We’re wallowing in nostalgia again, the music in the car, on those rare occasions when I get to control it, taking me back to those heady days of the 70s; the ones when it was warmer and drier, and the music was better.
And it’s all because I heard a terrific interview on the wireless the other day. Though I’d seen Graham Gouldman on stage on a number of occasions I don’t think I ever appreciated the extent of his songwriting, especially those for major bands through the 60s. The interview was peppered with Yardbirds and Eric Clapton, The Hollies and Herman’s Hermits, and lots of I didn’t know he wrote thats.
The 70s though was the time when Lol was immediately followed by Creme, not some politico wondering if it was cool to be laughing-out-loud or sending lots-of-love and not knowing whether it was his arse or his elbow.
And Creme was invariably joined by Godley, who as Gouldman said had the best vocal range of them all. Eric Stewart made it four, and he was the one who always seemed to break a guitar string in the first number at the Glasgow Apollo.
Oh we’re really wallowing now; the Glasgow Apollo, long since gone, a mythical beast for younger ones who can’t believe the tales.
So you’ve caught me singing along, about minestrone, and nights in Paris, and cricket; about balls & chains and balls & brains. I might even get the vinyl out, for it’s not the same without the scratches and the jumps & bumps; a bit too perfect and nostalgia isn’t like that.
But for all his tales he didn’t debunk the myth of those days, the naming of the band. Story was it was the average volume of male ejaculate. Ah 10cc – nothing’s the same as it was in the 70s.