Don't worry. This is not a spurious defense of S Club 7
So it was about 1995 when we finally escaped from the horror of
terrestrial television and strapped a
sattelite dish to the side of our house. Immediately my favourite channel became MTV Europe. Back then it was crazy and experimental, doing mad stuff like playing Scatman John and Die Krupps
back to back! or letting
Ray Cokes blow up half of
Camden.
But most of all I liked the poetry segements they played during commerical breaks at 3am when I knew I should be studying. I don't know if anyone remembers them (god knows, I barely can) but they consisted of various young, dynamic poets reciting funny verses. Some of them didn't even rhyme.
The majority escape me now. All I can remember is the main British poet, the luminary Jock Scott who delievered such classics as 'Just Another Fucked Up Druggie On The Street' in a thick Glasgow accent. The only poem of his I can remember word for word is a poem about mods:
I'm a mod
I've always been a mod
My father was a mod before me
My scooter's a Vespa
My shirt is Ben Sherman
The boots on my feet were made by a German
Most of the other poetry segments are forgotten to me, filtered through my beer-ridden, hormone-sodden memory (I was 17, give me a break). The only other one I recall involved a poet whose name escapes me, standing at a saloon bar in a cowboy hat, delivering an angry poem about love that ended with the words:
These bars where men
Drive their calloused tattoed fists into machines that read:
"Ribbed for her pleasure!
If she's a moaner
These will make her a screamer!
And if she's a screamer
These will get you arrested"
Aw, go to hell