ABF Friday: Karaoke edition!
Just before Molochmas, this humble but easily-annoyed blog complained mightily about the surfeit of lousy, terrible, maddening, and depressingly faux-cheery Christmas songs. But little did I know back then that this Christmas was going to be all about the music! And—thankfully—not the Christmas music, either. Instead, it was Christmas Karaoke at the Lyons’ place!
Now, before you begin retching and shuddering at the idea of Christmas Karaoke, you have to understand that vocals-wise, hanging with the Lyons is like hanging with the Carter family. Cynthia Lyon has been tsarina of Eight to the Bar for over thirty years now, leading the band from its early western-swing days through its bar-band R-and-B days through its we’ll-play-any-damn-thing-you-can-name days. (Here they are doing their swing thing, and here’s a little bit of soul.) Her husband is distinguished sax fellow Collin Tilton. Her sisters Barbara and Todd have sung with the band off and on through the decades, and even though Janet’s tenure with the band was the shortest of the four—dating back to the mid-1970s, well before I met her—she can sing lead or harmony as brilliantly as any of ‘em. (When you put this fearsome foursome all together, they do a mean “Mele Kalikimaka.” You have been warned.) And the Lyons’ solitary man, Bud, plays guitar and bass and can sing—well, pretty much any damn thing you can name, short of Tosca. So this wasn’t some weak-ass, two-notes-flat, Wednesday-night bar karaoke caterwauling we’re talking about. This was the serious shit. The whole thing was Bud’s idea, and it truly was hours upon hours of fun for the whole family. We all set up in Cynthia and Collin’s studio, and Nick played drums to almost everything.
I came in for one of the highlights of the evening: Janet tearing it up on Bonnie Raitt’s “Give It Up or Let Me Go.” Bud and Todd did an amazing little duet—amazing because completely uncampy—on the Frank and Nancy Sinatra classic “Somethin’ Stupid.” Janet, Bud, Todd and I had a surprisingly good time doing “Needles and Pins”—surprising because although it’s a little gem of a song, the second verse and the changes into and out of the middle eight are a bit odder than people think. Go ahead, try it at home. See, told you. And Todd lit into “Goldfinger” so as to make Shirley Bassey proud. No, really.
There were plenty of Beatles tunes sprinkled in there as well, mostly for the benefit of Jamie and his cousins, Trevor and Dash; the Lyon girls had the chops to pull off the backups on “You’re Gonna Lose That Girl,” and they would’ve tackled the three-parts on “Yes It Is,” but the dang songbook didn’t have it.
It was even fun to find out what did and didn’t work. For whatever reason, Janet and I didn’t get it together on “Shiny Happy People,” but who would’ve guessed that Janet, Todd, and Barbara could make the Fifth Dimension’s “Stone Soul Picnic” come to life? I got extra extra bonus points for being crazy enough to attempt the best song released since 2000; I hit the highs on the chorus OK (I’m a tenor, folks) and managed the minor/major shifts without grinding gears, but had a little trouble with the phrasing at the beginning of the second and third verses. That’s because those parts are hard.
Other parts of karaoke songs that, in my limited experience, the unwary singer has to watch out for: the drop to “can” in “sitting in / floating on my tin can” in “Space Oddity” (all the harder for coming after the long “here” in each verse: pace yourself!); the melisma on “look for the light through the pouring rain” in “Drift Away” (which is why that weak-ass Uncle Cracker guy didn’t even attempt it); and the whole entire long-and-chock-full-of-words third verse of “Watching the Detectives,” for which vocalists should train by running up and down the mountain slopes of Kenya.
I didn’t attempt any of those this time around, though I did sing “Ziggy Stardust” with Bud, to reasonably good effect. The one song that won me plaudits and a few back-slaps from this Tough Crowd was Johnny Rivers’ “Mountain of Love,” which is, admittedly, a pretty easy melody with only a few subtle challenges in the choruses. But it did sound great with Janet and Todd on the backups, and in my humble opinion, the backups make the song go.
But this post isn’t about me. Really! It’s about the guy who, after all the Lyons and Lyon-friends and Lyon-partners and Lyon-progeny had sung and sung and sung again, had to be hauled out from behind the drum kit by order of his mother. “Nick,” came the order. “Get up here and sing or else.” Yes, this Christmas was Nick’s long-awaited karaoke debut! At first, he demurred and tried to hide, but when the Lyons threatened to take him by the ankles and drag him to the mike, he gave in.
So what does the kid pick to sign for his long-awaited karaoke debut, in front of all his talented aunts and uncles? “Faded Love,” Patsy Cline version. Are you $(*#ing kidding me? What the @#$%ing @#$% was he thinking? “Faded Love” by Patsy $*&!ing Cline? “Son,” I thought, “you leave that kind of shit to k. d. lang. This is not a song to be trifled with by the likes of us mortals.” But I kept quiet—and went to get a beer, not wanting to watch the entire debacle.
I came back a few seconds later to hear Nick hit “I miss you, darling, more and more every day” dead-on, crystal-clear, in full voice. No falsetting anything. Well, holy fuggin shit almighty, as Leo Durocher says in DeLillo’s Underworld. And then he did it again on “with every heartbeat I still think of you.” By that point everyone in the studio was staring at him, mouth agape. Nick proceeded to nail the thing. To. The. Wall. He even did a damn fine young-man version of Patsy’s stunning reading of the very end of the song—you know, where she swoops under and over the word “faded” and then does that breathless stutter-stop on “love.”
The room burst into wild applause and whoopin’ and hollerin’, and with every good reason; but Tsarina Cynthia was furious. Furious, I tell you. She marched up to Nick and demanded, first, “how did you know that song?”
“Cynthia,” Janet sensibly reminded her, “he is my son.”
Cynthia wheeled on her. “Quiet, you,” she shot back. To Nick: “How did you know that song?”
“Well, I’ve had Patsy Cline’s Greatest Hits since I was a kid,” Nick replied, “and . . .”
“And you know the Bob Wills version too?” Cynthia sounded proprietary: dammit, who’s been letting these youngsters into the family vault?
“Well, sure,” Nick said.
Cynthia was fuming. “Nicholas,” she fumed. “I am so mad that you had this talent all this time and never shared it with us.” Then there was some more fuming I didn’t catch.
Nick shrugged sheepishly. What could he do? It is bad to anger the tsarina. Besides, she was right: what was Nick doing not singing karaoke all these years?
So everybody had a great old time, and Nick’s performance was the hit of the holiday. Why, it even dislodged the Bing-and-Bowie “Drummer Boy” from our brains, though I have to thank Derryl Murphy, in comment 33 of that thread, for alerting us to the existence of the parody version.
And speaking of those Christmas songs! As Janet, Jamie and I were driving to Connecticut this old tune came on the radio, and at first neither of us could place it. After a while, Janet said, “sounds kind of like Donny Hathaway.” For that, Janet gets extra extra bonus vocal-style-identification points! And best of all, the song does not suck. So this Christmas was musically cool after all, on every front.
So, my arbitrary friends: best and worst karaoke experiences of your life so far? Lyon Christmas Karaoke featuring Nick’s “Faded Love” was my best; my worst was watching someone in a bar try to sing Boston’s “More Than a Feeling.” The poor guy didn’t realize that the song was computer-generated and cannot be sung by humans, and the results were exceptionally ugly. As you can well imagine.
I will stand in for those millions of us who have zero karaoke experience. Neither participatory nor spectatory. Where’s our Arbitrary but Fun Friday, huh? Is there a replacement question for the likes of us?Posted by Orange on 01/30 at 10:31 AM
I’m with Orange. My only karaoke-like experience is by myself, in the car. Best: I know all the words to “Frankie Lee and Judas Priest.” Worst: yeah, most of it’s pretty bad. And that’s the [captcha:] truth.Posted by on 01/30 at 10:39 AM
For karaoke, I have to toe a precarious line between being drunk enough to lose inhibitions and not so drunk as to lose consciousness. The only time I managed this was while in Korea where karaoke is a competitive sport. There are schools where young karaokiers train to become better at it. After much beer, with much soujou (lovely stuff), I managed the ugly American’s version of “Wild Thing.” My impression was that I was absolutely brilliant. My wife thought I sounded like a Yeti caught in a bear trap. I thought this a compliment actually. After hearing of Nick’s performance, however, I am quietly announcing my retirement from the stage.Posted by on 01/30 at 11:23 AM
Is there a replacement question for the likes of us?
Before I get back on the road again, yes. All those of you with zero karaoke experience are invited to tell the story of your best or worst experience with walking over hot coals.Posted by Michael on 01/30 at 11:30 AM
OK, hot-coal anecdotes, coming up!
Best: Maybe molten lava doesn’t quite count as hot coals, but it’s a good story. During our honeymoon in Hawaii, we hiked barefoot over hot lava for the whole afternoon. The red glow of the lava paled in comparison to the heat of our matrimonial passion, so our feet caused the lava to shrink away beneath each footstep, vanquished and abashed. Then we went dancing.
Worst: The time I lost my feet. The stumps work pretty well if I wear tall boots, though.Posted by Orange on 01/30 at 11:36 AM
Sadly, I must amen-chorus this initial spate of karaoke virgins. (Now there’s a name for a band.)
Were Frank Zappa’s “Let’s Make the Water Turn Black” common karaoke fodder, I’d be there. Because I can totally sing that song. And play it on guitar.
No other human today can make that claim.
My sole karaoke memory: The Simpsons episode where Lisa and Bart do “Shaft.” Had a crush on Lisa ever since. To this day I try to mimic her dance moves. Do you know how hard it is to move at 12 frames per second?Posted by David J Swift on 01/30 at 11:43 AM
Just from reading the post I am too intimidated to even leave a comment.Posted by on 01/30 at 12:25 PM
I haven’t ever been brave enough to do karaoke, but I have walked across hot coals. When I did a year of study abroad in New Zealand, the Uni I was at had it as one of their orientation events. Some loony physics prof in a kilt gave a brief talk about why it was possible to do without hurting yourself, and then wandered across carrying a sign that read “It’s only physics, folks”. I suppose it was a good experience; my only complaint was that I got a coal stuck between two of my toes - but they had a pan of cool water you could hop in at the end if you needed to, so that took care of that. Blackened the bottoms of my feet, but didn’t hurt at all.Posted by on 01/30 at 12:32 PM
I can sing every lyric from Frank Zappa’s JAZZ FROM HELL album perfectly.Posted by on 01/30 at 12:33 PM
Some years ago, after completing a long, draining trial, my wife and I took a cruise to bermuds. One the the on-board entertainers was the great Ruth Brown. One night, there was a karaoke party, at which I performed “Blue Suede Shoes” and “All My Exes Live in Texas.”
As we were boarding the elvator to leave, we were followed in by Ms. Brown herself, who, unbeknownst to us, had been sitting at the bar during the performance. She turned to me and said: “I liked your karaoke.”
I suppose my epitaph will read: “Ruth Brown Liked His Karaoke.”
About a year later, I was on the elevator at the Battery parking garage. Another parker got on the elevator, looked at me for a moment, and said: “Aren’t you the karaoke guy from the Bermuda cruise last year?”Posted by on 01/30 at 01:46 PM
Great story Michael. Well, I’d say just about every one of my karaoke experiences has been a good one. First time was in the mid 90s, doing “Play That Funky Music,” but in the voice of Marlene Dietrich. Eventually I decided to ditch the ironic distancing and try simultaneous self-ironization and full engagement. I call it Rortian Karaoke.
My favorites? Johnny Cash, “Things Just Happen That Way” (debuted last time), Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood “Summer Wine” (I do both parts), and Bad Company “Feel Like Making Love” (which is just a great crowd pleaser: highly advised that you run through the crowd as much as possible while singing it). I also do ‘Rock and Roll Suicide,’ and even though I screw it up every time, just being able to holler ‘Oh No, love, you’re not alone!’ makes it worth it. For me, anyway.
Worst time? The old Punk Rock and Heavy Metal karaoke night in Manhattan. Live band, doing a little Damned, a little Black Flag, a little Iron Maiden. You think it’d be great, but the macho wall street types stunk up the room the three or four times I went.Posted by Karl Steel on 01/30 at 02:17 PM
Orange, et al, quit yer bitchin’ already: you got the ramblin’ (yet, as always, amusing, if utterly outside my frame of reference) post of the other day on that game that takes over the teevee for, what, X+ hours on Sunday? Consider the karaoke posting a treat for the non testosteronians in the tree house, ok?
Not that I actually have a karaoke story to share. But sure did enjoy this one.Posted by on 01/30 at 02:23 PM
Annie, just so you know: I have way more estrogen than testosterone myself and that football post bored me to tears. Wake me when it’s time for Wipeout slapstick after the sporting event is over, will ya?Posted by Orange on 01/30 at 02:29 PM
Karaoke rules, whether you can sing or not. (The people around you, however, are another story.)
Best: “Helter Skelter” by the Beatles. I can’t sing it; it’s all about the body. (I got a standing O, the only one I’ve ever gotten.)
Worst: “Sweet Caroline” at a redneck bar with about seven other guys. Actually a lot of fun to sing, but I left right before a fight broke out between four of my friends and about a dozen angry rednecks. (Long story.)Posted by Crazy Little Thing on 01/30 at 02:31 PM
My only karaoke experience involved the ironic distancing technique mentioned by Karl, when I sang Freebird in the voice of Elmer Fudd. I had a great time; however, looking back on the stunned silence that greeted my grand finale, I’m guessing the audience did not.Posted by on 01/30 at 02:48 PM
Best: I have a friend with whom I used to do a version of Ice Ice Baby that invariably brought the house down. On one occasion, I sprained my ankle on a Karaoke Night at the bar, and was icing the thing in my dorm room when said friend came up, insisted I come down to the bar to do the song, and left. So I limped down to the bar, waited a few minutes, rapped it out while moving far less than usual (he tended to bring the dance moves, while I knew the lyrics) and limped back to the room to ice the ankle again. We got the usual rapturous applause-I felt like Kirk Gibson.
Worst: It’s nothing unusual, I guess, but I once put in for the Foo Fighters “Learn to Fly” without fully comprehending what I was getting myself into. Four and a half painful minutes later, I had a new song for my “never karaoke” list.Posted by on 01/30 at 03:10 PM
King Rat: yeah, that’s what happened to the guy who picked “More Than A Feeling”—he just didn’t realize what he was in for. But being the Kirk Gibson of karaoke, now that’s something. Almost as good as being complimented by Ruth Brown! CJ, if Ruth Brown complimented my karaoke I’d definitely put it on my tombstone. Or I’d write a book called Contingency, Irony, and Karaoke. Because that would rock.
Karl, “Feel Like Making Love”? Really? Now that takes chutzpah. (Likewise CLT doing “Helter Skelter”: didn’t the back of your throat hurt?) I would definitely do it in Elmer Fudd voice. “Rock and Roll Suicide” does sound like fun; me, I want to do “Starman” someday. Or, maybe if I have a few in me, “Wild is the Wind.” If I can hit that note on “mandolins” without screeching, of course. I did see a colleague’s son do a very professional job on “Welcome to the Jungle,” though. That was impressive.
And I’m so glad Marita stopped by with a real hot-coals story! Because I wasn’t sure whether to believe Orange’s. Oh, I love the internets sometimes.
OK, gotta get on a plane now and leave the lovely country of Canadia, where they actually cover hockey in the newspapers and everybody pronounces my name correctly. Gotta get up here more often.Posted by Michael on 01/30 at 05:40 PM
Again with the hatin’ on Boston, huh? Great story, and I’ll have to look up the Patsy Cline.Posted by on 01/30 at 06:04 PM
My worst karaoke experience happens every year, along with American Idol, which a member of my family to remain unidentified likes. So every year, I sit there and read and sort of watch / listen along with them occasionally. And every year, as they move from the godawful spectacle of the try-outs, which will degrade America in history more than the memory of the gladitorial games degrades the Romans, to the eliminations, I get caught up in the same daydream / wish-fulfillment fantasy. This daydream runs as follows: the next John Lennon decides to try out for American Idol—why not? That’s where the exposure is—and on sheer vocal ability and charisma and even songwriting talent keeps getting through, even as he keeps selecting every anti-war or even vaguely anti-patriotic song available from the canon of whatever era they’re doing. Maybe he does an early self-written song about someone coming back wounded from Iraq that people a la Springsteen’s Born In the USA are too stupid to even see is a criticism. They love him; his attitude has been labelled “rebellious” in that safe way. Finally, he’s like in the top four or something, and they let him do another self-written song and he’s secretly prepared alternate lyrics to go along with the same tune, and he just lets lose with a big, hearty yet eloquent denunciation of the sick joke that is America, laughing as they have to run it anyway, laughing even more as they kick him out of the competition and he doesn’t have to go on their stupid tour or events, going on to his career as a real artist as a million fans fill a million online chats with a million incoherent expressions of outrage. It’s like a Christmas miracle.
And then I realize that I’m singing along with whichever one has picked the most vaguely rebellious song—perhaps improvising alternate lyrics—and sink into a pool of shame.Posted by Rich Puchalsky on 01/30 at 06:14 PM
OrangeTangerine: I, for one, believe your coal story (how rude, Michael); besides, tall black boots are so “in” now, no?
And Marita, that physics prof in the kilt wasn’t named Bruce by any chance?Posted by on 01/30 at 06:19 PM
I was only witness to it (not a participant), but some friends pulled out the wildest, drunken, post-modern, psychoanalytic version of “Girls just wanna have fun” I’ve ever seen. I can’t begin to do it justice, but one of the choruses ended up going “Girls, they want/ wanna have penis/dick/those girls just love Freud”.
The fact that it was done at a country-western karaoke was even better, and the faces of the mountain-men present was worth 300 excellently sung karaoke songs.Posted by Mr. Trend on 01/30 at 08:25 PM
Likewise CLT doing “Helter Skelter”: didn’t the back of your throat hurt?
More than a little bit, yes. But, to borrow a line from Homer Simpson, I was drunk on love, and some beer.Posted by Crazy Little Thing on 01/30 at 09:12 PM
Not quite karaoke, but my two sisters and I were at a Xmas get-together where the host was playing an oldies tape of 60s pop songs. He’s a bit older than we are and teased us that we were too young to know those songs. The three of us joined the Righteous Brothers in a heartfelt, only slightly drunken rendition of “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling,” just to show him.Posted by Rugosa on 01/30 at 10:28 PM
Rich, I have the same fantasy, but it’s about Top Chef.
Now that takes chutzpah.
Which I have in chutzpades.Posted by Karl Steel on 01/30 at 11:45 PM
Best: Does this new-fangled “Rock Band” thing count? My best friend and his family played “Psycho Killer” during a recent visit. His five year old son wailed on the drums, his three year old son wailed on a separate decoy drumkit, my friend “played guitar,” my wife “played bass,” and his wife sang. Musically it wasn’t super, but that wasn’t really the point.
Worst: 7 years ago in Lexington, KY, in my country hipster phase. I got hammered on PBR and Maker’s Mark at a bowling alley and made up my own lyrics to “A Boy Named Sue.”Posted by on 01/31 at 11:08 AM
Ah’d like to hear some karaoke kat do a rousing rendition of John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s <b>Scumbag,</i> (accompanied by Zappa and Mothers of Invention on on yt vid). What’s cool is that ‘bout anyone can karaoke Yoko’s part by feedbacking the mic until it sounds like a napalm attack on some ‘nam village.Posted by Ezra Hound on 01/31 at 01:07 PM
Paul, “Rock Band” and “Guitar Hero” definitely count. Last Xmas was “Guitar Hero III” Xmas, and I must say I enjoyed myself immensely playing “Paranoid.” Which also reminded me of that underacknowledged link from 1970 metal to 1977 punk.Posted by Michael on 01/31 at 04:21 PM
I really only have one experience to speak of, and it would be well over to the maximum of the positive volume. Very early one morning, after a day of music festing and such, a group of us were sitting around in a large old house (still oldest standing home in Davis, CA). We were listening to a very extended live jam session being performed in the living room music studio (heard throughout the house) by a group of very well known and highly respected folk, bluegrass, and jazz musicians (and one Gary Yoder of Oxford Circle/Blue Cheer fame). The evening’s activities were being led by Joe Craven (mc and multi-instrument virtuoso) and featured songs and jams from all over the planet.
At one point (around 3AM) he stopped the music and said he had this brilliant idea. He came out into the rest of the house and went around grabbing a bunch of us and taking us back to the room full of instruments. He then pointed to one of us and then to an instrument (whatever that would be). For the most part none of us had any reasonable requisite skills, but his desire was to return the experience to his band mates of the night. I was given a tenor sax (with which i was somewhat familiar from a previous life), and other friends were put on various drums and percussion, bass guitars, acoustic and electric guitars, mandolins, dobros, etc. He then went around and showed each of us exactly what he wanted us to do: what notes to play, chords, beats, and so forth. Finally he announced to the assembled audience (damn lot of people) we would perform a medley of Stephen Foster songs (because everyone knew them and could sing along). Starting with Camptown Ladies (Races), through Ol Susanna, and culminating with Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair. It was an amazing experience, and sounded stunningly good.
In the long run several people from our assembled band went on to become much more interested in following up on their brief music lesson from Joe. The bass player, a professor at UCSC, now fronts a band; one of the mandolin players, a restaurant owner in Oakland, plays lead guitar with his Bay Area world music group; and so forth. Me, i went back to production but still feel the connection.Posted by on 01/31 at 10:25 PM
Best experience: singing “Rock Lobster” in college with a group of friends, including the “down, down” action part. We reenact it today after many, many drinks. (Yes, I know, must have been the primitive version of karaoke way back then.)
Worst experience (actually, worst musical experience, but a fascinating stranger in a bar experience): Singing June Carter and Johnny Cash’s “Jackson” with someone I didn’t know, had never met before. It came up and the stranger just joined me on the stage. Terrible voice, great pecs.Posted by on 02/01 at 02:05 PM
My favorite karaoke is doing something like Mr. Toad’s Last Little Song on the Internet.Posted by Rich Puchalsky on 02/01 at 05:11 PM
Best karaoke experience: A group of my very drunk friends and I stumbled up a crooked, unlit staircase into a 24 hour karaoke noraebang place in Koreatown. A shoving match broke out over who would sing “Tiny Dancer” and I did “Should I Stay or Should I Go” to some acclaim. Before everything went black, I managed to point out that the noraebang was just like the one in Lost in Translation! about a dozen times.
Worst experience: In a karaoke bar, I put in for Pulp’s “Common People,” waited for my turn for two hours (or 8 beers) and became very, very confused when the “la la la” part came on. I’m pretty sure the karaoke machine played the verses out of order, but I wouldn’t say that’s what threw me off.Posted by on 02/01 at 06:09 PM
Sorry about posting this comment here, but i didn’t know how else to contact you.
Re your article about the GRE in the CoHE. In a misguided moment related to a post-grad/new career fling, i took the GRE in 2002, I did terrible on the math (c. 550). No surprise there-- i add 2+2 and get 22. But i didn’t do nearly as well as i had hoped on the “verbal” part. I though i had aced it, but, apparently, some grad student grading my essays must have though i was too… something. Worldly? sarcastic? I’m no genius, but the result seemed akin to the brilliant person taking a standardized IQ test. Their answers may be not only correct, but insightful-- given their experience and frame of reference (as, for example, a person raised in a ghetto)-- but wrong, wrong, wrong according to the cultural expectations of the test’s compilers.
So, while i ended up with an overall >1100, i was disappointed.Posted by Cliff Abrams on 02/02 at 11:25 AM
I’ve never done actual karaoke, but my best singing among relative strangers experience was at an American Bar Association meeting. Several of us were out on the beach late at night (there’s a reason I go to these meetings) and people started singing songs. I brought the house down with “I Didn’t Know What Time It Was”. I just copied Ella Fitzgerald’s version. I’m still puzzled by the favorable reception, because when I sing at home my children cover their ears and tell me to stop.Posted by on 02/02 at 05:23 PM
I knew CJColucci many many years ago, and boy am I sorry that I never heard his karaoke.
Worst: My Funny Valentine. Sucker is harder than it looks.Posted by on 02/06 at 02:53 PM
I did a karaoke once, but it was after quite a few drinks. It was kind of fun....but then I started thinking people were enjoying it and carried on....what a mistake!Posted by Jonathan Meager on 02/11 at 11:12 AM
Die Bank von England krise
Die Bank von England hat in dieser Woche als erste große Notenbank mit einer Politik der direkten Ausweitung der Geldmenge (quantitative Lockerung) begonnen. Ihre erste Auktion, in der sie für 2 Milliarden Pfund britische Anleihen (Gilts) von Investoren kaufte, wurde am Markt als voller Erfolg gewertet. So wurden der Bank von England Gilts im Wert von 10,5 Milliarden Pfund offeriert, also weit mehr, als die Notenbank kaufen wollte.
Gleichzeitig sind die Anleiherenditen britischer Staatspapiere seit Ankündigung der Politik der Mengenlockerung um mehr als einen halben Prozentpunkt gefallen - genau diesen Effekt wollte die Bank von England mit ihren Maßnahmen erreichen. Nach der Auktion lag die Rendite zehnjähriger Gilts mit 3,08 Prozent gleichauf mit der Rendite entsprechender Bundesanleihen (3,07 Prozent).Posted by on 03/13 at 12:31 PM