I watched Stanley Kubrick’s classic Paths of Glory (the 43rd best movie of all time, according to the IMDb top 250) the other night, and was thinking of a good anti-war song that could be written for the blog. Then, yesterday at lunchtime I called into the National Museum of Ireland to see “Soldiers & Chiefs: The Irish at War at Home and Abroad from 1550″, and got thinking about it again.

Now, Des has already written a post on Edwin Starr’s ‘War’, so that’s out. I was thinking Marvin Gaye’s ‘What’s Goin’ On’, but then I thought of another classic Kubrick film, Dr. Strangelove… (IMDb’s 25th best film of all time). Then, of course, I thought of Vera Lynn’s ‘We’ll Meet Again’.

First off, let’s talk Strangelove. I first saw this movie when I was in college, and was shocked at how Kubrick could take the Cold War, the prospect of instant world annihilation over a clash of ideologies, and make such a funny film out of it.

As the Americans file into the “War Room” and start to talk about “acceptable casualty levels”, “nuclear combat toe to toe with the Rooskies” and suchlike, you can see parallels with how George Bush Jr might have handled the whole Iraq affair. You can certainly see Rumsfeld in George S. Scott’s ‘Buck’ Turgidson character.

As the accidental global standoff reaches its conclusion (I will say no more if you haven’t seen the film, other than that it’s simultaneously hilarious and thought-provoking), we hear probably the most ironic choice of song Kubrick could come up with.

‘We’ll Meet Again’ struck a strong chord with the soldiers marching off to fight another pointless war with origins in Central Europe. As the War began to drag on into the 1940s, and especially as Hitler took the bombing campaign to the heart of Britain, many began to see the overtones of “some sunny day” as being the afterlife.

The song has been covered by Johnny Cash, The Byrds, Pete Doherty and PJ Proby, is referenced by Pink Floyd in their song ‘Vera’, and has been featured in Dennis Potter’s 1986 BBC drama The Singing Detective.

But it will always be remembered as the song that plays as the curtain falls (in all senses of the phrase) on Dr. Strangelove. [SPOILER]: Here is the ending of Dr. Strangelove with ‘We’ll Meet Again’, but if you have yet to see this amazing movie, watch this video of the song instead.

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I like classical music - Handel, Bach, Schubert, Beethoven, etc…but I don’t now if I was prepared for John Cage’s 4:33. I guess it could only be a once-off - silence, absolute silence, sold as a conceptual piece of modern classical music. The culmination of all things “modern”, 4:33 had to be created to be appreciated, but from that height no composer could ever escape.

The piece, if you have never heard of it, is pure silence. It is a three-movement composition, but all of it is silence. Performed live, the coughing and grunting of the audience parlays into the track, and it is supposed to be music in a modern sense.

Conceived/composed (?) by Cage in 1948, 4:33 deserves a round sneering. The performance is silent - it’s Erik Satie’s minimalism taken to extremes. Such an extreme, in fact, that you hear nothing, apart from incidental, accidental random sounds (the coughs, etc).

Here is a link to the video on YouTube. As brilliant as the whole concept really is, it can only be done once. I personally prefer Satie’s ‘Gymnopaedies’, but really - is silence by the BBC Symphony Orchestra a valid musical expression? There’s a feeling, with Cage, that he followed destiny and fell upon the concept of pure silence, which then had to be followed to the extreme of its logic.

If you listen to it in a quiet country field, or a busy office on your headphones, good luck to you. It’s not a piece of music you’ll return to. But those four-and-a-half (odd) minutes of silence are up to you. And, when that’s finished, let the music continue. And I put a heavy wager that the song that follows won’t measure up to the 4:33 that Cage set down for all of us to wonder at and YouTube comment against. Here’s a video of the song being performed, with typical BBC irony. Is silence not the language of the world?

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Between playing Latka on Taxi, sending up Italian stereotypes with his hideous Tony Clifton persona, wrestling women and getting slapped on the face by a famous wrestler on Letterman, Kaufman divided audiences across America. Those who got it thought of him as a genius of improvisational comedy, a Lenny Bruce for the ’70s and ’80s. Those who didn’t get it thought he was a dangerous nut.

‘I Trusted You’ is the best example of this comedy (although check out his famous ‘Mighty Mouse’ song, which is done very well by Jim Carrey in the Man On The Moon biopic). Set over an imbecilically simple guitar riff (A-Ab-G-Ab-A) and a bass line that echoes the main riff, Kaufman repeats the words over and over: “I trusted you, I trusted you/I trusted you, I trusted you” to the excited amusement of the crowd.

After about a minute of this comes the chorus, with the same “I trusted you” lines, this time shouted and screamed. It’s a tough one to describe how this comes across as funny - best just watch the video. If you don’t crack a grin, it’s time to have a little talk with yourself My favourite part is when he gets out into the crowd, shouting “I trusted you” and pointing at individual members of the audience. And what a great dance.

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Go on, admit it. Pete Townshend’s a legend. I mean, you only need look at the photo below to know that.

Sure, Roger Daltrey may be lead singer of The Who, but Townshend’s the main man. He wrote all the songs, handled all the interviews, and took centre stage (with Keith Moon) in his instrument destruction while Daltrey and the imperceptible Entwistle (Des has a post of one of his songs here) looked on, almost aghast.

‘Keep On Working’ is one of the songs taken from Pete’s 1979 album Empty Glass. Apparently he was going through a rough time (as the video will show), questioning his relevance in the current generation of punksters, grieving over the recently-deceased Moon, and with a heroin and alcohol problem going on too.

In the current climate (current favourite phrase on thishereboogie and the rest of Ireland) ‘Keep On Working’ is a humourous take on the British stiff upper lip and work ethic. The video shows Townshend looking terribly dishevelled in some decrepid old house, writing on a chalkboard, singing songs, trying to be productive.

The rest of this album is nothing to write home about - ‘Rough Boys’ should be heard if only out of morbid curiousity, and the rest of it can be left to gather dust. But ‘Keep On Working’ is a great tune, showing that Townshend could write winsome little-Englandness as well as any young upstart named Paul Weller. Here’s the video.

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While disgustedly pondering Tottenham Hotspur’s latest descent into turmoil, I took my mind off things by pondering the best song ever written about football. Of course, being a Spurs fan (it puts years on you, I swear), it had to be the charming novelty song (some would say it’s not so charming, and Arsenal fans would use appropriately colourfully dismissive language) penned by Chas ‘n’ Dave for Spurs’ 1981 FA Cup odyssey.

Now I hear disagreement at the back. New Order’s ‘World in Motion’, the theme for England’s 1990 World Cup, the best song ever? Please. Cheesy synths and a self-help lyric does not a classic make, even if John Barnes gets to rap in it. And there are close-ups of Peter Beardsley.

No, ‘Ossie’s Dream’ is the best. Penned by those cheeky Cockney chappies Chas ‘n’ Dave, the song (as is the wont of all football songs) make unrealistic claims about Tottenham’s superiority, and features the entire squad (with some female totty thrown in for the cameras) singing along to a drunken barrel-house piano.

Here’s the video, with the protagonist, Ossie Ardiles, looking suitably uncomfortable. And, for the record, we need to play 4-4-2, get a top-class striker, and get a bloody defensive midfielder that plays and shouts like Roy Keane. Can you hear me Juande?

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With news of Tom Waits’ European tour (and the possibility of him visiting Ireland) filtering through, it’s as good a time as any to re-visit this classic from 1983’s Swordfishtrombones, the album that marked Waits’ move away from gruff, drunken piano ballads and into something a lot more interesting.

‘16 Shells from a Thirty-Ought-Six’ sounds like the kind of thing that would be sung by a demented chain gang. The percussion consists of pipes being clanked, bins getting hit, and other strange, Beefheart-influenced stuff.

Waits’ voice itself is even gruffer than usual here - he barks the words out, and sounds like an enraged drunk. The theme of this song either seems to be about his lazy, unreliable “old pack mule”, or about some crow that he shot with his sixteen shells. As with a lot of Waits’ stuff, there’s room for interpretation. Some great lines here, but a personal favourite is “I blew me a hole about the size of a kickdrum”. If you listen, you’ll understand. I love Waits’ humour, it’s black and country-fied.

Here’s a live version of ‘16 Shells…’ that he performed live for his Big Time movie, but you should also check out the studio version on Swordfishtrombones. In fact, listen to the whole album, and pay particular attention to the title track, ‘Underground’, ‘Shore Leave’ and my own personal favourite, ‘Down Down Down’. Classic beatnik rock ‘n’ roll by the master.

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These guys are absolute class. I’ve seen seasons one and two of Flight of the Conchords, and I have to say that it’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Yes, this is a comedy song, but it’s one of the best in the genre, up there with…ahhmmm…Tenacious D’s ‘Rock Your Socks Off’ and…no, not Weird Al Yankovic. It’s actually a fairly sparse genre, quality-wise.

‘Business Time’ builds on a funky riff, with some quality ‘mickey guitar’ (you know, where the guitar is slung very low, around the groin area…I’ve described it elsewhere). Some good bong drums, and nice heavy bass. The overall effect is a cross between Let’s Get It On-era Marvin Gaye and the kind of music you’d hear in a softcore p*rn movie.

The lyrics deal very much with the act of getting down to business, and not in a nine-to-five, delegate/do/defer type of business. Oh yeah, this is about ‘business’, as in the euphemism. Lyrics such as “Tonight we gonna make love” leave you in no doubt as to the subject matter. On the other hand, lines such as “You say something like, ‘Is that it?’” place this song firmly on the pathetic side of lovemaking.

There are some classic Conchord lines in there, and I think this is their best song (although ‘Think About It’ gives it a run for its money). The pay-off of “ Ooh, makin’ love/Makin’ love for two/Makin’ love for two minutes” always gets me laughing, and Jemaine’s expression on the last line puts me in stitches.

Anyway, here’s the link to the video. They do this song live too, and here’s the link, but I prefer the version from the show because you get to see the delectable Rachael Blanchard. Their album is really good, you’ll be in stitches if you’ve any sense of humour at all. And if you haven’t already, check out some of their sketches on YouTube or on the old-fashioned box.

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