— Pete Silverton
It should be clear by now that minorities don't appreciate having every little thing explained to them by middle-aged white guys. When Bill Maher devotes a portion of each recent episode of his weekly program Real Time to discussing his perceived grievances with Me Too and doesn't bother including a representative from the movement then there's clearly something wrong. Week after week he's been wondering why these women are unable or unwilling to distinguish between horrific serial sex predators and those who've been accused of creepy though not necessarily illegal acts. Too bad he's unable or unwilling to listen to them; perhaps he'd discover that the vast majority are able to make those distinctions. And, so, he has found himself mansplaining an issue that doesn't exist: hard to believe feminists aren't on his side.
1981 was the UN's International Year of Disabled Persons. Using the slogan of "a wheelchair in every home", it was meant to raise awareness of the plight of the handicapped and how they were marginalised by society. It's arguable that this resolution produced a net good: the increasing prominence of disabled parking spaces and wheelchair ramps by the end of the eighties was likely at least somewhat attributable to the IYDP. Nonetheless, one of its critics was Ian Dury who considered it to be "patronising".
"Spasticus Autisticus" was Dury's reply to the IYDP and it's savage. The near-gibberish of some of the lyrics ("I wibble when I piddle, cos my middle is a riddle", "I dribble when I nibble, and I quibble when I scribble") might delude the listener into thinking this just one of his jolly music hall-inspired ditties. But when he gets to the more delicately sung middle part ("So place your hard-earned peanuts in my tin, and thank the creator you're not in the state I'm in / So long have I been languished on the shelf, I must give all proceeds to myself") you know he means business. It closes with the repeated shouts of "I'm Spasticus!" that made Pete Silverton so understandably squeamish.
Ian Dury has always struck me as one of those odd British national treasures, much like, say, Frank Bruno or Tony Hancock, who have almost no recognition elsewhere. (Prior to becoming a bit more aware of him about twenty years ago, my only previous knowledge of him was that he sang the theme to the TV series The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole) But perhaps a significant portion of the esteem with which he is held in his homeland stems from his courage and bull-headed determination to be himself at all costs. He wasn't about to put up with busy bodies at the UN telling others how to treat him: he could do just fine informing them himself.
But would he have made of his protest song getting played at the Paralympics Opening Ceremony?
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Portsmouth Sinfonia: "Classical Muddly"
It's hard to imagine how something like the Portsmouth Sinfonia managed to catch on (to the extent that they did). Either as deconstructionists par excellence to rival eyeball mask-sporting crazies The Residents or as the self-proclaimed 'world's worst orchestral' doing what they did, well, worst (or is it best?), the Sinfonia unleash a barrage of noises — some of which manage to be musical in some form or other — that make for a fun if awfully chaotic listen. The amateurism of the players is reinforced by the slapdash quality of the mix as the opening bars of Also sprach Zarathustra abruptly transitions into the William Tell Overture which in turn becomes Beethoven's 5th and so on — with the simplest of drum machine beats to barely hold it all together. A shame they didn't just record it all in one shot, though that might have made them sound too professional and there's no way they would have put up with that.
It should be clear by now that minorities don't appreciate having every little thing explained to them by middle-aged white guys. When Bill Maher devotes a portion of each recent episode of his weekly program Real Time to discussing his perceived grievances with Me Too and doesn't bother including a representative from the movement then there's clearly something wrong. Week after week he's been wondering why these women are unable or unwilling to distinguish between horrific serial sex predators and those who've been accused of creepy though not necessarily illegal acts. Too bad he's unable or unwilling to listen to them; perhaps he'd discover that the vast majority are able to make those distinctions. And, so, he has found himself mansplaining an issue that doesn't exist: hard to believe feminists aren't on his side.
1981 was the UN's International Year of Disabled Persons. Using the slogan of "a wheelchair in every home", it was meant to raise awareness of the plight of the handicapped and how they were marginalised by society. It's arguable that this resolution produced a net good: the increasing prominence of disabled parking spaces and wheelchair ramps by the end of the eighties was likely at least somewhat attributable to the IYDP. Nonetheless, one of its critics was Ian Dury who considered it to be "patronising".
"Spasticus Autisticus" was Dury's reply to the IYDP and it's savage. The near-gibberish of some of the lyrics ("I wibble when I piddle, cos my middle is a riddle", "I dribble when I nibble, and I quibble when I scribble") might delude the listener into thinking this just one of his jolly music hall-inspired ditties. But when he gets to the more delicately sung middle part ("So place your hard-earned peanuts in my tin, and thank the creator you're not in the state I'm in / So long have I been languished on the shelf, I must give all proceeds to myself") you know he means business. It closes with the repeated shouts of "I'm Spasticus!" that made Pete Silverton so understandably squeamish.
Ian Dury has always struck me as one of those odd British national treasures, much like, say, Frank Bruno or Tony Hancock, who have almost no recognition elsewhere. (Prior to becoming a bit more aware of him about twenty years ago, my only previous knowledge of him was that he sang the theme to the TV series The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole) But perhaps a significant portion of the esteem with which he is held in his homeland stems from his courage and bull-headed determination to be himself at all costs. He wasn't about to put up with busy bodies at the UN telling others how to treat him: he could do just fine informing them himself.
But would he have made of his protest song getting played at the Paralympics Opening Ceremony?
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Portsmouth Sinfonia: "Classical Muddly"
It's hard to imagine how something like the Portsmouth Sinfonia managed to catch on (to the extent that they did). Either as deconstructionists par excellence to rival eyeball mask-sporting crazies The Residents or as the self-proclaimed 'world's worst orchestral' doing what they did, well, worst (or is it best?), the Sinfonia unleash a barrage of noises — some of which manage to be musical in some form or other — that make for a fun if awfully chaotic listen. The amateurism of the players is reinforced by the slapdash quality of the mix as the opening bars of Also sprach Zarathustra abruptly transitions into the William Tell Overture which in turn becomes Beethoven's 5th and so on — with the simplest of drum machine beats to barely hold it all together. A shame they didn't just record it all in one shot, though that might have made them sound too professional and there's no way they would have put up with that.
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