Philip Shelley, The End of The World

The Singer, Not The Song….

you probably shouldn’t listen the audio track above before you read the instructions and comments herein. if you do you will hear 3 minutes of pure pop magic, but you won’t know who, what, where, why or how. exercise restraint.

where to begin? that’s always the hardest part. this almost feels like a confession of sorts. ok. bless me father for i have sinned. on sunday, i walked in on my father, an elderly gentleman, watching a lawrence welk rerun on a 64 inch tv. it was huge and loud and i probably wouldn’t have been more embarrassed if i had walked in on him in the bathroom.  the two idiots pictured below were singing ‘when i’m 64.’ granted, not the most soulful song ever written or performed, but this rendition wasn’t even human.

i suppose they are adequate singers. they even harmonized. their performance was devoid of any human emotion whatsoever. it was criminal. as i contemplated making a citizen’s arrest and confiscating my father’s tv, the male singer gets to the line that goes ‘every summer we could rent a cottage in the isle of wight’… except he said ‘hwite.’ you know what i mean? ‘hwite’ he said like some people from fargo and other places say ‘white.’ so this is now offensive in a number of ways.

at this point i just threw up my hands and walked outside, thinking about what makes lawrence welk tick exactly. the man claims to love music, his life revolved around music. and yet i’m left wondering if he actually ever heard music because while watching his show i know i didn’t hear any. what do i even know about larry? two things. 1. he’s totally baldman phobic. every man on his show is wearing a cheap toupee. all of them, including the guys he stole from the mousketeers. 2. when he waves his magic baton over a musician or singer, he sucks every bit of soul out of the room.

all of this, very curious indeed. i couldn’t help but wonder just how much influence he may have had over the young impressionable susan boyle. one can’t help but notice that she suffers from the same malady: complete total lack of soul, emotion; she may be able to sing a song but she certainly has no contact with it whatsoever. it never touches her.

there are probably lots and lots of people in the world who can sing. in and of itself, it’s not all that remarkable. so, susan boyle can sing. having said that, it’s just not enough. a singer, especially a singer who performs cover versions of great songs needs much much more. a singer would need a heart, a soul, passion, excitement, and a genuine love and respect for the material.

unfortunately for those in TVland, susan boyle is incapable of imbuing a song with any of those things at are, of course, mandatory. she doesn’t have them to give. what she has to offer is a lackluster reading of a number of cover songs that are all mor, aor, and ultimately doa.

i could have left susan alone, stoic and silent in my disdain if she just stayed off my turf. she came after me when she sucked the life out of perhaps my favorite song of all time, the end of the world. i know skeeter davis is equally as appalled as i am.

why is this important you might ask? it’s important to note that she is THE black hole of singers, who just by opening her mouth to sing, actually takes away from a song rather than contribute to it. it’s important to note because this godawful record made by the pet rock of reality tv holds numerous frightening distinctions:

• fastest selling UK debut album of all time
• the album sold 701,000 copies in its first week, the best opening week for a debut artist in over a decade in the US
• topped the Billboard chart for six straight weeks
• the first album of the month in the Italian #1 Account by a non-Italian artist ever
• in its first week it sold more than 2 million copies worldwide, becoming the fastest selling global female debut album

so you see, it’s not for myself that i speak the truth here. it’s for all the time capsules and aliens and future generations who might, without the proper guidance, somehow be led to believe that humans once thought this was groundbreaking fantastic unbelievable music. it’s not and i don’t and i do wonder how and when our standards became so low that they now cease to exist. would it be too easy to blame it on hiphop?

this is a story with a happy joyous ending. way up above on top of this page before i started venting talking, there is a song. when you click it to play you will be hearing ‘the end of the world’ in all its glory, a precious gift from the amazing philip shelley. he who has all the ingredients to make a great, a truly joyful, majestic record, one that you must play six times in a row: heart, a soul, passion, excitement, and a genuine love and respect for the material.

for all those reasons and more, this song makes me just about as happy or more so than i’ve ever felt. i listen to it at least once a day and i’m happier to be alive because of it. i will be forever grateful for any and all of the circumstances that brought this record to me. to philip shelley for being him, to tex lyon for his beautiful guitar solo and to joe katz for his inimitable bass stylings.

above is my favorite photo of both philip shelley and joe katz from their days with the student teachers. listen to philip here on myspace and also at The Devastationalist Manifesto.

now that we’ve established just how ‘the end of the world’ is done, in closing, i might request that susan boyle and everyone else click on the video below to see and hear just how we like our horses.

yours sincerely wasting away,

diane dipiazza