Last year I watched the ITV
series ‘Cilla’, which documented the rise to fame of ‘our’ Miss Cilla Black.
Very good it was too, with
Sheridan Smith absolutely nailing the titular role. In particular she delivered
some faithfully tasty cover versions of Cilla Black’s most famous songs, including
‘You're My World’ and ‘Anyone Who Had A Heart’... which prompted a discussion
about the quality and merits of cover versions.Can the cover ever be better
than the original? Is it even allowed to be considered so?It’s probably fair to say that
MOST of the time, the original is indeed the best, but that’s not to say that
there haven’t been some amazing covers, because there have been some belting
good attempts.In fact there are some absolute
standards recorded over the years that people probably have no idea were
actually covers themselves, such as these randomly selected tracks:
The Beatles ~ ‘Twist & Shout’ – originally by the Top Notes
Blondie ~ ‘The Tide Is High’– originally by The Paragons
Elvis Presley ~ ‘Hound Dog’– originally by Big Mama Thornton
Cyndi Lauper ~ ‘Girls Just Want To Have Fun’– originally by Robert Hazard
Beach Boys ~ ‘Sloop John.B’– originally by Carl Sandburg
Natalie Imbruglia ~ ‘Torn’– originally by Ednaswap
Soft Cell ~ ‘Tainted Love’– originally by Gloria Jones
Righteous Bros. ~ ‘Unchained Melody’– originally by Al Hibbler (Vocal version)
Aretha Franklin ~ ‘Respect’– originally by Otis Redding
Nilsson ~ ‘Without You’– originally by Badfinger
Just a few examples of songs
that the above artists arguably made their own, but that actually belong to
someone else…
So to answer the question as to
whether the original is always better than the cover or not, surely it has to
be each song on its merit.
Whilst not an extensive list,
below are some of my favourite covers that I think offer something different
and maybe better than the original:
How Deep Is Your Love?
Originally made famous by the Bee Gees, covered by Take That
You Showed Me
Originally made famous by the Turtles, covered by the Lightning Seeds
Always On My Mind
Originally made famous by Elvis Presley, covered by the Pet Shop Boys
I Think We’re Alone Now
Originally made famous by Tommy James & The Shondells, covered by Tiffany
And a special mention to Flawless
Originally made famous by The
Ones (and in part Gary’s Gang), and not so much covered by George Michael as
lyrically enhanced. The original was more of an instrumental, until George had
a crack at some words for it. Love it! >
So Part 1 looked at the transition from Primary to Secondary School –
fast forward 5 years and 1992 brought to a close my compulsory education years.
Over those 5 years, as is the case for the vast majority of teenagers,
I’d built up some incredible friendships destined to last, with both
individuals and as a group alike. So much so that during our last year, we’d
extended not only to simply meeting at the park or sleepovers, but to also going out for full blown meals in
Brighton. How very grown up! The irony is that now I can't actually afford to go out as often as we used to back then!
I recall one night going for a birthday meal at the Marina for one of the girls and
during the course of the evening it significantly snowed. I say significantly,
it was about an inch (a man's inch), but at the time it had been years since the last
snowfall, so some of us ended up walking back towards Brighton throwing
snowballs from the beach, which seemed a bit surreal at the time!
Fish Dandruff
The last few months at school were fine, though for me absolutely carried
a sense of impending endings – which I found a bit confusing as to how I ought
to feel about it. Would I be friends with these people forever? Would I ever
see them again? Did they even want to keep in touch with me anyway!?
All these considerations were set against a backdrop of imminent GCSE
exams. Shamefully, I barely revised at all – mainly as no matter how hard I tried to
revise, it seemed that the more I read (and re-read) my books and notes, the
less confident I became. I did alright in the end though, with my best result
being attaining the highest grade in German that a male had achieved to date at
the school. Wunderbar! I'm sure it’sbeen smashed since...
May 8th 1992 - Our last day before taking exam leave ! It was quite emotional for some, and we
all dressed up for the occasion but by and large looked pretty terrible – such
was early 1990’s fashion.
Many girls (and probably some boys) were seen to cry – seemingly in the misplaced belief that they would never see any of their friends ever again. Whilst the final
assembly party was in swing, I joined a few of my best mates on a final tour
around the deserted school to say goodbye to the ghosts. Albeit this was a little bit daft, as I was coming back to same school the following September to the
in-house Sixth Form!
However that day really did feel like the definitive end of my
schooling. Like my time at Primary School, I had mostly enjoyed Secondary
School too. I had made the best friends and enjoyed some fantastic laughs along
the way, and barring one or two notable exceptions, most of the teachers were
pretty good too.
And, certainly initially, the end of school didn’t totally mean the end all
friendships. Primarily with my male friends, we were together virtually every
day of that prolonged summer (due to exam leave etc) – I didn’t own a bike, but I borrowed one belonging to my friend’s brother, and we cycled all over the place
at all hours of the day and night just talking about everything and nothing,
girls and football, school and music, starting a band, drinking, Winona Ryder etc.
I really don't care that she was once a shoplifter!
It was
a hot summer and it was one of the only times in my life that I got anything like a decent tan! Rather belatedly I also finally grew a
bit taller – earlier in the year I had been a stunted five feet three, but by
the time I started Sixth Form, I’d towered to all of five feet nine!
It’s fair to say though that many friendships through school association
did in fact disintegrate from this time, and I guess that’s the way it is meant
to be. You don’t live with your parents forever as you eventually outgrow most of what
they can provide for you, and it’s the same for your school mates. By the time
you get to 16, there’s less and less you have in common with them apart from
the fact that you have to be in the same building as them up to that point.
My step daughter recently passed up the idea of having a big 16th
birthday party (not my fault!!) on the basis that she is very focussed and
particular as to who her friends are and likes the fact that it’s a smallish
group. I think that’s probably a realistic and sensible approach.
I’m in my 40th year now, and although I don’t still have any
kind of regular contact with ALL those who were in our school group of about 9 close friends, I
happily communicate with those who want to still be part of my life, and know
that with one or two of them, we often resume our friendship as if we’d only
been at school yesterday, which is a nice state to be in.
Musical interlude time again: I've gone with the Number One for the week
in May I technically left secondary school (for exam leave)
Two years later, and it really was the last year at school! I had been
quite looking forward to my Sixth Form years, as I had this illusion that it
would be a great last hurrah for my school days.
Lower School, turned Sixth Form, turned entirely new school now
It wasn't!
The last few months at Sixth Form were a drag and I was sadly pleased when it had all finished. I’d enjoyed some of it, and had bonded in some new friendships
with people I had not known so well before, but from very early on it felt like
my heart simply wasn’t in it. I had genuinely enjoyed 99% of my school years,
but during the last year I just felt I’d had enough. I got bored with the work
and coupled with the fatigue I was feeling all the time (I had Glandular fever
and Anaemia), I was in no right mind to want to go to university. I’m sure it
probably showed in my work as towards the end of my final year, one teacher
absolutely (and unnecessarily) ridiculed me in front of my classmates, which
totally wiped out any confidence and drive I had left. After that humiliation, I had
classmates that I didn’t really know that well come and offer sympathies
because of her attack. Given that I train and teach people for a living now, as
my teacher for several spells between 1987-1994 she really ought to have known how to get the best out
of me a lot better than how she attempted. It’s unfair to say that she alone
ruined my lasting memory of school for me, but she didn’t help bring the
curtain down on a happy note that’s for sure.
I pushed on through though until the exams were done, and pointedly I set
up the Alice Cooper classic ‘School’s Out’
to play on my walkman as I left the school and walked down Portslade High
Street for the last time following my final exam.
A fairly pivotal few months
lie ahead for two of my children. My son is making the step up from Middle to
High School (or in old money, Primary to Secondary), and my step daughter is
imminently about to embark on GCSEs and the move to College / Sixth Form.
I can’t help cast my mind back
to when I experienced the same events myself, back when every summer seemed to
be a long and hot one, and my biggest concerns had absolutely nothing to do
with money!
I left Primary School on July
22nd 1987, and I doubt I could have enjoyed my time there any more if I tried.
The teachers were 99% tip top and the same went for my classmates. On the last
day of school, my favourite teacher gave her goodbyes and put it to us that we
should come back and visit the school in the future – not necessarily the next
term, or even the next year, but in years to come. And I did so in 1999, 2007
and 2009, and I actually found it quite an overwhelming experience (in a good
way!)
Primary School - clearly NOT in July 1987
Here's another photo I took earlier...
And as is my wont, I have to include an obligatory music gesture! For this blog it comes in the
shape of the song that was Number 1 the week I left Primary School:
Whilst it was sad to leave, I didn't sense any particular feeling of loss, as every member of my class was
going to the same Secondary School anyway. So come the third of September 1987,
we all moved up the ladder.
Told you I had blond hair!
I personally found the step up to be immense. I think that coming
from a relatively small village primary school with barely 150 students in the
entire school, I was now amongst more than 150 students in just one school year. I’d gone from being the
fifth oldest in my last school year, to being about the twentieth oldest in
this new place. I recall getting horrendous 'flu just a few weeks into the first school term. In fact I actually felt a bit voiceless, having drifted into the mass of numbers
somewhat, not that I'm an attention seeker! Much. *cough* No-one believes me that I'm actually painfully shy!
Looks appealing doesn't it!?
I also had a bit of a rough start as I was selected in a class with not
one of my male friends from primary school, and just one female. I got on
really well with her, but being rather shy (seriously!) I needed a bit more of
a comfort blanket than that. Most of the class seemed to know each other and were
on the whole friendly enough, though one or two were crueller than they needed
to be. Thankfully I found a couple of people who went out of their way to be
incredibly friendly and helpful to me. They put in so much effort to get to
know me during those early days which I was incredibly grateful for. I've never
forgotten that and to this day I am pleased they are still amongst my circle of
friends.
In spite of their great efforts though, both me and my female friend
(with all due respect to each other) were still unhappy and craved friends that we were more familiar with. With the aid of a phone call from my
Dad, a meeting was instigated with our terrific head of year, and he went
through all the student class lists to see what arrangements he could make to
help us. Thankfully there was a supremely easy swap which suited us both. My
new tutor group was great from the get-go, and some of the children I met over
those early weeks became lifelong friends, although there was one guy who
seemed determined to exercise his height advantage by starting to bully the children
of a smaller stature – namely me. He just gave me so much grief for the first
month or so, such as literally shoving me out of the way for no reason and
physically trying to intimidate me at every opportunity. It came to a head when
I had just had enough of it all. I challenged him to meet me on a Saturday at a
local park to ‘sort it out’. I managed to get the support of many of my new
classmates, as they too had got fed up with his antics.
As it happened, I didn't go to the park. Maybe it was fear and I just
bottled it, but I just thought that he wouldn't show up either. Come the
following Monday though I walked straight up to him in front of his mates and bluffed:
“Where were you then!?”... He countered with the same. Both of us claimed to
have been there, smiled to each other and left it at that, and he never gave me
any aggro again!
So all in all, once the minor issues had resolved themselves, it was a
relatively easy transition, and one that I reckon my son will cope with well
enough. Mainly as he’s far more confident than I ever was!
In Part 2, I’ll have a look at leaving Secondary School, which is a
slightly different ballpark!
At the start of the year, another one of those Facebook threads popped
up asking people to present lists about something. Favourite albums, favourite
films etc are usually the order of the game, but this one was to just list ‘seven things about you’.
It probably gave further cause for the people who don’t use Facebook to
ask in horror “why
do people reveal so much information about themselves online?”
I can see that point to a degree, but personally I just see it as a bit of
fun… I’ve not got that much to hide! Besides, bloggers around the world will
state that making lists about things (and particularly making them a bit
personal) is a staple diet for subject matter!
I’ve upped it to ten, just to make it a nice round OCD list, so here are
my ‘things’, ever so slightly expanded:
In
1975, I was born and was named Aaron
Richard Berry after Elvis Aaron
Presley and Richard the Lionheart.
And Berry after my parents
I’m happy enough with the name
I was given, but do people ever make a meal over how it’s spelt and/or
pronounced!? It’s only five letters and two syllables – it really shouldn’t be
that difficult! At work, I have a name badge that I wear constantly and yet a
colleague who has sat adjacent to me for 10 years still manages to spell my
name wrong on Christmas cards. Bless them they even get it wrong in the office
birthday card where eight other people have already written my name down to
observe and copy!
Yes he spelt it both ways!
In 1982
(6 years old) I could do multiple cartwheels on an upside down gym bench
that was only 3 inches wide
When a lot smaller (and more
agile), I was quite good at gymnastics and even went to a proper club to train
for a few weeks before being forced to cease attending. The cartwheeling was
done in tangent with a girl who ‘matched my symmetry’ according to the
instructor.
In 1985
(10 years old) I inadvertently appeared as an extra during the filming of
the Bob Hoskins cult classic movie ‘Mona Lisa’
There’s a scene on the Palace
Pier with Bob (RIP) and I can be seen in the background buying an ice cream (a
‘99’ of course) even though it was a cold and grey day. If you want to see it,
make sure you get the Blu-Ray version – I’m clearer in that one!
Anyone fancy an ice cream?
In 1986
(10 years old) I was one of the first 20 children to go on the new waterslide
flumes at the King Alfred Swimming Pool, Hove.
Yep I won a competition in the
Evening Argus to get first dibs on opening day. This was a HUGE attraction for Hove at the time and they were great fun… until they
deteriorated and just became plain dangerous! The only annoyance on the day was
that the school bully was also a winner in the competition too, so I had to put
up with that lowlife for an hour or so.
They were cleaner back in the day - well for the first few weeks anyhoo
In 1988
(11 years old) I sang solo lines in Oliver!
at the Brighton Dome in front of 2000
people each night for four shows
My Grandad had been part of
the Crescent Operatic Society (amateur dramatics) for a few years and persuaded
me and my brother to audition for Oliver!
We didn’t get lead roles, but I did at least get about 10 seconds of solo lines
to melodiously deliver!
In 1992
(16 years old) I was the first male ever to get a B in GCSE German at my
school
Or so I’m told. I’m sure it’s
been bettered since!
Helped in no small part by our
5th year teacher, after the 4th year teacher had been a
little out of his depth, to say the least > see Substitute Teachers for a fuller explanation of
this!
In 1997
(21 years old) I literally bumped into George Lucas at a Michael Jackson
concert
It was my second Michael
Jackson concert in just three days at the old Wembley Stadium, and having just
got through the turnstile, I half stumbled into George and his children. No
words exchanged unfortunately, but there was this instant murmur of those
around the scene that it definitely was him! The one thing that I still find a
bit odd is why on Earth would George Lucas be amongst the masses in the cheap
seats? Surely he and Michael were good enough mates to have secured him a
better view?
In 2002
(26 years old) I cried when Ally McBeal ended
Many people will rib me for
this one, but I really don’t care. I couldn’t get enough of Ally McBeal and
found it to be a terrific show both incredibly funny at points, and incredibly
sad at others. I don’t know why but I really related to the show, though I
can’t see how I had any right to.
Ooga Chaka, Ooga Ooga Ooga Chaka
In 2005
(29 years old) I won £250,000 for Brighton & Hove Albion FC, but I don't like to talk about it...
Nah! I love talking about it!!
To help the club I love by winning a Coca-Cola sponsored competition, at a time
when they needed all the financial help they could get was definitely one of
the best moments in my life. I might even do a blog about
it soon as it’s been ten years since the win!
You can't beat a novelty sized cheque!
In 2015
(39 years old) I posted this blog discussing 10 ‘facts’ about me… but one
of them is a total falsehood!
It’s fair to say
that my two main hobbies / interests are music and football. Plenty of my blogs
have delved into my music tastes, so maybe it’s about time to talk football.
I didn’t really
grow up having a direct football influence in my house. My parents have never
been into football so by default it was never on TV, save a handful of times as I
recall my Dad watching the occasional England Vs Scotland clash, probably due
to a sense of patriotic duty.
Nor did I ever really
play much football as a child, as I just wasn’t that good, and liable to break into a fit of
nervous giggles whenever I actually got passed the ball… though I did get
better as I got older and proudly even scored one solitary goal for the school
team in a mini tournament when I was about 13. In fact it was a bit like Lineker's first in this clip! No really!
The only
occasions I got anywhere near close to football exposure was via my
grandparents – both of whom loved the game. My paternal Grandad was a Tottenham
fan (even though he came from south of the River), and his father before him
had been a dyed in the wool Fulham fan. My maternal Grandad was a Brighton
& Hove Albion season ticket holder, but nothing really drew my attention
too much to the sport whilst I was young. Not even the 1983 FA Cup final when my local team Brighton, in unlikely circumstances, actually took Manchester United to a
replay before succumbing to defeat. I do recall watching both games, but really
I was just a seven year old boy supporting Brighton for geographical reasons rather than actually
knowing much about it.
So the tide
didn’t turn until I was ten and a half years old, and around about May 1986.
We had a school
project running about a month before the Mexico ’86 World Cup and we were
allocated teams to write about in ‘news bulletins’. As I wasn’t particularly
fussed about football I just went with the flow, and along with a couple of
other girls in the class, I was asked to adopt Scotland.
Were Scotland any good? I
really didn’t know!
I do remember hearing that England had beaten West Germany
in a pre-tournament friendly (whatever that meant) so maybe this was a good
thing?
As the tournament
started I remember learning that England had lost their first game,
and then drew the next and was on the verge of going out of the tournament
early. ‘So what!?’ I thought. I hadn't watched either England game, or any of
the other matches so far – I was just so totally nonchalant about it all.
And then a
strange thing happened which I still can’t fathom out to this day. On June 11th
I went to bed as normal – probably around 9pm, but got woken up by my Dad
at about 1030pm. My Dad – generally a loather of football and all that was associated with
it – woke me up and said:
“Come downstairs and watch the football, England are two nil
up!”
I really only
went down because it was an excuse to be up late, but as I got downstairs, some
guy called Lineker banged in his third goal and England – or we the nation as I instantly now felt –
were three nil up!
Why my Dad brought me downstairs I just don’t know, and I’m
sure he doesn't know either, but watching that goal and the second half of the
game got me solidly involved with football hook, line and sinker, and I never looked back. It really was just like a switch that someone had turned on.
England had two
more games at that tournament before being knocked out in the cruellest of
fashions. The Maradona ‘Hand of God’
goal was hard to take for a young child naïve to the ways of fair play
(or lack of it) in football.
Diego Maradona
made me cry about football for the first time (though not the last) and I
couldn’t understand how such a thing could have been allowed to happen. I’m
sure it wasn’t corruption on behalf of the officials, though it was highly incompetent officiating for them ALL to miss such a blatant aspect of cheating. Maradona was the classic flawed genius whose misdemeanours caught up with him in time; other such talents followed suit in the years to come as England were denied
a greater impact on the world stage without the fully realised potential of (for example) Paul Gascoigne, largely due to injuries.
One thing I
learnt very early on though in my football education is that there’s one thing
you can guarantee from the beautiful game: Football will continuously let you
down.
Anyway, I digress.
The tricky thing
about getting into football during a World Cup is that I had to learn quickly
who these England players actually played for and I quickly wanted a club to
support. Whilst I knew very soon that Brighton & Hove Albion was to be
my team, it wasn’t out of favouritism for one of my Grandads’ over the other –
in fact I still hold a soft spot for Tottenham in memory of my Spurs supporting
Grandad – plus my son’s great great Grandfather had actually been a Spurs
player. Add into this I really admired Glenn Hoddle and Chris Waddle during the World Cup, and they were / are absolute Spurs legends.
Mullet-tastic
My Dad’s Mum was from Islington, which likely explains
why his only soft spot for any club football team was Arsenal. Regardless, I was
born in Brighton, so I proudly opted to
support my local team.
The football season couldn’t start soon enough and my brain soon
started soaking up stats like they were going out of fashion. In fact I would
suspect this is where my OCD started. I was playing catch up with my friends who
had been into football for years and I just had to get my knowledge factually
correct or they’d cut me down in a second – because let’s face it, kids can be
cruel that way!
During that first full season, I became deeply immersed
with it all, culminating in attending my first proper
football match ever with my Grandad on April 10th 1987.
The Goldstone Ground
Brighton and
Hove Albion Vs Crystal Palace was a local derby with deadly historic rivalry
and I sat in the West Stand at the well loved, but run down Goldstone Ground on
the Old Shoreham Road / Newtown Road to see us win 2-0. It was a terrific day
and set the grounding for my desire to follow ‘The Albion’ forever, even though we were relegated that season!
That aside, it was largely good experiences in my
football journey in those early years, but it wasn’t always wonderful. Yes, I’d been upset about how Maradona cheated England out of the 1986 World
Cup, but that feeling was nothing when compared to watching fellow football
fans die on the television. Merely watching the Hillsborough tragedy unfold
in 1989 was devastatingly awful, so it's impossible to comprehend how those directly involved must have felt - and still feel. I remember watching the presenter of
Grandstand (Bob Wilson) trying desperately to keep it together. He was getting
so choked up and I was on the verge of doing the same.
You can’t really go and research to see what it was like
through recorded video footage (not that I’d recommend it anyway), because huge
amounts of coverage were never broadcast on television or elsewhere again, such
were the graphic images being shown. At the time, British football fans had a
reputation (rightly or wrongly) of hooliganism, but this wasn’t the same
scenario. The outpouring of emotion and grief at this tragedy was heart
wrenching and it literally made people ill. I had absolutely no connection with
Liverpool Football Club, but I had every connection with the fans as I was one
of them. I could have been one of them; a football fan dying on a terrace. This
is why the plight of the families directly involved was so enduring in the
years that followed.
Tremendously, campaigns were fought and eventually won in
helping justice prevail over the circumstances of that particular event, but in the initial aftermath, all fans could do was to pray for common sense and changes so that it
might never happen again. It started the slow but sure alteration of how
football was perceived and run in this country, which was has been good in many, many ways. It’s fair though to say that in 2015 football has
nearly become as elitist sport in the eyes of many, but if part of those changes mean that lives are never lost again at a football match, then maybe that's the right way to go.
I try to detach from the financial side of what football
has become, as at the end of the day, I just want to go and watch my local team
with my family, whether they are successful or not - but possibly over time football has changed to the degree that the peoples' game has been taken away from many of the people for better or for worse.
I appreciate the
highs in football so much because I know that the lows are more frequent, and being
a Brighton fan maybe highlights this more than some other clubs! Football for
me over the years has gone from being fun and frivolous, to being tense and
escapist. That’s fine, because you keep going for the handful of moments that are frankly beyond emotive description.
Even now, aged 39, I still get asked “Why!?
Why do you love football – what is it about it that is so good?”
Well I’ll leave the final comment on that, to the
broadcaster (and Millwall fan) Danny Baker, who whilst commenting on Manchester
City winning the league in literally the last couple of SECONDS of the 2011/12
season, captured the overriding and all too infrequent feeling of all football
fans everywhere in one short sound bite :
“Football! F****** football!
Imagine not being into it. Those poor, poor half-alive b*******!”
