This week, much has been made - quite rightly - of the 80th birthday of music legend, Bob Dylan (24th May). But, lest we forget, today marks the birthday of another musical giant: George Formby, born 117 years ago.
At first glance, there may not appear much in common between the brooding, enigmatic Dylan, who revolutionised American music in the second half of the twentieth century and the cheerful, expansive Formby, who was Britain's biggest musical star in the first half.
However, George was just as much an innovator as Bob. While the latter, was infamously accused of being a 'Judas' when he shifted from folk to electric guitar, the former's souped-up 'banjolele' (combining banjo and ukelele) was frowned upon by music hall traditionalists and purists.
Each performer had a very distinctive voice - which some found grating, but which gave their singing an individuality and authenticity that connected them in a profound way with their audience.
And, above all, both were fantastically inventive songwriters, witty, allusive and often surreal lyricists, each immersed in a musical tradition that they proceeded to transform. It is not an artistic quantum leap from 'Chinese Laundry Blues' to 'Subterranean Homesick Blues'.
Both of them were venerated by George Harrison, who had grown up with Formby's music as a child and throughout his life remained in awe of the latter's musical virtuosity: to the extent that he owned a banjolele that had belonged to his idol. Harrison joked that he would love to hear Bob cover George Formby's song 'I'm Leaning on a Lamp Post'. Occasionally, he subjected his friend to home-screenings of Formby movies. Dylan's reaction to such classics as Turned Out Nice Again (1941) and Bell-Bottom George (1944) is unrecorded.
George Harrison and the George Formby banjolele he owned
It is difficult, today, to credit just how popular these films were; George Formby was Britain's biggest box office star for nearly a decade, in the late 1930s and early 1940s. In fact, the following scene from his film, Go On, George, in which he punches Hitler, was voted the single most morale-boosting moment of the Second World War - beating Churchill's speeches:
George's connection with the troops was genuine, as you can see from this footage of him entertaining British soldiers in France. This involved significant risk, as he was often only a few hundred yards from enemy lines. He was the first entertainer to join the troops after the Normandy landings and he made appearances from France to Egypt and India throughout the War. And he was so popular with the Soviet army that he was awarded the Order of Lenin by Stalin - the only British citizen ever to receive this honour.
Fiercely egalitarian, he would make the officers move to the back of the hall and give up their reserved seats on the front row for ordinary soldiers. Some of his lyrics irreverently suggested that the colonel and sergeant were as much an enemy as Hitler; there were attempts by the authorities to make him change the words, but he refused. The other ranks loved him for it. Listening to V for Victory, a recording of several concerts he gave during the War, you can hear the same electric connection between performer and audience as you can in Johnny Cash's classic Folsom Prison album - in both cases, people facing extreme situations (prison and war) are momentarily released from their fears and anxieties through the cathartic power of music.
Like Cash, George was loved by ordinary people and held at arm's length by members of the establishment. Cash was banned by the Grand Old Opry, George by the BBC (for his outre classic, 'With My Little Stick of Blackpool Rock').
After the War, George Formby went on a tour of South Africa, where he refused to play to segregated, whites-only audiences, despite the demands of the governing white-supremacist National Party (which would introduce apartheid two years later). When, after one concert, a Black South African girl came on stage to give George's wife a bunch of flowers, George kissed her to say thank you. Shortly afterwards, he received an angry phone call of complaint from the head of the National Party, Daniel Malan; George's formidable wife (and manager and writing-partner) Beryl memorably replied to Malan: "Why don't you p*** off, you horrible little man?" The Formbys were deported on the next plane, never to return to South Africa.
George Formby was a phenomenon and when he died, 60 years ago (in March 1961), 150,000 people gathered for his funeral. Today, he is relatively forgotten - but deserves to be better remembered and celebrated for the genius that he was (and is). Happy birthday, George.
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