A long long time ago in the early 90s at boarding school everything was either compulsory or forbidden. It was never:
“If anyone fancies it we are offering cadets to any of you that don’t think it’s a massive waste of time and enjoys being shouted at”.
Instead it was either:
“Former pupil, Lord Bumblecrunch is delivering a four hour lecture on spoons this Saturday night. Non-attendees will be hunted down by the college dogs”
or
“Yo-yos are banned – anyone caught with one will be locked in their own trunk for the weekend”
One thing that fell into the compulsory category was the house singing competition. We did it because we had done it last year and the 187 years before that. Each house was expected to assemble itself into a choir and deliver a song to the rest of the school and teachers (some of whom formed the judging panel). Our school housed many talented musicians. Several went on to be professional, couple of record deals and even a mercury prize winner but by making everyone do it the average ability level plummeted.
Our housemaster was very keen for us to win it and told us so in a rousing team talk with the necessary level of delusion. He had selected “I would walk 500 miles” by the Proclaimers. Basic. Monotone. Achievable. Other houses were probably working on Good Vibrations, Bohemian Rhapsody and Carmina Burana so we’re going to have squeeze out every bit of polyphonic complexity the piece held. Interestingly after his song selection our housemaster’s involvement ended, a decision I’m sure he regrets to this day.
We’d noticed another very important thing. The second round was on a Saturday night meaning the lucky few who’d been eliminated could stay in and watch Gladiators. With that particularly delicious looking carrot dangling in front of us we made a concerted effort to make sure round one was an absolute shit show.
Making as much noise and taking as much time as possible we clumsily filed onto the stage and arranged ourselves in three lines (as was compulsory) in height order. There was some obvious distress from the junior boys in the front row as the lyrics were attached to their backs with drawing pins by the older boys behind them. (What? Blue tack cost money and drawing pins could be stolen from notice boards. Anyway – It didn’t hurt after the initial incision if they didn’t move).
The next tactic of sabotage was to pretend to sing a different song. This song (with heads swinging from side to side in perfect unison) went:
“Some songs are very very long. This one isn’t.”
Quite a long silence followed, broken only by our housemaster’s jaw hitting the ground. Possibly not quite as funny as we’d hoped but definitely helping with operation; don’t make it through to round two. There was a mixed reaction from the teachers. Some were shocked, some angry and some seemed fearful that this was the beginning of the revolution and were terrified that they might not make it to the armoury before we did.
We needed to get proclaiming and fast. Our piano player hit the single repetitive note of the introduction but the conductor’s mind was elsewhere and four bars became eight. Then we were off. We’d made the wise decision to go as Scottish as possible to really bring the song out.
“Wun ar wake arp. Yus ar knowww arm gunnabeeey. Arm gunnabeey the marn thut weeks arp nuxt to yewww”
We’d taken it down thee tones (and then an octave) so it sounded more like a rumble than a song. We had also chosen to stamp in time to give a particularly threatening inevitability to it. The best was yet to come. The Badalandas. Anyone fortunate enough to be unfamiliar with the song will need an explanation. Not content with the three chords of genius they had already gifted the world, Scotland’s answer to Lennon and McCartney had written a nonsensical call and response section that really took the song to bold new heights of structural layering. The lyrics were :
Badalanda (x4) Badalandadalandadaldadalandadarrr.
Powerful stuff I think you’ll agree. The original version is sung by two identical twins so the call and response has an even balance to it. Our interpretation had the call sung by a single boy and the response by the remaining 67. This resulted in the pop-folk toe-tapper sounding more like a haka. Along side the stamping, the unsolicited acupuncture in the front row and the fact we were singing in a key appropriate for most Slayer songs, our performance was less Pitch Perfect and more a prelude to the sacking of Troy.
A few thooosand miyels later we finished to polite and nervous applause during which was a sharp intake of breath from the young lads as lyric sheets were removed. Evidently the last 3 minutes of stamping was habit forming and the noise leaving the stage was even louder than our arrival.
Next up on stage was another house performing a beautiful rendition of Sound of Silence in perfect and haunting close harmony. It reminded us that we probably would have not made it into the second round even without our gargantuan effort to avoid it but we were not taking any chances. The results were announced. Mission firmly accomplished. That Saturday night we enjoyed the spoils of war.
GLUDIATERRRRRRRRRR RAIRDEE
Diaries of Boarding School 