Альбом Ray Davies

I'll tell you a story to pass on to the end,
as told to me so long ago by my good friend
As we hollowed round the log fire, we laughed the whole night long,
as he told me a tale passed on to him by a wanderin' vagabond
My friend told me the story and I'll pass it on to you
It was handed down this century and he swore that it was true

And in the morning I could see him fade
Was it fact or fiction? Who can say?
(Storyteller) I believe ev'ry word you say
(Storyteller) I bet you told a good tale in your day

He tried to tell the people, but the people wouldn't hear
him spinning yarns and telling tales from yesteryear

Then he smiled and finished his story
He said "Will you pass it on for me?"
(Storyteller) I'll tell that tale for you
(Storyteller) Somehow I'll get your message through

My friend told me the story and I'll pass it on to you
It was handed down this century and I swear that it is true.

Tonight I'm going to read from the black book, the black book of X-Ray,
the tormented rantings of a sex-crazed rock 'n roller.
I want you to imagine that's it's the beginning of a new century.
Not the next century because that's too predictable.
I'm talking about the last century because hundred years ago.
That was the time when Great Britain had an empire.
And it's crucial to our story this evening.
You see, hundred years ago there was a queen on the throne of England.
Her name was Victoria.
Now I want ev'rybody clap your hands. Let's hear clap your hands.
Let's go, yeah.

Long ago life was clean
Sex was bad and obscene
And the rich were so mean
Stately homes for the Lords
Croquet lawns, village greens
Victoria was my queen
Victoria, Victoria, Victoria, 'toria

I was born, lucky me
In a land that I love
Though I am poor, I am free
When I grow I shall fight
For this land I shall die
Let her sun never set
Victoria, Victoria, Victoria, 'toria
Victoria, Victoria, Victoria, toria

Land of hope and gloria
Land of my Victoria
Land of hope and gloria
Land of my Victoria
Victoria, 'toria
Victoria, Victoria, Victoria, 'toria

Canada to India
Australia to Cornwall
Singapore to Hong Kong
From the West to the East
From the rich to the poor
Victoria loved them all
Victoria, Victoria, Victoria, 'toria
Victoria, Victoria, Victoria

My name is of no importance. You see, I'm a product of a century
which started at the height of class-conscious imperialism and ended
with a society so reduced to totalitarian commonness that in my final
years at college the saying 'mediocrity rises' became very popular.
And being mediocre, I rose. But you're not supposed to laugh at that.
My generation has been taught to be so in touch with the latest fashion
that we have become faceless; we're victims of design.
But, oddly enough, although I was taught to think of myself as a man
with no face, somewhere inside my soul I believe that one day
I'll become an individual.

This is the age of machinery,
A mechanical nightmare,
The wonderful world of technology,
Napalm, hydrogen bombs, biological warfare,

This is the twentieth century,
But too much aggravation
It's the age of insanity,
What has become of the green pleasant fields of Jerusalem.

Ain't got no ambition, I'm just disillusioned
I'm a twentieth century man but I don't wanna be here.
My mama said she can't understand me
She can't see my motivation
Just give me some security,
I'm a paranoid schizoid product of the twentieth century.

You keep all your smart modern writers
Give me William Shakespeare
You keep all your smart modern painters
I'll take Rembrandt, Titian, Da Vinci and Gainsborough,

Girl we gotta get out of here
We gotta find a solution
I'm a twentieth century man but I don't want to die here.

I was born in a welfare state
Ruled by bureaucracy
Controlled by civil servants
And people dressed in grey
Got no privacy, got no liberty
Cos the twentieth century people
Took it all away from me.

Don't wanna get myself shot down
By some trigger happy policeman,
Gotta keep a hold on my sanity
I'm a twentieth century man but I don't wanna die here.

My mama says she can't understand me
She can't see my motivation
Ain't got no security,
I'm a twentieth century man but I don't wanna be here.

This is the twentieth century
But too much aggravation
This is the edge of insanity
I'm a twentieth century man but I don't wanna be here.

There's a room in a house in a street in a manor in a borough
That's part of a city that is generally referred to as London
It's a dark place, a mysterious place
And it is said that if you're born within the sound of Bow-Bells
You have the necessary qualifications to be christened a Londoner
[It's a cruel place, it's a hard place]
But when you think back to all the great Londoners
William Blake, Charles Dickens, Dick Whittington,
Pearly kings, barrow boys, Arthur Daley, Max Wall
And don't forget the Kray twins

But if you're ever up on Highgate Hill on a clear day
You can see right down to Leicester Square [London, London]
Crystal Palace, Clapham Common, right down to Streatham Hill
North and South, I feel that I'm a Londoner still [London, London]

Chiswick Bridge to Newham and East Ham
Churchbells ring out through the land
You were born in London, England
[London, London, through the dark alley-ways and passages of London]

And there's a tap by a reservoir, leading to a stream,
That turns into a river estuary that eventually opens to the sea
[London, London]
And there's a docker by a wharf, sending cargo overseas,
Unloading foreign trade from a large ocean vessel
In the mighty metropolitan port of London
[London, London, through the dark alley-ways and passages of London]

When I think of all the Londoners still unsung
East-enders, West-enders, Oriental-enders
Fu Manchu, Sherlock Holmes, Jack Spock, Henry Cooper,
Thomas A'Becket, Thomas Moore, and don't forget the Kray twins

There's a part of me that says "Get out"
Then one day I'll hear somebody shout
"Sounds to me like you come from London Town"

But if you're ever up on Highgate Hill on a clear day,
I'll be there [I'll be there]
Yes I will be there [there]
Through the dark alley-ways and passages of London, London
London, London, through the dark alley-ways and passages of London, London
London, London, through the dark alley-ways and passages of London, London

I come form a very large family. I've got five older sisters, yes, five.
But it was wonderful to be the only boy in a family of girls.
Life was paradise, until one day my mother surprised everybody,
including my father I think, and at the ripe old age of 45 she gave birth
to another baby boy. And his name was David.

But it's the sisters. You see, our older sisters played all of their
beebop records on the radiogram in the front room where we lived.
The front room. It was the center of our world, because that's where we
helt all of our family parties. Any excuse for a party, really.
Weddings, birthdays, funerals, you name it. A party would take place
in the front room.

But it was my big sisters. You see, they put on records by pop idols of
their generation. People like Johnny Ray and Perry Como.
The girls did all the latest dances with their most recent boyfriends.
And it's interesting to note that the dances they did resembled the
various boyfriends. They did the creep, the smooch, the boogie woogie,
jive, right down to early rock 'n roll.

Now, my big sister had a certain record and my mother refused to have
this record played in the house, because, according to mum, it had
sexy lyrics. But whenever mum was out of the house, my sister would
entertain her boyfriend in the front room and my young accomplist,
David, remember him?, he'd get the record in question and put it on
the radiogram and I looked through the key hole into the front room
to see how my sister was doing, and at the appropriate moment
I'd turn up the volume and the whole house would throb to these
sexy subversive lyrics.

That old black magic has me in it's spell
That old black magic that you weave so well
Those icy fingers up and down my spine
That same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine

That same old tingle that I feel inside
and then that elevator starts it's ride
And round and round I go, up and down I go
like a leaf that's caught in the tide

[Ray's dialog continues...]
I think my mother was right.

Later on, later on Dave and I took our own records into the front room
and played early guitar heroes like Chet Atkins, Chuck Berry,
Duane Eddy and James Burton, Charlie Christian and Leadbelly.
But to me the greatest of all these guitar players was a blues man from
Chicago called Big Bill Broonzy. We played all of these records,
constantly, on that radiogram.

When Dave and I had our first rehearsals with our school skiffle group,
all those rehearsals took place in that same front room.

I'm so tired
Tired of waiting
Tired of waiting for you

I'm so tired
Tired of waiting
Tired of waiting for you

I was a lonely soul
I had nobody till I met you
But you keep-a me waiting
All of the time
What can I do?

It's your life
And you can do what you want
Do what you like
But please don't keep-a me waiting
Please don't keep-a me waiting

'Cause I'm so tired
Tired of waiting
Tired of waiting for you

So tired
Tired of waiting
Tired of waiting for you

I was a lonely soul
I had nobody till I met you
But you keep-a me waiting
All of the time
What can I do?

It's your life
And you can do what you want
Do what you like
But please don't keep-a me waiting
Please don't keep-a me waiting

'Cause I'm so tired
Tired of waiting
Tired of waiting for you

So tired
Tired of waiting
Tired of waiting for you
For you
For you

Set me free, little girl.
All you gotta do is set me free, little girl.
You know you can do it if you try,
All you gotta do is set me free, free,
Free.

Set me free, little girl.
All you gotta do is set me free, little girl.
You know you can do it if you try,
All you gotta do is set me free, free,
Free, free.

I don't want no one,
If I can't have you to myself.
I don't need nobody else.
So if I can't have you to myself,

Set me free.
Set me free.

Oh set me free, little girl.
All you gotta do is set me free, little girl.
You know you can do it if you try,
All you gotta do is set me free, free,
Free, free.

I don't want no one,
If I can't have you to myself.
I don't need nobody else.
So if I can't have you to myself,

Set me free.
Set me free.

Oh set me free, little girl.
All you gotta do is set me free, little girl.
You know you can do it if you try,
All you gotta do is set me free, free,
Free.

Set me free,
Oh, set me free.

Dad was a real party animal. He loved to go at the pub and have a
singsong with his mates and drink as much stout as possible. All of his
cronies used to go with him. And at closing time they'd come back home.
Back to the front room where Dave and I would be practising.
And dad would walk in and he'd say "Shut that rubbish up. Get out.
We're gonna have a party and I'm gonna perform".
You see, dad was a real performer. He'd clear the floor, had more
to drink, started dancing around, balancing beer on the top his head,
singing at top of his voice until he fell arse over tip on the floor.
But the girls would come home, the boyfriends would arrive,
and everybody had a great party. That's everybody except Dave and I.
And we thought to ourselves "How can we make some sort of impact
on this very strange family?". So we decided to put away our plastic
skiffle guitars and turn electric. Yes, make more noice!
There was an electrical appliance shop up the road, that's where we
thought we'd turn electric. It was in the window, it was this long,
and this high, and it was 8 Watts in volume. But it was covered in this
really horrible green formica. But Dave and I thought "That's for us".
We bought it and we christened it "the green amplifier".
But does anyone know what 8 Watts sound like? 8 Watts? Crap!
But never mind. We thought it was brilliant then, because we took it
home, both plugged in the back and practised day and night.
Yeah, Dave, come on man, yeah, come on, Dave.
The girls thought it was great, young musicians in the family.
But Dave and I noticed that one of our sisters was going out with a guy
who was a bouncer in the local ball room. And our observations through
the keyhole into the front room told us that this guy wasn't going down
to well with my sister. And we rephrace it over there for this lady.
Sorry, madam, I'm sorry. The relationship was not flourishing as it should,
how's that? But Dave, he was only 8 years old, but he was already
corrupt, and he says to this guy "Excuse me, mister, if you get me and
my brother a gig at your ball room this weekend, we'll have a word with
our sister. Will that be alright?".
And this guy says "Oh, thanks very much, son, that 'd be nice".
But lo and behold, the following saturday Dave, myself and a friend from
Coldfall estate with the name of Pete Quaife, we all found ourselves on
stage, playing in front of a thousand cynical teddy boys.
And all three of us were plugged in to the little green amp.
And we didn't have a drummer, we didn't need a drummer, we had
the movements, coordinated movements. But the teddy boys were
unimpressed. Somebody threw a bottle of beer at us and eventually
the management were forced to drag us off the stage.
We were still plugged in and still playing, but they dragged us off.
But the green amp stayed on stage, still plugged in, still giving everything.
You know, the green amp came to service very very well in our career.
These things often have a way of working out.

Set me free, little girl.
All you gotta do is set me free, little girl.
You know you can do it if you try,
All you gotta do is set me free, free,
Free.

Set me free, little girl.
All you gotta do is set me free, little girl.
You know you can do it if you try,
All you gotta do is set me free, free,
Free, free.

I don't want no one,
If I can't have you to myself.
I don't need nobody else.
So if I can't have you to myself,

Set me free.
Set me free.

Oh set me free, little girl.
All you gotta do is set me free, little girl.
You know you can do it if you try,
All you gotta do is set me free, free,
Free, free.

I don't want no one,
If I can't have you to myself.
I don't need nobody else.
So if I can't have you to myself,

Set me free.
Set me free.

Oh set me free, little girl.
All you gotta do is set me free, little girl.
You know you can do it if you try,
All you gotta do is set me free, free,
Free.

Set me free,
Oh, set me free.

It was back to the drawing board, and I think it was out of frustration
we wanted to sound as distorted as Chuck Berry's guitar on Memphis
Tennessee. We played the record so many times on that old radiogram
and so loud, that some of the speakers were crackling in the radiogram,
completely distorted. And the valves were rattling in the machine.
So, in fact, you know, God save the Queen sounded like Chuck Berry.
Everything sounded really distorted. And Dave and I thought
"How can we make the green amp sound that distorted?".
So Dave took one of mums knitting-needles and he stuck it into the
speakers of the little green amp. The Dave played a chord. Pfft.
It sounded great, yes! Brilliant. That's the sound.
Dave rechristened the green amp "the fart box".
Now as I said the front room was a place where we had celebrations
usually, singsongs.
When we very young, when I was 13 years old, our oldest sister came
back from Canada where she had emigrated after the war and she died
in tragic circumstances. So at the age of 30 she was burried and we had
a new experience in the front room: a wake.
But Dave and I were surprised that these adults, still drinking and singing
songs. We thought that was odd as they were all dressed in black,
that it was a sad time.
It's hard to describe the front room. It had a really magical quality to it,
really spiritual in a way. I went to a church school, but the closest I felt to
religion was not when I was singing in the school choir or when I was at
Sunday school which I always went to. But it was more when I rehearsed
with Dave in the front room.

See my friends,
See my friends,
Layin' 'cross the river,

See my friends,
See my friends,
Layin' 'cross the river,

She is gone,
She is gone and now there's no one left
'Cept my friends,
Layin' 'cross the river,

She just went,
She just went,
Went across the river.

Now she's gone,
Now she's gone,
Wish that I'd gone with her.

She is gone,
She is gone and now there's no one left
'Cept my friends,
Layin' 'cross the river,

She is gone and now there's no one else to take her place
She is gone and now there's no one else to love
'Cept my friends,
Layin' 'cross the river,

See my friends,
See my friends,
Layin' 'cross the river,

See my friends,
See my friends,
Layin' 'cross the river.

From the dew-soaked hedge creeps a crawly caterpillar,
When the dawn begins to crack.
It's all part of my autumn almanac.
Breeze blows leaves of a musty-coloured yellow,
So I sweep them in my sack.
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.

Friday evenings, people get together,
Hiding from the weather.
Tea and toasted, buttered currant buns
Can't compensate for lack of sun,
Because the summer's all gone.

La-la-la-la...
Oh, my poor rheumatic back
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.
La-la-la-la...
Oh, my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.

I like my football on a Saturday,
Roast beef on Sundays, all right.
I go to Blackpool for my holidays,
Sit in the open sunlight.

This is my street, and I'm never gonna to leave it,
And I'm always gonna to stay here
If I live to be ninety-nine,
'Cause all the people I meet
Seem to come from my street
And I can't get away,
Because it's calling me, (come on home)
Hear it calling me, (come on home)

La-la-la-la...
Oh, my autumn Armagnac
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.
La-la-la-la...
Oh, my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

Bop-bop-bopm-bop-bop, whoa!
Bop-bop-bopm-bop-bop, whoa!
[etc.]

And as I walked round those tidy streets I thought to myself
"How can anybody be at all unhappy in such a perfect world?"
How wrong I was!

There's a little hunchback man, he used to walk round the streets
of North London. His head was bowed, forced to look at the ground by
this cruel, debilitating hump on his back. And all of my school friends
had a name for this hunchback. They called him the freak.
And every time the freak walked down the street my friends would laugh
and I laughed with them.
Now my dad was a sports fan. But in order to achieve all the ambitions
my father had for me, I trained really hard and eventually I became the
captain of the school team, until one cold winters afternoon I sustained
an injury. Actually it was kick up the arse, but ... hey.
I was sent to a specialist and he took x-rays of my back, examened me
and he said "Well you're gonna have to give up all sport for all time,
otherwise you're going to end up a hunchback like that man I see you
laughing at".
Maybe that was meant to scare me, I don't know, but all of a sudden I
started to look at that freak in a new light, because in him I saw my future.
I would become a freak.
But we all know that ugliness, like beauty, is only skin deep.

Don't be fooled by appearances,
It only shows what the world already knows
Don't rely on the physical evidence
Of what the x-ray pictures show
Because inside every straight upright citizen a tormented
Emotionally impaired psycologically damaged personality resides
And beside every crooked man stands an angel with wings
And the spirit can do truly wonderous things

As I watch the hump-backed man hobble down the high street
I say a silent prayer for myself
I was taken to the local doctor
For a consultation about my physical health
I heard him ask about my family - history
"You see, Mrs. Davies, it might be hereditary. Yes it might"
Maybe think about my family, 'cause socially could be
"You were a physical deformity"

'Cos the world only sees what it believes and is revealed in the x-ray
It only knows what it knows, photographs, video and the printed word
Yes/But there is more in this heaven on earth
Than (what)/(what those scientists now and) is revealed on/in the x-ray

Ev'ry morning I got up and looked in the mirror to see if the hump had
Appeared on my back. To my disappointment I was not a freak.
You see, maybe there'd be side benefits to become in a cripple,
Side benefits like prioroty seating at football matches. And I thought
"If I'm gonna be a cripple, I'll go all the way"

They could photograph reality,
But they can't picture your fantasy
'Cos the world only sees what it believes and is revealed in the x-ray
It only knows what it knows, photographs, video and the printed word
Yes/But there is more in this heaven on earth
Than (what)/(what those scientists now and) is revealed on/in the x-ray

'Cos the world only sees what it believes and is revealed in the x-ray
It only knows what it knows, photographs, video and the printed word
Yes/But there is more in this heaven on earth
Than (what)/(what those scientists now and) is revealed on/in the x-ray

It was clear to everybody in the family that as a cripple I was a complete
failure. I did no better at college, actually. I went to the Hornsey College
of Art. Hornsey, with the emphasis on horn.
But being at Art College in the mid till late sixties was quite an experience.
Everything was changing in Britain: fashion, style, art, theater.
But the thing I enjoyed most about Art College were the chicks.
Exactly. Don't think of me as crumpet man, do you? Do you?
But there was one chick in particular. She was in the sculpture
department. She was a complete goddess. She was like one of these
continental film stars. Her body was shaped like a Gretch country
gentleman guitar. But like a Gretch country gentleman, she was too
expensive for me.
But ev'ry night I persevered. I carried her easel up the stairs to her bedsit.
All these stairs to this attic appartment. But once I was inside her bedsit
I'd sit down and talk to her about politics, art, literature, ...revolution!
The usual crap, do you know what I mean? And this girl would lean
against the refrigerator, sip her cocoa and stare at me as if to say
"You can talk all the bullshit you want. You ain't gonna get anywhere
with me". And she was right, so I like to dedicate this next piece
to that wonderful prick-teaser of my youth.

My art school babe with your palette-knives and brushes,
Painted face, Egyptian eye-brows and bright red lips
Pale white make-up, tight black skirts like Juliette Greco
And there's me quoting pretentious chat up lines
From Marcel Proust, Jean Cocteau and Jean-Paul Sartre

Sitting by a gasfire in a drafty bedsit
The art school babe quotes William Blake and she rolls a joint
And I think "Oh oh, I've scored", start to make myself at home
But the room starts moving as she starts to get me stoned

I close my eyes and give in, the room goes in a spin
My lips are dry, I wander around with a ridiculous grin
I grovel on the floor, I think "Yeah I think I can make her"
Then I wake up and realize I've been kissing the refrigerator

Art school chaps with creative grand illusions
My sketch pad at the ready, my eager charcoal in my hand
Boring the world for hours with political theories
Just to impress anyone who listens while my art school babe
Just puts another inch of make-up on her face

And she says to me:
"Arty farty, you'll never fool your Auntie
Who knew you when you picked your nose and wet your pants"
How did she know that?
Arty farty, I try to throw a party
To impress my peers I struck a creative stance

Art school cat, ah, I was really on a mission
I made my play for my art school babe
By humming jazz tunes with words by Furlinghetti
I thought I was ever so cool,
But I was really such an obvious, pretentious, irritating little fool
For my art school babe

Got back to the frontroom, Dave was plugged in to the green amplifier
Pete was on the bass, they sounded great
Dave had this great way of playing the guitar
The way Dave played was very individual
I'd been overwhelmed by all the culture
Art School prays the life I'd never really understand
I sat down and started to jam,
was astounded by the speed of Dave's hands
The way Dave played guitar was very similar to the way he spoke
Exactly
I thought to myself "This is the way it's gonna be.
I'm gonna join this band, leave college behind.
Forget culture, rock 'n' roll is where it's at"

And daytime was dawning
We were up all night, we were all yawning
But we were playing, raving
Sometimes so loud, to the early morning

Our friends keep knocking at the door
The neighbours shouted out "No more"
They even sent the police around to hear us play
And this is the way we played

We thought "If we could annoy all of the neighbours with the green amp
think of what we could do with a four piece band"
But there was no doubt Dave was the star,
a connoisseur of the old twelve bar
And even dad said "That boy is bloody marvelous"
As I said Pete was on the bass,
so the only way I could SLY my way into the band
was to become the rhythm guitar player
While we were bouncing up and down
the house was shaking to the sound
of the full distortion from the gramophone
We had stayed up playing all night long
ran out of other people's songs
so we started making music of our own

And dawn was breaking, my mind was calculating
This time there's no more waiting
I was awake, my mind was clear
I could see a way out of here

And then the cops knocked at the door
with letters from solicitors
We'd disturb the peace and woke up all the neighbours
But dad says "Forget the neighbours.
Keep playing, boys, keep playing"

I sat down and started to write a song on the old upright piano.
I played these crude chords with my left hand and thumbed out a kind of
a blues riff. I thought of a melody to go with the phrase
"Girl, you really got me going
you got me so I don't know what I'm doing"
Then I called Dave in from the kitchen where he was having dinner
with the rest of the family. And he picked up his guitar and plugged it in
to the green amp. He started playing along with the riff I was playing
on the piano and as the amp warmed up I heard that wonderful
distorted sound. I taught Dave the song and some of our sisters came in
to listen to it. Mum hovered around by the door, half afraid that the
neighbours would call the police again.
When we got through the song for the first time our small audience
applauded. I'd written "You really got me" and it happened in the
frontroom. Because all the important things happened there.

I used to go down The Marquee Club where all these R & B bands were
playing. It was like hearing Big Bill Broonzy with drums, but they were
British bands. Alexis Korner had his Blues Band. Cyril Davies &
His All Stars backed Sonny Boy Williamson.

But before doing any more gigs we wouldn't make the same mistake as
we'd made before, for this time we'd get a drummer.
We took an advert out in The Melody Maker, which is a hugh music paper
in England. "A very important new beat group require the services of an
extraordinary drummer. Auditions next thursday". The following thursday
one person turned up. You see, we'd forgotten to put the address of the
audition down. This was fate, this was destiny, because the young man
standing before us was no other than Michael Charles Avory.
We liked Mick. He was a really down to earth, ordinary guy. He was a
boy scout! Very commendable. But why, why did he wear the boy scouts
outfit to the audition? He must have thought we were really weird,
because we were all dressed in those Carnaby Street clothes, you know.
Dave...Dave and Pete especially. In Mick's eyes we must have looked
very very effeminate. To say the least. And Mick dressed in his boy scouts
outfit, so you can understand there's a big difference, a big gulf.
But Mick looked at us and he said "I like the group a lot, yeah I like the
group. I like the music you play, yeah, R & B, that's the coming thing,
ain't it? But if I join the group, I want to make one thing clear. I've got a
girlfriend and if you haven't noticed: I'm straight". "We can soon change
that, darling". Poor old Mick. I suppose we did look effeminate to him.
We just explained that we wanted to create an image for ourselves and,
you know, be outrageously dressed. But we said "Exactly, Mick. We need
a masculine looking person in the group, and you've got those features,
man, you're the guy! Particularly the drummer has got to look hard".
And so the band was formed. Let's hear it for the band.

There was still a problem. We had to get management. You're nothing
without management, are you? We were discovered playing in a pub
by two very well respected gentlemen. They were both about 6 foot 6
tall or there about, aristocratic types. And they wore these classic blue
pin-striped suits. Their names were Robert and Grenville. And Robert and
Grenville thought it would be a very good idea to manage a pop group.
"What do you think, Grenville?". "Oh, what a good idea, Robert".
I thought "Blimey, I've never never met anybody like this before".
I said to Robert "Robert, have you ever managed anything in your life
before?". "Never!". Perfect, they got the job.

They were soon joined by a third manager. This guy was amost as tall as
they were. His name was Larry. And Larry spoke in a very slow deliberate
way. And Larry always smokes his long Havana cigar. He always had one
lit. And he always refered to me as cock. No no. Cock is a London
expression for mate, chum.
"Hello cock. How are you cock? How's your cock, cock, alright?".
But Larry was crucial. Larry was very important. Because he knew people
in the music industry. Robert and Grenville had failed to get us a recording
contract. But Larry knew a man who knew a man. Larry said
"Now we gotta be opportunistic. We gotta find you a name".
One evening we were having a drink in pub with Larry and somebody
commented on the fake leather caps that Dave and Pete were wearing.
Someone else said that we were wearing kinky boots. A few days later
Larry showed us the mock-up of the artwork for the advertisement.
And there we were. We were called: The Kinks. And I hated it.
But Larry's eyes were glowing with excitement. "Kinks, cock, Kinks.
"Kinks, cock, Kinks. It's short, five letters. You'll be bottom of the bill,
but you need something that will stand out and Kinks will stand out.
I can see it. The curiousity value will be incredible. That's a gimmic,
me old cocker. We'll all dress in leather with whips and riding boots,
very kinky. We'll put the pictures in the trades, they'll love it. Maybe we
got to get a new stage gear, my boys, lots of buckles and leather strips".
I hated the name Kinks, but what did I know.
But Larry knew a man who knew a man, and this man got us a three
single deal with Pye Records. The first record was a cover of Little
Richard's Long tall Sally, but it died a death. The follow-up was significant
in that it was the first song I had composed for The Kinks, a very naive
optimistic song called You still want me. Unfortunately nobody did.
The third record had to be hit, otherwise we'd get kicked off the label.

But we didn't care. We were on the road. Robert and Grenville gave us
some money to buy a second-hand door mobil, a little van. And we
put our little bits of equipment in the back and started driving around
the north circular. And then Robert got us some gigs in the north.
We drove up to Manchester, Birmingham, all over the country at tiny
little clubs. Our records hadn't been hits, but we were enjoying the
groovy scene, man. And it was on these tours that we picked up lots
of fans, lots of young fans. And it was Through our appearance on
Ready Steady Go, with one of our failed singles, that they started to
recognize us. And that's when we first encountered the phenomenon
known as groupies.

In the book X-Ray the decrepit old rock 'n' roll singer talks about this
mystery girl he used to know when he was on the road. It's a girl he calls
Julie Finkle. Julie Finkle was really a mixture of lots of different people.
And on tours, night after night, you go to these one-night stands,
there's always a Julie Finkle in the audience. Maybe she's imaginary,
and what's sure, maybe she's here tonight.

I first met Julie a long time ago,
Staring up at me from the front row
She had a timeless glow, she was the image of youth
That never grows old or gets long in the tooth
And who would think after all these years
That good fortune would smile my way
She's a symbol of all that I believe in
She was there at the beginning, she's still out there today

[Chorus:]
Julie, Julie, I hope that you're still single
Julie, Julie, oh my mystery Julie Finkle
(Woohooh hoohooh hooh, woohooh hoohooh hooh)

After me she went with a biker from Stoke,
Had a child with a banker from Bolton
I hear she ended up with a really nice bloke,
Who's respectable now, so my silence is golden
To protect her and him I've used a pseudonym,
But I hope she gets the vital connection
It was a long time ago, but I want you to know
Julie, you were the pick of a prime selection

[Chorus]

But keep looking for your love (Woohooh hoohooh hooh)

Truly, Julie, you're only a name,
You could be a Molly or a Sarah-Jane
But if I should never see you again,
I'll never forget you, truly

[Chorus]

Keep looking for your love (Woohooh hoohooh hooh)

Julie, Julie, oh my mystery Julie Finkle

The phone rang, it was a call from Larry. "Hello, cock. Cock, it's time for
the third single". If this is a flop, if the third single doesn't make it, our
career would be over. I'd written another song that we played on stage
quite a lot. It was called You really got me. And the audiences loved it,
no, the audiences loved it. They liked it because they could dance to it.
But the record company hated it. They said "You can't record that piece
of rubish. And we don't like the sound of that terrible distorted green
amplifier. No, no. You can't record it, that's final". But Robert and
Grenville thought it was marvelous. "Don't you think so, Grenville?".
"Oh, every time they play 'You really got me' I get shivers up my spine".
"I think it's a hit, cock, I gotta tell ya, I'll state my reputation on it".
Now, with management like that, how could we fail?
But the record company said "Look, we don't believe in it. We're very
sorry, we don't believe in it. If you wanna make the record, fine, but you
have to pay for the recording yourselves". And that was really cruel,
because they knew we were broke. But Robert knew a man.
"Here, Ray, here's 200 quid. Go in the bloody studio and make that
record. And make sure it's a bloody hit, what?".
You see, Mick Avory hadn't signed the recording contract, and they said
he couldn't play on the record. We'd have to get a session drummer in,
he's a guy that'd come in and play for hire. And they said this thinking
that we'd be loyal to Mick and cancel the session. But we weren't
gonna do that. But at the last minute we snug Mick into the studio.
He can only play tambourine, but at least he was on the record.
I'd written 'You really got me' as tribute to all those great blues people
I love: Leadbelly and Big Bill Broonzy. And Dave was playing the song
in the studio that day, but he was playing it in the style I'd written it.
But then Dave plugged the guitar into the green amp, and he plugged
the green amp into a Vox AC30, and it sounded hugh.
And when Dave played the opening chords to 'You really got me'
they were so loud that the session drummer forgot the complicated
little patern he was gonna play at the beginning and just hit one beat
on the snare drum as loud as he could, pow, as if to say to Dave
"You noisy little bleeder. I can play just as loud as you can. And I've got
a big stick". But that's exactly what we wanted, you see, we wanted to
sound loud. Now we sounded like a group.
Halfway through the song it was time for Dave's guitar solo.
This moment had to be right. So I shouted across the studio to Dave,
give him encouragement. But I seemed to spoil his concentration.
He looked at me with a dazed expression. "Fuck off".
If you doubt me, if you doubt what I'm saying, I challenge you to listen
to the original Kinks recording of 'You really got me'.
Halfway through the song, after the second chorus, before the guitar
solo, there's a drum break. Boo ka, boo boo ka, boo ka, boo boo.
And in the background you can hear "fuckoff". You can, you can.
When I did the vocal I tried to cover it up by going "Oh no", but in the
background you still hear it "fuckoff". And it's even clearer on CD,
it's really embarrassing.
Well then Dave looked like you'd done something wrong, his mouth
relaxed and his jaw dropped. But it was halfway through the most
important track we'd ever do. And if it wasn't a hit, it would be the last
track we'd ever do. And the lead guitarist stops playing before the solo.
But then Dave's eyes squinted and his face broke into that arrogant
sideways grin I've learnt to love and hate over the years. You see,
he hadn't heard me shout at all. He just thought of looking at me
at the same time as I looked at him, a kind of telepathic way of saying
"This is it, remember, the front room". Then he gritted his teeth and
sneered at me one more time and cocked an attitude before turning
away into the corner of the studio to play himself into rock 'n' roll history.

Girl, you really got me goin'
You got me so I don't know what I'm doin'
Yeah, you really got me now
You got me so I can't sleep at night

Yeah, you really got me now
You got me so I don't know what I'm doin', now
Oh yeah, you really got me now
You got me so I can't sleep at night

You Really Got Me
You Really Got Me
You Really Got Me

See, don't ever set me free
I always wanna be by your side
Girl, you really got me now
You got me so I can't sleep at night

Yeah, you really got me now
You got me so I don't know what I'm doin', now
Oh yeah, you really got me now
You got me so I can't sleep at night

You Really Got Me
You Really Got Me
You Really Got Me
Oh no...

[Solo]

See, don't ever set me free
I always wanna be by your side
Girl, you really got me now
You got me so I can't sleep at night

Yeah, you really got me now
You got me so I don't know what I'm doin', now
Oh yeah, you really got me now
You got me so I can't sleep at night

You Really Got Me
You Really Got Me
You Really Got Me

There's a room in a house in a street in a manor in a borough
That's part of a city that is generally referred to as London
It's a dark place, a mysterious place
And it is said that if you're born within the sound of Bow-Bells
You have the necessary qualifications to be christened a Londoner
[It's a cruel place, it's a hard place]
But when you think back to all the great Londoners
William Blake, Charles Dickens, Dick Whittington,
Pearly kings, barrow boys, Arthur Daley, Max Wall
And don't forget the Kray twins

But if you're ever up on Highgate Hill on a clear day
You can see right down to Leicester Square [London, London]
Crystal Palace, Clapham Common, right down to Streatham Hill
North and South, I feel that I'm a Londoner still [London, London]

Chiswick Bridge to Newham and East Ham
Churchbells ring out through the land
You were born in London, England
[London, London, through the dark alley-ways and passages of London]

And there's a tap by a reservoir, leading to a stream,
That turns into a river estuary that eventually opens to the sea
[London, London]
And there's a docker by a wharf, sending cargo overseas,
Unloading foreign trade from a large ocean vessel
In the mighty metropolitan port of London
[London, London, through the dark alley-ways and passages of London]

When I think of all the Londoners still unsung
East-enders, West-enders, Oriental-enders
Fu Manchu, Sherlock Holmes, Jack Spock, Henry Cooper,
Thomas A'Becket, Thomas Moore, and don't forget the Kray twins

There's a part of me that says "Get out"
Then one day I'll hear somebody shout
"Sounds to me like you come from London Town"

But if you're ever up on Highgate Hill on a clear day,
I'll be there [I'll be there]
Yes I will be there [there]
Through the dark alley-ways and passages of London, London
London, London, through the dark alley-ways and passages of London, London
London, London, through the dark alley-ways and passages of London, London