Me and Paul (No, not Macca)

EXPLORING POP. A detour. Walking to Damascus Saul was struck blind. A bad thing. But not as bad as hearing a voice unmistakably that of Jahweh suggesting he make a big career move, re-brand himself as Paul, stop being over-zealous and start doing good. The Damascene Moment, in fact.

Yesterday, I had one – albeit smaller. I was in The Land Of Telephonic Limbo, listening to music over the line, waiting to be connected to the electricity company. Blah-di-blah went the music.

Patrons of Tone Deaf will know I am trying to learn pop and thereby widen the blog’s scope. It’s early days. U2 and Beyoncé are still a mystery; in the meantime I listen to others’ suggestions and try to analyse.

I wasn’t enjoying Limbo because of the blah-di-blah. It was barbarously simple-minded and the lyrics were – alas – quite clear. And repetitive. Musically it was bricks without straw. Over and over I was told:

You can count on me,
One, two, three, four.

This is a bad song, I said. Then I quivered. Not only had I judged a pop song but I had subconsciously tested its wretchedness against those I’d been analysing over the past weeks. Recognised that they were better. I’d started to accumulate a comparative pop database and was now using it. Small yippee. I hope those who recommended the superior stuff are pleased.

The original was too good

Plutarch sent me a generous present recently as a reminder to have another go at verse. But since Tone Deaf now comes with sharps and flats I had to get music in somewhere. Here are my words to go with Handel's tune for Did You Not Hear My Lady? - also known as Silent Worship. It proved to be extraordinarily difficult

Hymn to St Cecilia
Patron saint of music
Hers is the hand that makes up
Voices of choirs uniting
Chords from the strings and keyboard
Shrills of the brass exciting

Hers is the hand directing
Tenor and bass legato
Treble in high endeavour
Harmonised soprano

Lacking the pulse of rhythm,
Blind to the score's clear message
Hoarse-voiced and deaf as Moses
I love her fervently

Hand in her hand she leads me
Fast through those fierce cadenzas
Lentos and brisk allegros
Codas with loud hosannas

Brings to my thoughts and heart-beat
Passionate symbols in sound
Sorrow, import, triumph
Glories of music renowned
(Rewrit December 17)

Did you not hear my lady?
(Original words)
Did you not hear my lady
Go down the garden singing?
Blackbird and thrush were silent
To hear the alleys ringing

Oh saw you not my lady
Out in the garden there?
Shaming the rose and lily
For she is twice as fair

Though I am nothing to her
Though she must rarely look at me
And though I could never woo her
I love her till I die

Surely you heard my lady
Go down the garden singing?
Silencing all the songbirds
And setting the alleys ringing

But surely you see my lady
Out in the garden there
Rivalling the glittering sunshine
With a glory of golden hair

A perfect rendering of the original?
Click on Thomas Allen in his prime

Does "lousy" have a skeleton?

Two of the lousiest tunes ever written are, alas, two of the most ubiquitous: “God save the Queen” and “Happy Birthday to You.”

But what constitutes a lousy tune? Straight off “Queen” sounds more like a dirge than a musical tribute. And if you want proof cast your mind back to Casablanca where the Germans are making a nuisance of themselves singing the Horst Wessel Song in a bar. Up stands Paul Henried and stirs the French into roaring out Marseillaise as competition. Can you imagine Brits moaning “Thy choicest gifts in store, On her be pleased to pour” and making any headway?

Has lousiness got an identifiable musical structure? Well “Queen” has modest dynamics with the whole thing contained in less than an octave. Also, it ends feebly, with the last line trickling down (would “oozing” be better?), and slowly swallowing, all the white notes to middle C.

But “Birthday’s” worse. First, second and fourth lines are rhythmically identical and melodically slight variants of each other which is surely why it sounds so repetitive and so banal. You might think it’s popular because it’s easily managed by the human voice but in the third line there’s an octave jump beneath Happy and Birthday and no one – after all these years – is ever prepared for that. It all goes nasal and thus to hell in a hack.

How Much is That Doggie in the Window? we’ll leave for another day