Tour Jacket With Detachable Sleeves chords by Half Man Half Biscuit

Verse 1:
(Talking)

F
  Her mother had never really wanted us to go in the first place,
F
But Helen convinced her that she was worrying needlessly.
F
After all, it’s not as if it was an actual nightclub we were going to,
F
Where the debauched minions of Baal and other basement idols would gyrate obscenely around us,
F
Apeing our innocence and howling their approval at our terrifying predicament.
F
On the contrary, we were going to the Stipe Records Showcase at the local polytechnic,
F

And we were going to have ourselves a beautiful evening.


Verse 2:
(Talking)

F
Everything was in order, we timed the last bus, and it
F
Coincided superbly with the last band finishing their set,
F
Allowing for an estimated three-song encore.
F
Although I turned Helen on to the alternative music scene some two years back,
F
She still insisted on wearing a black satin tour jacket with detachable sleeves
F
That she’d bought at a Dogs d’Amour concert, which she went to with her friend Jackie,
F
Who was unstable. I would rib her mercilessly about it.
F
But one night, after I’d possibly ridden my luck a little too far, she stamped down her foot,
F
Which I thought was brilliant, because it reminded me of Talulah Gosh,
F
And said: “Listen, if I’m going to be an indie kid, then I’ll be independent in my choice of clothes,
F
Thank you very much.” Wow, what a girl!


Verse 3:
(Talking)

C
  And so it was that we set off for the concert, both smelling of that
C
Short-lived yet much-maligned unisex perfume, Travis, by Cartel (“for those who like their trade rough”).
C
By the time we arrived, the hall was already quite full,
C
So I hurried to the bar while Helen went off to find a good vantage point.
C
Eight-fifteen, and with she drinking cider, and me there beside her,
C
The first band came on. “Oh no”, I shrieked, “real horrorshow”.
C
I was going through my Clockwork Orange phase. Surely not?
C
It seemed that every band that was performing were one of those tribute bands,
C
And first up was ELP. H-ELP more like. “Welcome back my friends, to the show that never ends.
C
It goes on for at least two hours because we’ve got a brand new Moog.”


Verse 4:
(Talking)

C
I’ve died and gone to hell, and then I’ve fallen through a trapdoor and landed on the planet Progrock.
C
And then the applauding Ents Sec introduces the next act.
C
Jeez! (That’s journalese) …PFM! They didn’t really play many songs,
C
Just got unnecessarily passionate about the Azzurri and how Rossi was framed,
C
and how his subsequent hat-trick against the Brazilians was a big F-off to the authorities.
C
“Fair enough”, I thought, “but perhaps no need for the language.”
C
After the Identical Cocteau Twins, came the final act,
C
I Can’t Believe It’s Not Focus. Following a commendable stab at Sylvia,
C
Helen shouted to the guitarist: “Are you knackered, man?” To which he replied: “No, I’m Jan Akkerman”.


Verse 5:
(Talking)

F
  And so the stark lights of the hall came on, and we filtered out into the night,
F
Saying our goodbyes to the gang, who in turn went their separate ways,
F
To waiting dads in brown Audis, or some to the college minibus, driven by Bob,
F
Who didn’t go our way. I then suddenly realised that because the Dutch clones only had two songs,
F
The concert had finished a little early, and so we could get the 71,
F
Which was a lot quicker and didn’t skirt the council estate.
F
It also gave us time to get some chips.


Verse 6:
(Talking)

C
  The bus approached, and I noticed that it was a double-decker.
C
As we boarded, I immediately felt a little uneasy, as the driver didn’t seem to know the
C
Required fare for our intended destination.
C
As we made our way to the upper deck front seat, I felt the vehicle swing round to the left,
C
As if to go along Bridge Street. “He really doesn’t know the route”, I thought, with increasing alarm.
C
“Better go downstairs and help him out.
C
Wait a minute. Bridge Street? The overhead railway Bridge Street?
C
Oh my God – HELLENNNNNNNNNN…”


Verse 7:
(Talking)

F
  Ten years on, and here I am on the bus we should have got.
F
And yes, you guessed it, I’m the driver. Therapy, they call it.
C
  And every year, on the anniversary of that night, she floats on board,
C
Takes the seat behind me. She doesn’t pay of course,
C
But she is keen to make sure we don’t go down Bridge Street.
C
She finally alights at the cemetery, and every year I follow until I reach her grave,
C
Where as always, there’s no sign of Helen, but draped over the headstone…


Chorus:

F                Bb
 Is a black tour jacket
F                 Bb
 Satin black tour jacket
F                   Bb
 Helen’s black tour jacket
C                F
 With detachable sleeves
C                F
 With detachable sleeves


Outro:

                  C                       F
(Satin black tour jacket) with detachable sleeves
                  C                       F
(Satin black tour jacket) with detachable sleeves
                  C                       F
(Satin black tour jacket) with detachable sleeves
                  C                       F
(Satin black tour jacket) with detachable sleeves
                  C                       F
(Satin black tour jacket) with detachable sleeves
                  C                       F
(Satin black tour jacket) with detachable sleeves
                  C                       F
(Satin black tour jacket) with detachable sleeves
                  C                       F
(Satin black tour jacket) with detachable sleeves
                  C       F