Sham in the Night

We live on the third floor of a rather squat apartment building. As such, street noise if fairly prevalent in our home. When a bus rumbles down our street, the building literally shakes. If someone on the street slams their car door shut, our windows rattle. We hear and feel everything.

As such, we are routinely woken up by sounds in the dead of night. Last week, for example, a livery cab pulled up to pick someone up from the building across the street. Somewhat inexplicably, at 5:40 am in the morning, this livery cab was *blasting* "Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)" by ABBA, shaking us practically out of our beds. Yeah, wonderful. This happens a lot,...though not always ABBA, mercifully.

Saturday nights are always loud affairs (that's just life in the big city, kids!) Living in both the heart of Greenwich Village and the crotch of N.Y.U., if you will, our byway is frequently beset by high-volume hijinx. Last night was no exception. This morning at about 3 am, we were woken up by the familiar sounds of a testosterone-fueled altercation in the street. Not sure what was actually proceeding, but it sounded as if one gruff gent got enraged and punched a passing car (I'm sure his knuckles are feeling it today). Much swearing followed along with the sound of scuffling. Then, out of nowhere, another voice amidst the throng suddenly started shouting out "UNITED ::clap-clap-clap:: UNITED ::clap-clap-cap :: UNITED, etc." (appended with a Dick Van Dyk-ish ersatz-cockney accent, ala "yoon-eye-TED!"). I instantly recognized this football-terrace chant from the coda of "If the Kids Are United, They Will Never Be Divided" by yobbish British boot-boy heroes, Sham 69.

As I vainly attempted to settle back to sleep, my head was suddenly flooded with memories of my freshman and sophomore years of college, when I counted the endearingly ludicrous Sham 69 among my favorite bands. When Peg and I went back to England in 2002, we took a train out to visit her childhood home in Surrey, and I was thrilled to pass right through the band's hometown of Hersham (see ridiculous photo above), although its leafy environs belied Sham 69's carefully cultivated, hardscrabble image.

So even annoyed as I was to be roused from my slumber, I took a small degree of solace to have learned that even in this era of Lil Wayne and Fall Out Boy, obnoxious, needlessly rowdy kids are still out there listening to Sham 69.