BOBBIE GENTRY: tanzdress als letzte chance des lebens

Der kühl Wissende in mir wirft Bobbie Gentrys „Fancy“ (1970) in die Runde viel zu wenig bekannter Tanzflur-Supersongs. Eher ein episches Teil, bei dem man einfach auf dem Flur bleibt, weil es dort so lauschig und wogig und soulig zugeht. Da nimmt man gerne mal einen synkopierten Beat an, fährt sich runter im Tempo, lässt sich einsaugen und wieder dynamisieren, genießt ein kommentierendes, kurzes Trompetenmotiv und singt den umwerfenden Refrain mit – mit Stimme und allem anderen, was der eigene Körper noch so zu bieten hat:

Here’s your one chance, Fancy, don’t let me down! /
Here’s your one chance, Fancy, don’t let me down /
Lord forgive me for what I do /
but if you want out well it’s up to you /
Now get out girl, you better start movin’ uptown

Mit diesen Instruktionen einer Mutter an ihre Tochter beginnt die Unternehmung: Geh in die Stadt und schnapp dir reiche Typen, damit du aus der Scheiße rauskommst. Sie tut’s und sie bereut es nicht. Ich mag es, wenn lange Geschichten erzählt werden auf dem Floor. Festhalten, bitte:

Well, I remember it all very well lookin’ back
It was the summer that I turned eighteen.
We lived in a one-room, run down shack
on the outskirts of New Orleans.

We didn’t have money for food or rent
to say the least we was hard-pressed
when Momma spent every last penny we had
to buy me a dancin’ dress.

Well, Momma washed and combed and curled my hair,
then she painted my eyes and lips.
Then I stepped into the satin dancin’ dress.
It had a split in the side clean up to my hips.

It was red, velvet-trimmed, and it fit me good
and standin’ back from the lookin’ glass
was a woman
where a half grown kid had stood.

She said, “Here’s your last chance, Fancy, don’t let me down!
Here’s your last chance, Fancy, don’t let me down.
God forgive me for what I do,
but if you want out girl it’s up to you.
Now get on out, you better start sleepin’ uptown.”

Momma dabbed a little bit of perfume
on my neck and she kissed my cheek
Then I saw the tears welling up
in her troubled eyes as she started to speak

She looked at our pitiful shack and then
she looked at me and took a ragged breath
She said, Your Pa’s runned off, and I’m real sick
and the baby’s gonna starve to death.

She handed me a heart-shaped locket that said
“To thine own self be true”
and I shivered as I watched a roach crawl across
the toe of my high-healed shoe

It sounded like somebody else was talkin’
askin’, “Momma what do I do?”
She said, “Just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy.
They’ll be nice to you.”

She said, “Here’s your last chance, Fancy, don’t let me down!
Here’s your last chance, Fancy, don’t let me down.
God forgive me for what I do,
But if you want out girl it’s up to you
Now don’t let me down,
now get on out, you better start sleepin’ uptown.”

That was the last time I saw my momma
when I left that rickety shack
The welfare people came and took the baby.
Momma died and I ain’t been back.

But the wheels of fate had started to turn
and for me there was no other way out.
It wasn’t very long after that I knew exactly
what my momma was talkin’ ’bout.

I knew what I had to do.
Then I made myself this solemn vow:
I’s gonna to be a lady someday
though I didn’t know when or how.

But I couldn’t see spendin’ the rest of my life
with my head hung down in shame.
You know I mighta been born just plain white trash.
but Fancy was my name.

She said, “Here’s your last chance, Fancy, don’t let me down!
Here’s your last chance, Fancy, don’t let me down.
God forgive me for what I do,
but if you want out girl it’s up to you.
Now get on out, you better start sleepin’ uptown.”

Wasn’t long after that a benevolent man
took me in off the streets
One week later I was pourin’ his tea
in a five roomed penthouse suite.

Since then I’ve charmed a king, a congressman
and an occasional aristocrat
and I got me an elegant Georgia mansion
and a New York townhouse flat.

Now I ain’t done bad

Now in this world there’s a lot of self-righteous
hypocrites who call me bad.
They criticize Momma for turning me out
No matter how little we had.

But I haven’t had to worry ’bout nothin’
now for nigh on fifteen years
But I can still hear the desperation
in my poor mommas voice ringin’ in my ears.

“Here’s your last chance, Fancy, don’t let me down!
Oh, here’s your last chance, Fancy, don’t let me down.
God forgive me for what I do,
but if you want out girl it’s up to you.
Now get on out, you better start sleepin’ uptown.

Lyrics c&p von www.cowboylyrics.com.
🙂

Unglaublich guter Song. Es gibt Tage, da gibt es nur Bobbie Gentry und “Fancy”.

Zu finden ist der Song auf „Country Got Soul – Volume Two“, zusammengestellt von Jeb Loy Nichols (Fellow Travellers). Großartige Compilation! Ebenso natürlich „…Volume One“!