Stay up to date with notifications from The Independent

Notifications can be managed in browser preferences.

How Sir Cliff fell foul of Franco's music police

Graham Keeley
Friday 04 January 2008 20:00 EST
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

It may come as a surprise his army of blue-rinsed fans, but Cliff Richard once fell foul of the Spanish dictator General Francisco Franco because of the supposedly sexually explicit lyrics in one of his songs.

The Peter Pan of Pop's 1961 hit "Theme For A Dream" was banned by the state broadcaster Radio Nacional de España (RNE) because it contained such suggestive lines as "When I dream I kiss you/Music fills with star-light/Every time I touch you".

Sir Cliff's ditty shared the same fate as far more notorious records such as "Je T'Aime Moi Non Plus", the Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin hit banned on release in Britain in 1969.

Jose Manuel Rodriguez, who has written a history of Spanish radio censorship, has documented how the public's ears were shielded by overzealous officials during Franco's rule. Among the singers whose records were banned were Nat King Cole, Edith Piaf and Yves Montand. A version of Gene Vincent's 1956 hit "Be-Bop-A-Lula" was also outlawed, and another record was banned simply because it was named after the French actress Brigitte Bardot.

The songs were barred by censors at the Ministry of Information and Tourism run by Manuel Fraga, who is still a leading light in the conservative opposition Popular Party. During the Franco era, which lasted from the end of the Spanish Civil War in 1939 until his death in 1975, the overriding orthodoxy of the state was National Catholicism, which proclaimed conservative religious and family values.

As the rest of the world rocked through the Fifties with Elvis Presley and into the Swinging Sixties with The Beatles and "flower power", Spain remained the chaste aunt of Europe. The state-appointed censors aimed to protect the public from anything risqu in films, plays and books. Until now, not much was known about the way Spanish radio was sanitised by General Franco's thought police. Censors were particularly keen to stop any hint of sex or even "passionate kissing" from reaching the airwaves. Drunkenness was also abhorred; hence a Spanish version of Nat King Cole's record "El Bodeguero" ("The Vintner") was banned lest it encouraged Spaniards to go out and get drunk.

Mr Rodriguez said: "What sounded the alarms was any hint of sex or if, as often happened in boleros, if they mentioned God or they denigrated sinning."

The ears of the censors were alive to any metaphor which might in their minds be too near the knuckle. They would mark a record " censurado" (censored) in red pencil and it would stay on RNE's shelves forever.

Some popular Spanish and Latin American folk songs, or coplas, were acceptable if sung by men but not if they were performed by women. One that hinted at the "hot blood" of Spanish men was deemed too spicy. American slang also had the censors reaching for their red pens, while an innocent song about a farmer was thought to hint at a Spanish slang word for penis.

But what really got their blood boiling was anything to do with France, which always seemed to carry with it some hint of sex. A Brazilian song about Brigitte Bardot, released after she starred in the 1956 film And God Created Woman, never made it to the Spanish airwaves. Similarly, Edith Piaf's "L'Hymne À L'Amour", written after the death of her lover Marcel Cerdan, was banned because their relationship had been adulterous.

Two songs by another of Piaf's lovers, Yves Montand, met a similar fate in 1959. However, they were not banned for erotic content but because Montand was thought to be a Communist.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in