation and a half of even dedicated fans. The point of the show this morning is to get you to reveal what the lyrics actually are.
Ian: You can hear 'em on the record.
Dr. E.B.B.: Sir, I submit to you that I truly hope that I cannot. There is no way that the lyrics were written as you sing or mutter them.
Ian: I thought I was screaming on that one...
Dr. E.B.B.: I was trying to be polite.
Ian: Oh. Well... yeah, the words weren't "written" so much as improvised... The guitar player... uh, what's his name...?
Dr. E.B.B.: I'm sure I don't know.
Ian: Lessee, where did I put those legal papers...?
Dr. E.B.B.: Not being an afficionado, I'm sure it doesn't matter for the purposes of this program...
Ian: But, whurt aboot me fans?
Dr. E.B.B.: If they don't know by now, a little suspense won't kill them. Anyway, by recording your "song" onto a digital computer, I was able to have the lyrical content analyzed by an expert at Interpol.
Tell me if you think we are anywhere close to the original intent.
Ian: I was trying to tell you... I couldn't hear what I was sinking half the time... The guitar chap was playing way too loud and to this day, I 'ave an 'earing aid in my 'eft ear. I can't even hear stereo anymore... haven't heard the record since it was recorded...
Dr. E.B.B.: Surely you sang it in concert at some point?
Ian: Ah, I was ululating something, but the backing tracks often included a version of the recording. I wasn't really paying attention. I was on a maintenance dose for my scoliosis and I was listening to footie on my ear piece...
Dr. E.B.B.: So, this program is an exercise in futility?
Ian: It's possible, but how did 'oo find out I kinna have children?
Dr. E.B.B.: I knew I should have gone to dental school. Anyway, here are the lyrics as I understand them. Feel free to correct me at any point.
I ate the weasel
with mustard and swan
no day with jam is a jam with you
for the innuendo is in the widow
and any time is out of the question
I'm a young man with a plan
who does what he can
I eat from a plate
and I can't be late
Four square rock and roll
will always pay the toll
even if the dog is on the dole
we'll wash him with a pole
and open up a pint of fun
and then back to the chorus and round again with the whole thing. It seems to end with a fade-out with you reciting stock market statistics...
Ian: Cor! Was that what I wuz sinking? I must uv bin off me nut!
Dr. E.B.B.: I think you and I have consensus on that matter.
Ian: Ah, not right now, guv, I've still got a dose from New Year's Eve, uh, you know, the Mile-Enema?
Dr. E.B.B.: Good night, everybody!
