Monday being St David's Day, the next week is particularly busy for the Hong Kong Welsh Male Voice Choir. Two sets at the St David's Society ball in the cavernous sports hall of the Hong Kong Football Club this evening is followed by a similar event in Bangkok next week for those who are able to obtain the requisite visas and pink tickets.
The choir will have their work cut out to cheer the guests up after Wales completed a miserable start to their Six Nations campaign by going down at home to France last night. This defeat comes hot on the heels of a desperate defeat to a dismal England outfit and a win over Scotland that owed as much to refereeing benevolence as to a stirring comeback which failed to mask the poverty of the preceding 70 minutes' play.
On the menu tonight are two songs that would meet in the final if there were ever an Olympic event for most bizarre national song. In the red corner there's "Anthem" from Chess, a musical about, well, chess. Ostensibly, the music is by Benny and Bjorn of Abba and the words are by Tim Rice, but you would be forgiven for thinking that the Englishman has done no more than polish lyrics penned by the Swedes.
The trick to singing this song is to ignore the words completely. If you do happen to attend to them, as I made the fatal mistake of doing once, then you find yourself slipping into an alternate universe almost as scary as the one depicted inMamma Mia!
No man, no madness
Though their sad power may prevail [What are you talking about? Whose power – madness's as well as man's?]
Can possess, conquer, my country's heart
They rise to fail [Who's "they"? "Man and madness" or "countries"?]
She is eternal [Who the f*ck is "she" – your country or your heart?]
And so on until we get to the last line:
My land's only borders lie around my heart [So your heart isn't your country? It's your "land", huh? But how can it be your land, country – whatever – if it's contained by your land?]
You get the picture. Look up the full lyrics at your peril. This song is the vocal equivalent of an audience with Smashie and Nicey.
"Men of Harlech" has spawned a thousand versions and the one we sing seems to go back to 1867, that is, 12 years before the version sung by Micheal Caine at Rorke's Drift during the Anglo-Zulu War, the battle that holds the record for largest number of Victoria Crosses at one go. While "Anthem" would win Gold for bizarrest song, "Men of Harlech" would sweep the board in the jingoism category, despatching the likes of "Jerusalem" into the ranks of also-rans with all that stuff about "Saxon spearmen and Saxon bowmen", which serves merely as a prelude to the magnificent final line, "Cambria, God and Right".
That equivalence inferred between the Principality and the Deity (not to mention Justice) is truly a thing of beauty – much like a Shane Williams' try in a losing cause.
I leave you with Smashie and Nicey, AKA Harry Enfield and the brilliant Paul Whitehouse:
The choir will have their work cut out to cheer the guests up after Wales completed a miserable start to their Six Nations campaign by going down at home to France last night. This defeat comes hot on the heels of a desperate defeat to a dismal England outfit and a win over Scotland that owed as much to refereeing benevolence as to a stirring comeback which failed to mask the poverty of the preceding 70 minutes' play.
On the menu tonight are two songs that would meet in the final if there were ever an Olympic event for most bizarre national song. In the red corner there's "Anthem" from Chess, a musical about, well, chess. Ostensibly, the music is by Benny and Bjorn of Abba and the words are by Tim Rice, but you would be forgiven for thinking that the Englishman has done no more than polish lyrics penned by the Swedes.
The trick to singing this song is to ignore the words completely. If you do happen to attend to them, as I made the fatal mistake of doing once, then you find yourself slipping into an alternate universe almost as scary as the one depicted in
No man, no madness
Though their sad power may prevail [What are you talking about? Whose power – madness's as well as man's?]
Can possess, conquer, my country's heart
They rise to fail [Who's "they"? "Man and madness" or "countries"?]
She is eternal [Who the f*ck is "she" – your country or your heart?]
And so on until we get to the last line:
My land's only borders lie around my heart [So your heart isn't your country? It's your "land", huh? But how can it be your land, country – whatever – if it's contained by your land?]
You get the picture. Look up the full lyrics at your peril. This song is the vocal equivalent of an audience with Smashie and Nicey.
"Men of Harlech" has spawned a thousand versions and the one we sing seems to go back to 1867, that is, 12 years before the version sung by Micheal Caine at Rorke's Drift during the Anglo-Zulu War, the battle that holds the record for largest number of Victoria Crosses at one go. While "Anthem" would win Gold for bizarrest song, "Men of Harlech" would sweep the board in the jingoism category, despatching the likes of "Jerusalem" into the ranks of also-rans with all that stuff about "Saxon spearmen and Saxon bowmen", which serves merely as a prelude to the magnificent final line, "Cambria, God and Right".
That equivalence inferred between the Principality and the Deity (not to mention Justice) is truly a thing of beauty – much like a Shane Williams' try in a losing cause.
I leave you with Smashie and Nicey, AKA Harry Enfield and the brilliant Paul Whitehouse:
4 comments:
As a direct descendant of those "Saxon spearmen and Saxon bowmen", I think those lyrics make perfect sense. Must be in my blood.
I hope you gave a rousing rendition of Sospan fach and gave "Harry's got a horse" a miss.
I don't know that oen, Andrew, but it sounds as if it's up fumie's street. Any sheep?
"Harry's got a horse" is the Max Boyce version of Ar hyd a nos, Ully.
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