October 12th – How do you feel about your national
anthem? If you’re a UK
citizen does it fill your breast with pride and a longing to hug a picture of
the Queen, or does it serve as a constant reminder of our arrogant colonial
beliefs and brutal history?
One of my abiding memories of national anthem tomfoolery was
when that chinless twerp, John Redwood, was made Secretary of State for Wales , probably
in the John Major government…jeezzee, what an arse. It’s a never-ending saga of
entertainment when heads of government promote a person into a position of
authority for which they are entirely unsuited (think Michael Gove, Boris
Johnson, Kenneth Clarke and Teresa May) ‘cos we then get the spectacle of
watching these people flounder around on the rocks of stupidity like a seal in
stilettos, and the endless laughs this promotes. The singlemost appalling
tragedy of course is that, whilst they are highly entertaining they are
actually in charge of the department they are single-handedly reducing to a
shambles…and being paid mega-bucks for the privilege too.
John Redwood was like that. A man I consider was entirely
unsuitable even for control of a laser pointing stick he was put out to grass
in the wilderness that was Wales…can the person who just said;
Still is
go and stand in the corner for the rest of the lesson,
please…thank you…right, where was I? Oh, right, well, was put out to grass in
the wilderness that was Wales where it was figured he would do little harm and
yet show the caring face on Conservatism; yeah, right. Come his first big
conference, in Cardiff
I think it was, and the strains of the opening to the Welsh national anthem,
complete with orchestra and Welsh Male Voice Choir, filled the hearts and hall
of the staunchly proud conference attendees…
Ever seen the Welsh rugby team sing these lines of national
pride and suffering at the opening of an international? I had the good fortune
to see them play South Africa at their national stadium in…2004/5, I think, and
I can say, hand on heart (as they did when they sang) that apart from the noise
the players let out when they either tackle each other and are tackled (which
is as frightening as it is awe-inspiring) that vocal rendition of Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau was the loudest thing emanating from that collection of
muscle. With that in your mind you may well be thinking, well, what’s the prob?
Mr. Redwood’s reedy tenor (coming out of that slight frame so reminiscent of
the character of Ichabod Crane in the original cartoon of Sleepy Hollow starring, if memory serves, Bing Crosby as chief
vox…far superior to whatshisname’s remake… Mr. Burton, that’s him, with Johnny
Depp; brave try, but…) so, Mr. Redwood’s reedy tenor would have been safely
drowned amongst the lusty singing of the fully-committed and highly
nationalistic Welsh… welll, yeeesss…except…
What it was, you see, what happened see was there was a mischievous cameraman/woman (he/she must
have known beforehand; must’ve) who thought it would be a good thing to dwell
on Mr. Redwood’s face throughout the anthem singing, you know, as in throughout? It gets worse. Mr. Redwood
knew the camera was on him. It gets worse. He didn’t know the anthem as in at all; not a line, not a word, not a
syllable: nothing. It gets worse. Like a roller-coaster on Barri Island ,
once that anthem had started there was no way it was going to stop until it
reached the end; once you were on you were on… And so it was we are treated to
the sight of a government minister – a member of a group of people who posit
themselves as all-seeing, all-knowing founts of expertise and knowledge who
always know best and have an answer for everything – the sight of a government
minister mouthing shapes that bore not a scintilla of a connection with the
words being sung by the people he was supposedly the champion for. All that
history, all that bravery, all those national aspirations wrapped into the
words of a song so dear to the hearts of those countrymen and women bound
together by a single bond of fellowship… minus one. WaTP.
My guess is that, in other countries, he may well have been
hung by his scrotum from the nearest lamppost for having the temerity to wear
the cloak of representation for a country that had such a claim on its own
identity and history, that were hopeful of having someone represent them and
their claims in Westminster when, all along, they had a clot. There was no
great hue-and-cry after that footage but you’ll be pleased to hear, from that
moment on, his card was marked in the land of sheep and song and he faded from
grace and favour quickly as his opinions on how best to reorganise Wales were
studiously ignored. He’s been trying to rebuild his political credentials ever
since and, thank goodness, failing miserably but then, once a poorly miming
idiot, always a poorly miming idiot. Now, if he’d done that in the States…?
There’s a nation that takes its national anthem very, very
seriously…as in very. It would seem that
it’s sung at the start of almost every function, meeting, gathering, grouping
of two or more people, school, sports stadium, bridge game…OK, that last was a
bit OTT but only just. The words are ambiguous and lack the ability to stand up
to scrutiny but it’s what they are, and those of that nation take the learning
and repeating of them very much to heart, and woe betide anyone who fools
around with that venerable institution…step forward Jose Feliciano.
Blind from birth, Mr. Feliciano carved out a name for himself
as a prodigious musical talent producing 68 albums and 60+ singles, top twenty
charting with over half of them and doing what is classed as the definitive cover
version of The Doors hit, Light My Fire,
in fact I consider it to be superior to The Doors version, but that’s not
saying much as I always thought The Doors were crap. His philanthropic work has
improved the lives of thousands over the years and his success, in spite of his
handicap, has moved the visually impaired debate in America forward by leaps and
bounds.
On this day in 2003, Mr. Feliciano reprised his original
performance of Star Spangled Banner (SSB)
at the opening of a Marlins and Cubs playoff game. I say reprised
advisedly because, back in 1968, when the Vietnam War was raging and
body-shaped luggage was arriving back in the States in double figures every
day, Jose Feliciano had been invited to sing SSB at a Tigers and Cardinals
World Series Game. He did a slow, Latin/jazz rendition, mournful and echoing of
lost hopes and dreams by a nation steeped in a war for all the wrong
reasons…criticism and controversy followed immediately. Radio stations refused
to play any of his work and his career stalled for many years as the
vindictive, God-loving, citizens of the good ’ole US took their revenge on
someone they considered an immigrant (what the border employers in Texas, who
used the cheap labour coming over from Mexico to the US illegally, referred to
as wet-backs) an immigrant messing
with their ode to a democratic country made up of fair-minded people.
I’d like to think, in the year following this first anthem
rendition (1969) and with the controversy still raging in the U.S. that
Britain’s refusal to allow Mr. Feliciano’s guide dog into the country because of our quarantine laws when he
came to do his first tour here really was the reason, not some extension of vindictiveness
we extended to our friends across the pond.
Thing is, I can’t help thinking, if that person had been,
say, Mr. Blunkett instead of a Puerto Rican folk singer who had seen fit to put
a different slant on a national symbol would the same disservice have been done
to him?
p.s. Jose Feliciano later wrote a song about this first visit
to London titled, No Dogs Allowed
which charted in the Netherlands, so, bit of payback there…
No comments:
Post a Comment