In a warning to wireless stations generally, the Prime Minister, broadcasting in Tasmania on Sunday said: "If a station goes over the borderline of good taste, it is looking for trouble, and the authorities will not hesitate to take strong action."
Taste? Good taste? It's been argued before, But not many agree on it yet. Much that A may condone B may deeply deplore; So by whom is the standard set? Are you thinking of jazz of the infantile kind That predominates much of the day? I am not high of brow, but I really don't mind If you're cutting that out -- Hurray! If you must oscillate between brows that are high And brows most deplorably low, Then what of the midbrows who languish and sigh For melodious classics they know? Is there never a mean twixt the music of Brahms And the saccharine saxophone's bray? For Cora loathes crooning, but Susie hates psalms, Are you cutting out both? Hurray! Taste? Whose taste? It is hard to define, If my preference must be confessed, I am partial to Schubert and Hubert in mine. Ah, but what about all of the rest? And what of announcers who drawl in a pained And a "fraightfully B.B.C." way? If you must please your public, and still keep "refained," Are you carpeting these? Hurray! When the McIntyre rises at Yetman, no doubt There are multitudes thrilled to the core; But thousands, arising in wrath, count you out, If that shuts off the cricketing score. Do you think it is right, when you mention the price Of fat stock, to refer in that way To the sex of the beast? Do you think it is nice? Oh, you're now closing down? Hurray!
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2005|