Wings Of Speed (Stanley Road, 1995)
Paul and Art
ONE OF PAUL’S favourite pastimes – and one that over the years assumed a growing importance to his songwriting – is visiting art galleries. We went to many exhibitions together, including Peter Blake’s Commercial Art Show (a real fave that one), a show of American landscape painters at the Tate, and any Pop Art show that came to town. Paul responded to art as he did to nature. It was a force of inspiration, a mystical power that acted as a catalyst for his own creations. In London, he especially liked the Tate Britain. (‘Look at that floor,’ he cheekily told Lesley White of The Face in 1984, in his clubbing days, ‘great for dancing on.’)
In 1994, on a visit to the Tate, Paul came across The Lady of Shalott, a painting by John Williams Waterhouse. He was transfixed by it. He still is. The painting was inspired by Tennyson’s poem of the same name. In the story, a beautiful woman, the Lady of Shalott, lives alone in a tower. She is held in her room by a curse that does not permit her to go out or even look out of the window. Instead she can only see the world through a mirror. She spends her time weaving tapestries. When the handsome knight Sir Lancelot passes by her window, she is overwhelmed by him and, forgetting the curse, looks out of the window to see him. When she does, the mirror and the threads of her tapestry break.
She goes down to the riverside and finds a boat, and as she floats towards Camelot, she sings a song. As the curse works its evil magic, her blood freezes and she dies a cold death. The boat lands on the shore of Camelot and the people come out to see what has happened. They see that she has written her name on the front of the boat. One of the men in the crowd is Sir Lancelot, unaware of what has happened.
It is no surprise that Paul should be so heavily affected by this work. The painting brings together several art forms he is highly attracted to. There is the story itself, in which the character’s romantic actions create ripples that in turn create more ripples. The fact that Sir Lancelot has no idea about his part in the Lady’s death is a twist Paul would appreciate. Then there is the painting itself, a glorious example of the Pre-Raphaelite style, which Paul adored. Pre-Raphaelite art tends to be emotional and evocative, based in realism but imbued with an overt romanticism, an otherworldly spirit that elevates and enlightens the picture’s essential Englishness. Paul has often adopted such an approach in his songs, taking the mundane and matter-of-fact and elevating it through poetry (see Town Called Malice).
The painting also represents a synthesis of art forms, which Paul always liked, probably because it was so redolent of the sixties. In that period, artists from all walks of life mixed, attracted by their keenness to experiment and their overt desire to break with the past. Example: Joe Orton writing for The Beatles, and Peter Blake designing their most famous album cover, Sergeant Pepper.
Throughout his career, Paul has made many attempts to marry his music to other art forms, such as cinema or TV. In 1984, he wanted to make a film to accompany The Style Council’s second album, Our Favourite Shop. His idea was based around a quintessential Englishman, a sharp individual who runs a shop that contains only his favourite things, thus taking a stand against giant corporations. Nothing came of the project. Later there was an attempt at a musical, for which Paul imagined Jesus returning unrecognized to earth and no one taking a blind bit of notice. I started on a script for this project; Paul’s job was to supply the music. He wrote one song which he played to me on the piano once at his Solid Bond Studios in Marble Arch. It was heavily reminiscent of another song whose name I couldn’t recall. In truth, though, I was out of my depth, and I wasn’t too surprised when the half-finished script was turned down by one of the Fox brothers.
In Wings Of Speed, Paul attempted to fuse two musical genres. He wanted to imbue an English-style hymn with an American gospel feel. Paul often wrote songs this way, thinking of a musical idea first and then seeing if it would fly. In this case, he was on the button. He opens with a piano sound and style that carries distinct echoes of a morning assembly at a typical English school. Then his voice enters, cracked but also notably restrained, thus giving the song real emotional power as his words introduce the idea of the Lady of Shalott sailing towards him as he reflects on his personal limitations, restrictions only she can lift. ‘I’ll never be free / From the darkness I see / As I wait for your smile …’
To emphasize the song’s spirtuality, celestial backing vocals now enter, courtesy of Joy Hawley and Paul’s long-time friend Carleen Anderson. Carleen spent three days preparing to sing her part. When she finally delivered, she said the sound came from her temples. That was how high she was reaching. At first the sound is unexpected, slightly jarring; but as the song flows you are moved by this mix of the human with the otherworldly – an (unconscious) fulfilling, then, of Pre-Raphaelite artistic ideals.
The result is one of his greatest and most moving songs, and I don’t think Paul would disagree with that assessment. As far as I know he has never performed this song live, save for Jools Holland’s show on BBC2. I asked him once why he had neglected it in the live arena.
‘I think I would break down on stage and cry if I sang it,’ he replied.