THE NEW VINYL VILLAIN

A GUEST POSTING from STRANGEWAYS

Welcome to a post connected with a tragic story, but one that seeks to celebrate, via a pop song, a young life. In writing this piece, where there was opportunity for some levity, it has been taken.

It’s useful to begin by stating I’m a fan of true crime media: books and documentaries, dramas and films. As you’ll know, the quality of these outputs varies wildly and is dictated, I’d suggest, by factors including budgets and production values, platforms and publishers, the distance, or otherwise, of time, and the intent of the creator(s).
True crime stories and events are also of course ripe for exploitation. Many a book or broadcast has aimed low, either frequently leaping across the line between information and entertainment, or simply not considering it at all.

Happily, a documentary I found on the BBC’s iPlayer documents a case in the most respectful and informative way. It is called Body on the Beach: What Happened to Annie? and is led by the journalist Hazel Martin, a tenacious investigator and engaging presenter.

The subject of the four episodes in the series is the December 2005 death of a thirty-year-old Swedish woman Annie Börjesson, from Tibro, in the west of that nation. Annie’s body was discovered on the beach at Prestwick, a town – like many a location in proximity to a larger neighbour – forever doomed to an unofficial renaming: in this case ‘Prestwick Near Glasgow’.

That said, here in Scotland, even if you’re not from Prestwick, it’s quite likely that you’ll know a couple of things about the place that it can truly claim as its own:

#1. Most thrillingly, Prestwick enjoys the fact that it is the only undisputed UK location visited by Elvis Presley. This curious event occurred on March 2nd 1960 – a Wednesday – when the then Sergeant Presley’s military aeroplane – a Douglas DC-7 – took a refuelling breather at the town’s airport. Despite the facility operating as a US military base at that time, the King was subsequently mobbed, on the tarmac, by in-the-know fans: an invasion the Americans wisely and uncharacteristically declined to involve themselves in defusing.

Now, and since that day in March 1960, any Scot, anywhere in the UK, can staple onto any civic argument or dispute this tale, and win the day: “You’re correct of course. London has the world’s oldest underground transport system. However, Elvis Presley did not visit the capital, electing instead to land in Prestwick Near Glasgow, South Ayrshire.”

#2. Although somewhat spoiled by the fact above, the second commonly known thing is that Prestwick boasts its own airport. And no, it isn’t named Prestwick Elvis Presley, but is named Glasgow Prestwick. I like to think its IATA identifier – PIK – stands for Presley Is King.

Of further note is that for a time in the mid-2000s the airport’s slogan was ‘Pure dead brilliant’ – an exclamation/phrase attributed to the west of Scotland, yet a thing no native or visitor has ever actually heard anyone express authentically or unironically. Its use did though add further to PIK’s place in history, marking it as the world’s only airport comfortable with prominently and frequently employing the word ‘dead’ in its branding and marketing communications.

Back to the documentary though – and its appearance on this music blog. Across the programmes Hazel Martin, via both her own research and vox pops from Annie’s family and friends, is careful to reveal Annie the person as opposed to, exclusively, Annie the victim.

She, Annie, loved Scotland and held a job in Edinburgh at the city’s Scotch Whisky Experience attraction. She liked rugby and clubbing, and owned a mean-looking Harley Davidson motorbike. A passion for travel is revealed too, and for dancing, and singing and music. Connected to these, the opening of each of the documentary’s episodes is soundtracked by a song that clicked immediately with me. Next, after no small amount of detective work, I discovered that the tune is called Ticke-Tacke, that the singing voice belonged to Annie herself, and that it was played by her own band: Annie and the Wolves.

Information on the group is patchy at best, and I was really lucky to even locate – and pinch – a recording of Ticke-Tacke (from what I gather the title translates as ‘Tick-Tock’ – as in the sound a clock makes).

I think blog readers who like a bit of twee pop might appreciate Annie’s delivery – it has a kind of really appealing bratty nature. Added to this, the song itself benefits from a delicious melody and little harmonica parts that for some might conjure up splats of The Smiths and The Housemartins. Maybe some of you will enjoy it as much as I do.

mp3: Annie and The Wolves – Ticke-Tacke

To finish up, today the cause of Annie’s death remains disputed. What Police Scotland insists is the story opposes the views of Annie’s family and friends, as well as experienced medical practitioners who have been consulted.

This blog post, celebrating a fine song, is not the place for speculation or debate though. The case details have been purposefully omitted. And besides, interested parties can watch the documentary – it examines the tragedy respectfully and in detail, and with the ultimate aim of revealing what happened to Annie. Instead, this piece has been written with respect and – to be honest – to lend exposure to what I think is a terrific wee tune that deserves to be heard.

Thanks, as ever, to Jim for the space, and to you for reading, and of course to Annie and her Wolves for the song.

STRANGEWAYS