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Bob Bunt

Lyrics — Martin

Music — Martin

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Vocals — Martin

Guitars — Martin

Piano — Brugin

Harpsichord — Davy

Percussion — Brugin

Bass — Davy

Drums — Frier

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Recorded — 7-8 July 1969

Key: C major

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Bob Bunt would make merry all through your day

High-hat and droll, loves all shades of grey

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Bob, won’t you see the races?

He’ll only ooh and aah at Herbert Wells

And laughs like nothing’s amiss at all

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Don’t say to him we need one more to go

On Thursday night he’s a sofa jingo

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Bob, won’t you climb the wall?

He says he climbed one already today

And laughs like nothing’s amiss at all

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Bob, won’t you catch the pictures?

Or else you’re gonna miss it all​

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Bob, won’t you try the rye?

He can’t be bothered there isn’t cheese

And laughs like nothing’s amiss at all

"Bob Bunt"
Review by Jonatan Sigurdsson

There's a difference between taking creative risks and forfeiting your sanity. Often, I don't know which side of the line Martin was on in 1969.

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I doubt he knew, either.

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​Were any other instruments aside from a jangly saloon piano used as the primary backing instrument, I would term the arrangement an "atmosphere" - a term somewhat more reverential than what I'm actually referring to it as: an "accompaniment." In the same way a sunburn accompanies a lack of foresight.

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There seems to be a complete lack of warmth in the arrangement as well. This may be due to the remastering, but the original mix no doubt must have been somewhat jarring to feature all of: a tambourine, a saloon piano, an overdriven electric guitar, and a regular drum set. No warmth at all. It's all very clinical and cold, despite its cajoling cadence.

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I appreciate Martin's "restraint" - and I use that term quite loosely - in the sense that he did not punish the viewers with more lyrics than what there already are. Poor Bob Bunt did not ask to exist, much less in a dreadful song such as this one, and the metaphors and imagery describing him are as unflattering as they are uninspired.

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Worst of all, the track resists climax. True, I am fond of structural innovation in Plutos songs, but if I'm being forced to listen to this, I would have liked there to have been a payoff, at least. But no, the track just pitters into a watered-down (watered-down!) repeat of the bridge that sounds even less inspired, before ending on a somewhat open-voiced mysterious final chord.

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"Bob Bunt" lacks clarity and character, and I fear it is another creation of Martin's that falls quite short, and fails to toe the line of experimentation, and falls headfirst, like Mr. Bunt himself over the wall, into madness.

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★☆☆☆☆

Contact information

coming soon.

The Plutos

Anapest Records Greenwich 

London, ENG

United Kingdom

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