Brits were polled recently on which song they’d like to hear in their dying moments, and oy vey:
…and all I have to say is: FFS.
- Having Sinatra bellowing his out-of-tune signature song would only hasten my demise by making me roar in rage and pain. Fucking hell, imagine taking that noise with you into eternity.
- Ditto Whitney Houston’s braying version of that lovely Dolly Parton lament. (I might just accept Dolly’s version, though.)
- I love me some Tina Turner, but not Simply The Best.
- Ditto Judy Garland, but not the syrupy Over The Rainbow.
- And being on my deathbed can hardly be called “having fun”, unless Salma Hayek has granted my dying wish.
- I don’t believe in angels, even when sung by Abba.
- Finally a song I could listen to without bellowing in rage. Sing it to me, Satchmo. It would be my 1b). choice.
- I don’t know Beautiful, so no comment.
- Hmmmm a Beatles song… not Hey Jude; shuffling off the mortal coil with “Na na na nana na na” ringing in your ears would be just an unspeakable prospect.
- Okay, I wouldn’t mind a Queen song, just not that one. Depending on my mood, I could do Bohemian Rhapsody (or Fat-Bottomed Girls, so I could leave with a smile on my face).
Actually, the last song I’d like to hear is September Song. And yes, Willie’s version. I can think of no better way to slide into oblivion — and if I could be greedy, his entire Stardust album.
