The Dawn of Fruupp

 

To celebrate the release of Maid in Ireland, a new Fruupp compilation released on 24.07.20 by those good people at Esoteric Records, I include below a piece I did on the origins of Fruupp as part of the sleeve notes for the new CD. This is the first Fruupp complication to feature the remastered versions of the songs which were undertaken for the 2010 re-releases of the original four albums. The Dawn of Fruupp is included here by kind permission of Esoteric Records.

I met Vince McCusker in September 1964 when I moved from the Intermediate School in Magherafelt, Northern Ireland, fifty yards back towards the town centre, to the Technical College. Vince was from the neighbouring village of Maghera and he played guitar. At that point I was into Ray Charles, Hank William, Otis Redding, Beatles, Kinks, Them and Dylan. Vince was more of a Rolling Stones fan and into RnB. I imagine through our shared interest of both music and the beautiful girls of the Tech College we became mates and good friends. 

For the annual college Christmas concert, in 1965, we formed a wee group called Goggles Anonymous – we all wore glasses and Hedgehoppers Anonymous were enjoying the first and only flush of UK chart success at that time. I still can’t remember exactly my (non-performing) involvement in the group bar the fact that I owned a copy of the Beach Boys Sloop John B, the song Goggles Anonymous performed at the concert. Anyway, on the appointed night, I do remember a lot of screaming from the audience. Either the audience were screaming as they had seen people do on TV to the Beatles, or, they were screaming in horror at the harmonies. I’m prepared to give GA the benefit of the doubt on that one. 

Christmas over, Vince and three of his mates from Maghera and one of their mates from The Rainey School, formed a group called the Blues by Five. There were five of them and they played their version of the Blues.

Things were so simple in those days.

The Blues by Five’s material was based on the Them Again album, Otis Redding, Wilson Picket, Ray Charles and songs from a compilation called, Ireland’s Greatest Sounds. I went to hear the group. They were excellent musicians, had a great sound, and they had Paddy Shaw, one of the best singers I’ve ever witnessed live. The remaining Northern Irish singers in my Top 4 would have been: Paul DiVito (The Interns) Billy Brown (The Freshmen) and Van Morrison (Them).

The Blues by Five rehearsed a lot but didn’t play many gigs. Luckily enough a fine gentleman by the name Dixie Kerr lived two doors down from me. Dixie played saxophone in The Breakaways showband. So, I knocked on his door and asked if he could give the Blues by Five the relief spot at some of the dances The Breakaways were playing. Dixie being Dixie said, “Why of course.” 

The Blues by Five were delighted at the several bookings I’d secured for them and immediately appointed me as their manager. I was 15 years old at the time. The Blues by Five were to be Vince and my first steps in the music business. 

I left Magherafelt in Sept 1967 (quite literally) to head to London so that I’d be able to see the Beatles live on a weekly basis.

Or so I thought.

In those days it took a long while for the buzz on the biz to reach Ulster. I arrived at Euston Station only to discover the Beatles had stopped touring a few months previously. 

Not to worry, sure weren’t there lots of other groups to see and hear. Pretty soon I was a regular at the Marquee Club and writing a weekly music column for Belfast’s City Week which eventually became Thursday Magazine. 

Vince started to visit London and would always crash at my flat in Wimbledon. He’d work late into the night on a bunch of songs he was writing for a group he was thinking of forming back in Belfast.  

I thought these songs, Decision, Garden Lady, and Olde Tyme Future, were brilliant. Vince’s main concern was he felt that they might be a wee bit too progressive for the Irish Market.  

So, we hatched our plan. Vince would return to Belfast and form his new group. I would set up a few gigs for them in London and I would bring some managers and record companies down to see them. They, Fruupp, would get signed up, go on to fame and fortune and I’d happily continue with my writing. Sadly, it didn’t really happen that way and so, by default, I became the manager, the agent, the roadie, the sound engineer, the lyricist, the writer of the stories that linked the songs on stage, and… the last one to be paid.  

Fifty years later they’re selling more CDs than they ever did back in the day! (a clue to this phenomenon might just be that CDs didn’t come along until the mid-1980s!) 

Which all brings us nicely to our latest collection, Maid In Ireland. Maid in Ireland was a title we had picked and reserved for a live album, should we ever do one. And we did.  Well at least we recorded one. We recorded the band at the legendary Friars Aylesbury, on Sat 6^th December 1975. Sadly, the tapes, along with all my worldly possessions, were destroyed by a fire in my flat in Peckham the follow year.

I believe the title also covers this selection perfectly. Peter Farrelly’s wonderful Fruupp’s Face on the cover was ever present in everything we did. As it was when I was listening to the songs for this collection. 

Prince of Heaven is unique for two reasons in that this song, a synopsis if you will, of the story I wrote to be the basis for our third album, The Prince of Heaven’s Eyes, didn’t appear on the actual album. It is also the only Fruupp song written and composed by the four original members of the group. 

The idea for Sheba’s Song came from a news story I read in The Daily Mirror about a wild cat’s escape from a zoo. I just love what the band did with the chase and capture sections of the song. Musically it’s always been so visual to me. I’ve often wondered what rap artist Talib Kweli heard when he first came upon the track and decided to sample it for Soon the New Day, a line (taken from the original lyric) he used for his title. I found it very refreshing that Talib and his people were very generous to us with credits and publishing.    

“Another day begins the same 

The things you do you’ll do again.”  

Two lines from Ivan “Touche” Valley’s beautiful poem, which was the inspiration behind Vince’s song, Decision. I always found Vince’s music to be passionately visual and that he should have been writing music for films. Decision has to be included in any Fruupp collection as it really is the best of Fruupp 

Until the next time, 

stay safe. 

Cheers 

pc 

The Mystery of The Wrecking Crew

I was very sad when I heard that Glen Campbell had passed. He was such an outstanding singer, songwriter and guitarist who had influenced me in so many ways over the years.. Sometimes the best thing to do in those circumstances is to sit down and try to put your thoughts down on paper, if only because you know that time will surely erode the intensity of your feelings. So I ended up writing an article for Hot Press magazine in Dublin that focuses on the Mystery (there always seems to be a mystery behind everything I explore) of The Wrecking Crew in general and Glen Campbell and his membership of the same outfit in particular. That Hot Press (30.08.17) piece started:


At one point in the late 1960s the best-selling group (most likely with the rare exception of the BEATLES) in the entire world was a group no fan ever screamed to. There were no known photographs of this group. No one knew their favourite food, drink, actor, actress, movie nor even what clothes they wore. Not only that, but no fan ever knew who they were and the reason for this was quite simply because the record companies didn’t want you to know. The identity of this group was their biggest, and their carefully guarded secret. It was so vital to their continued financial stability that the identity remain a secret. Should anyone outside the hallowed corridors of the Capital Records building in LA, CBS’s BlackRock in NYC, and the likes, discover the secret, it would most likely have killed the careers of some of the biggest groups in the industry and totally reshaped the landscape of the music business as we know it today. 
 The remainder of it can be found at:

http://www.hotpress.com/Glen-Campbell/news/The-Mystery-of-the-Wrecking-Crew--A-Tribute-to-Glen-Campbell/20766090.html

I hope you enjoy...

Cheers

pc 

Sgt., Flynn's Lonely Hertz Club Van

 

I remember the day just like it was just yesterday. It was one morning early in 1963 and I strolled into my mum’s cosy kitchen without a care in the world. She was busy preparing lunch and, as ever, she had the radio on. She’d have been hoping they might play Tony Bennett or Frank Sinatra or, better still, her favourite disc, What Do You Want to Make Those Eyes A Me For? by Emile Ford & The Checkmates.

Up to that point music had been a bit like wallpaper to me; it was there all around me all of the time but it was pretty easy to ignore. It didn’t engage me. But that morning I heard a joyous, infectious, melodic, pleasing sound that stopped me in my tracks and, quite literally, changed my world.

The sound I heard was Please Please Me and I soon discovered this magic came from four Liverpool lads called The Beatles. I became obsessed by both the single and the group. Soon I’d a cheap record player and, a few months later, was also the proud owner of Please Please Me (the long playing record). Another six albums and four years later, I thought I’d it all figured out when they hit me (and the rest of the world) with what has arguably become the most important album ever released: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts’ Club Band.  

During the summer of 1967 I was still living in Northern Ireland, getting ready to leave for London in fact. I'd bought Sgt. Peppers the day it was released but hadn't had a chance to listen to it too much, preoccupied as I was then by trying to secure gigs for my first group, The Blues By Five. But I had liked the album; most certainly I’d liked it a lot. Then, one Saturday evening, I was at this party in a church hall in Cookstown, up in the heartland of Northern Ireland in Co. Tyrone. Up until this point Cookstown was famous for having one very broad street which ran the whole way through the townland. The street was so broad that legend had it pedestrians brought a flask of tea and some sandwiches with them so they could take a break mid-way across. Now, to me, Cookstown was going to become famous for something entirely different.

All the walls and ceiling of the church hall were covered with a mass of colourful posters, streamers and balloons. The music was great and, as they say up in those parts, the craic was ninety. We just sat back and let the evening go. People were talking, laughing, joking and dancing. Some were sitting around, drinking and having a good time and then someone put the Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album on a record-player they’d wired up direct to the PA system.

One by one the party-people stopped talking and chatting and the noise and bustle of the party died down completely until the entire crowd present was being seduced by this beautiful and inspiring music. People were smiling and loving it. Happiness was spreading from one person to another with the same power and speed panic can move through a gathering. It was wonderful to be there. It was certainly a thrill. Every new track drew everyone deeper and deeper into this new world. Our new world, a world created for us by The Beatles. It was like everything they had ever done had been leading up to that point. Every note of music they had ever played, every song they had ever composed had been in preparation for this moment: the moment they captured with Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. It didn't matter that perhaps the Revolver album might have been a better album. It didn't matter that touring had nearly destroyed our band. It didn't matter that I didn't have someone there with me to love and share this with; there was already more than enough love in the air. Nothing really mattered apart from the wonderful sounds filling the speakers and the fact that the Beatles had fulfilled their unspoken promise to us. This album wasn't a great album because it sold lots of copies. The album sold lots of copies, purely and simply, because it was a great album. Yes, maybe even the perfect album.

And the thing about the party that night in Cookstown was that we were all sharing it, sharing the pleasure. And as it was being shared, the pleasure grew. When John Lennon started to sing A Day In the Life, I swear to you I felt shivers run down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my throat went dry. I could feel my nostrils tightening as though tears were going to flow. I bet you not one person in that hall felt any different. No one moved a muscle for fear of spoiling the mood. As the last note, the E Major, drifted into silence, everyone was left stunned and speechless. It was like a mass turn-on but instead of the buzz being incited by a drug, it had been induced by the show The Beatles had wanted, needed to present to us. This was the show they knew they could never do on stage as the moptops to their screaming fans. But they felt they could do it by sending it out to us in the form of the Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album. I know that probably sounds as if I may have been indulging in some of the stimulants that had even managed to make it as far as Cookstown in those days. I wasn't. I never felt the need to. But you really had to be there, in Cookstown on that spectacular summer evening, to know what I'm on about. It was a perfect moment. It was one of those moments that rarely happen in your life but when they do, well then you have to try and find some way to savour the magic moments and cherish and protect them in your memory. All I can tell you is that as we strained to hear the disappearing E Major, there was the most incredible feeling of elation, yes… even euphoria. When all that was left was the crackle of the needle on its final revolution everyone started to clap their hands. We didn't know what else to do. We just clapped and clapped and then clapped some more.

You'll never ever meet anyone who can tell you what it was like the first time the 1812 Overture was performed, or what it was like sitting in the Olympia Theatre in Dublin when The Hallelujah Chorus was receiving its world premiere. In fact, I can guarantee you won't. Time has drawn a line under both of those. But, with hand on heart, I'm happy to tell you that for me what those audiences felt could not have compared with the experience I felt while listening to The Beatles' masterwork that night in Cookstown.

It was never the same again. I never ever experienced that same buzz again. I don't tell you that with the slightest regret. I am proud to have been alive in that time and enjoyed that once in a lifetime experience. I still love and enjoy listening to the record. But it just may have been the communal spirit between all present at the party that special summer evening in Cookstown that made the Beatles playback so extraordinary. I suppose for an experience to have been so special meant that it certainly wasn't going to be an experience which could be repeated frequently, if ever.

And it all came from the music; the music of The Beatles.

And here we are fifty years later (nearly to the day) and we’re enjoying that music and those moments once again and to mark this special 50^th Anniversary celebration I wanted to share a D.I. Christy Kennedy (short) mystery, entitled: Sgt. Flynn’s Lonely Hertz Club Band, which was inspired by the Beatles eighth album or, as it was known to the EMI accountants, PCS 7027.   

         Thanks to the Fab people at Fahrenheit Press a Kindle version is available now. And talking about available now, there is also a Christy Kennedy (short) mystery included in the current (July/ August) edition of Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. The Kennedy story is called Harry Potter & The Shadow of the Forger's Throne, I hope you enjoy both.

Cheers

pc

An Adventure of a Retreating Crown a.k.a., Hats

      The time I started to grow conscious of caps (or hats) would have been during my pre-teens when my mum knit my dad and me a bobble hat each. Mine, by request, had blue and black hoops and my dad’s had red and black and they both, obviously, had bobbles on the crown. I had my mum remove mine. I thought my tassel was just a bit too loud. It’s a thing I’ve always had about clothes; I just don’t like them to be loud.
     
      Don’t get me wrong, I love people who can wear loud clothes and get away with it. I’m just not one of them. I remember I’d been bought a pair of sandals and they were so spanking new, the sole was snow white and, to me, they looked too much like new sandals, so I had my dad put brown boot polish on the white edges to the soles, just so they'd be ‘quieter,’ not so loud and would allow me to sink into the background. I was about six or seven at the time and I often wonder why I would think that way. I mean I haven’t changed a bit really. As an adult I’ve bought clothes and left them in my wardrobe, sometimes even for a couple of years, just so they would age and I’d feel more comfortable wearing them. I recall going to the Royal Albert Hall in London, my favourite venue in the world, for a concert and I remember John Peel was the compere and he had a buckskin, fringed-jacket - as favoured by Native Americans in the movies - draped over his arm. He just wanted to show it to us, the audience. He explained that he hadn’t plucked up the courage to start to wear it, “just yet.” I seem to remember that he brought the said jacket to several concerts, every time unworn, he clearly just wanted us to see that he was still trying to pluck up courage to wear it. So it was comforting to know I wasn't alone.

      But let's get back to the hats. The trouble is finding a hat that suits. Elvis Costello for instance looks absolutely fab in every style of hat. Me, well, not as much, well… not at all really. I do however have to play to the tune of my needs, but we’ll get to that later.

      So how do we start off on this great hat wearing adventure? Well, most likely through being influenced by our fathers, through fashion or by necessity.        
     
      Following my initial few months with the bobble hat my mum knit for me, I would have gone hatless for a good few years. Then in my early teenage years I would have sheltered under the hood of my trusted, and treasured, duffle-coat. It wouldn’t have been as warm as a hat or a cap – it was a bit of a wind trap really and only helped to compound the bluing of the ears.

      My big movement into hats and caps coincidently seemed to happen around two important points. One, the modern day popularity, not to mention preoccupation, with baseball caps, aka Trucker Cap, and, two, my physical need to shelter my head.

      I’d worn baseball caps for ages but I could never find the perfect model, for me. I mean, I would frequently see great models on TV or in the movies, but the ones that were available to purchase would either be too flat, too tall on the crown, a bad fit, or made from transparently synthetic material. But all the time I was going through the search process, I was gradually finding the need to wear some kind of covering on my head. In the winter I would need a hat, some item to cover the head, with its ever receding hairline, to stop it from getting cold. In the summer I’d need it to stop my crown getting burnt by the sun.

      Then I found a Magic Johnston baseball cap which was all but perfect. It was the correct shape; the crown wasn’t too high; neither was it too low; the logo was subtle; the material was good, classy looking and, it was the perfect fit. In fact the MJ cap was so perfect, so cool, that lots of people, and I do mean lots, started to ask me where I’d purchased it. A few were so impressed they even went as far as seeing if they could buy mine from me. Fewer still offered me not unsubstantial amounts of money for my prized possession, thereby, in a way, putting a price on my head. All of which only served to defeat the object of the exercise, which had been to try to find items of clothing which would be comfortable, but would not draw attention. The Michael Johnston cap, as I have already mentioned was, “all but perfect.” Its only two flaws? One: it was snow-white and white hats do tend to… well go off-white through wear and tear and eventually can become grubby. Two: by the time I went seeking a replacement I discovered they’d discontinued my particular model. Maybe I’d been giving the elevated MJ bad press, or uncool attention, by wearing non-stop, an item he’d endorsed.

      Don’t you just hate it when that happens?

      You know, after searching for years, you eventually find an item of clothing you are totally comfortable with, and then, because it works for you so well, you eventually wear it out, (not as in wearing it outside, but as in wearing it until it literally falls to pieces around you) only to find it’s no longer an item of clothing you can buy, even on the internet. Recently though when I find something I like, if through wearing it I find I really, really, like it - like say for instance, a pair of shoes, or a jacket even, you know, something I’m really comfortable with - I’ll go back and try, if I’m not too late and they’re already sold out, and buy an extra back-up identical item, just in case.

      During my base-ball cap period, the two things I discovered about them were that you (obviously) couldn’t wear them everywhere. For example, it would be a bit unseemly to wear a baseball cap at a funeral, or to a formal black tie event, or similar, don’t you think? They certainly weren’t appropriate, so on those occasions you’d either have to risk getting cold by going bare-headed, or revert to a standby black cloth cap in the style favoured by my father during my childhood – even he set my mother’s woollen black and red hooped bobble aside following a discreet passage of time. The other great thing about the traditional cloth cap is that you can fold it and put it in your pocket. This would always come in handy at the above events. I did toy for a brief time with trying to find a suitable cloth cap, as an everyday item of clothing, even tried the one you wear backwards with the wee kangaroo logo on it, but I never really felt either was for me.                

      The other thing I discovered about baseball caps was that, when you really got down to it, they are a young person’s fashion accessory. Eventually I start to think that it was beginning to look a tad unbecoming for a person of my age to be living permanently under the peak of a baseball cap and so, reluctantly at first, I started to look for a replacement.

      Now with hats there really is such a multitude of choices out there: the traditional English business man’s Bowler Hat, aka a Derby Hat; the cheeky Pork Pie Hat; the wet-weather Sou’westers - talking of which I’ve just remembered a photograph of myself, all of four years old and kitted out in my wellies, raincoat and Sou’wester, this would obviously have predated the woollen bobble hat, my mum knit for me, but I have no consciousness of it, only the fleeting memory of that photograph in my mother collection; the Boater; the exotic Panama; the Beanie or the very similar you-too Toboggan Cap;  the race track, Trilby; the not exclusively French, Beret; the anyone for yodelling, Tyrolean Hat; the anyone for tennis Sunvisor, aka the Eyeshade; the anyone for playing scary monsters, Homburg Hat; the Top Hat, now mostly seen only on door men in posh hotels; Sherlock Holmes’ favourite, the Deerstalker; the Leopardskin Pillbox Hat, which was very visually included in a Dylan lyric, allegedly after he witnessed Jackie Kennedy wearing said fashion accessory; the impractical Brakeman’s Cap; the expensive Poor Boy’s Cap; the Cricket Cap, aka Schoolboy’s Cap, the same style that one would receive as a commemorative model, should one ever be lucky enough to play football for one’s country and be ‘capped’; the happily near extinct, Gatsby Cap, also known as the Newsboy Cap; Tommy Cooper’s favourite, the Fez; the conical, that’s not comical, but conical, Nòn Lá; the brain-boiling, Cossack Hat; the dual purpose Ushanka; a Skipper’s Cap, as popularised mid-sixties by a very young Bob Dylan and aped shortly thereafter by The Beatles' John Lennon; an Airman’s Leather Hat, with or without goggles; a Brakeman’s Hat; a Stetson Cowboy Hat, which was also handy for fetching water to your horse, hence the Ten Gallon Hat nickname; the Truckers Cap, aka the aforementioned baseball hat and, last but not least, H the classy Fedora Hat.

      I’ve always been a fan of the Fedora, the hat recently re-popularised by Leonard Cohen. I’d never been able to work up the courage to try one though. So I experimented a wee bit with that style for a while. Once again I went through the process of discovering that some were too high; too low; too tight; had too narrow a brim; had too wide a brim; too hot in the summer or even too cold in the winter. The major problem I had with them thought was that sometimes, just sometimes mind you, they looked fine from the front, but from the side they can look like someone had plopped a miniature armchair upside down on your head. My experiments led me to discover that it was better to have different models for summer and winter. In the summer it’s best to favour the lighter “straw” and consequently naturally aired version of Mr Cohen’s preference, while in the winter I settled on the traditional heavier version. Again you’ll really only get one summer out of alternating two “straw” fedoras, whereas the solid felt, winter model - but again it’s good to alternate a couple - will last you a good few winters if you take good care of them.

      Recently I’ve even discovered what could very easily become my regular winter hat. Again, like all my favourite hats, it’s one that was discovered for me by my wife, Catherine. This particular model is made by Christys’ of London and, as they’ve been around since 1773, I don’t think they’ll be going out of business or discontinuing my favourite model any day soon). It’s called a Travel Trilby, that’s a Travel Trilby, not a Travelling Wilbury. For me, it’s the perfect shape, easy to wear, fits well, with a wee bit, just a wee bit, of a wider brim and is a brown green in colour. It looks like it might be the model favoured by the race track fraternity (but not quite). Another major plus from my point of view is that it’s easily trained into my preferred, most comfortable, shape. However even after all of that, it’s biggest ace-in-one, or USP, and it’s one in the eye to all airport security staff who seem to take great pleasure in giving my hats an extra punch for good measure to make sure they were low enough to go into the X-Ray machines, is that no matter the battering delivered to the Travel Trilby, you can very easily remould it back to your perfect shape in seconds. Christys’ claim you can even roll it up to stuff it in your suitcase and it will spring back into the preferred shape the second it’s been released. I’m just three months into my relationship with my new hat and so I don’t have the confidence or courage to  attempt the rolling–up test with mine just yet, but through time I’m sure…

      I do know it’s been a long search from the bobble-less, bobble hat my mum knit for me (and my dad) all those years ago, but I do have a feeling that, where I rest my (new Christy’s of London) Hat (on my head) will be its home for a long time to come.  


      And now the bit before I go. After finishing work on The Lonesome Heart Is Angry I've been ODing on DVDs mainly the first 4 series of Parenthood - just incredible. Also watched Michael Connelly's Bosch, with Titus Welliver perfect as Harry Bosch. The pilot was 10 outta 10 and the amazing news is it's just been commissioned for a full series! There is a justice in the world after all.   

 

Cheers

 

pc

The Men Who Would be King

Did you ever notice that the more they trailer a movie in the cinema the worse it in invariably turns out to be when, and if, you eventually get to see it?  The other thing I’ve found, and this is also quite consistent as well, is that the more The Sunday Times slags off a movie the more I seem to enjoy it. And why do you think this is Paul? I hear you say. Well gather around and I’ll try and explain.

My wife and I and a couple of our friends went out to the cinema a few weeks ago to see the highly rated Dogtooth and the weird thing was that all the reviewers seemed to get right was the fact that the movie was weird.  Dazed and Confused, the poster proclaimed, thought it just might be the best movie that the reviewer in question had ever seen, which led us all to believe that the said reviewer might just be... yes, you’ve guessed it… dazed and confused.

But the point I’m trying to make is not that The Sunday Times reviewers seem to continually get it wrong and that the Dazed and Confused reviewer might have got it wrong on this particular occasion. No, I think what I’m trying to say is that we’re all different and, yes it is a clique, but we all do have different opinions. And then the bit I’d add to that is that even with reviews, we’re all still subjected to and influenced by, the marketing machines of the big movie companies. Like, for instance, the editor or the reviewer from whichever newspaper or magazine you care to think of, realise that if they slag off a movie then there is no way they are going to get their name mentioned on the poster and adverts advertising the said movie and so they are going to miss out on a major marketing opportunity of their own.

Then from out of nowhere you’ll get a feel-good word-of-mouth movie, and it doesn’t matter how much money the movie company does or does not spend marketing the said movie it will do amazing box office.  I’m talking here about sleeper movies like Sideways, Juno, 500 Days of Summer, Lost in Translation, Dog Day Afternoon and, more recently, the totally amazing, The Secret in Their Eyes.

It’s a bit like starting a fire, how these movies get started.  My dad is brilliant at lighting a fire; he’ll get a few bits of rolled up newspaper, yes maybe even the aforementioned The Sunday Times, a few sticks of wood, two or three lumps of coal and a match and he’s away first time, every time. Whereas I’ll have all of the above, plus a pack of firelighters as well and no matter how much huffing and puffing I do my efforts will mostly fade to darkness. Again no matter how much expensive huffing and puffing the relevant record company, book publisher, or movie company do, if it’s not in the grooves, figuratively speaking, it’s never going to lift off.    

I’ve found it’s the exact same thing with bands, television shows, books, records, comedians, plays, the single most effective way to success is pure and simply word-of-mouth. Perhaps it could be argued that the various companies either think that the latest Johnny Depp - probably currently the biggest marquee name in terms of opening a movie - is going to do very well on their own thank you very much (ditto for the all mega projects in the different fields) and so the money people channel all their funds and energy into the poor cousins; the projects they have spent a lot of money on which haven’t tested well or received favourable reviews.  When the reality is it really doesn’t matter what they do or don’t do for those particular projects. If it’s a turkey it’s never going to fly and if it’s a work of considerable beauty it might be shaky at first but mostly (if enough people are exposed to the project in question) it’ll take flight.    

In my own chosen business I find that usually a project will stand a reasonable chance if the record companies only have the sense to leave it (all) to the artists.  It’s when they start to meddle and “create”, that things can, and do, go drastically wrong.  When it does work thought they’re not beyond basking in a reflected glory.  For instance the chap who just happened to be the boss of the record company involved with the current pop factory (where all music is deemed, 'product') now acts like he’s personally invented the wheel. But here’s the thing: who remembers the name of the boss of the record company at the time of the Beatles success.   Actually I do, it was Sir Joseph Lockwood, but I know his name just because when it comes to Beatle facts I’m just S-A-D and I remember reading that John Lennon invited him to manage the Beatles. But here’s another a test for you, pick your favourite movies and you’ll most probably remember the main actors, maybe even the director, and, if you’re a real anorak, maybe even the writer and if you’re an Oscar awards ceremony nut you might, just might guess the name of the producer, but you’re never ever going to guess the name of the boss of the studio at the time the movie was made. But these people, yes the very same men who would be Kings, are powerful and they do have their vanity projects, where they “create.” I suppose we’re maybe wandering off the beaten path a wee bit now, and then again, maybe not.  Such a person is quite likely to insist that we all should have an opportunity to enjoy (or be subjected to) the latest in the long line of Dogtooth type projects, which is exactly where we came in.

And now, the bit before I go.

This time I’ve seen:

Martian Child – a truly beautiful film featuring John Cusack and Bobby Coleman.

The Mystery in Their Eyes – a definite must-see film.

Solitary Man.  

And heard:

Don McLean @ The Royal Albert Hall, London – a majestic concert.

Ray Davies @ The Canal Street Theatre, Dublin – Artist, band and audience all in perfect form for a perfect concert.

Eric Bibb @ The Bloomsbury, London – a true blues legend in the making.

John Connolly & Mark Billingham @ Waterstones Bookshop, Piccadilly, London – they’re both so sharp and so genuinely entertaining they should take their (duo) show on the road.

Jackson Browne & David Lindley @ The Hampton Court Palace - a beautiful performance with perfect sound.

And read:

Popism by Andy Warhol and Pat Hackett – a revealing period Polaroid.

The Men Would Would be King by Nicole Laporte - a must read for film fans and fans of the foibles of human nature.

You Never Give Me Your Money by Peter Doggett who very subtly reveals to us how and why the Beatles were split up, when they all individually admitted they’d have been just as happy to continue making music together albeit in a less permanent format.

Until the next time,

Cheers

pc

  

Building My Religion - October 2009

My latest book is the Inspector Starrett Mystery, Family Life. That’s the second of the Donegal Mysteries. The first of The Starrett trilogy, The Dust of Death, starts of with a crucifixion in a Donegal church. So that I wouldn’t upset any of the other many churches in Ramelton I invented the Second Federation Church as being the church where the remains of local master carpenter, James Moore, were discovered.

Once I’d made that decision I started to consider my fictitious church and what faith it would celebrate. Again, so that I wouldn’t offend anyone I needed the congregation of The Second Federation Church to practice a faith that had no similarities to any of the other churches, particularly in a town whose nickname was the Holy See, and, at one point boasted fourteen churches. So I considered what would be a good religion to be part of? I wondered what religion you could be involved in that you’d be proud of.

I’ve always been impressed by congregations who go out of their way to help each other. You know on one hand you can pray to a long-haired, white-bearded man, dressed in white sheets who wanders around above the clouds to, say, come and plough your land, or, even, to help you build a barn, or, on the other hand, you can invite a few members of your congregation around, supply them with food and drink, and invite them to help you with your chosen task. Now because the man in white has been very elusive for the past couple of centuries and because on previous occasions you will most likely have gone to the aid of your fellow congregation members, seeking nothing more than food and drink in return, there is a very good chance that they will heed your request and turn up en mass to help you with your chore.

I know, I know, this is all drastically simplistic but, since an incident in my youth, I’ve always been fine with a simplistic approach to things. When I was young (pre-teens) my mother and father bought me a junior carpentry set. My father was a carpenter and I aspired to be the same. Anyway I got my new carpentry set with all it’s shiny new tools and I futtered around for absolutely ages (weeks possibly months) trying to figure out how to build a wooden chair just like the ones at our dinner table. I was going for the full Monty: legs, seat, back, and strengthening & stabilising supports. The problem was that all of my efforts would end up in a collapsed heap on the floor. My father would continue to encourage me by asking me how I was getting on with my chosen task and I’d always say I was still working on the creation of the perfect chair. Time passed, as it does, and still not a chair in sight and eventually, perhaps with a degree of gentle frustration, my father came in one day from work and on discovering his heir still hadn’t mastered the design and construction of a chair, he took three pieces of wood and he nailed them together in something similar to the shape of a “n”, creating a very primitive, yet functional, two legs and seat. He said, “There’s your chair and, until as such times as you can master better, this will suffice.” Don’t you see his well made point was: ‘at least you have your basic chair and now perhaps you can start to perfect it.’ Or, if I wanted to paraphrase it even further, ‘you’ve got to learn to creep before you can learn to walk.’

So my lesson well learnt, and better taught, I proceeded to consider building my religion.

Personally speaking I’ve always felt that religion should be like a family. For me it’s always been about family life; caring for, protecting and encouraging your family members. If we could only learn to love and look after our families behind our closed doors then once we pass over the front doorstep we’ll be much better equipped to deal with life and with people. But don’t you see as humans we generally seem to be in conflict with things and people, rather than to go along with the greatness of things; this not a criticism because this fundamental flaw seems to be built in to most of us. So, a family type support structure, as in what you’d ideally like from your family, had to be a vital ingredient for my religion

In my religion music would also have to be very important. The healing quality of music should never ever be underestimated.

When I was growing up in Magherafelt I remember going to prayer meetings in a wee hall (and in the summer in the marquee) and being totally turned on by the gospel singing. You know there’s that wonderful sound that’s created by the blend of all the male and female voices and magic is created when their unique harmony creates a third voice. I remember the very first time I experienced this chills-down-the-spine sensation like it was yesterday. I even remember turning and looking around the congregation to see where this new voice had come from.

That was my first major “musical” experience.

The second would have been the soulful sound of the voices of the great singers around the Irish Ballrooms and clubs at that time; Billy Brown, Paddy Shaw, Billy Williamson and Paul DeVieto always sounded wonderful and inspirational to me. Then on the recording front I discovered the works of Ray Charles and Otis Redding, both life-changing events for me.

This unquestionable and unquenchable thirst was heightened when I was working with Van Morrison and we went up to the Shetland Islands to hear the chanters in the churches. I don’t know if you’ve ever witnessed this chanting but the sound of a burly Scottish gentleman chanting his lines in a foreign language (to my ears) for the congregation to offer a reply in their sweet soulful harmonies was just unbelievable; truly another hairs on the back of your neck on full alert experience.

These are the times I’ve experienced the true greatness of men and women and they’ve all been connected by music.

So, when considering the foundations of the Second Federation Church there was always music running through my head and as some of you may know the music that makes the connection with me is the music of the Beatles, Jackson Browne, Bob Dylan, Jennifer Warnes, Karen Carpenter, Neil Diamond and Van Morrison, etc etc.

The cent dropped and everything else fell into place easily for me one Saturday night when Catherine and I were in our house in Ramelton. The Town Band was heralding the triumphant return of the local football team. There was as much excitement as if Wayne Rooney had scored a double hat-trick for Manchester United. The Town Band was playing Neil Diamond’s infectious Sweet Caroline. It was just such a joyous sweet sound and they were delivering it with such passion, vibrancy and in a transparent, feel-good manner. They were, to a boy and girl, all beaming from ear to ear in such evident pleasure at the music they were creating as they danced along Ramelton’s streets.

I was so inspired by them that I immediately made them the cornerstone of the Second Federation Church’s music; I based the church choir on the Ramelton Town Band. From there it was a series of very small steps to Van’s Have I told You Lately That I Love You; Dylan’s Forever Young; Listen by Christy Moore; Here Comes The Sun by George Harrison; You Inspire Me by Nick Lowe; In The Neighbourhood by Tom Waits and then two really big ones for me, Graham Nash’s Teach Your Children, the perfect song for a family and an even better one for the church, and Jackson Browne’s The Only Child with Jackson’s unselfish vital lyric, based around the theme of taking good care of each other, becoming the overlying theme of the First Federation Church.

Yes, Take Good Care of Each Other, I mean, is there really anything more important we can do in our lives?

And now, the bit before I go.

This time I’ve been reading and thoroughly enjoying The Coroner by M.R. Hall; Nine Dragons from the master, Michael Connelly, and the sad, yet realistic and funny Last Shop Standing by Graham Jones.

I’ve been watching the DVD version of the first series of mesmerizing Fringe.

And listening to the re-mastered complete collection of Beatles’s CDs, which are all unbelievably amazing. In fact as Beatle Paul recently said, “listening to these versions of the albums is just like being back in the room with the Beatles.” and he should know he was there.


Cheers for now,

pc