Fixated by music. On my
Fixated by music. On my MP3 player right now is Manhoo by the Cardiacs. There’s lots more there, of course, but I find myself reaching the end of the track and desperate to hear more and pressing “previous track” and going through the whole thing again. Then switching it off and walking around with the track still looping endlessly. Must’ve listened to it 15 times already today - I can’t remember such devotion to a single track since Thomas Dolby singing Europa and the Pirate Twins on my first walkman, 19 years ago.
It’s a wonderful piece of music, on so many levels, and like many things that have touched my heart as well as my mind lately, there’s an element of melancholy to it, and an element of triumph, and an element of life will be life and the only way is forward and let melancholy and triumph fall either side as you make your own progress. Hmm… probably reading rather too much into it, but that’s how it seems to me.
The song also relates to some stuff (musical) I was mentioning to Guy. I think that Blur, particularly their last 2 albums, pull off the whole Beatles influence thing amazingly, by which I mean that they take on board a bit of the spirit of the Beatles and use it to create new works (as opposed to Oasis, who just jumble up second hand pieces of Beatlealia). Well, Damon Albarn has also paid a fair bit of lip service to the Cardiacs in his time, including inviting them to support Blur at the Mile End Stadium (for which privilege the Cardiacs got pretty much bottled off the stage). I reckon that Manhoo is the Cardicas repaying their gratitudes - there’s definitely something Beatley about it (although this site calls it a bastard child of Frank Zappa and Ray Davis), from the Strawberry Fields steam-organ offbeats to the I Am The Walrus-chugga chugga-I’m-sure-there’s-somebody-in-the -background-singing-Oompah-Oompah-Stick-it-up-your-Jumper ending. All backed up by two basslines - rumbly rolling perpetual-motion rickenbacker, like a rolling grindstone, no moss, no green, no gold. And farty parpy tuba, oompah-oompahing far too happily. And the vocals… words cannot…. layer upon layer, upon layer upon layer, million-part vocal harmonies with supra-sopranino-thingy perfect pinky-perky squeaks backing everything up with urgency. A middle eight of operatic howling, followed by a nod-to-prog bridge, accoustic guitar and synths swirling down the plughole, as if Yes got too close to the river. And such gorgeous resolution, and chugga-chugga-downshifting-la-las. Hmmm…. sorry, this is getting more and more pointless. You’ll just have to listen to it yourself and make up your own superlatives.