29 June 1972
There’s a verse in his breakthrough 1970 hit ‘Nothing Rhymed’ that captures my conundrum over Gilbert O’Sullivan:
When I’m drinking my Bonaparte shandy
Eating more than enough apple pies
Will I glance at my screen
And see real human beings
Starve to death right in front of my eyes?
The latter three lines are fantastic; they stop me in my tracks. But the two lines before overpower them with what we would now consider trademark Gilbert whimsy. Yes, it’s meant as a stark contrast at the narrator’s expense. And yes, an actual reference to Napoléon brandy may have been banned by the BBC for naming a commercial product, though I’m sure the BBC had enough dedicated drinkers in 1972 to know that Napoléon is a designation rather than a brand. Still, shandy and apple pies here are as much part of the Gilbert faux-naive universe as mothers-dear and Bisto-Kid chic. No one’s asking him to be the Gil Scott-Heron of bubblegum pop, but why couldn’t we have more of the Gilbert who wrote that latter part? Ireland’s greatest-ever pop songwriter was irrevocably wedded to whimsy and schmaltz; when that ‘Nothing Rhymed’ verse shows what else he was capable of, it’s frustrating.
‘Nothing Rhymed’ and ‘Alone Again (Naturally)’, the latter the first Irish record to go to number one in America, at least thicken the tweeness with a maudlin misery-pop that’s still not to everyone’s taste but which proved hugely influential and gave those initial Gilbert hits a robustness. ‘Ooh-Wakka-Doo-Wakka-Day’, though, is second-wave Gilbert: schmaltz all the way, baby! It’s essentially a tip of the hat to the thumbs-aloft godfather of such piano-driven ’70s bubblegum ditties; we get a love interest called Rita who’ll be calling around for tea, plus someone in a northern English city who’s in a play, and the song’s title and chorus hook is pretty much Continuity ‘Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da’.
And still Gilbert torments me here with what might have been. Those opening piano chords have a soupçon of Beach Boys richness and depth. The second mid-section verse, about seeing someone go about with someone other than their wife, has an appealing flash of real-world slyness and wit. But it passes, and then there’s an instrumental break of him going “doo-dee-doo-dee-doo-dee” followed by another granny-pleasing verse about bleeping out naughty words: back to the bit; Gilbert as the Frank Spencer of pop.
I can fully see why anyone young at that time will retain a fondness for Gilbert O’Sullivan’s hits. His melodies positively sparkle, his choruses are instantly memorable, and a playful, uplifting mood is as valid a creative choice as going bleak or sombre. I’ve had the tune of ‘Ooh-Wakka-Doo-Wakka-Day’ in my head these last couple of days while writing this; it has not been a disagreeable sensation. And yet, and yet, and yet. Next up from Gilbert at the top of the Irish charts: the one about the toddler, followed by the one about the dog.
