S03E05: Jingle

I can't do Bee Gees!

[muffled voice from sound booth] "You can try".

 I can't... I sound like I've had my balls chopped off! 

[inaudible response]

There's enough of that around already.

"What do you know about music?"

What do I know? I've sung with Elton John, Cliff Richard, Michael Ball, John Thor, and Edward Woodward, the White Equaliser. 

[inaudible disbelief]

Yes, I have! The Lord is my Shepherd, St. Paul's Cathedral, Wogan's Memorial. How many Ba-da-ba-das I do is my prerogative. 

"Alright. Once more".

Yeah, I think we've got a situation where the tail's wagging the dog.

"What are you on about?"

If it weren't for me, you'd still be trying to shift caravans for Dreyson's.

"Oh, so you don't think I'm a good producer?"

I think you're a genius, but name three other people who'd say the same. 

"Er... Rob?"

Yeah, he's a friend of yours. In fact, if I stopped someone in the street and said, do you think Nathan Giggs is a good producer, what do you think they'd say? "Who? Should I know him?", that'd be one.

"Alright".

"Sorry, I don't know who that is. Sorry", that'd be another. "Never heard of him", that'd be another. "Oh, I don't know who that is. Sorry". That'd be another. Yeah, I know we've done that one already, but that would be a common answer.

But if I asked them, have you heard of Alan Partridge? "Oh, yes!", that'd be one. "Yeah, he's great!", another one. "No?", but she's an 18-year-old with false eyelashes and drawn-on eyebrows and big lips, not my demographic. 

"Isn't he the guy that used to be on the telly?", I'm still on the telly, just taking a hiatus, but they still knew who I was. "I love Alan Partridge. Quite fancy him, actually!". That's five! Nathan? 

[long silence] 

Did you hear those, Nathan? Give me the silent treatment? Where is he? Nathan?!

Nath. Nate. Naz. I should have learned his nickname by now. This is just potluck. Nathals, let me out! Oh, God. 

Hello. I'm Alan Partridge, and I appear to be locked in a recording studio. I'm not sure what to do now. I had planned for this podcast to take the form of a songwriter's masterclass. That's a window into the creative process of two songsmiths at the very top of their game.

Me, Alan Partridge, and my co-writer, collaborator, producer, and prodigy, Nathan Griggs, 36. You'll be familiar with 'Come to Holt Leisure, Where Fitness is Pleasure', and the dark, haunting, synthesizer-based 'Don't Put Water on Electrical Fires', which accompanied the information announcement of the same name. 

Over the course of twenty-two minutes, I was going to walk you through the whole writing process, from initial jamming, to finding the hook, to orchestration, to adding tambourines and harmonies, and hand claps, all the way through to mastering.

It was going to be very much the rock and roll edition of From the Oasthouse, coming to you live from a recording studio in the heart of downtown Norwich, where I'm laying down the vocal - or recording the singing - for an exciting new composition, a brand new From the Oasthouse jingle. 

It's just after 1am, and in true rock 'n' roll fashion, we are, or were, going to be recording right through the night baby, which is cool by me. I was kind of hoping for a kind of Studio 54 vibe, a late-night, freewheeling-anything-goes kind of mojo, only stopping when our creative juices dry up, the cleaner arrives, or I get tired and ask to have a nap on the camp-bed we've put up behind the drum kit.

Nothing too crazy, whereas rock-stars of old, your Jaggers, your Bowies, your Richards - Keith not Cliff - your Boltons, your Barlows would have been fortified by drinking endless amounts of beer, being taken in-mouth by groupies, or smoking big crocks of rack. Me, I'm being sustained by endless cubes of clotted cream fudge. Is it good for me? No, but I don't give a shit! It's all part of the rock and roll mindset, and that means sailing too close to the edge, and, e.g. eating a whole bag of fudge instead of dinner. And I don't just mean fudge. It could be chocolate, or chocolate fudge, or chocolate cake, or a vanilla slice with a fudge cube chaser. Deal with it, dude.

Nathan told me that insiders described Rumours as Fleetwood Mac's cocaine album, and I guess this is very much my fudge EP. He told me that apparently Stevie Nicks used to have small measures of cocaine blown up her bum, which shocked me until I discovered she was doing it to avoid damage to her septum. And so I was like, I like that. It's a pragmatic, creative solution. 

But fudge is wonderfully moreish, as is crack cocaine. They're not to be confused with the Stevie Nicks application, that's just normal cocaine just differently introduced. 

And I'm sure the groupie thing ain't half bad either. I mean, I wouldn't know, the closest I've ever got to having a groupie was a woman who kept sending me pictures of her feet, and it was only when I sent her a picture of mine that I learned a chiropodist is also called Alan, and she thought I was him. She called the police, but we're friends now.

But that podcast looks like a dead duck, or a damp squib, or a damp duck. I suppose most ducks are damp, aren't they? Certainly on the underside. Nathan has exploded, and the funny thing is he has a ginger afro, so it already looks like his head is exploding with ideas. He's a fiery redhead, great if you're a Hollywood starlet, not so good if you're a chubby man. Nathan's chubby. He admits it.

I once told him his hair looked like a flare-stack, which inevitably provokes the response, "What's a flare-stack?". Well, it's the controlled flame you see at the top of an oil rig to stabilise pressure and flow and to manage waste gas that can't be captured or processed. Good name for a band, actually, Alan Partridge and the Flare Stack. 

But that's why me and Nathan work so well together, we're different people with very different styles. Nathan's a producer, professor, stern, fastidious, methodical, knows what he wants and knows how to get it most of the time. Me? I'm more the maverick, 'Mad Dog' figure. I like to push the envelope, challenge norms, just slightly leftfield. 

I don't throw TVs out of windows. I don't drive cars into swimming pools. I like TVs and cars too much to do that to them. But do I like to shake things up a bit? Yes, please! Anyone can do it. Try it, it's fun! Drink a warm bottle of fizzy water before an important meeting. Go to bed in the nude. Don't say goodbye at the end of a phone call like a cop. Eat a sandwich while driving. So any outlet! You know, don't be Norman Normal, be Craig Crazy! You know, don't be Timmy Typical, be David Daft! You get the picture. Be that guy.

Then, when you get in the studio, you'll think nothing of putting on Cuban heels and banging a tambourine. Take risks, Christ! But today, I don't know, Nathan and I were just... we just weren't entirely agreeing on the direction the session was taking.

The jingle's a bit of a departure for us musically, but we had a sit down and both agreed that if we wanted to grow as artists, we needed to step outside our comfort zone. And on Oasthouse Theme Two, brackets Distant Whisper, we really have done that. 

Why are we fiddling with the theme tune in the first place, I hear you holler? Ain't broke? Why fix it? And you've got a point. You've got a point. The response to the track when people are made to listen to it is broadly positive. Certainly according to a straw poll I ran in a men's changing room, and while the views of six men towelling themselves down in a local leisure centre may not represent a statistically significant sample size, or rather five men, Clive tends to just bend over in front of the hand dryer and gets me to watch the door.

But the fact remains that the theme tune is good. So why change? Well, it all began with Audible sending me the results of some audience research they carried out about the last series. Made for fascinating reading. 

Headline, in a nutshell; don't worry about middle-aged, middle-class, white male divorcees. You've got them, they're safe, you need to broaden your appeal. Now, let's be realistic, you're never going to attract teenage girls and, quite frankly, post-Yewtree, trying to attract teenage girls is just more trouble than it's worth. There are people out there who are just waiting, they're just dying to get the wrong end of the stick and just hit you with it. I'll just text that to Liddle now. I don't mean the supermarket. 

But certain other demographics are up for grabs. White female geography teacher, age 35 to 45? Distinct possibility, they just need a little bit of fettling, and you can bring those into your camp.

Another would be Sunday Times-reading woman over 60 who likes to present a very neat and tidy front garden. And I do mean literally a garden. 

Another group are single men over the age of 50, independent means. Hang on, I haven't told you the colour of his skin yet. Figured it out? Yep. I am culturally-colourblind. Audible want your money, I want your ears, and I don't give two hoots what colour they are. 'Nuff said! 

But if the Audible feedback started the cogs whirring, it was a letter from a listener that brought me here to this studio. Recently I've taken a new approach to feedback, whereas previously I would have found other people critiquing me rude or hateful or mean, I've recently realised it can be a chance to improve. 

Amol Rajan, who's revolutionised and really rebooted Radio 4's Today programme by introducing lazy annunciation, Amol put me onto a wonderful book about the simplicity of living life as a monk, and it says letting go of hate can be, counter-intuitively, immensely empowering. Lot to recommend being a monk; your wardrobe choice is easy every morning, stress levels are low, diet's a bit samey, and you've got to like porridge, but that's okay, you can funk it up with nuts and nut-butter. I actually have a dressing gown with a hood, and a rope belt. It's sort of a monk-vibe dressing gown. Good name for a clothing line. Monk Vibe. Jumper. £300. Fuck off.

Anyway, when I'm feeling a bit underwhelmed, I pop on my dressing gown, put the hood up, which I never normally do, I'll bump my fists together so my hands disappear in the sleeves, and it looks like I've got one arm that runs from one shoulder to the next, and I'll just slowly glide round the house. I'll slow as I approach a mirror with my head bowed, before slowly looking up, taking a good long look at myself, then saying, quietly but audibly, "I would make a good monk. Amen!". And I find that sets me up for the day. 

[choppy guitar fingerpicking]

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Accepting feedback is one thing, but two days later I received something more worrying, a formal letter with a USB stick enclosed. What I read made my blood run cold. It was a legal letter from a small solicitor's practice which said it was acting on behalf of Gordon Granger, a singer-songwriter in Plymouth. Gordon was accusing me of the worst crime a musician can be accused of other than having boring clothes. That's right, plagiarism. 

It was his contention that I'd copied his track, 'Melancholy on the Mayflower', and had lifted the melody and chord progression for my theme song. Bullshit! He included a USB stick containing a video file of him performing the song in a pub in 2018, two years before the launch of my podcast. It instructs me to desist from using the Oasthouse theme and warns that Mr Granger will be seeking damages of £500,000. Here, listen to it.

[recording of an acoustic folky song, replete with la-la-las, over background chatter]

I mean, is it the same? And how would I have heard it? Yes, I was in Plymouth around that time, but I don't remember visiting a pub. I mean, the only thing I like about fishermen or trawler-guys is their sea shanties and their thick-neck polo necks. You stick one of those on and suddenly from across the room you've got a woman thinking, "Who's that man in a chunky polo neck?!". I mean, she smokes a bit, but she's up for fun and games.

I mean, yeah, fair enough, it's somewhat similar. I mean, he's a little folkier, mine's more polished. He's more comfortable in the lower ranges, I've got a natural vibrato, my tune's catchier than his, his lyrics have the edge, yeah. And when he sings 'A thousand voices from days of yore, sing out from the timber deck in remembrance of Albion's long-forgotten shore', and his voice cracks on the word shore, yeah, it made me nearly cry.

But the point I did not copy. The only thing I've ever copied was a hand gesture from David Cameron where you clench your fist lightly and point with your thumb. But his legal team thinks differently.
They have witnesses, they say, who will attest that the recording took place in 2018, and I admit it's put me in a very dark place. 

I almost had a mini-breakdown, for crying out loud. I thought I was taking it in my stride until something happened the other day and I did something that, for me, is so out of character. I was telling the guys at my racket club about being on the hook for £500k and I said I'd have to sell my cars, my home, and one of them said, "You'll probably have to sell your body too, Alan". He said, "You'd make a packet!". I said, "Are you kidding?!" I said, "I'm over the hill!".

He said, "No, put on a mini-skirt and some lipstick, you might make a few bob". I said, "Knowing me, I'd probably end up in a bus shelter in the pouring rain, head in hands, crying but wearing a skirt, wig skew-whiff, I've put my trainers back on and my boots are in a carrier bag next to me". 

He said, "No, no, I meant to sell your body for medical research. A giant pickled Partridge in a jar!", and I've no recollection of this but I'm told I threw a punch and apparently I said, "Pickle that, you cunt!". So out of character! Apparently I dropped him like a sack of spuds.

Yeah, not proud, not proud. But fine, I'll stop using the theme tune. I mean, that's why I'm here. I'm hoping my recording, a new one, will placate Mr Granger and show sufficient goodwill that he'll drop his demand for half a million pounds, which by any stretch is a stupid amount of money! 

Or at least I'll record it when Nathan comes back. Where the hell is he? Nathan! Nathan! It's a shame because I'm very much ready to go. In terms of performance style, I have a scarf around my neck. I like to stand in front of the mic, and while I sing I do the David Cameron gesture. A lot of singers record with their eyes closed. I did that once when I lost my balance and fell into a drum kit. 

He's not coming back, is he? This is really disappointing. I thought we had some good ideas to work on. We got a few of them in demo form. Let's have a look. [rifling through papers] He's a wonderful lyricist, there's an Eminem one we're working on. Just needs a fat beat behind it, really. "All the haters, see you laters, mash your brains like a pan of potaters", that's a finished lyric that's ready to go, rap-wise! But he's not bloody here! 

It's a shame because we've got access to the desk and there's a real treasure trove of instruments. A bagpipe. Flugelhorn. Kazoo. Bass guitar. Clarinet, can't do that. There's a triangle. Tambourine. Grand piano. Reed and pipe organ. And tubular bells. 

I'm not sure what to do now. Maybe just try and start without him. Yeah, I'll do that. 

[piano music]

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Well, it's four hours later, the sun's coming up and I have sung my little heart out. I've bashed, I've strummed, I've tinkled, I've dinged, I've thumbed, I've plucked, I've blown. And I've recorded something that I happen to like.

Is it perfect? No, it's a bit of a dog's dinner but don't forget, dogs love dog's dinners! But it has a lot of ideas and it goes in a lot of directions. Am I going to use it in the future? Not sure, but the point is, it's finished. If we play them side by side, there's absolutely no similarity between the two. Once again, this is Granger's song.

[plays recording]

Hang on a second. 

[plays a burst of recording again, someone talking in the foreground] 

I don't believe this. I need to call his solicitor. [taps number into phone, ringtone]

"Edward Halsey". 

Yes, Edward Halsey, please. Many thanks.

[classical hold music]

"Mr. Partridge, how are you?".

Edward. 

"Did you get the recording?".

I did, yes. Thank you for sending me that. Yeah, I wondered if you'd listened to the song at all. 

"I mean, of course I've listened to it".

Yeah. Do you mind if I play the very beginning? 

"Mr. Partridge, I'm not sure how that'd be helpful".

Well, I'll play it anyway. 

[voice in audience] "I went for the Range Rover Sport in Eiger Grey".

Did you hear that? 

"Gordon said...".

No, not Gordon. The man in the audience, he says, I've got the Range Rover Sport in Eiger Grey. I'll turn it up for you to listen.

"I went for the Range Rover Sport in Eiger Grey". 

You hear that? 

"Yes". 

Great. And we can agree that's what he's saying? 

"Yes". 

Perfect. 

"I don't know how...". 

Oh, no reason. It's just I'm pretty sure that Eiger Grey wasn't released as a colour option on the Range Rover Sport until 2021. 

"Mr. Partridge, this case does not hinge on whether you could buy a grey Range Rover in 2018". 

Oh, yeah, no, you could get a grey Range Rover; Bosphorus, Slate Grey, a Tungsten Pewter, Smoked Silver, sure, absolutely. Graphite, definitely. But, yeah, I mean, there were various shades between silver and charcoal with various different names, but it wasn't until Spring 2021 that the Range Rover website dropped Eiger Grey as a no-cost option to accompany the new hybrid line-up. 

"Okay...".

Mmm. If this was recorded in 2018, as your client Mr. Granger contests, you'd have to wonder how this man could have owned a car three years before it was released. 

"Right".

Mmm, yeah, but it sounds more like this was recorded in 2021 at the earliest, doesn't it, Edward? 

"Oh, okay". 

A year after my podcast was launched. 

"Let me speak to Gordon about withdrawing the contract".

No, let's hold our horses. Because when you put it like that, it starts to look like Granger might have plagiarised my song rather than vice versa, doesn't it? And that he appears to have been hoisted by his own petard, leaving himself wide open to the charge of plagiarism, Edward. 

"What do you want, Mr Partridge?".

What do I want? Nothing, Edward. I'll tell you what, instead of Gordon paying me half a million pounds in damages, perhaps he could make a small £500 donation to a charity of my choice. In this case, ARCO, a registered charity that refurbishes string instruments and gives them to inner-city and immigrant kids, as long as they're here legally. Provide the correct paperwork, and they get, voila, a viola.

"Fine". 

And could you just tell Gordon, because I'm trying, trying to live like a monk, that, and I quote, I forgive you unconditionally for your sin, but try pulling a fast one like that again and I will rinse you so royally you and your family will end up moving into a hostel. But as it's a first offence, once again, I forgive you. Bye! [hangs up] 

Anyway, here's the jingle. 

[a version of the From the Oasthouse with Alan belting out the lyrics stadium-style over a cacophony of discordant instruments]

What do you reckon? Too busy?