Albums

• Each Man Kills the Thing He Loves
• Adam ‘n’ Eve
• Shag Tobacco

Soundtracks

• In The Name of the Father – OST
• The Boxer – OST
• In America -OST

Virgin Prunes

• Virgin Prunes lyrics are available on www.virginprunes.com

A Shag Tobacco promo box containing CD, cigar, matches, ashtray, video and sampler fetched US $256.00 in auction on E-bay today. Similar boxes (without ashtray and sampler) have previously sold for around 50 dollars.

‘One had the distinct impression that here was Friday’s unashamed autobiography in 3-D’
Robin Dutt reviews concert at the Queen Elizabeth Hall

An audience is very often the best clue to understanding a performer. Forget, however, the poster-clutching teenage mutant maniacs at a Take That concert or the droves of Michael Jackson fans dressed almost uniformly in opportunistic merchandise. Loyalty can be much more subtle.

At the one-night spectacular last week, Gavin Friday succeeded in bringing together a decidedly motley crew from a sprinkling of Goths and punks to the fashionably bald and those sporting Levi jean jackets and check shirts. Of course this should come as no surprise. Friday’s career stretches back to 1978 and the inception of the raucous and much-loved Virgin Prunes, specialising in mayhem and magic on a grand scale.

Now a solo performer, he brings a particular style and verve to what some observers might call modern cabaret. Friday knows a good deal about seduction. The set was a vital part of his act, featuring crimson drapes, bunches of flowers, candles and a dry-ice blowing contraption, beneath which was partially hidden a black-and-white television. Friday presented himself with tough and ironic verve – spiky hair, a buttoned-up shiny charcoal suit with a string vest just visible. On his feet were crepe- soled beetle-crushers. He looked cute and dangerous at the same time. He danced with himself, strutted like Jagger, nursed a glass of wine and often flickered his tongue like a viper. No reluctant showman this.

Most of the songs performed feature on Friday’s unusually sensitive and strident album Shag Tobacco and he took his audience from 1930s Berlin to a suburban housewife’s nightmare, on the way passing by real-life characters such as Mr Pussy, a celebrated transvestite, and his ultimate hero, Caruso. Portraits of both appeared in gilt frames on set. One had the distinct impression that here was Friday’s unashamed autobiography in 3-D.

Friday needs to be completely involved in the essence of each song. He needs to change, chameleon-like, from the bedsit late-night worker fantasising about his neighbour upstairs to the unashamedly and near falsetto “Angel” – a sensual experience of floating in pink marshmallow. A total musical mix, classical instruments combined with more unusual electric woodwind, all played skilfully by only three other members of the group who manage to sound like a small orchestra.

To mark definite sections within the set, Friday told stories, cracked the odd joke and spoke through a bejewelled megaphone – whatever it took to remain ringmaster. And this is solely the point. For him to be able to control our emotions so precisely, he needed to be in absolute control. We smiled at the camp bonhomie and bitchery of Mr Pussy, but were genuinely moved by “the last song I’ll ever sing” – a tribute to a dead friend. Breaking the mood lest we knew what to expect came a most original and stormy version of T-Rex’s “The Slider” which Marc Bolan would have loved. Towards the end, he walked among his delighted audience, singing, crooning and making love with his eyes – to everyone. Seduction as ever is nine points of success.

shag tobacco
i have ordinary addictions
i’ve outgrown the ways of the street and the nightshade
hey! goodnight ladies… ladies bye bye.
iwork odd hours, get home late most nights
she’s upstairs, I’m downstairs,
drinking coffee in the kitchen
spoon in the sugar, knife in the butter… i want you.

do you love me? say you do, i’d like to see you undress
let the light shimmer down, I’ve ordinary addictions
whisper soft into my ear, secret words heaven sent ….
so you can read my mind
hush dear….the night is always young
there’s no day here, tomorrow never comes
let colours fly, we’re safe from harm
see orange glow, let our love flow

no romeo no juliet,
what we got is deeper than that
lets stay in bed, watch t.v. and shag tobacco
i want you, i want you….
you’re my amphetamine you’re my lover….
and there’s no other…. ….there’s no other…. there’s no other

caruso
no, i’m not myself today.
je suis salome…. i am romantic
je suis apollo…. i am gigantic
hey! stronzo,
i’m standing next to you in the supermarket
yeah! you are obvious. i am oblivious

salome, apollo, in technicolour
i walked on the moon to touch the stars,
a legend in my lifetime.
oh momma! my rosa! from an early age
i was used and abused, no more those bad reviews
take me back to ‘72 my coo ca choo,
oh! ignorance was bliss,
spunk-a-flow, to the joy of my first kiss

i’m not me…. i’m not me…. i’m not me…. not me….
non sono io!

oh mi lord, i’m so bored, what’s on the t.v.?
do we really need these pissy pop stars
when there’s not enough of me!
oh dada, my dali, un chen de lou lou….
i am the art in your party,
not a twist cap sniffing bore.
it’s tough in the queue, it’s as unto a platform shoe,
oh! trampled underfoot,
i’m fred astaire, i face the music and dance.

i’m not me…. i’m not me…. i’m not me…. not me….
no i’m not myself….today

oh glorioso deliver us not into frustration

salome, apollo, in technicolour,
i walked on the moon to touch the stars.
hey stronzo…. ancora!

i’m not me…. i’m not me…. i’m not me…. not me….
non sono io!
heave ho…. heave ho….

leonardo! marlon brando! machiavelli!
and bertolt’s belly!
a millionaire with curly hair, i’m your burning empire.

greta garbo! andy warhol! and his jam-roll!
nero plays his violin, seezer his accordian

i’m sitting in the bathtub watching the dirty water
swirl down the plughole…. and on my stereo….
….is caruso.

angel
angel…. hold on to me, love is all around me
angel…. hold on to me
oh come…. closer to me…. don’t go, don’t leave me
angel…. hold on to me, love is all around me
so silent your love, like the stars above
so silent your love…. hold on…. hold on…. to me
angel…. hold on to me, i call, call out to you
its paradise, you take me to
’cause my love for you love will always be

little black dress
here she comes like a child with a gun
she makes you feel like you’re the only one
she smiles and it’s dangerous…. in a little black dress
superman and the filthy rich
get in the queue to scratch her itch
sticky fingers pulling at the hem
of her little black dress

baby don’t mind
she can leave it behind.
she don’t want anything
baby’s a star, she’s got to keep on shining

she moves like an animal
the women sigh “it’s political”
you could get arrested around here
for that little black dress
not so simple, it’s complicated….
all this being loved and hated
i wanna know what else she’s hiding
in that little black dress

baby don’t mind
she can leave it behind.
she don’t want anything
baby’s a star, she’s got to keep on shining

don’t pay no mind, you’re gonna leave me behind
i don’t want anything, baby you’re a star
i wanna hear you sing

the slider
i could never understand
the wind at all
was like a ball of love

i could never never see
the cosmic sea
was like a bumble bee

and when i’m sad…
i slide

i have never kissed
a car before
it’s like a door

i have always always
grown my own before
all schools are strange

and when i’m sad…
i slide

i have never never
nailed a nose before
that’s how the garden grows

i could never understand
the wind at all
was like a ball of love

and when i’m sad…
i slide

watch now
i’m gonna slide
i slide….

have you ever seen a woman coming out of
new york city with a frog in her hand?

dolls
on the darkest of streets, at around eleven
the lights shine brightest, on avenue seven
from ‘noho’ to ’soho’ they congregate
gladrags and handbags we anticipate
boom! boom! cha-cha! and cock becomes vagina

no guys here – dolls! no guys here – just dolls!

mother fisting friends, say romance is cheap
so it’s time for eve to put adam to sleep
lovely, lovely, love me
with dreams with drugs, with lipstick and la rouge

no guys here – dolls! no guys here – just dolls!

with feather boa, like lotte lenya,
high heels and a vicious tongue,
jesus, ‘fantasia’ tu est tres fantastique
so kinky gerlinky, so much fun

no guys here – dolls! no guys here – just dolls!

cock incognito! vag incognita!

knock, knock, who’s there?
oh! here they come, the belligerent scum,
as your immorality would say “all men are queer”
how civilised that you’re despised
knock, knock, who’s there?
dorothy that’s who, she’ll make a man of you!
a man of you! a man of you!

ich bin eine puppe, eine puppe mit scheide!
ich bin ein mann, ein mann mit schwanz
geweg! geweg! lab mich allein! lab mich allein!
das kleine ja! ja! das grobe nein! nein! das kleine ja! ja!
sie macht einen mann aus dir,
eine puppe mit schwanz!, ein mann mit mose!

mr. pussy
in ‘67, his debut year, a pussy cat did appear
in soho bars rather shady,
a most discerning, misleading lady

he knew marlene, judy was a friend
hey! johnny ray, all those that bend

a legend born, on a london stage
when ginger beers, were outrage!

mr. pussy. mr. pussy.

nante! no nante! nante parlare
vada omi! you silly cow!

come see a star shine,
come see him laughing through a mask of tears
he should have been in the movies….
you know those movies that make you cry

“oh! immortalise me! oh! immortalise me!
write a song, write a sad song,
make it 25 years a long…. oh!”
….says mr. pussy…. mmmh…. mr. pussy.

you, me and world war three
throw your arms around me,
there’s no time to be blue,
it’s the end of the world,
let’s talk deep and meaningful things,
it’s up to you and down to me…. what’s going on?
it’s you, me and world war three.

you and me, me and you,
we hurt each other ’cause we gotta get through

we’re ‘a to b’ and back again,
a sort of funky electrocution,
trigger happy and shoot to kill,
what a honeymoon in hell!
our world is spinning helplessly…. what’s going on?
it’s you, me and world war three

you and me, me and you,
we hurt each other ’cause we gotta get through
we hurt each other…. we gotta get through
we’re out there orbiting the planet blue….

i shout you scream, it’s all so illogical
you bite my tongue…. i blow up in your face
in hateful times…. it’s time for loving
let’s start to dance…. it’s ‘true romance’

you me and world war three
you me and world war three

put on that dress you know your
throwing yourself out the window dress,
i’ll wear my suit, my wedding ring
and together we will sing, “la la la la la la….”

you and me, me and you,
we hurt each other ’cause we gotta get through,
you and me, me and you,
we’re out there orbiting the planet blue….
….orbiting the planet blue

kitchen sink drama
good morning america, you’re my favorite t. v. show
slow down now, i’ve a headache,
sometimes it’s hard to think,
the phone rings how are you? oh! i’m not up to much
you don’t say, oh really! it’ll end…. end in tears

here i go again,
all i have is what i might have been
where’s my long lost friends?
somewhere over the rainbow

when the dark clouds come,
the angel valium will call
to take me far away,
to a place where i don’t have to feel

i’m happy as i hoover, it’s one o’clock, time for lunch
marshmallows with coffee,
can’t forget my slimfast drink,
the garden’s depressing, i think i need a hair-do
a gin and a tonic, ah! that should do the trick

here i go again,
all i have is what i might have been
where’s my long lost friends?
somewhere over the rainbow

when the dark clouds come,
the angel valium will call
to take me far away,
to a place where i don’t have to feel

it’s monday afternoon, the kids are off at school
sunset boulevard, the channel four matinee
sit down, relax with a nice cup of tea….
…. oh! the sweet smell of butane…. and humdrum.
…. gloria swanson…. from here to eternity….

my twentieth century
i woke up this morning,
dreading the thoughts of another, dull and boring day
hey! woe is me.
i go out on the streets, northside of the city
i see the steel, the fading rust
and the fields i used to play in….
my friends are famous and all my foes live happy
loved by lycra, fooled by velcro
and fucked by what they need….

but who am i to criticise? my pointing finger backfires
i hang my head down low.

i once believed in jesus,
now i can’t believe in rock ‘n’ roll
from baptism to alcohol, in a land suffocatingly green
hey! the myth is magic, do you know what i mean?
the politics of sin and of sex
suffer the fools, pawn our jewels, will it ever change?

but who am i to criticise? i’ve made my bed, i lie on it
and hold my head up high

my disbelief. my fake redemption.
my twentieth century.
my holy war. my self indulgence.
my twentieth century.
my human flesh. my sad dependence.
my twentieth century.
my apathy. my big decision.
my twentieth century.

the last song i’ll ever sing
i’m inviting you to my vaudeville
“oui encore” you say, “and on with the show”
ladies, gentlemen, before i sing to you
the light that shines twice as bright,
burns half as long.

come let me entertain you all
leave all your troubles big and small
life’s a ball, life’s a ball.
hitch a ride on my crooked merry-go-round
hear the clinking-clanking sound
of the song that i bring

take my song, take my hand, never let me down,
like love let me down, like love pushed me around

so long, goodbye, i lost, did try
this is the last song i’ll ever sing
the last song i’ll sing

i played in the cabaret of love
i wore heart, fist and glove.
push and shove, push and shove….
and all for love

take my song, take my hand, never let me down,
like love let me down, like love pushed me around

so long, goodbye, i lost, did try
this is the last song i’ll ever sing
the last song i’ll sing
this is the last song i’ll ever sing
the last song i’ll sing

here, with words that can’t be said
we take songs to our bed
sing – a – long, sing – a – long…. to my last song.

All titles written & arranged by Gavin Friday & Maurice Seezer except The Slider which was written by Marc Bolan. All songs published by Blue Mountain Music except for The Slider which is published by Wizard (Bahamas) Ltd.

• Each Man Kills the Thing He Loves lyrics
• Adam ‘n’ Eve lyrics

Gavin Friday – Shag Tobacco
Island CID 8036

On Shag Tobacco, Gavin Friday charts a demi-monde whose physical locale may be Dublin, but whose imagination takes in a wider, more European aspect. James Joyce would understand, I’m sure.

Couched in musical terms of cabaret and late-night cafe, the album traces both strict hetero sensibilities (the lusty “Little Black Dress”) and more polymorphously perverse attitudes, as in the transsexual chanson “Dolls”, wherein “it’s time for Eve to put Adam to sleep”. Friday’s long- time colleague Maurice Seezer adds a little dockside decadence to the latter with a gentle wheeze of accordion, while Bono and Edge buff up the harmonies of the former; elsewhere, a clarinet brings a touch of mannered sleaze to the queenly “Mr Pussy”.

The range of music is certainly impressive, but it’s Friday’s lyrical apprehension of himself that comes across most strongly. In “Caruso”, he uses a scattershot series of cultural references to illustrate the song’s contention that “I’m not myself today”: this is a life lived through vicarious images, populated by fictions and infatuations which, he subsequently realises (in “My 20th Century”), have betrayed him, most notably the great myths of rock’n'roll. Despite this realisation, he opts to continue on his chosen route: clearly, destiny cannot be denied.

Shag Tobacco has hit the UK shops today. The album is expected to be in the European shops by the end of this week.
Dutch newspaper The Volkskrant have a half page interview with Gavin in today’s issue. A showcase tour is expected to commence September 1.