Thursday, 25 June 2009

News Bulletins In Colour


NEWS BULLETINS IN COLOUR
/ SOMETIMES I HAVE EROTIC FANTASIES
ABOUT TV NEWSREADERS
(with apologies to George Cairncross)

this evening I had shit for tea,
the Government calls it news,
non-nutritional excrement
with non-controversial views,
projecting ideal lives
wrapped in media disguises
in calculated words that
won’t offend the advertisers…

a diet of information
supposed to fuel my imagination,
a mind-polluting diarrhoea
inducing only indignation,
sometimes it makes me sick
like I’m gonna go insane,
wanna smash the radio and
stick the TV down the drain,
sometimes I try withdrawal
which only leaves me feeling bad,
like I wanna firebomb the Newsagent
and aerosol the hoarding ad…

but News Junkies depress the button
depress themselves, and me,
what more can you expect when
all they feed you’s shit for tea…?


Published in:
‘MOLOTOV COMICS No.3’ (UK – March 1981)
‘MELODIC SCRIBBLE No.6’ (UK – August 1986)
and on cassette:
‘IRUIDO EXTRANO/AZTEC RECORDINGS’
(UK, C60 or C90 – June 1981)
‘MORROCCI KLUNG – ONE HOUR OF MUSIC & TALK’
(UK, C60 – Sept 1981)
‘LANDED (SYC NETWORK C60)’ Recorded ‘Live’ in Birmingham
(UK – August 1982)

Amid the furore about Michael Jackson, other notable have also quit this continuum, Sky Saxon of the Seeds, Beat writer Harold Norse, Soft Machine's Hugh Hopper, and sometime Ranter Steven 'Seething' Wells. At the decayed end of the '70's I was doing a lot of readings up and down the country, considering myself pretty-much way 'out there', until accepted a gig (accompanied by Andy Robson) at Bradford's 'Vaults', to find myself on a bill with new full-on Punk-Poets Joolz Denby, Little Brother... & Seething Wells, reducing their set down to scatalogical rhyming doggeral of some considerable force, to audience-rush response more usually reserved for bands. Joolz was sweet about my obvious bemusement. It caused me some hard reconsidering. They had something. Sure they did. In response I did some rethinking. They read hyper-fast, so I slowed right down, make every vowel count. Then, I wrote 'News Bulletins In Colour' (adapting a line by George Cairncross) and a few more which Steven published in his 'Molotov Comics' zine with much amusing verbal-banter exchanges. Didn't always agree with his relentless attack-negativity, but - as he moved to 'NME' and beyond, always read him with interest. His loss now is disturbing...

Archive Interview: ADDICT


ADDICT:
THEY WANT THE WORLD...
AND THEY
WANT IT SOON!


The deal is this. Free Festival+One tickets with
Full Backstage Press Enclosure access and unlimited
complimentary Häagen Dazs. The condition is you
interview ‘ADDICT’. They’re young, they’re loud,
and they’re the latest signing to Richard Branson’s
V2 label. With a major album launch to follow,
World Domination must surely be just a shot away...
well, maybe not, as it turns out it,
but they do make for an entertaining and
enjoyable interview…

It’s a kind of magic. Addict deliver a searing set in blazing sunshine on a stage that, just hours ago, reverberated to the mighty Prodigy and Beck, and on which Blur are yet to play. But already Addict are naturals at this kind of high-profile Open-Air Stadium Rock thing, prefacing their malevolent “Monster Slide” at a girl in the audience with “this is dedicated to you, ‘cos you’re still off your head from yesterday”. Their set gallumphs all over the Festival’s twee Indie-Rock competition. Then they come off stage... and the heavens open.

Back in the Hospitality Tent, slurping Virgin Cola, vocalist Mark’s immaculate blonde fringe is already bedraggled to rat’s tails as somewhere out of sight the next band up battles to make itself heard through the deluge at what little crowd remains huddled beneath its refugee insulation of bin-liners and plastic sheeting. It is, of course, no accident. Addict aren’t into paddling around in the Indie shallows. They’re going for the grand gesture. They want the world, and they want it soon. Today is a major step in the right direction, and they’re still high on it, full of stories of backstage mayhem, of watching the Foo Fighters high-jacking two jeeps and wrecking the backstage catering area. Hey, this is Rock ‘n Roll!

But why ‘Addict’? Don’t they envisage the name causing problems? “Hopefully it will” grins Mark disarmingly. “Maybe America will have more problems with it than over here. But at least it’s going to get people interested. But as you’re aware... this is Coke!”, brandishing his Cola.

“And this is Orange Juice” adds guitarist Nikolaj, through the obligatory face-metal. Er, no it isn’t actually, it’s lager. “But we are quite clean-living...”

“He did say ‘quite’” clarifies bassist Luke helpfully.

“OK, we’re relatively clean living, then. Maybe the Rock ‘n’ Roll cliché isn’t really applicable to us. And anyway, the name’s got nothing to do with the drug connection. It’s more about having passion for something. It’s more to do with everybody being addicted to something. There are all sorts of addictions.”

So what are you addicted to? “Snowboarding”. Mark Aston. “Music.” Nikolaj Juel. “Music.” James Denham. “First of all, it’s got to be music.” Drummer Luke Bullen. “But not really drugs as one would probably think.” There was actually a Punk group called the Addicts. “We’ve already had highly abusive death threats from their fans. So we’ve had death threats, but we haven’t had any problems with the name. Yet.”

Addict have already come a long way. First hearing suggests Nirvana, that same alternate texturing of light and shade (“dynamically I can appreciate that” concedes Mark unenthusiastically, “melodically and chordally, I don’t think so”). But then, no. Instead there’s something of the epic grandeur of ‘Joshua Tree’-era U2, dosed with some post-metal, hard but song-structured Rock. And anyway, so far, on record there’s only a three-track taster EP called “Save Me”, and a contribution (“Dust”, an advance sample from their October single) on a V2-label compilation sampler. The album, recorded over a manic eighteen days in Los Angeles with prestige producer David Bianco, will change all that. Already the songs they premiere here today - the suicidal desolation of “Red Bird”, “Teenage Angel” a strong acoustic ballad about under-age sex, or the teetering self-destruction of “95 Below”, sound mature and crafted power-Rock firmly grounded in limitless confidence and assertion. Then there’s the black-hearted self-loathing of their stand-out “Monster Slide” (“I am stupid / but I’m cool...”) already lined-up as the album’s second single…

Mark and James hit London via Cambridge, impacting with Nikolaj, fresh in from his native Denmark. The final ingredient, Luke, brought the band up to strength. But Addict don’t slot easily into the industry’s restrictive Dance or Britpop-obsessed readily marketable categories, and they worked together in virtual isolation during their ‘chrysalis stage’, those long couple of years before they got signed. It’s a time that firmed and clarified their unique Big-Time vision. “It took somebody who had a vision of the world, rather than just what’s going on in England to recognise what we’re about. All of us have always been into a bigger sound than the Indie thing. As a band we all hate small-sounding records, we want to put across a bigger sound. It’s not been a particularly conscious decision. It never was. It was just the sort of music that we’ve always been into. The sort of musicians that we are. And the sort of songwriter that I am. It just led us in a different direction. I’ve always been interested in taking it around the world, and NOT just following a fashion or being a fad. So hopefully we’re going to have an audience across-the-boards.”

“That’s what we’re aiming for. We’ve worked hard” adds Luke. “It’s just a question of knowing what you want to do, and sticking to it. Like with the album. We co-produced it with David Bianco. We already knew pretty much what we wanted. But he creates a great atmosphere in the studio. He got really good performances out of everyone”. With a production CV bulging with the likes of the Rollins Band, Fleetwood Mac, Red Hot Chilli Peppers... and Mick Jagger, he has some great stories too. “And he’s an ex-surfer. But one who’s over-indulged a bit food-wise. He’s gained a little too much mid-region. We saw him in a wet-suit. That was one of the highlights of the trip.”

“I like to record quickly, and do vocals in one or two takes. But he makes you work in such a way that you spend a couple of hours doing vocals, but it doesn’t really feel like a couple of hours. It’ll be, like, ‘Great, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could just get that one word there, or that line’. He makes you feel like it’s you making the decision. Very skilful in a sort-of sociological way. And he was saying that when he was doing the Mick Jagger solo album it was like Jagger didn’t really want to work with any producer, ‘cos he’s the man, and that’s what he’s like. So David would be saying ‘why don’t you try this, why not try taking the key up a tone?’ and it would be ‘No, no, Fuck Off, no, no’. Then they’d all go out for dinner. And Jagger would lean across to him and say ‘so what do you think if we take the key of the song up a tone?’, and David would go ‘oh, that’s such a good idea’. Mick Jagger would take all the credit for everything!”

And America itself? “It was terrible,” suggests Luke with a leer. “Terrible. Just sunshine. Surfing. Top Snowboarding. It was terrible. But we did get to play in the ‘Viper Rooms’...” “That’s Johnny Depp’s Club. He was there. Behind the bar. Pulling pints.” “Kate Moss was there too. She was serving. She does a great cheese-&-pickle sandwich...”

“Then we went to New York and played on the deck of this aircraft carrier for American TV distribution. They had this party, and we played ten-eleven o’clock at night, so we had the whole of the Manhattan skyline behind us while we were playing...” Nikolaj leans over to emphasise the point, spilling his lager over my cassette machine as he does so, “ ...Oh shit, that’s fucked THIS interview!”

So finally, before the lager totally frazzles the tape, any last words of advice for that girl ‘still off her head from yesterday’? “Sure, JUST SAY NO. If your Mum asks did you get high, just say no.”

Addict want the world. They want it soon. And they might just get it. It’s a kind of magic.

BY ANDREW DARLINGTON

Following the publication of this interview, Addict were dropped by V2 after the failure of their only major-label album – ‘Stones’ (1998 - V2 81845). New Orleans sessions with producer Malcolm Burns and a guesting Emmy-Lou Harris remained unissued until 2003 when an own-label issue titled ‘Come On Sun’ made them available. Meanwhile, Addict reformed as Zanderman, but went their separate ways after an acoustic ‘Live At The Kashmir’ (2001) album. Later, Mark Aston’s well-received solo album ‘The End Is Near The Beginning’ (2002) – with Addict drummer Luke Bullen, was followed by the impressive ‘Rolling Souls’ (2005) with guest musicians including KT Tunstall… all available from www.markaston.net

Published in:
‘HOT PRESS Vol.21 No.19’ (Eire – October 1997)

New Album By 'STRING DRIVEN'


Album Review of:
‘SONGS FROM ANOTHER COUNTRY’
by STRING DRIVEN
(Backshop Records BSRCD003)
www.stringdriven.com

No longer Things, they’re now merely String-Driven. You might recall “It’s A Game”, from their early violin-driven Shel Talmy-produced line-up, which became a belated hit for, erm… Bay City Rollers? The Things own original is now a bonus-track on the CD reissue of their second Charisma album ‘The Machine That Cried’ from 1973. Glasgow-based Chris Adams is the only constant element from that first phase. His autobiographical “Grisham Hotel” narrates the story, how the ‘frankincense of failure… drowned the scent of fame’. Until, reconvened and commendably clean-energy, their Prog-Folk roots are fine-tuned with new game-elements of Americana. The sinuously stalking “Place To Lie” is a voodoo-game of disguised band names delivered in hoarse weathered vocals, ‘beetles, stones and zombies’, then ‘turtles, eels, eagles and birds’. See how many you can spot. “Die Without It” is a paean to Rock ‘n’ Roll and a spirited attack on samplers and machines, gliding in on low-slide guitars embedded in tight finely-honed small-group instrumentation, slickly Dire Straits alike – but in a good way. The ‘Another Country’ is the past, and Chris evokes lyrical vagabond troubadour-muso poem-songs about silver strings, Patrick Kavanagh verse, and meeting your idol at a backstage party (Dylan?). He gave Rock ‘n’ Roll the best years of his life… and these are melodies shaped by lyric-structure, measured in metaphors as teasingly elusive as Roger McGuinn’s ‘Chestnut Mare’. Literate songs tormented by restless phantoms of loss, regret, ghosts and past-tense dreams, ‘gone for good, gone for bad’, but either way they ain’t coming back. If ‘Rock ‘n’ Reel’ had an album of the month, this would probably be it. But is there anything a new Bay City Rollers could make a hit out of? Probably not.
REVIEW BY ANDREW DARLINGTON

Sunday, 17 May 2009

NEVER DONE SKUNK



NEVER DONE SKUNK/
BUY ONE, GET ONE FREE
  
(with all due apologies to Samuel J Snort Esq)

own up, I necked a dozen rakis in a Matala cave & passed out,
roared off into the howling Homeric cretan neolithic mountain sunset
on a customised quad-chopper with a biker-queen, rolling in a night-sweat
of blind-visions where ecstasy is the janus-face of terror,
i still get the flashbacks, apocalypse in my head now,
but no, i’ve never done skunk

yes, i did the sacred peyote ritual with William Burroughs
after rampaging through rain-forests to the still clearing
at dead of night to the highest slant of an Aztec temple
hallucinating through the entire evolutionary cycle from
single-celled organism to the heat-death of the cosmos
but i’ve never done skunk

i burrowed my head in the Holy Grail full of purest Bolivian coke,
was wired nine-days straight on a tour-bus with Noel Gallagher,
but i’ve never done skunk

i ate a whole blotter of Stanley Owsley’s acid, got abducted by aliens
to the moons of Saturn where, using suction-pump cyber-appendages
they engaged me in various erotic acts not entirely unpleasant,
returning me to Leeds with cerebral implant microchips enabling
me direct telepathic connection with the shades of Gautama Buddha,
Leon Trotsky, Elvis Presley & Rin-Tin-Tin, but i’ve never done skunk
i downloaded Britney Spears, played her backwards, & uploaded her again
read this morning’s Daily Mail & briefly imagined i’d learned something
played a Coldplay album backwards & it still sounds shit
had nights of wild consensual sex with celebrity chefs
sat through a complete instalment of ‘Deal, No Deal’
i shagged Madonna – but then again, who hasn’t
had carnal knowledge of the beasts of the field
and yet i still haven’t done skunk

i gave up midway through ‘Ulysses’ eleven times
at certain moments of quiet repose i’ve found myself indulging
in dubious fantasy scenarios involving all three Bronte sisters
& Branwell too, i wrote, directed & starred in a series of low-budget
slasher movies in which i play both serial killer, & victims,
but i’ve never done skunk…

…or then again, maybe i did,
it’s just that i can’t remember
‘cos i was so totally spaced at the time…?

BOB DYLAN LIVE AT 'BLACKBUSHE'



HIPPIES GRAVEYARD’:

BOB DYLAN’S LIVE

PICNIC AT BLACKBUSHE

It’s Saturday 15th July 1978,

and Bob Dylan plays ‘Blackbushe’,

a once-and-future private aerodrome at

Camberley on the Surrey-Hampshire border.

And joy it was to be alive, and there to see it all…

 

He’s laid spread-eagled on the grass, wrapped in a Union Jack, comatose. Blonde, and spaced to everything. You think… why? He’s paid his £6 in advance, or maybe £7 at the gate for this once-in-a-lifetime event, joy it is to be alive at this moment, and he’s too out of it to know. Gates open at noon, we arrive early. After staying overnight in Almondbury, we travel south with Dix behind the wheel, driving me, with Rita and Steve. Steve keeps pointing out ‘hey, there’s a picturesque country pub, we could stop for one’, and each time we do I’m thinking ‘yeah, we can visit quaint little country pubs anytime… but this is DYLAN!’ Itching to move in a frantic kind of boring. Can you tell me where we’re headin’, Lincoln County Road or Armageddon?, we’re three miles from Camberley on the A30 London-Southampton road, and start seeing itinerants for miles around. This is the year of Punk, there are splash-paint signs pointing ‘HIPPIE’S GRAVEYARD’, maybe they’re right. But it’s a great and groovy graveyard.


Eric Clapton plays a black-&-white Fender and tries to sing “Cocaine” with a cig in his mouth-corner, “Lay Down Sally” with Mercy Levy harmonies, and a blistering “Badge”. He even does Dylan’s “Knocking On Heaven’s Door”. Later, he joins Dylan on-stage for “Forever Young”. Strangely I have little memory of it. Not really been into anything he’d done since… um, since that Delaney & Bonnie record. Maybe punk conformity blanks him out, like the Union Jack guy? Or maybe we were in some country pub while his guitar gently weeps? I considered bringing a tape machine, but decided no, security won’t let it through. But once inside there are batteries of them, some NASA-like mobile recording studios, tripod-mounted furry-mics spooling it all in. It’s tempting to walk past them, one-by-one, declaiming enigmatic runic Dylanesque mutterings into each. Despite it all, the only ‘Blackbushe’ 3CD bootleg I’ve found is pretty lo-fi (the German Wanted Man WMM 24/25/26, 1993). Atmospheric, but poor sound. Spliffs too. A low cumulus of dope. All you need do is walk and inhale. It later turns out there are thirty-six arrests, six for theft, six for bootlegging tickets, and twenty-four for drug offences. Joan Armatrading on stage now, lost in vastness as light laces higher. “Love & Understanding” and “Down To Zero” swelling like soap-bubbles bursting in the sun.


Driving into the 23-acre ‘Dylanville’ compound, in surreal juxtaposition there’s a line of camouflage-grey World War II aircraft, huge Jurassic bombers rearing above grass, runway tarmac and rivers of assorted miscreants. Death-planes that refuse to turn into butterflies above our 200,000-strong nation. The biggest single-day event to date. Harvey Goldsmith Inc has lined up acts from 02:00pm – the jostling reggae of Merger licking like a friendly puppy then doing “Biko” dedicated to the oppressed of Africa, the Anglo-German Lake running CSN&Y harmonies over prog noodlings, Graham Parker & The Rumour roaring into “Hey Lord, Don’t Ask Me Question” with sparks glinting on his heels. Ringo Starr is rumoured to be here, Bianca Jagger, Billy Conolly, Susan George and Jennie Agutter. But Martin Carthy and Woody Guthrie’s widow Marjorie too. The south-wall toilet facilities are a tented water-sculpture constructed of dripping overflowing gutter-ways interconnected to slopping oil-drums marooned in a wetland of yellow mud. I find a trove of SF paperbacks squirreled into the palisade – JG Ballard, Robert Silverberg, and stuff them in my jacket.


Back at the soundstage, visibility is less than good. Sight-lines confused by ‘Desolation Row’ pennants, big-hat picnickers with kids and miniature stoves. No video-screens. On the way out afterwards you sneak-hear meaning-hungry people debating whether or not Dylan was wearing a hat. He was. A hat with a cockade, and 1966 shades to provide refuge. But it’s telling that they couldn’t tell. Everyone has a different perspective on it, but with footage playing over and over in your head, everything is heightened. Dylan’s set opens with an instrumental “My Back Pages”, the man arriving virtually unannounced from the back-stage leading into a cover of bluesman Tampa Red’s “Love Her With A Feeling”. Then, glasses-off but eyes closed, he spits and slurs his new single “Baby Stop Crying” which – on the back-of this event, climbs to no.13, making it his final UK Top Twenty hit, so far. He doesn’t speak much, little more than ‘thank you, we’re starting to get going’. Then ditches guitar, in favour of holding hand-mic and harmonica for “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue”.  Determinedly going ‘over the top’ I trek the near-half-mile through the carnage of sleeping-bags and body-clusters, fighting through to the front. To the post-‘Rolling Thunder’ stage cluttered with snarls of tangled wiring. The closest to a Big-Band Dylan we’re likely to get. Most personnel remaindered from the ‘Street Legal’ sessions, Steve Douglas’ wailing bluesy horns on “I Want You”, Billy Cross lead guitar, Alan Pasqua’s keyboards, Bobbye Hall percussion and Ian Wallace on drums.


The vocal back-up trio modelled on Bob Marley’s ‘I Three’ - midpoint Dylan steps back for them to solo ‘’cause I’m getting tired’, Carolyn Dennis does Sam Cooke’s “Change Is Gonna Come”, Helena Springs dances and moves around the stage as she does “Mr Tambourine Man”, and Jo Ann Harris sings “The Long And Winding Road” (earlier the girls repeat Dylan’s lines ghosting “Like A Rolling Stone”). ‘And now the genius’ says Dylan, and the Alpha Band’s Steve Soles, on rhythm guitar, does a solo spot with “Laissez-Faire”. After his long wilderness years, Dylan had re-established his mystique with ‘Blood On The Tracks’ and ‘Desire’, with ‘Street Legal’ impending, the set is strewn with its cuts. “Señor (Tales Of Yankee Power)”, and the smooth pure horns of “Is Your Love In Vain” smearing into the air like warm oil, about as perfect as sound can get, ‘can you cook and sew, make flowers grow, do you understand my pain?’ Still amphetamine-skinny, scarecrow-haired and Rimbaudian, black jacket, a lightning flash down his twitching insectoid pants’ leg. He plays electric Fender Strat, switching to acoustic with harmonica-harness for “Gates Of Eden” in blue spotlight pool. He’s the postman, so he says. The guy who delivers, songs. “Ballad Of A Thin Man” starts with his voice alone, before the band phase in, Billy Cross’ demonic guitar kicking against the organ. In a natural light-show of spectacular sunset etching the stage-profile into the sky. Bonfire beacons across the enclosure. As Steve points out, he uses the Hendrix ‘Electric Ladyland’ arrangement of “All Along The Watchtower” – making him possibly the first artist to do a cover version of one of his own songs, albeit whipped up by David Mansfield’s violin, Dylan replacing his previously discarded top hat. After the rasping nasal whine of “All I Really Want To Do” Dylan does the band intro’s, then into a cranked-up consciousness-stream “It’s Alright Ma, I’m Only Bleeding”. “Forever Young” delivered, or interpreted as a defiant generational anthem. Closing with the wild high mercury sound of “Changing Of The Guards”… and “The Times They Are A-Changin’”.


Dix knows the new tracks already. I buy the album the next record shop I encounter. Heading back for the car, glancing at my notes, I’ve written ‘blazing airships consuming the night, metallic dandelion-seeds spiralling down across the sky, two-tone siren horsemen howling, wading through elfin-pools of piss and tin-cans cranked up high on electric decibels’ - what the hell does that mean??? Does Dylan himself get into similar conundrums with his own lyrics? As we leave, down moonlight lanes into a six-mile traffic tailback, the ‘blonde & spaced’ dreamer is still laid there, still wrapped in the Union Jack, tightshut lids, sleeping under strange strange skies a-spin with glints of whirling seeds. And he’s missed it all…


Full Running Order: “My Back Pages” (instrumental), “Love Her With A Feeling” (cover of Tampa Red song), “Baby Stop Crying”, “Just Like Tom Thumb Blues”, “Shelter From The Storm”, “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue”, “Girl From North Country”, “Ballad Of A Thin Man”, “Maggie’s Farm”, “Simple Twist Of Fate”, “Like A Rolling Stone”, “I Shall Be Released”, “Is Your Love In Vain”, “Where Are You Tonight (Journey Through Dark Heat)”, “Change Is Gonna Come” (sung by Carolyn Dennis), “Mr Tambourine Man” (by Helena Springs), “The Long & Winding Road” (Paul McCartney song sung by Jo Ann Harris), “Laissez-Faire” (Steven Soles solo), “Gates Of Eden”, “True Love Tends To Forget”, “One More Cup Of Coffee”, “Blowin’ In The Wind”, “I Want You”, “Señor (Tales Of Yankee Power)”, “Masters Of War”, “Just Like A Woman”, “To Ramona”, “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright”, “All Along The Watchtower”, “All I Really Want To Do” – Dylan does the band introductions, “It’s Alright Ma, I’m Only Bleeding”, “Forever Young”, “Changing Of The Guards”… “The Times They Are A-Changin’” 

TOMMY JAMES & SHONDELLS 'PSYCHEDELIC YEARS'

Album Review of:

‘CRYSTAL BLUE SYMPHONIES:

THE PSYCHEDELIC YEARS’

by TOMMY JAMES & THE SHONDELLS

(Revola CR REV 280) www.revola.co.uk  

“Mony Mony” – oh yeah. But Tommy James and his Shondells were more than just bubble-pop. “Crimson And Clover” is classic late-psychedelia, overloaded with shuddering reverberating echo-phasing that sounds even better in cleaned-up digitised CD-format than it ever did on my scratchy-scuffed seven-inch vinyl. As the Simpsons Otto-man tells it ‘I don’t need drugs to enjoy this. Just to enhance it’. The single, a US no.1 to boot, was edited down from sessions that produced two electricity-drenched albums – ‘Crimson And Clover’ and ‘Cellophane Symphony’, both here on a single-CD, both issued in 1969, and both shoving whizzy studio technology to the edge with reverse-tape gibberish and much use of the newly devised moog synthesiser. Is ‘hello banana, I am a tangerine’ profound, surreal, or just silly? the result of overdosing on too much “I Am The Walrus”, or too much of Dr Leary’s Special Brew? The first album is more Pop-friendly, with “Kathleen McArthur” – a poor-boy rich-girl love tryst, “Do Something To Me” retaining something of the ‘Hanky Panky’ bounce, and “Breakaway” even extending into fuzz-guitar Temptations-style funk. Then “Crystal Blue Persuasion” is another hit single, with more than a taste of the Young Rascals Latin “Groovin’” groove, or maybe the spooky Classics Four. The second set, opening with a denser more ‘conceptual’ 9:38-minute head-music foray into early Floydian cosmic moods, and leading into the trippy heavy-osity of “Changes” with its lyrical pseudo-profundity, is slightly less wacky fun. Until picking up with the quirky “I Know Who I Am” detailing Tommy’s adventures with an ugly groupie, and a man with chapped lips who smiled and almost bled to death! Pausing only to bring on the crippled monkeys and a John Wayne impression, the album closes with a riotous spoof-retirement party, “On Behalf Of The Entire Staff And Management” which disintegrates into laughter and raucous silly-voice abuse. Maybe it’s satire on the corporate mindset, maybe it’s just daft. Whether an astute shot of commercial opportunism, a genuine attempt to escape from ‘Mony Mony’ bubble-pop and gain the respect of his peers, or a cool fusion of the two, it works for me.

 

Tuesday, 28 April 2009

FIRST NEW YORK POEM



FIRST NEW YORK POEM:
WHIRLWIND TOUR, WITH WEDDING 
(ONE THOUSAND VALUABLE SECRETS
IN THE ELEGANT AND USEFUL ARTS…)

“fog’s rolling in off the East River bank
like a shroud, it covers Bleeker Street…”
(Paul Simon)

i’ve never been here, but
i’ve paced these streets before,
i’ve never seen this woman on the
subway rapping at no-one in particular
how black labor built America, how that
pyramid on the dollar bill, hey wise up,
it’s African, then the contra-voice against
the conga-drummer down-carriage complaining
all I want is a damn subway ride home, I don’t sign
up for no lecture, & me that what she’s saying is
obviously so, but why the need to say it now?
until the instant community dissolves
at 34th St Penn station halt…

i’ve never been to this
Amish deli in the Battery sun
where we lunch on vegi sushi, or where a duo
busk ‘Norwegian Wood’ on Strawberry Fields,
or the $60 cab-ride through Queens where the driver
scrolls over from Nashville to BBC World Service
(for the best African news!), where there
are spires that into the moonglow rise, &
we cross the scars of 9/11 across Vesey,
i’ve never been here, but
i’ve paced-out each footfall
in poems & TV-news & movies
in poems & novels & song-lyrics …

i’ve never been here, but i know
Bleeker through Washington Square,
where the bright hoardings crawl
& there is nowhere stillness, where
Bran & Stephen watch the Hudson
from their 15th floor Embassy Suites across
to NJ with Mingus on the jazz-station,
where street-signs suggest songs
that linger back in echoes from every
storefront and basement bar…
i’ve never been here
but somehow, I’ve
never ever been away

Published in:
‘POETRY AT LEHANI’S no.8/ MINOTAUR no.45’ (USA – September 2006)
‘MINOTAUR no.48/ POETRY AT LEHANI’S no.11’ (USA – August 2007)


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