Only a couple of weeks in and already it's my second blog with 'The Damned' in the title. And bearing in mind that once i've finished writing this I'm going to sit down and watch 'The Damned United' a distinct pattern may be forming.
I'm normally spot on with dates, but this is a bit vague, I just know that it was early 1984 or very late 1983, but anyway, The Damned were playing at my all time favourite venue, The Marquee in Wardour Street, and myself Ed and Si were going.
We met on the platform of Harrow On The Hill station, and got the tube down to Leicester Square. As we queued up outside the venue, a few 'skins' on their way to see Peter & The Test Tube Babies playing somewhere nearby walked up and down the queue giving it the 'lend us ten pence, mate' routine to us all, but (my pathological fear of early 80s skinheads and general cowardice aside) I managed to get away with no eye contact, a shrug, and a 'nah, mate' with no reciprocal violence, although of course looking back I would have loved to have had the balls to say something like 'certainly young man, but first let's agree upon a mutually convenient repayment programme'
Because it was the early 80s and rock and roll tribalism was still very much alive and well, you had a mixed bunch in the venue (indeed of the three of us that went Ed was a rocker, full beard and leathers and love of ZZ Top and Lynyrd Skynrd, Si was punk in the style of early Capt Sensible and Jello Biafra and I was - ha ha ha - a 'Psychedelic Mod') with a creditable turn out of part time punks in tartan bum flaps and comedy safety pins. The atmosphere was exactly how I remember a packed Marquee at its best - sweaty, claustrophobic and smelling strangely of TCP - and there wasn't so much as a sniff of violence or unrest, even when Scabies invaded the pre show DJ's booth and said 'God, you lot are a bunch of ugly fuckers'
The Damned line up was one of the best ever and not far removed (only Brian James missing and long since gone from the band) from the original; Dave Vanian singing, Capt Sensible on guitar, Rat Scabies on drums, Paul Grey on bass and a guy on keyboards who was possibly Roman Jugg.
Although it had been released about 18 months earlier,they played quite a bit of their latest album at that time (the brilliant 'Strawberries' from 1982) mixed in with a crowd pleasing 'Vegas' set of hits. We watched most of the set from the back of the crowd, and slowly edged our way forward for 'Love Song' 'New Rose' and of course 'Smash It Up'
Vanian did his crooning Dracula thing excellently (his slicked back Ray Reardon hair dripping with spit from the good old boys at the front as he was gobbed at for most of the show), Sensible was de-bagged by some strategically placed naughty nuns, but best of all was when Rat Scabies interrupted our rousing chant of 'Scabies is a wanker, Scabies is a wanker, la la laaa la' to shout 'I don't know why you're calling me a wanker, I'm not the one that released Happy Talk!'
Both band and audience played the whole thing out as pure pantomime punk rock and it was a brilliant night. Although only six or seven years on from their debut and the 'punk explosion' of 1976-77, even in the early 80s punk was already nostalgia but thankfully (and perhaps in spite of their constant break ups, line up changes and turbulence in their recording arrangements) The Damned rarely took themselves too seriously and gave us a great show that was one of the best and most memorable gigs I have ever been to.
It would only be a year or two later when the band (without the much needed pop sensibilities - pun intended - of Capt Sensible) would enjoy greater commercial success as they became for a year or two the kings of the late 80s 'goth' scene, even more reason for me to be glad I got to see them (along with two top Geezers I am still good friends with to this day) on such great form and in such a small venue too.
Early last year I caught up with their back catalogue via download and whilst waiting to be interviewed for the job I'm still hanging on to a year later, I listened to 'Machine Gun Etiquette' for inspiration, energy and confidence.
Nibbled to death by an Okapi
Nibbled to death by an Okapi
Nibbled to death by an Okapi
Col
Sunday 31 January 2010
Thursday 28 January 2010
"Crikey, it's Mitchum and DeNiro!"
I watched 'The Night Of The Hunter' last night, on my own, full of rocket fuel espresso and in pitch darkness. I think I am going to have to watch it again before trying to write something constructive. All I will say is that I enjoyed the movie a hell of a lot and I think that we are going to be very good friends
In the meantime though I am going to induct into 'Arthurs Movie Character Hall Of Fame' (see post from a few days ago) the central character from this movie, the absolute nutcase psychopath preacher Harry Powell as played by Robert Mitchum of course. Powell is the monster in a childs fairy-tale, a larger than life, genuinely menacing killer played even larger than life by Mitchum. Yet because he is played by Robert Mitchum the character is iconic and totally believable. I'll add more on this character when I get around to writing about the film.
And now for a 'Hall Of Fame First' - since I am wearing out the knees of my inexpensive Matalan jeans praising the legendary Robert Mitchum, I'm also going to add his other great screen villain, Max Cady, from 'Cape Fear'. Like Powell, Cady is a dangerous madman intent on the corruption of innocence and murder, but, whereas Powell is overstated and not exactly subtle (it is made apparent from the opening minutes of 'Hunter' that he is just fresh from the latest of many killings), Cady has had a lengthy spell in the slammer to work out how best to serve his revenge icy cold and at his leisure.
Also, their motives differ; Powell seeks to opportunistically steal a big wedge of ill gotten cash and will stop at nothing to get his hands on it, Cady's is a personal vendetta against a man he believes has wronged him.
Both Cady and Powell are two of the finest screen psychos of all time and two of Mitchum's greatest performances.
Before I go it's yet another 'First' as Max Cady enters the hall of fame twice, also as portrayed by Robert DeNiro in the 1991 remake. Although faithful to the plot of the original, there is one major difference in the remake, in that the 'victim' (played in the remake by Nick Nolte) is shown to be by no means squeaky clean and directly responsible for the harshness of Cady's sentence by knowingly 'burying' evidence, therefore you can actually sympathise with Cady to some extent, whereas the Gregory Peck victim in the original appears blameless.
I write an amateur blog, not a column for Empire (I want a radio show first anyway!), so I'm not even going to try and choose between the two portrayals, I think they are both exceptional, and usually if I am in the mood to watch 'Cape Fear' I will make sure I have time to watch both versions, back to back.
More to follow
Col
In the meantime though I am going to induct into 'Arthurs Movie Character Hall Of Fame' (see post from a few days ago) the central character from this movie, the absolute nutcase psychopath preacher Harry Powell as played by Robert Mitchum of course. Powell is the monster in a childs fairy-tale, a larger than life, genuinely menacing killer played even larger than life by Mitchum. Yet because he is played by Robert Mitchum the character is iconic and totally believable. I'll add more on this character when I get around to writing about the film.
And now for a 'Hall Of Fame First' - since I am wearing out the knees of my inexpensive Matalan jeans praising the legendary Robert Mitchum, I'm also going to add his other great screen villain, Max Cady, from 'Cape Fear'. Like Powell, Cady is a dangerous madman intent on the corruption of innocence and murder, but, whereas Powell is overstated and not exactly subtle (it is made apparent from the opening minutes of 'Hunter' that he is just fresh from the latest of many killings), Cady has had a lengthy spell in the slammer to work out how best to serve his revenge icy cold and at his leisure.
Also, their motives differ; Powell seeks to opportunistically steal a big wedge of ill gotten cash and will stop at nothing to get his hands on it, Cady's is a personal vendetta against a man he believes has wronged him.
Both Cady and Powell are two of the finest screen psychos of all time and two of Mitchum's greatest performances.
Before I go it's yet another 'First' as Max Cady enters the hall of fame twice, also as portrayed by Robert DeNiro in the 1991 remake. Although faithful to the plot of the original, there is one major difference in the remake, in that the 'victim' (played in the remake by Nick Nolte) is shown to be by no means squeaky clean and directly responsible for the harshness of Cady's sentence by knowingly 'burying' evidence, therefore you can actually sympathise with Cady to some extent, whereas the Gregory Peck victim in the original appears blameless.
I write an amateur blog, not a column for Empire (I want a radio show first anyway!), so I'm not even going to try and choose between the two portrayals, I think they are both exceptional, and usually if I am in the mood to watch 'Cape Fear' I will make sure I have time to watch both versions, back to back.
More to follow
Col
Wednesday 27 January 2010
Short and Sweet?
No blog post of note today, just to say I am about to sit and watch Robert Mitchum in 'Night Of the Hunter' (call myself a movie buff and I haven't seen this one before!) which may well be the subject of my next proper post.
So for today I offer no more than the punchlines to three of my favourite jokes;
"Very well then, death...........................BY HOBO!!!!!!"
"On the contrary, I was just checking; spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch"
"A pigeon coming back from the library"
More to follow
Col
So for today I offer no more than the punchlines to three of my favourite jokes;
"Very well then, death...........................BY HOBO!!!!!!"
"On the contrary, I was just checking; spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch"
"A pigeon coming back from the library"
More to follow
Col
Tuesday 26 January 2010
Sympathy For The Put-Upon Puppet
When it comes to cult TV puppet characters having a particularly shit life, was there ever a character more ill treated and put upon that poor old Kyrano from Thunderbirds?
Faithful ‘aide de camp’ (servant, basically) to the Tracey family, proud father and doting mentor to marionette sauce pot Tin-Tin he may be, but that aside, his primary function in Thunderbirds seems to be as a kind of lackey kick arse to both the good and the bad guys.
Worst of all, when not pandering to the every whim of the housework shy Tracey men, the poor sod has to contend his having mind controlled at will by the evil bastard slap-head ‘The Hood’
All The Hood has to do is glare at his trusty statue / idol thing, get his eyes to glow a bit and say ‘Kyyyyyyrrrraaaaaannnnoooooo’ a few times with increasing intensity until the unlucky git is sent tumbling to the ground. He is then telepathically forced into ‘immobilising the automatic camera detector’ on Thunderbird 1, or similar, or worse.
And why is it that Kyrano always seems to be carrying a tray of drinks when The Hood chooses to mind zap him? There he is, happily trotting in with a tray full of Mojitos, and BAM! down he goes, the tray does flying and I dare say he’s the one who is made to clear up the mess afterwards (unless Tin-Tin or at a push Grandma is willing to help) before he slips away unnoticed to carry out Baldy’s dirty work.
I’m surprised to be honest that Jeff Tracey didn’t just cotton on sooner and give Kyrano the boot. If the tendency towards frequent life and security threatening sabotage under hypnosis wasn’t excuse enough, then surely the carpet cleaning bill from all the spilled drinks would have been?
I’d like to think that Kyrano is now residing in a retirement home and living in relative peace and quiet with the also retired Brains and his trusty chess playing robot, Braman. Perhaps The Hood (languishing in a top security prison somewhere, but allowed his trusty statue / idol thingy in exchange for hard work in the laundry room and good behaviour in the showers) still likes to ‘manipulate’ Kyrano from time to time, and I’ll bet he waits until the poor sod is carrying a pot of tea and the Rummikub across to the table where Brains and the robot are waiting.
“KyyyyyyyyyyyRRRRRRRaaaaaaaaannoooooooooo”
“KyyyyyyyyyyyyrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRAAAAAAANNNNoooooo”
“Aaaaaaa-aaaaaaah-aaaaaGGGHHHHH”
CRASH!
Coming up next in my series on puppet characters who get a rum deal; Troy Tempest's underachieving but loyal sidekick, Phones........
More to follow
Col
Faithful ‘aide de camp’ (servant, basically) to the Tracey family, proud father and doting mentor to marionette sauce pot Tin-Tin he may be, but that aside, his primary function in Thunderbirds seems to be as a kind of lackey kick arse to both the good and the bad guys.
Worst of all, when not pandering to the every whim of the housework shy Tracey men, the poor sod has to contend his having mind controlled at will by the evil bastard slap-head ‘The Hood’
All The Hood has to do is glare at his trusty statue / idol thing, get his eyes to glow a bit and say ‘Kyyyyyyrrrraaaaaannnnoooooo’ a few times with increasing intensity until the unlucky git is sent tumbling to the ground. He is then telepathically forced into ‘immobilising the automatic camera detector’ on Thunderbird 1, or similar, or worse.
And why is it that Kyrano always seems to be carrying a tray of drinks when The Hood chooses to mind zap him? There he is, happily trotting in with a tray full of Mojitos, and BAM! down he goes, the tray does flying and I dare say he’s the one who is made to clear up the mess afterwards (unless Tin-Tin or at a push Grandma is willing to help) before he slips away unnoticed to carry out Baldy’s dirty work.
I’m surprised to be honest that Jeff Tracey didn’t just cotton on sooner and give Kyrano the boot. If the tendency towards frequent life and security threatening sabotage under hypnosis wasn’t excuse enough, then surely the carpet cleaning bill from all the spilled drinks would have been?
I’d like to think that Kyrano is now residing in a retirement home and living in relative peace and quiet with the also retired Brains and his trusty chess playing robot, Braman. Perhaps The Hood (languishing in a top security prison somewhere, but allowed his trusty statue / idol thingy in exchange for hard work in the laundry room and good behaviour in the showers) still likes to ‘manipulate’ Kyrano from time to time, and I’ll bet he waits until the poor sod is carrying a pot of tea and the Rummikub across to the table where Brains and the robot are waiting.
“KyyyyyyyyyyyRRRRRRRaaaaaaaaannoooooooooo”
“KyyyyyyyyyyyyrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRAAAAAAANNNNoooooo”
“Aaaaaaa-aaaaaaah-aaaaaGGGHHHHH”
CRASH!
Coming up next in my series on puppet characters who get a rum deal; Troy Tempest's underachieving but loyal sidekick, Phones........
More to follow
Col
Monday 25 January 2010
Six Of The Best........Movie Characters.....Part 1
I like lists!
So for that simple reason, here is a random selection of six of my favourite movie characters listed in no particular order of preference – I’ve already thought of about 50 or so more, so this will definitely be continued......................
Let's start off with Sister Ruth (Black Narcissus) – When it comes to a highly strung nun driven to madness and attempted murder by lust and sexual repression, you don’t get much madder (and downright scary) than Kathleen Byron’s portrayal of Sister Ruth in this classic and (for it’s time) controversial British movie.
Talking of controversial British movies (were we?) how about Billy Bright and Rod (The Football Factory) – None of the characters in The Football Factory are supposed to have anything even vaguely resembling redeeming characteristics, least of all Billy Bright (played excellently by Frank Harper) who is the sociologist’s template post 1980s football hooligan; white, middle aged, good job, good house, good car, wife, kids etc coping with a mundane life through right wing ideals and scraps with rival football firms, organised with military precision. Being as he is little more than an overgrown schoolkid, Bright has some of the best scenes (the ambush of the Stoke fans on the way to Liverpool – “Get the beer safe!”) and sharpest dialogue (the whole “hold out your hand” scene and the verbal sparring with rival Fred as their sons play football against each other) Although he is basically a violent sod you wouldn’t want to cross at the best of times, in the context of the movie, Bright is an entertaining and often very funny character.
Rod (played by Neil Maskell) is the portly, soft spoken ladies man who has some of the best scenes and lines in the whole movie (his explanation given to his ‘posh’ girlfriend as to why he can’t miss the upcoming Millwall cup match and pre match scrap in order to meet her parents? - “I’m male”) and he shows a genuine bond of friendship with the central character Tommy (Danny Dyer) Rod is a good old fashioned cheeky chappie and wind-up merchant, made totally believable by Maskell.
Chief Martin Brody (Jaws) – Along with Quint (Robert Shaw) and Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss) , Roy Scheider’s put-upon Police Chief Brody makes up a triumvirate of superbly portrayed characters who go a long way towards making Jaws (especially the second half when they are the entire cast – apart from the rubber shark of course) the most exciting film of all time. Brody is singled out here for (amongst many great moments) the comedy relief of the ‘son copying Dad’s body language’ scene, the classic line; “We’re gonna need a bigger boat’, and what is for me my favourite cinematic moment of all time; “Smile you son of a…” BLAM!!
Next up is Billy Bibbit (One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest) – Is there a single character in this movie that isn’t one of the greatest movie characters of all time? It was the story within the story of the confused, anxious and ultimately tragic Billy Bibbit (brilliantly played by Brad Dourif) that moved me the most the first time I saw this film and still does, every time I watch it. There is a normal, happy and loving young man in Billy fighting to get out and McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) may be the only one who can see this. Sadly, through McMurphy giving Billy the chance he needs to shake off his insecurities and become ‘a man’, both of their fates are tragically sealed. Rarely has there been a more genuinely sympathetic character in a movie, and just to ice his cake completely, Billy completely steals the brilliant fishing trip sequence from everyone, even Jack himself.
My final choice for today is a John Wayne character, J.B. Books (The Shootist) – My late and very much missed Dad (1926-1989) and my oldest brother Brian were / are big fans of The Duke so I feel some trepidation at choosing a Wayne character for this list, as there are so many of his movies I have yet to see, or would need to see again to fully appreciate some of the legendary figures he has played.
J B Books (the hero of Wayne’s last movie from 1976) is as mighty a character as any I have seen of his. I have read that, although in poor health, Wayne was yet to contract the cancer that would eventually kill him when he made The Shootist (despite having suffered with cancer previously) so it is unlikely that he would have known it was to be his last movie. Watching it now years after his death, the character (a veteran gunman slowly being eaten away by terminal cancer) is made far more poignant because of the similar realities that lay around the corner for Wayne himself. Perhaps it’s unfair to single out a character for this reason (but come on, this is only Colin’s blog, not the sodding Oscars!) but for the record, the character of Books makes this list on his own strengths for many reasons, but I will pick out the touching courtship with his landlady (Lauren Bacall), the friendship with and mentoring of her impressionable son (Ron Howard) and most moving of all, the ‘second opinion’ scene with Dr Hostetler (James Stewart), oh and of course the gunfight at the end – what Wayne western would be complete without at least one gunfight?
I’m enjoying putting this list together, so I may well add more of my favourite movie characters later in the week.
More to follow
Col
So for that simple reason, here is a random selection of six of my favourite movie characters listed in no particular order of preference – I’ve already thought of about 50 or so more, so this will definitely be continued......................
Let's start off with Sister Ruth (Black Narcissus) – When it comes to a highly strung nun driven to madness and attempted murder by lust and sexual repression, you don’t get much madder (and downright scary) than Kathleen Byron’s portrayal of Sister Ruth in this classic and (for it’s time) controversial British movie.
Talking of controversial British movies (were we?) how about Billy Bright and Rod (The Football Factory) – None of the characters in The Football Factory are supposed to have anything even vaguely resembling redeeming characteristics, least of all Billy Bright (played excellently by Frank Harper) who is the sociologist’s template post 1980s football hooligan; white, middle aged, good job, good house, good car, wife, kids etc coping with a mundane life through right wing ideals and scraps with rival football firms, organised with military precision. Being as he is little more than an overgrown schoolkid, Bright has some of the best scenes (the ambush of the Stoke fans on the way to Liverpool – “Get the beer safe!”) and sharpest dialogue (the whole “hold out your hand” scene and the verbal sparring with rival Fred as their sons play football against each other) Although he is basically a violent sod you wouldn’t want to cross at the best of times, in the context of the movie, Bright is an entertaining and often very funny character.
Rod (played by Neil Maskell) is the portly, soft spoken ladies man who has some of the best scenes and lines in the whole movie (his explanation given to his ‘posh’ girlfriend as to why he can’t miss the upcoming Millwall cup match and pre match scrap in order to meet her parents? - “I’m male”) and he shows a genuine bond of friendship with the central character Tommy (Danny Dyer) Rod is a good old fashioned cheeky chappie and wind-up merchant, made totally believable by Maskell.
Chief Martin Brody (Jaws) – Along with Quint (Robert Shaw) and Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss) , Roy Scheider’s put-upon Police Chief Brody makes up a triumvirate of superbly portrayed characters who go a long way towards making Jaws (especially the second half when they are the entire cast – apart from the rubber shark of course) the most exciting film of all time. Brody is singled out here for (amongst many great moments) the comedy relief of the ‘son copying Dad’s body language’ scene, the classic line; “We’re gonna need a bigger boat’, and what is for me my favourite cinematic moment of all time; “Smile you son of a…” BLAM!!
Next up is Billy Bibbit (One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest) – Is there a single character in this movie that isn’t one of the greatest movie characters of all time? It was the story within the story of the confused, anxious and ultimately tragic Billy Bibbit (brilliantly played by Brad Dourif) that moved me the most the first time I saw this film and still does, every time I watch it. There is a normal, happy and loving young man in Billy fighting to get out and McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) may be the only one who can see this. Sadly, through McMurphy giving Billy the chance he needs to shake off his insecurities and become ‘a man’, both of their fates are tragically sealed. Rarely has there been a more genuinely sympathetic character in a movie, and just to ice his cake completely, Billy completely steals the brilliant fishing trip sequence from everyone, even Jack himself.
My final choice for today is a John Wayne character, J.B. Books (The Shootist) – My late and very much missed Dad (1926-1989) and my oldest brother Brian were / are big fans of The Duke so I feel some trepidation at choosing a Wayne character for this list, as there are so many of his movies I have yet to see, or would need to see again to fully appreciate some of the legendary figures he has played.
J B Books (the hero of Wayne’s last movie from 1976) is as mighty a character as any I have seen of his. I have read that, although in poor health, Wayne was yet to contract the cancer that would eventually kill him when he made The Shootist (despite having suffered with cancer previously) so it is unlikely that he would have known it was to be his last movie. Watching it now years after his death, the character (a veteran gunman slowly being eaten away by terminal cancer) is made far more poignant because of the similar realities that lay around the corner for Wayne himself. Perhaps it’s unfair to single out a character for this reason (but come on, this is only Colin’s blog, not the sodding Oscars!) but for the record, the character of Books makes this list on his own strengths for many reasons, but I will pick out the touching courtship with his landlady (Lauren Bacall), the friendship with and mentoring of her impressionable son (Ron Howard) and most moving of all, the ‘second opinion’ scene with Dr Hostetler (James Stewart), oh and of course the gunfight at the end – what Wayne western would be complete without at least one gunfight?
I’m enjoying putting this list together, so I may well add more of my favourite movie characters later in the week.
More to follow
Col
Saturday 23 January 2010
Maybe They Should Have Just (Let It Be)
Only ten days in and already a touch of ‘blogger’s block’ has set in. But I’ll give it a go anyway. At the moment I have a good few unfinished drafts based on what seemed like great ideas that quickly ran out of steam – I’ve had a read through them this evening but each and every one of them is going to have to remain on ice for now.
I’m tempted to write something about the thrilling cup tie at White Hart Lane earlier this evening (Spurs going from being very unlucky to very lacking, ultimately giving away a silly injury time penalty enabling Leeds to force a replay at Elland Road) but I have serious doubts about my abilities as a football pundit.
I’m tempted to write something about the fact that, as someone who has been a lifelong Beatles fan, I have only just (thanks to the miracle of downloading) watched the ‘Let It Be’ film in its entirety for the first time (it’s never been released on DVD and if it has been shown on TV in the last 25 years I must have been somewhere else at the time) What a shabby epitaph it is. Endless hours of half arsed jamming, interspersed with bitching and squabbling between four men (and an ever present Japanese performance artist) who have been run ragged by their own phenomenal success over the best part of the previous decade and have quite frankly had enough, condensed into one 80 minute shambles.
Looks like I am writing about ‘Let It Be’ after all. Good Oh.
What miniscule structure there is to the film I am only able to work out because I have read so many Beatle books (and seen the ‘fab three’ give their very politically toned down version of the events that led to the break up on the ‘Anthology’ DVDs) but suffice to say the footage used from the cold, capacious and utterly characterless Twickenham Studios is pretty horrible. McCartney struggles to keep things going and to raise morale; full credit to him, but it only makes him come across as a patronising shit (especially to George) Lennon (in the midst of a full-on heroin habit) probably just wants to spend time with the new love of his life, sitting in a big bag and making experimental films of bare posteriors and his own John Thomas, but he just comes across as bitter, acerbic and not at all interested, his occasional Paul O’Grady scouse jokes unfunny to all except the ever present and painfully sycophantic back room staff. Harrison tries his best to do his bit on the Lennon and McCartney numbers, despite being ordered around by McCartney and having to put up with Lennon apparently being too superior to contribute George’s ‘I Me Mine’. Poor old Ringo – he just drums along, only ever really wanting to play, looking very uncomfortable when the atmosphere is icy, and painfully conscious that the greatest gig of his career is about to come to an abrupt end.
Things do improve once they decamp to the familiar and more comfortable surroundings of Apple HQ. Billy Preston arrives on keyboards (no explanation given in the film of course as to why he is there) resulting in everyone being on their best behaviour. There is an excellent jam session where McCartney’s soon to be step daughter Heather (aged maybe 5 or 6) steals the show, and the famous roof top concert (even though it stinks of obligations being fulfilled) is still a great and iconic Beatles moment, great fun to watch and the only real saving grace in this pretty awful ‘movie’.
After the mess that was the whole ‘Get Back’ project (only later renamed ‘Let It Be’) only Abbey Road remained. A wonderful album, recorded by the band knowing it would be their last, but wonderful in the main thanks to George Martins ability to polish a turd until it turns into a big nugget of gold.
Well that’s me done. Time for a hot bath, a large Ciento Tres and some 1950s American Sci Fi. Them? Forbidden Planet? Hmmmmmmmm. Choices.
More to follow
Col
I’m tempted to write something about the thrilling cup tie at White Hart Lane earlier this evening (Spurs going from being very unlucky to very lacking, ultimately giving away a silly injury time penalty enabling Leeds to force a replay at Elland Road) but I have serious doubts about my abilities as a football pundit.
I’m tempted to write something about the fact that, as someone who has been a lifelong Beatles fan, I have only just (thanks to the miracle of downloading) watched the ‘Let It Be’ film in its entirety for the first time (it’s never been released on DVD and if it has been shown on TV in the last 25 years I must have been somewhere else at the time) What a shabby epitaph it is. Endless hours of half arsed jamming, interspersed with bitching and squabbling between four men (and an ever present Japanese performance artist) who have been run ragged by their own phenomenal success over the best part of the previous decade and have quite frankly had enough, condensed into one 80 minute shambles.
Looks like I am writing about ‘Let It Be’ after all. Good Oh.
What miniscule structure there is to the film I am only able to work out because I have read so many Beatle books (and seen the ‘fab three’ give their very politically toned down version of the events that led to the break up on the ‘Anthology’ DVDs) but suffice to say the footage used from the cold, capacious and utterly characterless Twickenham Studios is pretty horrible. McCartney struggles to keep things going and to raise morale; full credit to him, but it only makes him come across as a patronising shit (especially to George) Lennon (in the midst of a full-on heroin habit) probably just wants to spend time with the new love of his life, sitting in a big bag and making experimental films of bare posteriors and his own John Thomas, but he just comes across as bitter, acerbic and not at all interested, his occasional Paul O’Grady scouse jokes unfunny to all except the ever present and painfully sycophantic back room staff. Harrison tries his best to do his bit on the Lennon and McCartney numbers, despite being ordered around by McCartney and having to put up with Lennon apparently being too superior to contribute George’s ‘I Me Mine’. Poor old Ringo – he just drums along, only ever really wanting to play, looking very uncomfortable when the atmosphere is icy, and painfully conscious that the greatest gig of his career is about to come to an abrupt end.
Things do improve once they decamp to the familiar and more comfortable surroundings of Apple HQ. Billy Preston arrives on keyboards (no explanation given in the film of course as to why he is there) resulting in everyone being on their best behaviour. There is an excellent jam session where McCartney’s soon to be step daughter Heather (aged maybe 5 or 6) steals the show, and the famous roof top concert (even though it stinks of obligations being fulfilled) is still a great and iconic Beatles moment, great fun to watch and the only real saving grace in this pretty awful ‘movie’.
After the mess that was the whole ‘Get Back’ project (only later renamed ‘Let It Be’) only Abbey Road remained. A wonderful album, recorded by the band knowing it would be their last, but wonderful in the main thanks to George Martins ability to polish a turd until it turns into a big nugget of gold.
Well that’s me done. Time for a hot bath, a large Ciento Tres and some 1950s American Sci Fi. Them? Forbidden Planet? Hmmmmmmmm. Choices.
More to follow
Col
Friday 22 January 2010
My Favourite Female Vocalist...............
It's been a typically busy Friday evening, but not without it's high points. Tacos for dinner (used the Tesco kit but might have to revert to Old El Paso, the extra 72p is well worth the difference in subtlety and flavour of the spice blend) the pleasant sound of my wife and daughters belly laughing upstairs at something that's happening on 'Celebrity' Big Brother and my first listen in ages to 'Reading Writing And Arithmetic' by The Sundays.
Harriet Wheeler of The Sundays is by a long way my favourite female vocalist, a decision I made many years ago (Harriet was on the shortlist as a possible name for our eldest and I confess this had a lot to do with my admiration for the lovely Ms Wheeler, but I / We preferred girls names that end in Y and Emily won the vote. Good job too, as I know that I would probably be calling my beloved Em 'Hattie', 'Hatters', Hattington Chulmley' etc etc by now)
For a chap who gets so obsessively grouchy about odd pronunciation of words, it's ironic that Harriet endears herself to me even more with her own unique pronunciation. Take one of The Sundays best known songs; 'Here's Where The Story Ends' - she soothes my very soul by singing 'Ands' instead of 'Ends' and 'Tarrible' instead of 'Terrible'
As for the Sundays I do quite like their (very minimal at just three albums) stuff, even if it is a bit 'soundtrack to a dinner party in Clapham with a few Bill Nighy types talking loudly with their mouths full about what was in the Guardian today' but Harriet's golden moment is still to come, when I finally get around to putting together my Bowie tribute album (I've already got Robbie Williams' people talking to my people about him singing 'Shadow Man') I'm hoping she will agree to join the project and sing 'We Are The Dead' or maybe 'Quicksand'
Harriet and Dave of The Sundays are of course a couple and to the best of my knowledge havent recorded anything since 'Static and Silence' in 1997 having taken a break to raise their children. I hope that, forthcoming all star Bowie tribute notwithstanding, they might do just one more album before the grand-kids start arriving.
I must mention also Liela Moss of The Duke Spirit, a band we saw supporting Duran Duran a few years ago. Their album 'Neptune' which I downloaded purely on first impressions having never heard of them before that show, is brilliant and whilst she's no Harriet, her unique vocal style (earnest, innocent, bold........ errrm, quite cute actually and not unlike Grace Slick in places) puts her instantly into 'Col's Top 5 Female Vocalists'
Other contenders would include Grace Slick, Candi Staton, Debbie Harry (of course), Dusty Springfield, Francoise Hardy and Skye (from Morcheeba) to name but a few.
Another music related blog today - could be a movie one tomorrow as we are pondering going to see 'Sherlock Holmes' - whatever the day brings there will inevitably be....
more to follow,
Col
Harriet Wheeler of The Sundays is by a long way my favourite female vocalist, a decision I made many years ago (Harriet was on the shortlist as a possible name for our eldest and I confess this had a lot to do with my admiration for the lovely Ms Wheeler, but I / We preferred girls names that end in Y and Emily won the vote. Good job too, as I know that I would probably be calling my beloved Em 'Hattie', 'Hatters', Hattington Chulmley' etc etc by now)
For a chap who gets so obsessively grouchy about odd pronunciation of words, it's ironic that Harriet endears herself to me even more with her own unique pronunciation. Take one of The Sundays best known songs; 'Here's Where The Story Ends' - she soothes my very soul by singing 'Ands' instead of 'Ends' and 'Tarrible' instead of 'Terrible'
As for the Sundays I do quite like their (very minimal at just three albums) stuff, even if it is a bit 'soundtrack to a dinner party in Clapham with a few Bill Nighy types talking loudly with their mouths full about what was in the Guardian today' but Harriet's golden moment is still to come, when I finally get around to putting together my Bowie tribute album (I've already got Robbie Williams' people talking to my people about him singing 'Shadow Man') I'm hoping she will agree to join the project and sing 'We Are The Dead' or maybe 'Quicksand'
Harriet and Dave of The Sundays are of course a couple and to the best of my knowledge havent recorded anything since 'Static and Silence' in 1997 having taken a break to raise their children. I hope that, forthcoming all star Bowie tribute notwithstanding, they might do just one more album before the grand-kids start arriving.
I must mention also Liela Moss of The Duke Spirit, a band we saw supporting Duran Duran a few years ago. Their album 'Neptune' which I downloaded purely on first impressions having never heard of them before that show, is brilliant and whilst she's no Harriet, her unique vocal style (earnest, innocent, bold........ errrm, quite cute actually and not unlike Grace Slick in places) puts her instantly into 'Col's Top 5 Female Vocalists'
Other contenders would include Grace Slick, Candi Staton, Debbie Harry (of course), Dusty Springfield, Francoise Hardy and Skye (from Morcheeba) to name but a few.
Another music related blog today - could be a movie one tomorrow as we are pondering going to see 'Sherlock Holmes' - whatever the day brings there will inevitably be....
more to follow,
Col
Thursday 21 January 2010
A Quck Dip Of The Toe Into The River Of Random Things
No blog entry of great note today, as my evening has been taken up assembling a flat pack dining table and an extending one at that, so plenty of 'fiddly bits' and runners to fit. I'm not going to talk much about flat pack furniture as it's not the most exciting of subjects and is something that is commonly griped about. In fact I have grown to actually quite like the mission of putting a piece of furniture together, especially now my eldest daughter Emily has grown into a capable, willing and patient 'flat-pack buddy'.
So, here I am proudly sat at the new table with loads to write about but little time left of the day so here's just a few brief thoughts before I go to bed.
I have finally managed to download two tracks from the elusive Fleet Foxes debut EP from 2006; 'She Got Dressed' and 'In The Hot Hot Rays' - bloody hell they are good songs too, if very different from the sound of their incredible debut album*** (a possible contender for THE album of the past decade) I really hope they release another CD this year; it will have to be pretty blooming good to surpass their debut.
I'm half way through watching (for the first time in a long while) 'Cracked Actor', a 1974 BBC documentary following Bowie on his Diamond Dogs tour of the USA in that same year. It's only because of the amount of reading I have done on The Great Man over the past few years that I now know that he was by the time of that tour and the documentary, already locked into a colossal 'devil's dandruff' habit which might explain his wafer thin, edgy, evasive and at times slightly annoying (especially his 'There's a fly floating round in my milk' speech delivered in his best posh Jagger voice) persona in the film. But I think that goes some way to summing up the genius of Bowie, you never really know if that's what he is really like or if he is just putting on an act / taking the piss.
This wasn't meant to turn into a Bowie post, but it does link into a final and more personal thought to share, concerning my oldest brother and the great quest that awaits (he is also at present one of only two known followers to my blog so this is a bit of a deliberate direct message to the reader). To my beloved brother I can only say that I hope the application of a Ziggy Stardust postage stamp is the portent of a great future, and that you do indeed get to roam the Earth as 'some kind of KFM'
Tomorrow I have good intentions to blog on one of a number of subjects; The Scariest Thing I Saw As A Kid, My Ineptitude At Fantasy Football and 'Is It Me Or Does the New Dr Who look Like A young Tommy Cooper' are all shortlisted, but whatever the subject will be, I can assure that there will most definitely be......
More to follow
Col
*** God help me if some camp old twat on that bloody Dickinson's Real Deal today didn't pronounce the word 'album' as 'awl-bum' when valuing some sweet old dear's cigarette card 'Awl-bums' - I thought I'd had this word pronunciation thing out of my system the other day and then I'm confronted with that monstrosity.
So, here I am proudly sat at the new table with loads to write about but little time left of the day so here's just a few brief thoughts before I go to bed.
I have finally managed to download two tracks from the elusive Fleet Foxes debut EP from 2006; 'She Got Dressed' and 'In The Hot Hot Rays' - bloody hell they are good songs too, if very different from the sound of their incredible debut album*** (a possible contender for THE album of the past decade) I really hope they release another CD this year; it will have to be pretty blooming good to surpass their debut.
I'm half way through watching (for the first time in a long while) 'Cracked Actor', a 1974 BBC documentary following Bowie on his Diamond Dogs tour of the USA in that same year. It's only because of the amount of reading I have done on The Great Man over the past few years that I now know that he was by the time of that tour and the documentary, already locked into a colossal 'devil's dandruff' habit which might explain his wafer thin, edgy, evasive and at times slightly annoying (especially his 'There's a fly floating round in my milk' speech delivered in his best posh Jagger voice) persona in the film. But I think that goes some way to summing up the genius of Bowie, you never really know if that's what he is really like or if he is just putting on an act / taking the piss.
This wasn't meant to turn into a Bowie post, but it does link into a final and more personal thought to share, concerning my oldest brother and the great quest that awaits (he is also at present one of only two known followers to my blog so this is a bit of a deliberate direct message to the reader). To my beloved brother I can only say that I hope the application of a Ziggy Stardust postage stamp is the portent of a great future, and that you do indeed get to roam the Earth as 'some kind of KFM'
Tomorrow I have good intentions to blog on one of a number of subjects; The Scariest Thing I Saw As A Kid, My Ineptitude At Fantasy Football and 'Is It Me Or Does the New Dr Who look Like A young Tommy Cooper' are all shortlisted, but whatever the subject will be, I can assure that there will most definitely be......
More to follow
Col
*** God help me if some camp old twat on that bloody Dickinson's Real Deal today didn't pronounce the word 'album' as 'awl-bum' when valuing some sweet old dear's cigarette card 'Awl-bums' - I thought I'd had this word pronunciation thing out of my system the other day and then I'm confronted with that monstrosity.
Wednesday 20 January 2010
In praise of Microdisney and Their Finest Hour
Today I pay gentle tribute to my favourite band of the 1980s and their finest album. I also briefly mention rubber johnnies.
Back in 1894 I went with a mate of mine for a ‘Lad’s Holiday’ to Ibiza. As things turned out it was anything but a lad’s holiday in the perceived sense** and we were on a very quiet, chilled out part of the Island. Before I left for the holiday, a work colleague gave me a home made compilation tape for the walkman which was an excellent mixture, which included ‘Dolly’ by Microdisney. The tape was played to death over the two weeks, surviving just long enough for me to play ‘Dolly’ over and over on the plane home in memory of two great weeks chilling out in the sun, a great crowd of people we had met over there and an intense but quite innocent holiday romance.
I won’t attempt a Microdisney biography here, as there are plenty of these already on the net. Suffice to say they were two guys from Co Cork, loved by John Peel and revered by the NME, who recorded on Rough Trade and later Virgin records, had little if no commercial success and to those who heard them were nothing short of brilliant. They became my new favourite band, and for the remainder of that year their ‘Everybody Is Fantastic’ album ate slowly into my system, eventually proving the perfect antidote for my childhood musical idol (Bowie) having let me down massively with the truly awful ‘Tonight’ (amusingly enough his next album release a few years later would be the equally dire ‘Never Let Me Down’)
Just over a year later, in the build up to Christmas 1985, they released their second album ‘The Clock Comes Down The Stairs’ having expanded from a guitar (Sean O’Hagan) & keyboard / vocal (Cathal Coughlan) duo to a five piece band. Almost instantly ‘Clock’ became and has been ever since my favourite album of all time. I have always struggled to be able to pigeon-hole this album or make comparisons, but there are elements of country rock, west coast rock, Brian Wilson, Steely Dan, Jimmy Webb and Scott Walker in the sound of the record, the real magic being in the haunting melodies they had such a knack for, fronted by the bitter and ascerbic, yet wise and often very funny vocals of singer Cathal Coughlan, who, as testament to his genius, sings in his Cork accent throughout.
I only ever got to see the band live once and this was at one of their most famous gigs at The Boston Arms in Tuffnell Park North London in November 1986. Tracks recorded live at this show were then released as single b-sides and bonus tracks on their almost a hit 1987 single ‘Town To Town’ It was by a long way one of the best live gigs I have ever been to.
‘The Clock Comes Down The Stairs’ is long since deleted and was only released briefly on CD in the late 1990s. The band released four studio albums in total before they broke up in 1988-9 – to the best of my knowledge none of these albums are currently available on CD but there have been some compilations over the years which are still available. A full on comprehensive reissue of their work is long overdue. Both Cathal and Sean have continued to record and release great music in other guises to this day.
So thank you Col Glynn (if by some miracle you ever read this Col, get in touch – haven’t seen you in about 20 years!) for that brilliant compilation tape and the introduction to this great band. Col was at The Boston Arms gig with me and first in the queue (well, we were the queue) with me in Our Price (Harrow) on the day ‘The Clock’ was released.
More to follow
Col
** Although I did drink myself half to death and enjoyed a holiday romance with a lovely young Geordie lass, I ended up giving 11 of the (very hopeful) ‘packet of 12’ I had taken out there with me to two superb 100% genuine 80s casuals called Grant and Tony (what else) on the day we left. The only one I had taken out of it’s wrapper was used to demonstrate the ‘pull it over your head including your nose then inflate by exhaling through your nose until you end up with a huge comedy alien head which eventually bursts leaving your hair full of spermicidal lubricant’ trick in Manolo’s bar one drunken night. Well, come on, good Catholic boy and all that............
Back in 1894 I went with a mate of mine for a ‘Lad’s Holiday’ to Ibiza. As things turned out it was anything but a lad’s holiday in the perceived sense** and we were on a very quiet, chilled out part of the Island. Before I left for the holiday, a work colleague gave me a home made compilation tape for the walkman which was an excellent mixture, which included ‘Dolly’ by Microdisney. The tape was played to death over the two weeks, surviving just long enough for me to play ‘Dolly’ over and over on the plane home in memory of two great weeks chilling out in the sun, a great crowd of people we had met over there and an intense but quite innocent holiday romance.
I won’t attempt a Microdisney biography here, as there are plenty of these already on the net. Suffice to say they were two guys from Co Cork, loved by John Peel and revered by the NME, who recorded on Rough Trade and later Virgin records, had little if no commercial success and to those who heard them were nothing short of brilliant. They became my new favourite band, and for the remainder of that year their ‘Everybody Is Fantastic’ album ate slowly into my system, eventually proving the perfect antidote for my childhood musical idol (Bowie) having let me down massively with the truly awful ‘Tonight’ (amusingly enough his next album release a few years later would be the equally dire ‘Never Let Me Down’)
Just over a year later, in the build up to Christmas 1985, they released their second album ‘The Clock Comes Down The Stairs’ having expanded from a guitar (Sean O’Hagan) & keyboard / vocal (Cathal Coughlan) duo to a five piece band. Almost instantly ‘Clock’ became and has been ever since my favourite album of all time. I have always struggled to be able to pigeon-hole this album or make comparisons, but there are elements of country rock, west coast rock, Brian Wilson, Steely Dan, Jimmy Webb and Scott Walker in the sound of the record, the real magic being in the haunting melodies they had such a knack for, fronted by the bitter and ascerbic, yet wise and often very funny vocals of singer Cathal Coughlan, who, as testament to his genius, sings in his Cork accent throughout.
I only ever got to see the band live once and this was at one of their most famous gigs at The Boston Arms in Tuffnell Park North London in November 1986. Tracks recorded live at this show were then released as single b-sides and bonus tracks on their almost a hit 1987 single ‘Town To Town’ It was by a long way one of the best live gigs I have ever been to.
‘The Clock Comes Down The Stairs’ is long since deleted and was only released briefly on CD in the late 1990s. The band released four studio albums in total before they broke up in 1988-9 – to the best of my knowledge none of these albums are currently available on CD but there have been some compilations over the years which are still available. A full on comprehensive reissue of their work is long overdue. Both Cathal and Sean have continued to record and release great music in other guises to this day.
So thank you Col Glynn (if by some miracle you ever read this Col, get in touch – haven’t seen you in about 20 years!) for that brilliant compilation tape and the introduction to this great band. Col was at The Boston Arms gig with me and first in the queue (well, we were the queue) with me in Our Price (Harrow) on the day ‘The Clock’ was released.
More to follow
Col
** Although I did drink myself half to death and enjoyed a holiday romance with a lovely young Geordie lass, I ended up giving 11 of the (very hopeful) ‘packet of 12’ I had taken out there with me to two superb 100% genuine 80s casuals called Grant and Tony (what else) on the day we left. The only one I had taken out of it’s wrapper was used to demonstrate the ‘pull it over your head including your nose then inflate by exhaling through your nose until you end up with a huge comedy alien head which eventually bursts leaving your hair full of spermicidal lubricant’ trick in Manolo’s bar one drunken night. Well, come on, good Catholic boy and all that............
Tuesday 19 January 2010
Just A Quick Peep Round The Door Of Room 101...
Just a brief rant. This will happen from time to time.
Here’s one of an occasional series of ‘Things That Get My Back Up For No Particular Reason’
Words Pronounced In A Way That Might Be Correct But I Don’t Actually Like
Pizza – surely this should be pronounced ‘Peet-ser’ and not ‘Pit-ser’? – main offender; can’t think of one right now except for a character in Brookside in the late 1980s, a Scottish guy, turned out to be a bad sort, dealt in video nasties that he stored in the loft at his girlfriend’s house. Hmmmm – wasn’t the girlfriend the sister of Dr Choi, who was played by David ‘The Chinese Detective’ Yip?
Tikka – I’m absolutely sure this should be pronounced ‘Teak-err’ and not ‘Ticker’ – main offender – nope, stuck again for a specific villain, although Clarkson said it on Top Gear once about 8 years ago, and I still haven’t forgiven him.
Medicine – Grrrrr – don’t know why but this winds me up more than any of the others. Medicine is a three syllable word and only filthy toads pronounce it as ‘Med-Sun’ – main offenders? – every Newsreader and News Reporter throughout the 1990s
Uranus – actually, I think this one is quite clever and not really annoying at all. How to spare the schoolboy giggles and acute embassment of saying the name of a planet as ‘Yer Anus’ (snigger snigger);simply alter the emphasis from the second to the first syllable (ie URanus instead of urAnus) and nobody need be any the wiser. I’ll bet Patrick Moore still says it the proper way.
Auction – Double Grrrrrr – My current employment allows for me to work from home from time to time and as my beloved is currently on long term sick leave this means that I might be cheerfully ‘evaluating core issues’ on my PC whilst ‘Dickinson’s Real Deal’ is on the telly in the background. As far as I am aware ‘auction’ is pronounced ‘awk-tion’ and definitely not pronounced ‘ok-tion’ as the loathsome orange lizard seems to prefer to do.
I may not rant again for a while so while I’m being a moany little mardy arse can I also have a quick whinge about two Americanisms that really get my back up? OK well first of all (as my nephew and great friend Stephen will testify) I can’t bear to hear people say ‘can I get’ instead of ‘can I have’ or ‘may I have’ (Stephen to his credit actually ups his ‘can I get’ usage in my presence. He really knows more than most what scares and aggravates Col. Whispering on TV, A Cyclops, Early Nineties Prototype ‘Hoodies’ – oh yes, he knows them all.......)
Secondly, and finally, is the sudden an inexplicable substitution of ‘I haven’t got a clue’ or ‘I have no idea’ with the dreaded ‘I have no clue’. Why do these things get to me so much? I’ll be the first to admit that my own English, written and spoken, is a long, long way from perfect (just to get the disclaimer in quickly!) so it’s probably just me being an arse.
I have to wrap this up, as I have to dash off to an Ok-tion, where I’m hoping to buy some photos of URanus – why? I have no clue, but before I go, can I get a chicken ticker pit-ser and some med-sun for a headache?
More to follow
Col
Here’s one of an occasional series of ‘Things That Get My Back Up For No Particular Reason’
Words Pronounced In A Way That Might Be Correct But I Don’t Actually Like
Pizza – surely this should be pronounced ‘Peet-ser’ and not ‘Pit-ser’? – main offender; can’t think of one right now except for a character in Brookside in the late 1980s, a Scottish guy, turned out to be a bad sort, dealt in video nasties that he stored in the loft at his girlfriend’s house. Hmmmm – wasn’t the girlfriend the sister of Dr Choi, who was played by David ‘The Chinese Detective’ Yip?
Tikka – I’m absolutely sure this should be pronounced ‘Teak-err’ and not ‘Ticker’ – main offender – nope, stuck again for a specific villain, although Clarkson said it on Top Gear once about 8 years ago, and I still haven’t forgiven him.
Medicine – Grrrrr – don’t know why but this winds me up more than any of the others. Medicine is a three syllable word and only filthy toads pronounce it as ‘Med-Sun’ – main offenders? – every Newsreader and News Reporter throughout the 1990s
Uranus – actually, I think this one is quite clever and not really annoying at all. How to spare the schoolboy giggles and acute embassment of saying the name of a planet as ‘Yer Anus’ (snigger snigger);simply alter the emphasis from the second to the first syllable (ie URanus instead of urAnus) and nobody need be any the wiser. I’ll bet Patrick Moore still says it the proper way.
Auction – Double Grrrrrr – My current employment allows for me to work from home from time to time and as my beloved is currently on long term sick leave this means that I might be cheerfully ‘evaluating core issues’ on my PC whilst ‘Dickinson’s Real Deal’ is on the telly in the background. As far as I am aware ‘auction’ is pronounced ‘awk-tion’ and definitely not pronounced ‘ok-tion’ as the loathsome orange lizard seems to prefer to do.
I may not rant again for a while so while I’m being a moany little mardy arse can I also have a quick whinge about two Americanisms that really get my back up? OK well first of all (as my nephew and great friend Stephen will testify) I can’t bear to hear people say ‘can I get’ instead of ‘can I have’ or ‘may I have’ (Stephen to his credit actually ups his ‘can I get’ usage in my presence. He really knows more than most what scares and aggravates Col. Whispering on TV, A Cyclops, Early Nineties Prototype ‘Hoodies’ – oh yes, he knows them all.......)
Secondly, and finally, is the sudden an inexplicable substitution of ‘I haven’t got a clue’ or ‘I have no idea’ with the dreaded ‘I have no clue’. Why do these things get to me so much? I’ll be the first to admit that my own English, written and spoken, is a long, long way from perfect (just to get the disclaimer in quickly!) so it’s probably just me being an arse.
I have to wrap this up, as I have to dash off to an Ok-tion, where I’m hoping to buy some photos of URanus – why? I have no clue, but before I go, can I get a chicken ticker pit-ser and some med-sun for a headache?
More to follow
Col
Monday 18 January 2010
Blackbird Singing In The Dead Of Night... it's a McCartney freebie!
A giveaway CD or DVD (closely followed by an exceptional Spurs victory) is often the only incentive for me to buy a Sunday paper and even then it has to be a pretty tempting offering (over the past few years the Bowie ‘iselect’ collection, a decent Roxy Music compilation, Black Narcissus and a series of War Movies have been some of the highlights) So, the exclusive Paul McCartney live CD in yesterdays Mail On Sunday (ooh, and a free ‘Miss Marple’ DVD too – you are spoiling me Ambassador) seemed worth a go.
The Beatles have shared with Bowie the mantle of ‘Col’s Favourite Artist’ since I was about 8 years old and although many have fought for a place in the top two ever since** this has yet to change. Having said that I have never been much of a fan of The Beatles solo stuff*** which is ironic really as my favourite Beatles album by a long way has to be ‘The Beatles’ (The White Album) which is in the main a collection of solo performances.
I wasn’t really holding out a great deal of hope for the McCartney Live offering. Touted on the TV as ‘McCartney Sings The Beatles’ (or something like that, and after all, who could deny Sir Paul the right to ‘Sing The Beatles’ anyway) it is in fact a 12 track album with 7 Beatles songs and 5 of his solo songs – a recording of a live show he did at Amoeba record store in June 2007 (I think) in front of about 1000 people. I dutifully stuck it on the i-pod last night and thought it would most likely get one play and then be lost in the ether (a bit like the 45 minute home cassette free form jam demo by Spacemen 3) of my digital music collection.
Actually it’s pretty good! Good enough to have had two full plays last night and another on the way to work this morning. Good enough in fact to warrant being the subject matter of today’s blog entry. McCartney is wise enough to know these days that it’s the Beatles songs the crowd really want to hear (it’s unlikely you will hear some stray voice in the crowd bellowing out for ‘Old Siam Sir’) so the majority of these come in the second half of the show / CD. There’s not a great deal to be said about the Beatle renditions really – he has a good tight band behind him and certainly sounds like he’s enjoying himself, even if he struggles to hit all the notes more now than 30 – 40 years ago. The highlight of the Beatle songs on offer here, for me, is ‘Blackbird’ - not a patch on the ‘White Album’ original of course but great to hear him singing it again and making the acoustic guitar backing sound so bloody easy. How I would love to be able to play ‘Blackbird’ on the guitar properly (or even badly) Elsewhere, ‘Drive My Car’, ‘Get Back’, ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ and ‘Back In The USSR’ are delivered with energy and a sense of a band having some fun and as for ‘Hey Jude’ well you’ve heard a thousand different renditions a thousand times, but it’s always going to be really hard for McCartney himself to balls that one up.
Three of the five solo tracks are from his most recent solo album which after all he would have been touring in 2007 to promote, but the highlight is a rendition of ‘Here Today’ a song from his Tug Of War album written for Lennon. Being McCartney it’s a little bit sugary and sentimental, but a great rendition, with genuine emotion in the delivery and quite moving on a cold grey Monday morning on my way to work.
So there you have it, my first attempt at an album review and it’s a Mail On Sunday freebie. Oh well!
More to follow
Col
** Notable contenders over the years include Scott Walker, The Stranglers, REM, The Jam, The Stones, The Who, The Small Faces, Stevie Wonder, XTC, Kraftwerk, Roxy Music, Supergrass, Suede, Steely Dan, Hawkwind and errrrm, oh many, many more
*** This is perhaps a little unfair seeing as I am a big fan of Lennon’s ‘Plastic Ono Band’ and ‘Imagine’ albums, McCartney’s ‘Band On The Run’ and ‘McCartney’ and Harrison’s ‘All Things Must Pass’ – plus there is a lot of solo stuff I haven’t even bohered to listen to. Oh and of course I forgot to mention Ringo’s ‘Stop And Smell The Roses’ album – boom boom indeed.
The Beatles have shared with Bowie the mantle of ‘Col’s Favourite Artist’ since I was about 8 years old and although many have fought for a place in the top two ever since** this has yet to change. Having said that I have never been much of a fan of The Beatles solo stuff*** which is ironic really as my favourite Beatles album by a long way has to be ‘The Beatles’ (The White Album) which is in the main a collection of solo performances.
I wasn’t really holding out a great deal of hope for the McCartney Live offering. Touted on the TV as ‘McCartney Sings The Beatles’ (or something like that, and after all, who could deny Sir Paul the right to ‘Sing The Beatles’ anyway) it is in fact a 12 track album with 7 Beatles songs and 5 of his solo songs – a recording of a live show he did at Amoeba record store in June 2007 (I think) in front of about 1000 people. I dutifully stuck it on the i-pod last night and thought it would most likely get one play and then be lost in the ether (a bit like the 45 minute home cassette free form jam demo by Spacemen 3) of my digital music collection.
Actually it’s pretty good! Good enough to have had two full plays last night and another on the way to work this morning. Good enough in fact to warrant being the subject matter of today’s blog entry. McCartney is wise enough to know these days that it’s the Beatles songs the crowd really want to hear (it’s unlikely you will hear some stray voice in the crowd bellowing out for ‘Old Siam Sir’) so the majority of these come in the second half of the show / CD. There’s not a great deal to be said about the Beatle renditions really – he has a good tight band behind him and certainly sounds like he’s enjoying himself, even if he struggles to hit all the notes more now than 30 – 40 years ago. The highlight of the Beatle songs on offer here, for me, is ‘Blackbird’ - not a patch on the ‘White Album’ original of course but great to hear him singing it again and making the acoustic guitar backing sound so bloody easy. How I would love to be able to play ‘Blackbird’ on the guitar properly (or even badly) Elsewhere, ‘Drive My Car’, ‘Get Back’, ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ and ‘Back In The USSR’ are delivered with energy and a sense of a band having some fun and as for ‘Hey Jude’ well you’ve heard a thousand different renditions a thousand times, but it’s always going to be really hard for McCartney himself to balls that one up.
Three of the five solo tracks are from his most recent solo album which after all he would have been touring in 2007 to promote, but the highlight is a rendition of ‘Here Today’ a song from his Tug Of War album written for Lennon. Being McCartney it’s a little bit sugary and sentimental, but a great rendition, with genuine emotion in the delivery and quite moving on a cold grey Monday morning on my way to work.
So there you have it, my first attempt at an album review and it’s a Mail On Sunday freebie. Oh well!
More to follow
Col
** Notable contenders over the years include Scott Walker, The Stranglers, REM, The Jam, The Stones, The Who, The Small Faces, Stevie Wonder, XTC, Kraftwerk, Roxy Music, Supergrass, Suede, Steely Dan, Hawkwind and errrrm, oh many, many more
*** This is perhaps a little unfair seeing as I am a big fan of Lennon’s ‘Plastic Ono Band’ and ‘Imagine’ albums, McCartney’s ‘Band On The Run’ and ‘McCartney’ and Harrison’s ‘All Things Must Pass’ – plus there is a lot of solo stuff I haven’t even bohered to listen to. Oh and of course I forgot to mention Ringo’s ‘Stop And Smell The Roses’ album – boom boom indeed.
Sunday 17 January 2010
'Hammer House Of Horror - Revisited'
Time for a ‘retro telly’ post I think. I’m inspired by a message I received from the legend that is Andy Warner (The Lord Drew Crow Star) on Facebook, saying that he had just enjoyed a Hammer House Of Horror marathon, so, in his honour, let’s talk HHOH.
HHOH was a series of 13 one-off stories made by the Hammer studio, a few years after they had ceased movie production. It was first televised on ITV in the autumn of 1980 and each story was an hour long (including ads) Thanks to the anorak friendly internet, the blurb on the DVD box set and my worryingly spot-on memory for times and dates, I realise now why I didn’t watch them all first time round. Back in 1980 only the most privileged of homes had a video recorder, and there were no endless repeats on satellite channels, so if you missed it when it was on, that what is, you were buggered and had to get the gist of the plot from the school playground on Monday, whilst pretending that you had been doing something far more interesting.
Actually, I’m happy to be able to say that I can give a fairly credible excuse for missing at least 4 episodes; The Jam at The Rainbow, The Vapors (don’t knock it, they were great live) at The Marquee and at least two of the excellent parties the girls we knew from St Micks Convent used to throw, usually in Golders Green or Finchley Central.
(just as an aside – my essentials for such parties would be; sta-press, a third hand Fred Perry shirt, my Purple two tone ‘tonic’ jacket, hush puppies, a splash of my brother’s ‘Blue Stratos’, the ‘More Specials’ album, a bottle of Gaymers Olde English, four cans of Heldenbrau, 10 B&H and my Mod parka. The irony of the mod parka is that a coat is supposed to be worn to keep you warm in winter, but I used to take mine hidden in a carrier bag, just in case I encountered the Tally Ho Corner ‘Skins’ en route, then put it on as I arrived at the party and wear it indoors all evening, sweltering, ready to pop it back in the back for the journey home. A born coward me, and proud of it too!)
Anyhow, where was I?
Ah yes. So HHOH was the prime time Saturday night viewing that took up where ‘Tales Of The Unexpected’ and before that ‘Thriller’ had left off, ie something a bit creepy to watch with your tea, and not on late enough to interfere with Match Of The Day.
At the time it was pretty good stuff, with some great stories too. Anyone who was aged maybe 10 – 15 at that time will remember some of the spookier episodes, especially ‘The Two Faces Of Evil’ with the horrible hitchhiker in the yellow cagoule and the nasty fingernail (now I was 16 by then and definitely thought I was old enough to know better, but that one still scared the crap out of me) Or ‘The Silent Scream’ with Peter Cushing and Brian Cox – probably the best story of them all with a really haunting ending. Oh, and ‘Charlie Boy’ the sinister fetish doll. And Diana Dors in ‘Children Of The Full Moon’.
Eventually, like most great TV shows of the past, HHOH was put out as a DVD box set, so I got to have a watch all over again a few years ago and more recently I have downloaded the whole series onto my i-pod. Wow, isn’t the 21st Century positively corking?
30 years later, it’s hard to imagine how HHOH can have ever looked ‘contempoary’ but like all great retro TV it’s the fact that it has dated that creates the whole feeling of (to quote The Crow Star) ‘retro loveliness’ Looking back, there were some of the top actors and actresses of the day (Denholm Elliot, Diana Dors) in the show and others at the start of their careers but now megastars (Pierce Brosnan – pre Bond, pre Remington Steele, even pre ‘dodgy IRA bloke in The Long Good Friday – and of course Brian Cox)
But for me, watching them over again, the real treat is seeing one of the weaker stories (‘Witching Time’) redeemed by featuring one of my favourite British actors, Jon Finch (‘Frenzy’ Polanski’s ‘Macbeth’) with a superb sub Bruce Foxton proto mullet at his usual velvet voiced, often half cut, manic best.
Obviously very tame by todays standards, a little hit and miss here and there and with some of the plots padded to bursting, but still a great one off series and a fitting epitaph on the tombstone of 1970s Saturday night TV horror.
On a final note, when I was re-watching this on DVD a few years ago, I offered my two girls (who were at the time quite happy to watch ‘Supernatural’ every week) the chance to watch a few episodes with me. They managed to get half way through ‘Charlie Boy’ and were spooked for weeks.
More to come
Col
HHOH was a series of 13 one-off stories made by the Hammer studio, a few years after they had ceased movie production. It was first televised on ITV in the autumn of 1980 and each story was an hour long (including ads) Thanks to the anorak friendly internet, the blurb on the DVD box set and my worryingly spot-on memory for times and dates, I realise now why I didn’t watch them all first time round. Back in 1980 only the most privileged of homes had a video recorder, and there were no endless repeats on satellite channels, so if you missed it when it was on, that what is, you were buggered and had to get the gist of the plot from the school playground on Monday, whilst pretending that you had been doing something far more interesting.
Actually, I’m happy to be able to say that I can give a fairly credible excuse for missing at least 4 episodes; The Jam at The Rainbow, The Vapors (don’t knock it, they were great live) at The Marquee and at least two of the excellent parties the girls we knew from St Micks Convent used to throw, usually in Golders Green or Finchley Central.
(just as an aside – my essentials for such parties would be; sta-press, a third hand Fred Perry shirt, my Purple two tone ‘tonic’ jacket, hush puppies, a splash of my brother’s ‘Blue Stratos’, the ‘More Specials’ album, a bottle of Gaymers Olde English, four cans of Heldenbrau, 10 B&H and my Mod parka. The irony of the mod parka is that a coat is supposed to be worn to keep you warm in winter, but I used to take mine hidden in a carrier bag, just in case I encountered the Tally Ho Corner ‘Skins’ en route, then put it on as I arrived at the party and wear it indoors all evening, sweltering, ready to pop it back in the back for the journey home. A born coward me, and proud of it too!)
Anyhow, where was I?
Ah yes. So HHOH was the prime time Saturday night viewing that took up where ‘Tales Of The Unexpected’ and before that ‘Thriller’ had left off, ie something a bit creepy to watch with your tea, and not on late enough to interfere with Match Of The Day.
At the time it was pretty good stuff, with some great stories too. Anyone who was aged maybe 10 – 15 at that time will remember some of the spookier episodes, especially ‘The Two Faces Of Evil’ with the horrible hitchhiker in the yellow cagoule and the nasty fingernail (now I was 16 by then and definitely thought I was old enough to know better, but that one still scared the crap out of me) Or ‘The Silent Scream’ with Peter Cushing and Brian Cox – probably the best story of them all with a really haunting ending. Oh, and ‘Charlie Boy’ the sinister fetish doll. And Diana Dors in ‘Children Of The Full Moon’.
Eventually, like most great TV shows of the past, HHOH was put out as a DVD box set, so I got to have a watch all over again a few years ago and more recently I have downloaded the whole series onto my i-pod. Wow, isn’t the 21st Century positively corking?
30 years later, it’s hard to imagine how HHOH can have ever looked ‘contempoary’ but like all great retro TV it’s the fact that it has dated that creates the whole feeling of (to quote The Crow Star) ‘retro loveliness’ Looking back, there were some of the top actors and actresses of the day (Denholm Elliot, Diana Dors) in the show and others at the start of their careers but now megastars (Pierce Brosnan – pre Bond, pre Remington Steele, even pre ‘dodgy IRA bloke in The Long Good Friday – and of course Brian Cox)
But for me, watching them over again, the real treat is seeing one of the weaker stories (‘Witching Time’) redeemed by featuring one of my favourite British actors, Jon Finch (‘Frenzy’ Polanski’s ‘Macbeth’) with a superb sub Bruce Foxton proto mullet at his usual velvet voiced, often half cut, manic best.
Obviously very tame by todays standards, a little hit and miss here and there and with some of the plots padded to bursting, but still a great one off series and a fitting epitaph on the tombstone of 1970s Saturday night TV horror.
On a final note, when I was re-watching this on DVD a few years ago, I offered my two girls (who were at the time quite happy to watch ‘Supernatural’ every week) the chance to watch a few episodes with me. They managed to get half way through ‘Charlie Boy’ and were spooked for weeks.
More to come
Col
Friday 15 January 2010
'Morgans - A Suitable Case For Tribute' (The Record Shops Of North London)
More (brief) autobiographical background and scene setting.....
I was born on 3rd October 1964 at home in my parents’ house in Bounds Green Road, North London and that’s where I lived for the first 17 years of my life, up until we moved to Rickmansworth in November 1981.
I have loved music and records for so long, and started buying records at such a young age, that I can’t even remember for sure the first single I bought (possibly ‘Theme From White Horses’ by Jacky in 1968)
The most important record shop in my formative buying years was Morgan Records in Bounds Green Tube Station. I know it has long since closed but I’m not sure when; it was certainly still going when we moved in ’81. The two blokes that ran the shop were fairly easy going, tolerant of endless browsing , more than willing to play a little bit of any single that looked slightly ‘punk’ and be happy to answer questions of pretty alarming stupidity, eg ‘what version of ‘The Kids Are Alright’ is better, The Pleasers or The Who?’ Shortly after Ian Curtis of Joy Division committed suicide in 1980, I went to Morgan’s to buy my bandwagon hopping copy of ‘Closer’ and one of them said ‘actually mate I think you might prefer this’ and sold me a copy of ‘Strange Days’ by The Doors, which kick started a love of West Coast and psychedelia that I have nurtured ever since.
It was Morgan’s that I would leg it to the instant I heard the latest Bowie single on the radio, getting them to play me both sides in full before handing over my 45p and it was from Morgan’s that I bought nearly all of those 1976 reissued Beatles singles in the green sleeves with a photo on the back. They also had the honour of selling me the first proper rock album I bought in my own right which was Bowie’s ‘Pin-Ups’, just after Christmas 1975, £2.99 plus 12p for a protective PVC sleeve (I do however remember the first actual album I bought – it was ‘Pinky & Perky’s Hit Parade’ in October 1968, aged 4 – a cracker of an album with some top notch cover versions – similar in fact to ‘Pin-Ups’)
Up until I started secondary school and my horizons broadened to Finchley and beyond, the only competition Morgans had when it came to my pocket money were the boxes of ‘ex juke box’ singles in newsagents (cheaper at 25p a throw, lots of tat to rummage through but great for an occasional lucky find**) or the record departments of WH Smiths , Boots or Woolies in Wood Green High Road. However once I hit my teens and certainly once I had started earning a few quid a week in my Saturday job (another subject for another time) I showed a shameless lack of loyalty to my long suffering friends at Bounds Green tube as I sniffed out bargains or elusive back catalogues further afield.
Now then, this is my blog and my golden rule to myself in starting it is not to be in any way ashamed or apologetic as to subject matter, content or quality of the ‘product’ – therefore having got that out of the way, here is a list of my favourite long gone record shops of North London, with a purchase of note from each;
Harem Records (Muswell Hill) – The Jam – All Mod Cons, December 1978
Arcade Records (North Finchley High Rd) – The Rolling Stones – Goats Head Soup , Summer 1980 (the year I finally ‘got into’ the Stones)
Mr Music (North Finchley High Rd) – David Bowie – Low, October 1977 (I actually cried tears of anger when I first played side 2, but now love it as one of Bowie’s best)
Derek’s Records (Wood Green High Road) – Jefferson Airplane – White Rabbit (reissue single), Summer 1981
Loppy Lugs (Finchley Central) – Blondie – Picture This (single) – September 1978
Oldies Galore (Finchley Central) – One very scratchy second hand copy of Alice Cooper’s ‘Billion Dollar Babies’ album
There are many more of course, but it was Morgans Records that made a hopeless music junkie out of me and to those chaps that used to run the shop, whoever they were and wherever they may now be, I sincerely thank you.
As the 1970s became the 1980s, I turned to the record shops of Rickmansworth (the inimitable Strawberry Fields) Watford and Harrow for my fixes and spent my early years as a working man in crazed back catalogue binges on Hawkwind, Steely Dan, Dylan, Gong, Floyd.............. and the list goes on......and on.
The record shops I remember were slowly buried by the high street megastores, which are now in turn being slowly buried by online shopping and downloads. In the far distant future, what will bury the online empires and the download giants?
I’d like to think it might be Robby the Robot, a youthful Leslie Nielson, and the two blokes who made sure I always got a proper RCA company sleeves on my Bowie singles in Morgans all those years ago.
So for now, farewell
Col
** I once found a copy of David Bowie’s ‘The Prettiest Star’ single on the Mercury label (nowadays ridiculously rare as like most of his early singles it bombed) in a box of 25p singles in Mick’s Newsagent at the top of Bounds Green Road, but didn’t buy it because I hadn’t heard it before. Crap. On the plus side I did once find a copy of one of the greatest ‘slowies’ ever; ‘Love Won’t let Me Wait’ by Major Harris in a similar bargain box which I knew my brother Dave was on the look-out for so I bought it for him. I wonder how many slowies Dave got as a result of that purchase. Eh?
I was born on 3rd October 1964 at home in my parents’ house in Bounds Green Road, North London and that’s where I lived for the first 17 years of my life, up until we moved to Rickmansworth in November 1981.
I have loved music and records for so long, and started buying records at such a young age, that I can’t even remember for sure the first single I bought (possibly ‘Theme From White Horses’ by Jacky in 1968)
The most important record shop in my formative buying years was Morgan Records in Bounds Green Tube Station. I know it has long since closed but I’m not sure when; it was certainly still going when we moved in ’81. The two blokes that ran the shop were fairly easy going, tolerant of endless browsing , more than willing to play a little bit of any single that looked slightly ‘punk’ and be happy to answer questions of pretty alarming stupidity, eg ‘what version of ‘The Kids Are Alright’ is better, The Pleasers or The Who?’ Shortly after Ian Curtis of Joy Division committed suicide in 1980, I went to Morgan’s to buy my bandwagon hopping copy of ‘Closer’ and one of them said ‘actually mate I think you might prefer this’ and sold me a copy of ‘Strange Days’ by The Doors, which kick started a love of West Coast and psychedelia that I have nurtured ever since.
It was Morgan’s that I would leg it to the instant I heard the latest Bowie single on the radio, getting them to play me both sides in full before handing over my 45p and it was from Morgan’s that I bought nearly all of those 1976 reissued Beatles singles in the green sleeves with a photo on the back. They also had the honour of selling me the first proper rock album I bought in my own right which was Bowie’s ‘Pin-Ups’, just after Christmas 1975, £2.99 plus 12p for a protective PVC sleeve (I do however remember the first actual album I bought – it was ‘Pinky & Perky’s Hit Parade’ in October 1968, aged 4 – a cracker of an album with some top notch cover versions – similar in fact to ‘Pin-Ups’)
Up until I started secondary school and my horizons broadened to Finchley and beyond, the only competition Morgans had when it came to my pocket money were the boxes of ‘ex juke box’ singles in newsagents (cheaper at 25p a throw, lots of tat to rummage through but great for an occasional lucky find**) or the record departments of WH Smiths , Boots or Woolies in Wood Green High Road. However once I hit my teens and certainly once I had started earning a few quid a week in my Saturday job (another subject for another time) I showed a shameless lack of loyalty to my long suffering friends at Bounds Green tube as I sniffed out bargains or elusive back catalogues further afield.
Now then, this is my blog and my golden rule to myself in starting it is not to be in any way ashamed or apologetic as to subject matter, content or quality of the ‘product’ – therefore having got that out of the way, here is a list of my favourite long gone record shops of North London, with a purchase of note from each;
Harem Records (Muswell Hill) – The Jam – All Mod Cons, December 1978
Arcade Records (North Finchley High Rd) – The Rolling Stones – Goats Head Soup , Summer 1980 (the year I finally ‘got into’ the Stones)
Mr Music (North Finchley High Rd) – David Bowie – Low, October 1977 (I actually cried tears of anger when I first played side 2, but now love it as one of Bowie’s best)
Derek’s Records (Wood Green High Road) – Jefferson Airplane – White Rabbit (reissue single), Summer 1981
Loppy Lugs (Finchley Central) – Blondie – Picture This (single) – September 1978
Oldies Galore (Finchley Central) – One very scratchy second hand copy of Alice Cooper’s ‘Billion Dollar Babies’ album
There are many more of course, but it was Morgans Records that made a hopeless music junkie out of me and to those chaps that used to run the shop, whoever they were and wherever they may now be, I sincerely thank you.
As the 1970s became the 1980s, I turned to the record shops of Rickmansworth (the inimitable Strawberry Fields) Watford and Harrow for my fixes and spent my early years as a working man in crazed back catalogue binges on Hawkwind, Steely Dan, Dylan, Gong, Floyd.............. and the list goes on......and on.
The record shops I remember were slowly buried by the high street megastores, which are now in turn being slowly buried by online shopping and downloads. In the far distant future, what will bury the online empires and the download giants?
I’d like to think it might be Robby the Robot, a youthful Leslie Nielson, and the two blokes who made sure I always got a proper RCA company sleeves on my Bowie singles in Morgans all those years ago.
So for now, farewell
Col
** I once found a copy of David Bowie’s ‘The Prettiest Star’ single on the Mercury label (nowadays ridiculously rare as like most of his early singles it bombed) in a box of 25p singles in Mick’s Newsagent at the top of Bounds Green Road, but didn’t buy it because I hadn’t heard it before. Crap. On the plus side I did once find a copy of one of the greatest ‘slowies’ ever; ‘Love Won’t let Me Wait’ by Major Harris in a similar bargain box which I knew my brother Dave was on the look-out for so I bought it for him. I wonder how many slowies Dave got as a result of that purchase. Eh?
Thursday 14 January 2010
'Time To Start Believin' (or Incredible Journey?)
OK let’s get this out of the way. I am a 45 year old man, married, with two teenage daughters. True to type, my blogs will inevitably be filled with misty eyed infant / adolescent memories of the 1970s and misty eyed teenager / early twenties memories of the 1980s with the occasional rant and whinge about modern life and times thrown in.
Enough of that, for now at least.
Barely a day has passed in the family home lately without someone humming or singing the recently revived ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ by Journey. This is apparently as a result of a cover version sung on The X Factor and extensive TV / Radio exposure following its return to the popular music chart thanks to a mass download by an adoring public. My daughters tell me also that there is now a dance cover version thanks to a new ‘Croakfest’** TV show called ‘Glee’ but it’s the no nonsense, honest rocking original I’m concentrating on here.
For me, ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ will always be the first song played at one of the many excellent mid 80s Saturday night house parties hosted by the legendary (and very sadly recently deceased) Andy Gray (our mate from Amersham of course, not the footballer turned pundit – and incidentally the only man I ever knew who would willingly succumb to a couple of rounds of ‘Ride The Prod’ and still come up smiling)
Me being me of course, I would wait until a little later in the evening when everyone was either wrecked or had copped off or both, then try to get a sneaky play of ‘Murmur’ or ‘Meat Is Murder’ or at very least something by The Clash. I’m sorry to say that much as I loved the life, the era, the great friends and the Grey Man’s incredible shindigs, I absolutely hated ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ which to me epitomised mid 80s soft stadium rock, all backlit bubble perms, cap sleeve t-shirts and sprayed on spandex. (Can I just say however that some of the best live gigs I have ever been to were mid 80s rock festivals – just another little contradiction of mine)
And whilst the nostalgia gets sweeter as the years go by, the song remained ignored and unloved, my only brief reminder being in an excellent episode of Family Guy when Peter and his cronies sang it on a karaoke night at the Drunken Clam.
So here we are, some 25 years later, my kids are singing it, my Mrs is singing it, I’m bloody well singing it, doing my best ‘Air 80s Keyboards’ to it *** and I find I love it to bits. How excellent it is that having just seen off a decade in which the self indulgent navel gazing of the dreaded ‘Bedwetters’ was often the musical order of the day, how great it is to be starting the new decade singing loudly once more about 'midnight trains' and 'cheap perfume'. I’m so glad that me and this innocent piece of good old fashioned Rock n Roll are friends at last.
More to follow,
Col
** Eventually I will blog extensively about what I regard as a ‘Croakfest’ but that will have to be when I’m in a more grumpy frame of mind.
*** ‘Air 80s Keyboards’ – lean forward, head back, one ‘air keyboard’ in front (left hand) and other ‘air keyboard’ to your right (right hand) and don’t forget, plenty of flourishes. With a little practice this can be far more rewarding than Air Guitar
Enough of that, for now at least.
Barely a day has passed in the family home lately without someone humming or singing the recently revived ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ by Journey. This is apparently as a result of a cover version sung on The X Factor and extensive TV / Radio exposure following its return to the popular music chart thanks to a mass download by an adoring public. My daughters tell me also that there is now a dance cover version thanks to a new ‘Croakfest’** TV show called ‘Glee’ but it’s the no nonsense, honest rocking original I’m concentrating on here.
For me, ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ will always be the first song played at one of the many excellent mid 80s Saturday night house parties hosted by the legendary (and very sadly recently deceased) Andy Gray (our mate from Amersham of course, not the footballer turned pundit – and incidentally the only man I ever knew who would willingly succumb to a couple of rounds of ‘Ride The Prod’ and still come up smiling)
Me being me of course, I would wait until a little later in the evening when everyone was either wrecked or had copped off or both, then try to get a sneaky play of ‘Murmur’ or ‘Meat Is Murder’ or at very least something by The Clash. I’m sorry to say that much as I loved the life, the era, the great friends and the Grey Man’s incredible shindigs, I absolutely hated ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ which to me epitomised mid 80s soft stadium rock, all backlit bubble perms, cap sleeve t-shirts and sprayed on spandex. (Can I just say however that some of the best live gigs I have ever been to were mid 80s rock festivals – just another little contradiction of mine)
And whilst the nostalgia gets sweeter as the years go by, the song remained ignored and unloved, my only brief reminder being in an excellent episode of Family Guy when Peter and his cronies sang it on a karaoke night at the Drunken Clam.
So here we are, some 25 years later, my kids are singing it, my Mrs is singing it, I’m bloody well singing it, doing my best ‘Air 80s Keyboards’ to it *** and I find I love it to bits. How excellent it is that having just seen off a decade in which the self indulgent navel gazing of the dreaded ‘Bedwetters’ was often the musical order of the day, how great it is to be starting the new decade singing loudly once more about 'midnight trains' and 'cheap perfume'. I’m so glad that me and this innocent piece of good old fashioned Rock n Roll are friends at last.
More to follow,
Col
** Eventually I will blog extensively about what I regard as a ‘Croakfest’ but that will have to be when I’m in a more grumpy frame of mind.
*** ‘Air 80s Keyboards’ – lean forward, head back, one ‘air keyboard’ in front (left hand) and other ‘air keyboard’ to your right (right hand) and don’t forget, plenty of flourishes. With a little practice this can be far more rewarding than Air Guitar
Wednesday 13 January 2010
Somethings Of The Damned.................
No, not Dave Vanian (punk Deity though he may be, and definitely worthy of an entry here in his own right at some stage) but 'Village' and 'Children' (Of The Damned) two vintage British sci fi movies from the early 60s which I have just watched for the first time in donkeys and enjoyed as a double bill. There's something bloody marvellous about the way in which us Brits managed to produce our own modestly budgeted, stiff upper lipped, paranoid and genuinely edgy sci fi in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Not to detract from the equally paranoid but far less subtle conterpart American genre of course. The (not actually that unconvincing) cumbersome giant ants of 'Them' in contrast to the blonde bowl cutted poker faced children of Midwich with their staring eyes and Queens English. There is no contrast! They were both the baddies in very different but equally entertaining movies and of both (of course) the product of some vile Commie / Alien conspiracy. Maybe you last watched 'Village' and 'Children' as a youngster (as I did - about 35 years ago) or have not seen them at all, but either way, they are well deserving of a watch, and whilst quite understandably dated, they make for a far more sinister watch than the majority of the modern day effects fests and torture porn lamely masquerading as horror.
Coming up in my next entry........ who the hell knows?
See you soon
Coming up in my next entry........ who the hell knows?
See you soon
The Test..........
Right then. Let's see if this works. Hello all and welcome to my blog. This first entry won't be of much note, just want to make sure I'm hitting the right buttons. OK Here goes..........
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