Hedonism and angst, heartbreak and rapture, bombast and tenderness – rock music does them all with an often startling brilliance. Humour? Not so much. Randy Newman – possibly the whip-smartest, funniest songwriter who has ever lived – was once asked by this reviewer why rock’n’roll has such an under-developed funny bone. His answer was simple: rock stars take themselves far too seriously and want to be remembered for saving the world rather than playing it for laughs.
Hedonism and angst, heartbreak and rapture, bombast and tenderness – rock music does them all with an often startling brilliance. Humour? Not so much. Randy Newman – possibly the whip-smartest, funniest songwriter who has ever lived – was once asked by this reviewer why rock’n’roll has such an under-developed funny bone. His answer was simple: rock stars take themselves far too seriously and want to be remembered for saving the world rather than playing it for laughs.
There are exceptions that prove the rule, of course – Frank Zappa managed to be a serious musician and to inject a caustic wit into the Mothers Of Invention’s early records. Yet no rock’n’roll band has ever set out with quite such an endearingly eccentric, consistent and overarching objective to make us laugh as the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band.
Over 17 CDs and three DVDs this extravaganza of countercultural hilarity is the ultimate guide to the Bonzos’ unique mix of highbrow surrealism, lowbrow smut, seaside postcard humour with a psychedelic twist, slapstick, vaudeville and mordant satire, all spiced with a delicious silliness that traces its legacy back to The Goon Show and helped to beget Monty Python’s Flying Circus. As such it represents a vast upscaling on the previously definitive Bonzos collection, the 1992 triple disc set Cornology, which was reissued in 2011 as A Dog’s Life and which compiled the five original Bonzos studio albums plus singles and a sprinkling of rarities.
The full title, We Are Normal But We Are Still Barking, was dreamt up by the band’s guitarist, co-writer and unofficial musical director Neil Innes, who passed away during the seven painstaking years it took to put the project together while masters were tracked down, rare and previously unreleased material was sourced and cleared and a court case that threatened to kibosh the entire enterprise was fought and won. Two other Bonzos, Vernon Dudley Bowhay-Nowell and Martin “Sam Spoons” Ash, were also sadly lost in action during the long haul.
The first half of the box consists of the five original albums remastered, with the first two presented in mono and stereo iterations. Needless to say, it’s all essential stuff, but if you were forced to cram the dog’s bollocks on to a single ‘best of’ disc there are certain landmarks we can probably all agree on. From their 1967 debut Gorilla you would need “Cool Britannia”, Viv Stanshall’s unforgettable Elvis impersonation on “Death Cab For Cutie” and the mind-bendingly wonderful “The Intro And The Outro” (“and looking very relaxed, Adolf Hitler on vibes – nice!”). From the 1968 follow-up The Doughnut In Grany’s Greenhouse you’d want “Can Blue Men Sing The Whites” and the hysterically ridiculous “My Pink Half Of The Drainpipe” and from 1969’s Tadpoles it would be impossible to live without the hit single “I’m The Urban Spaceman”, produced by Paul McCartney under the pseudonym Apollo C Vermouth. When it comes to 1969’s Keynsham you’d surely take Innes’ “You Done My Brain In”, and from 1972’s posthumous Let’s Make Up And Be Friendly the nine-minute “Rawlinson End” – the first official appearance of Stanshall’s famous Sir Henry character – is a must.
After that, though, we take a deeper dive into a cornucopia of outtakes, demos, rehearsal tapes, BBC sessions and concert recordings plus vintage TV and film footage. Not included in the latter is the magnificently bonkers nightclub performance of “Death Cab For Cutie” from The Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour, which was the wider world’s first exposure to the Bonzos when the film premiered on BBC 1 on Boxing Day, 1967. Never mind, for the rest of the visual content we get over three DVDs is wonderfully evocative, from an improbable performance of “Won’t You Come Home Bill Bailey” on Blue Peter in early 1966 when the Bonzos were still a trad jazz combo to appearances on ITV’s New Faces in 1967 and on BBC 2’s short-lived Colour Me Pop the following year. Perhaps best of all, though, is the disc compiling the Bonzos’ appearances on the anarchic comedy series Do Not Adjust Your Set, which launched the TV careers of future Pythons Eric Idle, Terry Jones and Michael Palin.
The first episode – on which the group performed the music-hall song “Jollity Farm” – was broadcast on ITV on the same day as Magical Mystery Tour premiered, which meant the Bonzos outdid The Beatles that Christmas by appearing on both main channels. As regulars on the weekly show, they went on to perform such favourites as “The Intro And The Outro”, “Death Cab For Cutie” and the splendid “Harvey The High School Hermit”, which they never recorded, and which features Stanshall and Roger Ruskin Spear debating the respective merits of using cooking fat or porridge as hair gel.
The outtakes expand on the Bonzos’ love of a preposterous cover, first heard on the “Sound Of Music” piss-take on Gorilla, and include an inscrutable take on Sonny and Cher’s “Bang Bang” and a ridiculously mannered “Blue Suede Shoes”.
Among the demos are numerous songs that never saw the light of day including “The Boiled Ham Rhumba” (“Cat meat, cat meat in your tin, did you once walk around like me?”), “Boo”, a comedic ghost story with references to Macbeth and Hamlet, and the doo-wop pastiche “The Mr Hyde In Me” (“two gins will set him free”).
The concert material suggests the Bonzos’ spontaneous musical mayhem translated sometimes messily to the live stage – or as Legs Larry Smith proudly puts it, their improvs were “never knowingly over-rehearsed”.
A tendency to swap instruments and throw in gratuitously mad deconstructions of tunes such as “I’m For Ever Blowing Bubbles” and the “Dragnet” theme might have been amusing if you were there; invariably they work less well on playback. On the other hand, it’s impossible not to love a band that when supporting The Who in their post-Woodstock pomp at the Fillmore East in November 1969 dared to follow a riotous version of saxophonist Spear’s “Trouser Press” with an outrageous piss-take of “Pinball Wizard”. The Bonzos were never the sort to worry about upsetting fragile rock star egos.
Almost 60 tracks from 15 BBC Radio One sessions between 1967 and 1969 offer a better representation of their unique ability to do irony with a warm-hearted mix of affection and affectation. Peel loved them, of course, and they kept some of their best japes for his shows, including a side-splitting cover of “The Monster Mash” and the splendiferous “The Craig Torso Show” and its seasonal sequel “The Craig Torso Christmas Show”.
Needless to say, they also sent up Peel mercilessly. “The other day I was collecting shells on the seashore to stick on a coffee table that I’d made into a hamster when suddenly a Tyrannosaurus Rex attacked a woman and pulled her leg off”, Innes deadpans in a perfect imitation of the DJ’s voice by way of introducing the country spoof “I Found The Answer”, yet another song that never made its way on to a studio album.
There was simply nothing quite like the Bonzos and there’s more than enough intro here to keep you smiling all the way to the outro and beyond.
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