ODE TO JACK

On the 3rd Anniversary of The First Minister's Speech on Culture

On the day of St Andrew, two thousand and three
The great and the good and a few MSPs
Gathered in Glasgow, lending their ears
To a speech by bold Jack at the RSAMD

We focused on health care, on crime and the ned
Cried Jack from the stage, and now let it be said
That what people need is not pills or the jail
But their cultural rights or our nation will fail

In future Executive Heid Yins, said Jack
Will rise to this challenge or else face the sack
For culture’s the answer to all of our needs
And starting with weans, I intend to succeed

If weans are our future, they need to express
Themselves; here let me stress
The value of drama, the beauty of dance
Or music and art, so let’s offer the chance

To every wee numptie who thinks they’re a star
We’ll promise them access, hand out a guitar
Or a paintbrush or something that helps them to grow
And save us a fortune in benefits, so –

The jobless and feckless in future will be
A bygone statistic, and no longer free
To hang out in bookies or pubs or the hoose
Watching Flog It, or some other half-baked excuse

For not taking part in artistic pursuits
So we’re giving them rights and we’re letting them loose
With digital camcorders in the hope they’ll become
The next Ridley Scott, and not unemployed scum

If Jack Vettriano can make a good pile
Then why can’t the nation just copy his style?
In high-priced apartments all over the land
Your paintings can hang for a mere twenty grand

For all you musicians who can’t get a gig
And need some advice about making it big
Just get a computer to burn your CD
And let folk download it for 79p

Then up pipes a voice from the back of the hall
But Jack, comes the cry, what’s the point of it all?
If we don’t have the cash then your scheme’s just a sham
And as usual the talent will go on the lam

You tell us that culture’s the thing Scotland needs
To rise as a nation, but fail to concede
That without the spendulies we’ll be at a loss
And too busy working to give much of a toss

You’re offering less than the minimum wage
To writers and painters or those on the stage
While bean counters thrive on the back of our sweat
And force us to beg because they get to vet –

The submissions for funds about which they know shit
While we wait months on end for them not to commit
By which time we’re in debt and we’re in arrears deep
So we work for low wages to dodge the scrap heap

You say Jack in Scotland we need to aspire
That the talent is here, but we need to aim higher
But your words just ring hollow, and it’s here I predict
That by twenty-oh-six there will still be no fix

For culture is born in the heart and the soul
It cannot be made an objective or goal
And art isn’t something that’s done on the cheap
So stop making promises not yours to keep