Dreaming of Bev

For some bizarre reason, when I was lying in bed last night unable to sleep, I started thinking about Beverley Craven. This is a worrying state of affairs.

For those of you who haven't made Bev's acquaintance, she is a pop star of the MOR, easy-listening mould, who rose to prominence in the mid-1990s with hits like "Promise Me" and "Holding On". If I say that Radio 2 listeners were her most appreciative audience, you'll probably get the idea as to her "sound" / "style". She was nice, inoffensive and ultimately rather bland.

At the height of Beverley's fame, I remember I was living with a lesbian friend in Brighton, who was a great lady and a fellow aficionado of popular culture / trash. So as you can imagine, we got on rather well. We both used to work in a restaurant and would sometimes do evening shifts, arriving home rather late.

Anyway one night we got home after a particular arduous shift and flicked on the TV to be confronted by ... Beverley Craven in concert. Woohoo! Viewing the concert from a distinctly ironic perspective, we actually sat through the entire thing. There was Bev, sat at the piano in pristine white blouse and sensible slacks, trilling away whilst she plonked the keys. Almost every song sounded the same, with minor cadences. The thing that really made me laugh though was my friend's comments about Bev's appearance and general demeanour and what she wanted to do to / with her. All along the lines of Ms Craven being so bloody sensible and boring, you just wanted to grab her and rough her up big time. In fact, we even went so far as to re-invent the lyrics to her "classic" "Promise Me": "You light up another cigarette, And I pour the wine" became: "You light up another cigarette, And I insert the marrow". Plus other similar variations, one of which involved defecating on Beverley's stomach. Well, anything to bring out her wild side.

I also remember some dance act giving Bev a house/trance treatment, sampling the aforementioned lines from "Promise Me" and speeding up Bev's vocals Smurf style. Bev as a danceable commodity. It's barely conceivable.

Which just leaves the question "Whatever Happened to Beverley Craven"? (Along similar lines to "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane" then). Minge, darling, this is your cue!!