There may be a few of us in here old enough to remember our disastrous attempts to emulate John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever at the Disco in the mid-70s.
There we were bumper-to-bumper – where’s me V-Necked jumper? Anyone remember the first letter of your name in upper case on said jumper, the flares, Donny Osmond, the Bay City Rollers?
It’s no wonder half of us are still receiving counseling.
Kung Fu Fighting was released in 1974, the year I finally convinced the ogre on the door of the nightclub that I was 18.
The song was a smash hit for Carl Douglas on both sides of the Atlantic. It hit the charts around the time that Bruce Lee films were all the rage to cash in on the martial arts craze sweeping the USA and Europe.
I was never into the martial arts myself, me being a pragmatic type. I mean, martial arts didn’t do the Japanese much good when the Yanks dropped two big ones on them at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Did it?
The auld MA didn’t pack the same punch as Oppenheimer’s deadly toy I reckon.
I noticed a DVD of Enter the Dragon in the shop recently. I thought this was a porn flick featuring someone rogering Margret Thatcher (Mama doc), until I recalled it was Brucie, chop socking his way through legions of slanty-eyed baddies.
Back in our disco days the night would be considered a success if you got to touch yer wan up walking her home. One of the boys in the Duck N’ Drake nostalgically referred to this manoeuvre as, “dropping the hand.”
Me being a shy type I never did get around to it – and in a darkened underpass I thought my chance had come at last, but then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn’t act.
Glory days. The pint was about 20 pence, a CV was some sort of venereal disease, and Norman Hunter was prowling midfield at Elland Road, secure in the knowledge that the FIFA law banning players from going through opponents to get at the ball was 30 years in the offing.
Bowie, Dylan and the Beatles were also making great music, but it all fell asunder after they quit taking heroin.. Then again, you can only gild the lily so many times.
Anyway, Kung Fu Fighting may appear to be a strange barometer by which to measure the intolerance of the PC brigade and how Human Rights laws have now been inverted to the point of utter absurdity.
But try telling that to Simon Ledger, a musician. Ledger was arrested recently on suspicion of racially aggravated harassment.
And his crime? Well, it was truly heinous as was belting out a version of Kung Fu Fighting at a gig in the Isle of Wight, a capital offence in itself, unless his tongue was firmly in his cheek. However,
the two Asian fuckers that took “grave offence” to the song didn’t have their tongues in their cheeks when they ran to the cops and lodged a complaint.
Ledger consequently had his collar felt, ironically as he was eating a meal in a Chinese restaurant.
A police spokesman said that a 32-year-old bastard claimed he was subjected to racial abuse, long time, and that “investigations” are continuing and witnesses are being questioned.
Imagine the scene in court.
“M’Lud, I put it to you that the accused was singing that those cats were fast as lightning”
“Moreover, he also warbled that they were a little bit frightening, adding that they fought with expert timing”
“He also implied that they were funky Chinamen from funky Chinatown, that they were chopping them up and they were chopping them down.”
“Ten years. No parole. Order in the Court.”
The entire episode would be a great laugh if it wasn’t so absurdly serious. And let the above be a warning to any musician out there.
Almost any song that might be considered to be stereotyping any racial group could now result in you ending up in front of The Beak.
And M’lud could send you down folks – as fast as lightning. Strangeways here we come.