Rupert

I was at a party, sometime back in September. It was one of those good parties – you know, special occasion, good friends, top music and nice weather. The party itself started with breakfast at eleven and progressed very nicely thenceforth, with turntables and cd decks set up for those in attendance (me included) who wanted to spin a few tunes – speakers positioned at the open windows to facilitate garden dancing. Proper nice.

During the course of the afternoon, I became engaged in conversation with a fellow DJ, a friend of the host who I hadn’t met before, and we were doing the usual anoraky thing of chinwagging about music, finding common likes and dislikes, when the conversation turned to The Beatles.

Ah yes, The Beatles. It is a fact universally acknowledged that, should you start a conversation with Nicky Butt, he will inevitably bring The Fab Four into it at some point. It’s an affliction. I know I’m doing it but I am powerless to stop myself. It’s like tourettes*. Professional help is being sought.

Anyway me and this gent, who I shall refer to as Andy (cos that’s his name) were discussing the aforementioned Liverpudlian beat combo, when he expressed, in rather direct language, his dislike for Paul McCartney. Actually, “dislike” is far too mild a word for the strength of passion I witnessed. “Hatred” would be nearer the mark.

The focal point of Andy’s ire was a single by Paul McCartney that reached number three in the charts in 1984, a tune that was seen by many as proof-positive that Macca had lost the plot completely, a perfect advertisement for the “Just Say No!” anti-drugs campaign of the 1980s.

That song, if you haven’t already got the bus to where I’m meandering, is We All Stand Together, credited to Paul McCartney and The Frog Chorus.

Those of you who are still reading at this point may be wondering what the ruddy heck has got into me, but I have heard so many people use this tune as a stick with which to beat McCartney that I feel compelled to defend him. In pubs, at parties, in offices and on shopfloors, I’ve had “THE FROG CHORUS!” shouted at me in a triumphalist fashion by many and varied people, whenever the subject has arisen, as if just the incantation of those three words would be enough to leave even the most ardent Maccaphile floundering in a sea of doubt over their hero’s ability.

But here’s a thing: all the people I have heard slagging off We All Stand Together have one common denominator. They are all adults. None of them are children. I’ll repeat that. They are all adults. None of them are children.

However, play this tune to a young child (or any multiple of same) and the reaction is universal. They love it. They bom bom-bom (bye-eeh-ah) along like creatures possessed. They dig it, and the reason they dig it is very simple.

IT’S. A. SONG. FOR. KIDS.

The reason so many adults don’t like it is simple – it wasn’t written for them – they’re not supposed to like it, not really. Its concept, melody, lyrics and accompanying promo video are aimed straight at tiny brains, and it works.

The problem seems to be that folks have a problem with rock musicians making music for kids. Rock, with its tedious pre-occupation with “credibility”, hasn’t truly embraced the child-like spirit since the mid-to-late sixties, when Pink Floyd were in their Syd Barrett inspired pomp. But other genres don’t have this problem. Woody Guthrie’s Songs To Grow On, Prokofiev’s Peter and The Wolf, Saint-Saëns’ Carnival of the Animals, all specifically written for children by talented, credible musicians, who also produced music more suited to adults.

I don’t care if you like We All Stand Together or not, if I’m honest. My point is that it’s a kids’ song, written for kids and still being enjoyed by kids over 25 years after it was released.

Simply Having A Wonderful Christmas Time is rubbish, though. I‘ll give you that.

*you cunt