What’s your game, Gene Pitney?
Why you so smug, eh?
I see you, dressed in a sharp suit and turning towards the camera. That’s not a wry look on your face, Pitney, that’s the look of someone who knows something. So what do you know, Pitney? Do you know that you’ve got a great voice and before your passing in 2006 you were well-respected by pretty much everyone? Do you know that not only did you have a magnificent set of pipes but you also played instruments during the early part of your career? I didn’t know that but now I do.
Are you hiding the fact that you are also a gifted songwriter and had your fingers in a lot of pies in the 1960’s? Pretty chuffed that you wrote the lovely song ‘Hello Mary Lou’ for Ricky Nelson, later covered by Creedence Clearwater Revival?
Something in your pocket, Pitney? Perhaps it’s a diary of the time you were present when the Rolling Stones were recording their first album. What’s that? May have played some piano for them too?
Well I wouldn’t be that happy if I’d written the piss stain train tracks of ‘Rubber Ball’ by Bobby Vee, a song so irritating it should have cement poured on its feet and be thrown into the sea. Get in the sea, ‘Rubber Ball’. No more of that, Pitney.
Remember who you’re dealing with, Pitney. You’ll be twenty-four hours from my fist in your chops if you come at me like that again.
9 comments on “Watchoo lookin’ at?”
This post was a real rollercoaster. I was enjoying learning so many Pitney Facts when it suddenly took a sharp turn and became quite angry and violent.
10/10. Loved it.
As I flicked through the collection of records, his face immediately stood out. I said to myself, “that man looks sharp, he needs a dressing down and a dressing down fast.” So I did.
I see that single includes a song called “Every Breath I Take”, which I assume is exactly like “Every Breath You Take” by the Police, except sung from the point of view of whoever Sting was on about.
Either that or a pithy gloat about how important his breathing is. God, Pitney, do you EVER stop?
I think our only hope is that, in 24 hours’ time, he gets to Tulsa. At that point maybe he’ll pack it in for a bit. Maybe.
No chance. The last time he got to Tulsa he called me at 3am to remind me of the time him and John Lennon went for sausages round at Eric Clapton’s house. The swine.
He always bangs on about John Lennon’s Blowout Barbecue Thursdays. It’s just because he knows that we’re never invited.
We weren’t born, we weren’t invited, it’s all the same to me! If he mentions JL’s BBT one more time it’s curtains for him. He won’t have a pulse-a by the time he gets to Tulsa.
Just because we weren’t born. What a terrible excuse for cutting us out of his social life. When he died I carried on sending him invitations to my scrabble tournaments, didn’t I? Not that he ever turned up.