This one's a recent acquisition for me, found in a Morningside charity shop for a paltry amount of money. This is a very old song (more on which later), but this record itself is early-to-mid sixties, by the looks of it, packaged up with George Formby's "The Window Cleaner" and Stanley Holloway's recording of "The Lion and Albert" (which, incidentally, was read brilliantly by Jarvis Cocker a few years ago) Both of these date from the mid-thirties, making this a sort of pre-war jolly singalong ep. The Laughing Policeman was recorded a decade earlier, but still fits the era, the last days of the music hall. Thing is, it's not actually Mr Penrose's song at all, although he took credit and money for it. It's an homage to/ rip off of (delete as applicable) George W. Johnson's 1890s hit "The Laughing Song" which thanks to the wonders of the internetron you can listen to here (there's a few different versions there because wax cylinders had to be recorded individually back then, meaning he had to sing it again and again and again to record a large number of copies.) He was marketed as The Laughing Darkie (hey, at least they acknowledged he was black!) because of his powerful, musical laugh - the very thing copied by Penrose a few short years later. However, they're both long dead and buried now, and every piece like this helps redress the baance a tiny bit. I've chosen to focus on this song, because it's the only one of the three I wasn't familiar with, although I'd heard of it, if you see what I mean - the laugh was used recently in an advert for woodstain f'r'instance. It's been a popular children's song for decades and it chills me to the bone. In the age we live in of course the author is dead, pop culture is king and no excuses are needed for anachronistic unlikely interpretations but even were this not the case I do not think much effort is required to subvert this ditty into a terrifying vision of a totalitarian society where coppers arrest you and say things like "He said "I must arrest you!" He didn't know what for. And then he started laughing Until he cracked his jaw."
My better half, upon hearing the song, which she was previously familiar with, gave it some thought and suggested that the eponymous rozzer was a gentleman who struggled with his mental health, but I hardly feel that that ameliorates the situation any. However it was a popular request on bbc children's radio for years and years, meaning that for many people it's closely related to childhood, innocence and the trustworthy Reithian wireless. In which case, what the blazes is it doing paired up with When I'm Cleaning Windows? I know it's tame stuff, but it was banned by the bbc for years (not that that was uncommon before the war, or indeed after it - mentioning God was enough, so this was definitely out. Max Miller was banned for years in the fifties after telling a joke on the BBC, the punchline of which was "I didn't know weather to block her passage or toss myself off." He must) have had an inkling that wouldn't go down too well) The Formby song is juvenile, certainly, but it's not a children's song the way the other two are. Maybe the record company were feeling giddy after the Chatterley ban was lifted or something, or maybe they just had a bit of extra space on one side, I don't know. I still feel terribly disquieted by this song though, I think because I don't have any subconscious associations for me, it carries no cultural baggage, it's just a man laughing... ...while he bangs people up.
An odd one, this. It's an Italian cover of "Can't Get Used to Losing You," which was a big hit for Andy Williams in 1963. As far as I can tell, this is from the same year, cashing in on the Italian language market, and seems to have been a big hit. However, it was never a hit in Britain, indeed, as far as I can tell it was never even released here, so how it came to be in Glasgow is a mystery. If you look at the picture above though, you'll see that a different song seems to be claiming to be the A-side, namely "La Marcia Dell' Amore." I've found a copy of it on Youtube (which cuts out before the end), but, confusingly, the video features a version of the sleeve which seems to relegate it to the flip
I fear I'm getting sidetracked. John Foster these days probably answers more readily to Paolo Occhipinti, the name his mother gave him and under which he carved a successful career as a journalist when he wasn't pretending to be British to satisfy a cultural yearning probably started by those four Liverpool denizens, covered in some detail in a blog linked to the right of this post. That's him in the first video, with the NHS specs. I think he does look a bit like an English Woody Allen, but for the cover they went with a picture of this rosemary Leach-a-like, perhaps thinking it would add a touch of glamour to the proceedings. This brings me quite nicely around to why I bought the thing. It came from one of the 2nd-hand record shops around the west end of Glasgow off Byres Road, although I forget which one and - I'll be honest with you - I bought it purely for the inscription on the front. As far as I can see, it says To Johnny / a modern song for a / modern boy - / Regards / Frenca (the name is a guess.) This is also half of the reason I chose Eri as the a-side. It is the side of the physical record with an 'A' on it, but also, it is (IMHO, YMMV) the much more romantic song of the two. I love stuff like this because there's a whole story there, of which we know nothing. I assume, perhaps wrongly, that Frenca brought the record from Italy and gave it to Glasgow boy Johnny, who is the 'modern boy,' which is an odd compliment. I'm almost prepared to accept the song as modern, but it doesn't really sit right either. What happened to their relationship? How did the record end up in the shop? It's impossible to know.
Later footnote) Coming back to this later (apologies!) I wonder if it was a romance at all - perhaps she just liked the song. Still, it's a nice present to have, although a proper killer for after an affair has soured (see also - mixtapes)