Jimmy Nail
Ain't No Doubt

Jimmy Nail.

Jimmy Nail.

In '92, when the madchester scene in England starts to lose its depth and the young Gallaghers and Albarn are about to become famous minstrels, there's also Jimmy Nail.

He has a long black coat, from which emerges an unattractive, Albion face, painted with a dreamily crooked nose.                                                          

Actor, singer, he sold many records and made a lot of money - but nothing serious - and during that early nineties period, he often talked about women from the phone booths of Piccadilly Circus. Specifically, about how a woman's words can be interpreted with different nuances by a man. Misunderstanding, or White Lies, depending on the case. Anyway, stories of betrayal or couple breakups (in every sense), much like the top five that Nick Hornby places in High Fidelity. 

Well, while all this was happening, while Jimmy Nail was talking on the phone, the city of London was in black and white, made of bright lights and subways open until late at night.   

It was a period that would never return for England, magnetic, sad, the seed of rave parties banned by the government's acts, of Massive Attack's blue lines and of great black humor series like Bottom with Rik and Eddie.                                                                                                          

In '92, Thatcher and darkness were no longer there, poverty remained, and Ian Wright was already at Arsenal (always to Nick Hornby's delight).   

Generational shift!                    

Right then, with this much more important backdrop than him, Jimmy Nail releases a cult and annoying and commercial and evergreen song with the rhythm of happy Mondays. With the grand and groovy bass of Guy Pratt.                                                                                                                              

I wonder if anyone remembers that song?

But why, I wonder, did I decide to bring out a possibly useless and forgotten musical drop in this tumultuous April? Who knows...After all, I wrote this piece on impulse, with the song playing in the background. But catchy rhythms relax me, so this is just a kitsch toast to the old, green England of many years ago. And the fact that the beautiful song I’m doing it with happens to be by Jimmy Nail, is just a coincidence.

What can I say, I like it when Piccadilly is all lit up, in the evening