24.1.22 The sound of lovers in love

 Back in the late seventies, in the aftermath of punk and the reality of post-punk (we're obviously going to return to this period from time to time, I was a teenager, it's a pretty formative era) Ste Beb and I used to find his mum's taste in music ridiculous and old fashioned. (His mum was Edna, I remember her as being lovely). She listened to Matt Monro. But that's okay, she was old. Let's be honest she was probably significantly younger than I am now ands I'm still occasionally convinced that I remain quite young.

But then there are mirrors. And they swiftly disavow you of any delusion of youth.

Anyway. Matt Monro. The singing bus conductor they called him (I believe, as ever, could be wrong on that). They also called him the British Sinatra. Which is much kinder.

We were listening to Fischer-Z with their single The Worker and its 'wonderful' B-side 'Kitten Curry'. In fairness, they were both pretty damn decent songs. For the time. And I haven't listened to them since the time. I've never felt the need.

Matt Monro though?

These are the things you grow into. You grow into the grace and the ease, you grow into the velvet of his voice, you grow into the class.

(Aside: he was genuinely a mate of J's uncle, they served in the army together. Unless I've got that mixed up with another entertainer of the era and I'm completely wrong. I don't think I have, I don't think I am.)

(Another aside: There was a school governor who used to come into assemblies at Fazakerley Comp. He'd tell us about his old forces comrade Max Bygraves. Max was massive but we weren't impressed. We possibly should have been. Matt Monro is far more impressive than Max Bygraves though.)

I think the gateway drug for Matt is The Italian Job and its actual theme tune (which isn't Self Preservation Society as many seem to still believe), the glorious, languid nostalgia of Days Like These. It's impossible to not love. It just bleeds cool. And then it's got you. You came for the song, stayed for the voice. Insouciance. There's a word. I'll quickly google it to make sure it's the right word; I'm fine with facts being flexible (like our current government but in a much less damaging manner, this blog has never illegally prorogued Parliament, it's certainly never had a donor provide the funds for a quarter of a million quid redecoration. But is open to offers. Bribe me at that level and I'll write anything you want. I'll even spellcheck.)

Insouciance: a casual lack of concern, indifference.

Well, that's definitely not the word I need then, is it? Matt Monro may appear casual but there's no lack of concern here, there's no indifference; there's care for everything, for every note, for every moment. I'm not sure what the word I'm looking for on that one actually is so let's forget I tried to raise the subject and move off to onside.

Matt Monro is the best example I can currently raise when it comes to then joy of charity shop records. Any charity shop you care to mention holds Matt Monro records. They're the ones you flick past. They shouldn't be. Each contains genius.

This one for example:

These Years. Matt Monro sings today's hit songs, as the back cover has it. 

And 'today' in this case is 1967. It's the year of Sgt Pepper, of Piper At The Gates Of Dawn, and Matt's obviously completely unaffected by that kind of thing, isn't he?

No, of course he's not. I mean, obviously he's not covering Lucifer Sam (and if you don't know what that is that's okay but you should probably listen to more music ;) ) but there are the moments where the modern creeps in:

His take on Petula Clark's Don't Sleep In The Subway is glorious, languid and far, far sadder than the original. Then there's 'There's A Kind Of Hush (All Over The World)' which I'd always thought of as a definitive carpenters' song. But that's later. That's ten years later. First it's Herman's Hermits. Never knew that. And before that it's a jolly little thing by The New Vaudeville Band.

The Carpenters' version is obviously the best. Goes without saying. But Matt's a good second, his version's soft, gentle, dreamy.

You've got Spanish Eyes. Which I can't listen to. Because: a) it's a pretty bad song; and b) growing up, our next door neighbour played it. All day. Every day. For a very long time. Loud. Remember yesterday when I was repeatedly playing 'Oh What A Circus' and I wondered what effect the repetition was having on J? Yeah, that. For literally ever.

The bits where the modern really slips in though? Matt turns The Supreme's gloriously technicolour mod soul 'The Happening' into pure jazz. A walking bass line, a brushed snare, a tinkling piano and "Hey life, look at me, I can se the reality." It sounds like Matt knew more about what was happening than anyone on the planet.

'Here, There and Everywhere' (McCartney's best song, everyone knows this; it's that or For No One, there's no competition) is taken from its home on the greatest album ever made by human beings (again, no arguments on that one) has the psychedelic strings removed and is made into something of simple everyday joy while he looks at Dusty's You Don't Have To Say You Love Me, slows it and breaks your heart. It's the way he holds the 'need' in the opening 'When I said I needed you..." that lets you know the need was real. You don't have to say you love me, just be close at hand. You don't have to stay forever, I will understand. 

These are the gems. These are the things you find when you pay the princely sum of £1 for a piece of vinyl purely because there are no visible scratches.

Believe Matt, he'll never let you down.

(Hold on, Spanish Eyes has just gone all double time, Matt's laying on the syncopated rhythms across the vocal line and it's beginning to sound like it might just have the answer to every question you ever had.)