GBlog

Am 14. März wäre er 70 geworden. Hat er nicht mehr erlebt, 17 February 2017 he died from brain cancer, - wie ich jetzt erst erfahren habe.
Peter Skellern's first hit song was "You're a Lady" in 1972.

Now the evening has come to a close
And I've had my last dance with you
On to the empty streets we go
And it might be my last chance with you
So I might as well get it over
The things I have to say won't wait until another day

You're a lady, I'm a man, you're supposed to understand
How these things are often planned to be
You're romantic, I'm a fool,
You're the teacher, I've come to school
Here I sit and hope that you'll love me ...

... eines der schönsten Liebenlieder, das ich kenne. Nennen Sie es Kitsch, ich finde es großartig. Skellern’s vocals were supplemented by the Congregation, a choral pop ensemble who had already had their own top ten hit with "Softly Whispering I Love You". The introductory bars were performed by the Hanwell Band, with the euphonium, played by John Luckett, prominently featured. Skellern provided his own piano accompaniment.
Wie ein Youtube-Kommentator schrieb: When Brass & Reed embrace in a most beautiful way, with a voice that hurts to hear, in a song that, just ....... haunts you..... Play very loudly until the neighbours complain, otherwise it doesn't work.


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Was mir bei dem Clip auffällt: Es ist ja heute häufig davon die Rede, dass die Leute sich nicht mehr benehmen können und dass das früher besser war.
Ab 1'50 wird im Hintergrund ein junger Bart-und Anzugträger auffällig - ein 1973-Hipster -, der Bier aus der Flasche trinkt, schwatzt und sich dann umständlich eine Zigarette anzündet (was die Lady vor ihm dazu animiert, es ihm gleich zu tun) anstatt sich der Schönheit des Liedes hinzugeben und dem Sänger den gebührenden Respekt entgegen zu bringen. Ganz abgesehen davon, dass er dessen Gesundheit gefährdet. Das Blöde ist: Wenn der einem erstmal aufgefallen ist, kann man den Vortrag nicht mehr genießen.
Eine Alternative.
Und ein weiteres sehr schönes Lied von Skellern:


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Ich bin sehr stolz, dass sich auch dieses wunderbare Album aus dem Jahr 1979 noch in meinem Besitz befindet:



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Empfehlung: Stöbern Sie mal bei youtube, da können Sie tolle Sachen finden wie Song To The Critics, Is You Is Or Is You Aint My Baby (für Mrs Mop, - falls die nochmal reinschaut) oder Skellerns Interpretation von "Abdul Abulbul Amir" - a music-hall song written in 1877 (during the Russo-Turkish War) by Percy French, and subsequently altered and popularized by a variety of other writers and performers. It tells the story of two valiant heroes – the titular Abdulla, fighting for the Turks, and his foe (originally named Ivan Potschjinsky Skidar in French's version), a Russian warrior – who encounter one another, engage in verbal boasting, and are drawn into a duel in which both perish. Ziemlich aktuell, itseems to me. There are two sides to Peter Skellern’s music ...


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Oh, the sons of the Prophet are hardy and grim
And quite unaccustomed to fear
But none were so reckless of life or of limb
As Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
When they wanted a man to encourage the van
Or to harrass the foe in the rear
Or to take a redoubt they would always send out
For Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.

There are heroes in plenty, and well known to fame
In the ranks that were lead by the Czar,
But the bravest of all was a man by the name
Of Ivan Potschjinksi Skidar.[A]
He could imitate Toole, play Euchre and Pool
And perform on the Spanish guitar.
In fact quite the cream of the Muscovite team
Was Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.

One morning the Russian had shouldered his gun
And assumed his most truculent sneer
And was walking down town when he happened to run
Into Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
"Young man," says Bulbul, "can your life be so dull
That you're anxious to end your career?—
For, infidel, know—you have trod on the toe
Of Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.”

“Take your ultimate look upon sunshine and brook,
Make your latest remarks on the war;
Which I mean to imply you're going to die,
Mr. Count Cask-o-whisky Cigar."
Said the Russian, "My friend, my remarks in the end
Would avail you but little, I fear,
For you'll never survive to repeat them alive,
Mr. Abdulla Bulbul Ameer."

Then the bold Mameluke drew his trusty chiboque
And shouted "Il Allah Akbar"
And being intent upon slaughter, he went
For Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
But just as his knife had abstracted his life
(In fact he was shouting "Huzza!")
He felt himself struck by that subtle Calmuck,
Count Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.

The Consul drove up in his red-crested fly
To give the survivor a cheer,
He arrived just in time to exchange a goodbye
With Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
And Skobeleff, Gourko and Gorsechekoff too
Drove up on the Emperor's car
But all they could do was cry "och-whilliloo!"
With Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.

There's a grave where the waves of the Blue Danube roll,
And on it in characters clear
Is: "Stranger, remember to pray for the soul
Of Abdulla Bulbul Ameer."
A Muscovite maiden her vigil doth keep
By the light of the true lover's star
And the name that she murmurs so sadly in sleep
Is Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
— original limited edition privately published by Percy French and Archie West