Graham Linehan just retweeted David Whittam’s* link to an… intriguing music video on YouTube, by a lady called Lori Watt, of New Zealand. She writes, composes & sings all her songs herself, yes she does.
I had a look at what other YouTubely treasures she had to offer and found this one, which I like even more than the one Graham posted.
I felt moved to write a small piece chronicling the video. I hope you don’t mind.
I hadn’t realised how long it had been since I’d written anything. Getting words out of my brain into a not-appalling order has been like teasing wire wool through rusty cogs. Apologies if this shows.
Chill In My Vein, by Lori Watt : A Music Video
Lori Watt walks towards us across a sunset beach of glistening sand. Her seductive stride may or may not be down to the trousers she’s wearing. Her feet are bare, her arms swinging with an easy-going abandon.
Then she remembers she’s meant to be babysitting for her cousin, and wanders off.
She has a chill in her vein, Lori sings to us, wearing her yellow Data-from-ST:TNG contacts. Certain things come undone, she croons, unfastening the buttons on her lime-green jersey vest. She’s trapped in a dark place, she informs us, from inside a large cardboard box, and in the garden she wipes away some wayward eyeliner that stands in for tears on her face.
Such moving literal translations of lyrics (look out for the “two-way street”) are but the start of a powerful four minute, thirty-seven second visual journey.
Lori’s seductive cystitis-walk takes us to her producer and dear, white-haired old mother, sitting on a bench outside a newsagents, where two unknowing pre-teens caper about on wobbly rollerblades.
Unaccustomed to Lori’s particular genre, both adults must look away from the camera, in order to conceal their broadly grinning faces.
Alas, it all starts to go wrong when the producer, after briefly perusing her contract, is driven off-screen by a barbed comment box that pops up over her head. Then Lori’s white-haired mother seizes hold of a child, keeping it in place with her iron octogenarian grip until it finally manages to break free and run away. Disappointed, the old woman rises and minces coquettishly towards camera, then remembers she meant to nip to the bookies, and exits stage right instead.
Bereft of company, Lori undulates down to the beach to consider her arm. Her mother follows, spotting the children in the surf. Whilst sitting on driftwood, itching at ringworm, Lori is momentarily grasped by an unseen man with gnarled hands & stumpy fingers.
Fortunately, Lori manages to wrest herself free. Her experience forces Lori’s mother to see the forceful grabbing of young girls from the other side of the fence, and she swears never to do so again.
The children roam happily, unmolested, and Lori and her mother discover a lost love for each other, strolling with hearts full of romance hand-in-hand down the beach. The children dare to walk close-by, and Lori’s mother gives the camera man one of her special smiles.
As the video narrative has finished a little earlier than the song does, a slideshow follows to fill time:
Lori in a little skirt. That time Lori was on stage. A guitar. Lori with a guitar, although a different guitar to the one we’ve just seen. A treble clef having an acid flash-back.
Moving acoustic string-plucking that challenges us to re-consider the the accepted notion of “in tune” that the music industry forces upon us, fades in.
The slideshow, having covered Lori’s musical career all the way back to infancy, ends.
Because it has been a while since we watched it, a series of clips gives us an abridged recap video’s narrative: The Producer whispering cruel things to wheeled children about how she is a very good musician in NZ history, Lori tending her itching skin, and that terrifying appearance of the Unexpectedly Old Hand.
In a moving denouement, Lori discovers and meets up with the leathery, stubby-fingered assailant and forgives him.
He places his old, gnarled hands on her hips, this time in an act of not-at-all-creepy tenderness. Awkwardly, they hug.
It’s all going to be alright.
Fade out.
Important Epilogue:
Lori Watt has written and recorded her own songs, made videos for them, edited it all together, and posted them on Youtube. She has fans, and has even been interviewed. Have I done any of these things? No, I have not.
Just saying, y’know, it’s easy to mock, but better to go out and make stuff you love.
(I’m still posting this, though, because I really really enjoyed writing it. What a bitch)
* I know, I could have started this with “David Whittam tweeted…”, but I didn’t see that tweet. I saw the retweet. It would have been a bare-faced lie to make it like I was all reading David Whittams feed all day long, like “Girlfriend, I read that David Whittam tweet!”. That would be a lie - unfair to you and David and, ultimately, myself.
