Monty Python - Galaxy Song
Available to buy now from iTunes - po.st
Enjoy our latest video for our new single, “Stephen Hawking Sings Monty Python… Galaxy Song” which is available as a digital download from 13 April, and on limited edition 7” vinyl on Record Store Day 2015.
The song, which is the title track to “Monty Python - The Meaning of Live”, was originally written for the 1983 film, “Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life”. It has been re-recorded with the lyrics sung by Professor Stephen Hawking.
Written by Eric Idle and John Du Prez, the song is an intricate and informative lecture on the enormity of the Universe fashioned into a bewitching and, above all, highly amusing pop song.
“Galaxy Song” was previously included on the 1989 album “Monty Python Sings”, and included in the 2014 reissue of the album, “Monty Python Sings (again)”, in its original form - sung by Eric Idle - to coincide with Monty Python’s record breaking “Monty Python Live (mostly) - One Down Five to Go” run of 10 live shows at The O2, London. On film during the live shows, Professor Brian Cox berated the scientific inaccuracy of the “Galaxy Song” lyrics before Professor Stephen Hawking knocked him to the ground. Hawking then began reciting the “Galaxy Song” lyrics as he lifted off to journey through outer space. It is this unique rendition of “Galaxy Song” which is now available as a single.
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It will be the last time to see them together before they pass on, before they cease to be. Before they kick their buckets, shuffle off their mortal coils, run down their curtains and join their bleeding choirs invisible (metaphorically that is, not literally).
They will be ex-Pythons, but for fans there is good news. Monty Python’s last live reunion show is to be broadcast simultaneously to 450 cinemas in the UK and a further 1,500 across the world, it was announced on Thursday.
Michael Palin, Eric Idle, Terry Jones, Terry Gilliam and John Cleese
Funniest movie ever made
My absolute favorite Python film, and this scene (I believe) and the ones that follow are illustrative of the self-delusion people indulge in (confirmation bias).
ALSO: First full frontal male nudity I ever saw in a film; thus, my emo-punk-rockabilly band’s name is “Graham Chapman’s Cock.”
This is an a cappella medley (4 parts) of some of my favorite (or at least I’ve watched a lot of episodes) television shows. To show you my tastes. I think every one of them is either science fiction or a comedy.
This has the normal pitch correction faire, but everything is straight from my voice (and only four parts)
I know, I said “guy” instead of “face.”
Also, please don’t leave suggestions or “why didn’t I include [your favorite show]?”
0:00 Muppet Show (Sam Pottle)
0:18 Firefly (Gred Edmonson/Joss Whedon)
0:32 Monty Python’s Flying Circus “Liberty Bell” (John Philip Sousa)
0:50 Freakazoid! (Richard Stone)
1:11 Mystery Science Theater 3000 (Charlie Erickson/Joel Hodgson)
1:41 Veggie Tales (Kurt Heinecke/Mike Nawrocki/Phli Vischer)
2:05 Father Ted (Neil Hannon)
2:37 Battlestar Galactica—Re-imagined series (Bear McCreary)
3:21 30 Rock (Jeff Richmond)
3:37 Eureka (Mark Mothersbaugh)
4:00 Pinky and the Brain (Richard Stone—again!)
4:29 Doctor Who (Ron Grainer)
4:50 Futurama (Christopher Tyng)
The dead-parrot sketch debuted on episode eight of Monty Python’s Flying Circus, which aired in Britain on December 7, 1969. The sketch epitomized everything that was striking about the new show: its impatience with the old formal rules, its ability to take good ideas and compress them into diamonds. The car-salesman sketch had been about the absurdity of bad service, but it had attacked that absurdity in a naturalistic way: it started with a plausible situation, and gradually made it sillier. The parrot sketch inverts that approach. It is absurd from the start, but its absurdity represents a compact, dreamlike way of telling the truth. This time the role of the aggrieved customer is taken by Cleese—who plays him not as a straight man but as a Brylcreemed, raincoated weirdo. In the world of Monty Python, even a guy with a valid beef is a lunatic. As for Palin’s salesman, this time his denials of the undeniable have an existential audacity: he is ready to claim, and keep claiming, that the palpably dead parrot is just resting. Cleese, indignantly brandishing the bird’s corpse, is the victim of the ultimate—the archetypal—rip-off; but he remains an Englishman. Nutty as he is, he declines to vault over the desk and punch Palin’s lights out. Language is the only weapon available to him. So his tamped-down rage becomes a torrent of increasingly baroque synonyms for death, which Cleese and Chapman composed with the aid of a thesaurus.
Monty Python’s signature move was to thrust something very salient into the wrong context.
When that outburst of manic poetry is over, the Pythons don’t bother forcing the parrot sketch toward a well-made conclusion. The quest for punch lines bored them. Instead the sketch collapses into a series of bizarre digressions, and finally Cleese’s character turns to the camera and declares that the situation has become “too silly.” And that’s that: we move on to the next item. I concede that there are people who don’t find the parrot sketch funny at all. I know a couple of them personally. They are unmoved by the sight of John Cleese in his raincoat, wielding that stuffed parrot and saying, “It’s bleeding demised.” I know them, but I can’t help them.
Another mental health break provided gingerly by the BBC.
This all reminds me to much of this scene from the awesome Monty Python film The Meaning Of Life:
Yes, we now live in a post-satire society in which the punchline of a Python film is now real life.
What might have happened if today’s right wing, anti-science, fundamentalist religions had successfully stopped the Renaissance and the Industrial Revolution? Perhaps something like this:
From Monty Python: