Up the junction

Zomer ’68. Manfred Mann in psychedelische stijl over het bepaald niet geestverruimende leven onder het kapitaal. Filmmuziek bij de verfilming van een verzameling verhalen van Nell Dunn, Up the junction.
Het is wel een post-Day in the life-nummer.

Days begun and people rush
Off to work by 410 bus
Open eyes and open minds
Conditioned to the daily grind

Up the junction
Up the junction

Days begun and people rush
Off to work by 410 bus
Through the factory gates they swarm
Similar clothes by all are worn
Overalls like uniforms
See their faces, young and old
Filling every crack and hole
Some are floating in a dream
But all go through the same routine
Drifting in a human stream

Up the junction
Up the junction

Open eyes and open minds
Conditioned to the daily grind
Stop to lock their dreams away
There’s nothing new about today
Only what the papers say

Up the junction
Up the junction

Lots of people down the street meet friends and say
“Hello, it’s not as hot as yesterday
The better weather’s on the way”

Up the junction…

De televisieversie van Dunn en Ken Loach is zowaar integraal beschikbaar.

Elf jaar later – het gelijknamige nummer van Squeeze is een echo van het hoofdverhaal van Dunn.

I never thought it would happen
With me and the girl from Clapham
Out on a windy common
That night I ain’t forgotten

When she dealt out the rations
With some or other passions
I said, “You are a lady”
“Perhaps,” she said, “I may be”

We moved into a basement
With thoughts of our engagement
We stayed in by the telly
Although the room was smelly

We spent our time just kissing
The Railway Arms we’re missing
But love had got us hooked up
And all our time it took up

I got a job with Stanley
He said I’d come in handy
And started me on Monday
So I had a bath on Sunday

I worked eleven hours
And bought the girl some flowers
She said she’d seen a doctor
And nothing now could stop her

I worked all through the winter
The weather brass and bitter
I put away a tenner
Each week to make her better

And when the time was ready
We had to sell the telly
Late evenings by the fire
With little kicks inside her

This morning at 4:50
I took her rather nifty
Down to an incubator
Where thirty minutes later

She gave birth to a daughter
Within a year a walker
She looked just like her mother
If there could be another

And now she’s two years older
Her mother’s with a soldier
She left me when my drinking
Became a proper stinging

The devil came and took me
From bar to street to bookie
No more nights by the telly
No more nights nappies smelling

Alone here in the kitchen
I feel there’s something missing
I’d beg for some forgiveness
But begging is not my business

And she won’t write a letter
Although I always tell her
And so it’s my assumption
I’m really up the junction