My nights of rancid lefties, girlie girls ... and Pearly Spencer

It's a nice venue and the evening was put on by Wirral musician Guy Taunton, who closed the evening with an impressive duet with a young Irish singer. The lads did a jammed up version of "Rockin' in the Free World".

The song's got a good hook line, right enough, but for me the lyric simply confirms my viewimpression that its creator, Neil Young, is a rancid, cynical old, Lefty! Here's a sample from the lyric...

"We got a thousand points of light
For the homeless man
We got a kinder, gentler,
Machine gun hand
We got department stores and toilet paper
Got styrofoam boxes for the ozone layer."

Rule one of Liberal-Left songwriting: mention a homeless man. Rule two: mention a machine gun. Zzzzzzz.

Now, live music and poetry can be difficult to mix... usually because musicians take so long to set up and are prone to verbal diarrhoea between their songs. (Unlike performance poets, who never dissemble before reciting their stuff, honest!)

But this Friday night session at the Mocha is one of the few nights that get the mix just about right.

Having said that, last Friday two Wirral poet friends of mind, Ieuan and Michelle, politely declined to perform their stuff because there was so much background noise from people in the bar. Drink had been taken, you see. Who'd have thunk it?

I had no such reservations, being possessed of a loud booming voice, and I performed two poems, which seem to be received rather well.

I did "Monster Bar", about Brits who "abandon their country" to "be on holiday all of the time!" in Spain ... with dire consequences.

And I did "Future Law" which includes the lines...

"All the cares of his life had coalesced
Into one rancid lump, sitting on his heart.
In preparation, he had gone out for a walk,
To clear his head and muddy his conscience.
Pausing only to piss on a butterfly, he completed a
Circular walk, including all the roads less travelled."

The evening was strange but very enjoyable. I do feel a bit ashamed, however, of being intentionally funny and unintentionally rude to a young chanteuse, who between songs indulged in vapid girlie chat.

This pretty young lady, whom I am calling Gorgeously Vacant, kept fluttering her eyelids at me and my friends in the front row of the audience.

Towards the end she cocked her head, in a way I imagine she thought was cute, and said... "Ermm, my next song is... oh, what shall I do? A Sad song? Or a Happy song?"

Quick as a flash, I answered her... "How about a Radical or Profound song, love?"

Oh dear, I'm afraid that confused her somewhat, and a frown flitted across her features as she considered my narky interruption.

OK it wasn't big of me and it wasn't clever, but, well, I've never liked girlie-ness in grown women. I think it should be challenged.

Saturday night saw me and my darling Posh Boots join Rocky and Melony and Melony's Mam at the Clarence in New Brighton for drinks.

I was displeased to discover on arrival that a covers band was playing. I am heartily sick of covers bands in Wallasey pubs, ruining everyone's leisure time with derivative, over-amplified crap.

But I didn't want to create a scene, so I listened politely to this band called Stolen Property, and eventually my toes started a-tapping and my fingers strumming. The band was actually very good.

By the time they finished the evening with "Sweet Home Alabama" I was almost a fan. I only had to glance over to a swaying Posh Boots to see how happy the song had made her feel.

I didn't get the band's individual names but the guitarist (who wore a T-shirt bearing the slogan "Sex'n'Drugs'n' Sausage Rolls") and the drummer shared the vocals.

They did excellent versions of "Hoochie Coochie Man" and "Summer of '69" And even their version of The Eagles' "Hotel California" was a crowd-pleaser.

I love that line "you can check out any time you want, but you can never leave". It always makes me think of the Catholic Church.

The band also did that most poetic song, made famous in the 60s (I think), by David McWilliams and later revived by the brilliant Marc Almond - "The Days of Pearly Spencer".

Here's a snatch from the song...

"Old eyes in a small child's face
Watching as the shadows race
Through walls and cracks and leave no trace
And daylight's brightness shuns
The days of Pearly Spencer
The race is almost run."

The last line reminds me of what St Paul said: "I will fight the good fight. I will run the race to the finish."

"Pearly Spencer" is great, poetic song. Shame no-one, apart from perhaps Roddy Frame, writes 'em like that any more.