This Is This

There’s only one thing worse than being sung about, and that’s not being sung about.

It would be a mixed blessing to have a name that was immortalised in song. The Peggy Sues, Laylas and Roxannes of this world know what I’m talking about.

I once worked with a lady called Jolene and I resisted saying the dumb bleeding obvious “Oh, like the song-” when I met her. Raving Simon was different though. I had a lot of time for him if he thought of something, and it was going to be fun, he went with it. When I introduced Jolene to him, he went straight the chorus, complete with Dolly Parton accent. He didn’t even shake hands because was too busy dancing.

Until recently I didn’t think my name came up in a song. Cliff that is. It turns up indirectly like in the “White Cliffs of Dover”, but I don’t take it personally. Jones turns up plenty - Wife and I had our first dance at our wedding to “Me and Mrs Jones”. You had “Doctor Jones” (Aqua’s ill-concieved follow-up to Euro dance pop smash “Barbie Girl”) “Mr Jones” by Counting Crows, “Crackity Jones” by The Pixies, the Irving Berlin showtune “This Is The Army Mr Jones”, and probably more.

But I went through life thinking that no Cliff had ever inspired any lyricist beyond the writer of “Clifford The Big Red Dog” - until my sister played me a snipped of the Billy Ray Cyrus song “Achy Breaky Heart”:

You can tell your ma
I moved to Arkansas.
Or you can tell your dog to bite my leg.
Or tell your brother Cliff,
whose fist can tell my lips.
He never really liked me anyway.

Oh my sweet lord in heaven.

I know that at least six songwriters lay claim to having penned at least some of Achy Breaky Heart, and I don’t know who this Cliff is. But I hope it stays hidden in the verse and if someone does write a song with my name in it, I hope it’s a good one.

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