Van Morrison returned to the joyous showband sound for His Band & The Street Choir album (1971). As a teenager he’d played saxophone with the Monachs Showband before going on to form THEM – Belfast’s best ever group.
Van’s change in direction might have had something to do with the fact that following the intensity of the sound scape of his ground breaking and critically acclaimed album Astral Weeks (1968) and the jazzy overtones of his third album Moondance (1970), it was time for something lighter, maybe even entertaining. It’s also worth remembering at this stage in his career he was, so to speak, still on the bread line, and trying to support his young family. Perhaps, as I say, he also felt it was time to have some fun because by the time he recorded his fourth solo album, His Band & The Street Choir, he had totally immersed himself in the rich, joyful, playful, infectious and (sometime just downright) funny sound of the Irish Showbands.
The change certainly worked big time because, led by the infectious US top 10 hit single, Domino, the album not only received glowing reviews but it was a major commercial success
Several of the tracks from His Band & The Street Choir – namely Domino; Blue Money; Virgo Clowns; Sweet Jannie and Call Me Up In Dreamland would all have been floor-fillers in the legendary Irish Ballrooms. In my new novel – THE LAST DANCE – I named one of the pivotal venues, the Dreamland Ballroom, located on the shore of Lough Neagh, in homage to Call Me Up In Dreamland. In Cleaning Windows from his Beautiful Vision (1982) album Van sings about, “blowing saxophone at the weekend” perhaps referencing his days in the aforementioned Monachs Showband. Mechanical Bliss, which only appears as the B-side of Van’s single Joyous Sound (1977), would have been an absolute perfect song to show off the zany qualities of The Dixies’ comedic and hyper Joe McCarthy.
The first time I ever saw Van perform life was at the Rainbow Theatre, London on Monday 23rd July and Tuesday 24th July 1973). I can remember thinking, “Feck, if he only hasn’t gone and formed his own bleedin’ showband.” Van was accompanied on stage for those two inspired, and yes, even transcendental, career-making performances by eleven musicians. He’d augmented the traditional showband line-up of: vocals; guitar; bass; drums; organ and brass section with a five piece string section. Recordings from these two concerts were (in part) used for Van’s live album, It’s Too Late To Stop Now (1974). Throughout the album we can hear Van using the showband lead-singer cliché (in a good way) of talking to, and encouraging, his fellow musicians during the song In my humble opinion It’s Too Late to Stop Now is still one of the best live albums ever released. Sadly the album seemed to signal that Mr Morrison, in his incessant need to push himself musically, had, for the time being at least, drawn a line under allowing his showband influences to shine through.
Van Morrison’s Top 10 Showband Influenced Songs.
1. Domino - His Band & The Street Choir
2. Jackie Wilson Said - St Dominic’s Preview
3. Call Me Up In Dreamland - His Band & The Street Choir
4. Red Wood Tree - St Dominic’s Preview
5. Cleaning Windows - Beautiful Vision
6. Wild Night - Tupelo Honey
7. Bright Side of The Road - Into The Music
8. These Dreams of You - Moondance
9. Full Force Gale - Into The Music
10. I Will Be There - St Dominic’s Preview.
Then of course he also wrote the song, which if he’d penned half a century earlier would most definitely have been on every showband’s set list as the last dance. I’m talking about Have I Told You Lately That I Love You from Van’s Avalon Sunset CD (2007). Talking of last dances, did I tell you lately that my new novel is called THE LAST DANCE and is set in Ireland in the late 1950s and early 1960s against a backdrop of the world of Irish showbands and in particular The Playboys Showband from Castlemartin?
This time
I’ve seen:
Detroit 187 – another excellent series which, for some reason or other, didn’t make the second round.
And heard:
The Waterboys at the Sage Gateshead – a force of power and beauty and soul.
Henry McCullough & Band at the Bridge Bar in Ramelton and man is he in fine fettle.
The Commitments at the 02 London – a soul revue, on St Patrick’s Night that worked big time.
Alan Bennett at Cecil Sharp House - the national treasure generously shares his treasures.
And read:
The Big Miss by Hank Haney – an insightful and rewarding read.
The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce - a book which proves that a lot of the times the journey is more rewarding than the destination.
Until the next time…
Cheers
pc
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
Take A Man in a Van
Take a man in a van. (Please note a late 1950s Commer seems to work best). Add 7 to 8 musicians; various musical instruments - selected carefully to suit personal taste; an assortment of equipment, and (here comes the important bit) a Binson Echo Unit, which is the key ingredient in the mix. Instruments and equipment all need to be packed carefully and tightly in the rear of the vehicle. Next add some cushions, a few makeshift seats and a keen sense of humour (both good and bad are recommended). Pepper the above mixture with benlang and flavour with several bottles of lemonade, Jacobs’ biscuits, Tayto Crisps and chocolate bars. Leave to stew for 4 hours (or 120 miles whichever is the quicker) and you’ll have yourself a prize winning Irish Showband. Before you deliver you should garnish with a neon light proudly spelling out the band’s name atop the van. The above mix serves 2000 people four or possibly even five nights a week.
The Irish Showbands - with their high musicianmanship and ability to perform note-perfect the current hits from England and America - were a genuine phenomenon. They were so named in the late 1950s when the Clipper Carlton became the first band of travelling musicians to dump their seats and their music stands and start to move around the stage putting on a show. At one point in the early 1960’s at the peak of the showband phenomenon, there were as many as 760 such bands criss-crossing the length and breadth of the land, putting on shows for the new generation.
The perfect timing of this phenomenally successful trend could have had something to do with the fact that it was started by the first post-Second World War generation – encouraged perhaps by the new infectious sounds they were hearing on the wireless. Equally, the dancing craze might have lifted off because the teenagers who came of age after WW2 sensed that The Troubles were just around the corner. Anyway it didn’t really matter what the reason was; no, not even in the slightest. This particular generation just wanted to get out of their houses, let their hair down and dance. They worked hard, were paid little and so they needed to enjoy themselves. And enjoy themselves they did!
The All Time Top 10 Irish Showbands.
1. The Freshmen
2. The Dixies
3. The Clipper Carlton
4. The Drifters
5. The Royal
6. The Sounds
7. The Miami
8. The Capitol
9. The Breakaways
10. The Mighty Avons
The All Time Top 10 Irish Showband Singles.
1. The Hucklebuck - Brendan Boyer & The Royal
2. And God Created Woman - The Freshmen
3. Together Again - Brendan O’Brien & The Dixies
4. Walking The Streets in The Rain - Butch Moore & The Capitol
5. Pretty Brown Eyes - Joe Dolan & The Drifters
6. It Doesn’t Matter Anymore - Brendan O’Brien & The Dixies
7. Every Step Of The Way - Dickie Rock & The Miami
8. The Haunted House - The Wittnessess
9. Tribute to Jim Reeves - Larry Cunningham & The Mighty Avons
10. Buck’s Polka - Clem Quinn & The Miami
The All Time Top 10 Irish Showband Guitarists
1. Rory Gallagher (Fontana)
2. Henry McCullough (Walter Lewis)
3. Tiger Taylor (Billy Brown)
4. Clem Quinn (Miami)
5. Jim Conlon (Royal)
6. Barney Skillen (Clippers)
7. Victor McCullough (Walter Lewis)
8. Steve Lynch (Dixies)
9. Brendan Quinn (Breakaways)
10 Arty McGlynn (Plattermen)
The All Time Top 10 Irish Showband Singers.
1. Billy Brown
2. Brendan O’Brien
3. Brendan Boyer
4. Joe Dolan
5. Brendan Quinn
6. Derrick Mehaffey
7. Cahir O’Doherty
8. Dickie Rock
9. Martin Dean
10. Red Hurley
I hear you ask who is this guy Martin Dean in the All Time Top 10 Irish Showband singers’ list at number nine?
Funny you should ask that.
He was the lead singer with the Playboys Showband from Castlemartin. The Playboys sadly didn’t quite make the All-Time Top 10 Showbands’ list - they were number 11 in fact. The very same Martin Dean (we’re discussing both his professional and romantic life here) and his band the Playboys Showband from Castlemartin and the story about why history hasn’t been particularly kind to them is the subject of my new novel, which is called THE LAST DANCE and is published by New Island in May.
Oh, and by the way, did I mention that it’s a work of total fiction?
All the best until the next time,
Cheers
pc
The Irish Showbands - with their high musicianmanship and ability to perform note-perfect the current hits from England and America - were a genuine phenomenon. They were so named in the late 1950s when the Clipper Carlton became the first band of travelling musicians to dump their seats and their music stands and start to move around the stage putting on a show. At one point in the early 1960’s at the peak of the showband phenomenon, there were as many as 760 such bands criss-crossing the length and breadth of the land, putting on shows for the new generation.
The perfect timing of this phenomenally successful trend could have had something to do with the fact that it was started by the first post-Second World War generation – encouraged perhaps by the new infectious sounds they were hearing on the wireless. Equally, the dancing craze might have lifted off because the teenagers who came of age after WW2 sensed that The Troubles were just around the corner. Anyway it didn’t really matter what the reason was; no, not even in the slightest. This particular generation just wanted to get out of their houses, let their hair down and dance. They worked hard, were paid little and so they needed to enjoy themselves. And enjoy themselves they did!
The All Time Top 10 Irish Showbands.
1. The Freshmen
2. The Dixies
3. The Clipper Carlton
4. The Drifters
5. The Royal
6. The Sounds
7. The Miami
8. The Capitol
9. The Breakaways
10. The Mighty Avons
The All Time Top 10 Irish Showband Singles.
1. The Hucklebuck - Brendan Boyer & The Royal
2. And God Created Woman - The Freshmen
3. Together Again - Brendan O’Brien & The Dixies
4. Walking The Streets in The Rain - Butch Moore & The Capitol
5. Pretty Brown Eyes - Joe Dolan & The Drifters
6. It Doesn’t Matter Anymore - Brendan O’Brien & The Dixies
7. Every Step Of The Way - Dickie Rock & The Miami
8. The Haunted House - The Wittnessess
9. Tribute to Jim Reeves - Larry Cunningham & The Mighty Avons
10. Buck’s Polka - Clem Quinn & The Miami
The All Time Top 10 Irish Showband Guitarists
1. Rory Gallagher (Fontana)
2. Henry McCullough (Walter Lewis)
3. Tiger Taylor (Billy Brown)
4. Clem Quinn (Miami)
5. Jim Conlon (Royal)
6. Barney Skillen (Clippers)
7. Victor McCullough (Walter Lewis)
8. Steve Lynch (Dixies)
9. Brendan Quinn (Breakaways)
10 Arty McGlynn (Plattermen)
The All Time Top 10 Irish Showband Singers.
1. Billy Brown
2. Brendan O’Brien
3. Brendan Boyer
4. Joe Dolan
5. Brendan Quinn
6. Derrick Mehaffey
7. Cahir O’Doherty
8. Dickie Rock
9. Martin Dean
10. Red Hurley
I hear you ask who is this guy Martin Dean in the All Time Top 10 Irish Showband singers’ list at number nine?
Funny you should ask that.
He was the lead singer with the Playboys Showband from Castlemartin. The Playboys sadly didn’t quite make the All-Time Top 10 Showbands’ list - they were number 11 in fact. The very same Martin Dean (we’re discussing both his professional and romantic life here) and his band the Playboys Showband from Castlemartin and the story about why history hasn’t been particularly kind to them is the subject of my new novel, which is called THE LAST DANCE and is published by New Island in May.
Oh, and by the way, did I mention that it’s a work of total fiction?
All the best until the next time,
Cheers
pc
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
The Executioner Rarely Sings a Sad Song
For a long time now I’ve been preoccupied about how murderers murder. How thieves steal and how people who commit crimes, commit crimes. But perhaps the question I should have been asking myself is not how, but why a certain percentage of society does these things.
I mean why would someone feel superior to the degree that they would hurt someone, steal from someone or, top of the list, go as far as taking someone’s life? And perhaps it’s even because this certain percentage of people feels inferior rather than superior that they carry out these malevolent deeds.
You’re at school and growing up with your mates and you’re all getting on fine and then one day one of your mates figures that it is okay/acceptable/permissible to break into someone’s locker and steal either, food, money, books or personal possessions. Why is this so?
Why is this so when it’s sometimes not even the kids who have less pocket money or those who are falling behind in their studies who develop a preference for the crooked way to get by? No, sometimes it’s the smartest or the better off kids who make a unilateral decision to take rather than to earn.
Again, you’re young, you ask your parents for a bike (for bike substitute any one of a number of things, such as skate board, computer games, iPhone, anything that rates medium to high on the covet scale) and your parents, for whatever reason, refuse. So the next day you’re out and about and you see the kid from across the street with the said item; is the only thing in your mind the genesis of a plan to steal the item in question? Or are you the type of person who immediately starts to plan taking on odd jobs and saving furiously until you can afford your own?
Why are some people programmed one way and not the other? Or, again, maybe the question should be: how are some people programmed one way and not the other? Is crime as a result of lack of respect for the victim or (even) the criminal suffering from a lack of respect for themselves?
I have often been confronted, as I imagine every crime writer must, by the question: What would be a valid believable motive for someone committing murder? Or even, going down a little further down this road: what can I come up as a believable motive for murder?
And you sit and you think, and you think some more about it, yet I’ve rarely ever been able to put myself in a mind-set where I actually believed: okay, if I had been subjected to those set of circumstances I could actually have committed a murder. Of course I’m excluding all circumstances of self-defence in my flights of imagination.
One of the reasons I write crime novels is to try and get a handle on crime and criminals and (mainly) the impact and mechanics of taking a life. I have come to the conclusion that there is little chance of understanding the process.
From Norman Mailer’s masterpiece, The Executioner’s Song, we learned that Gary Gilmour ran around Utah, leaving literally a trail of blood behind him as he popped his gun at people dropping them without even the slightest apparent thought of remorse. And then closer to home there’s the Rothbury tragedy in 2010 where an ex-convict indiscriminately shoots people as he drives around the picturesque village on his rampage.
Both of these murderers seemed, to a large degree, to be preoccupied by a legend; their own legend in fact. But did they really both believe that behaving as they did would benefit themselves in their lives?
The bottom line in both cases was that, pure and simply speaking, both their lives were going to be over, come to a wretched premature ending. It could be argued that heaven or hell wasn’t really going to come into it for either of them because when they died that was most certainly the very end of the line for them. When you die you hit the big full stop; you cease to be and, like the proverbial dead parrot, you’re over, kaput, lacking in life and no longer in a position to either take pleasure from, or benefit from your actions. Had they already concluded that when it gets down to it and they were standing on the bridge of their own death, that the lives they had lead would have made no difference whatsoever in the big scheme of things?
So, is the answer punishment? Well obviously not. That system clearly doesn’t work apart from maybe even adding to the buzz. Don’t get me wrong I’m not for one minute suggesting that we do away with trials, punishment and prisons but it seems to me the people who are prepared to commit the crimes we talk about would also appear to be the same people who genuinely feel they can get away with their choice of crimes and so… the problem we have to address is not how people commit crimes but, as we mentioned at the top, more why they commit them.
And now the bit before I go…
This time I’ve seen:
We Bought A Zoo
J Edgar.
Margin Call
Moneyball
The above four plus The Way (with Martin Sheen) definitely deserve to take all the Oscars.
Jack and Bobby DVD - amazing US TV series, once again I found myself asking the question why, oh why, was it pulled after only one season? Maybe it’s more a case of everyone is out of step apart from our William.
and read:
Michael Lewis – Moneyball
Michael Lewis – Boomerang
Michael Lewis – Liar’s Poker
And heard:
Nick Lowe – an absolute tower of strength – at the Stables, Waverdon.
Until the next time,
Cheers
pc
I mean why would someone feel superior to the degree that they would hurt someone, steal from someone or, top of the list, go as far as taking someone’s life? And perhaps it’s even because this certain percentage of people feels inferior rather than superior that they carry out these malevolent deeds.
You’re at school and growing up with your mates and you’re all getting on fine and then one day one of your mates figures that it is okay/acceptable/permissible to break into someone’s locker and steal either, food, money, books or personal possessions. Why is this so?
Why is this so when it’s sometimes not even the kids who have less pocket money or those who are falling behind in their studies who develop a preference for the crooked way to get by? No, sometimes it’s the smartest or the better off kids who make a unilateral decision to take rather than to earn.
Again, you’re young, you ask your parents for a bike (for bike substitute any one of a number of things, such as skate board, computer games, iPhone, anything that rates medium to high on the covet scale) and your parents, for whatever reason, refuse. So the next day you’re out and about and you see the kid from across the street with the said item; is the only thing in your mind the genesis of a plan to steal the item in question? Or are you the type of person who immediately starts to plan taking on odd jobs and saving furiously until you can afford your own?
Why are some people programmed one way and not the other? Or, again, maybe the question should be: how are some people programmed one way and not the other? Is crime as a result of lack of respect for the victim or (even) the criminal suffering from a lack of respect for themselves?
I have often been confronted, as I imagine every crime writer must, by the question: What would be a valid believable motive for someone committing murder? Or even, going down a little further down this road: what can I come up as a believable motive for murder?
And you sit and you think, and you think some more about it, yet I’ve rarely ever been able to put myself in a mind-set where I actually believed: okay, if I had been subjected to those set of circumstances I could actually have committed a murder. Of course I’m excluding all circumstances of self-defence in my flights of imagination.
One of the reasons I write crime novels is to try and get a handle on crime and criminals and (mainly) the impact and mechanics of taking a life. I have come to the conclusion that there is little chance of understanding the process.
From Norman Mailer’s masterpiece, The Executioner’s Song, we learned that Gary Gilmour ran around Utah, leaving literally a trail of blood behind him as he popped his gun at people dropping them without even the slightest apparent thought of remorse. And then closer to home there’s the Rothbury tragedy in 2010 where an ex-convict indiscriminately shoots people as he drives around the picturesque village on his rampage.
Both of these murderers seemed, to a large degree, to be preoccupied by a legend; their own legend in fact. But did they really both believe that behaving as they did would benefit themselves in their lives?
The bottom line in both cases was that, pure and simply speaking, both their lives were going to be over, come to a wretched premature ending. It could be argued that heaven or hell wasn’t really going to come into it for either of them because when they died that was most certainly the very end of the line for them. When you die you hit the big full stop; you cease to be and, like the proverbial dead parrot, you’re over, kaput, lacking in life and no longer in a position to either take pleasure from, or benefit from your actions. Had they already concluded that when it gets down to it and they were standing on the bridge of their own death, that the lives they had lead would have made no difference whatsoever in the big scheme of things?
So, is the answer punishment? Well obviously not. That system clearly doesn’t work apart from maybe even adding to the buzz. Don’t get me wrong I’m not for one minute suggesting that we do away with trials, punishment and prisons but it seems to me the people who are prepared to commit the crimes we talk about would also appear to be the same people who genuinely feel they can get away with their choice of crimes and so… the problem we have to address is not how people commit crimes but, as we mentioned at the top, more why they commit them.
And now the bit before I go…
This time I’ve seen:
We Bought A Zoo
J Edgar.
Margin Call
Moneyball
The above four plus The Way (with Martin Sheen) definitely deserve to take all the Oscars.
Jack and Bobby DVD - amazing US TV series, once again I found myself asking the question why, oh why, was it pulled after only one season? Maybe it’s more a case of everyone is out of step apart from our William.
and read:
Michael Lewis – Moneyball
Michael Lewis – Boomerang
Michael Lewis – Liar’s Poker
And heard:
Nick Lowe – an absolute tower of strength – at the Stables, Waverdon.
Until the next time,
Cheers
pc
Thursday, July 14, 2011
In Search of The Glastonbury Roar
Every year towards the end of June I head off on my annual pilgrimage to witness, experience, hear, and enjoy the Glastonbury Roar. It’s a roar of an audience like you hear nowhere else in the world. It very organic and natural and it comes from nowhere other than a crowd of mostly non-partisans reacting to an excellent performance by artists at the peak of their art.
My adventure starts at Paddington Railway Station where the train company seems to be working on the infamous cattle market approach BA perfected in the good old days at their LHR Gate 49 for the Belfast shuttle. At Paddington anyone carrying a rucksack, tent and wellies were herded into a compound (literally) and then crammed onto special festival trains, leaving the scheduled trains free for the humans. I manage to avoid this zoo by booking a seat on a train to Taunton, the stop after Castle Cary. Castle Cary is the official station for the festival from where there is a free shuttle bus service into the site. This year I moved accommodation to The Wookey Hole Hotel just outside of Wells and my room is in the infamous Witch’s Hat-shaped tower of the hotel - I kid you not - certainly a good way to pick up the local vibe if not the festival vibe. The Hotel is attached to famous caves (where the aforementioned witch was turned to stone - something to do with unrequited love) and a paper mill museum, which I had intended to visit all over the weekend but never got around to.
Friday morning I make my way over to the site, secure the necessary passes and head straight to The Acoustic Stage, which I have programmed for Michael Eavis since 1993. The state of our field when I arrive testifies to the fact that it had rained for 9 out of the 11 days the team have been on site for the set-up and the resultant mud is already ankle-deep. If it rains when the festival plant is being moved on site it’s a disaster; if it doesn’t start to rain until the festival starts then that’s much more manageable. To the seasoned festival goers it’s water (and a bit more) off a duck’s back and they have all their personal favourite mud-free hang outs (like the cosy Acoustic Stage backstage Bar) while, for the festival virgins, there’s so much energy flying around and between the lay-lines they hardy even notice the mud on their boots is getting dangerously close to their knees.
At the Acoustic Stage the first act on, the Secret Sisters, do us proud with their heart-warming old-fashion styled, American Country Music approach. Their first album received great reviews and they most certainly lived up to expectations but the surprise of the day, maybe even the weekend, is Rainy Boy Sleep. No one knew a thing about him, yet he held the Secret Sisters large audience and even added to it with his charm, arresting lyrics and magic melodies.
The afternoon flew by all the more quickly due to John Ottway’s madcap performance including 7 death defying summersaults (while simultaneously playing the guitar) and a box of Brownies. The home-baked brown squares are pure, simple and (even though it’s Glastonbury) restricted to classic brownie mix. They’re amazing, probably the best ever and left as a present in the Asgard site office. The Ottway performance needs to be seen to be believed.
There’s lots of sound spillage from the main stage and the rain continues to bombard us, but with Michael Eavis one-man-vibing campaign it’s impossible for anyone to feel down for too long. It’s also impossible to keep anyplace tidy with all the mud. Everyone is sitting around waiting for the sun. Down on the main field regular festival attenders have long ago learnt that performing mud-dancing for the cameras (TV and Press)is a very quick route for national attention. I am fascinated by the way people walk through the mud. They have the arms outstretched liked wings and look like they are tip-toeing past a sleeping dog fearful of waking it. As I vainly search the skies for that breakthrough ray of sunshine I think of the classic George Harrison, song called Here Comes The Sun (which Sunday artist Paul Simon sometimes performs) and I remember Michael Eavis admitting to me a few weeks previous that his biggest Glastonbury regret was the year he was offered George Harrison but he couldn’t accommodate the former Beatle because he’d already confirmed his headliners for that year and Michael is too honourable a man to go back on his word.
This year he has a great reason to celebrate the name George because two weeks before the festival Emily (Michael’s daughter) and her husband, Nick, (who are both very involved with Michael in organising the festival) celebrated the birth of their first child, George.
This year the first Glastonbury Roar (that I experience) happened during Newton Faulkner’s set. He’s been an Acoustic Stage regular since before he broke big and he’s a big favourite with both the Acoustic Stage audience and crew. He’s been hanging around the tent all day (and most of the weekend) listening to the other acts and generally enjoying himself. He completely filled the tent himself later in the (Friday) afternoon and went down incredibly well with the audience. Towards the end of his set he performed his version of Bohemian Rhapsody using the audience as his backing band to cover all of the complex harmonies – note perfect - and when they get to the end of the song the Roar emerges from deep in the heart of the tent and erupts to fill the tent and the field beyond. The Roar really is a wondrous experience.
What rain and mud indeed?
Hothouse Flowers gain a Roar from the crammed Acoustic Stage tent for their unique blend of infectious Celtic Soul music. They just love to perform and it seems to matter little to them how small or how large the audience is. Size has nothing to do with music. Brit Floyd close the night for us and several of the crew where seen and heard wandering around muttering variations on, “it sounds just like the record.”
Back to my spooky room in the witch’s hat and by the time I get there it’s the early hours of the morning and the BBC are winding down their coverage of the first day of the festival. Glastonbury on TV doesn’t really work for me. The screen is much, much too small to catch even a millionth of what’s going on at the festival at any one moment, which we’ll discuss later in more detail. My worry is that people watching Glastonbury in TV-land will think what they see is all there is and never have a real idea of what’s occurring down on Worthy Farm. I’d hate people to think that one of two couples of “radio” presenters sitting around in clean wellies, talking a load of absolute rubbish, is all there is to Glastonbury. The BBC would be much better served with a set of different presenters each year who might inject some freshness and enthusiasm. And while we’re on the subject of telly, why on earth would U2 (and Coldplay on Saturday Night) agree to come straight from the stage to the BBC studio to do an interview? Can’t they see all they are doing is damaging their mystique? They came, they conquered; end of story. Napoleon certainly didn’t do interviews after his victories; no, he kept his box of tricks up his sleeve for his next battle.
My Saturday starts with an early morning adventure in Wells and a visit to the stunning Bishops Palace and Gardens, which I’ve earmarked for a return visit to investigate the amazing buildings closer. I then pottered around the market being greatly amused by a stall owner’s dog who’d been tied to the foot of a bench and obviously had been ordered to sit and keep quiet. The dog’s tail betrayed exactly how hyper the poor dog was and he’d cleared a spotless arc on the very dusty footpath in order to vent his pent up enthusiasm.
One of the big highlights of Saturday afternoon at the Acoustic Stage is Thea Gilmour, a very heavily pregnant Thea in fact. Her new album is her version of Dylan’s classic, John Wesley Harding (in its entirety). Thea’s version is adventurous and vital and I’d really been looking forward to her promise to perform the album live. Thea and her excellent band are in fine form and the adventurous project works just as well live as it does on her CD. She gets to the end of her set, singing her heart out and our Stage manager breathes a sign of relief as she safely sets foot on the earth without needing to visit her doctor.
Nick Lowe and his fine band have a new sense of purpose about them. Could it be due to the fact that they were playing with new found confidence now that they have what’s certainly their best ever album, The Old Magic, under their belt and due for a release this September. As they leave the stage and head to their makeshift dressing room, Alan Yentob, still buzzing from the show, nearly knocks me over in his enthusiasm to tell Nick how much he really loved the performance.
Next up is Pentangle and even with their (the 5 musicians) combined age of 350 years, they still raise a Roar with a truly virtuoso performance of their unique first class music.
Saturday’s closer Deacon Blue, led by major music fan Rickie Ross, pack the tent to the rafters with their loyal followers, and it isn’t long before we all experience another mighty Celtic Roar.
Sunday morning I bum a lift onto site in Don McLean’s pure luxury-on-wheels tour bus, which costs the entire budget of a small nation to rent. As we arrived on site the Fisherman’s Friends are making a strong connection with the growing audience at the Pyramid Stage, which is where Don will also be appearing. A whole different set of passes are required for this area of the site but it’s well worth the additional wrist bands and laminates if only because of the amazing spicy bean burgers in catering. The main stage area is packed for Don with fans keen for his world famous song but surprising the Glastonbury Roar happened long before he performed American Pie, during a spine tingling version of Crying. Don’s stripped down set-up with no frills and absolutely everything going into the power of the performance. And the performance is so emotionally charged that before very long every single member of the 100,000 audience is glued to the stage, lost in the song and in the performance of the song. As it ends 100,000 people from 9 years old to 90 years old, overcome by a communal lump-in-the-throat and tear-in-the-eye, react spontaneously to create a genuine Glastonbury Roar. But Don Mclean doesn’t play to the showbusines tradition and use that momentum of his second Roar, for American Pie, to go in for the kill. No, his band leaves the stage and he, accompanying himself only on guitar, does a show-stopping, heart-wrenching, version of Seaman, another of his own songs, and the amazing thing is that each and everyone one of the audience who had being going ape at the end of American Pie stay exactly where they are, magnetised to the layline and genuinely moved by the power of music – truly an amazing experience to behold. You see that’s part of the magic of Glastonbury; artists like U2, Elbow, Don McLean, Beyonce, Radiohead, Plan B, Primal Scream, Fisherman’s Friends, etc., can share the same stage and gain the same attention, respect and devotion from the audience.
That’s all down to Michael Eavis’ vision for Glastonbury.
If an artist is great Michael wants to try to find a spot for them at Glastonbury.
With an audience of 140,000 (plus performers, crew, staff, traders, stewards, security etc.,) it is officially the 3rd largest village in the SW of England over that weekend; bigger even than Bath!
This year was the 41st anniversary of first festival and the 30th actual festival and Michael had 1939 acts playing on 51 stages!
On top of that there was a Cinema, (Pilton Pavilion); the Kidz field; Circus tents; healing fields; dance tents; spaces for poetry, cabaret, comedy, talks and workshops. There are regular festival goers who never visit a single music stage over the course of the entire weekend. Still even for them there’s just so much going on they never get a chance to do all the things they wish to do.
Me, I’m happy just to wander around knowing there is the chance I’ll be able to experience the unique and soulful Glastonbury Roar.
And now the bit before I go...
This time I’ve seen:
Transformers
Larry Crowe
X Men
Senna (amazing!)
Water For Elephants.
Wallander – the first 2 Swedish series. (Consistently incredible, the best TV detective series since Morse)
Life – the first 2 series – I’m still trying to work out why this got cancelled after the 2nd series.
And read:
Hans Fallada – Alone in Berlin
And heard:
Live Taste – Taste CD – very exciting and shows the band at their peak. I was disappointed though to see that the sleeve notes I did for the original vinyl album (1972) haven’t survived. This was my first professional engagement as it were. Well… it wasn’t really professional in the true sense of the word in that I didn’t get paid for my work. Eddie Kennedy, the Taste manager, said at the time he commissioned me that I could either receive a payment or a credit on the sleeve for my work, but not both. Vanity won out.
Dylan at Finsbury Park – a legendary performance.
Christy Moore & Declan Sinnott at Finsbury Park – working men in their prime.
Ray Davies his band, Choir & Orchestra @ The Meltdown Festival – a major treat.
Alan Price Set @ The Meltdown Festival – his between song chat is hilarious but didn’t distract from his perfect performance. He was in fine voice and he did all the songs and hits you long for.
Michael Eavis @ The Meltdown Festival – enlightening and inspiring.
Several Glastonbury Roars
Until the next time…
Cheers
pc
My adventure starts at Paddington Railway Station where the train company seems to be working on the infamous cattle market approach BA perfected in the good old days at their LHR Gate 49 for the Belfast shuttle. At Paddington anyone carrying a rucksack, tent and wellies were herded into a compound (literally) and then crammed onto special festival trains, leaving the scheduled trains free for the humans. I manage to avoid this zoo by booking a seat on a train to Taunton, the stop after Castle Cary. Castle Cary is the official station for the festival from where there is a free shuttle bus service into the site. This year I moved accommodation to The Wookey Hole Hotel just outside of Wells and my room is in the infamous Witch’s Hat-shaped tower of the hotel - I kid you not - certainly a good way to pick up the local vibe if not the festival vibe. The Hotel is attached to famous caves (where the aforementioned witch was turned to stone - something to do with unrequited love) and a paper mill museum, which I had intended to visit all over the weekend but never got around to.
Friday morning I make my way over to the site, secure the necessary passes and head straight to The Acoustic Stage, which I have programmed for Michael Eavis since 1993. The state of our field when I arrive testifies to the fact that it had rained for 9 out of the 11 days the team have been on site for the set-up and the resultant mud is already ankle-deep. If it rains when the festival plant is being moved on site it’s a disaster; if it doesn’t start to rain until the festival starts then that’s much more manageable. To the seasoned festival goers it’s water (and a bit more) off a duck’s back and they have all their personal favourite mud-free hang outs (like the cosy Acoustic Stage backstage Bar) while, for the festival virgins, there’s so much energy flying around and between the lay-lines they hardy even notice the mud on their boots is getting dangerously close to their knees.
At the Acoustic Stage the first act on, the Secret Sisters, do us proud with their heart-warming old-fashion styled, American Country Music approach. Their first album received great reviews and they most certainly lived up to expectations but the surprise of the day, maybe even the weekend, is Rainy Boy Sleep. No one knew a thing about him, yet he held the Secret Sisters large audience and even added to it with his charm, arresting lyrics and magic melodies.
The afternoon flew by all the more quickly due to John Ottway’s madcap performance including 7 death defying summersaults (while simultaneously playing the guitar) and a box of Brownies. The home-baked brown squares are pure, simple and (even though it’s Glastonbury) restricted to classic brownie mix. They’re amazing, probably the best ever and left as a present in the Asgard site office. The Ottway performance needs to be seen to be believed.
There’s lots of sound spillage from the main stage and the rain continues to bombard us, but with Michael Eavis one-man-vibing campaign it’s impossible for anyone to feel down for too long. It’s also impossible to keep anyplace tidy with all the mud. Everyone is sitting around waiting for the sun. Down on the main field regular festival attenders have long ago learnt that performing mud-dancing for the cameras (TV and Press)is a very quick route for national attention. I am fascinated by the way people walk through the mud. They have the arms outstretched liked wings and look like they are tip-toeing past a sleeping dog fearful of waking it. As I vainly search the skies for that breakthrough ray of sunshine I think of the classic George Harrison, song called Here Comes The Sun (which Sunday artist Paul Simon sometimes performs) and I remember Michael Eavis admitting to me a few weeks previous that his biggest Glastonbury regret was the year he was offered George Harrison but he couldn’t accommodate the former Beatle because he’d already confirmed his headliners for that year and Michael is too honourable a man to go back on his word.
This year he has a great reason to celebrate the name George because two weeks before the festival Emily (Michael’s daughter) and her husband, Nick, (who are both very involved with Michael in organising the festival) celebrated the birth of their first child, George.
This year the first Glastonbury Roar (that I experience) happened during Newton Faulkner’s set. He’s been an Acoustic Stage regular since before he broke big and he’s a big favourite with both the Acoustic Stage audience and crew. He’s been hanging around the tent all day (and most of the weekend) listening to the other acts and generally enjoying himself. He completely filled the tent himself later in the (Friday) afternoon and went down incredibly well with the audience. Towards the end of his set he performed his version of Bohemian Rhapsody using the audience as his backing band to cover all of the complex harmonies – note perfect - and when they get to the end of the song the Roar emerges from deep in the heart of the tent and erupts to fill the tent and the field beyond. The Roar really is a wondrous experience.
What rain and mud indeed?
Hothouse Flowers gain a Roar from the crammed Acoustic Stage tent for their unique blend of infectious Celtic Soul music. They just love to perform and it seems to matter little to them how small or how large the audience is. Size has nothing to do with music. Brit Floyd close the night for us and several of the crew where seen and heard wandering around muttering variations on, “it sounds just like the record.”
Back to my spooky room in the witch’s hat and by the time I get there it’s the early hours of the morning and the BBC are winding down their coverage of the first day of the festival. Glastonbury on TV doesn’t really work for me. The screen is much, much too small to catch even a millionth of what’s going on at the festival at any one moment, which we’ll discuss later in more detail. My worry is that people watching Glastonbury in TV-land will think what they see is all there is and never have a real idea of what’s occurring down on Worthy Farm. I’d hate people to think that one of two couples of “radio” presenters sitting around in clean wellies, talking a load of absolute rubbish, is all there is to Glastonbury. The BBC would be much better served with a set of different presenters each year who might inject some freshness and enthusiasm. And while we’re on the subject of telly, why on earth would U2 (and Coldplay on Saturday Night) agree to come straight from the stage to the BBC studio to do an interview? Can’t they see all they are doing is damaging their mystique? They came, they conquered; end of story. Napoleon certainly didn’t do interviews after his victories; no, he kept his box of tricks up his sleeve for his next battle.
My Saturday starts with an early morning adventure in Wells and a visit to the stunning Bishops Palace and Gardens, which I’ve earmarked for a return visit to investigate the amazing buildings closer. I then pottered around the market being greatly amused by a stall owner’s dog who’d been tied to the foot of a bench and obviously had been ordered to sit and keep quiet. The dog’s tail betrayed exactly how hyper the poor dog was and he’d cleared a spotless arc on the very dusty footpath in order to vent his pent up enthusiasm.
One of the big highlights of Saturday afternoon at the Acoustic Stage is Thea Gilmour, a very heavily pregnant Thea in fact. Her new album is her version of Dylan’s classic, John Wesley Harding (in its entirety). Thea’s version is adventurous and vital and I’d really been looking forward to her promise to perform the album live. Thea and her excellent band are in fine form and the adventurous project works just as well live as it does on her CD. She gets to the end of her set, singing her heart out and our Stage manager breathes a sign of relief as she safely sets foot on the earth without needing to visit her doctor.
Nick Lowe and his fine band have a new sense of purpose about them. Could it be due to the fact that they were playing with new found confidence now that they have what’s certainly their best ever album, The Old Magic, under their belt and due for a release this September. As they leave the stage and head to their makeshift dressing room, Alan Yentob, still buzzing from the show, nearly knocks me over in his enthusiasm to tell Nick how much he really loved the performance.
Next up is Pentangle and even with their (the 5 musicians) combined age of 350 years, they still raise a Roar with a truly virtuoso performance of their unique first class music.
Saturday’s closer Deacon Blue, led by major music fan Rickie Ross, pack the tent to the rafters with their loyal followers, and it isn’t long before we all experience another mighty Celtic Roar.
Sunday morning I bum a lift onto site in Don McLean’s pure luxury-on-wheels tour bus, which costs the entire budget of a small nation to rent. As we arrived on site the Fisherman’s Friends are making a strong connection with the growing audience at the Pyramid Stage, which is where Don will also be appearing. A whole different set of passes are required for this area of the site but it’s well worth the additional wrist bands and laminates if only because of the amazing spicy bean burgers in catering. The main stage area is packed for Don with fans keen for his world famous song but surprising the Glastonbury Roar happened long before he performed American Pie, during a spine tingling version of Crying. Don’s stripped down set-up with no frills and absolutely everything going into the power of the performance. And the performance is so emotionally charged that before very long every single member of the 100,000 audience is glued to the stage, lost in the song and in the performance of the song. As it ends 100,000 people from 9 years old to 90 years old, overcome by a communal lump-in-the-throat and tear-in-the-eye, react spontaneously to create a genuine Glastonbury Roar. But Don Mclean doesn’t play to the showbusines tradition and use that momentum of his second Roar, for American Pie, to go in for the kill. No, his band leaves the stage and he, accompanying himself only on guitar, does a show-stopping, heart-wrenching, version of Seaman, another of his own songs, and the amazing thing is that each and everyone one of the audience who had being going ape at the end of American Pie stay exactly where they are, magnetised to the layline and genuinely moved by the power of music – truly an amazing experience to behold. You see that’s part of the magic of Glastonbury; artists like U2, Elbow, Don McLean, Beyonce, Radiohead, Plan B, Primal Scream, Fisherman’s Friends, etc., can share the same stage and gain the same attention, respect and devotion from the audience.
That’s all down to Michael Eavis’ vision for Glastonbury.
If an artist is great Michael wants to try to find a spot for them at Glastonbury.
With an audience of 140,000 (plus performers, crew, staff, traders, stewards, security etc.,) it is officially the 3rd largest village in the SW of England over that weekend; bigger even than Bath!
This year was the 41st anniversary of first festival and the 30th actual festival and Michael had 1939 acts playing on 51 stages!
On top of that there was a Cinema, (Pilton Pavilion); the Kidz field; Circus tents; healing fields; dance tents; spaces for poetry, cabaret, comedy, talks and workshops. There are regular festival goers who never visit a single music stage over the course of the entire weekend. Still even for them there’s just so much going on they never get a chance to do all the things they wish to do.
Me, I’m happy just to wander around knowing there is the chance I’ll be able to experience the unique and soulful Glastonbury Roar.
And now the bit before I go...
This time I’ve seen:
Transformers
Larry Crowe
X Men
Senna (amazing!)
Water For Elephants.
Wallander – the first 2 Swedish series. (Consistently incredible, the best TV detective series since Morse)
Life – the first 2 series – I’m still trying to work out why this got cancelled after the 2nd series.
And read:
Hans Fallada – Alone in Berlin
And heard:
Live Taste – Taste CD – very exciting and shows the band at their peak. I was disappointed though to see that the sleeve notes I did for the original vinyl album (1972) haven’t survived. This was my first professional engagement as it were. Well… it wasn’t really professional in the true sense of the word in that I didn’t get paid for my work. Eddie Kennedy, the Taste manager, said at the time he commissioned me that I could either receive a payment or a credit on the sleeve for my work, but not both. Vanity won out.
Dylan at Finsbury Park – a legendary performance.
Christy Moore & Declan Sinnott at Finsbury Park – working men in their prime.
Ray Davies his band, Choir & Orchestra @ The Meltdown Festival – a major treat.
Alan Price Set @ The Meltdown Festival – his between song chat is hilarious but didn’t distract from his perfect performance. He was in fine voice and he did all the songs and hits you long for.
Michael Eavis @ The Meltdown Festival – enlightening and inspiring.
Several Glastonbury Roars
Until the next time…
Cheers
pc
Monday, June 6, 2011
A Question of Balance
Okay, Ireland as a nation has, over the years, produced fine artists such as:
Billy Brown
Christy Moore
Dave Lewis
Damien Rice
Enya
Gary Moore
Gilbert O’Sullivan
Glen Hansard
Henry McCullough
Hothouse Flowers
Johnny McEvoy
Joseph Locke
Juliet Turner
Liam O’Maonlai
Lisa Hannigan
Luka Bloom
Mary Black
Mary Coughlan
Rory Gallagher
Séamus Ennis
Sinead Lohan
Sinead O’Connor
Skid Row
Taste
Them
The Chieftains
The Clancy Bros With Tommy Makem
The Cranberries
The Dubliners
The Frames
The Interns
The Undertones
Thin Lizzy
Paul Brady
Paul DiVito
Phil Lynott
Planxty
U2
Van Morrison
So could anyone please tell me why when the President of The United States of America recently visited these shores our musical representatives were:
Jedward and Westlife?
I’m just asking the question and not meaning any offence.
Cheers
pc
Billy Brown
Christy Moore
Dave Lewis
Damien Rice
Enya
Gary Moore
Gilbert O’Sullivan
Glen Hansard
Henry McCullough
Hothouse Flowers
Johnny McEvoy
Joseph Locke
Juliet Turner
Liam O’Maonlai
Lisa Hannigan
Luka Bloom
Mary Black
Mary Coughlan
Rory Gallagher
Séamus Ennis
Sinead Lohan
Sinead O’Connor
Skid Row
Taste
Them
The Chieftains
The Clancy Bros With Tommy Makem
The Cranberries
The Dubliners
The Frames
The Interns
The Undertones
Thin Lizzy
Paul Brady
Paul DiVito
Phil Lynott
Planxty
U2
Van Morrison
So could anyone please tell me why when the President of The United States of America recently visited these shores our musical representatives were:
Jedward and Westlife?
I’m just asking the question and not meaning any offence.
Cheers
pc
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Excuse me while I kiss the sky
An adventure in wonderland.
“Excuse me while I kiss the sky,” so wrote Mr James Hendrix and surely an extremely weird thing to want to do but, at the same time, he still showed what a gentleman he really was by asking to be excused before he attempted his indulgence. The imagery did however set me to thinking about what might have been the weirdest thing I ever did in my Adventures in Wonderland – the music business.
I was working with a gentleman by the name of Eddie Kennedy. I was publicist for two of his groups, Taste and Anno Domini. Now the thing I need to admit to you here is that I was hopelessly out of my depth. It is my belief that he only gave me the Taste account because he was losing them and he hoped/thought it would be a carrot for me to work on his smaller (and soon to be only) group, Anno Domini. Taste (Rory Gallagher, guitar, sax and vocals, John Wilson, drums and Charlie McCracken, bass guitar) at that stage were quite possibly the best live band in the world and Rory Gallagher’s talent and natural stage presence was one of the most effective publicity generating machines in existence. Even John Lennon raved enthusiastically about Rory in an interview the Beatle did for Disc and Music Echo a weekly music paper.
Anno Domini was another matter altogether. They enjoyed a very pleasing Crosby Stills & Nash type of sound and approach to song-writing and Tiger Taylor, their guitarist, was, in his own right, also a force to be reckoned with. I’d spotted him in an earlier incarnation with his own band - Tiger’s Tale - and the reason he stood out in my mind was because the night I first saw him (in Belfast) he and his fine band had performed, note perfect mind you, Dylan’s John Wesley Harding album from beginning to end. His two fellow band members in Anno Domini were Terry Scott - vocals and percussion - and David Mercer - vocals and guitar. David had the gift of delivering beautiful melodies and could craft his lyrics with the best of them. Anno Domini supported Taste everywhere, it seems that they couldn’t get any other gigs. That was their main problem. Taste’s audience just weren’t really interested in Anno Domini and if they’d supported more suitable artists perhaps they’d still be on the radar today.
Anyway I digress. One day I’m in my room in Eddie’s suite of offices at Command Studios (currently the home of Waterstones in Piccadilly) and I’m on the telephone to a journalist. The journalist was most likely a true gentleman by the name of Roy Hollingsworth. Roy was famous due to the fact that during a legendary interview with Leonard Cohen, they both, disillusioned by the music business and, no doubt inspired by a fine claret, made a pact to give it all up and retire to the country to get it together… as was very in vogue in those halcyon days. As I say I was, most likely, on the phone with Roy. I’m quite confident about this fact simply because he was one of the few, if not the only, journalist who would always take my calls, on top of which he frequently gave Anno Domini the requested, “wee mention” in the Melody Maker when ever he could, which I seem to remember was probably quite frequent and was also most likely the reason why I kept the job.
So as I was saying, I’m on the phone to Roy, and Eddie is loitering around my door with intent. I’m stringing the call out with Roy as long as humanly possible in the hope that Eddie would take a wee dander elsewhere and leave me alone to work out the finer points of my world domination plan. I mean just because he employed me surely didn’t mean I had to be at his beck and call all the time? When I eventually got off the phone - as in the second I set my heavy bakelite handset back in the saddle of the phone - Eddie saunters into my room and he says something like…
“So Paul, what are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I was hoping to hop on a flight to LA…” I began and waited for the delayed effect of him nearly choking on his milky coffee, before continuing, “…but the petty cash tin is pretty low.”
He flashed me one of those I-didn’t-think-that-was-funny-but-I’m-going-to-remain-good-humoured-because-I’m-going-to-ask/order-you-to-do-something-you-won’t-want-to-do kind of looks.
“Of course I’m going to be in here bound to my desk and the phone,” I conceded.
“Ah good, because I’ve got a wee job for you.”
I’m thinking, ‘please don’t have another new group you need press for,’ knowing my friendship with Roy Hollingsworth was stretched to the limit as it was.
Then I think I hear Eddie say something that sounded like, “And ah… what will you be wearing?”
“Sorry?” I ask immediately knowing he couldn’t possibly have said what I thought he said.
He says, “I mean will you be wearing your current outfit?” as he looks at my dark blue loon pants, lavender granddad shirt and tan desert boots?”
I make a fuss over checking my diary and respond with, “The Royal Variety Performance is not on for a few weeks yet so I suspect I, most likely, will be in my normal attire.”
“Great,” he said, mentally rubbing his hands, “and ah, will you be washing you hair,” he continued looking over his glasses at my mop-top, which was more Italian Monk than the Beatles’ Rubber Soul look I’d been trying for.
A hundred scenarios flashed through my mind and none of them pleasant but none of them quite as uncomfortable as what he actually had in mind.
Eddie encouraged some of his artists and their friends to use down-time in the studio to work on songs, record demos (demonstration tapes) as they pursued the song-writing side of their careers. One such session with a co-operative of musicians from various groups had in fact produced quite a passable master recording, and Eddie had secured a record deal for the song with Deram Records (an off-shoot of Decca Records). He’d been duly paid for the recordings and then didn’t Deram only go and want to release the track as a single.
Which was good normally; in fact a release on a hip label (the home of Procol Harum amongst others) was what most artists gave their eye-teeth for. But not in this case; the main problem being that the artists in question were all contracted to other record labels and bands, so the group on the tape Deram had accepted quite simply just didn’t exist. So Eddie urgently needed to form a fictitious group and do photographs for press and artwork. This was apparently where I came in. I was to be (at least on camera) one of the members of his group. The next day we did the photo shoot on a building site in the west end. I don’t remember any of my fellow band members but we were a rag-tag and bobtail mob, which was in fact my suggestion for the group name by the way. Anyway we each got paid a fiver, signed a release (so we could be willingly exploited) and two months later an advert with our moody photo appeared in an advert in the Disc and Music Echo. There was talk about Top of The Pops and a world tour… but… well you know, I’ve always thought that Eddie held the group back just so I would have to stick around and do the press for Anno Domini.
This time I’ve read.
Damage by John Lescroart – one of the most consistent and enjoyable authors around.
A Few Kind Words and a Loaded Gun – the autobiography of a career criminal by Noel Razor Smith – he most definitely takes you there, an incredible read!
First Frost by – Henry James.
Chaplin by David Robinson - the read, not the book, inspired by the BBC Radio 4 series. The book is a major, not to mention wonderful, work by Mr. Robinson.
No Angel – The Secret Life of Bernie Ecclestone by Tom Bower - very unputdownable but you have to keep reminding yourself that you are not, in fact, reading a work of fiction.
And saw:
Brighton Rock – not in the same league as the good old Portrush Rock
Chaplin – excellent biopic
The Kid
Limelight
Secretariat – Seabiscuit wins by several lengths.
Animal Kingdom
Half Nelson
The Killing (BBC 4 TV series)– totally amazing, by far the best series on the telly at the moment.
And listened to:
Magic by Sean Rowe – a 100% classic.
Until the next time…
Cheers
pc
“Excuse me while I kiss the sky,” so wrote Mr James Hendrix and surely an extremely weird thing to want to do but, at the same time, he still showed what a gentleman he really was by asking to be excused before he attempted his indulgence. The imagery did however set me to thinking about what might have been the weirdest thing I ever did in my Adventures in Wonderland – the music business.
I was working with a gentleman by the name of Eddie Kennedy. I was publicist for two of his groups, Taste and Anno Domini. Now the thing I need to admit to you here is that I was hopelessly out of my depth. It is my belief that he only gave me the Taste account because he was losing them and he hoped/thought it would be a carrot for me to work on his smaller (and soon to be only) group, Anno Domini. Taste (Rory Gallagher, guitar, sax and vocals, John Wilson, drums and Charlie McCracken, bass guitar) at that stage were quite possibly the best live band in the world and Rory Gallagher’s talent and natural stage presence was one of the most effective publicity generating machines in existence. Even John Lennon raved enthusiastically about Rory in an interview the Beatle did for Disc and Music Echo a weekly music paper.
Anno Domini was another matter altogether. They enjoyed a very pleasing Crosby Stills & Nash type of sound and approach to song-writing and Tiger Taylor, their guitarist, was, in his own right, also a force to be reckoned with. I’d spotted him in an earlier incarnation with his own band - Tiger’s Tale - and the reason he stood out in my mind was because the night I first saw him (in Belfast) he and his fine band had performed, note perfect mind you, Dylan’s John Wesley Harding album from beginning to end. His two fellow band members in Anno Domini were Terry Scott - vocals and percussion - and David Mercer - vocals and guitar. David had the gift of delivering beautiful melodies and could craft his lyrics with the best of them. Anno Domini supported Taste everywhere, it seems that they couldn’t get any other gigs. That was their main problem. Taste’s audience just weren’t really interested in Anno Domini and if they’d supported more suitable artists perhaps they’d still be on the radar today.
Anyway I digress. One day I’m in my room in Eddie’s suite of offices at Command Studios (currently the home of Waterstones in Piccadilly) and I’m on the telephone to a journalist. The journalist was most likely a true gentleman by the name of Roy Hollingsworth. Roy was famous due to the fact that during a legendary interview with Leonard Cohen, they both, disillusioned by the music business and, no doubt inspired by a fine claret, made a pact to give it all up and retire to the country to get it together… as was very in vogue in those halcyon days. As I say I was, most likely, on the phone with Roy. I’m quite confident about this fact simply because he was one of the few, if not the only, journalist who would always take my calls, on top of which he frequently gave Anno Domini the requested, “wee mention” in the Melody Maker when ever he could, which I seem to remember was probably quite frequent and was also most likely the reason why I kept the job.
So as I was saying, I’m on the phone to Roy, and Eddie is loitering around my door with intent. I’m stringing the call out with Roy as long as humanly possible in the hope that Eddie would take a wee dander elsewhere and leave me alone to work out the finer points of my world domination plan. I mean just because he employed me surely didn’t mean I had to be at his beck and call all the time? When I eventually got off the phone - as in the second I set my heavy bakelite handset back in the saddle of the phone - Eddie saunters into my room and he says something like…
“So Paul, what are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I was hoping to hop on a flight to LA…” I began and waited for the delayed effect of him nearly choking on his milky coffee, before continuing, “…but the petty cash tin is pretty low.”
He flashed me one of those I-didn’t-think-that-was-funny-but-I’m-going-to-remain-good-humoured-because-I’m-going-to-ask/order-you-to-do-something-you-won’t-want-to-do kind of looks.
“Of course I’m going to be in here bound to my desk and the phone,” I conceded.
“Ah good, because I’ve got a wee job for you.”
I’m thinking, ‘please don’t have another new group you need press for,’ knowing my friendship with Roy Hollingsworth was stretched to the limit as it was.
Then I think I hear Eddie say something that sounded like, “And ah… what will you be wearing?”
“Sorry?” I ask immediately knowing he couldn’t possibly have said what I thought he said.
He says, “I mean will you be wearing your current outfit?” as he looks at my dark blue loon pants, lavender granddad shirt and tan desert boots?”
I make a fuss over checking my diary and respond with, “The Royal Variety Performance is not on for a few weeks yet so I suspect I, most likely, will be in my normal attire.”
“Great,” he said, mentally rubbing his hands, “and ah, will you be washing you hair,” he continued looking over his glasses at my mop-top, which was more Italian Monk than the Beatles’ Rubber Soul look I’d been trying for.
A hundred scenarios flashed through my mind and none of them pleasant but none of them quite as uncomfortable as what he actually had in mind.
Eddie encouraged some of his artists and their friends to use down-time in the studio to work on songs, record demos (demonstration tapes) as they pursued the song-writing side of their careers. One such session with a co-operative of musicians from various groups had in fact produced quite a passable master recording, and Eddie had secured a record deal for the song with Deram Records (an off-shoot of Decca Records). He’d been duly paid for the recordings and then didn’t Deram only go and want to release the track as a single.
Which was good normally; in fact a release on a hip label (the home of Procol Harum amongst others) was what most artists gave their eye-teeth for. But not in this case; the main problem being that the artists in question were all contracted to other record labels and bands, so the group on the tape Deram had accepted quite simply just didn’t exist. So Eddie urgently needed to form a fictitious group and do photographs for press and artwork. This was apparently where I came in. I was to be (at least on camera) one of the members of his group. The next day we did the photo shoot on a building site in the west end. I don’t remember any of my fellow band members but we were a rag-tag and bobtail mob, which was in fact my suggestion for the group name by the way. Anyway we each got paid a fiver, signed a release (so we could be willingly exploited) and two months later an advert with our moody photo appeared in an advert in the Disc and Music Echo. There was talk about Top of The Pops and a world tour… but… well you know, I’ve always thought that Eddie held the group back just so I would have to stick around and do the press for Anno Domini.
This time I’ve read.
Damage by John Lescroart – one of the most consistent and enjoyable authors around.
A Few Kind Words and a Loaded Gun – the autobiography of a career criminal by Noel Razor Smith – he most definitely takes you there, an incredible read!
First Frost by – Henry James.
Chaplin by David Robinson - the read, not the book, inspired by the BBC Radio 4 series. The book is a major, not to mention wonderful, work by Mr. Robinson.
No Angel – The Secret Life of Bernie Ecclestone by Tom Bower - very unputdownable but you have to keep reminding yourself that you are not, in fact, reading a work of fiction.
And saw:
Brighton Rock – not in the same league as the good old Portrush Rock
Chaplin – excellent biopic
The Kid
Limelight
Secretariat – Seabiscuit wins by several lengths.
Animal Kingdom
Half Nelson
The Killing (BBC 4 TV series)– totally amazing, by far the best series on the telly at the moment.
And listened to:
Magic by Sean Rowe – a 100% classic.
Until the next time…
Cheers
pc
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Pictures With Words In Deep Shades of Blue
The Art of The Singer Songwriter.
According to my spellcheck the word “songwriter” doesn’t exist, well at least not as a single word. Folksinger, as a single word, is acceptable, which says a lot because Singer Songwriter became the hipper name for Folksingers when record companies and managers wanted to distance their charges from the bushy beards, bulging beerbellies and sweaty caps of the minority and (apart from Mr. Zimmerman) waning folk genre for their own newer wave of charges who were not considered part of the blossoming rock market but who were very keen to become recording and performing artists.
It would appear that the singer songwriter term was first used to help James Taylor shed his Apple Records skin for his brand new Warner Bros. coat of many colours. But because of the obvious Beatle connection I bought Mr. Taylor’s Warner Bros. Debut, Sweet Baby James, and added it to my fledging collection, which in hindsight could be classed, either directly or indirectly, as being biased towards singer songwriters.
As a reference point here is my all time
Top 20 Classic Singer Songwriter Albums.
(Listed alphabetically)
Beatles - Abbey Road (1969)
Jackson Browne - Late For The Sky (1974)
JJ Cale - Troubadour (1977)
Leonard Cohen - Songs of Leonard Cohen (1967)
Crosby, Stills & Nash - Crosby, Stills and Nash (1969)
Neil Diamond - Hot August Nights (1972)
Nick Drake - Bryer Layer (1970)
Lesley Duncan - Sing Children Sing (1971)
Bob Dylan - Time Out Of Mind (1997)
Carole King - Tapestry (1971)
Cat Stevens - Tea For The Tillerman (1970)
Van Morrison - Moondance (1970)
Don McLean - American Pie (1971)
Gilbert O’Sullivan - Himself (1971)
Paul Simon - SongBook (1965)
James Taylor - Sweet Baby James (1970)
Loudon Wainwright III - More Love Songs (1986)
Tom Waits - Swordfishtrombone (1984)
Hank Williams - The Best of (1998)
Neil Young - Everyone Knows This is Nowhere. (1969)
How did I amass this collection? Well mostly by word of mouth. In those pre Amazon days, way, way before their, “if you like this, you might also want to try this,” approach, the key was really self-discovery. Graham Nash was a member of the Hollies and I enjoyed their singles and distinctive vocal approach and I was intrigued by the fact he’d gone to America to form Crosby, Stills & Nash. David Crosby I knew was a member of the Bryds. I’d been introduced to their music because they’d successfully covered a few Dylan songs, not to mention the fact that they’d openly praised the Beatles. Stephen Stills I only knew of his work through the Supper Session album (1968), which I’d bought because the other two key musicians on the album, Al Kooper and Mike Bloomfield, has done some recording with Dylan. Anyway the CSN combination was enough to tempt me to part with my hard earned cash. I bought the CSN album the day it was released and I loved it, still do. Then there was some CSN connection to Neil Young so I bought his then current album, Everyone Knows This Is Nowhere (1969) and loved it so I also purchased his other album, Neil Young. Then David Crosby produced Joni Mitchell’s first album and I bought that, then I read somewhere – probably Rolling Stone, that David Crosby and Graham Nash sang on an album by another new artist called Jackson Browne, and what a reward his album Jackson Browne (nicknamed Saturate Before Use due to the sleeve artwork) turned out to be.
With Nick Drake I bought Bryer Layer because it was on Island Records, that was enough in those days, and I couldn’t believe the absolute heart-wrenching gem I discovered within. Tom Waits was also an Island artist, yes he started on Asylum Records but with his first release on Island (Swordfishtrombone) he totally re-invented the singer-songwriter genre using colours no one had ever dreamed of using before. Around the time of Elton John’s first album, I went to see him and his (then) band Hookfoot record a BBC Radio “In Concert” and during the performance he mentioned Lesley Duncan as being the writer of the hypnotic Love Song, one of the great songs in his set. I scouted out her album, Sing Children Sing, shortly thereafter, probably in Musicland in Dean Street. I was absolutely convinced she was going to become a major artist and perhaps if she’d been based in USA and on Warner Bros. or Asylum, she would have. I was hooked on Gilbert O’Sullivan’s head-turning, gobsmacking, classic single, Nothing Rhymed, but I still wasn’t prepared for how strong his debut album would be; absolutely every track turned out to be a perfectly crafted song. Don McLean was a similar process for me, the singles (American Pie & Vincent) hooked me and the album reeled me in the whole way. Simon and Garfunkel were another matter. I quite liked some of their songs, liked them a lot in fact but I found the production somewhat unsympathetic to the songs. Then I discovered The Paul Simon Songbook and all was fine because I’d another lifelong friend in an album. On and on I worked my way building up my record collection, some – mostly the ones on the above list became life-long friends – while others are tied to memories of a time or a face.
But these were the writers who preferred to do their own songs. At the same time other talented artists like, Joe Cocker, Rod Stewart, The Carpenters, Jennifer Warnes, Otis Redding, Don Williams and Christy Moore where doing great work interpreting some of the great songwriters of the day and perhaps those albums are for a future top 20.
I apologise in advance if anyone is offended by the fact that I’ve included a few artists I was lucky enough to go on to work with, but… I would also like to point out that in all cases it was the artist’s work, that sooooo made me want to work with them in the first place. Apart from Abbey Road I have not included any bands on the list. The Beatles: okay, okay, I hear you say; it’s PC so the Beatles can’t be very far away… but… in my defense I’ll say by the time of Abbey Road they were not so much a band but more a collective of the finest English songwriters this side of Ray Davies. So what I’m saying is not that Abbey Road is my favorite Beatle album but it is my favorite Beatle album in the singer songwriter category. I’ve also not included more than one album by any artist. It was hard enough to squeeze in all I wanted to include, so several Dylans, or Jackson Brownes, no matter the temptation, was just out of the question. I opted for Van’s Moondance rather than the classic Astral Weeks for this list only because the tracks on Moondance work better as stand alone songs. I’ve also tried to resist including in the above list amazing yet obscure albums; you know, some incredible album, where no one but myself, and literally a few others are aware of said album. So, with this in mind I’ve tried to stick to albums that have enjoyed at least some degree of critical and commercial success.
It’s also most definitely worth noting that the sleeves of all of the above, maybe because of the stature of the albums or maybe because of the physical size of the artwork – 12 inches square - also became iconic.
And finally a special mention in the best-songwriter-never-to-make-an-album section: I’m talking about one of the all time great songwriters, Mr. Bob McDill. He’s had over 30 (and still counting) No. 1 hit singles on Bilboard’s US Country Charts. He’s been covered by everyone from Alan Jackson, Waylon Jennings, Perry Como, Jerry Lee Lewis to Bobby Bare, who recorded an entire album of his songs called Me and McDill. And a very fine album it was too, but, in my humble opinion his songs are at their best when showcased by Don Williams who always included 2 or 3 Bob McDill songs on his excellent collection of successful albums. When I was in Nashville once I tried to track down Bob McDill if only to see if he’d ever made an album. I ended up speaking on the phone to someone from JMI, the publishing company Bob McDill was signed to. The gentleman I was speaking to turned out to be none other than Cowboy Jack Clements and we’d a great long chat. Mr. Clements originally worked as a producer and engineer on sessions with the likes of Roy Orbison, Carl Perkins and Johnny Cash for Sam Philips at Sun Records. Word has it, it was he who ‘discovered’ and recorded Jerry Lee Lewis when Sam Philips was outta town. Anyway Jack Clements said he’d never been able to persuade Bob McDill to make a serious attempt at a recording career of his own. The writer was more than happy spending his time writing songs and lecturing English classes at a local University. Just as I was giving up hope and feeling I was in danger of overstaying his hospitable welcome, Cowboy Jack Clements mentioned in passing that Bob had recorded several of his songs, just with a few good friends you understand, and mainly for a demonstration disc to be sent out to producers who were considering recording some of the songs for artists they were working on.
“Oh, any chance of buying one of those?” I said with all the subtly of an X Factor contestant.
He laughed (as you do).
I got the picture (as you do).
We chatted some more and as he was closing he did throw me a scrap by saying he’d have a wander around the office, next time he’s a moment to spare and see if he could find a copy of the McDill demo album lying about ... before adding something like, “…but that was ages ago and we didn’t press up very many copies.”
I got back to London, forgot all about it until one day a month or so later a mint copy of Bob McDill’s extremely rare album turned up in the mail. The album was called Short Stories, It escaped (the opposite to having a proper release) in 1972, self-produced, front-room sounding, and contained 10 beautiful songs Bob McDill had written or co-written in 1971 and 1972. The, ‘some of his friends’ who played on the album turned out to be musicians who became regulars on Don Williams albums and tours. The album was in a classy sleeve, complete with lyrics on the back and made from the very stiff American cardboard, which protected the album and the art. Which is probably why I still have it today, and why it’s still in such good condition. Now the reason for the tale is not so much to show lucky I was, because I most certainly was, but more to demonstrate – with his courtesy and eye for detail - how Cowboy Jack Clements ended up being so successful. These things don’t happen by accident.
Maybe more about collecting in the future, but in the meantime...
This time I’ve seen in the cinema:
Hereafter
Something
Black Swan
Get Low
True Grit
The Fighter
Harry Potter Seven Part 1.
Fair Game
The American
Little Forkers
Rabbit Hole
King’s Speech
Blue Valentine
Love and Other Drugs
Season of The Witch
Next Three Days
Never Let Me Go
Tron
The Company Men
Barney’s Version
Inside Job
All Good Things
How Do You Know
Country Strong
What can I tell you? I was on holiday and it rained a lot! If it were up to me all the Oscars would go to Hereafter, Low, Fair Game and Inside Job with a special mention for the best trailer to Blue Valentine.
And on the small screen:
The 5th series of Bones
The Apostle
And listened to all of the above albums, which is where we came in, so, until next time…
Cheers
pc
According to my spellcheck the word “songwriter” doesn’t exist, well at least not as a single word. Folksinger, as a single word, is acceptable, which says a lot because Singer Songwriter became the hipper name for Folksingers when record companies and managers wanted to distance their charges from the bushy beards, bulging beerbellies and sweaty caps of the minority and (apart from Mr. Zimmerman) waning folk genre for their own newer wave of charges who were not considered part of the blossoming rock market but who were very keen to become recording and performing artists.
It would appear that the singer songwriter term was first used to help James Taylor shed his Apple Records skin for his brand new Warner Bros. coat of many colours. But because of the obvious Beatle connection I bought Mr. Taylor’s Warner Bros. Debut, Sweet Baby James, and added it to my fledging collection, which in hindsight could be classed, either directly or indirectly, as being biased towards singer songwriters.
As a reference point here is my all time
Top 20 Classic Singer Songwriter Albums.
(Listed alphabetically)
Beatles - Abbey Road (1969)
Jackson Browne - Late For The Sky (1974)
JJ Cale - Troubadour (1977)
Leonard Cohen - Songs of Leonard Cohen (1967)
Crosby, Stills & Nash - Crosby, Stills and Nash (1969)
Neil Diamond - Hot August Nights (1972)
Nick Drake - Bryer Layer (1970)
Lesley Duncan - Sing Children Sing (1971)
Bob Dylan - Time Out Of Mind (1997)
Carole King - Tapestry (1971)
Cat Stevens - Tea For The Tillerman (1970)
Van Morrison - Moondance (1970)
Don McLean - American Pie (1971)
Gilbert O’Sullivan - Himself (1971)
Paul Simon - SongBook (1965)
James Taylor - Sweet Baby James (1970)
Loudon Wainwright III - More Love Songs (1986)
Tom Waits - Swordfishtrombone (1984)
Hank Williams - The Best of (1998)
Neil Young - Everyone Knows This is Nowhere. (1969)
How did I amass this collection? Well mostly by word of mouth. In those pre Amazon days, way, way before their, “if you like this, you might also want to try this,” approach, the key was really self-discovery. Graham Nash was a member of the Hollies and I enjoyed their singles and distinctive vocal approach and I was intrigued by the fact he’d gone to America to form Crosby, Stills & Nash. David Crosby I knew was a member of the Bryds. I’d been introduced to their music because they’d successfully covered a few Dylan songs, not to mention the fact that they’d openly praised the Beatles. Stephen Stills I only knew of his work through the Supper Session album (1968), which I’d bought because the other two key musicians on the album, Al Kooper and Mike Bloomfield, has done some recording with Dylan. Anyway the CSN combination was enough to tempt me to part with my hard earned cash. I bought the CSN album the day it was released and I loved it, still do. Then there was some CSN connection to Neil Young so I bought his then current album, Everyone Knows This Is Nowhere (1969) and loved it so I also purchased his other album, Neil Young. Then David Crosby produced Joni Mitchell’s first album and I bought that, then I read somewhere – probably Rolling Stone, that David Crosby and Graham Nash sang on an album by another new artist called Jackson Browne, and what a reward his album Jackson Browne (nicknamed Saturate Before Use due to the sleeve artwork) turned out to be.
With Nick Drake I bought Bryer Layer because it was on Island Records, that was enough in those days, and I couldn’t believe the absolute heart-wrenching gem I discovered within. Tom Waits was also an Island artist, yes he started on Asylum Records but with his first release on Island (Swordfishtrombone) he totally re-invented the singer-songwriter genre using colours no one had ever dreamed of using before. Around the time of Elton John’s first album, I went to see him and his (then) band Hookfoot record a BBC Radio “In Concert” and during the performance he mentioned Lesley Duncan as being the writer of the hypnotic Love Song, one of the great songs in his set. I scouted out her album, Sing Children Sing, shortly thereafter, probably in Musicland in Dean Street. I was absolutely convinced she was going to become a major artist and perhaps if she’d been based in USA and on Warner Bros. or Asylum, she would have. I was hooked on Gilbert O’Sullivan’s head-turning, gobsmacking, classic single, Nothing Rhymed, but I still wasn’t prepared for how strong his debut album would be; absolutely every track turned out to be a perfectly crafted song. Don McLean was a similar process for me, the singles (American Pie & Vincent) hooked me and the album reeled me in the whole way. Simon and Garfunkel were another matter. I quite liked some of their songs, liked them a lot in fact but I found the production somewhat unsympathetic to the songs. Then I discovered The Paul Simon Songbook and all was fine because I’d another lifelong friend in an album. On and on I worked my way building up my record collection, some – mostly the ones on the above list became life-long friends – while others are tied to memories of a time or a face.
But these were the writers who preferred to do their own songs. At the same time other talented artists like, Joe Cocker, Rod Stewart, The Carpenters, Jennifer Warnes, Otis Redding, Don Williams and Christy Moore where doing great work interpreting some of the great songwriters of the day and perhaps those albums are for a future top 20.
I apologise in advance if anyone is offended by the fact that I’ve included a few artists I was lucky enough to go on to work with, but… I would also like to point out that in all cases it was the artist’s work, that sooooo made me want to work with them in the first place. Apart from Abbey Road I have not included any bands on the list. The Beatles: okay, okay, I hear you say; it’s PC so the Beatles can’t be very far away… but… in my defense I’ll say by the time of Abbey Road they were not so much a band but more a collective of the finest English songwriters this side of Ray Davies. So what I’m saying is not that Abbey Road is my favorite Beatle album but it is my favorite Beatle album in the singer songwriter category. I’ve also not included more than one album by any artist. It was hard enough to squeeze in all I wanted to include, so several Dylans, or Jackson Brownes, no matter the temptation, was just out of the question. I opted for Van’s Moondance rather than the classic Astral Weeks for this list only because the tracks on Moondance work better as stand alone songs. I’ve also tried to resist including in the above list amazing yet obscure albums; you know, some incredible album, where no one but myself, and literally a few others are aware of said album. So, with this in mind I’ve tried to stick to albums that have enjoyed at least some degree of critical and commercial success.
It’s also most definitely worth noting that the sleeves of all of the above, maybe because of the stature of the albums or maybe because of the physical size of the artwork – 12 inches square - also became iconic.
And finally a special mention in the best-songwriter-never-to-make-an-album section: I’m talking about one of the all time great songwriters, Mr. Bob McDill. He’s had over 30 (and still counting) No. 1 hit singles on Bilboard’s US Country Charts. He’s been covered by everyone from Alan Jackson, Waylon Jennings, Perry Como, Jerry Lee Lewis to Bobby Bare, who recorded an entire album of his songs called Me and McDill. And a very fine album it was too, but, in my humble opinion his songs are at their best when showcased by Don Williams who always included 2 or 3 Bob McDill songs on his excellent collection of successful albums. When I was in Nashville once I tried to track down Bob McDill if only to see if he’d ever made an album. I ended up speaking on the phone to someone from JMI, the publishing company Bob McDill was signed to. The gentleman I was speaking to turned out to be none other than Cowboy Jack Clements and we’d a great long chat. Mr. Clements originally worked as a producer and engineer on sessions with the likes of Roy Orbison, Carl Perkins and Johnny Cash for Sam Philips at Sun Records. Word has it, it was he who ‘discovered’ and recorded Jerry Lee Lewis when Sam Philips was outta town. Anyway Jack Clements said he’d never been able to persuade Bob McDill to make a serious attempt at a recording career of his own. The writer was more than happy spending his time writing songs and lecturing English classes at a local University. Just as I was giving up hope and feeling I was in danger of overstaying his hospitable welcome, Cowboy Jack Clements mentioned in passing that Bob had recorded several of his songs, just with a few good friends you understand, and mainly for a demonstration disc to be sent out to producers who were considering recording some of the songs for artists they were working on.
“Oh, any chance of buying one of those?” I said with all the subtly of an X Factor contestant.
He laughed (as you do).
I got the picture (as you do).
We chatted some more and as he was closing he did throw me a scrap by saying he’d have a wander around the office, next time he’s a moment to spare and see if he could find a copy of the McDill demo album lying about ... before adding something like, “…but that was ages ago and we didn’t press up very many copies.”
I got back to London, forgot all about it until one day a month or so later a mint copy of Bob McDill’s extremely rare album turned up in the mail. The album was called Short Stories, It escaped (the opposite to having a proper release) in 1972, self-produced, front-room sounding, and contained 10 beautiful songs Bob McDill had written or co-written in 1971 and 1972. The, ‘some of his friends’ who played on the album turned out to be musicians who became regulars on Don Williams albums and tours. The album was in a classy sleeve, complete with lyrics on the back and made from the very stiff American cardboard, which protected the album and the art. Which is probably why I still have it today, and why it’s still in such good condition. Now the reason for the tale is not so much to show lucky I was, because I most certainly was, but more to demonstrate – with his courtesy and eye for detail - how Cowboy Jack Clements ended up being so successful. These things don’t happen by accident.
Maybe more about collecting in the future, but in the meantime...
This time I’ve seen in the cinema:
Hereafter
Something
Black Swan
Get Low
True Grit
The Fighter
Harry Potter Seven Part 1.
Fair Game
The American
Little Forkers
Rabbit Hole
King’s Speech
Blue Valentine
Love and Other Drugs
Season of The Witch
Next Three Days
Never Let Me Go
Tron
The Company Men
Barney’s Version
Inside Job
All Good Things
How Do You Know
Country Strong
What can I tell you? I was on holiday and it rained a lot! If it were up to me all the Oscars would go to Hereafter, Low, Fair Game and Inside Job with a special mention for the best trailer to Blue Valentine.
And on the small screen:
The 5th series of Bones
The Apostle
And listened to all of the above albums, which is where we came in, so, until next time…
Cheers
pc
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