Thankfully we’ve rediscovered Self Made Man’s words of wisdom and here are his latest thoughts. Look out for more later this week!
“I seen a peanut stand, heard a rubber band
I seen a needle that winked its eye
But I be done seen ’bout ev’rything
When I see a elephant fly.”
Well, if there’s ever a remake of the 1941 Walt Disney classic “Dumbo” with an adapated version of Oliver Wallace’s most famous song, perhaps they could add a verse about women dancing to AC/DC’s Highway To Hell.
Because, let’s face it, the sight is only marginally less surreal than that of an elephant flying through the air.
OK, these game girls, aged between about 30 and 55, weren’t exactly waltzing around their handbags and maybe one or two, if pushed, would have preferred performing to Stayin’ Alive by The Bee Gees or Abba’s ever-popular Dancing Queen.
But in five fanciful minutes, they blew away the myth that the fairer sex can’t/won’t/shouldn’t dance to rock music.
The occasion was the annual beer festival at my local rugby club and the band were The Proper Boys, a quartet of fifty somethings, whose choice of songs matched their musicianship.
Perhaps it was the satisfyingly quaffable real ale but I sensed it was going to be a good night the moment they played Nazareth’s This Flight Tonight second up.
What followed was a parade of the finest rock from the Small Faces’ All Or Nothing to Black Night by Deep Purple, a brace of Jimi Hendrix classics, a Led Zeppelin montage with Whole Lotta Love seguing into Communication Breakdown and Good Times, Bad Times, Cream’s White Room and Eric Clapton’s Crossroads, not forgetting Free’s Be My Friend, Wishing Well and to encore, Alright Now.
Now I’d be lying if I described the small dance floor as a hive of activity from first guitar riff to last drum beat. Except for a sozzled, yet supremely athletic young lad, who’d apparently (and quite obviously!!) been at the festival since lunchtime, performing the daftest, zaniest routine during Roxy Music’s Let’s Stick Together, the audience just sat, supped and listened.
But then came “the moment” as Highway To Hell acted as a sonic magnet to those desperate to shake a leg and soon, Angus Young and co had induced an outbreak of Saturday Night fever, rock n’ roll style in this small corner of Gosforth.
Invisible guitars were dusted down, fists pumped the air and hips swayed vigorously from left to right. And that was just the ladies!
Now I’m not proposing every wedding party, festive frolic or leaving do should compose a setlist entirely made up of rock classics if they’re keen for frenzied activity on the dance floor.
What I will say is that if I do decide to have a big birthday bash next year, I’d want the night to be something like the one I’ve just experienced.
And I’ll be sorely tempted to hire the excellent Proper Boys to kick start the celebrations.