Pussy Galore

Article It's been a long ascent for Kirsty MacColl. Over 15 years, she's toiled away unassumingly in pursuit of that elusive beast, the perfect pop song. When Kirsty ambled into the offices of Stiff records in 1979 with the bubblegum lovesighs of They don't know, there was much cause for excitement: after all, those young yet strangely autumnal tones seemed to strike a perfect balance between the naivety and insecurity of infatuation.

Little did we know that, over the course of the next decade, Kirsty would take on the identity of pop's very own Zelig, being strangely present at all the most vital moments in 80s pop: from backing vocalist on Smiths records to co-vocalist on Happy Mondays Hallelujah, via a scintillating starring role with Shine MacGowan on Fairy tale of New York and the accolade of being Evan Dando's favourite singer. Then there the classics Kirsty wrote herself (of which more later): as the chef on that Persil advert once (might have) said, "Every time Kirsty MacColl makes a record, it's like a little miracle." Not that Kirsty was incapable of larger miracles. Far from it. She even made a Billy Bragg song (A new England) sound like a useful contribution to Western civilisation [that's utterly appalling! FW] In fact, name any great moment in pop over the past 15 years and you can be sure that Kirsty will have been walking away from the scene, whistling. [a tad over the top possibly - FW] All of which leads me to share my Grand Theory vis-a-vis the flame-haired goddess. That she's the cat out of "Hong Kong Phooey". [nice liquid lunches at Time Out perhaps? FW]

Think about it.

For the hard of remembering, "Hong Kong Phooey" was a Hanna Barebra cartoon about a dog who fancied himself as a Kung Fu superhero, only he wasn't very good at it, so the cat who lived in the filing cabinet two drawers below him would always save the day without attracting too much attention to itself. Consequently, our canine "hero" would always come away thinking he was responsible for another great episode in the Battle against Crime. The last time Hong Kong Phooey appeared on terrestrial TV was 1979 - the same year Kirsty MacColl's recording career began.

Coincidence or what? Over to Kirsty.

Ring ring. Ring r.... "Hello?"

Hello Kirsty. Time Out here. I'm afraid your secret's out. Are you or are you not the cat out of "Hong Kong Phooey"?

"Sorry?"

I explain the aforesaid theory one more time for Kirsty's benefit, the crux of it being that Kirsty has been strangely present at some of pop's greatest moments.

"What, so you think I'm the cat in Hong Kong Phooey?"

I'm sure of it.

"Well", says Kirsty, a little elusively, "a lot of people think I've been living in a filing cabinet over the past few years, so perhaps you're right."

Ah-ha! You are indeed a Zelig-like figure in the shadows of pop, aren't you?

"I've guested on a lot of people's records", she responds factually. "I think that's because I don't mess people around in the studio, so when the Pogues or Happy Mondays call me up it's very laid back."

She's a minor heroine is our Kirsty, a ray of humanity in a business she rightly resents for its rank hypocrisy. One of the most beguiling moments of Kirsty's new retrospective compilation, Galore, is her version of Ray Davies' Days. Once a mess of regret and flickering affection for a lost love, it is turned by her into a celebration of life's sweet adversities. Kirsty's songwriting, too, has never been less than seamless. When the penchant for classic bubblegum ("I was a teenager so I wanted to do teen-pop" she explains dryly) gave way to the memoirs of a mother watching the 80s eroded by avarice and Thatcherism, we were treated to Free world and Walking down Madison.

"I remember when they'd just finished renovating the Docklands", she ruminates, "and that was heralded as a new ideological era. It was such a horrible vacuum, people thinking that their actions had no consequence."

And so to Galore. The tributes from various pop stars on the inner sleeve suggest that you've certainly made a few illustrious friends along the way. "Ah, that was very moving", she sighs, "I thought you had to die before you got tributes like that, and frankly I wasn't prepared to put myself out that much!"

Ladies and gentleman, Kirsty MacColl: she's ace, plus she's not dead. Hallelujah indeed.

Galore is out now on Virgin Records. She plays the Mean Fiddler, Fri.

[Footnote: very fond of your column in the Times, Peter so no hard feelings! FW]

Style [ Standard ] [ Cool Blue ] [ Tropical ]

Pussy Galore

Related Pages: