Sunday, February 04, 2007
THE THREE HUNDREDTH POST, *YAY*
BBC Four has started a three part series called Soul Britannia which examines the impact of black music on post war Britain.
I saw the first part, and enjoyed hearing Eric Burdon reminiscing about life in Newcastle in the 1950's (very good at spinning a yarn is Eric), or the effusive Geno Washington admitting that he lied his way into being a support act for Georgie Fame ("my cousin is Aretha Franklin", that sort of thing). Even the (suspiciously blacked up) Tom Jones and Kevin Rowland were quite entertaining, particularly as I didn't have to listen to them performing their recent material.
However, there was a problem.
There were contributions from Robert Elms.
Robert Elms has been annoying me for the past twenty seven years, and it has got to stop.
How long do I have to be inflicted with him gushing on about the beautiful sharply dressed inner city working class kidz?
How long can he get away with it?
Why do his face and voice form such a horrible alliance of smugness?
Many of you will not be familiar with Mr Elms. Lucky you.
This is the man who kickstarted the 1980's by introducing us to the best band of all time, Spandau Ballet Featuring Tommy Handley.
Remember that next time you have to tolerate listening to Gold or True on Magic FM in the office.
This is the man who once told Terry Wogan that he'd got a new home, but the only piece of furniture in it was one chair, because it was the only thing he'd found that was good enough to be in it.
This is the man who published a book in which he talked about his past as one of the beautiful sharply dressed inner city working class kidz.
Apparently, he was a skinhead.
Then he was a dandyish glam rocker.
Then he was a soulboy.
Then he was a punk.
Then he was a new romantic.
Then he was an arsehole in a zoot suit hanging around dahhn La Beate Route while writing gobby articles about Blue Rondo A La Turk (arf arf) for The Face.
Then he was just ... Robert Elms, social commentator and voice of the oppressed classes who have made good for themselves for the rest of his natural born.
Unfortunately, I can't find a clip on YouTube to illustrate exactly how annoying he is, but if you watch any television programme featuring talking heads yabbering on about the good old days, Robert Elms is bound to crop up at a few points in the show.
Knowing that Robert Elms is about to turn up on a television programme is a bit like waiting for the next wave of contractions when you're giving birth.
Yeah, I know, I've never had any children, but it's the best comparison I can think of.
I saw the first part, and enjoyed hearing Eric Burdon reminiscing about life in Newcastle in the 1950's (very good at spinning a yarn is Eric), or the effusive Geno Washington admitting that he lied his way into being a support act for Georgie Fame ("my cousin is Aretha Franklin", that sort of thing). Even the (suspiciously blacked up) Tom Jones and Kevin Rowland were quite entertaining, particularly as I didn't have to listen to them performing their recent material.
However, there was a problem.
There were contributions from Robert Elms.
Robert Elms has been annoying me for the past twenty seven years, and it has got to stop.
How long do I have to be inflicted with him gushing on about the beautiful sharply dressed inner city working class kidz?
How long can he get away with it?
Why do his face and voice form such a horrible alliance of smugness?
Many of you will not be familiar with Mr Elms. Lucky you.
This is the man who kickstarted the 1980's by introducing us to the best band of all time, Spandau Ballet Featuring Tommy Handley.
Remember that next time you have to tolerate listening to Gold or True on Magic FM in the office.
This is the man who once told Terry Wogan that he'd got a new home, but the only piece of furniture in it was one chair, because it was the only thing he'd found that was good enough to be in it.
This is the man who published a book in which he talked about his past as one of the beautiful sharply dressed inner city working class kidz.
Apparently, he was a skinhead.
Then he was a dandyish glam rocker.
Then he was a soulboy.
Then he was a punk.
Then he was a new romantic.
Then he was an arsehole in a zoot suit hanging around dahhn La Beate Route while writing gobby articles about Blue Rondo A La Turk (arf arf) for The Face.
Then he was just ... Robert Elms, social commentator and voice of the oppressed classes who have made good for themselves for the rest of his natural born.
Unfortunately, I can't find a clip on YouTube to illustrate exactly how annoying he is, but if you watch any television programme featuring talking heads yabbering on about the good old days, Robert Elms is bound to crop up at a few points in the show.
Knowing that Robert Elms is about to turn up on a television programme is a bit like waiting for the next wave of contractions when you're giving birth.
Yeah, I know, I've never had any children, but it's the best comparison I can think of.
UPDATE: Twinned with Geoff's Soul Britannia post. You scratch my back ...
Labels: arseholes in kilts, barrow boys, Blue Rondo A La Turk, Leonard Sachs on The Good Old Days, Sade, Steve Strange, Talking Heads
