The Sunday Song Poem #7 ‘Gretchen’s New Dish (original)’ Dick Kent

Dick+Kent+43Thus far we’ve taken an admittedly flippant dip into the wellspring of bilge, and while this offering will likely seem no different, no less askew, with no less of an ‘otherness’ about it, it occupies a special place in my heart. I like all the Song Poems I’ve posted so far, but something happened to me when I first heard this one…I loved it.

I love all Song Poems, I’ve travelled the vastness of this here internet searching for these deposits, as though they are all pieces of some great puzzle. Perhaps a cosmic joke. If I’m honest with myselves, the dirty and corrupted, stupid and confused shadow-self wills that when mankind finally snuffs itself out, or is scorched off the surface of this inconsequential earth, some incomprehensibly absurd sequence of events will conspire to erase every trace of all other music, leaving only the Great American Song (Poem) Book behind as testament to our ridiculous existence.

‘Gretchen’s New Dish’ is no opus, but like any great work of art, demands of you an engagement, a participation, there is within contained a world to be discovered beyond Dick Kent’s frenzied attempts to dab in the backdrop with his theatrical channeling of a benevolent Bavarian. When first I heard ‘Gretchen’s New Dish’, I was transfixed. When it ended, I put it on again. Sometimes, I would listen to it multiple times. I’d play it for friends, hunched up and grinning, arms squeezed tightly to my sides, index fingers playing air piano. They’d look at me like I’d just masturbated on their wedding cake.

Turn off your mind, relax, and materialise in a sun dappled neighbourhood where a little girl called Gretchen is celebrating her sixth birthday, coveting her most cherished gift of the day.  Is it from the boy across the way? Is his scurrilous birthday card a veiled declaration of love? What is a moustache cup…well, I never! A potential birthday gift for Joup’s own Shawn C Baker!

Chester Whelks

Chester Whelks

Chester Whelks is a peripheral figure on the fringes of existence. Predominantly bothering the local music scene of his native Manchester, England, he has a very finely attuned Justice-button, and knows how to call a spade a ‘Multi-Purpose Murder/Concealment Device’.

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