Yesterday I remembered that I was supposed to be doing a gig with Keith John Adams later that day at the Betsy Trotwood, in London’s deserted-on-Sunday-evenings Farringdon Road district. I didn’t much fancy the prospect of driving up there, or indeed lugging my enormous red keyboard there on the tube, so I did the only thing any sensible artist can do when plunged into this situation: scour the internet for suitable MIDI files of classic tracks from the 70s and 80s, load them onto an iPod, and sing along to them karaoke-style.

The Super Seventies Midi Jukebox yielded up “Alone Again Naturally” by Gilbert O’Sullivan, a perfect tale for a warm July evening featuring death, failed marriage and general misery. This was followed up by “Betcha By Golly Wow” from Tammy-J’s Favourite Romantic Midis. “Envy and jealousy are termites that eat away at your backbone”, it says on this well-meaning website. Anyone unlucky enough to have had a termite eating away at their backbone will know exactly what on earth Tammy is talking about. I then offered the crowd the option of “Private Eyes” by Hall & Oates, “Hello It’s Me” by Todd Rundgren, or “Kid Charlemagne” by Steely Dan. I took the ensuing silence as an indication that they’d probably prefer Hall & Oates. The set built to a stunning climax with a version of “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” in which I duetted with my girlfriend. That particular song went to Number One 30 years ago this week, and I’m sure our erratic caterwauling proved to be a fitting tribute.

One song I did want to do was “Native New Yorker” by Odyssey, but I couldn’t find a decent MIDI rendition anywhere. I’ve been intrigued for some time by the opening lines:

Runnin’ pretty, New York City girl
25, 35, hello baby, New York City girl

I’m confused by these random numbers they’ve dropped in. 25, 35, hello? “Isn’t it her vital statistics?” said Jenny, a woman who should know that even the most disproportioned of figures is unlikely to sport a 25-inch chest, a 35-inch waist, and hips that just make you say “hello”. “Is it some kind of zipcode or telephone number,” continued Jenny, into the realms of insanity, although it’s not fair to criticise as I wasn’t coming up with any theories at all. Perhaps the singer is attempting to guess the age of the New York City girl – 25? 35? – before deciding that it doesn’t really matter in any case. Or perhaps the whole scenario is being played out in the year 2535. If man is still alive.

Anyway, the best bit of the song is the bridge about two-thirds of the way through, which sounds exactly like the music they used on mid-70s UK quiz shows. I’ve taken the liberty of showing you what I mean with a short mp3 file here. If that’s not 25-35 minutes well spent, I don’t know what is.