"They do it down on Camber Sands, they do it at Waikiki..."
"Take me, I'm yours, because dreams are made of this..."
"You've left my ring by the soap, now is that love?"
"There's a stain on my notebook where your coffee cup was..."
"Tempted by the fruit of another..."
"I looked around to find her, but she had gone—Goodbye, girl!"
"And here in the bar, the piano man's found another nail for my heart..."
OK, it's true. I know every single word to every single Squeeze song. And I'm not ashamed to say so! I loved Squeeze in the '80s, even saw them in concert a few times.* And I still claim to have seen Glenn Tilbrook on the street in London when I was in school there, but, then again, who knows. So I was just delighted to see "Glenn Tilbrook: One for the Road" the other night. Years after Squeeze broke up, Glenn Tilbrook decided to buy an RV and roam the States on a solo acoustic tour, playing for whoever would listen. And listen they did! He played in clubs, in people's houses and vans, in airports and libraries, even in trailer parks! Wherever there were people. And everyone loved him! Everyone sang along with every song, even providing the background "doo-doo-doo-doo"s in "Black Coffee in Bed." This was such a feel-good documentary. If you were ever a fan of Squeeze, or if you just like to see what makes musicians tick, then by all means rent this one. And if you don't know Squeeze, I still think you should see this. Tillbrook has a great voice and an infectious cheerfulness that really comes through on the screen.
The credits at the end showed a thank-you to Elvis Costello, which reminded me of a great yet underappreciated song he and Glenn did on Elvis's album "Trust," called "From a Whisper to a Scream."
I tried to upload it but couldn't—Typepad kept saying that the file name was invalid because it wasn't all in ASCII...huh? Someone, help, so I can share this song with you. And here it is—enjoy!
*Mom, don't read any further. I mean it. I almost died at a Squeeze concert in London! The only funny thing about this story—and it's funny-ironic, not funny-haha—is that I almost got squeezed to death! Get it? It was the fall of '82 and I was at the Hammersmith Palais, which was a huge club. Being an American, I of course felt the need to move up to the front of the crowd near the stage. When the band came on, everyone went nuts and started moving closer to the stage. The next thing I knew, I was completely mashed in between two (or more?) people and couldn't move. And I mean couldn't move. My feet were not on the ground—I was suspended slightly off the ground by the people I was pressed between! My arms were trapped at my sides! (This was not so very long after the fatal Who concert in Cincinnati, which I of course had in my mind.) Then came the moment when the crowd shifted and my face got mashed into someone's tweed jacket in front of me and I could barely breathe. I managed to turn my face upward and shout into the ear of the tweed jacket's wearer that I couldn't breathe, and he sort of put his arm behind me, but I was still in trouble. Finally I caught the eye of a girl at my side and told her I couldn't breathe. The next thing I knew, a big bouncer on the stage scooped me up under my armpits and dragged me somewhere off to the side of the stage with all the other casualties. As soon as I recovered, I took a safe seat way, way, way in the back. The End.