Dead pool 2021

Truxx

LE
Ah, @Truxx will recall when a certain RM Major arranged for all the surviving members of Kieffer's unit to be flown into Lossiemouth, on a French air force transport, for a memorial service at the Commando Cross in May 2004, just ahead of D-Day 60.

Only problem was that said RM Major omitted to tell RAF Lossiemouth. Which led to a certain frisson when the first thing the station knew was when Froggie AT requested directions to finals from Lossie tower. No arrangements in hand for immigration and customs clearance, let alone helping a number of rather frail veterans.

The icing on the cake was that the good Major had gone to Scotland that day to be on hand. Unfortunately, he became navigationally confused and as the Transall touched down at Lossie, rang his boss to ask whereabouts on the western coast of Scotland could Lossie be found, as none of the locals were able to give him directions and kept sniggering when he asked them.

TC - an absolute legend...
You mean the blind winnebago driver and proud owner of an inflatable tutu?
 
You mean the blind winnebago driver and proud owner of an inflatable tutu?
Indeed. And the same officer who, when chosen to deploy at very short notice as the Brit LO to a French-led op to prop up the UN in deepest, darkest Africa, came over to me, very proudly, with the maps he had just bought, in Stanley Gibbons, of The Congo. Then looked at me in disbelief when I gently explained that he was going to the Democratic Republic of Congo, which was a different country to The Congo. "What do you mean, there's two Congoes?"

Nor forgetting when he drunkenly swamped the ferry cabin he was sharing with a rather precious RNR SO2 and was placed under cabin arrest by Ed and Ralph...

Of course, it was very naughty of you, when you found his camera lying around, to hand it over to a bunch of Parachute Regiment officers and sweetly ask whether they could help finish off the last couple of frames on a RM's film roll. Which led to some awkwardness when he went to collect the prints from Boots a few days later.
 
Last edited:
Jim Steinman...... writer of that ******* song that blared out in the block after midnight evry weekend has flown off like a bat out of hell

always like the look of those pianos he made
 

Kirkz

LE
Jim Steinman...... writer of that ******* song that blared out in the block after midnight evry weekend has flown off like a bat out of hell

always like the look of those pianos he made
Again! He died yesterday too.
 
Speak of the Devil:

As a young lad in the late 1970s I discovered Bat Out of Hell, and like many boys of my generation played it to death thinking it the finest piece of rock and roll music ever written. I could spend hours as a pimply-faced youth practicing my air guitar and belting out those heartfelt lyrics alone in my bedroom, until I got a bit older of course, more sophisticated, and started listening to the sort of music NME writers could discuss without a hint of irony, and my Meat Loaf album gathered dust in the attic, an embarrassing reminder of my gormless youth, never to be mentioned again.

Then a few years ago I was watching some TV program on the best-selling albums of all time, and there they were, all the pointy head music critics, pontificating on whether Dark Side of the Moon was a finer piece of musicological artistry than The White Album and then came Bat Out of Hell, the third-best selling album of all time (I may be mistaken) and the panel looked as if their peculiar uncle had just shown up at the cool kids' party. The mix of sneering condescension and downright derision was overwhelming, how stupid the public must be to have made this album among the greatest-selling ever.

And my dander rose in indignant outrage, the long-suppressed adolescent who had derived such simple pleasure from Steinman's work roared to life on a great Harley-Davidson chopper out of a long-forgotten crypt.

"You pompous load of shites, you wouldn't recognise rock and roll if it bit you on the arse, it's not supposed to be about musical quality, it's not supposed to appeal to the arts school graduates, it's not supposed to be discussed in the Culture section of The Guardian, it's supposed to appeal to dumb young boys with no girlfriends, in their homes in suburbia dreaming about playing in front of forty thousand adoring fans in Shea Stadium, you fcukwits!"

And I immediately went to YouTube, got on the headphones, cracked open a beer and revisited a long-lost and happy time in my youth.

I will do the same tonight, RIP Jim Steinman.
 
As a young lad in the late 1970s I discovered Bat Out of Hell, and like many boys of my generation played it to death thinking it the finest piece of rock and roll music ever written. I could spend hours as a pimply-faced youth practicing my air guitar and belting out those heartfelt lyrics alone in my bedroom, until I got a bit older of course, more sophisticated, and started listening to the sort of music NME writers could discuss without a hint of irony, and my Meat Loaf album gathered dust in the attic, an embarrassing reminder of my gormless youth, never to be mentioned again.

Then a few years ago I was watching some TV program on the best-selling albums of all time, and there they were, all the pointy head music critics, pontificating on whether Dark Side of the Moon was a finer piece of musicological artistry than The White Album and then came Bat Out of Hell, the third-best selling album of all time (I may be mistaken) and the panel looked as if their peculiar uncle had just shown up at the cool kids' party. The mix of sneering condescension and downright derision was overwhelming, how stupid the public must be to have made this album among the greatest-selling ever.

And my dander rose in indignant outrage, the long-suppressed adolescent who had derived such simple pleasure from Steinman's work roared to life on a great Harley-Davidson chopper out of a long-forgotten crypt.

"You pompous load of shites, you wouldn't recognise rock and roll if it bit you on the arse, it's not supposed to be about musical quality, it's not supposed to appeal to the arts school graduates, it's not supposed to be discussed in the Culture section of The Guardian, it's supposed to appeal to dumb young boys with no girlfriends, in their homes in suburbia dreaming about playing in front of forty thousand adoring fans in Shea Stadium, you fcukwits!"

And I immediately went to YouTube, got on the headphones, cracked open a beer and revisited a long-lost and happy time in my youth.

I will do the same tonight, RIP Jim Steinman.
Steinman’s own album Bad for Good was IMHO better than Meatloaf’s efforts. It was written for Meatloaf as a follow up to Bat Out of Hell but the ‘loaf lost his voice.

Hell of a list of performers on Steinman’s album.
 
As a young lad in the late 1970s I discovered Bat Out of Hell, and like many boys of my generation played it to death thinking it the finest piece of rock and roll music ever written. I could spend hours as a pimply-faced youth practicing my air guitar and belting out those heartfelt lyrics alone in my bedroom, until I got a bit older of course, more sophisticated, and started listening to the sort of music NME writers could discuss without a hint of irony, and my Meat Loaf album gathered dust in the attic, an embarrassing reminder of my gormless youth, never to be mentioned again.

Then a few years ago I was watching some TV program on the best-selling albums of all time, and there they were, all the pointy head music critics, pontificating on whether Dark Side of the Moon was a finer piece of musicological artistry than The White Album and then came Bat Out of Hell, the third-best selling album of all time (I may be mistaken) and the panel looked as if their peculiar uncle had just shown up at the cool kids' party. The mix of sneering condescension and downright derision was overwhelming, how stupid the public must be to have made this album among the greatest-selling ever.

And my dander rose in indignant outrage, the long-suppressed adolescent who had derived such simple pleasure from Steinman's work roared to life on a great Harley-Davidson chopper out of a long-forgotten crypt.

"You pompous load of shites, you wouldn't recognise rock and roll if it bit you on the arse, it's not supposed to be about musical quality, it's not supposed to appeal to the arts school graduates, it's not supposed to be discussed in the Culture section of The Guardian, it's supposed to appeal to dumb young boys with no girlfriends, in their homes in suburbia dreaming about playing in front of forty thousand adoring fans in Shea Stadium, you fcukwits!"

And I immediately went to YouTube, got on the headphones, cracked open a beer and revisited a long-lost and happy time in my youth.

I will do the same tonight, RIP Jim Steinman.
i feel you brother.
Have you checked this out? It’s a load of shit, but I love it.
 

syrup

LE
Steinman’s own album Bad for Good was IMHO better than Meatloaf’s efforts. It was written for Meatloaf as a follow up to Bat Out of Hell but the ‘loaf lost his voice.

Hell of a list of performers on Steinman’s album.

Didn't they also fall out about the writing credits

IIRC the original album cover alluded that Mr Loaf had written it with only a small nod to Steinman
 
Didn't they also fall out about the writing credits

IIRC the original album cover alluded that Mr Loaf had written it with only a small nod to Steinman
I think so. Steinman was dumped Dead Ringer; pretty much everything Meatloaf did after that was gash.

Steinman wrote Total Eclipse of the Heart for Meatloaf.
 
"You pompous load of shites, you wouldn't recognise rock and roll if it bit you on the arse, it's not supposed to be about musical quality, it's not supposed to appeal to the arts school graduates, it's not supposed to be discussed in the Culture section of The Guardian, it's supposed to appeal to dumb young boys with no girlfriends, in their homes in suburbia dreaming about playing in front of forty thousand adoring fans in Shea Stadium, you fcukwits!"
Though I can't stand Meatloaf, a hearty "Well Said sir!" to this.

Rock and roll is not meant to be tasteful and it's not for chin strokers. It's about ridiculous hair, loud guitars, preferably a Les Paul played through a Marshall stack, and it's supposed to grab you by the balls and shake you around till you pop off for a post coital fag.

In other words, not Coldplay.
 

Kirkz

LE
Steinman’s own album Bad for Good was IMHO better than Meatloaf’s efforts. It was written for Meatloaf as a follow up to Bat Out of Hell but the ‘loaf lost his voice.

Hell of a list of performers on Steinman’s album.
It was re released with Meatloaf as Bat out of hell 2 pretty much the same album.
I concur that Steinman's was the better of the two and you got a free single (rock and Roll Dreams Come Through) with his album.
 

Grownup_Rafbrat

LE
Book Reviewer
Dorset Echo is reporting that Walter Mondale, former Deputy President and loser of a Presidential Election, died on Sunday.
 
It was re released with Meatloaf as Bat out of hell 2 pretty much the same album.
I concur that Steinman's was the better of the two and you got a free single (rock and Roll Dreams Come Through) with his album.
Songwriters seem to live longer than performers. Burt Bacharach is still with us at 92 and Carole King is 79.
 
Top