Xmas 2010

Christmas is always a stressful time of the year, don't cha think? I find myself even more short-tempered and grumpy that usual (and that, dear reader, as you may recall is an awful lot anyway). I think it is being stuck in the claustrophobic environment of a house full of people who aren't normally here. Mind you, YD managed to thoroughly cheese me off on three separate issues: (i) despite the fact I give her money for Christmas, completely dismissing the three separate presents I bought her in order that she had something to open (the same three I bought for OD, not that I've actually seen her for the past few weeks); (ii) spending almost all of the money I did give her on presents for other people, on the basis that they bought presents for her (so why on earth did I bother giving her money in the first place?); (iii) shouting down the phone when I was trying to explain how to get back to our Pinner home circumventing the strike-ridden tube system.

YD is now seventeen, at sixth form college, and fairly in-your-face. OD is twenty, dividing her time between her squat and her Mother's house, and is rarely seen (only when in need of cash, and then usually during working hours - mine, not hers). Since the last time I wrote this blog I have married (to the very wondful SJotLS)and now have two step-sons, SD1 (19, at Uni) and SD2 (16, lives downstairs). Life is - for the main - pretty good but (as always) not without its irritations. I may post more on this or - equally - maybe not.

Happy new year, gentle reader, however you may be.

Bangs and Smashes

Life with OD is nothing if not unpredictable.

Friday evening, after SJotLS and I had visited the disappointing Hadrian exhibition at the British Museum and were just departing our second hostelry of the evening around 9:45PM (first The Museum Tavern, then the Cambridge) when OD rang to advise that she believed there was an intruder in the house having earlier heard noises downstairs. Thinking it was me she called down but no reply. A few minutes later the dog began barking loudly and so she and her chum, Permanent Fixture, walked down to the kitchen to find it empty. Hearing noises above them, they quickly became convinced there was an intruder in the house and rang me. I asked if this was just weed-related paranoia but they felt not. The two of them then went out into the street where they stopped a passer-by and asked him to investigate. Thus whilst I was rushing home, running like a fool up the stairs at Euston to get a train, a complete stranger was nosing through my house looking for a burglar who - in the end - didn't exist. No, of course not. The following morning I found the cordless house phone outside on the wall of my house where they'd left it. Wet.

Of course, I would normally have thought that this was just typical of them making something out of nothing were it not for the previous weekend when somebody threw a brick through my front window. Yes, you read correctly, a brick!

How did this occur? Well let me just tell you. OD had invited YD up to stay as it was her 15th birthday and, as such, she thought it would a treat for her to attend a house party she was going to her with her friends. All so well and good I hear you say. I was out that evening rehearsing (yes, rehearsing. On a Saturday night!) with the cover band I recently joined (one of four bands I now play in. Four!!) and had agreed that I would come and collect YD at a suitable hour as and when her old sibling decreed it was her home time. So, there was I, fully clothed and a-kip upon the sofa, when the phone rang. It was two in the morning. "Dad can you pick us up. We're at Watford Junction station. We got into a fight and now we're worried about walking back in case we get set upon". Clearly I was up and in the faithful Fiat like a shot and drove down to the aforementioned station on what was the foggiest night I've seen in a long time. Once OD, YD, PF, Laura and Niamh materialised through the mist, I got the full story. Apparently they'd decided not to go to the party but had travelled to a private drinking establishment they know of instead. (Do such things exist in Watford? Apparently yes). Once inside, they recognised two girls whom they'd argued with several weeks earlier and, as a result of this previous altercation, had got themselves thrown out of local music venue The Railway. These girls apparently made loud snidey comments about OD and PF throughout the evening, which got louder as more alcohol was consumed. As the time to leave was declared, OD went to the bar and requested a glass of water which she then proceeded to throw directly into the face of one of the girls before walking out. Mayhem then ensued as the girls ran after OD, only to be caught and held by everyone else. Bouncers intervened; words were exchanged, blah, etc.

Anyhoo, upshot was I'm a-lying in bed fast asleep at 3:30 when I hear a loud crash. I go downstairs thinking something had fallen over (not that I entirely know what). Everything looks fine. I get up the next day and, yes, a large brick has shattered the double-glazed main front window. OD tells me she knows who it is (one Ricky Freeman, a local skateboarder she claims) as he was with the girls and knows where OD lives. I report it to the Police. They come over several days later when I'm not there. OD quizzes them about whether or not throwing a glass of water in someone's face can be considered assault. She's told that it is. I therefore drop everything because the last thing I want is a counter-claim against my daughter. Window replacement is £142. Thanks a bunch!

YD seemed relatively unphased by all this but as I so rarely see her these days I'm not sure whether that is her current demeanour or if she's just hiding her shock. Still, it's hardly going to encourage her to visit more.

V Festival 2008

Another year and, once more, the Wing-Commander and I find ourselves at the V festival. Ahhhh… the joy of it all.

However, there are some definite changes this time around. Firstly, the festival is now much bigger than it was two years back. Much, much bigger!!!! The second stage is now where the main stage was, and it still holds that huge capacity crowd. A larger space has been gathered for the main stage, which – as it is on a flat as opposed to the bottom of a hill – means the site lines aren’t as good. The JJB tent is about twice as big as it was last year (which means four times as big as it was the year before). Thus, to move from one stage to another, means an awful lot more walking as the distances are far further apart. Oh, and of course there’s a lot more people.

The bill is also far more commercial than it used to be. Because of the size of all the relative stages, there are bigger bands being booked. Thus you end up with Muse headlining the main stage and The Stereophonics supporting them (surely a band whose popularity means they could headline in their own?). This is at the same time as The Prodigy headline the second and Ian Brown is on at the JJB. The bill is also littered with pop acts who, a few years back, you wouldn’t have imagined being booked. And when I say pop I mean Will Young, Sugababes, Adele – really mainstream chart acts. And whilst the smaller Virgin Mobile tent thankfully remains the same size, the addition of railing about twelve feet from the stage, to give space for bouncers (?) and photographers, meant that even there you are kept at a distance from the act whereas only a couple of years ago, you could rest your elbows next to where the guitarists feet were.

Plus, of course, there are the punters. In recent years the plethora of festivals that have sprung up, and their popularity, means that (as the Wing-Commander pointed out) events such as V and Glastonbury have almost become part of the summer social calendar for many (in a way that, say, Ascot and Glyndebourne is for toffs). This results in an awful lot of attendees who are there to get pissed and have a knees up with their mates, not to actually listen to the music! This was something I noticed when I went to the Lovebox festival last month; the place was full of people chatting while the acts performed which is really annoying when (as with Goldfrapp) the set is predominantly quiet acoustic numbers.

Now I’ve no objections to people talking at gigs: you pay your money, you make your choice. If you don’t like the person standing next to you talking, then move to somewhere else. That’s normally not an issue. However, when the majority of those around you are doing it (as opposed to just a few), and their conversations have nothing to do with that is taking place on stage, it does become bloody annoying. And the reason they do it is because they are not interested in listening to the music they have paid to see; all they seem to care about is ticking off the acts on their little mental lists and having a good old chinwag with their mates.

So, despite having said all that, we did see some good acts and we did have an enjoyable day. When we arrived at 1:00, the place was already full (unlike previous years, campers are now allowed to pitch their tents on the Friday, thereby ensuring that those at the bottom of the bills actually have people to play to). Having stopped for coffee and doughnuts, our first port of call was the VMobile tent where The Dodgems were on playing their lively rock noise for the second year running. We wandered on past the main stage to where we thought the JJB tent was (they’d moved it) and instead found a new small tent, the Sound Stage where we encountered the first treat of the day, The Hazy Janes. Great young band, with good songs and lovely vocal harmonies. “The album’s out in January”, they said. One to watch for 2009. We then walked back to the C4 stage to take-in a spot of 90s nostalgia with Shed Seven, passing the enjoyable pop stylings of The Futureheads en route.

The Sheds, as I believe their fans call them, were always BritPop division two in my book. In fact, the only time I’ve seen them before was supporting The Inspiral Carpets at the Astoria just after they’d released their first single. My lesbian ex was a big fan, as indeed was Jon Bon D, but they were not the only ones because the second stage arena was crowded in the extreme. There’s an awful lot of twenty-somethings to whom the Sheds obviously mean a great deal but the fact they didn’t switch the PA on till half-way through their opening number (‘Going for Gold’), and the swathing wind left their second track almost inaudible (‘She Left me on Friday’), the WC and I headed over to watch Beth Rowley in one of the tents instead.

Ahhhh… little Beth. One of the wave of female singers getting deals in the wake of Amy Housewine’s huge success. She is neither as sixties retro as Duffy nor as obviously soulful as Adele, and all the better for that. She has a tremendous voice and whoever is arranging her material clearly has a few Tom Waits’ albums in their CD collections. She was much more confident than when I saw her at the back in January at the CherryJam in Paddington, but then she has gigged like crazy this year. The WC was enchanted and took many photographs which, if he ever mails them to me, I’ll post one here.

After the joy that was Beth we moved back to the C4 stage area which, by now, was virtually deserted, as The Hold Steady bounded on to do their Bruce Springsteen/Tom Petty/Graham Parker thing. Bearing in mind how much press there’s been about this band in the last year, the fact that they played to an audience of about 10% the size that the Sheds had says more about the average age of the gig-goer to V than anything else. A very lively act with one of the most entertaining keyboard players I’ve seen in ages (he dances, he claps, he twirls his wax moustache). Good poppy tunes but not my musical bag (all a bit derivative, in a Ryan Adams/Jesse Mallin way); entertaining to watch but I’ll pass on the CD.

The WC and I held our ground, with tea and muffins for refreshment, and waited for the next turn on this stage, Amy MacDonald. Probably the most Scottish sounding musical act since The Proclaimers, MacDonald’s maturity as both a singer and songwriter, whilst also dealing with themes that relate directly to her peers (she’s twenty and most of the her songs were written as a teenager), meant that she appeals to both crusty old farts like myself as well as the younger folk who want something with a little more substance than Lily Allen. Her performance was strong, although a little workmanlike in places, as she ploughed through the best tracks on her album and threw in a solo rendition of Springsteen’s ‘Dancing in the Dark’ to boot.

After MacDonald, we moved to the VMobile tent where we saw a bit of The Dykeenies (guitar pop with eighties electronic overtones) before attempting to watch Maximo Park on the main stage. I say attempted because even though it was only late afternoon, the throng was so huge and we were so far from the stage, that there seemed little point. We then returned to the C4 stage where we saw the most elaborate stage entrance I’ve witnesses in recent years when The Hoosiers came on (two out of a magic wardrobe; a third from a giant test-tube – I kid you not). If only their music was as interesting and not third rate power pop which left me thinking them akin to The Pleasers. Oh, and getting people to dance on stage while wearing superhero costumes… do you think no-one has seen The Flaming Lips?

We then moved over to the largest tent, the JJB, were cheeky faced rappy songsmithery fellow Jamie T was doing his cockney, wide-boy, “it’s a little bit chavvy” thing. He certainly gets his crowd going that’s for sure; they loved him! But being the only people over the age of twenty meant that after a few numbers it began to feel like we’d gate-crashed our children’s school disco, and everyone wants to get on being trashed without having two disapproving Dads standing in a corner, shaking their heads. We left, strolling past the acoustic warblings of Newton Faulkner (I know a lot of people like him; I don’t) in order to return to the VMobile tent and secure a position for the number one nostalgia act of the day, Siouxsie – she of ‘the Banshees’ fame.

I’ll confess I hadn’t heard anything from her debut solo album, ‘Mantaray’, which came out last year and the only time I’ve seen her was way back in the early eighties when the Banshees were promoting their (now classic) fourth album, ‘Juju’. I was therefore delighted to hear the smartly attired band, all black suits and silk ties, strike up the opening bars to ‘Israel’ as Siouxsie, 51 this year pop-pickers, sauntered on in a tefal-esque silver cat suit looking, to all intents and purposes, both uncannily like her younger self (no weight gain here, lucky cow) and – in a rather disturbing way – somewhat similar to Dorian from ‘Birds of a Feather’. Eek! For a woman whose stage presence and reputation was always of that of the icy dominatrix, she seemed extremely chipper. In fact, I’d go as far to say, quite possibly pissed, as she worked all the moves and hand gestures that she deployed thirty years ago (for indeed, as she reminded us just before she played it, it was thirty years this month that the Banshees debut single ‘Hong Kong Garden’ was released). In fact, the overall affect was more akin to your drunken auntie at a family wedding: “come on kidsh, look at thish. That’s how we did it my day”, and then promptly swinging her foot above her head to show that age has not only failed to wither her, but she remains as bendy as ever. Nice!

As Siouxsie left her enraptured audience of smiling middle-aged men and curious youngsters, we walked past the distant main stage, ignoring the professional but uninteresting Stereophonics, to see what was brewing in the small tent in the corner of the field and boy were we glad we did! I’d never heard of the Infadels before but, crumbs, what a great live band. The atmosphere in the tent was the one thing that had been missing throughout the entire day: that of excitement. They were a pulsing act, mixing modern beats with catchy choruses and thumping rhythms. As the Wing-Commander pointed out, the whole band revolved around the drummer and – in particular – his loud-as-fuck bass, pounding bass drum. [Reading about them on Wikipedia the following day I learnt that the drummer is Bill Bruford’s son, Alex]. Top turn! And they had their own monkey boy, thumping synth drums, pummelling keyboards, and eventually throwing himself into the audience for the last number. Ahhh, it was a pleasure to see!

So it was time for the headliners and we traipsed down to the enormo stage to see Muse and their big-time, stadium rock act. Now whilst I quite like Muse, and they clearly put on an impressive light show what with the massive satellite dishes and lasers and what have you, but to be stuck half a mile away from the stage surrounded by a claustrophobic hoard (which I don’t mind if I’m somewhere small and sweaty but not when the people I’m watching are the size of stick insects)… well, you’re better off at home on the sofa with a dvd. Nonetheless, we watched 40 minutes (for the majority of which the video screens weren’t even functioning correctly) before shuffling over to the VMobile stage for the final act of the day, Richard Hawley. Now I quite like Hawley’s restful retro sounds but the Wing-Commander thinks he sounds like Pat Boone and is not only the antithesis of rock music but he finds the way his MOR warblings are so highly praised by the smug-faced, ignorant music media, to be a personal insult. Still I liked him and, on the closing number, ‘Oh my Love’, he went into an extended guitar solo, reminiscent of his days in Radiohead wannabies LongPigs. Lovely!

And so that’s that. On reflection, I think this will be the Wing-Commander and I’s last V. It’s just too big now; it takes too long to walk between stages, there are too many people attending, and the acts they pick are too popular and commercial. Compared to Lovebox, which I went to last month, V is just overblown, bloated on its own success. Still enjoyed the day mind you, and have ordered both the Infadels and Siouxsie’s albums from Amazon, but for 2009 I think we will have to find somewhere else to have our festival day out.

Four Nights with Sparks

To celebrate the release of their twenty-first album, ‘Exotic Creatures of the Deep’, the popular music combo known as Sparks decided to take-up residency at the Islington Academy to play each of the work in chronological order over a period of a month before moving to the Shepherd’s Bush Empire to perform their latest release. Being a bit of a Sparks fan I bought tickets for three of these gigs and, due to the severe lack of interest over some of their less-popular works, managed to win a pair of free tickets for another. So, four Sparks gigs in three weeks: a different album each night, and a different friend to accompany me at each.

Tuesday 21^st May – ‘Propaganda’

The trouble with drinking is that it is always best to remember to eat something before you start. Thus, as I was downing my fifth pint of Guinness in the cramped crush of the Islington Academy bar, the realisation that my total food intake for the day thus far had been one-and-a-half fish finger sandwiches at 10:30 that morning explained why I was now feeling more pissed than by rights I ought to. However, that did not explain why Pete G was as drunk I was. Would our inebriated states heighten our enjoyment of the evening? I have found that a small sweet sherry or two can make a good gig seem like a great one and turn an evening of mediocre music into a far jollier affair than it might otherwise warrant. Would it tonight? Well, frankly no, for Sparks had to do battle with that most fearsome of foes, the one thing that can transform any good band – no matter how strong their performance or how enthusiastic the crowd that cheers them – into a complete Terry-Thomasian shower: the faulty PA system.

For the uninitiated among you I should mention that ‘Propaganda’ is one of Sparks finest albums. Alongside ‘Kimono my House’, the pair book end 1974 when the group were living in England, regularly appearing on ‘Top of the Pops’, and having the most commercially (and, arguably, creatively) successful period of their careers. As such its popularity had ensured that tonight’s gig had sold out thus making it really rammed in the Academy. This is not a good thing chiefly because the venue has a very low ceiling. This means that it also has a low stage. That, combined with a very flat floor (no sense of raking) meant that if you fill it to the brim with tall, middle-aged, overweight men, unless you are prepared to squeeze yourself to the front like an Emo teenager at ‘My Chemical Romance’ concert, you aren’t going to see very much. However, one’s enjoyment of the band can still be obtained by the sound, and that is where it went so badly wrong.

Earlier in the evening the PA had been fine. The support act had sounded brilliant. They were Dan le Sac v Scroobius Pip, essentially two chaps – one on Apple laptop, the other on beard – who had taken The Streets white boy urban rap vibe and injected it with some humour and the twin selfs of ‘knowing’ and ‘deprecation’. They were, without doubt, hugely enjoyable, delivering a witty cover of Prince’s ‘Cream’ mid-set, engaging the audience with confidence and professionalism, and performing at least one blinding track in ‘Thou Shalt Always Kill’, a song which I heard on the radio twice about six months ago and had never known who it was by.

Sparks came on to, unsurprisingly, rapturous applause. As the album was to be played in sequence, the set began with its short a-capella title track, augmented here by Ron’s keyboards. Sounded fine; all looking set for a great night! Trouble was, as that number ended, the next track immediately kicks in, all instruments blazing, and from what I could see of the stage that is clearly what happened. However somewhere along the line, someone (possibly due to the fact that the support had just an I-Mac), had excluded the rest of the group’s instruments from the mix. Thus whilst it was clear that the band were a-rocking, neither of the two guitars, bass or drum kit could be heard, only the vocals and the keys. Eek! Cue the nimble sound engineer to work his magic, I hear you cry! Let switches be thrown, faders raised, and sockets plugged in! Sadly not! It wasn’t until half-way through the fifth number that anything that could be remotely considered a mix could be distinguished and even that was half-baked (in fact, I’m not entirely sure now if it was just my ears adjusting to the low volume). In short, the live sound was dreary. Thus as the band powered through what is to me one of the defining albums of the 1970s, they sounded meek and miserable. The audience cheered nonetheless (I think they were just pleased to be there) with only the occasional cry of ‘turn it up’ being heard). So, a disappointment. Plus, of course, as they were playing that album (and nothing else aside from an encored of one of the b-sides of the period), they spent less than fifty minutes on-stage, including band introductions and general cries of how happy they were to be there. Such a shame; I’m only glad I didn’t get tickets for ‘Kimono my House’ now!

Friday 30th May – ‘Angst in my Pants’

Now one of the particular features about Sparks’ career is that their popularity has tended to shift from country-to-country. Whilst they had their initial success in the UK in the early seventies, became a European disco success a few years later, the early eighties their dominant market was the US where they scored success with ‘Whomp that Sucker’, ‘Sparks in Outer Space’ and the – to my ears the best of the bunch - ‘Angst in my Pants’. That the album is virtually unknown in the UK is a great shame. The production may now sound dated (it is very 1982 what with the drum machines and the tinny synths) the quality of the songs stand comparison with anything they did before or since. So it was anticipation that I was looking forward tonight, particularly as it was Jane’s initiation not only to Sparks but also small venues where to have to stand-up all evening as well.

The first thing to note is that following the scrum-pack that had been the ‘Propaganda’ evening, the Academy tonight was a little under half empty. This didn’t seem to deter the support act, a Fratellis-imitating guitar trio who delivered their set with aplomb. Very jolly and rather slick but, ultimately, lacking any sense of identity of their own. They played one number I recognised so, like on the previous occasion, it would seem that Sparks are drawing some up-and-coming signed acts as support. I know wish I could remember their name (The Standards? It was ‘The’ something or others).

But as for Sparks. Well, as I wrote, I knew that this was one of their best albums and so too did pretty much everyone in attendance too, including the band themselves who seemed cheered to be playing the material, with Ron in particular slipping into a grin a regular occasions throughout. The audience seemed to know the lyrics by heart and the whole evening had the feeling of an enthusiastic secret club, where everyone knew that they were in on something select and special which the wider public simply didn’t understand. Thus the up-tempo excitement of ‘Sextown USA’, ‘Nicotina’, the college radio hit ‘Mickey Mouse’ and the closest thing Ron has to a theme song – ‘Moustache’ – were delivered with fire and excitement. In fact, stripped away from that dated production, the songs sounded even better than on the record. The set closed with a stomping, singalong version of ‘Eaten by the Monster of Love’ before the obligatory b-side encore – this time the Disney requested follow-up tune ‘Minnie Mouse’. “It’s been such fun to play this album tonight” Russell declared beaming! “I’ve never been at the front of a gig before” Jane enthused on the way home (we’d stood directly in front of Ron with just one person between us and the stage). A great night out!

Tuesday 3^rd June – ‘Music That you Can Dance to’

First up, let’s get tonight’s support act out of the way. Autumn are a band who are so firmly fixed in the sounds of 1981 synth pop you couldn’t help but feel that they should be signed to the Some Bizarre label. Their sound is reminiscent of such fondly (?) remembered acts as B-Movie, Fatal Charm, and Classix Nouveux, only without the quality of songs of any of those bands. In fact on-stage, they looked like two separate groups: the lead guitarist and bass player seeming stepping in from an Emo outfit; the singer and bad-dancer keyboard player like reserve members of OMD. They were tinny, derivative and – bless them – unintentionally humorous to watch. Apparently they got tonight’s gig because they organised a Sparks tribute album for charity for a few years back. Hearts in the right places then, even if their musical aspirations were all wrong.

Now, what can I say about ‘Music That you Can Dance to’? The album was released in the mid-eighties, generally perceived as the hinterland of Sparks’ career (one more album, ‘Interior Design’, and they then moved their focus to film music for the next seven years). The fact that it bombed on release and is only available under the record company’s rather sneakily re-packaged title of ‘The Best of Sparks’ tends to dampen expectations even further.

As the title song strikes up, and the reduced backing band line-up (second guitarist is on bass and regular bassist, Steve Macdonald, is taking a few days off) the first thing I notice is that the songs seems to meld two distinct Sparks styles: the Moroder gay disco stylings of the late 70s with the shiny, glam pop of their commercial peak. The second track, ‘Rose Bud’ continues in a similar vein. So far it, it would seem, we were in for an evening of Sparks-lite: filler material enlivened by strong and lively performance. However, things then turn in an upward direction as ‘Armies of the Night’ provides a sing-along chorus for the hardcore fans in attendance, and this is followed by ‘The Scene’, a strangely arranged number that is top-drawer Sparks. Next is the rarity of Ron taking lead vocals (‘Shopping Mall of Love’), followed by the excellent pop tune ‘Modesty Plays’, a song they wrote as the title track for a film version of ‘Modesty Blaize’ that never got made but they had to change the title stop themselves being sued by the original comic strip publishers. The encored with the excellent ‘Change’, a standalone single from the previous year that also crops up on the ‘Plagiarism’ album. Another half-full gig, buoyed by an enthusiastic crowd. Jane, accompanying me for a second time as Jon cancelled at the last minute, thought Russell’s voice was outstanding. I thought his wig was rather good too.

Saturday 7^th June – ‘Plagiarism’

Joining me this evening, all the way from his Fareham abode, was Matron. I’d stayed at his back when Sparks had played in Fareham back in 2006 on the ‘Hello Young Lovers’ tour. This time I reciprocated.

As we had now established ourselves in the age of the CD, where albums are considerably longer than previous, we knew that Sparks were due to hit the stage thirty minutes earlier than on previous gigs. We therefore arrived at 7:35 in order to catch the support act only to find that there wasn’t one. Technical difficulties meant the band didn’t get on till 8:45 so we spent 45 mins in the upstairs bar where before selecting a suitable pitch on the Ron side of the stage some time before the show’s commencement.

And what a show it was! ‘Plagiarism’ is the album in which Sparks revisited their back catalogue, reinventing some of their most loved tunes, sometimes with orchestral arrangements, other times with musical gusts such as Erasure and Faith No More. That, and the fact it was a Saturday night, ensured that this was just as crowded as the ‘Propaganda’ concert. We knew tonight would be a special night and when a string quintet took to the stage in advance of the band’s we knew that they weren’t going to cheat and use backing tapes. The band promptly leapt into a strident version of ‘Pulling Rabbits out of a Hat’ with Russell gesturing to the audience for responses in the ‘Applause, applause, applause’ chorus. However it was the second number of the evening that really had the crowd ecstatic, a version of ‘This Town ain’t Big enough’ stripped down to vocals, harpsichord and strings. I think this got the biggest response of anything over the four nights I attended. And the gig was full of highlights. A brass section joining the strings for ‘Change’, the extended a-capella version of ‘Propaganda’, the hugely emotive rendition of ‘Funny Face’, but – topping them all – was the appearance of Jimmy Sommerville for the orchestral-gay-disc version of ‘Number One Song in Heaven’ . Is there a camper man alive? I can’t say, but the predominantly gay audience lapped him up (not literally; that probably came later). At one point he fell onto his knees in front of Russell. I wasn’t sure if he was going to out him there and then or try and pull his wig off. The gig concluded, as does the album, with a stirring rendition of ‘Never Turn your Back on Mother Earth’ followed by a b-side so obscure that I don’t think anyone had ever heard of it, let alone heard it. A marvellous evening!

So, that’s Sparks then. I was sorely tempted to go to the final night at Shepherds Bush but the knowledge I had to leave early for my weekend in Warwickshire with the lovely Jane meant that I didn’t. A great experience to see a fantastic band playing with heart and passion. (I did later learn that on the day they played ‘Plagiarism’, they had spent seven hours of solid rehearsal before performing the set they’d been practicing a few hours later). Bravo!!!

Love Music, Hate Racism, Patronise Teenagers, Vote Ken!

Way back when (Saturday April 30th 1978 to be precise), the slim, red-faced, sixteen year old me was among the many hoards who met at Trafalgar Square for the original Rock Against Racism Carnival, the first major political demonstration that I ever attended. I walked the six miles from the centre of London to an unknown destination (Victoria Park, Hackney) where, to my joy and pleasure, I saw X-Ray Spex, Steel Pulse, The Tom Robinson Band, and – praise the Lord Harry – The Clash.

For most of the journey I walked behind an open lorry from which the band Charge played a loud and cheery set (twice if I remember correctly, what with them having run out of songs fairly quickly and the walk taking so long). For the life of me I cannot remember who I was with and whether it was this event which politicised me or if I was already a member of Redbridge Rock Against Racism at the time and had walked with the equally young and punky friends I had made in recent months during those Wednesday evening meetings above the Communist Bookshop in Ley Street, Ilford (Matt Davies, Antony Duffy, Trout and Neil Spearpoint among them) or if it was this event which provoked me into joining them. Either way it was a memorable day and a key one in my journey from school-avoiding Dagenham punk wannabe into Left-wing Activist and twangy gyrating bass player.

It was therefore with a somewhat rosy-eyed view of things that I found myself walking back into Victoria park thirty years later as that very event was celebrated under the banner of ‘Love Music, Hate Racism’. Once again the same curious mix of teenagers in eyeliner with Day-Glo accessories and trade union hardliners mingled together as a succession of ardent socialists regaled the masses from the stages (two this time) in an attempt to motivate the youth of today. So why was the whole thing so bloody miserable!!!

Well, firstly there was the music. Admittedly the Wing-Commander and I didn’t arrived until over half-way through proceedings so we cannot pass comment on those who were on earlier but when we did arrive we were aurally greeted by Roll Deep who may be the current kings of hippity-hoppity, dancey rap music but crikey, what a noise. They may appeal to the teenager Wiggers in attendance (of which there were only a few) but for the rest of us, eek! They were followed by a band that were populated predominantly by members of Babyshambles and who were joined by a succession of third-rate singers, the majority of which seemed incapable of holding a tune, ambled to the microphones to delivery their mediocre, uninspiring, derivative tunes. These are the people who I see in my daughter’s NME, lauded by the once authoritative music paper that these days seems to be written almost exclusive by writers whose command of English would make them more fitted to ‘Now’ magazine. Headlining was Damon Albarn’s latest post-Blur project The Good, the Bad and the Queen, whose sombre meanderings are regularly lauded as inspiring but, quite frankly, I found them to be as dull as dishwater. [There was, he confesses, better fare to be had on the second stage: the Paddingtons gave us their spirited identikit indie guitar indie stuff, including a game version of The Clash’s ‘1977’; Get Cape, Wear Cape, Fly were earnest but tuneful, whilst Patrick Wolf delivered the day’s musical highlight as threw himself into the crowd in his Union Jack suit and beamed cheerily at the young girls in the audience who, clearly, loved every camp inch of him].

No, the music was not the reason for my thinking this event was so dire. It was the politics.

Now I know that the trade unions still have many thousands of members in this country, and I would never knock the need for the working classes to have a voice and representation with which to challenge exploitation and stand-up for the rights of the individual. However, union member numbers today are considerably smaller than thirty years ago for a whole host of social and political reasons but listening to the succession of Union leaders who were paraded on stage today you could see why. All of them were my age or older, and each of which delivered the exact same message (vote at the Mayoral elections on Thursday to prevent the BNP from winning any seats) in the same, shouting, patronising style. Well, is it any wonder that the young folk feel politically disenfranchised? Many of them began their speeches by advising the masses that they, like me, had been here thirty before. They then reminded us that the seventies we had battled against fascism and that we had fought the Nazis (fought? It was hardly the Maginot line) and that once again the same threat was present.

How true was this though? Were the British public en masse really that stupid thirty years ago to have allowed the far right to gain anything other than the most trivial of political positions? Did the SWP-backed ANL and RAR really do anything other than create a bit of a noise and organise a few great gigs? There’s an argument to be made for both sides of that one, however what about in 2008? We are truly a multi-cultural, multi-racial society. Our children have grown-up in a world where their schools contained people of all colours and all religions; it is not like the sixties where term racial minority really meant ‘minority’. The Muslim community may now be the focus of our racial unease and I know that in the right-wing pocket of Barking they have a number of BNP councillors, but I couldn’t but help that those on the stage were just attempting to make things seem far worse than they were in order to cajole the young into becoming active. However, the youth of today aren’t that simple and just weren’t buying it. So the whole thing had an over-whelming air of sadness to it: Unionists trying hard as can be to pretend that people still thought in the same way they did several decades ago, as if society hasn’t had massive changes in that time – and to do this to a some of the dreariest music I’ve seen live in a while just added to the grimness of the event.

Better to be an armchair socialist in 2008. At least that way people even those who share your views won’t think you are a wanker!

I am rubbish, aren't I? No, seriously, I am. There's me saying I must complete this blog more often and what do I do? Nothing. Nowt. Sweet FA. Three months pass without a single thing. How rubbish am I? Apologies, gentle reader, you deserve better!

So, what have I been up to? Well, just got back from two weeks in New York (which was great!). Went to jazz clubs, two Broadway shows, a Yankees game, MOMA, the Guggenheim, and all the usual tourist malarkey. Fun, fun, fun. There was myself, YD, OD, OD's chum, and my latest squeeze, St Jane of the Lower Slopes. Other than that, work continues on the HOM album (nine tracks nearly complete), life is as boring as ever at the IB, OD and dog are still living with me (three months now), and I'm just getting even fatter. Can you believe it? (well... yes, actually you probably can). More soon, dear friend - honest!

Update

I just re-read my previous two blogs, both written around a month ago and thought: crumbs, things have changed already.

In one, I discuss how I had re-arranged my bedroom as I intended to spurn female company (for the short-term at least). Well, two weeks ago I met the lovely Jane at a bar in Harrow and now find myself going steady. Result! In the same blog entry I talk about my jazz trio, the Stevie B3, for the first time only to find that time has now been called upon it due to Stevie’s work commitments. Most frustrating as we spent three months getting two forty-five minute sets together only to find that the metaphorical rug has been removed just at the point where we were about to demo. Darn! However it did bring my DB playing up to speed so for that I am grateful. Now need to find another outlet for my jazz-inspired noodlings.

As predicted, OD has now been asked to leave college. Talk of re-sitting last year’s RE GCSE and studying for two others privately (in order to give her the 5 A-Cs she needs for ‘A’ levels) whilst also obtaining a part-time job are being bandied around by her Mother but my own view is that there seems little point in her attempting any additional education until she’s matured a bit, otherwise this time next year it will be me trying to prevent her getting kicked out of college for non-attendance for the third year running. I’ve ducked out of the conversation entirely for the time being. You can’t push a donkey up a hill and, when it comes to schooling, that’s what I feel I’ve been doing with OD for the past three years.

2008 is here. Hallelujah!

This New Year’s Eve, for the first time in many years, I found myself with a gig to play. It was not with either of my usual units (Honeymoon on Mars for rock; the Stevie B3 for jazz) but I was depping for a Pretenders tribute band, the tongue-tangling Pretenderers, as their regular bassist was in Australia for the festive period. So, with one rehearsal and a set of chord charts, I played the trendy Tapestry club, just south of Camden Town.

And what a fine evening it was. Arrived at 6:30 for a lengthy soundcheck. Took a stroll up to Parkway just before 8:00 where we ate at a small Italian café on the corner of Arlington Road (excellent Banoffee pie). We then moved up to the Spreadeagle for a couple of drinks and were entertained by a transvestite cabaret act (Miss Ginny Tonic – d’ya see what s/he did there?). We then strolled back to the club which, in a modern, ironic way, is actually located in a church hall, where we were entertained by a first class DJ who played nothing but obscure seventies commercial rock. For ever song I recognised (Neil Young’s ‘Cinnamon Girl’, Bryan Ferry’s ‘Price of Love’, Cheap Trick’s ‘Surrender’) there were about five I didn’t. Most splendid. Come midnight we were on-stage while the club host did the traditional countdown and as soon as a quick verse of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ was completed, we kicked off with a rollicking version of ‘Precious’.

I’ve never really understood why people played in tribute bands before. I mean, what’s the point of playing somebody else’s basslines note-for-note, changing the tone of your instrument to reflect their and compromising your own style to imitate another’s? Where’s the artistic and personal satisfaction in that? However, as I looked out across a crowded dance floor of people wigging out and having a good time (including The Mighty Boosh’s Julian Barrett who was grooving like a lunatic in front of the stage when we did ‘Back on the Chain Gang’) I realised why: because it is great to see a bunch of people having a really good time to the music that you performing, irrespective of whether it is your own material or not. They are physically displaying their enjoyment of your musicianship, and that’s kind of nice.

We played a 45 minute set, ending with ‘Brass in Pocket’ before returning for an encore of ‘Stop your Sobbing’. We went down a storm. Jo, the band’s Chrissie Hynde, looks more like Carol Smiley than anyone else when in normal apparel but after spending thirty minutes adjusting her wig, applying her make-up, she looked as well as sounded the part (and, of course, fronting a tribute band is playing a part as much it is playing an instrument).

After the gig, as the DJ was once more pounding out (‘I can’t Explain’; ‘Tumbling Dice’) a very beautiful young twenty-something walked over to me, took my hand and asked me to dance with her (and yes, gentle reader, the fact that I am old enough to be her Father meant that dance was all we did). A little later, once Jo had reverted to her normal look, we were grooving around the floor when Mr Boosh swanned over, threw his arms around us and drunkenly articulated how much he’d enjoyed the set. I carried on dancing till 2:00, had a great time and – icing on the cake – I even got paid £125 for playing. Result!

The following morning, as I was driving to NW2 to pick-up YD, Kev from HOM texted me to say there was a possibility of some prestigious support gigs later this year with a cult American band who are looking to tour the UK. ‘Crikey’, I thought, ‘2008 isn’t even twelve hours old yet and already it’s a vast improvement on 2007’. Fingers crossed those words won’t be empty!

2007 and all that

And so another year draws to a close and I thought I might take time to reflect on what has happened in my life these past twelve months.

It has certainly been a strange year and, on one level, it does feel as though nothing has changed during it's course. I began 2007 trying to prevent OD from getting booted out of school in order that she may sit her GCSEs; I end it trying to prevent OD from getting booted out of college in order that she may sit her GCSEs. I failed first time round because of zero commitment from my daughter, and now things are looking that way again. Yet, as I detail the events of the past twelve months it becomes apparent that a number of significant movements have taken place in my life, if not hers.

On the relationship front, I began the year dating dear old Fiona (tall and blonde) but I was already realising how much I was missing Beth of the Shire (short and ginger). By March I was in the Cambridge on the Charing Cross Road, drunk and asking BotS to marry me having first stood on a stall and declared to the entire pub that I was a c*nt. Two months later I was binned by BotS for a second time on the basis that our moment had passed. Three months after that I bumped into her a gig and realised what an ass I had been to let her slip through my fingers not once but twice and then spent the next few months trying to unsuccessfully convince her to go out with me for a third time. Other women this year included Biker Jo who, despite being keen as mustard, operated on the romantic maturity level of a sixteen year old, and dear Louise who seemed absolutely ideal on our first encounter until a week into our relationship she revealed that she was a born-again Christian and not only didn’t believe in sex outside of marriage but thought everything in the Old Testament was a literal truth and that homosexuals should be prayed for. Clearly, that didn’t last a whole lot longer after these views had been disclosed (although it did make me question my own relationship with both God and the Bible, which resulted in me feeling quite positive about the former and rather cautious over the latter; I actually went to Mass today for the first time in a couple of years). Thus, at the end of 2007 – and despite my previous post - I find myself resolutely single. Indeed, I laid a new bedroom carpet yesterday and re-arranged the room so that the bed is now pushed closer to the radiator and removed one of the two bedside cabinets in order to maximise the space by the wardrobe. In short, it is now more geared towards accommodating a single occupant rather than guests.

Musically it has been quite positive. I begun the year having purchased a Double Bass that I could not play. I end it being one third of a rather tasty jazz trio. I was fortunate to find a very good tutor (Liran Doran, the bassist with Led Bib) who helped me re-think my approach to the bass (jazz bass is a very different methodology to rock bass) and I am now lucky enough to be playing with a guitarist who was on one of my favourite albums of the early 80s (Sector 27’s Stevie B). Honeymoon on Mars have trod a somewhat rocky path (pardon the pun) with all of us (or at least I believe all of us) wondering why the hell we were bothering during at least one point in the year, sometimes more. However, even though we haven’t gigged much we’ve matured musically this year and now find ourselves feeling optimistic as we begin work on our album and examine ways to gig in America in the latter part of 2008. I’ve also become more involved in the vocals and songwriting front so, all in all, things are very upbeat as we go into the New Year. In fact, I’m even gigging on New Year’s Eve for the first time since the mid 80s (albeit depping with a Pretenders tribute band).

On the gig-going front, it did feel at times that I’d fallen back to my punk youth having been to see The Stranglers, Patti Smith, Nick Lowe and the Sex Pistols (who’d have thought they would have been that good?) this year, or indeed even further back as I also saw Rush, Roger Waters, and Peter Gabriel. However it wasn’t all yesterday’s faces as I also got to see top-notch sets from contemporary bands including Arcade Fire, Metric, The Killers and Tiny Dancers. Gig highlights of 2007 were Amanda Palmer at Bush Hall, a stunning Prince at the 02, and Air being positively sublime in a tent at Hyde Park during the summer. Oh, and moshing like a teenager to Iggy and the Stooges at the V festival. Musn’t forget that! Highlight of the year overall though was the week YD and I spent in Chicago in August. Fantastic,

Looking back to this time last year, I saw that I made three resolutions: (i) to enjoy myself more, (ii) to master the Double Bass, and (iii) to change my job. Not entirely sure if I managed two out of three or just one and a half. I’m still working at the IB although there seems to be so much politics and tensions there these days I can’t see things continuing as they for very much longer without at least one person leaving, and more likely more, which will change the whole shape of the department. (Sh*t! I’m talking about work. Have things got that bad?) Resolutions for 2008? Why bother, eh? I suppose I should make more of a commitment to keeping this blog running (I mean, four posts in five months; how rubbish is that?).

Wimmin

So…. I have found myself in the somewhat enviable position (well, some might say 'enviable'; I remain unconvinced) of having three different women who want to go out with me. Sounds great when you put it like that doesn’t it? If only that were so.

Woman number one is FM. I went out with her for five months, from the tail end of last year through to March. She is a great woman. We split because I felt that she was falling in love with me and, delightful as that was, I wasn’t feeling that level of emotion for her. What I didn’t tell her was that dating her made me realise just how much I had cared for BotS and that I had binned her in order to go back out with my small ginger friend. Anyhoo, I had tickets for ‘Wicked’ and no-one to go with me and so I asked her. We had a great time. I held her hand during the second act, in a kind of nice and chunmy way. A couple of days later she e-mails me saying that all the emotions she held for me that she had packed away in the attic of her mind had now been released and she wants to go out with me again. I advised her that would be the easy option but I was fearful that if we were to follow that path then five months down the line we’d be in exactly the same place as were in March, with me binning her all over again. She was not best pleased with this.

Woman number two is JP. A pleasant enough biker from Barnsley, ten years younger than I. We’ve been seeing each other off and on for a couple of months now. After the first night we slept together she disappeared for a fortnight. I took this to mean that she wanted our relationship to be one of ‘mates’ rather than anything else so whilst I have been chatting to her since, I hadn’t seen her until last week, whereupon we slept together again. She now wants us to be a ‘couple’. However I remain unconvinced.

The third is Louise. She’s a delightful woman: 42, divorced, two daughters the same ages as mine. However she is a born-again Christian and therefore believes the Old Testament is to be taken literally. I mean, literally. Homosexuality is wrong; no sex outside of marriage; women shouldn’t dress in men’s apparel. Yeah, I know what you are thinking – nutter. However, she doesn’t actually come across like that when you first meet her, only when you get to know her a little better.

So – what to do. Well, FM – lovely as she is – is not for me, which is a shame because life would be an awful lot easier if she was. Louise and I both agreed that if we were to have any future together one of us would have to change on quite a fundamental level, and as both of us are quite happy with the way that we are that’s going nowhere. As for JP, I can’t help feeling her relationship aspirations are different to mine so I fear that this should be knocked on the head too. For example, I want to be settled down, married and having a quiet life of loved-up happiness. What I don't want are any more children.

Thus, I remain – as ever – quite single.

Always open to offers though.