Once upon a Song

Songs previously condemned as clippity clappetty twangy wangy foreign clatterly clatt claptrap and now by a matter of willing indoctrination of being locally "in", an absorption of cultural assimilation a one-disliked drumbeat tapped out by fingers like a native, a once unknown bunch of verbs are whispered in a hum to the throng as a native might. One even knows the top jingle jangling guitar banjo thingimajig playing names to drop into a conversation. An expert camouflage of the ex-pat abroad, infiltrating the ranks, becoming a rank and file, a native bar for the sunburn.

Once there was feline-a-calling vowels without a forgiving consonant to bring to its earthly end, as eardrums beg fingers to plug ears for fear wax production will not save the day. One once thought that this so-called musioc was several vowels merging discodantly into what can be best described as mating calls of at best tigers or at worst back-alley cats.... somehow are now absorbed as being of meaningful cultural character......of historical significance...of representing a worthy heritage. Local becomes good. One makes recommendations to Blighty for CD collecting cousin, Blighty looks at you funny as CD collecting cousin thinks you owe him ten quid in real money.


But as an exception to prove the rule, and for the record, Spanish flamenco dancing is good, Spanish flamenco singing is ... I am sorry... not. It is still cat-a-wailing... there are limits to my entry into foreign society and for the sake of being able to hear other music and in particular the Beatles when I am 64.... sorry.... singing requires a melody and what I call music requires melody, flamenco singing requires a tom-cat being indelicately squeezed .


Whlist for the record, we Brits now how to rally a crowd, uplift the gallant masses, motivate the executive team "And we were singing.....We shall not be moved.....And we were singing.....Here we go...Here we go...Here weeee.....need a dictionary"