The Kinks: “Sunny Afternoon”
It’s not often—or ever—that tax collectors can be credited with doing anything that doesn’t leave you broke and bleeding from all major orifices. I’m still waiting for the I.R.S. to do something that doesn’t suck, but Britain’s Inland Revenue1 indirectly contributed to a pair of classic songs as well as one of the greatest albums ever pressed in vinyl.
In the mid-1960’s, the tax rates for Britain’s biggest earners—like, say, rock stars—were almost comically high, stripping away an insanely large percentage of their earnings. This “one for you, nineteen for me” scenario inspired George Harrison to write the scathing “Taxman” that opened the Beatles’ Revolver album. 1966 must’ve been a brutal year for government-sanctioned sodomy, because a pair of calendar pages later The Kinks’ Ray Davies was singing “Sunny Afternoon”:3
The tax man’s taken all my dough
And left me in my stately home
Lazing on a sunny afternoon
And I can’t sail my yacht,
He’s taken everything I’ve got,
All I’ve got’s this sunny afternoon4
Sorry, rich boys, but the Inland Revenue presented two equally unpleasant choices: either we’re going to plunder your earnings or you can leave the country. While the Beatles & the Kinks forked over their cash, grumbling as they penned songs about it, the Rolling Stones took door number two. Facing governmental seizure of their assets and property, they bolted Great Britain in 1971, setting up camp in France and recording the songs that would become the legendary Exile on Main Street.2
None of this is enough to keep me from weeping openly as I write a check to the treasury department, but at least today’s trauma will have a decent soundtrack.
1 In 2004, the Inland Revenue became part of Her Majesty’s Revenue & Customs department, which sounds so polite, like it would say “thank you” after ramrodding you.
2 If you’re at all interested in this album, I recommend reading Exile On Main St: A Season In Hell with the Rolling Stones. You can typically score a used copy for around $2.
3 I would personally like to send a bucket of salmonella-encrusted prawns to Jimmy Buffett for his anemic 2004 cover version.
4 That’s pretty much how I feel today, although replace “stately home” with “apartment full of scattered soda cans and a light dusting of dog hair”. Oh, and my yacht’s in the shop.
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