Say You, Pay Me

The TV was on but I was catching up with emails. I say catching up – in reality I was having my twice-weekly unsubscribe session in a desperate attempt to stem the tide of messages which flood in as a result of my wife’s not-at-all-worrying penchant for entering random competitions. Waltons’ Garden Buildings, anyone?

I became vaguely aware that Lionel Richie was on screen singing Say You, Say Me. Not my favourite song of his, but I am familiar enough with it to know that it does not, (and, in an ideal world, never would) feature the words “EXTRA CRUNCHY”. Yes, Britain’s crisp munchers had a new pin-up: the man who wrote and sang Easy, Sail On, We are the World and countless other decent tunes was now peddling fried potato snacks in the middle of Hollyoaks. 41 seconds of what, depending on your view, was either a bit of harmless self-parody, or a once quite credible artist pissing all over his reputation for a (saturated) fat cheque. Or something in between. 

Jaw in need of support

My immediate reaction was to tweet that a decent agent would at least have got him the Kettle Chips gig, but the experience left me feeling somewhat soiled (and not in the usual way). Why would he need to do that? Clearly, the likes of Heaven 17 or Ray Parker Jr, who have cropped up in UK ads recently, have not got much to lose - their appeal having become, shall we say, more selective of late. It’s a no-brainer (or no-hairer in the case of Glenn Gregory these days). But Motown legend Lionel? Surely he can’t need the money that badly?

Maybe this is a replacement income stream, as the private concerts for Colonel Gadaffi are ...ahem... on hold for the time being. He could at least have performed a useful public service and included the line “...DON’T EAT THE GREEN ONES....NATURALLY”.

You might have thought that little old Walkers couldn’t pay him anywhere near the fee he’d get for a couple of nights at the O2. Perhaps it’s just so easy to lark around with old jug-ears Lineker for a couple of lucrative hours and still get to the arena in time for soundcheck, thereby getting paid twice. It’s always possible he is hoarding cash for another expensive divorce settlement, with the last one rumoured to have cost him around $20million.

Of course the perma-grinned Richie is far from alone amongst still-popular musos in being unable to resist some easy readies. Witness the WTF-tastic Iggy Pop car insurance ads, which hilariously were for a company which wouldn’t touch the likes of Mr Pop (or indeed any music biz types) with a fully-comprehensive barge pole. And whoever thought of that scary puppet/doppelganger thing must have stumbled upon a big stash of the drugs the skeletal singer has left behind.

FFS

John Lydon maintains that doing the Country Life butter ads has funded the relaunch of Public Image Ltd, though apparently not by enough to include any original members (maybe if he advertised Chivers jelly he could re-hire Jah Wobble... please forgive me). Obviously he will always explain away any perceived sell-out (see also his appearance on “The Jungle”, as it must be called) as being part of the whole swindle / filthy lucre claptrap he’s spouted since 1976. There’s even a Sex Pistols fragrance now. Never Mind it Smells Like Bollocks (probably). Others who might inspire you to heckle them with a quick “Greedy Bastard!” whilst hiding behind a big hard-looking bloke are Ozzy Osbourne (World of Warcraft), and Alice Cooper (too many to list here but a Sky Plus one with Ronnie Corbett did actually raise a titter).

Ultimately though, do any of these artists look as though they have wrestled with their conscience before taking the corporate shilling? I’d say not. Do any of them have a problem selling tickets as a result of their ads? Apparently not. Am I just too sensitive about someone simply making a living? Well, that's for others to decide. I do know that if a musician who I actually admire, say Neil Finn, was to appear on my TV singing “...EVERYWHERE YOU GO, YOU ALWAYS TAKE THE QUAVERS WITH YOU...”, or Robert Plant with “...AND SHE’S BUYING A STAIRLIFT IN DEVON...”, I would have a hard time accepting that. I really would.

But back to Lionel Brockman Richie Jr. The aforementioned advert (and now a second one) can be found on the net pretty easily, for those who haven’t had the pleasure. I’ve no intention of posting a link here and stinking the place out. No, better to try to shut the whole sordid business out of the mind, and instead remember him this way:

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