Published in Beat Magazine, November 22, 2006

Thanks to a poll by pay TV channel VH1, we have an opinion on Australia’s Favourite Lyric. Never Tear Us Apart won the day, reminding us of Michael Hutchence’s great creativity; the song was also used at his funeral, reminding us that occasionally Michael got a little too creative. Last Goodbye continued a somewhat morbid theme with second place, but third went to a more divisive tune – You’re Beautiful by James Blunt. The last “newsworthy” poll that featured pop’s most notorious public transport stalker was a list of pet hates done by London’s Daily Mirror, where he ranked less annoying than cold callers, but more annoying than parking inspectors. Frankly, this is a bit harsh, as it’s not the release of the song that caused this public backlash, but its overexposure through the media… that’s the difference between deciding whether you like the smell of a flower, and having a bouquet shoved up your nose.

There is another lyric that has divided public opinion of late, which is a tricky prospect. Usually, no-one is paying much attention – as someone who has spent over half of a comedic career examining the words in pop songs, I can say with some authority that this is the safer approach. Occasionally, a particular combination occurs… a high profile song contains a line so stupid that it launches a thousand punchlines. The public at large didn’t question Tony Lee Scott’s knowledge base when he announced “you moved your tongue around like Fred Astaire” in his song Take Me Away, because it peaked on the Australian pop charts at #33. Shakira’s remark of “lucky that my breasts are small and humble/ So you don’t confuse them with mountains” was treated with far more public disdain, as Whenever, Wherever reached #1 (my reaction was to ask how dumb her beau was, that he didn’t know whether to visit with massage oil or a grappling hook). And now another song has reached the same level of mockery as Shakira’s effort, as it became this year’s longest reigning chart topper; apparently, Brit Sandi Thom wishes she was a punk rocker with flowers in her hair. I originally wondered if this was a kind of lyrical game, matching styles of music with inappropriate headgear… I was all ready to play, by wishing I was a gangsta rapper in a sombrero. It seems I was mistaken.

No, this is Sandi’s ode to a past that never existed. A time “when ignorance could still be bliss”, and, to my bemusement, “the super info highway was still drifting out in space”.

Excuse me?

The internet was never some celestial energy that we harnessed, turning a force from the heavens into a delivery system for pornography and offers of cheap pharmaceuticals. It was built by people. It was drifting out in space in exactly the same way as your house. And apparently she looks back misty eyed at a time when “the only way to stay in touch was a letter in the mail”. Depending who you ask, the telephone was invented sometime between 1854 and 1876, when the only rockers available, punk or otherwise, were chairs.

Rather than longing for a thoroughly renovated version of the past, why not reflect on the present, perhaps with a view to improving things by discussion? Look through the lyrics of Black Fingernails, Red Wine by Eskimo Joe, and you’ll find it dotted with commentary on the world circa 2006 (“the argument over God continues…”). Although you do need to choose which Eskimo Joe song you take seriously, or else you might find yourself caught in the mindtrap set by the opening line of Sarah (“Sarah, won’t you tell me your name.”) Still, this is more useful than rose-coloured reminiscences.

And the only reason an old school punk would wear flowers in his or her hair would be to lure a hippy close enough to be headbutted.