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  1. #1
    Neo
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    John Cooper Clarke

    To be honest I knew very little about this guy apart from hearing his name dropped occasionally in Rock and Roll documentaries and the like. BBC4 have just made a doc of their own about him and it was great viewing, so now I know all there is to know I'd like to share it with you

    He's a working class poet/comedian/hero from Manchester that became synonymous with the unconventional and irreverent image of the Punk and post-Punk world, by offering it's audience renditions that reflected everyday life, in a style that could be emulated by others without the need for a top class university education or a bent for wandering lonely as a cloud.

    Enjoy..

    Here's the iPlayer link
    BBC iPlayer - Evidently... John Cooper Clarke

    And here's the torrent rip... v.good copy btw.
    BBC - Evidently John Cooper Clarke [MP4-AAC](oan) Torrent Download

    Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!"

  2. #2
    Gohills flip-flops wearer
    withnallstoke's Avatar
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    Class act was John.

    Punk in as far as he did stick 2 fingers up at everyone, and relied on his very unBBC accent.

    Nice one Neo.

  3. #3
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    wonderful stuff, puts you right there

  4. #4
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    Majorca
    Kung Fu International
    Day My Pad Went Mad
    Bronze Adonis
    Twat

    I used to have the elpee "Zip Style Method" as well.
    Class.


  5. #5
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    I cant link using this fucking android tablet, but look at his evidently chickentown video, or read the lyrics.

    He is a true genius.

  6. #6
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    Got to see him a few times before I left the UK. Liked him a lot.



    If I remember right his band were "The Invisible Girls"


  7. #7
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    I was a big fan and saw him live several times.

    Evidently Chickentown

    the fucking cops are fucking keen
    to fucking keep it fucking clean
    the fucking chief's a fucking swine
    who fucking draws a fucking line
    at fucking fun and fucking games
    the fucking kids he fucking blames
    are nowhere to be fucking found
    anywhere in chicken town

    the fucking scene is fucking sad
    the fucking news is fucking bad
    the fucking weed is fucking turf
    the fucking speed is fucking surf
    the fucking folks are fucking daft
    don't make me fucking laugh
    it fucking hurts to look around
    everywhere in chicken town
    the fucking train is fucking late
    you fucking wait you fucking wait
    you're fucking lost and fucking found
    stuck in fucking chicken town

    the fucking view is fucking vile
    for fucking miles and fucking miles
    the fucking babies fucking cry
    the fucking flowers fucking die
    the fucking food is fucking muck
    the fucking drains are fucking fucked
    the colour scheme is fucking brown
    everywhere in chicken town

    the fucking pubs are fucking dull
    the fucking clubs are fucking full
    of fucking girls and fucking guys
    with fucking murder in their eyes
    a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed
    waiting for a fucking cab
    you fucking stay at fucking home
    the fucking neighbors fucking moan
    keep the fucking racket down
    this is fucking chicken town

    the fucking pies are fucking old
    the fucking chips are fucking cold
    the fucking beer is fucking flat
    the fucking flats have fucking rats
    the fucking clocks are fucking wrong
    the fucking days are fucking long
    it fucking gets you fucking down
    evidently chicken town
    the fucking train is fucking late
    you fucking wait you fucking wait
    you're fucking lost and fucking found
    stuck in fucking chicken town

  8. #8
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    many thanks for the heads up, great documentary, went to his web site, all the poems are there, cheers

  9. #9
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    ^^Proper poetry.

    Glad JCC is back from the 10 year wilderness of a smack habit.

    Good interview with him here: John Cooper Clarke: 'It's diabolical how poor I am' | Music | The Guardian

  10. #10
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    Vally of the long lost women

    One of my favourites.













    The windows are frigidaire icebergs
    Frozen in prickly heat
    The vanishing cream victims
    Are drip-fed amnesia neat
    Where the test card melodies warm you
    In powder blue pseudo bel air
    Germs and flies alarm you
    They whisper the word expelair
    The eyes of the night sub-zero
    Peep through the windows of sleep
    Everyone's husband is a hero
    And ghost insurance men creep
    Through the valley of the long-lost women
    Dreaming under the driers
    Eating and sleeping and slimming
    According to what is required
    They walk through three-colour brochures
    Depicting palms on aqua-marine
    In the half-built hotels out of focus
    They're mending the vending machines
    Where sixty italian love songs
    Are sung to a million guitars
    They lick their frozen drinks on sticks
    Among the men with important cigars
    Numb to the digital numbers
    None two three
    Four five six
    Lost in a far away rhumba
    Where the oil-drums are beaten with sticks
    She left her heart in frisco
    She left her room in a mess
    She left her hat in the disco
    She never left her address
    The diving board springs to assistance
    Throws you off from the shore
    Telephones ring in the distance
    There are lifts getting stuck between floors
    A truck turns into a cul-de-sac
    Springtime turns to ice
    Rucksacks turn into hunchbacks
    Musclemen turn into mice
    In a painless panorama
    With its perpendicular might
    The women are going bananas
    And disappearing from sight
    ...what do the girls say?

  11. #11
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    Cheers Neo. That was fucking superb. Didn't know much about him before I watched that. Thanks very much.

  12. #12
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    Another one I always loved:

    Kung Fu International

    Outside the take-away, Saturday night
    a bald adolescent asks me out for a fight
    He was no bigger than a two-penny fart
    he was a deft exponent of the martial art
    He gave me three warnings:
    Trod on me toes, stuck his fingers in my eyes
    and kicked me in the nose
    A rabbit punch made me eyes explode
    My head went dead, I fell in the road

    I pleaded for mercy
    I wriggled on the ground
    he kicked me in the balls
    and said something profound
    Gave my face the millimetre tread
    Stole me chop suey and left me for dead

    Through rivers of blood and splintered bones
    I crawled half a mile to the public telephone
    pulled the corpse out the call box, held back the bile
    and with a broken index finger, I proceeded to dial

    I couldn't get an ambulance
    the phone was screwed
    The receiver fell in half
    it had been kung fu'd

    A black belt karate cop opened up the door
    demanding information about the stiff on the floor
    he looked like an extra from Yang Shang Po
    he said “What's all this then
    ah so, ah so, ah so.”
    he wore a bamboo mask
    he was gen'ned on zen
    He finished his devotions and he beat me up again

    Thanks to that embryonic Bruce Lee
    I'm a shadow of the person that I used to be
    I can't go back to Salford
    the cops have got me marked
    Enter the Dragon
    Exit Johnny Clarke

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