A track by track glimpse of Ian Dury’s classic 1977 magnum opus.
Wake Up And Make Love With Me
A dramatic piano intro from Chaz Jankel misdirects you into thinking that this is going to be some sappy lurve ballad. Instead, it swiftly settles into a rock-funk groove, with Jankel tailoring his piano playing to the quick change of pace.
Dury had been humming and hawwing about how to approach the vocals. He’d toyed with the idea of singing it in a cod-Barry White voice, but instead chose to underplay it in his everyday voice. It’s a sound choice that steers it away from cheap and tacky Richard Richard From Bottom pervy leering into a simple love song. There’s something delightfully down to earth about the lyrics in that he later goes to check the post and make some tea and toast. It’s this lack of pretension that makes the album so endearing.
Sweet Gene Vincent
Gene Vincent was Dury’s idol. He’d been a fan since his teenage years – in fact, it was Vincent’s premature death in 1971 that spurred Dury on to make a go of his singing career, back in the days when he was with Kilburn And The High Roads.
In preparation for Sweet Gene Vincent, Dury undertook extensive research. He read two biographies and wrote enough lyrics to last 15 minutes – according to co-writer Jankel. The end result though, is crammed full of sly references to Vincent’s discography, with nods to Blue Jean Bop, Who Slapped John, Pistol Packin’ Mama and Be Bop A Lula.
The track’s intro is another piece of misdirection, beginning as a crooning bit of balladry before launching into a danceable slab of rock ‘n’ roll. It’s a shame that it didn’t make the charts when released in late 1977, but fortunately chart success was mere months away with What A Waste in the following Spring.
I’m Partial To Your Abracadabra
The track that makes mention of the album title, and one with a lyric so single entendre that even a monk could work it out.
While it’s not the best track on the album by any means, it’s still leagues ahead of the pack, a leisurely bit of piano-driven pop that quickly lodges in the thinktank after a maximum of two spins. The most bizarre revelation is that Paul McCartney later covered it in 2001: it’s as un-Macca like as you can get.
My Old Man
Part of New Boots And Panties’ appeal is its earthy honesty. A track like My Old Man is written straight from the heart. Dury writes such vivid lyrics that in the space of three and a half minutes, you get a good snapshot of his dad – what he did for a living (a bus driver, then a chauffeur), his personality (proud, “made a racket when he rowed”) and his living conditions (smoking too many ciggies in a Victoria one-bedroom job).
But there’s also a sense of wistful regret hanging over My Old Man in that father and son went seven years without any real close bond. The relationship began to form again, but his father’s passing put paid to any further development. You can hear Dury’s voice break before the mournful saxophone solo from Davey Payne kicks in. It’s a quietly affecting piece of work.
Billericay Dickie
A quick change of mood, as Dury adopts the persona of a loudmouth jack-the-lad who brags about his various conquests.
Dury’s music is frequently filed under new wave and sometimes punk, but tracks like Billericay Dickie indicate that it’s not as easy to compartmentalise. Billericay Dickie’s eccentric fairground-style is more in tune with music hall than punk rock, and in fact, the album is chock full of different musical genres and influences from funk to soul to jazz.
Dury’s lyrics paint the picture of a pathetic loser – despite his relentless macho posturing. He’s a small fish in a very big pond, and the music subtly reflects this with a very slow fade-out. Dickie may still be bragging and boasting, but he’s gradually cut down to size by the fader button, which ultimately shuts him up for good.
Sex ‘n’ Drugs ‘n’ Rock ‘n’ Roll
I first bought New Boots And Panties on vinyl in 1995. While I’d not heard any of the tracks before, I knew that I’d be onto a winner with this and was quickly proven right.
The one oddity though was that Side Two didn’t kick off with Clevor Trever as it said on the track listing, but with a hidden track, Sex ‘n’ Drugs ‘n’ Rock ‘n’ Roll. Apparently, early represses of the album included the track, which is a welcome bonus. It was another single that failed to chart (released in late Summer 1977), but it since went on to become one of Dury’s signature tunes. It’s a straightforward party number with ad-libbed whooping and do-do-do-ing in the fade out, but neat additions like Jankel’s beautiful piano solo add that extra touch of class.
Clevor Trever
Musically, things get really interesting on the next couple of tracks. This time last week, I was talking about Ian Dury’s commentary on the Classic Albums Steely Dan Aja episode. Going back to Dury’s influences on this album, while it’s true that it can get as down and dirty with the punk scene, it can also try out more complex arrangements.
One of these is Clevor Trever, a slow-burning bit of funk that’s marked out by Jankel’s phased electric piano, swirling in and out to give it that extra bit of atmosphere. His clipped guitar work is also stellar, adding much to the classic Dury period of the late ’70s.
Lyrically, I like the way in which Clevor Trever deals with other people’s ignorance. So many are quick to judge others who can’t articulate themselves as well in conversation. They’re dismissed as thick illiterates, when in fact, they probably have about 100 times more brain power. Both the complex arrangement and the quietly biting lyrics add up to one of my favourites on this album.
If I Was With A Woman
The most unsettling cut on the album, both lyrically and musically. Told from the point of view of a spurned lover, If I Was With A Woman’s lyrics do tread a fine line between jealous envy and outright misogyny. After having been with a woman who took away the character’s spirit, he imagines a scenario in which he’d treat her like dirt (“the purity and depth of my disdain”).
Maybe not one for parties, although its cool jazz funk shuffle does make it weirdly danceable. Jankel’s off-kilter piano adds to the queasy feeling as does the closing bit in which the band multi-dub their vocals, as they repeatedly cackle “Larfin’ larfin’ larfin’ larfin”. The protagonist of the track may be thinking dark thoughts, but the “look at them larfin’” line and its repeated conclusion suggest a sense of paranoia that the whole world full of happy loving couples is having a good old belly laugh at his cringing form.
Blockheads
Changing gears again, Blockheads goes full throttle in its embittered attack on aspiring upper class yobs. Dury practically screams the lyrics in rage, depicting that breed that we’ve all encountered at some point in our lives. “Blotched and lagered skin” loudmouths, all fake bling, penis envy cars and “shoes like dead pigs’ noses”.
It’s not subtle by any means, but it is very funny. The bubbling effects of Geoff Castle’s Moog synthesiser conjure up something far worse than pissing in a swimming pool. Plus, Dury’s talent at conjuring up such vivid imagery marked him out as one of the essential voices of the late ’70s. Maybe it was because he was a bit older at the age of 35. He’d been there, done that, seen that, bought the T-shirt. And such air-headed chancers like the Blockheads of this song were ripe for brilliantly cutting character assassinations.
Plaistow Patricia
A word of warning. Don’t listen to this track with the window wide open. Don’t listen to this track in the company of your parents or grandparents. And don’t sing along to the lyrics if you’re listening to your iPod or Spotify or whatever on the commute.
Dury’s vocals are a game of two halves on New Boots And Panties. He’s quietly understated on songs like Wake Up And Make Love With Me, My Old Man and Clevor Trever. And yet on the last three tracks, he’s snarling and cackling his way through the lyrics like a nutter.
His manic laughter reaches a peak on this sorry tale of a “lawless brat from a council flat” and pulls no punches with this depiction of a toothless druggie (“keep your eyeballs white and keep your needle clean”). Ironically though, Patricia does attempt to make something of her life, later owning a “showroom down the Mile End Road”. Just say no to drugs, huh, folks?
Blackmail Man
Having lost my original vinyl copy, I did manage to find a replacement at a car boot sale years later. Oddly, the last track, Blackmail Man, seems to be in a higher key than the LP I originally had. It makes this breathless rush all the more dizzy.
The final furlough of the album isn’t for the faint hearted. Dury may gabble the lyrics, meaning that to your average old dear listening in, it’s incomprehensible gibberish. Which is probably just as well, as the words uncompromisingly go for broke in terms of race, homophobia, anti-Semitism and disability. However, it’s a blistering attack on prejudice of any kind, slaughtering those narrow little minds in one fell swoop. Not an easy listen by any means, but it’s a raucous slab of punk that makes The Sex Pistols look like weedy choirboys.
(Cover design credited to Chris Gabrin, Barney Bubbles and Cynthia Lole)
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