The Man with the X-Ray Ears
Before the clock struck half past bastard,
I was woken one morn
By the fluttering wings of flutes.
Merci, Camille Saint-Saëns!
I lurched to the bathroom like a zombie
(For to water the old horse),
To a harpsichord accompaniment -
Par (so far) for the course.
But as I made my way to work,
Things took a strange direction.
The speeding train started to sound
Like a well-oiled cello section.
Thus the orchestra came into my life,
Giving musical punctuation to things.
Wherever I went, my world filled with themes.
I'd hear brass, woodwind, percussion or strings.
I went to the doctor's but it was worse than useless.
The snake-haired receptionist was a Grade A clarinettist.
As soon as I'd spurned the advances of that gorgon,
The doc had me behind a curtain, a-pumping on his organ.
I got scared to be alone with my lady.
Bad music made our love seem lacking in energy.
It's hard to be sincere
With Mantovani in your ear
Or the brain-fracking sax of Kenneth G.
"Damn you, treble clefs, won't you stop spooning me?
Madam, can't you stop your blasted cats bassooning me?"
Everywhere music, every kind of music,
Bloody music all day long:
Musique concrete, Filk and Grime,
Trad jazz (it's such a crime),
And yet it still kept going on...
Chill sweet notes like ice cream floats,
Chords all complex and clustered.
My third ear couldn't hear,
It could not cut the mustard.
It was a musical nightmare
Too opaque for me to see through,
Until one night I caught up with
The conductor Andrew Preview.
He said "Do not fight the melody.
You have to go with the flow.
Look at me Hubba Bubba,
Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree hugger,
Feel the marrowfat pea Mia Farrow."
I thanked him for his words of wisdom
And now I go with the flow.
Sometimes the music's barely there,
Sometimes it is fortissimo.
I listen to it all, calmly, patiently.
I endure One Direction and Harry Partch.
Waiting for Chopin's second sonata,
Also known as The Funeral March.
B.R. 16/08/2013
I was woken one morn
By the fluttering wings of flutes.
Merci, Camille Saint-Saëns!
I lurched to the bathroom like a zombie
(For to water the old horse),
To a harpsichord accompaniment -
Par (so far) for the course.
But as I made my way to work,
Things took a strange direction.
The speeding train started to sound
Like a well-oiled cello section.
Thus the orchestra came into my life,
Giving musical punctuation to things.
Wherever I went, my world filled with themes.
I'd hear brass, woodwind, percussion or strings.
I went to the doctor's but it was worse than useless.
The snake-haired receptionist was a Grade A clarinettist.
As soon as I'd spurned the advances of that gorgon,
The doc had me behind a curtain, a-pumping on his organ.
I got scared to be alone with my lady.
Bad music made our love seem lacking in energy.
It's hard to be sincere
With Mantovani in your ear
Or the brain-fracking sax of Kenneth G.
"Damn you, treble clefs, won't you stop spooning me?
Madam, can't you stop your blasted cats bassooning me?"
Everywhere music, every kind of music,
Bloody music all day long:
Musique concrete, Filk and Grime,
Trad jazz (it's such a crime),
And yet it still kept going on...
Chill sweet notes like ice cream floats,
Chords all complex and clustered.
My third ear couldn't hear,
It could not cut the mustard.
It was a musical nightmare
Too opaque for me to see through,
Until one night I caught up with
The conductor Andrew Preview.
He said "Do not fight the melody.
You have to go with the flow.
Look at me Hubba Bubba,
Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree hugger,
Feel the marrowfat pea Mia Farrow."
I thanked him for his words of wisdom
And now I go with the flow.
Sometimes the music's barely there,
Sometimes it is fortissimo.
I listen to it all, calmly, patiently.
I endure One Direction and Harry Partch.
Waiting for Chopin's second sonata,
Also known as The Funeral March.
B.R. 16/08/2013
Mr Andrew Preview in the Morecambe and Wise Christmas Show (1971)
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