The Greatest Song in the History of the World #1

Today, that song is the one this post is about. Yesterday, it was something else. Tomorrow it will be something else. Hell, it might even be something else by the end of this post. That, my little cementheaded readers, is the infuriating beauty of music. If The Greatest Song in the History of the World was always the same song, it would be really, really dull. Duller than a barrel of cheese on a broken treadmill, in a dark room. At night. Duller than making a scale lego model of a piece of lego. Duller than the combined wits of Ashton Kutcher and Josh Hartnett. Duller even than the unnecessary bits of the Lord of the Ring trilogy (cinematic version) - and that is a whole heap of fucking dull.

But enough of the dull, onto the sparkly, shiny, seductive, engorging goodness. Today, at approaching ten in the evening, The Greatest Song in the History of the World is...





Yes, that's right. It's "Serenade" by Roxy Music and yes, it really is that good. A tiny aural slice of munificent magnificence, put on this earth to tickle your ears in a good way and occasionally make bits of your insides to try and swap places with other bits of your insides. A reasonable indicator of a contender for a temporary seat at the head of the Greatest Songs in the History of the World table is when a single listen just isn't enough. And at 2m59s, "Serenade" is one of the reasons why they invented digital music and a repeat button (they tried it with record players, but you could never be sure that the needle wouldn't slip the wrong way and end up trying to burrow to China through your slipmat).

It's one of the sneakily best kind of songs - the secretly sad song. Full to the brim of pop jauntiness, striding along Bryan's typically oblique lyrical path, you can happily trot along with it, enjoying Thommo's enthusiasm at being let of his drum leash and letting go with the occasional energetic fill, or ol' Phil's reliably strident strumming. And, for two minutes or so, this works - Bryan's archetypally individual vocal stylings (no, it isn't technically singing. At least, not as we know it. But hell, it works, so stop arguing cementhead) carry the lyrics along with a certain, seductive bravado - after all, it's a song about Bryan casually slinking off from one passionate encounter to another, isn't it. He's not bothered, he's just slying pondering whether she will be or not - although really, it doesn't matter whether she does or not. Life's too short, dude. Then, at about two minutes, the jauntiness eases, Bryan's piano driving the guitar into a melancholy-tinged moment - like the song had just caught sight of it's own reflection and felt unnerved for a second or two.

The bravado slips ever so slightly, turning on the lines "maybe I'm wrong for seeming ungrateful, unforgiving/oh how it hurts, now you're finally leaving/I couldn't take any more".

The jauntiness resumes almost immediately, but it's just not the same. It's punctured, coloured with a tiny glimpse of emotion. Not bravado anymore, it's almost clingy desperation. Posturing, but needy. Almost touching, especially in "now's the time, let's hide away/sacred hours, safe from yesterday" - it may well be a plea for one more shag, but the song's let its guard down, you know it means it. This is just driven home by the incongruity of the "boo hoo willows", rather than alleviated. It's certainly no accident that it's followed on side 2 of Stranded by "A Song for Europe". It all turns on the near-falsetto of the two minute mark and the word "finally". As derided as Mr. Ferry can be (not always without good and laudable cause, it has to be said), his genuine deftness with words and their evocation of emotion is criminally underrated to such a degree that they should open a special court in The Hague. Some songs spend tedious hours clumsily yanking on your heart-strings like a ham-fisted shot-putter trying to knit vermicelli, "Serenade" flits in, takes a scalpel to them, and flits out again.

Of course, you're free to disagree with me. But that would, of course, mean you were an idiot. Just rejoice in the new category and it's splendid new tag. And the song, rejoice in the song. But be careful, it won't always make you happy. Depends on how you feel, innit.

BYE.