1978 Brian & Michael: Matchstick Men And Matchstalk Cats And Dogs

Ah now, I warned you a few entries ago that my life and the number ones I write about would start to fuse until it becomes hard to reconcile objectivity with pure sentiment didn't I? And so it goes here, so bear with me as I meander off piste for a bit and tell you that during the summer of '78, a mate of a mate's father converted their garage into a club house where us lads could hang out. There was an old three piece suite in there, a tiny snooker table, a record player and a few singles borrowed from his father's own collection. And an eclectic bunch they were too; that garage was where I first heard The Moontrekker's 'Night Of The Vampire', Deep Purple's 'Never Before' (amongst others), and 'Matchstick Men And Matchstalk Cats And Dogs'.

Because we didn't have that many singles, we tended to play the same ones over and over and over again. And again. And then the B sides. Which must now make me one of the few people in the world who could sing along word perfect to the song about a dead Granny's rocking chair that appeared on the flip of ''Matchstick Men'. It also means that there can't be too many people still breathing, apart from Brian and Michael, who would have heard this song as often as I have.*

So where does that leave it? Does familiarity breed contempt? Does this prolonged exposure torpedo any chance I have of being objective about the tune? Not necessarily. But for a start I'll point out that, following 'Vincent', it's the second number one of the decade about a 'misunderstood' painter, in this case L.S.Lowry. And as far as songs about painters go, it's infinitely preferable to Mclean's tune simply because it can be enjoyed in an innocent kind of way that's childlike simple and doesn't trowel on the guilt - when Lowry dies of pneumonia at the end ("The fever came and the good lord mopped his brow"), 'We' aren't accused of collusion by leaving a window open.

Brian and Michael sketch out Lowry's life in the lyrics as simply as one of the man's own paintings; there's not much meat on the bones here - Lowry paints, nobody cares, Lowry paints a bit more, people notice, Lowry dies. Fin. While I'm generous enough to infer some intent in this on the part of the writers (and, dear reader, this is me at my most charitable, albeit charity filtered through the rose tinted hue of fond remembrance of summer's past), I'm not quite so content to forgive the relentless 'eee it's grim up North' stereotype imagery and colloquialisms that pepper the song like the kids either wearing clogs or 'nowt on their feet' who are then roped into some frankly awful rhyme and forced metre. One example will do;

"Now canvas and brushes were wearing thin
When London started calling him
To come on down and wear the old flat cap"

Not only does this run as smoothly as a bent axle, I have idea what this means - try as I might, I can't find any reference to London calling in Lowry's life or what the 'flat cap' refers to. Because if it's some academic honour, then in point of fact his honorary degrees came from the Universities of Manchester, Salford and Liverpool, not London. Not that a complete understanding of lyrics is ever necessary to enjoy any particular song I agree (and as a Dylan disciple, how could I not?), but in one presented as popular biography then such shortcomings are fairly unforgivable.

Not that this is enough to bury it - 'Matchstick Men And Matchstalk Cats And Dogs' is not an awful song, but neither is it a good one. There's foundation enough there for something stronger, but Brian and Michael are far too content to rely on a catchy chorus and overt sentimentality at the expense of everything else when a little more attention to what's around it would have made all the difference. And to continue my generosity further, I'm even prepared to meet it more than half way by saying that even though the children's choir (St Winifred's no less) of 'ally ally o' on the finale may be a spoonful of sentiment too far for many, to my mind they recall the same chant that plays over the closing credits of Tony Richardson's film version of 'A Taste Of Honey', a link that at a stroke gives the song a hint of gritty 'angry young man' realism.

I'm not suggesting for one second that either Brian or Michael intended this association, (more likely they were thinking of Keith West's 1967 hit 'Excerpt From A Teenage Opera' - Lowry's death here "This tired old man with hair like snow, told northern folk its time to go" certainly recalls the demise of Grocer Jack) but sometimes a little schadenfreude can go a long way. It can with me anyway. But then maybe I'm still remembering summer's past....

* Now that I'm on a roll, fast forward two years from this and I exchange this gang hut for the local Youth Club. There was a similar three piece suite/record player set up there too, only this time it was the bigger boys who commandeered it with their own singles. On my first night as a member, there had been some kind of mix up that meant they only had two singles that were played alternately all night long. One was Peter Gabriel's 'Games Without Frontiers', the other was AC/DC's 'Touch Too Much'. It was the first time I'd heard either. The Gabriel song is still a favourite, but 'Touch Too Much' has gone down as one of my most played songs of all time - I've played it at least once a month every single year since and it will be a perennial on any 'Desert Island Discs' list I compile. See - there's no such thing as over exposure where quality's concerned.