By The Landlord
“In the best conversations, you don't even remember what you talked about, only how it felt. It felt like we were in some place your body can't visit, some place with no ceiling and no walls and no floor and no instruments.” – John Green, Turtles All the Way Down
“In conversation, humour is worth more than wit, and easiness more than knowledge.” – George Herbert
“Writing, when properly managed, is but a different name for conversation.” –Laurence Sterne
“Jeff Beck was one of the few guitarists that when playing live would actually listen to me sing and respond.” – Rod Stewart
“Two people in a conversation amount to four people talking. The four are what one person says, what he really wanted to say, what his listener heard, and what he thought he heard.” – William Jennings Bryan
Among the strangest, most unpredictable conversations I've had was with a dark chocolate Bounty Bar. No, not a person dressed up as one, you know, as some kind of supersize marketing character or mascot, or in fancy dress costume. I engaged with an actual item of conversational confectionery…
But more about that tasty chat later.
From the cave to the campfire, the dining table to the bar, conversation is one of things we're always been built for. That's the civilised basis on which groups and villages, and, towns and cities, and countries are formed. So this week we focus on songs that are not so much about them (so therefore not, for example, Elvis Presley's A Little Less Conversation) but must include reported conversations within the lyrics or between performers, or reported dialogue by a performer within the lyrics. And the theme could, arguably, also include a conversational style between instruments or with a voice, but that's open to interpretation. But there should always be some kind of back and forth in play.
Conversations come in all forms and they might reflect all sides of culture and our nature. They might include distinctive style, dialect and slang that reflects a time or place. They might use metaphor and wordplay, irony, swearing, flirting, subtext, indirect implication, apology, misunderstanding, verbal combat, brutal or gentle honesty. They could feature reconciliation, compromise, self-reveal, interruption and crosstalk, quick-witted banter, stumbling and stuttering, interrogation, gossip, avoidance, defensiveness and awkwardness, or just plain improvisational fun. Any of these and more might also be expressed in song. If you’re not sure, then why not ask?
As ever, there’s in only the way they can actually meet but here, group of conversationalists gathered in the bar beginning to engage on subject. How will it unfold? Will ideas be exchanged. Is the art of conversation dead?
Michel de Montaigne: For me, the most fruitful and natural exercise for our minds is, in my opinion, conversation.
Marty Rubin: Yes. Read, travel, talk to people, because if you only what's happened to you, you know nothing.
Evelyn Waugh: Isn’t that what we’re talking about? Conversation should be like juggling; up go the balls and plates, up and over, in and out, good solid objects that glitter in the footlights and fall with a bang if you miss them.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh: Well I think good communication is as stimulating as black coffee and just as hard to sleep after.
Charles Dudley Warner: I myself think lettuce is like conversation; it must be fresh and crisp, so sparkling that you scarcely notice the bitter in it.
William Hazlitt: But wit is the salt of conversation, not the food.
Ved Mehta: That’s all very well going on about dinner. And surely only boring people went in for conversations consisting of questions and answers. The art of true conversation consisted in the play of minds.
Truman Capote: A conversation is a dialogue, not a monologue. That's why there are so few good conversations: due to scarcity, two intelligent talkers seldom meet.
Samuel Johnson. Well sir, I never desire to converse with a man who has written more than he has read!
Taylor Swift: If you're yelling you're the one who's lost control of the conversation.
Samuel Johnson: What, woman? Have you not read my books?
Mark Haddon: Well, reading is a conversation. All books talk. But a good book listens as well.
Charles Lamb: Yes, what is reading, but silent conversation?
Sally Rooney: In the art of conversation, I think I only appear smart by staying quiet as often as possible.
Marcus Tullius Cicero: Silence is one of the great arts of conversation.
(Awkward silence)
Rebecca West: What are you all on about? There is no such thing as conversation. It is an illusion. There are intersecting monologues, that is all.
Oscar Wilde (The Rocket): Conversation, indeed! You have talked the whole time yourself. That is not conversation!
Oscar Wilde (The Frog): Somebody must listen, and I like to do all the talking myself. It saves time, and prevents arguments.
Italo Calvino: And how can a dialogue be established between the two of you if each thinks he hears, not the words of the other, but his own words, repeated by the echo?
Olga Tokarczuk: That’s because the best conversations are with yourself. At least there's no risk of a misunderstanding.
Chuck Palahniuk: Yeah, and the only reason why we ask other people how their weekend was is so we can tell them about our own weekend.
William Shakespeare (Coriolanus): More of your conversation would infect my brain.
Neil Postman: Americans no longer talk to each other, they entertain each other. They do not exchange ideas, they exchange images. They do not argue with propositions; they argue with good looks, celebrities and commercials.
Hmm. Maybe Neil had a point in his perceptive book of 1985 – Amusing Ourselves to Death. More drinks perhaps. And maybe it’s time to get our amusement and conversation from our in-bar cinema screen. Here then, for your entertainment and to get you in the mood, is a selection of some favourite dialogue from a few films:
Groucho Marx and Margaret Dumont in Duck Soup
Duck Soup (1933):
Rufus T. Firefly: Not that I care, but where is your husband?
Mrs. Teasdale : Why, he's dead.
Rufus T. Firefly : I bet he's just using that as an excuse.
Mrs. Teasdale : I was with him to the very end.
Rufus T. Firefly : No wonder he passed away.
Mrs. Teasdale : I held him in my arms and kissed him.
Rufus T. Firefly : Oh, I see, then it was murder. Will you marry me? Did he leave you any money? Answer the second question first.
Mrs. Teasdale : He left me his entire fortune.
Rufus T. Firefly : Is that so? Can't you see what I'm trying to tell you? I love you.
His Girl Friday (1940):
Louis: You better give me a receipt.
Hildy Johnson: I'll give you a scar
Casablanca (1942):
Major Strasser: What is your nationality?
Rick: I'm a drunkard.
Captain Renault: That makes Rick a citizen of the world.
Rick and Renault in Casablanca
Double Indemnity (1944):
Phyllis: There's a speed limit in this state, Mr. Neff. Forty-five miles an hour.
Walter: How fast was I going, officer?
Phyllis: I'd say around ninety.
Walter: Suppose you get down off your motorcycle and give me a ticket.
Phyllis: Suppose I let you off with a warning this time.
Walter: Suppose it doesn't take.
Phyllis: Suppose I have to whack you over the knuckles.
Walter: Suppose I bust out crying and put my head on your shoulder.
Phyllis: Suppose you try putting it on my husband's shoulder.
Walter: That tears it. 8:30 tomorrow evening, then.
Phyllis: That's what I suggested.
Walter: You'll be here too?
Phyllis: I guess so. I usually am.
Walter: Same chair, same perfume, same anklet?
Phyllis: I wonder if I know what you mean.
Walter: I wonder if you wonder.
Double trouble: Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck
Harvey (1950):
Wilson: Who's Harvey?
Miss Kelly: A white rabbit, six feet tall.
Wilson: Six feet?
Elwood P. Dowd: Six feet three and a half inches. Now let's stick to the facts.
Jimmy Stewart with friend Harvey
Some Like It Hot (1959):
Osgood: I called Mama. She was so happy she cried! She wants you to have her wedding gown. It's white lace.
Daphne: Yeah, Osgood. I can't get married in your mother's dress. Ha ha. That-she and I, we are not built the same way.
Osgood: We can have it altered.
Daphne: Oh no you don't! Osgood, I'm gonna level with you. We can't get married at all.
Osgood: Why not?
Daphne: Well, in the first place, I'm not a natural blonde.
Osgood: Doesn't matter.
Daphne: I smoke! I smoke all the time!
Osgood: I don't care.
Daphne: Well, I have a terrible past. For three years now, I've been living with a saxophone player.
Osgood: I forgive you.
Daphne: [Tragically] I can never have children!
Osgood: We can adopt some.
Daphne/Jerry: But you don't understand, Osgood! [Whips off his wig, exasperated, and changes to a manly voice] Uhhh, I'm a man!
Osgood: [Looks at him then turns back, unperturbed] Well, nobody's perfect!
In The Heat Of The Night (1967):
Gillespie: Well, you're pretty sure of yourself, ain't you, Virgil? Virgil—that's a funny name for a nigger boy that comes from Philadelphia! What do they call you up there?
Tibbs: They call me Mr. Tibbs!
Sidney Poitier and Rod Steiger: In The Heat Of the Night
Annie Hall (1977):
Alvy: It's all mental masturbation.
Annie: Oh, well, now we're finally getting to a subject you know something about.
Alvy: Hey, don't knock masturbation. It's sex with someone I love.
Monty Python's The Life of Brian (1979):
Brian: Look, you've got it all wrong! You don't need to follow me. You don't need to follow anybody! You've got to think for yourselves! You're all individuals!
Crowd: [in unison] Yes! We're all individuals!
Brian: You're all different!
Crowd: [in unison] Yes, we are all different!
Man in crowd: I'm not...
Crowd: Shhh!
My Dinner With Andre (1981):
Wally: Suppose you're going through some kind of hell in your own life, well you would love to know if friends have experience similar things. But we just don't dare to ask each other.
Andre: No, It would be like asking your friend to drop his role.
Withnail and I (1986):
Danny: Don't get uptight with me, man. Because if you do, I'll have to give you a dose of medicine. And if I spike you, you'll know you've been spoken to.
Withnail: You wouldn't spike me, you're too mean. Besides, there's nothing invented I couldn't take.
Danny: If I medicined you, you'd think a brain tumour was a birthday present.
Withnail: I could take double anything you could.
Danny: Very, very foolish words, man.
Pulp Fiction (1994):
Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998):
Plank: [gets hit with an air rifle] Ah! They fucking shot me!
Dog: Well, shoot them back!
Plank: [shoots wildly]
John: Jesus, Plank, couldn't you have got smokeless cartridges? I can't see a bloody thi– ah! Shit! I've been shot.
Dog: I don't fucking believe this! Can everyone stop getting shot?
Sexy Beast (2000):
Gal: I'd be useless.
Don: Useless?
Gal: I would be.
Don: In what way?
Gal: In every fucking way.
Don: Why are you swearing? I'm not swearing ...
Don: Not this time, Gal. Not this time. Not this fucking time. No. No no no no no no no no no! No! No no no no no no no no no no no no no! No! Not this fucking time! No fucking way! No fucking way, no fucking way, no fucking way! You've made me look a right cunt!
So then, what about the Bounty Bar mentioned earlier? I should first put this into context. I had taken a variety of psychedelic drugs on something of a wild night out. This is now quite a few years ago. I had ended up with a couple of friends in a trendy nightclub in Glasgow, and by some chance turn of phrase, and mentioning a certain name, gained access to some plush VIP backroom area with a variety of well-known partying musicians and glamorous hangers-on. A great variety of snacks were available, though the key ones had already been taken before arriving.
In my body and brain, the active, and dominant substance above others was LSD. But despite its rather profound effects, somehow I was still sociable and coherent, relatively that is, and able to hold fairly lucid conversation with anyone. Nevertheless the floor had become spongy and soft, and I felt as if my pint glass would squeeze completely inwards as I held it only lightly, even though I knew it couldn't possibly do so. Meanwhile, the walls seemed to be swimming with fish, octopuses and for some reason, koala bears. I juggled two realities in my head. Meanwhile I'd had a first bite of the bar, but then, as indeed the mind finds all kinds of shapes form when you are under such an influence, its shiny, bright coconutty inside section suddenly transformed into a cheeky little face, which began to engage me in conversation. And so it began.
Bountiful conversation …
Everything the chocolate bar's face said, with its squeaky voice, completely surprised me, and pushed me to think very carefully about how to respond. It was like verbally sparring with some kind of fiendish chess demon, dancing around me with dialogue, playfully coaxing me with jokes and jibes and oodles of irony. Occasionally people would walk by and I'd introduce the Bar to them, but they'd simply smile, realising of course that this was very much an exclusive chat. I'm fairly sure the conversation was not aloud, just in my mind, but it went on for some time with this sort of thing:
Me: What's happening?
Bounty: Hey there, sugar.
Me: Who are you?
Bounty: I'm obviously part of this bar, mate.
Me: What?
Bounty: I suppose you want to join our Club? (begins to sing and whistle the old TV ad theme for chocolate Club Biscuits)
Me: What the fuck?
Bounty: It's just an invitation.
Me: That's very, er, sweet. But –
Bounty: Something eating you, is there? Now you know how I feel.
Me: But are you – talking to me?
Bounty: I don't see anyone else around here ...
Me: But – what, who are you?
Bounty: A bit of chocolate. A bit of coconut. A bit of a mouthful. A bit of you, perhaps.
Me: What do you mean?
Bounty: That you've got good taste? Try harder. I think you're a bit under the influence. How's it going then, so far?
Me: I'm trying to hold it together. You're not exactly helping.
Bounty: Feeling a bit insecure, maybe? Intimated?
Me: Are you patronising me?
Bounty: Yes.
Me: So what am I going to say next?
Bounty: That you maybe bit off more than you can chew?
Me: I wish I'd thought of that!
Bounty: Better. But keep working on it. Now, let's talk about that thing in your childhood, you know, that time when you were six ...
Me: What do you know about my childhood?
Bounty: I've got inside information …
Me: I think I'm seeing a pattern to all this.
Bounty: Hey, it's melting in here ...
For some time, juggling realities, so vivid was this illusion, I did half-believe the Bounty was really another person, perhaps like the giant rabbit in the film Harvey, but then realised the acid had put me in a waking dream state, my subconscious instantly creating and knitting together a conversation in what felt like real time, before eventually it did melt away.
So are the best dialogues real or imagined, written and refined and edited, or captured in recordings, songs, podcasts and interviews? Let’s see how they come out in song, made up or recreated from memory.
So then that’s quite enough internal chat in here. Now it’s time to engage in your own bar banter, suggesting songs in which conversing of all kinds are expressed. In the directors chair is that the convivially communicative AmyLee! Please put your song suggestions in comments below, for deadline on Monday 11pm UK time, for playlists published next week.
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