Track two of
the Fall's brilliant 1980 album
Grotesque (After The Gramme). (Track six on the
Castle Communications re-issue)
Definitely one of my
favourite Fall songs, this tune
encapsulates just why people
love {or
hate/
like/are completely
indifferent to} the Fall. Clocking in at under two minutes, the song features a wonderfully
demented,
reggae inspired,
cheesy electric piano riff, backed by the trademark Fall 1980's
rockabilly bass and some truly inspired
drumming (from my opinion as a basic drummer, it is quite clever in it's
inherrent simplicity).
The song itself is "a spiteful stab esp. at white
rastas" (according to the
liner notes).
Mark E. Smith composes an interesting rant about the
lower class in northern
England, praising the ones that
emigrate to other countries and
denouncing the ones that stay behind and complain that it's
America's fault. Odd, considering he himself mainly stayed in his home town of
Manchester, and an anti-American song appears on this same album.
ENGLISH SCHEMEO'er grassy dale, and lowland scene
Come see, come hear, the English Scheme.
The lower-class, want brass, bad chests,
scrounge fags.
The clever ones tend to emigrate
Like your
psychotic big brother, who left home
For jobs in
Holland,
Munich,
Rome
He's thick but he struck it rich, switch
The
commune crap, camp bop, middle-class, flip-flop
Guess that's why they end up in bands
He's the green piece in us all
He's the creep-creep in us all
Condescends to black men
Very nice to them
They talk of
Chile while driving through
Haslingdon
You got sixty hour weeks, and stone stone toilet back-gardens
Peter Cook's jokes, bad dope, check shirts, lousy groups
Point their fingers at America
Down pokey
quaint streets in
Cambridge
Cycles our distant
spastic heritage
Its a gay red,
roundhead, army career, grim head
If we was smart we'd emigrate
Cheers to
Fall Lyrics Parade," by Jonathan Kandell & Jeff Curtis, still the best place for Fall
lyrics