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AIV-08 Crackpot
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a 'novelty foxtrot' featuring Jon Garvey on clarinet!
pop rock fun jazz folk blues eclectic country contemporary singersongwriter london mandolin soft rock sixties accoustic seventies cambridge martyn humourous
Artist picture
Singer-songwriter, arranger and producer: acoustic contemporary folk but ranging into rock/blues/country/jazz/humour...all very eclectic, I'm afraid!
Martin Stirrup Singer/songwriter An old folkie who got back into it... These days I sing and play guitar(s) and other stringed instruments, then score and orchestrate where appropriate. My taste becomes increasingly eclectic ranging from finger-picked folk through country to soft rock mixed in with a few more alternative and eccentric numbers, including the odd novelty foxtrot...
Song Info
Genre
Acoustic • Acoustic General
Charts
Peak #172
Peak in subgenre #41
Author
martin stirrup
Rights
martin stirrup
Uploaded
December 06, 2012
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.2 MB • 160 kbps • 2:49
Story behind the song
Crackpot Oddly enough this is the deathsong of our (once) trusty White Ambassador! The fanbelt went driving crosscountry through Rajasthan. We limped to a 'garage' in a nearby town and sat drinking hot chai from sunbaked clay cups which were then ceremoniously smashed down onto a pile of debris by the roadside. Mr Kumar chatted about the deficiencies of our favourite chariot and spoke darkly of its imminent demise... Someone disappeared off on a motorbike, reappearing an hour later with a serviceable new fanbelt and we were on our way again. On the way back to Delhi we agreed that we'd forgo the pleasures of the Ambassador in future and let him drive us in the Toyota instead (but that's another song...) So quite why the song turned into a novelty foxtrot I have no idea. At least it gave the ukelele a first outing - and once again Jon Garvey came to the rescue with spot-on clarinet and tuba.
Lyrics
G Her pot is cracked, can’t fetch no water A Flat on her back, nobody caught her D C# D7 She didn’t act like her daddy taught her G C G C (Bb) G A fact’s a fact her pot is cracked this time she’s gone He’s shot his bolt, wasted his chances Barely afloat, spent all his advances Watch the neighbours gloat, see their sideways glances Stupid dolt he’s shot his bolt this time he’s gone C G What can you say when your heart is breaking A That smell of burning rubber tells you D Your fan belt’s must be breaking The goose is cooked there’ll be murder No excuses brooked, she’ll be locked in purdah It won’t be overlooked everybody heard her She’s well in schtuck, the goose is cooked this time he’s gone What can you do once those words are spoken All that hiss and bubbling tells you Your fan belt must be broken
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