When I first heard of The Limey, I imagined a man who owned a lime grove who drives around in a Citroen 2CV fighting crime with lime and delivering citrus justice (citrustice) to the inhabitants of his village in Buckinghamshire. If you will, for a minute, hold this horrific idea in mind you can imagine how clammy my palms became at the prospect of listening to a song about a crime fighting lime grower.
Upon visitation of the slice of cyber space wherein the song sits (here) I happened upon a description of the track. I read through it, but it made no sense to me whatsoever. Something about Terrence and Billy Batts. I chose to ignore this as if it were one of those people what hangs about in public with a clipboard and a vest with some charity logo adorned upon it. I pretend to be on the phone when these people are out and about. Once this woman had the gall to stop me while I was pretending to talk on the phone and started with her spiel about what charity she was working on behalf of. I cut her off mid sentence with a curt "Can't you see that I'm pretending to have a phone conversation?" and then walked off.
The song itself starts off with a churning grumble that attempts to pass itself off as a bassline. At first it sounds rather messy and incoherent, like Michael Barrymore; but just as you're getting into the groove a cockerney voice pipes up with some words about something or other. "How you doing then? Alright are ya?". Well I honestly thought that someone from Eastenders was attempting to start a conversation with me. "Yeah, I'm ok" I reply, "I'm just listening to thi...", then I realised it was the dulcet tones of Dr. Terrence Stamp. Feeling rather foolish, I pressed on with the rest of the song, confident that my embarrassment would dissipate like a turd in a toilet cistern.
After a brief vocal interlude, a splash of silence sets you up for the pounding drums, replete with a brand new bassline over the original grizzler. Stamp goes on about some more violent behaviour, some rubbish about snapping a neck. The monologue really does draw you in to his world, and the pacing is perfect, timed beautifully to the musical bursts.
And just as soon as it began, it's over. Terrence Stamp is like a floatilla in a wide ocean.