Once again browsing through old papers, I found a poem I wrote when I sang with the Stop Gaps (1993). Keeping in mind copyright etc, it's an adaptation of a poem in Mad magazine:
-------------
Although the people here you see
Should sing in perfect harmony
They're such a temperamental crew
It's quite surprising what they do
The tenors strongly feel the bases
Are a bunch of pompous asses
The bases on the other hand
Believe the tenors should be banned
The sopranos sometimes condescend
The altos voice, to comprehend
While the altos feel that they alone
Can mollify the baritone
It carries on, this endless nightmare
As voices shout, and tempers flare
But then appears the one man, who
Can unify this snarling crew
He is the great conductor, and
He soon reveals he's in command
To ensure a perfect rhapsody
He shrieks the choir into key
He yells at everyone in sight
Maybe that A-flat was a cry of fright
He raves, he rants, he isn't nice
He turns the singers into mice
And then at last, it is show time
Every singer is in his prime
The hall is packed, no seat to spare
With concert lovers everywhere
The great conductor marches on
And raps the stand with his baton
The music swells, a joy to hear
A great success - a grand premier
The crown applauds the wondrous sound
The concert ends, he turns around
Takes fifteen bows and off he struts
WHILE SIXTY SINGERS HATE HIS GUTS
-------------
Although the people here you see
Should sing in perfect harmony
They're such a temperamental crew
It's quite surprising what they do
The tenors strongly feel the bases
Are a bunch of pompous asses
The bases on the other hand
Believe the tenors should be banned
The sopranos sometimes condescend
The altos voice, to comprehend
While the altos feel that they alone
Can mollify the baritone
It carries on, this endless nightmare
As voices shout, and tempers flare
But then appears the one man, who
Can unify this snarling crew
He is the great conductor, and
He soon reveals he's in command
To ensure a perfect rhapsody
He shrieks the choir into key
He yells at everyone in sight
Maybe that A-flat was a cry of fright
He raves, he rants, he isn't nice
He turns the singers into mice
And then at last, it is show time
Every singer is in his prime
The hall is packed, no seat to spare
With concert lovers everywhere
The great conductor marches on
And raps the stand with his baton
The music swells, a joy to hear
A great success - a grand premier
The crown applauds the wondrous sound
The concert ends, he turns around
Takes fifteen bows and off he struts
WHILE SIXTY SINGERS HATE HIS GUTS
3 comments:
Cool song. I had no idea you used to sing in Bombay, and did not hear of the Stop Gaps. Very cool!
Oh gosh, my name shows as Joe Schmoe. It's Sonik. I must change my blog name.
Super, even if adapted :)
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