Rose Ann of Charing Cross

"There by my lonely bed, a lovely angel stopped and said: 'That's only thunder overhead' And that's how we met. Rose Ann of Charing Cross, the rose you gave me never died. Rose Ann of Charing Cross, it knows one day you'll be my bride. And it will live till then, until that happy moment when I know our paths will cross at Charing Cross again, Rose Ann ..." sing the Four Vagabonds in exquisite harmony on their 1943 hit Rose Ann of Charing Cross. It's an interesting one this, as most of the popular songs of WW2 on the face of it have nothing to do with the war itself. But this is a number seemingly about a wounded soldier who falls in love with a nurse while laid up in Charing Cross Hospital. The Four Vagabonds had the hit, but plenty of others have sung it including Frank Sinatra. It was written by the American team of Kermit Goell and Mabel Wayne, which perhaps is why the location is a little eyebrow-raising and doesn't bear too close an analysis. Mind you, this was well before the hospital moved way out west. The Four Vagabonds have been cited as pioneers of r 'n' b vocal stylings, and it's easy to make the link to the doo wop boom. Listening to the group's wartime tribute to Rosie the Riveter it's easy to make links to Billy Stewart and General Johnson ...

Rosemary McLaren of the Strand

"Miss Rosemary McLaren is a lady of renown. Like a piano she is upright and grand. She spends her daily hours selling flowers by the bunch at a pitch situated on the Strand ..." In which Richard Digance declares his love for the flower seller Rosemary McLaren of the Strand during one of his lovely early sentimental folk/vaudeville numbers. London, of course, has its famous flower sellers, from Eliza Doolittle to the Great Train Robber Buster Edwards who had a stall for years outside Waterloo station. The Strand also has its place in pop history, from Let's All Go Down The Strand to Do The Strand. And then there's Bob Dylan and Don't Look Back where he's filming the infamous promo for Subterranean Homesick Blues behind the Savoy. But this particular Richard Digance number makes me think of one of Bob's old comrades, namely one of my all-time favourite fighters Phil Ochs and his own Flower Lady. Here's a toast to those that are gone ...

We All Went To Leicester Square

"One night as I strolled up the West I met this millionaire Smith beside myself. Smith said 'where are you going to?' I said 'I'll go anywhere along with you'. 'Where shall we go?' said Baron Rothschild. Then as I pulled me fourpence ha'penny out. 'Then' I shouted out with glee 'if you're leaving it to me let's go somewhere where there are no girls about' ..." So We All Went To Leicester Square sings George Formby Snr. Oh yes before there was the cheeky chappie with the ukelele his father was a great star on London's Music Hall stages. Sometimes he'd play the provincial fool for the partisan Cockneys. In our favourite book, Sweet Saturday Night, Colin MacInnes describes how "George wore a miniscule bowler, a jacket too tight, pants too baggy, large unlaced boots, a scarf that dangled between his legs, and gloves whose fingers were larger than his own. One of his comic effects, as he ambled about the stage, was the hacking cough that doubled him up in paroxysms of anguish - and his audience in paroxysms of mirth. He was in fact tubercular, and the cough was genuine and killed him after surviving World War 1." The cough can be heard to great effect on his recording of Looking For Mugs In The Strand where he turns the tables and gets one over on Londoners ...

Jeffrey Goes To Leicester Square

"Bright city woman, walking down Leicester Square everyday. Gonna get a piece of my mind. You think you're not a piece of my kind. Ev'rywhere the people looking. Why don't you get up and sing?" suggests Ian Anderson in the early Jethro Tull number Jeffrey Goes To Leicester Square. It's odd. For a long time the Tull was a bit of a guilty pleasure. I was really fond of some of their early works and thought they were lovely movers. Then I began to notice some of the hip hop headz were coming out as fans and I read a piece where Nick Cave was enthusing about the group and I thought hmmm well it's not just me then. And I really am a soft touch for a bit of flute in my pop music. Anyway, Mr Anderson seemed to like writing about the character Jeffrey in his songs. Like this one which they got to perform on the Rolling Stones' Rock 'n' Roll Circus in 1968 which has a real Beefheart and the Magic Band feel to it. Fantastic stuff ...

Undercover Anarchist

"Leicester Square under siege ..." What a line. You can just see that on an apocalyptic Evening Standard headline. Any cultural commentator that gets all snooty about UK hip hop should be forced to listen to Undercover Anarchist, a single by Silver Bullet at the end of the ‘80s. Silver Bullet was a particular favourite of John Peel, a big champion of UK hip hop in his way. The Silver Bullet tracks he played would explode out of the radio like Suspect Device or Oh Bondage Up Yours had once blasted the listener out of slumbering comfortableness. Unlike oh so many many performers that appeared often enough on the John Peel radio show the transition from small independent to major recording conglomerate in the case of Silver Bullet resulted in a record that was even more ridiculously raw. In the case of UK hip hop as in the days of post-punk this would be nothing short of a miracle. The one and only Silver Bullet LP, Bring Down The Walls – No Limit Squad Returns, came out on Parlophone in 1991. It now goes for silly money as befits its status as a bona fide ferocious UK hip hop masterpiece, which nevertheless far too few folks are fervent about. Silver Bullet’s performance throughout Bring Down The Walls is astonishingly angry, and convincingly so. 20 Seconds To Comply. Undercover Anarchist. Bring Forth The Guillotine. Legions of the Damned. Silver Bullet’s songs still strike like situationist slogans. If the lyrics themselves are like rapid fire accusations, apocalyptic attacks and cut-up manifestos then the rage itself seems scattergun too. I hate everything ...

The Soul of England

"Moonhop! Come to London town. Skinhead, beware, beware. Then all their friend say a black man hell is a white man heaven, and a white man hell is a black man heaven. PEACE on Earth, goodwill to all mankind. Reggae, bring unity, between black and white ..." This is a slight deviation, but as it follows on from a B.A.D. track I hope Mick Jones and Don Letts will approve. One of the few delights of the modern world is being to fish around on YouTube and enjoy the treasures shared by people who have taken the time and trouble to share their loves. Combining the search for London related songs with a passion for old ska, rocksteady and reggae tunes I often came across the name of OldWah, a gentleman and a scholar who has posted many ridiculously rare and wonderful old reggae recordings. Well, I'm delighted to say he has put together a lovely mix for The London Nobody Sings of skinhead era sounds with a Capital conection. It is going to be hard to resist drawing comparisions between ye olde cockney knees-up and the moonstomping knees up by the hip one time ... "Do it mate ..."

Dragon Town

"At this corner we must part. Say goodnight where Soho starts. In the Lido people stare. Pretending I don`t care. Thrown a menu I can`t read. What number do you need?
Fortunes told and fire crack ..." In which it's Friday night and our hero Mick Jones and the B.A.D. boys venture out to Dragon Town or if you like Chinatown in Soho for something to eat. I like the passing reference to the Lido, the Chinese restaurant in Gerrard Street which is like Mick Jones a bit of a London institution. Of course our hero has a bit of previous when it comes to this part of London. The old Clash number The Prisoner mentions the Charing Cross Road, and a rather earlier B.A.D. song Sightsee M.C! with the familiar credits of Strummer-Jones also refers to Chinatown. All together now:"We got plenty of '60s slums. They say she jumped from floor 21. It's empty now but it blocks out the sun. Used to be the shape of things to come ..."

Give Me The Moon Over London

"Just give me the moon over London. Let me have a dream or two. Perambulating with Daisy down Shaftesbury Avenue ..." Performed by Carroll Gibbons and the Savoy Orpheans, Give Me The Moon Over London is a number I believe that was written for the 1946 revue The Night And The Laughter by Jason Matthews and Terry Shand. Carroll Gibbons was an American who moved to England and from the early 1930s he was bandleader of the Savoy Orpheans, one of the most famous of the British dance orchestras and the one closely associated with the Savoy Hotel. It was Dennis Potter's Pennies From Heaven that revived interest in the '30s dance sounds, and a couple of Carroll Gibbons' performances are featured on the soundtrack. The story goes that at the start of WW2 Gibbons was on holiday back home in the States but he hotfooted it back to London where he did his bit to keep up morale and rally the troops in some of the more exclusive places. One of the homegrown dance band leaders, Stamford Hill's Harry Roy and his boys were captured for posterity doin' their bit ...

Denmark Street

"Down the way from the Tottenham Court Road. Just round the corner from old Soho. There’s a place where the publishers go. If you don't know which way to go, just open your ears and follow your nose. 'Cos the street is shakin' from the tapping of toes. You can hear that music play anytime on any day. Every rhythm, every way ..." sings Ray Davies at the start of Denmark Street, from The Kinks' Lola vs The Powerman set, one of their criminally under-celebrated '70s collections. I'm sure there are many reasons for it but Ray's songs from that time were often about the pop process. Denmark Street in many ways was central to the old pop industry as the UK's tin pan alley, home to many publishers and haunt of many more aspiring songwriters, singers and musicians. This Pathe-News film from 1951 captures the spirit of the street nicely through a rather rose-coloured lens, but I like this period where things are almost caught in limbo between the dance bands and rock 'n' roll.

West End Pad

"I've tried a West End pad and a classic car, my favourite drink in my favourite bar, a few close friends and a movie star ..." sings hard-to-please Cathy Dennis on her hit West End Pad. I'm no expert on her work but I do find Cathy is one of the more fascinating figures in the pop world. And I suspect if Paul Morley were to write his Words And Music now he would focus rather more on Cathy - perhaps as some long lost twin of Davy Henderson - for following up Can't Get You Out Of My Head with Toxic and I Kissed A Girl. She's certainly retained more mystery than say the Xenomania folk. I do find the whole songwriting craft thing intriguing. A lot of my favourites have struggled to write songs for people apart from themselves. Paul Weller and Saint Etienne, for example. But Cathy is this incredibly successful writer with a gift for creating songs for the performer, you sense, whatever the market. And she's withdrawn from being a commodity herself, not releasing a record since the Am I The Kinda Girl set which West End Pad came from. That record itself is intriguing for the presence of Ray Davies and Andy Partridge, which at the height of the Britpop thang was a neat piece of one-upmanship.