![]() I was using alcohol to numb the senses and thus arrived at the point where “Born Slippy” was written. I was describing a progressively despairing state of mind. ‘In truth, the song was me literally asking for help. ![]() Underworld’s Karl Hyde remembers his state of mind at the time: This anthem for the Stella generation was assembled from snatches of a conversation heard on a night out in Soho. ![]() It was just a yelp of laughter from the audience: they quite forgot the air raid!’ And then “Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”: instead of the nightingale, we got the air raid siren! The theatre just fell about, they laughed so much, and Judy Campbell just died laughing on stage. “A Nightingale Sang…” just hit the right note for the time: it was so divinely escapist: “There was magic abroad in the air/There were angels dining at the Ritz…” It was nothing to do with air raids. And when she got to the point where she sang, “a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square,” she held up her hand and sang, “Hark!” – you know, for the nightingale. Judy Campbell was a successful young starlet then, and she came on in a satin evening frock, looking glamorous. The Shepherds Bush Empire had such nice shows. ‘It was the beginning of the air raids, but we went out, because we wanted to go out. ![]() Instead, our eyes meet again, we're real and vulnerable, and it's not possible to fall in love this way, but we will, and we do.The most memorable performance of this romantic London song took place in 1940, during the early days of the Blitz. I want you to say something, I want to hear your voice. It's just us on the busy street, waiting for the other to speak, I won't let my words ruin this kind of perfect imperfection, so I stay silent. I hold tighter, this is crazy, but you'll stay until I'm ready to let go. Your fingers slide though mine, our palms align, and we silently agree that our hands fit together like two hands should. I slow and slow and slow, until I have to admit that I just want it, I'm tire of being five steps ahead. But My feet get weary, they start to drag, I can't keep this pace. I'm getting cold, but I love the chase, the way you casually walk, as if this is nothing, but I know you're stalking me. You'll glow under the street lamps, I'll weave in and out of the shadows, but you won't give up, you promised not to when our eyes first meet. Your navy blue rain coat will make me sigh, that little bit of scruff will drive me mad, and don't even get me started on your dimples. There will be a penniless musician on the street corner, 'Good times for a change.' I'll look behind me, note that you're following, but you won't look at me, you're bending to put a twenty in the open case. When we meet it will be raining, I'll play coy even though I'm not so hot at it, I'll sip my coffee and bite my cheek, you'll smirk and I'll pretend to hate you, but I'm incredibly attracted to smirks. I want to trace your lips, I want your breath in my lungs I want all those parts of you that you never would give to anyone else.
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