I got around to looking Gary Le Strange up. You'd think that I'd be angry about someone who mercilessly took the piss out of the New Romantics, but actually, this guy appears to be just wonderful. I want to go and see his show (he has three dates in London this month and I shall almost certainly get to one of them.)
He writes songs. Songs that are parodies of all those wonderful early 80s songs we either know and love or know and run screaming from, holding cushions over our ears and shouting "If I hear one more line about the symmetry of pierrot love in a soho underpass..."
I've just been and downloaded excerpts from four of his songs (I really must get the CD). They're all brilliant. Clear parodies of Visage ("Ballerina, ballerina, see him prancing in his tights..."), Soft Cell ("People are cruel, and they say I'm a fool, but they don't understand - sex dummy...") and possibly Gary Numan ("I wrote a letter to lego, expressing my disappointment that they don't do dodecahedrons...").
And 'Grey', an Ultravox one. Which is so uncanny that I must reproduce the lyrics of just the tiny bit I have here :
"Waiting for a 1930s train
On a suitcase in the rain
I fade into the distance...and fade back again
Leaning in a darkened underpass
With a robot made of glass
In a pinstripe suit, a pierrot hat, and a...David Niven 'tache....
Yes, it's all very silly, but he clearly adores the songs he's parodying, and they're just so *good* - even musically. I've got to see this.
And now I'm ill, too.
Oh, I am so thoroughly fed up.
Want to sit in bed being snuggled and brought toast and butter.
Have no-one to snuggle or make the toast and butter. Don't even have any bread. Or butter, for that matter.