
'Mouldy Old Dough' moves at a deliberate and lurching pace with every note a singular event that gets a spotlight of it's own. Hilda Woodward (looking like Mrs Mills but with less attitude) hammers on her joanna like some old time ragtime performer with their fingers in splints while a tin whistle picks out a jig over the shuffling drumbeat. Odd? Yes it's odd, and it stands out from the rest of its contemporaries in the charts like blood on snow, yet there's a timeless jollity to the tune that's almost impossible to date. Which leads me to pet theory #1: is it just me or does 'Mouldy Old Dough' sound like the troika theme from Prokofiev's 'Lieutenant Kijé' suite as played on a piano with two keys out of every five missing? It would explain the name and sleeve picture anyway.
Not quite so hard to place though - there's a definite air of olde tyme music hall about 'Mouldy Old Dough', a comedic front and singalong spirit that sweeps you up and along in its wake, defying you not to join in. Which leads me to pet theory #2 regarding the popularity of something so off the wall (second highest selling single of the year after those bagpipes); to my ears, it would have recalled something of the blitz spirit, of a time of getting along when the rest of the country was busy striking or shutting off the power at a moment's notice (don't forget, this was a time when everybody bought singles and the charts didn't just cater for the young). It's a theory, though whether it's true I can't say. But what I can say is that 'Mouldy Old Dough' is a novelty record that works just as well if you take it dead seriously. And there's not many tunes you can say that about. Delightfully weird.
No comments:
Post a Comment