Friday, February 26, 2010

With silence and tears

Have you noticed that things have looked a bit weird round here recently?

Naughty blogger has had some kind of upgrade and made all the formatting go a bit skew whiff. Now, this isn't the kind of thing that keeps me up at night, but I am genuinely a bit upset that it's eaten all of our comments.

Yep, every single one of the notes that you've left for us, the hidden tracks we've left for you, the ruminations and general whimsy - all gone. Gah.

So here's a few songs to mull over whilst we're getting used to the new quiet.

And if you're out there and like these songs, please delurk, say hello, maybe let us know your favourite song about silence and make a girl feel better.

Listen: Lefty Frizzell - Silence

Listen: Jim Noir - A Quiet Man

Listen: Porter Wagoner - Be A Little Quieter

Listen: Two Dollar Pistols - All the Good's Gone

Listen: Fairport Convention - Quiet Joys of Brotherhood (10 minutes of life well spent).

Buy Lefty, Jim, Porter, Two Dollar Pistols, and Fairport.


  1. How can that happen? That's an outrage. Were you on the old, old Blogger or something?

  2. Pillaged of comments. Bastards.

    One of the 1st songs I ever remember Beth is 'Silence is Golden' by The Tremeloes. I suspect it was the strength of that melody which left its mark on this snotty nosed kid in a back street of Leeds all those years ago.

    I've left this somewhere before Beth, but it might help kick-off a resurgance in Comments ...

    That 1st Day At School Feeling -

    It was early September 1966. England had just won the World Cup. We all lived in a Yellow Submarine. We'd had more than one Sunny Afternoon with The Kinks that summer. The industrial landscape was grey and the streets cobbled, but for me, the skies had been blue and our cheeks had been rosy since time began.

    My father resembled an Irish James Dean and my mother was a double for Petula Clark. I was Robin to my brother's Batman. He was a cowboy and I was an Indian (tied to a tree). We sat in a tin bath in front of the fire. I believed him when he told me that Eleanor Rigby had just moved in next door to the sweet-shop.

    The schoolyard. Aged 4. Short pants. Tarmac, trepidation and snot. I remember the obligatory boy with the white patch of sticking plaster over one eye. His hideous black-framed NHS spectacles sat upon his wart-infected ears. My new shoes were rubbing already. The older kids in the corner mischievously sang that summer's bizarre novelty hit, "There Coming To Take Me Away Ha-Haa!"

    Mum had cut my hair around a basin and I had a lop-sided fringe. I smelled of camomile lotion following the recent spotty Chicken Pox affair. 2 lemon bon-bons gathered lint in my pocket.

    The teachers looked about 55; looking back, they were probably 27. 'Maybe they'll teach me how to become a real Thunderbird?' (I had imagination - what more would I need in life?) And the girls. Lots of girls. Mostly pig-tailed, missing their front teeth and ugly as sin; but one or 2 were pretty. Handstands against the wall with knickers on display. It was all too much! I'd never considered that girls existed before. I had football, a dog and a tortoise - girls had never been necessary.

    The bell clanged. This was it. ''You're a big boy now. These are the best days of your life''. (Had I known about God then, I'd have asked him to help me). I desparately wanted to cry when my mother said goodbye. That wretched stomach through a mangle feeling. She spat on a handkerchief and wiped my grubby face one last time and she was gone. I noticed a pile of freshly steaming sick was being covered by a man with a shovel and a bucket of sawdust. Some boys were still sobbing into their mothers' aprons. My bottom lip wobbled precariously - but I must've somehow realised that future playground pecking order and classroom kudos could not be gained by wailing like a 'puff'. Besides, I'd previously learnt how to be 'mummy's brave soldier' when TV's Andy Pandy show ended, and the heart-wrenching signature tune had played .. ''Time to go home, time to go home .. Andy is waving goodbye''.

    On that very first morning I remember learning 2 important things:
    Lesson 1: 'If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands'.
    Lesson 2: Don't sit next to the boy who's shit himself.

  3. Try "Here In Silence" a song written by Peter Elford and Don Fraser, hauntingly sung by Sandy Denny.

  4. "Silence is Golden" by Woods is a great song!

  5. Cor, thanks chaps; feeling a bit cheerier now.

    Mr Van Dyke - that is possibly the king of comments. Howard's boy Noah is having his own chickenpox affair at the moment so the scent of chamomile is surely all too familiar. And The Tremoloes is a belter, too - our Mum and Dad had that one, will see if I can't dig it out.


  6. what bloomin rotten rotters - but it's almost worth it for dickies contribution. i'm clapping here now (quietly)

  7. Lefty and (thank gawd) NO S n' G Sound of Silence. Nice.

  8. Nice. Porter Wagoner is sounding old, but it's a great tune. Thanks.

  9. Some time ago this Roy Orbison fan noted that Roy was a big fan of Lefty Frizzell's and now I can see why he chose the name Lefty as part of the Wilburys. Silence and Lefty's work had an obvious influence on the late Mr. Orbison.
    I certainly agree with Mark's comment about the Porter tune.

  10. Song about silence... i would say the Nightporter from Shadowplay. Catchy and cold.

    ( )

    Thanks for this blog. Likeit.