It's all over
Hi there, pop fans!
Smile, smile, smile
It's all over
I have got the furious needle
So now it’s all over. The Choral societies have put away the scores of “The Messiah” until next year. The same applies to the Salvation Army’s carols, the thousands of school Christmas productions and the children who come around and sing outside your door without bothering too much if they know the words or have got the tune right. All of it will be forgotten for another twelve months until Christmas comes around once more. All this, and more.
Unfortunately all the Goodwill. Happiness, Prosperity and Merriness will, I’m afraid, also be forgotten until next Christmas and one and all will dive head first into the Rat Race. All the insincere chatting–up will begin again (if it ever really stopped). It will be open season for back–biting, schneidery, bribery, wining, dining and general corruption for another twelve months, and all done in the search of a crust. Some of the non–hustlers among us will attempt to keep it to a minimum, but it will still be there if we are to survive until next Christmas.
After the meaningless Christmas wishes come the laughable New Year Resolutions. We promise ourselves all manner of radical changes in our way of life, but in the end it all boils down to “I promise to pay the bearer £X” —that is, if no way can be found to bend the contract and get out of paying altogether.
Did someone say, “Poor disillusioned Graham”? Well, I am disillusioned—though not dismayed. In my naive way I have implicit faith in my beliefs. I believe in some quaint old–fashioned concepts. I believe that sincerity and honesty count more than ballyhoo and bull. I also believe that agents and promoters work for artists and not vice versa. I’m so far out of date it’s a shame. But outdated or not, I will enter 1968 with a clear conscience and with the knowledge that I can at least live with myself. So think, think, think, me darlin’s and a very good year to all of you. Be good to one another and take care.
Overheard over Christmas
Hate, hate, hate
Disc Jockeys who play records.
Copyright © 1968, Kenny Graham. All Rights Reserved