tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40090678790877572962024-03-18T03:03:26.817+00:00Eight Miles HigherAndrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.comBlogger810125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-6546817127373943352023-12-18T09:50:00.002+00:002023-12-18T09:50:28.155+00:00HAVE A SUGAR & SPICE XMAS, 2023<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqOAhsfe4PeXln7ohVnM0TMoExJ9Tl35ZM7u6eHWJXPSb7OxingGqFAERIFKXtOkxnu20EyhlwJ404UhCcjNMpoifBLeKpD5qxfsc4Q4xAC7cs14g66QsZIIC9BouiFCmOeVCSkt8WvA6UnW36bcsadmWXOnClZ7mXTQ2v6JZ97B9rxtVFmhDKBkBuihA/s2844/2023%20Hamster-Banana%20Xmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2406" data-original-width="2844" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqOAhsfe4PeXln7ohVnM0TMoExJ9Tl35ZM7u6eHWJXPSb7OxingGqFAERIFKXtOkxnu20EyhlwJ404UhCcjNMpoifBLeKpD5qxfsc4Q4xAC7cs14g66QsZIIC9BouiFCmOeVCSkt8WvA6UnW36bcsadmWXOnClZ7mXTQ2v6JZ97B9rxtVFmhDKBkBuihA/s320/2023%20Hamster-Banana%20Xmas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPQDS8KGkIPPS5dOgsVfk_DoszrtK7he1hM7ZHHGNaQO8NArzYDeCsz04sC5vdxA_Iia1eqd-pK94CTL9wQtAo8ZbV2tFH8XO-nxGAtxJDkoFlA5hYYLOFMToLsWONrlQO4DFsOW10ebwAG9nE3tWPzdcV63K5iRkVFBCN9XYx1owzbX4cmvZUu9atOLk/s2992/2023%20(Dec)%20Xmas%20Tree.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2992" data-original-width="2992" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPQDS8KGkIPPS5dOgsVfk_DoszrtK7he1hM7ZHHGNaQO8NArzYDeCsz04sC5vdxA_Iia1eqd-pK94CTL9wQtAo8ZbV2tFH8XO-nxGAtxJDkoFlA5hYYLOFMToLsWONrlQO4DFsOW10ebwAG9nE3tWPzdcV63K5iRkVFBCN9XYx1owzbX4cmvZUu9atOLk/s320/2023%20(Dec)%20Xmas%20Tree.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <div style="text-align: center;"><b>A WISH FOR YOUR CHRISTMAS WISHING WELL</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>FOR LOVE IN A PEACEFUL WORLD</b></div><p></p>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-64508054529359569862022-12-22T14:28:00.002+00:002022-12-22T14:30:06.348+00:00MERRY XMAS EVERYONE<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2CnjcKA9t3C5TjvPVoFX6a3O4hwFxborAgD7SixbETXZMptulqSZtx9CsuD3gnrzq4SvnJ18vZDL5XrVPJkq76104_wyllPH8FwFnEVd4ngi-wFMzRUFsdnXpNHtlb66pc4wX7AbTSyWlPnXuNxCiOOor4cUT47KwY3NMO-HF2HV02LcZF0lsxGYH/s1202/Ectoplasm%202022%20Xmas-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1188" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2CnjcKA9t3C5TjvPVoFX6a3O4hwFxborAgD7SixbETXZMptulqSZtx9CsuD3gnrzq4SvnJ18vZDL5XrVPJkq76104_wyllPH8FwFnEVd4ngi-wFMzRUFsdnXpNHtlb66pc4wX7AbTSyWlPnXuNxCiOOor4cUT47KwY3NMO-HF2HV02LcZF0lsxGYH/w395-h400/Ectoplasm%202022%20Xmas-1.jpg" width="395" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">ROCK AROUND THAT CHRISTMAS TREE!</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">‘And so I’m offering this simple phrase </div><div style="text-align: center;">to kids from one to ninety-two </div><div style="text-align: center;">although it’s been said many times, </div><div style="text-align: center;">many ways
Merry Christmas To You…’ </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">BE EXCELLENT TO ONE ANOTHER! </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Adieus Till Later </div><div style="text-align: center;">-<b><span style="font-family: times;">Andy</span></b>-</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-9099862019910500742022-11-30T17:43:00.000+00:002022-11-30T17:43:24.285+00:00<p> </p><b><div style="text-align: center;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9DCuLr0Oey5WFKy-DAFsP_JhjFmGGr8jyptNg2xpPPYyIrgwEcMSMhZ8HO_80VRR1-yUaSlBETu3DEgVvyad2u4zVu3odpnxTGF1Bc4HBynqVUKjTrNt-hdYGXDI5-CL3uPGT28KcEVKSMLUqg575dKIe8w9589TfeEK2hGSJQVfosPLcsBgYundd/s768/tdih-a-bomb-testing-gettyimages-3091730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="768" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9DCuLr0Oey5WFKy-DAFsP_JhjFmGGr8jyptNg2xpPPYyIrgwEcMSMhZ8HO_80VRR1-yUaSlBETu3DEgVvyad2u4zVu3odpnxTGF1Bc4HBynqVUKjTrNt-hdYGXDI5-CL3uPGT28KcEVKSMLUqg575dKIe8w9589TfeEK2hGSJQVfosPLcsBgYundd/w400-h225/tdih-a-bomb-testing-gettyimages-3091730.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">KNOWING, AND </span></b></div></b><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">NOT KNOWING </span></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I was there at White Sands </div><div>wearing sunglasses to watch </div><div>the detonation at the end of the world, </div><div>I was free-falling with Little Boy </div><div>through the skies above Hiroshima, </div><div>I was checking through comic-books on the </div><div>newsstand outside the Dallas Book Depository </div><div>when I heard the shots that took away our future, </div><div>I watch the 9:11 towers fall over and over, </div><div>on a million TV-screen repeat, </div><div>I hung around the Dakota Building </div><div>as John Lennon signed his final autograph, </div><div>something outside me takes the words away, </div><div>evil passes me blind on the sidewalk, </div><div>if this is a phase I’m going through, </div><div>when does it end and move </div><div>smoothly into the next phase? </div><div>is there a chart you can consult, </div><div>a graph that indicates you’re here, </div><div>moving up this sharp incline </div><div>towards that point there, </div><div>after which you move through </div><div>into the next phase where all this </div><div>mixed-up confusion resolves, </div><div>if this is a learning process, </div><div>when does the knowing set in? </div><div>because the more I’m seeing </div><div>the less I understand… </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Featured online at: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘IT: INTERNATIONAL TIMES’ </b>(17 January 2018) </span></div><div><a href="http://internationaltimes.it/knowing-and-not-knowing/ "><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://internationaltimes.it/knowing-and-not-knowing/ </span></a></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Collected into: </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘TWEAK VISION: THE WORD-PLAY </span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">SOLUTION TO MODERN-ANGST CONFUSION’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Alien Buddha Press (USA – March 2018)
</span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSnBGK7ACWIv5orWkurwSLsjG25SrdlT5s95c05VALu5Qaxnnj4yMlDiUictlw-eC-7TcPt2tUf2WzSYM_NIPnjwv4ItQO-HfH24WhIX3D4eGtQ_tMLVysPvFH_x6LCkjnQCU1s3Sc1clxbB0nFYMc5H0KzFo4a8PlNP5uTjyzNmQSJ1yMT470XWu5/s1624/Trinity_Detonation_TB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="1624" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSnBGK7ACWIv5orWkurwSLsjG25SrdlT5s95c05VALu5Qaxnnj4yMlDiUictlw-eC-7TcPt2tUf2WzSYM_NIPnjwv4ItQO-HfH24WhIX3D4eGtQ_tMLVysPvFH_x6LCkjnQCU1s3Sc1clxbB0nFYMc5H0KzFo4a8PlNP5uTjyzNmQSJ1yMT470XWu5/w400-h235/Trinity_Detonation_TB.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-81649875931351395052022-11-29T13:13:00.000+00:002022-11-29T13:13:44.975+00:00Saint Etienne: Foxbase Alpha & Beyond<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLpLZQPY6Oz_tKTSGxNDwTRj7HSkPCaWu5odS5uLtxPVaLMTd98iB4cJUmbAIf2manGALi8mUbLUx6-_gTgg9CDJTLBoNmhAuLflffivvrkbUxBhHDqPMOmZ5zI9lX9KLRn_Xg3RVuenwBsM53CT1W4pCfsZPhNe0WEn2j8PubU03WiqRQ9yn-QCb/s1000/Saint-Etienne-GettyImages-492606691.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLpLZQPY6Oz_tKTSGxNDwTRj7HSkPCaWu5odS5uLtxPVaLMTd98iB4cJUmbAIf2manGALi8mUbLUx6-_gTgg9CDJTLBoNmhAuLflffivvrkbUxBhHDqPMOmZ5zI9lX9KLRn_Xg3RVuenwBsM53CT1W4pCfsZPhNe0WEn2j8PubU03WiqRQ9yn-QCb/w400-h240/Saint-Etienne-GettyImages-492606691.webp" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">SAINT ETIENNE: </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">BEYOND ‘THE HEART OF DARKNESS’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">… INTO ‘PALE MOVIES’</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sarah Cracknell is the starlet of <b>Saint Etienne</b>. </div><div style="text-align: center;">But are they just smooth Retro plagiarists? And would </div><div style="text-align: center;">they smash their guitars in a remake of <b><i>‘Blow-Up’</i></b>?</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPLSiSm-84-J8a_99tpopcRG2uypnQuzvS_h36eU0sR3FdjM95DJEu9Av02ETUx_CcxfaIEyE6uf8lXrbyGkEHL8eQtjMB95N5b6Se9XUYalJccabSQHYMg_D8e8aNu2J8-GZRKvrJCAZYxfz2jf1x0xhwitlwKnscMqMX89E7WRsPC3bvVzxd3cc/s900/SaintEtiennePA120411-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="900" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPLSiSm-84-J8a_99tpopcRG2uypnQuzvS_h36eU0sR3FdjM95DJEu9Av02ETUx_CcxfaIEyE6uf8lXrbyGkEHL8eQtjMB95N5b6Se9XUYalJccabSQHYMg_D8e8aNu2J8-GZRKvrJCAZYxfz2jf1x0xhwitlwKnscMqMX89E7WRsPC3bvVzxd3cc/w400-h266/SaintEtiennePA120411-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>You out there, reading this webpage, come closer. Closer. Now prepare yourself for a shock. When Sarah Cracknell swears, you tend to notice. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘I’m really into the film <b><i>‘Apocalypse Now’ </i></b>(1979). That’s one of my favourite films, and it’s based on Joseph Conrad’s book’ she explains brightly. ‘The funny thing is, when I opted to read it on Radio One I didn’t realise how difficult it is to actually read out loud. It’s just m-a-s-s-i-v-e sentences with loads of commas. And you’re trying to find out what the point of the sentence is, in the sentence-structure, while you’re reading it. You end up just going BLUUUURGH. It ended up with me going ‘yes, and blah blah blah – SHIT! BOLLOCKS!!!,’ and they had to edit it out.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>She giggles delightfully. Sarah has a fractured innocence you last encountered in a Swinging London movie, where ‘bad language’ still tests out the boundaries of what is daring and what is permissible. She’s explaining how she got to read Joseph Conrad’s <b><i>‘The Heart Of Darkness’ </i></b>(1899) on Mark Radcliffe’s radio culture-vulture slot. </div><div><br /></div><div>So why choose Conrad? Why not John Braine’s <b><i>‘Room At The Top’ </i></b>(1957) or Shelagh Delaney’s <b><i>‘A Taste Of Honey’ </i></b>(1958), or at least Jack Kerouac’s <b><i>‘On The Road’ </i></b>(1957)? Something more evocative of the image Saint Etienne tend to evoke. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘We’re deeper than we seem’ says Pete Wiggs darkly. Then ‘if I’d done it I would have chosen the ‘Mr Men’ books. I could just about manage those.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>It’s almost like the lyrics of “Pale Movies” – ‘he’s so dark and moody, she’s a sunshine girl.’</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIqfqWrZxcZn-6tyi6OJz2los9BjEFxDmBToNGrgwzkky9ABCLkDJC0mLT2Fl_oE3z9GvIoe3ircis-Hq5BcTfsGJWITIQiZVm5EB2FxeF2F205Ow8Ud0Ke3G8G59Fj52BWFtKGUXA10JqLqWJMMjI4qcBrUfmiqcv7LjEveTMc1fEecg81L5AbsHi/s640/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIqfqWrZxcZn-6tyi6OJz2los9BjEFxDmBToNGrgwzkky9ABCLkDJC0mLT2Fl_oE3z9GvIoe3ircis-Hq5BcTfsGJWITIQiZVm5EB2FxeF2F205Ow8Ud0Ke3G8G59Fj52BWFtKGUXA10JqLqWJMMjI4qcBrUfmiqcv7LjEveTMc1fEecg81L5AbsHi/w400-h266/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>We’re in the dressing room. Leeds Metropolitan University. The gig was a breathtaking movie of sequenced chart contenders, with Sarah in the lead role. The focal point. She’s still wearing the silver-grey mini-skirt and black leather boots she wore on stage. At her throat is a pink heart choker. </div><div><br /></div><div>Saint Etienne are named after a French football team. Sarah’s co-conspirators are Bob Stanley, and the aforesaid Pete Wiggs. Together they write knowing and affectionate, engaging and clever love-notes to Pop’s back-catalogue. They are English Popstrels with Euro-kitsch embellishments. Tone, pace, style, and dance-friendly bass-lines. </div><div><br /></div><div>She jokes lightly about getting psyched up for the gig. But seems effortlessly at ease on stage. As though it’s her natural environment. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘It is’ says Pete. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘It is my natural environment’ agrees Sarah with another throwaway giggle. ‘I love live gigs. No, I don’t get nervous. I wasn’t nervous tonight. But I was worried because my voice has been really hoarse. I thought it was – like, going, and I was worried it was just going to pack up altogether.’ A smile of secret intimacy. ‘And I made the fatal mistake of apologising for not having my voice – two songs in, and then thought ‘why did I do that?’’ </div><div><br /></div><div>A little gruffness adds a sexy edge to the voice. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘Ye-eh’ she concedes. ‘Yeah, when it’s sort-of s-l-o-w.’ Like she’s imagining Barry White doing it. ‘But some of the songs we do are very high and very intricate. Like “Avenue” (a seven-minute track from <b><i>‘So Tough’</i></b>). That’s really one of the difficult ones. But then, I’ve got Debsey and Siobahn to help me out on that.’ Debsey and Siobahn Brookes nod enthusiastically. They wear, by turn – a Sonic the Hedgehog T-shirt, and a sequinned ‘Miss America’ tank-top. But glitter ye not…</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWyv_Fi7GcYiyjwiMbJE9TuQVkUxg8Ao54aE5LMd1qyK6NHr-z7Lngq02swhX4R7grwIb_vpqiRNWeAq1gdMbfljk98DTnuEeQWS8wYrjVa2KojERXIxNDEDF0cmiJf_-gTXV5LcPskbUdV2pY6sEasevgFKTNZn3l_kseyXZoH50cqnrYYmG_Dl5/s1200/356305578.gallery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="1200" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWyv_Fi7GcYiyjwiMbJE9TuQVkUxg8Ao54aE5LMd1qyK6NHr-z7Lngq02swhX4R7grwIb_vpqiRNWeAq1gdMbfljk98DTnuEeQWS8wYrjVa2KojERXIxNDEDF0cmiJf_-gTXV5LcPskbUdV2pY6sEasevgFKTNZn3l_kseyXZoH50cqnrYYmG_Dl5/w400-h291/356305578.gallery.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">--- 0 ---</span></b> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sarah on the rigours of touring: </div><div style="text-align: center;">‘Actually we’ve got quite a plush </div><div style="text-align: center;">tour coach. With a video’</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div><br /></div><div>‘Call me old-fashioned, but I’m a little nervous about the future’ sez Carter USM. ‘Modern Life Is Rubbish’ agree Blur. What’s the answer? A retreat into the past? </div><div><br /></div><div>Saint Etienne’s show leads in on tapes of Kathy Kirby and Dusty Springfield. Their first album – <b><i>‘Fox-Base Alpha’</i></b> (1991) opens out into a booklet of liner pin-ups of Marianne Faithful, Monkee Micky Dolenz, and Billy Fury. A year later they sample the film soundtrack from <b><i>‘Billy Liar’</i></b> (1963) on their second LP <b><i>‘So Tough’</i></b> (February 1993), ‘…a man could lose himself in London…’ Then they quote Brian Clough as a ‘Folk Hero’ on the sleeve of their compilation <b><i>‘You Need A Mess Of Help To Stand Alone’</i></b> (November 1993). Meanwhile, the B-side of their no.1 Indie single duet with Charlatan’s Tim Burgess is a cover of Billy Fury’s “My Christmas Prayer”. </div><div><br /></div><div>And someone mentions noticing the Small Faces in their set tonight. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘The Small Faces were in HERE tonight?’ goggles Pete. </div><div><br /></div><div>No. Not in HERE! In one of the slides used in the stage backdrop. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘Yes. They were on the slides’ confirms Sarah. ‘There’s a few of those slides which I’ve forgotten about. That’s why I’m sometimes standing with my back to the audience – I’m watching our slides. I was a bit worried tonight though when I was watching the slides. They’d put the word ‘EASY’ above my head. It’s a slide from the <b><i>‘Easy Rider’</i></b> (1969) movie, but I turned round and, there it was. ‘EASY’ written above my head! That’s not very nice, is it?’ </div><div><br /></div><div>‘It’s awful when the truth comes out’ gags Pete.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyE2LlN0KO5vfevRdY4RNwhhuNK8wZ8-wtn7NErL33L4TIxbJeCJlWGCpI4ZjaSjGb3z-GigJlMJIM2eo5bkbceou7SPcuNlQwzLiQMwiUoSkzQXrpY6pGPlOffjiWM9T4Ba8HnD3Op3td507DBOOg1TzPpmjG02yZcjvxujYiolI65z0P6FnTQ2Fp/s640/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyE2LlN0KO5vfevRdY4RNwhhuNK8wZ8-wtn7NErL33L4TIxbJeCJlWGCpI4ZjaSjGb3z-GigJlMJIM2eo5bkbceou7SPcuNlQwzLiQMwiUoSkzQXrpY6pGPlOffjiWM9T4Ba8HnD3Op3td507DBOOg1TzPpmjG02yZcjvxujYiolI65z0P6FnTQ2Fp/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>Pete initially pacted with Bob Stanley in 1988. Bob was a music journalist whose review of the Lightning Seeds <b><i>‘Cloud Cuckooland’ </i></b>once graced the pages of a leading music paper with the initials ‘MM’. Their first single together, “Only Love Can Break Your Heart”, was a cover of a Neil Young song, with Moira Lambert contributing guest vocals. It was followed by “Kiss And Make Up”, again a cover version – this time from obscure Indie band Field Mice. The vocalist is Donna Savage. It’s not until the third single – in May 1991, that the Ett’s third vital ingredient falls into place. “Nothing Can Stop Us” c/w “Speedwell” is an original Stanley-Wiggs song, even though it samples Dusty Springfield (“I Can’t Wait Until I See My Baby’s Face”). Sarah Cracknell is the voice, breathy, fragile and pure. </div><div><br /></div><div>How many French bands are there named after English football teams? </div><div><br /></div><div>‘About twenty’ deadpans Pete. </div><div><br /></div><div>Wolverhampton Wanderers? Leeds United? …Chelsea? </div><div><br /></div><div>‘Ah – yeah’ joins in Sarah. ‘Don’t dare mention Chelsea. Not in this vicinity.’ She nods at Debsey and Siobahn. ‘I’ll get my scarf out,’ </div><div><br /></div><div>‘She’s their no.1 fan!’ </div><div><br /></div><div>‘There IS a band called Chelsea’ chips in one of the posse. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I know that. It was a joke. </div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>‘Tiger Bay’</i></b> (February 1994), issued in CD, vinyl LP, cassette and digital formats, is Saint Etienne’s best-received album to date. Haunting melodies. Opulent orchestral embellishments. Less scope for the usual press swipes about assorted pastiches and the suspicion of tongues not entirely dislodged from stylish cheeks. The album spin-offs also include a David Holmes dance-floor mix of their Disco-friendly “Like A Motorway”, and a Kris Needs Techno remastering of the “Pale Movie” single – quintessential La-La-La Pop with Spanish guitars and tactile-to-the-touch lyrics about a girl with ‘the softness of cinema seats.’</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJicuyB5mP6Xi5XZkC3kMSvM62RlYoRoyOXN7KQX7BYx5Hn-yn2DU7zoTM1dqpt2leWF3E8EvZDKf7ihxlSU_JNDx121rtTXf2HplJdrgDRF00EtEHugwCUmbWWmOkhWKiQOoPEz6v90ABvSNtPXZq1BvdXXFvM2z3ZGi1Cw2EArWdOix72r-wVjL/s640/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJicuyB5mP6Xi5XZkC3kMSvM62RlYoRoyOXN7KQX7BYx5Hn-yn2DU7zoTM1dqpt2leWF3E8EvZDKf7ihxlSU_JNDx121rtTXf2HplJdrgDRF00EtEHugwCUmbWWmOkhWKiQOoPEz6v90ABvSNtPXZq1BvdXXFvM2z3ZGi1Cw2EArWdOix72r-wVjL/w400-h300/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>But Saint Etienne are still a ‘concept’ band. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘In a way. But that’s because we were all Pop fans. Because we were all into the musical heritage, as it were. We like things that are good from certain periods. And we incorporate them into our music. We don’t go all the way. We don’t want to be a seventies group. Or a sixties group. But there’s certain things about those periods that were really cool. And we can adapt them to modern usage. I think most bands are probably the same to different degrees. Everyone always has. The Rolling Stones – they were using Blues. You use things you like. You try to get elements of what you like into it. We get criticised a bit more than others for that. Just ‘cos we’re not a traditional four-piece group. In the old days it was just guitars and drums. But now – with the technology, it’s more easy to replicate things. Now you can ape things really easily. Rather than just incorporating ideas you can end up copying things totally, perfectly. But we’re never going to do that. We’re just taking certain elements from each particular style.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>‘In a way it makes me laugh that the Press has had a bit of a ‘pop’ about how we’re retro and how we’re post-this and post-that’ smiles Sarah. ‘Yet now they’re heralding the New Wave Of The New Wave, and that’s the best thing since sliced bread. I mean – you can’t get more retro than that. But that’s what they’re into at the moment. The Music Papers today. They love all that.’</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcGWl1T8iWkNcAbyc8wQVhQvC-n_axtaqEw1JKuCSw7I3dTDl3cWvuaThz9DCZ5KL0s11J6EXsP3xP0WSgrvcYsQhQ0KTcgNDM8m1MmXI8FPtoSX_kI_h5GXWwDFuYPS-aqta3Pa6OSnSfbVjDsbczD5t1oMieWhaztb3Jr7NQD8UbNDLkWtWCR-2n/s1818/cnv00023-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1228" data-original-width="1818" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcGWl1T8iWkNcAbyc8wQVhQvC-n_axtaqEw1JKuCSw7I3dTDl3cWvuaThz9DCZ5KL0s11J6EXsP3xP0WSgrvcYsQhQ0KTcgNDM8m1MmXI8FPtoSX_kI_h5GXWwDFuYPS-aqta3Pa6OSnSfbVjDsbczD5t1oMieWhaztb3Jr7NQD8UbNDLkWtWCR-2n/w400-h270/cnv00023-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">--- 0 ---</span></b> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Pete Wiggs on why Saint Etienne have yet to </div><div style="text-align: center;">tour America: ‘Lack of support from our American </div><div style="text-align: center;">record company. They’re a bit crap.’ </div><div style="text-align: center;">Sarah: ‘They’re very crap.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>Live, Saint Etienne do “Nothing Can Stop Us Now”. An anthemic declaration of intent. Think Positive – ‘there’s gonna be a storm soon, get ready, ‘cos we’re coming through.’ Then there’s material from <b><i>‘Tiger Bay’</i></b> – Sarah’s compositions “Marble Lions” and the Poppy seventies-flavoured “Hug My Soul”. She says ‘thank you, you are too kind.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>It’s a smooth, flawlessly textured set, opening with the scene-setting instrumental “Urban Clearway”, a track that ‘Q’ magazine describes as ‘wordless sub-techno soundscapes (of) mythical late-nite London’ (April 1994). There’s “Cool Kids Of Death”, a title that’s allegedly a typing error for ‘Cool Kinds Of Death’. But one of the most fascinating titles – “Western Wind”, is a kind of medieval poetry set to (what ‘Select’ calls) an ‘ambient trance Folk ballad.’ Stephen Duffy – of Lilac Time, shares the vocals with Sarah. Then there’s orchestral follies of oboes and cellos chiming with electric guitars of “Former Lover”, a Paul Simon-esque ballad with intriguingly oblique lyrics about ‘Milan, when I was a kitten.’ And there’s more. “On The Shore” has Shara Nelson returning a favour; the Ett’s collaborated on her hit “One Goodbye In Ten”, she sings back-up on <b><i>‘Tiger Bay’</i></b>. </div><div><br /></div><div>Coming off stage Sarah confesses ‘I tried to mention everyone in the band tonight. But I didn’t get everybody.’ As we settle into the dressing room, the omission seems to bother her. Because ‘everybody in the band are friends, ultimately. They begin as friends. And then they end up playing guitar or keyboards.’</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5SfFVPcjY8fhdvFabENJz8aYwTd85RyhV5vYu8lnTtEGQStHTlVjztlEvUwDwUTDcDcwawWvKYD_-ZlS_0s5DAjNoJuYWlcMxPYxn0IksjAazHGHSTtp8u6ZVyk5NbKSxMxeII3Xep38AZhJC1BeE_IYmtUpijdHbucf8-PGs-ZC9TVH8QTEQ7Saj/s1024/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="659" data-original-width="1024" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5SfFVPcjY8fhdvFabENJz8aYwTd85RyhV5vYu8lnTtEGQStHTlVjztlEvUwDwUTDcDcwawWvKYD_-ZlS_0s5DAjNoJuYWlcMxPYxn0IksjAazHGHSTtp8u6ZVyk5NbKSxMxeII3Xep38AZhJC1BeE_IYmtUpijdHbucf8-PGs-ZC9TVH8QTEQ7Saj/w400-h258/4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>We talk more movies. Antonioni’s surreal ‘England Swings’ classic <b><i>‘Blow-Up’</i></b> (1966). ‘It’s kind of pretentious towards the end’ judges Pete. ‘Though it’s still very good. I like the Yardbirds sequence, where Jeff Beck is smashing the guitar in that Club scene.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>Could you see Saint Etienne doing that? ‘What? Smashing our guitars?’ </div><div><br /></div><div>No, playing in a film sequence of that nature? ‘It’d be great. If there was a movie sequence in a film in the same vein, I’d love for us to do it. But smashing your guitar is a bit corny in a way now, isn’t it? Although back then, in <b><i>‘Blow-Up’</i></b>, it was still a curiosity. Paul did smash his guitar after one of our gigs. And regretted it ever since.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>‘Yes’ enthuses Sarah. ‘Instead of being all Rock ‘n’ Roll about it, he was ‘EEEEK, look what I’ve done!!!’ </div><div><br /></div><div>‘He burst into tears, ‘WAAAAAAH, what have I done? WHY?’ </div><div><br /></div><div>But talking futures, some Saint Etienne pieces sound exactly like music for unmade movies. “Highgate Road Incident” would not sound out of place on the <b><i>‘Blow-Up’</i></b> soundtrack. Would they like to work in that direction? ‘Yeh’ from Sarah, ‘We’re just waiting for somebody to ask us.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>So does she see Saint Etienne as a long-term project? ‘Until we run out ideas. Until we become boring old buggers.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>When Sarah Cracknell swears, she does it delightfully…</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Pete Wiggs on Kim & Kelley Deal’s band, the Breeders: </div><div style="text-align: center;">‘They’re a bit more of a traditional Rock band, aren’t they? </div><div style="text-align: center;">I think we’re a bit more like accountants.’ </div><div style="text-align: center;">Sarah: ‘STEADY…!’</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRabWhULkQUke13cTW0h5f3cLjHCbaqQ6lTrLS92-PAKs3KquSEFx2OjZFl0XCNV8dFM09gBNWdNm82dj_MSig9eOzuvlQDhHeQB01-qYDDObbg7zYoS-ItV9XpgEC8aF2oD6QGmymaUc4Av8bvxRdHoQOcQg3zN-OMht4ATO-YeHFxz0HHGWpnWHb/s507/2140092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRabWhULkQUke13cTW0h5f3cLjHCbaqQ6lTrLS92-PAKs3KquSEFx2OjZFl0XCNV8dFM09gBNWdNm82dj_MSig9eOzuvlQDhHeQB01-qYDDObbg7zYoS-ItV9XpgEC8aF2oD6QGmymaUc4Av8bvxRdHoQOcQg3zN-OMht4ATO-YeHFxz0HHGWpnWHb/w395-h400/2140092.jpg" width="395" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">ST ETIENNE: </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">RETURN TO ‘FOXBASE ALPHA’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>To mark its eighteenth anniversary on September 2009, Heavenly Records issued a ‘Deluxe Edition’ of the <b><i>‘Foxbase Alpha’</i></b> album, proving that it remains one of the most dewy-fresh debut albums ever made. Back then, newly located from suburban Croydon to Tufnell Park, north London, school-friends Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs set about making what Stanley has since described as ‘a time capsule of our lives in that year’. <b><i>‘Foxbase Alpha’ </i></b>was named after a childhood in-joke about a place filled with gorgeous people, via an esoteric reference to TV’s <b><i>‘Space 1999’</i></b>. And it is both retro and modern, a love letter and a scrapbook, a compendium of private passions from Dusty Springfield to King Tubby, David Mamet to footfall, C86 to ambient house, and London, always London. The packaging, from its cover placard-carrying gentle-protester with the album name carried as its declaration, to its Jon Savage sleevenotes and Smiths-inspired gallery of sixties icons, is gorgeous. An eclectic bonus CD of singles, ‘B’-sides and offcuts enhances the sense of joyous adventure. The effect is to invite the listener into a world slightly warmer, brighter and more exciting than the real one. And despite its many American influences, its Swinging London romanticism anticipated Britpop. The Balearic reinvention of Neil Young’s “Only Love Can Break Your Heart” may be its most celebrated moment but “London Belongs To Me” – a NW1 fantasia, is the album’s awestruck heart. To Dorian Lynskey, reviewing the package in the <b><i>‘Observer Music Monthly (May 2009)’ </i></b>‘Sarah Cracknell coos the opening line ‘took a tube to Camden Town’ like she’s Alice passing through the looking glass.’</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEOmvnNSJVV2EqYta5VV1WAEVs8zPP9YukLHBthhjYB96OVordLAg3rPy2wKDHahCupKvO07HI3iFvGQmDfteNEPvFipmRAM5imotvdh3M5O0sqDkbzPqAG65qecSe9EUoKVLXSBPInvIY-5_KTs24FFJxCDrPw-G61vngbhXPHUV2KdcPv0f-4C2A/s889/1865.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="679" data-original-width="889" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEOmvnNSJVV2EqYta5VV1WAEVs8zPP9YukLHBthhjYB96OVordLAg3rPy2wKDHahCupKvO07HI3iFvGQmDfteNEPvFipmRAM5imotvdh3M5O0sqDkbzPqAG65qecSe9EUoKVLXSBPInvIY-5_KTs24FFJxCDrPw-G61vngbhXPHUV2KdcPv0f-4C2A/w400-h305/1865.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">THE SAINT ETIENNE HIT-FILE </span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>18 May 1991 – ‘Nothing Can Stop Us’ c/w ‘Speedwell’ (Heavenly HVN009) reaches no.54 </div><div><br /></div><div>7 September 1991 – ‘Only Love Can Break Your Heart’ c/w ‘Filthy’ (Heavenly HVN12) reaches no.39 </div><div><br /></div><div>16 September 1991 – ‘Foxbase Alpha’ (Heavenly HVNLP1CD) </div><div>(1) ‘This Is Radio Etienne’ (0:43, Bob Stanley-Pete Wiggs) </div><div>(2) ‘Only Love Can Break Your Heart’ (4:29, Neil Young) Moira Lambert vocals </div><div>(3) ‘Wilson’ (1:59, Stanley-Wiggs) based on a Wilson Pickett ‘Hey Jude’ sample </div><div>(4) ‘Carn’t Sleep’ (4:43, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>(5) ‘Girl VII’ (3:46, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>(6) ‘Spring’ (3:44, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>(7) ‘She’s The One’ (3:07, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>(8) ‘Stoned To Say The Least’ (7:42, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>(9) ‘Nothing Can Stop Us’ (4:21, Stanley-Wiggs) includes Dusty Springfield sample from ‘I Can’t Wait To See My Baby’s Face’ </div><div>(10) ‘Etienne Gonna Die’ (1:32, Stanley-Wiggs) sampled dialogue from ‘House Of Games’ </div><div>(11) ‘London Belongs To Me’ (3:56, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>(12) ‘Like The Swallow’ (7:41, Stanley-Wiggs)
(13) ‘Dilworth’s Theme’ (0:39, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>Plus bonus disc on Deluxe Edition: </div><div>(1) ‘Kiss And Make Up’ (6:20 extended mix) cover of Field Mice record, Donna Savage vocals, written by Wratten-Hiscock </div><div>(2) ‘Filthy’ (5:35, Stanley-Wiggs-Mais) Q-Tee vocals </div><div>(3) ‘Chase HQ’ (3:32, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>(4) ‘Sally Space’ (5:06, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>(5) ‘The Reckoning’ (1:31, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>(6) ‘Speedwell’ (6:33, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>(7) ‘Parliament Hill’ (2:38, Stanley-Wiggs) guitar by Harvey Williams </div><div>(8) ‘People Get Real’ (4:45, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>(9) ‘Sweet Pea’ (4:49, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div>(10) ‘Winter In America’ (5:53) Gil Scott-Heron song sung by Donna Savage </div><div>(11) ‘Fake 88’ (5:03, Stanley-Wiggs) spoken vocals by Stephen Duffy </div><div>(12) ‘Studio Kinda Filthy’ (4:58, Stanley-Wiggs-Mais) vocals by Q-Tee </div><div>(13) ‘Kiss And Make Up (USA version’ (5:16) Sarah Cracknell version </div><div>(14) ‘Sky’s Dead’ (7:26, Stanley-Wiggs) </div><div><br /></div><div>16 May 1992 – ‘Join Our Club’ c/w ‘People Get Real’ (Heavenly HVN15) reaches no.21 </div><div><br /></div><div>17 October 1992 – ‘Avenue’ (Heavenly HVN2312) reaches no.40 </div><div><br /></div><div>13 February 1993 – ‘You’re In A Bad Way’ (Heavenly HVN25CD) reaches no.12</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhInbgPRRSXuFdOwyk-vo-eaTdxnYoqrz589emIWNF_fO0ZDgbienwrts1uAx8QI6NjWg5cwm3bK3rJ0QGs3JQeDF0pbu-p6vBijm68APg1wGAeMLJyE1SRrLfA9SpIK62kWGpEVeS0oujeJZSLZQUyFu3TX0Bja-dv8ozzno0bPOT7fmNjBr4X4M/s478/R-1853435-1301103370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="469" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhInbgPRRSXuFdOwyk-vo-eaTdxnYoqrz589emIWNF_fO0ZDgbienwrts1uAx8QI6NjWg5cwm3bK3rJ0QGs3JQeDF0pbu-p6vBijm68APg1wGAeMLJyE1SRrLfA9SpIK62kWGpEVeS0oujeJZSLZQUyFu3TX0Bja-dv8ozzno0bPOT7fmNjBr4X4M/w393-h400/R-1853435-1301103370.jpg" width="393" /></a></div><br /></div><div>18 December 1993 – ‘I Was Born On Christmas Day’ (Heavenly HVN36CD) reaches no.37 </div><div><br /></div><div>19 February 1994 – ‘Pale Movie’ (Heavenly HVN37CD) reaches no.28 </div><div><br /></div><div>28 May 1994 – ‘Like A Motorway’ (Heavenly HVN40CD) reaches no.47 </div><div><br /></div><div>1 October 1994 – ‘Hug My Soul’ (Heavenly HVN42CD) reaches no.32 </div><div><br /></div><div>11 November 1995 – ‘He’s On The Phone’ (Heavenly HVN50CD) reaches no.11 </div><div><br /></div><div>7 February 1998 – ‘Sylvie’ (Creation CRESCD279) reaches no.12 </div><div><br /></div><div>2 May 1998 – ‘The Bad Photographer’ (Creation CRESCD290) reaches no.27 <div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"> --- 0 ---</span></b> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1wyddVPABdATJqjqCFmaBUlDRE5YKCplLgPjtIyO3XA2qktwHwRdzqEWeNgQLDsNR2C-zIR2qEat8R-b7S1qQvncsWRgQijMad3U-LR-kCHH_uuXftobNSDIA96v5eJbc5IFc8jO3rO07HX-OObdmTmeH89KZ6R6Xbei6CaSUUqCM1KDP4dZOa9L-/s640/p0ch1k13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1wyddVPABdATJqjqCFmaBUlDRE5YKCplLgPjtIyO3XA2qktwHwRdzqEWeNgQLDsNR2C-zIR2qEat8R-b7S1qQvncsWRgQijMad3U-LR-kCHH_uuXftobNSDIA96v5eJbc5IFc8jO3rO07HX-OObdmTmeH89KZ6R6Xbei6CaSUUqCM1KDP4dZOa9L-/w400-h225/p0ch1k13.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gig Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">SAINT ETIENNE </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">At ‘Leeds Metropolitan University’, Yorkshire </div><div><br /></div><div>Jane Fonda in <b><i>‘Barbarella’</i></b>. And the Smallfaces. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hayley Mills in <b><i>‘Whistle Down The Wind’</i></b>. And the Jam. </div><div><br /></div><div>But Sarah Cracknell, in white feather-boa, silver-grey mini-skirt, pink heart choker, and kinky boots, is tonight’s <i>REAL</i> Starlet. Watch her ooze ‘we think you’re gorgeous. You really are,’ blowing sweet kiss-ettes to the assembled glitterati and fashion victims. And you know that Sarah is Venus In New Genes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Saint Etienne are a timeless party. Of the Sixties. But not Sixties. Of Seventies Disco. But not Seventies either. More a Soda-Pop Dance Inferno fine-tuned for the Nineties. Sharply dark Pete Wiggs and Bob Stanley are the wizards of twiddly as the Bridget Riley ‘Time Tunnel’ spiral revolves on the backdrop behind them. Siobahn Brooke and Debsey Wykes stand stage-right in leather Hot-Pants, ‘Miss America’ sequinned top, and ‘Sonic’ T-shirt, doing a neat Supremes dance routine – <i>‘STOP</i>, in the name of love’ to 1993 mini-hit “Who Do You Think You Are?” (it reached no.23). Five males and three girls on stage at any given time, plus the style-referencing slides – Sonny Bono to Jean Luc Godard and beyond. </div><div><br /></div><div>There’s a smooth opening instrumental Movie soundtrack punctuated with melodica,<b><i> ‘Hawaii Five-O’</i></b> quotes hinting at the diversity to come. And Saint Etienne shift across a wider range of sounds than I’ve seen on stage for a long time. Irresistibly straight La-La-La Pop like “Pale Movie” (no.24 in February 1994), the acoustic strum of “Former Lover” (from their <b><i>‘Tiger Bay’ </i></b>1994 album, with lyrics that go ‘Milan, when I was a kitten…’), and then into a Kraftwerk autobahn detour for “Like A Motorway” – by way of trad-Folk anthem ‘Silver Dagger’ but decked out with authentic synth-drums… and Presley’s electro-redesigned “We’re Coming In Loaded” (from his 1962 <b><i>‘Girls Girls Girls’</i></b> movie). ‘Do you like Elvis Presley? – good’ purrs Sarah, twirling her party frock. </div><div><br /></div><div>She’s most impressive on “Don’t Forget To Catch Me”, laced with touchingly slow keyboards and a lethally incisive guitar solo. ‘You are tooooo kind’ she drools in appreciation. </div><div><br /></div><div>Visually it’s a trip. Sonically it’s a complete edition of <b><i>‘Top Of The Pops’</i></b> when it was good. “People Get Real” is rousing Girlie-Pop to tear your face off. “You’re In A Bad Way” is a chart single to die for (their biggest hit, no.12 in February 1993). ‘We don’t normally do this’ oozes Sarah through shimmers of blonde hair, ‘encores are a big no-no. But just for you…’ </div><div><br /></div><div>And they close with “No No No”. A cover of Nancy Nova. </div><div><br /></div><div>But me, I ran out of goose-bumps long before that.
</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjub70QduKqG2xw10pT8S1JmaR6KfXTsEFLq-e3INI770qY_AbKI5r_fYi-7sPQZUb1LmYntaVbsJnkGH95s-EY54MWqOdHNb5aUd09JDa6-UgGA-u1Zl7sR5raRWXis5iBlQTbvln6miZYwcflw5RrjzaJgLVkxbiokxGLUvR1B9mBOI_b8ju6uZ79/s768/IMG_20190128_0001_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="538" data-original-width="768" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjub70QduKqG2xw10pT8S1JmaR6KfXTsEFLq-e3INI770qY_AbKI5r_fYi-7sPQZUb1LmYntaVbsJnkGH95s-EY54MWqOdHNb5aUd09JDa6-UgGA-u1Zl7sR5raRWXis5iBlQTbvln6miZYwcflw5RrjzaJgLVkxbiokxGLUvR1B9mBOI_b8ju6uZ79/w400-h280/IMG_20190128_0001_small.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-66497940897498378592022-11-28T16:13:00.000+00:002022-11-28T16:13:41.815+00:00Two Albums By The Enid<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKf8hIlXHG3Jczq02fqVIjhfeFMo7pU6oulbEDwZwqBL6ERs77ouTzSb1pRsQzPUtXkamaOitcJm3QxjxjUwZvH3fROXUXTR2SEuviqLDZ7hBFeYisupFPtH2hpykk1NzGHCs2Tn33HORUA3lC3qQME2pi5hun_avIeHNujoGzSM4AU26LyKP2_dH5/s1590/THE_ENID_2021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1245" data-original-width="1590" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKf8hIlXHG3Jczq02fqVIjhfeFMo7pU6oulbEDwZwqBL6ERs77ouTzSb1pRsQzPUtXkamaOitcJm3QxjxjUwZvH3fROXUXTR2SEuviqLDZ7hBFeYisupFPtH2hpykk1NzGHCs2Tn33HORUA3lC3qQME2pi5hun_avIeHNujoGzSM4AU26LyKP2_dH5/w400-h314/THE_ENID_2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">THROUGH HALLS OF MIRRORS </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Album Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘DUST’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">THE ENID </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(2016, Operation Seraphim/ Vibe Led) </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="http://www.theenid.co.uk">www.theenid.co.uk</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZPZiSKmprGWE7NgCt7CIsaEhGJ4XB4QjkCQLJ8kdqgutp87C-YgnC3JqkO64JMAmqsNc2fxLt4UdOraI59N-O-fBx8BFcCz-VsURm9558d_zJRX9abTk7CxltWgv5AYOtnpVYQhVivOAJSSM3LMuFkp2IbHNGRbGZlcNObMKwyJU1LDD1bPBg7s6/s1200/61sGyuWVCOL._AC_SL1200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1085" data-original-width="1200" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZPZiSKmprGWE7NgCt7CIsaEhGJ4XB4QjkCQLJ8kdqgutp87C-YgnC3JqkO64JMAmqsNc2fxLt4UdOraI59N-O-fBx8BFcCz-VsURm9558d_zJRX9abTk7CxltWgv5AYOtnpVYQhVivOAJSSM3LMuFkp2IbHNGRbGZlcNObMKwyJU1LDD1bPBg7s6/w400-h361/61sGyuWVCOL._AC_SL1200_.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>If Punk meant anything, it was do your own thing, on your own terms. Robert John Godfrey might have launched the Enid’s unlikely Prog-on-stilts symphonic-Rock during the 1976 turmoil, but his intense persistence of vision guided the seven-piece group beyond its lapsed big-label period into admirably self-sufficient fan-funding as radical as anything in Mohawk and ripped leather. <b><i>‘Dust’</i></b>, the third part of an album-trilogy, fades in through murmurations that tingle like ghosts gliding up and down the spine, into a masterclass in guilty pleasures, high-end pomp and rich cinematic orchestration. Bohemian rhapsodies ricochet around your headphones, terrific textures where Stravinsky strings swoon and Jason Ducker’s lead guitar glistens appealingly while Joe Payne’s smooth rangy five-octave voice effortlessly dives into mind-tunnelling tunes and arrangements of labyrinthine classicism. Bitingly beautiful gauzy melodies, both brittle and complex, are spliced and diced into crescendos and jittery choral choruses you need Google-Earth to navigate. And if the libretto of the seven tracks spread across forty-three lavish minutes tend to bland emotive platitudes about illusion and love born of fire, then that’s exactly what the Enid audience needs. For they do their own very unique thing, on their own terms. </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published in: </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘R2: ROCK ‘N’ REEL Vol.2 no.57’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(UK – May/June 2016) </span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Album Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘LIVE AT LOUGHBOROUGH TOWN HALL, 1980’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">THE ENID </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Angel Air) </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.angelair.co.uk">www.angelair.co.uk</a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK_X3VGy3Y8OUsUbsby61nIgeTIwur0DhI4hAGzddAKbnMTdl4b28VUTuUHDdDuzslaEDYu7pDkxCxlMQhANa-tR42B7BMF3fZhXe_W-yMWhZN53irY6eBdMlkDb_UhuzpCO0L0XSkrIRjEeEzZcMIKC8mRK40ASjG0kJInMYKZT7jgj3lT9xEdYBQ/s245/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="245" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK_X3VGy3Y8OUsUbsby61nIgeTIwur0DhI4hAGzddAKbnMTdl4b28VUTuUHDdDuzslaEDYu7pDkxCxlMQhANa-tR42B7BMF3fZhXe_W-yMWhZN53irY6eBdMlkDb_UhuzpCO0L0XSkrIRjEeEzZcMIKC8mRK40ASjG0kJInMYKZT7jgj3lT9xEdYBQ/w400-h336/download.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Symphonic-Rock was always something of an unwieldy concept. Rapid-run keyboard cascades, unexpected tempo switches, thoughts that tick like a watch mechanism, both tastefully gifted yet problematic. This CD is the Enid’s full Loughborough Hall concert – admission £1.95, recorded for Radio Trent transmission, but previously unreleased. They open with “665 The Great Bean”, a cheeky pun on Aleister Crowley, as a ‘monstrosity about monsters’, saved from the brink of pomposity by the ‘redoubtable’ and ferociously-bearded Robert John Godfrey’s manic vocals, both effete and ‘a little bit eccentric’. “The Dreamer” takes the seven-piece band through a soothing pastoral mid-point instrumental break leavened with shovelful of sunshine. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLDCCLgr93yXINFsgs-4sFR6oAdQsgsqB9XOewWcmBxFBggcFUdr5LpXZ_eTP2opwjmi2fKbX8_0u9lrw5ZQ3-gnHgJclmz8Xw63h1HukN5UyJCv8mjjS6Ab4AuWMk6srCOrCjZj3dnqky_-hgX4xBfev5nWygDtWy4DNVYd6QBO_uC_QU0WmwSNM/s480/x3pZpQna6TmnMx7FW5yw9L-480-80.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="480" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLDCCLgr93yXINFsgs-4sFR6oAdQsgsqB9XOewWcmBxFBggcFUdr5LpXZ_eTP2opwjmi2fKbX8_0u9lrw5ZQ3-gnHgJclmz8Xw63h1HukN5UyJCv8mjjS6Ab4AuWMk6srCOrCjZj3dnqky_-hgX4xBfev5nWygDtWy4DNVYd6QBO_uC_QU0WmwSNM/w400-h225/x3pZpQna6TmnMx7FW5yw9L-480-80.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Another alleged Pop Song – “Golden Earrings”, opens with Aaron Copland’s ‘Fanfare’ that we know from ELP, then throws in a clever-clever muso-literate quote from ‘Hernando’s Hideaway’. There are two sequences from their third album – <b><i>‘Touch Me’</i></b> (1979), the elaborate “Humouresque” and “Cortege”, immaculately arranged, intelligently performed to studio-standard perfection, plus “The Dreamer” and “Hall Of Mirrors” from <b><i>‘Six Pieces’ </i></b>(1980). Then the full 18-minute centrepiece “The Fand” from <b><i>‘Aerie Faerie Nonsense’ </i></b>(1977) with Francis Lickerish’s soaring guitar and expansive rising and falling waves of intricately-scored light and epic deftness that bizarrely leaves the ‘absolutely splendid’ audience foot-stomping for more. This album predates the release, but not the recording of their <b><i>‘Live At Hammersmith’ </i></b>(1983) set which also includes “The Song Of Fand”. Now they close – in the tradition of their ‘Land Of Hope And Glory’, with a tongue-in-cheek “Wild Thing”, emoting a camply exaggerated ‘I’m going to smack your bottom you naughty girl!’ (catch the YouTube clip of this from the 1984 Stonehenge Free Festival). Bucking trends through often unsympathetic years, the Enid nevertheless established an awkward but fiercely defiant Prog presence that gifts them a loyal and enduring fandom.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published in: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘R’n’R Vol.2 Issue 96 (Nov/Dec)’</b> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(UK – November 2022)
</span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuz9p9jI6nmQT2hspem3V2mGGTo-4J5jQ5P_CsZ9xa4IDJ-8aJrgjHbQpkpUMDWff4r9zsfoB2amrCiR6leHnamICdb-7ALt3ClDug7ZqgA9SpbKZcuEqrBcKUi7tKpapUj462SBa6EsAsvvTYnPm3x-Km3tb16S6y0VeHRsgf1BQSCHynYRbPQf06/s719/efab0af0ba354fde89399377f893e225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuz9p9jI6nmQT2hspem3V2mGGTo-4J5jQ5P_CsZ9xa4IDJ-8aJrgjHbQpkpUMDWff4r9zsfoB2amrCiR6leHnamICdb-7ALt3ClDug7ZqgA9SpbKZcuEqrBcKUi7tKpapUj462SBa6EsAsvvTYnPm3x-Km3tb16S6y0VeHRsgf1BQSCHynYRbPQf06/w334-h400/efab0af0ba354fde89399377f893e225.jpg" width="334" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-30344709969002800102022-11-24T17:21:00.000+00:002022-11-24T17:21:13.409+00:00SF Novel: Stephen Baxter's 'Galaxias'<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7y6s9IK4Q_SIlMraYVJ8VpAZPNw8XYlRPZ5NeSQ3UqS1H-KHjLQhf5xV4cjElNSftXta8nWcJpYg6ar9fwT3eCGcG6MouSOr_GnpGqiTAYe2LJXWg7dLKdSe_M_zbRHsm9bpg3cz_kYw21wVQ70aTMNAsm-Y0NXawAEb8KnYIfl2ySfKRJHft0_Pa/s2560/galaxias-by-stephen-baxter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1662" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7y6s9IK4Q_SIlMraYVJ8VpAZPNw8XYlRPZ5NeSQ3UqS1H-KHjLQhf5xV4cjElNSftXta8nWcJpYg6ar9fwT3eCGcG6MouSOr_GnpGqiTAYe2LJXWg7dLKdSe_M_zbRHsm9bpg3cz_kYw21wVQ70aTMNAsm-Y0NXawAEb8KnYIfl2ySfKRJHft0_Pa/w260-h400/galaxias-by-stephen-baxter.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">THE DARKNESS OF THE SUN: </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">STEPHEN BAXTER’S ‘GALAXIAS’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Book Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘GALAXIAS’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">STEPHEN BAXTER </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Gollancz, 2022, ISBN 978-1-473-22887-0) </div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="www.stephen-baxter.com ">www.stephen-baxter.com </a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Beware: Includes plot-spoilers!</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘WHERE WERE YOU WHEN </span></b></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">THE WORLD WENT DARK?’ </span></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This is a self-contained stand-alone novel. But – running to 523-pages, excluding ‘Afterword’ and ‘Credits’, it’s still only a dozen or so pages short of Isaac Asimov’s entire ‘Foundation’ trilogy, which collectively adds up to 548pp. So, still a hefty tome, although a strangely static one. There are jaunts to the Moon, and a character who freezes to death on a return trip from Mars in the Al-miriykh, but there’s also much high-level conferencing, symposia and presentations, dialogue and discussions from which clues are eked, conjectures considered and radical conclusions arrived at. It might have been an advantage to have at least one ordinary protagonist, buffeted and baffled by events, struggling to comprehend the massive changes through rumour and fake news. Instead, the In-Jokes are a Yale clique of academic nerds who map out the protagonist constellation, they talk, they separate, and are drawn inexorably back together again in various configurations. But they are less than action figures. </div><div><br /></div><div>Stephen Baxter is nothing if he’s not SF-literate. After all, he’s the man who wrote the authorised HG Wells sequels, the head-spinning <b><i>‘The Time Ships’</i></b> (1995) and <b><i>‘The Massacre Of Mankind’ </i></b>(2017). But the obvious nudge here is Arthur C Clarke, with an alien ‘Lurker’ assemblage located on the Moon’s Sinus Medii – a region that ‘Jules Verne’s lunar travellers saw,’ which fires off a signal projectile in the direction of the newly-revealed worlds of Ophiuchus, Barnard’s Star which is six light years away. And the American Pioneer 10 probe which – as the first human-made artefact to leave the solar system, in doing so, alerts a galactic consciousness to not only human presence, but our expansive potential. Baxter collaborated with Clarke on the ‘A Time Odyssey’ trilogy. </div><div><br /></div><div>This novel opens in 2057, which is a century since Sputnik 1 became Earth’s first artificial satellite. And a century since Elvis Presley appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, actually it was 9 September 1956, although the New Diaspora 1957-themed summer party in secessionist California obviously ain’t counting! The world Baxter imagines has endured climate change trauma, and emerged in some ways stronger, in other ways more fragmented. Britain is fractured into independent states, with the English Federal government relocated north to Gateshead. After the DC floods the rump of the dis-United States of America is governed from the Alaskan Winter White House in New Anchorage. Melting ice-caps and the ‘Greenland Melt’ have resulted in flooding land-loss, and the erection of huge barriers to contain and channel floodwater. There were ‘massive technological fixes’ including carbon-munching trees in every public place, ‘but, you know what? We adapted and survived.’</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh13Ss8ZoIWqJUhi-1Me9wMG4e1JMjWRbRv5kJbbDqkafuPSLRAoUIFLa3W-Fq5WkRsXA0mMTWuCDV7bzHvzZTGhzlxDxq4QM_ouBzBzp6DENDJ5ryq5fcpxQCStD23d2jym3NpPoA9gXNdoURHjZWkpqqv6chCNnE6rxg1r0o7MqvWVUiMD01q0pd8/s960/28438.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="960" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh13Ss8ZoIWqJUhi-1Me9wMG4e1JMjWRbRv5kJbbDqkafuPSLRAoUIFLa3W-Fq5WkRsXA0mMTWuCDV7bzHvzZTGhzlxDxq4QM_ouBzBzp6DENDJ5ryq5fcpxQCStD23d2jym3NpPoA9gXNdoURHjZWkpqqv6chCNnE6rxg1r0o7MqvWVUiMD01q0pd8/w400-h234/28438.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>There are drones and everything is smart, from smart-walls to smart-cars, smart-planes, smart-wood, a smart bus, smart-doorways, smart-materials and smart-tables. And the prose is so politically correct it creaks, all the power-figures are female, including American President Cox and Space entrepreneur Serena Jones – a kind of hyper Elon Musk figure, and the only couple allowed to express love – and then grief, are two Gay men engaged to be married. The In-Jokes are Natasha ‘Tash’ Brand – who has a Nigerian-born mother, and is adviser to Science Minister Fred Bowles. With strawberry-blonde Melissa ‘Mel’ Kapur who rides the vacuum-dirigible Skythrust, ‘a human-made island in the sky’, and has an activist daughter called Jane. And there is Wu Zhi on Lodestone a million kilometres from Earth, whose estranged mother – Wu Yan, a senior space scientist in her own right, is central to the Chinese Replicator project on the planet Mercury. Even Astronomer Royal Charlie Marlowe resembles ‘Judi Dench as M’. </div><div><br /></div><div>The novel’s central idea is that the sun vanishes at a point timed to coincide with a total eclipse, the reflected light from the visible planets going out in light-speed order. Facing a potential new Dark Age and rapid extinction, the sun is first relocated twelve-light-minutes out beyond the Kuiper Belt, but then reappears back in its original position. This is interpreted as a warning message from a galaxy-scale extra-terrestrial intelligence they name Galaxias. But what the warning means, and how to react to it, remains moot. As a response to Pioneer 10 it could be the imposing of limits, a quarantine that says so far, and no further. Faced with a power capable of shifting suns, is it wise to challenge that warning… if that is indeed the warning? Or can humanity forever cower, bottled up within the inner solar system by this Sinister Barrier for fear of provoking that seemingly limitless power further? And yet, Galaxias is less than omnipotent, the sequence timing of events suggests that it is limited by the speed of light. </div><div><br /></div><div>Why Galaxias? It was the ‘Greek or Roman name for the Milky Way, as visible in the sky. Named for the spilled milk of a goddess. Root of our word ‘galaxy’… so, a singular name – yes. It. Not they. Monstrously powerful, but one entity.’ There’s later speculation of its aquatic evolution on a water-world radiocarbon dated to ten billion years ago, with resonances back to Stanislaw Lem’s 1961 novel <b><i>‘Solaris’</i></b>, filmed twice, by Andrei Tarkovsky in 1968, and then by Steven Soderbergh, with George Clooney in 2002. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘Another conference, Tash thought. Another all-nighter to prepare.’ And yes, it does seem that way at times. Like the characters, the reader gets conference-fatigue, conferenced out, until Naples disappears in a massive volcanic eruption that precipitates a nuclear winter. And on mission-day 513 the three-person crew of Pioneer 14 – including Wu Zhi with Texan Sara West and Russian Marina Petko, reach the Kuiper Belt ‘Blink-point’. A negative-matter anti-Sun. ‘The enigmatic artefacts of Galaxias.’ Yet there is no meeting. No first-contact communication. Galaxias remains an off-stage presence. All is inference and guesswork. </div><div><br /></div><div>Baxter’s detailing of, first the strategies employed to combat the climate threat, the global plagues and pandemics, then the resounding aftershocks of the Sun’s disappearance are exhaustively pursued. Brainstormed fully as if it’s some rigorous intellectual exercise, what ‘Starburst’ magazine calls ‘big thinking and ‘New Scientist’-flavoured techspeak.’ The orbits of the worlds have been slightly altered due to the abrupt gravitational loss, with resulting extreme weather events, shifted seasons, tidal patterns and a new calendar. Electromagnetic ozone-layer irregularities cause communication problems, and there is seismic magma instability as the Earth’s interior adjusts. Hurricanes become hypercanes, as formerly dormant volcanoes erupt, and massive submarine quakes cause major land slippage. Halley’s comet fails to reappear. The Fermi Paradox is resolved. Elections result take a lurch to the right as the world becomes a more introverted paranoid place. </div><div><br /></div><div>All of which is happening as governments struggle to formulate their response to ‘Blink-day’. America plans to defy Galaxias by deliberately confronting its ultimatum with a crewed dark-energy-powered spaceship following Pioneer 10 out of the solar system. Lodestone is part-cannibalised in order to construct Pioneer 14, powered by solar sail and a dark-energy ramscoop as the notoriously secretive Chinese scheme their own more nuanced response. Replicators devour Mercury just as they had devoured Mars in Baxter’s earlier work <b><i>‘Evolution’ </i></b>(2002). Theoretical technologies are meticulously explained, with credits correctly assigned in the Afterword, including the Lodestone station located in the Earth-umbra, the Skylon spaceplane, self-replicating machinery and the Kardashev classification of hypothetical alien civilisations. As well as Negative matter and Dark Energy. Stephen Baxter does his research with unstinting thoroughness, while his well-earned status as hard science fictioneer in the Arthur C Clarke lineage commands the respect of helpful academics. The final sequences in which the sun and the entire planetary system are shifted out of Galaxias’ reach to the M-12 globular star cluster might just reference back to Clarke rearranging constellations in <b><i>‘The City And The Stars’ </i></b>(1956). </div><div><br /></div><div>This may be a self-contained stand-alone novel, but it does span millions.
</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-T6XiPJ6aHuqIY0TPIr2nMMYZgBKBCTy-sZ4WgjfZschN9yUywjBJXCRo23-E2ijz_G5pC6gPn6Ht3h6RmI9fHUkJf5TPqrQlqM8bDpd1VFMqyRbiNJrmjizALBlxm1UM3EJFeXdWKrODqAFCVuwjWoZ87RmZfcK91emtxwCenbHhwLWoGfXol9pT/s1000/Galaxias.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="1000" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-T6XiPJ6aHuqIY0TPIr2nMMYZgBKBCTy-sZ4WgjfZschN9yUywjBJXCRo23-E2ijz_G5pC6gPn6Ht3h6RmI9fHUkJf5TPqrQlqM8bDpd1VFMqyRbiNJrmjizALBlxm1UM3EJFeXdWKrODqAFCVuwjWoZ87RmZfcK91emtxwCenbHhwLWoGfXol9pT/w400-h225/Galaxias.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-15906410440399611882022-11-23T10:27:00.000+00:002022-11-23T10:27:43.159+00:00Movie: Roger Corman's 'TEENAGE CAVEMAN'<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUHNpe5oDeha8pbiw8JZ6MJVcIrrjHhqTDLWjEHTGQwCK3vtHUOMw6_vdScFOM_aEcOuYsK3N4g-Myir31oNPoIQt6zwRd8bfFarBo6jYgCXtPAmm8j91WWDEhnI46LDyl4Z_dZr_szn0ikfTmbz8gOkBgRC0HfUC19iUnsj530nHszUb-6r_TwZz/s800/51594_1_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="515" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUHNpe5oDeha8pbiw8JZ6MJVcIrrjHhqTDLWjEHTGQwCK3vtHUOMw6_vdScFOM_aEcOuYsK3N4g-Myir31oNPoIQt6zwRd8bfFarBo6jYgCXtPAmm8j91WWDEhnI46LDyl4Z_dZr_szn0ikfTmbz8gOkBgRC0HfUC19iUnsj530nHszUb-6r_TwZz/w258-h400/51594_1_large.jpg" width="258" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">ROCK WITH THE CAVEMAN…! </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘TEENAGE CAVEMAN’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(1958)
With Robert Vaughn, Darah Marshall, </div><div style="text-align: center;">Leslie Bradley
Director: Roger Corman. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;">DVD: 2012, The Arkoff Film Library</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLabLCkM7XOL2pWt1OCFuz1UYvDRKqxGn1KDXIE5MnmCRiX-twMyQjFC7VI7a0ScgbrSJRUFd1lPFD1W0UjV_iFE6ZAvtaLPhcAzLb2JQ0PyqkBdQbyx0y8cd_gnB_Evxs-1HY4r770IXdjxKBCZfQLJqBu7xkxKJioZRKbIH1rQGM5e4Chvsnco_Y/s1373/teenage_caveman_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1051" data-original-width="1373" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLabLCkM7XOL2pWt1OCFuz1UYvDRKqxGn1KDXIE5MnmCRiX-twMyQjFC7VI7a0ScgbrSJRUFd1lPFD1W0UjV_iFE6ZAvtaLPhcAzLb2JQ0PyqkBdQbyx0y8cd_gnB_Evxs-1HY4r770IXdjxKBCZfQLJqBu7xkxKJioZRKbIH1rQGM5e4Chvsnco_Y/w400-h306/teenage_caveman_01.jpg" width="400" /></a> </div></div><div><br /></div><div>‘In the beginning there was chaos and eternal night’ runs the portentous pseudo-Biblical voice-over, with credits superimposed over cave-paintings set to Albert Glassner’s epic soaring score. Roger Corman can conjure something worth watching out of zero-budget and nil-resources. It looks easy. But watch the films of Ed Wood to see how vaguely similar ingredients will end up when handled with more enthusiasm than competency. Of course this movie is Drive-In trash. Even the title is a trifle of irresistibly playful mischief. Yet you have to admit that, even though Corman himself irritably protested ‘I never directed a film called <b><i>‘Teenage Caveman’</i></b>’, it’s a marked improvement on his original ‘Prehistoric World’ title, or the critic’s suggestion ‘Rubble Without A Cause’! </div><div><br /></div><div>The tribesmen, wearing loincloths and brandishing ‘throwing stick’ spears, carry the body of a freshly-killed deer into ‘the clan’ cave village. They’re remarkably well-fed healthy primitives. Only the lone ‘Son of the Symbol-Maker’ stands apart, staring wistfully over the forbidden river. He sports a stylish cross-the-shoulder tunic, neat dark hair, and a knife thrust under his belt. He questions and demands to know answers. His discontent mirrors teenage rebellion. In <b><i>‘The Wild Ones’</i></b> (1953) Mildred asks Marlon Brando ‘Hey Johnny, what are you rebelling against?’ He shrugs back ‘whadda you got?’ That’s the Symbol-Maker’s Son’s attitude. He’s warned off questioning ‘the signs and gifts and mysteries’. Why can’t the Clan cross the forbidden river? Because the law says so. Because there’s superstitious fear that beyond the river there are shadows ‘deep and cold’ where men ‘sicken and die, red and dried out’. Because of the burning plain with ‘dirt that eats men’, and ‘the god that gives death with its touch’. These warnings come dramatised with insert-clips of savage jungle and dinosaurian lizardoids. His grey-bearded father (Leslie Bradley) advises him ‘wonder no more.’ ‘I wonder still’ he muses. </div><div><br /></div><div>The young rebel is Robert Vaughn, decidedly no teenager. He’d already done TV parts in hardboiled cop-drama <b><i>‘Dragnet’</i></b> (with its much-imitated intro ‘the story you are about to see is true, only the names have been changed to protect the innocent’) and gritty Western <b><i>‘Gunsmoke’</i></b> – with James Arness as Marshal Matt Dillon, as well as popular sitcom <b><i>‘Father Knows Best’</i></b>. He had successes, but it wasn’t until he was cast as ‘Napoleon Solo’ – a name suggested by Ian Fleming, in the hugely tongue-in-cheek <b><i>‘The Man From U.N.C.L.E’</i></b> from September 1964, that he ascended to household name status. Intended to be the suave James Bond in the agents’ fight against the evil ‘T.H.R.U.S.H’, he was ironically overtaken in the sexy pin-up stakes by enigmatic sidekick David McCallum as ‘Illya Kuryakin’, who had the advantage of a comb-forward Beatles fringe. </div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><i>‘Teenage Caveman’</i></b> may well be trash, but they play it admirably straight-faced. They may have no names beyond Blonde Maiden (Darah Marshall), the Black-Bearded one (Frank DeKova), or the Curly-Haired boy, but they yield nothing of R Wright Campbell’s dialogue to dramatic theatricality. When Vaughn challenges ‘The law is old, but age is not always truth’ he might as well be adding ‘whadda you got?’ in stirring up generational confrontation. The following day the clan hunts again, and although they kill a ‘fur-beast’ bear, his father is wounded. As he recuperates, four prehistoric rebels – ‘The Young And The Brave’ according to the trailer, set out in defiance of the law, wade through waist-high swamp, and swim a jungle-river to reach the forbidden far shore of ‘A Wonderful And Strange World!’. Once there one of them admits ‘there’s meat here, we kill and go back.’ Vaughn is not so easily satisfied, ‘no, I came to find the truth or lie of the old stories, the ancient Law.’ He’s not about to go back, yet. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEZYUlsPD-Yxu5JsV0rKauEvbEojazadAJGyWud_yMI_TFB6aTAyMFgUxX9XJz9nlPmEKzOoOy5jWiNDXeueXdXHB9SF2AHwTk7MQX03vIm7CiecMRq1xNtnpHJEL3AkrwTLye_qYLC90dlAAtaO7V6OY3aZ6i6GHpBcX-h0Lx7odHFYQtnBgrX13A/s1344/MV5BYjVjYWNlMTctZWQxNC00OTNjLWE0ZDAtNzhjOTFiZDk0OTFiXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTc4Njg5MjA@._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="1344" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEZYUlsPD-Yxu5JsV0rKauEvbEojazadAJGyWud_yMI_TFB6aTAyMFgUxX9XJz9nlPmEKzOoOy5jWiNDXeueXdXHB9SF2AHwTk7MQX03vIm7CiecMRq1xNtnpHJEL3AkrwTLye_qYLC90dlAAtaO7V6OY3aZ6i6GHpBcX-h0Lx7odHFYQtnBgrX13A/w400-h313/MV5BYjVjYWNlMTctZWQxNC00OTNjLWE0ZDAtNzhjOTFiZDk0OTFiXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTc4Njg5MjA@._V1_.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Filmed on a tight two-week schedule in Griffin Park, Arcadia, the Californian landscape is suitably primeval. The Symbol Maker’s Son blows into a hollow-twig flute, which attracts two dueling dino-lizards. As usual in this kind of movie the monsters attack each other, allowing the tribesmen time to flee. As they penetrate deeper, one of them drowns in the ‘sinking earth’. Two get scared and head for home. Only the Symbol Maker’s Son goes on. When he builds a campfire for the night it attracts a monster-mutation, unafraid of his flames. In a matter of moments he invents, and masters the bow-and-arrow. Only to be attacked by a pack of wild dogs. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, his father recovers, follows his son and intervenes. Once they’re safely back in the village Vaughn is sentenced to die. He fights back, and his punishment is commuted to isolation. No-one talks to him. Even his Blonde Maiden girlfriend shuns him, at first. Until he plays his flute as she coyly skinny-dips. He’s now reached the age of ‘Manhood’, and takes an oath to renounce his questioning. Will he settle down with the blonde girl in their ‘sleeping place’? ‘Wonder no more’ she urges him. ‘I will always wonder’ he affirms. Yet he bides his time, for now. </div><div><br /></div><div>Corman’s tyro producer/director quickies – <b><i>‘Highway Dragnet’ </i></b>and <b><i>‘Monster From The Ocean Floor’</i></b>, had come in January and May 1954. He made five rapid turn-around films the following year, three in 1956, and no less than nine in 1957, running the gamut of titillating exploitation from tacky horror, westerns, Beatnik and noir-crime as well as opportunistically settling on what could loosely be termed SF. Of course, the movies are Drive-In trash that look laughably easy. <b><i>‘Teenage Caveman’ </i></b>is one of five movies directed in 1958, with cheapo effects patched together from archive stock-footage. The dinosaur sequences were originally contrived by Roy Seawright for Hal Roach’s <b><i>‘One Million BC’</i></b> (1940), while a clip from Edward L Cahn’s <b><i>‘The She Creature’</i></b> (1956) is also filched and inserted to illustrate radiation mutation. But this seamless zero-budget nil-resources collage technique catches something of the jittery angst of its time. Something a 2002 <b><i>‘Teenage Caveman’</i></b> remake, directed by Larry Clark, fails to do, despite its gore and nudity. </div><div><br /></div><div>The film’s final section opens with a horse-riding stranger approaching the cave village. Fearfully they hurl spears. Only Vaughn tries to stop them. The stranger manages to utter the single word ‘Peace’, before they spear him to death. In a Clan debate his Symbol-Maker father now argues for seeking out other tribes. His scheming black-bearded rival seizes on this blasphemy as an opportunity to strip him of his symbol-making powers. ‘There is no more to say’ declares Vaughn defiantly, ‘it is time to act.’ He has his bow, and a quiver for his arrows. His blonde woman watches him set out alone. But first his father follows him. Then the vengeful tribe pursue them both intent on killing them – only to be attacked by the wild dog-pack. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhubqdfnC1PqGmC1QwlqRRboJ_j0FdX9bi_7Ax6Qp4SntlX-Oo5WcaqL7I2iPcbkam0XDJq8NW8mzcwVWS1IiFAeaNuRfw0CH5EsWfbUEhyB8K3eBIVj0IasHjRMrh2XNj-ngbLonao2I5OTQl3t02gHCYE_EaNcr-HM3HPUEaKrPYqGn5QhP1GXsM6/s584/0fa882fbfcfbe081220a825eeac33200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="584" data-original-width="468" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhubqdfnC1PqGmC1QwlqRRboJ_j0FdX9bi_7Ax6Qp4SntlX-Oo5WcaqL7I2iPcbkam0XDJq8NW8mzcwVWS1IiFAeaNuRfw0CH5EsWfbUEhyB8K3eBIVj0IasHjRMrh2XNj-ngbLonao2I5OTQl3t02gHCYE_EaNcr-HM3HPUEaKrPYqGn5QhP1GXsM6/w320-h400/0fa882fbfcfbe081220a825eeac33200.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>In the forbidden zone the duo are menaced by a crawling slithering mutation. A curious Vaughn approaches it in a gesture of conciliation, just as Black-Beard hurls a rock at the monster. The Symbol Maker’s Son turns and shoots him with a well-aimed arrow, but it’s too late. Beneath the mask is a wizened old man, the last of the long-lived ancients. ‘A man, another kind of man.’ They find a book within his corroded radiation-suit covering, turning the pages in uncomprehending awe. Cities. Skyscrapers. The UN building. ‘The Atomic Era’. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘What symbols are these?’ they wonder. We know. This is the shock revelation. The punchline. Theirs is not some long ago sometime in the distant past. The Clan are not only the remote survivors of atomic war, but of a historical eternal recurrence. Will the tribe now be wiser? ‘Perhaps man will dare to try again?’ The stern voice-over resumes to ram home the warning message, ‘this happened a long time ago. How many times will it happen again? And if it does, will any at all survive the next time?’ A sobering closing question in a time of Cold War brinkmanship, ‘or will it be… THE END?’</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>‘TEENAGE CAVEMAN: PREHISTORIC REBELS </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">AGAINST PREHISTORIC MONSTERS!’ </span></b></div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘TEENAGE CAVEMAN’</span></b> (American International Pictures, July 1958, black-&-white) Producer & Director: Roger Corman. Executive Producers: Samuel Z Arkoff & James H Nicholson. Screenplay: R Wright Campbell. With Robert Vaughn (Teenage Caveman), Darah Marshall (Blonde Woman), Leslie Bradley (The Symbol Maker), Frank DeKova (Black-Bearded Usurper), June Jocelyn (Symbol-Maker’s wife), Beach Dickerson (Bear, Man from the Burning Plains) and tribe-members Charles P Thompson, Ed Nelson Robert Shayne, Marshall Bradford, Joseph H Hamilton. Music: Albert Glassner. Cinematography: Floyd Crosby. Film Editor: Irene Morra. 65-minutes. DVD April 2012, The Arkoff Film Library. DVD extras include trailers and Samuel Z Arkoff NFT audio interview.</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>Originally featured on website: </div><div><b>‘VIDEOVISTA’</b> (April 2014)</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnB7qEGWtddwfEFYZWdwUKpc-L3E25r3PX8BHtNWSQcfqlssLB3Ojz-yc3-nQXytYzOyBBo8K-s0VA1IRAWlQJC7KYvA3GRnRiJaOTaTZybVY-7Dn5OvQv6TvTxR1yyB3UFlXtBS-QYPzrlvquwXd_nhAHc3Ii010A8bFkeJmGdX2aDaq52szF_xnG/s450/teen-caveman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="352" data-original-width="450" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnB7qEGWtddwfEFYZWdwUKpc-L3E25r3PX8BHtNWSQcfqlssLB3Ojz-yc3-nQXytYzOyBBo8K-s0VA1IRAWlQJC7KYvA3GRnRiJaOTaTZybVY-7Dn5OvQv6TvTxR1yyB3UFlXtBS-QYPzrlvquwXd_nhAHc3Ii010A8bFkeJmGdX2aDaq52szF_xnG/w400-h313/teen-caveman.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-66361280382569080142022-10-31T15:54:00.001+00:002022-10-31T15:54:56.804+00:00Poem: 'In The Garden With Peter Green And His Sea-Lion'<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2hsE-9umK94H4ElSX1qMZNtLXj5J4Vf9lu0egEtnJbzMDE3H9EPSK9uJZqcfw5UBxQDSpQQxkmIP6gdgpCLLu2HUeGobC52nUV-nJKmfHEd6xhOW-y2g0Im8suoLMXzm3fZgAQuFtwMof3KR31CH2SoMmA5VgUrP7tJL6VueE650wUNZ9fhap5Y4/s1408/8718627232781.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1408" data-original-width="1408" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2hsE-9umK94H4ElSX1qMZNtLXj5J4Vf9lu0egEtnJbzMDE3H9EPSK9uJZqcfw5UBxQDSpQQxkmIP6gdgpCLLu2HUeGobC52nUV-nJKmfHEd6xhOW-y2g0Im8suoLMXzm3fZgAQuFtwMof3KR31CH2SoMmA5VgUrP7tJL6VueE650wUNZ9fhap5Y4/w400-h400/8718627232781.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">IN THE GARDEN WITH PETER GREEN </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">AND HIS SEA-LION/ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">THE GREEN MANALICHI
WITH </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">THE TWO-PRONGED CROWN </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Peter Green was the original guitarist and </div><div style="text-align: center;">guiding intelligence
behind Fleetwood Mac, </div><div><div style="text-align: center;">currently rehabilitating mind & music)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>hic</i></b> </div><div><br /></div><div>“it’s my sea-lion” says Peter Green, </div><div>“my pet sea-lion coming through” </div><div>& he hiccups again </div><div><br /></div><div>here in the garden, </div><div>apocalyptic omens ripple </div><div>in crowding shadows, </div><div>here at the still centre of rage, </div><div>all is flat, calm, & </div><div>scoured to bone </div><div><br /></div><div>it’s only the dark places </div><div>that suggest endless nights </div><div>boiling with madness </div><div>Blues and acid </div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>hic</i></b> </div><div><br /></div><div>“sometimes your life </div><div>changes direction” says Peter </div><div>“like a fish” </div><div><br /></div><div>& you cross the line, </div><div>a line of fire drawn sweet </div><div>and oversweet, but here, now </div><div>beyond this savage quiet sky, </div><div>on the rim of sanity, I hear </div><div>the sound of galaxies colliding </div><div>in those strange nights of </div><div>paradox and betrayal </div><div><br /></div><div>but here in the garden </div><div>the lilac ripples, gently </div><div>creating and destroying </div><div>monstrous shadows </div><div><br /></div><div>“sometimes they throw me a fish” </div><div>says Peter Green, “a red herring </div><div>...what <i>is</i> a red herring </div><div>...a <i>dead</i> herring... “ </div><div>& he hiccups again </div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>hic</i></b> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published in: </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘TEARS IN THE FENCE no.22: Spring 1999’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(UK – March 1999) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘BOGG no.71’</b> (USA/ UK – June 2002) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Featured online at: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘PRESSURE PRESS PRESENTS’</b> (25 July 2017) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Collected into: </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘TWEAK VISION: THE WORD-PLAY </span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">SOLUTION TO MODERN-ANGST CONFUSION’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Alien Buddha Press (USA – March 2018)
</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfTFowN9oMnE_oNGeYJ8dv2Hf0Kboa_GqsHiJaggtmZQ3OEzwyUFxS24_3-eWPyTQGmLn4DYsfFPIPZXH6H9CytP3QjqGeZs09Tj5ndXV6Rdq2b6NXEN5yqM6XO77a382G7_eyjlovTsTqGnaOEBSbLvSFGPTF46iNxZ4RM39obABh4I15TSVHzRPI/s1407/8718627226629.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1407" data-original-width="1407" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfTFowN9oMnE_oNGeYJ8dv2Hf0Kboa_GqsHiJaggtmZQ3OEzwyUFxS24_3-eWPyTQGmLn4DYsfFPIPZXH6H9CytP3QjqGeZs09Tj5ndXV6Rdq2b6NXEN5yqM6XO77a382G7_eyjlovTsTqGnaOEBSbLvSFGPTF46iNxZ4RM39obABh4I15TSVHzRPI/w400-h400/8718627226629.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-76178955432586148982022-10-30T18:25:00.000+00:002022-10-30T18:25:37.439+00:00Previously Unpublished Interview: Mick Fleetwood<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKUYB9p2-fYESsUW335Bcl_kLMGmyX6bVJRJmCXBaMveTlYPCqO6X-okOKOABLPQaQvwZkW5TdMuGUyh9_PZcxyrFT7ImE5MwY1GLBhQg_eBZpSiOMaCb2nx8SHL7xHr3j8MbrFjZcVPTlLGR_t5bcadwFX95-2m2RKcTKsH609e-lxqGw9U-mBmN3/s593/cccc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKUYB9p2-fYESsUW335Bcl_kLMGmyX6bVJRJmCXBaMveTlYPCqO6X-okOKOABLPQaQvwZkW5TdMuGUyh9_PZcxyrFT7ImE5MwY1GLBhQg_eBZpSiOMaCb2nx8SHL7xHr3j8MbrFjZcVPTlLGR_t5bcadwFX95-2m2RKcTKsH609e-lxqGw9U-mBmN3/w338-h400/cccc.jpg" width="338" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">MICK FLEETWOOD: </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">RUMOURS… AND </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">YET
MORE RUMOURS </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;">The album is called <b><i>‘Say You Will’</i></b> (2003), the first new material </div><div style="text-align: center;"> from a re-union of the classic <b><i>‘Rumours’</i></b>-era Fleetwood Mac line-up. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Mick Fleetwood, John McVie, Stevie Nicks, Lindsey Buckingham – but </div><div style="text-align: center;">no Christine
‘Perfect’ McVie. In this previously unpublished interview </div><div style="text-align: center;">Mick Fleetwood tells <b>Andrew Darlington</b> the full story.
It starts with the </div><div style="text-align: center;">Shadows. Playing along to records of drummer Tony Meehan. It leads to </div><div style="text-align: center;">one of the biggest-selling Rock album of all time – <b><i>‘Rumours’ </i></b>(1977), </div><div style="text-align: center;"> with more than a little ‘glitzy Rock ‘n’ Roll stories of blood and guts, </div><div style="text-align: center;"> booze and drugs’ along the way. There are a million stories </div><div style="text-align: center;">in
Fleetwood Mac. This is just one of them...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyZaBw4C-UDb4faAIkCDAVOuIDMQTQGhftajGzSvBtAkC6RlLc99law4siA9zE0AG3g-kVnP7lApiQOOHY0DAQzTraNDynbbcB-oEtaSixuazoXxqOmnp5dJ-SAwxpwv9Z8i1HhyARtFe3iswCVPbPc3eMIFw4IvT67IgRQX3rl4ikVGa80-hh3kzE/s3300/Fleetwood%20Mac-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2444" data-original-width="3300" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyZaBw4C-UDb4faAIkCDAVOuIDMQTQGhftajGzSvBtAkC6RlLc99law4siA9zE0AG3g-kVnP7lApiQOOHY0DAQzTraNDynbbcB-oEtaSixuazoXxqOmnp5dJ-SAwxpwv9Z8i1HhyARtFe3iswCVPbPc3eMIFw4IvT67IgRQX3rl4ikVGa80-hh3kzE/w400-h296/Fleetwood%20Mac-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"> ‘RUMOURS...’</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div>Did you ever want to go back? Back to those moments that changed your life forever. And have the opportunity of asking that question – ‘how did I get here, from there’? Mick Fleetwood did. </div><div><br /></div><div>On my TV screen he’s standing on Platform Four of Gloucester Station, long coat drifting as he paces its length, long scarf pulled in against the wind, his once-long shaggy hair now scratched back into a ponytail. And a now-neater, more disciplined beard. On a platform full of ghosts. In his eyes there’s ‘a boy with a dream and eyes full of fun, to conquer the world with two sticks and a drum.’ Then it was a ‘wet and dreary’ 1963, his parents last goodbye, ‘the umbilical broken’ as the train pulls away, and he sets off for a new life in London... </div><div><br /></div><div>‘Yes. Putting that film* together was great to do,’ he admits to me now. ‘We spent the better part of two years doing it. And it was very therapeutic once we started. Because it’s setting down stuff you don’t normally get a chance to do, in terms of reflecting ‘how did I get to what I’m doing?’ It’s an attempt to capture an over-view of my journey from childhood, through my dreams and aspirations of becoming a musician, with all the ups and downs, the faults, the good things and the bad... so, going back and doing it was actually therapeutic in many ways.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>But it’s also an opportunity to take stock and ask, what would that young Mick Fleetwood think of the international megastar he was to become? ‘I think, generally, he’d be pretty pleased.’ A moment’s careful consideration. ‘Yes. He started out with such a desire, just to be around music and to be IN music. And all the trappings, pitfalls, distractions, and the ups and downs that came with it, they didn’t destroy any part of that original dream. My first love is my music, and to be around music. Luckily, I was able to do that, and I’m still doing that. So I think he’d be happy. I have no real ultimate complaints.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>And now there’s new product to promote. A new album with a revitalised tour-schedule to promote it. The current album – <b><i>‘Say You Will’</i></b> (2003, Reprise 48467-2) has been enthusiastically received with global air-play, and although it’s unlikely to set the Pop charts ablaze it’s significant in that those instantly familiar harmonies recall Fleetwood Mac’s commercial Golden Age. Forget the line-up changes and solo ventures that filled the intervening years. This is the real deal – Mick Fleetwood, John McVie, Stevie Nicks, Lindsey Buckingham – but alas, no Christine ‘Perfect’ McVie. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘Yes. It’s an album we worked on for over a year’ he resumes. ‘And we’re all really excited about it. It’s everything that we like about playing our music, and we’ve done it together. Lindsey produced the album, and engineered a lot of it too, so it’s been very much a home ‘in-house’ no-outside-interference album. It’s all about what we want to do, and what we feel creatively is exciting. And we are really excited about making new music together.’ But no Christine McVie? ‘No. Correct. She’s living in England. And she’s retired from showbiz, in this context. Y’know – we miss her, but she didn’t want to tour, and she didn’t want to be part of the whole thing. We talked to her a lot. She’s actually been writing some music and doing some recording which is exciting for her. But I don’t think she’ll ever get out on the road and really do anything. Because she doesn’t want to travel anymore. She’s had it with touring. So sadly, we parted company. We go on, and she’s doing what she needs to do, and hopefully enjoying her life. That’s part and parcel of her choice. And we’re comfortable with it. We know that she’s happy. And there’s nothing much one can do about it.’</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimH_1welW064BlASLAF4yQtNM680xR1GTBWRhSum3T7oio__ae4hRc5lA34-XYVoJk1aLjz8dXICpl0a1HVfTEd53qbED1q-9whzfRXQ4MjwpiiZhURG6j6TFpRfJ9d4MAF-UpuMNSIkbYTT-Sy2XFfzEEUYiFw7wcBGnB0C9EMSO0MS1GEsbMGGEn/s3268/Fleetwood%20Mac-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2449" data-original-width="3268" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimH_1welW064BlASLAF4yQtNM680xR1GTBWRhSum3T7oio__ae4hRc5lA34-XYVoJk1aLjz8dXICpl0a1HVfTEd53qbED1q-9whzfRXQ4MjwpiiZhURG6j6TFpRfJ9d4MAF-UpuMNSIkbYTT-Sy2XFfzEEUYiFw7wcBGnB0C9EMSO0MS1GEsbMGGEn/w400-h300/Fleetwood%20Mac-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘CHEYNES, BO-STREET RUNNERS, </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">AND STEAM PACKET...’ </span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>When you think Mick Fleetwood – if you think of him at all, you might think of the unfeasibly tall guy beside the diminutive Samantha Fox at the Brits, or perhaps the incredibly lanky guy with the ludicrously dangling balls positioned between his splayed legs, beside the petite Stevie Nicks on the iconic cover of <b><i>‘Rumours’ </i></b>– the biggest selling album of all time, until <b><i>‘Thriller’</i></b> came along. But right now he’s looking at his life with strange amazement. Saying that to stay ‘in the trenches’ for as long as he has – as part of an on-going ‘showbizzy and glitzy Rock ‘n’ Roll story of blood and guts, booze and drugs’, is to be ‘incredibly blessed.’ His voice is smoothly accentless. He spent his first twenty years in England. Then America. But there’s no trace of either. Not even mid-Atlantic. And he’s well-used to this interview situation. He does the false-modesty thing to perfection. It comes easy. He’s practised in the art of technique so there’s few awkward silences, and no unplanned gaffes. Just the correct spice of excess and Rock ‘n’ Roll weirdness as required. Stories full of sex, glamour, drugs, ambition – and all of them true. </div><div><br /></div><div>He was born the 24 June 1942, to an RAF service family. So just how does a gangly guy from Redruth, Cornwall come to be an integral part of the US West Coast’s most defining Soft-Rock Mega-Band? The DVD/film follows Mick through his nomadic childhood – following his father’s postings to Egypt and Norway, to a spell at King’s School Sherbourne, ‘the first of two boarding schools, a gorgeous place,’ from which he persistently ran away. Through to his move to London at the age of sixteen – ‘a spunky thing to do’, and into his early career in the Blues Clubs of the Mod R&B underground, and thence into superstardom with Fleetwood Mac playing to gross-out audiences across the world, while travelling in a self-contained ‘bubble’ of narcotic and life-style excess. </div><div><br /></div><div>But first, both the DVD – and his autobiographical book <b><i>‘Two Sticks And A Drum’</i></b>, emphasise the point that he’s a self-taught drummer. ‘Absolutely. I was self-taught. I just taught myself in my attic, playing along to records (on the radiogram). I can’t always remember the <i>names </i>of the drummers I used to listen to, because I’m not great at remembering names. But they must have been the people who played with Buddy Holly, and the Everly Brothers. While the first drummer I really listened to a hell of a lot, and learned from was the English drummer who used to play with the Shadows – Tony Meehan. He would basically be the first guy that I listened to, the stuff he did. And the Shadows were such a great band. Later on, I found that I enjoyed listening to a drummer called Sonny Freeman who played with B.B. King. ‘Blues Shuffles’ is something that I’m seemingly fairly good at. And I get that from him. That’s his influence.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>Mick talks readily about practising and perfecting hand-and-foot co-ordination, accurate time-keeping, and the naive rudiments of a personal style by playing along to “Apache”, Buddy Holly, and the Everly’s, but in fact he has a far more direct biological link with that first great Rock ‘n’ Roll era. Because one of the later Fleetwood Mac line-ups featured Billy Burnette – son of legendary Rocker Johnny Burnette. So did he get any good ‘early-Rock ‘n’ Roll Johnny Burnette’ tour stories from him? ‘Oh masses’ he gushes. ‘First of all, those guys were all maniacs. They make us modern-day Rock ‘n’ Rollers look like pussy’s...’, then he goes on to relate how ‘those were literally the days when you’d strap your double-bass to the roof of your car, and you’d go off on tour.’ Of course – Johnny Burnette’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Trio ‘were an enormous influence on Elvis.’ But ‘they were all prescribed those pills by the Doctors – Elvis of course, but the Everly Brothers and Johnny Burnette too. Benzedrine. And sadly they were – legally, made into junkies through their increasing dependence on them...’ </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWLYLaUekdZCu_zcDijTcMcMGUxPJDwj0cQR0fF8c19T0QCbmKtueb8YFqKhewqVhrvTCn33hiUaiNikSrOnoKbIXestn657k1KjBjNp9--NoAfUgTyuLdPoRGwDZh7rvGPH91JYMArrVa1lh6_oB1G34BLchHtsYbtpMIrYn1Ay-72Zh7gaBAzRCc/s2400/mick-fleetwood-q-and-a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2400" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWLYLaUekdZCu_zcDijTcMcMGUxPJDwj0cQR0fF8c19T0QCbmKtueb8YFqKhewqVhrvTCn33hiUaiNikSrOnoKbIXestn657k1KjBjNp9--NoAfUgTyuLdPoRGwDZh7rvGPH91JYMArrVa1lh6_oB1G34BLchHtsYbtpMIrYn1Ay-72Zh7gaBAzRCc/w400-h266/mick-fleetwood-q-and-a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>But meanwhile, Shadows-influenced guitarists may have been ten-a-penny in 1963, but good sticksmen were a more rare breed, vexingly few-and-far-between. So the mere ownership of a kit proved sufficient to attract overtures for your services. So much so that on his arrival in London, with a copy of ‘Playboy’ under his arm and his precious drums stashed in the Guards’ Van – to stay with older sister Sally in bohemian Notting Hill Gate, he was almost immediately recruited by Peter ‘B’ Bardens, a keyboardist in an Italian-style mohair suit, for the upwardly-mobile Cheynes. Their most visible moment would come with their cover of Bill Wyman’s song “Stop Running Around” c/w “Down And Out” (1965, Columbia DB7464), but in the meantime they play the sleazy West End Mandrake Club, frequented by prostitutes and GI’s, despite being underage. </div><div><br /></div><div>And Fab it is to be young and alive, with London rapidly tripping and Swinging into its ‘Dedicated Follower of Fashion’ phase as centre of the style-world. Sister Sally was making silk ties for David Hockney. Mick was meeting – and wooing fashion-model Jenny Boyd-Levitt – sister to Patti Boyd who just happens to be married to Beatle George. So it’s like ‘I was around all that, and yet I hadn’t made it myself, but I was able to see what it was like to make it.’ After the demise of The Cheynes Mick sticks with Bardens for its successor group, the Peter B’s, long enough to record one further single (“If You Wanna Be Happy” c/w “Jodrell Blues”, March 1966, Columbia DB7862, with a young Peter Green guesting on guitar). </div><div><br /></div><div>So he was moving in the right circles, albeit stuck at 45rpm. Until – following ‘a very brief year’s tenure’ playing alongside John McVie and Peter Green with John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers – ‘the beginning of a relationship that later on would become Fleetwood Mac,’ those elusive chart hits were just around the corner. For John McVie would become the other essential ingredient in the Fleetwood Mac equation. Its’ only other constant point. ‘Me and John have always been there, the ‘nuts-and-bolts’ through all of that history’ enthuses Mick. ‘And he’s every bit as great a bass-player as he always was. In fact, he’s a better bass player now – and a dear dear friend. We’ve been playing together for so long we’ve developed this amazing unspoken thing, we don’t have to speak about it. You don’t have to think about it. It just exists. It’s pretty cool.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>But the rock-steady tom’s on “Albatross” come from Mick Fleetwood, as does the sharp drum-snaps of “Go Your Own Way”. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOBAuFlurMkjAkgqkzXn3UY-wQCt3BK7khcLLTpUSMUNigvt8W8DiumVS5MvkfuIs94b7SYIZFXHfGRiIj-xlv_ONCW1qFyymcyc78815Rp5tXnNHe2ngcVyGAPwW6aOsgQy-sen_HRonCECYWofXoCrGToUVNpaDNCFrGlY_3k3nKHTLsOgwbMrj/s3357/Fleetwood%20Mac-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2490" data-original-width="3357" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOBAuFlurMkjAkgqkzXn3UY-wQCt3BK7khcLLTpUSMUNigvt8W8DiumVS5MvkfuIs94b7SYIZFXHfGRiIj-xlv_ONCW1qFyymcyc78815Rp5tXnNHe2ngcVyGAPwW6aOsgQy-sen_HRonCECYWofXoCrGToUVNpaDNCFrGlY_3k3nKHTLsOgwbMrj/w400-h296/Fleetwood%20Mac-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘THEN PLAY ON...’ </span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps all that childhood nomadism was a preparation for the Rock ‘n’ Roll touring lifestyle? ‘Perhaps. I always had a superb ability to daydream, to such a degree that I was really... not around.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>The heavily TV-advertised compilation <b><i>‘The Very Best Of Fleetwood Mac’</i></b> went Top Three in the immediate run-up to Christmas 2002, and it tells the most complete story so far. Starting with hits from the Peter Green era, most obviously the shimmering “Albatross”, moving through the big American break-through with “Rhiannon” from <b><i>‘Fleetwood Mac’</i></b> (1975) into “Dreams” and “Don’t Stop” from <b><i>‘Rumours’</i></b> (1977) – into the controversial aftermath with the <b><i>‘Tusk’ </i></b>(1979) double-set, plus tracks from their massive re-emergence in 1987 with the <b><i>‘Tango In The Night’</i></b> (1987) tracks “Seven Wonders” and “Big Love”. </div><div><br /></div><div>But right from the start – from the spine-tingling authenticity of their Blues soloing at their live debut on 13 August 1967 at the Windsor Jazz & Blues Festival, Fleetwood Mac where a surprisingly strange band. They consisted of nominal leader Peter Green (guitar), John McVie (drums), Jeremy Spencer (guitar), and Mick on drums. Later recruiting Danny Kirwan on additional guitar. Spencer was ‘totally outrageous.’ But Peter Green’s instabilities – brought to breaking point by bad encounters with LSD, were even more extreme. His song “Man of the World” is ‘like saying ‘please help me’ recalls Mick, and his leaving the band was ‘the most threatening thing that I can relate to in the ranks of Fleetwood Mac.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>Inevitably, with the onslaught of the 1970’s, a ‘very disorganised survival period’ followed – with Spencer also abruptly disappearing (to join the religious cult ‘The Children of God’), Christine – by then married to John, joining on keyboards in time for the <b><i>‘Kiln House’ </i></b>(1970) album, and then the addition of ex-jazzer Bob Welch which helped carve them out a niche on the US touring circuit. Almost by default, but with a ruthlessly single-visioned focus on ensuring the group’s survival, Mick became even more of a motivating force. Until the break-up of his marriage to Jenny, alienated by his total dedication to keeping Mac touring, resulted in a more full-time shift to America, with Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham coming into the band just as Bob Welch is phasing out. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha516pSvgW1u6kiC5os4neh4b8NAsE0OxTnvFXELAoYQbio-JsUljDQNyhHdA4vG40d6OxcT3nmJJ14tLU0y_pV8U02ixPDJWpOraHUTnObIeHNJICIGp8T-vywvrgSBoXDSP-wakW3IUSSCsoNSINUvUPvpyCV0Dz9qb4WcqdwdDmBH5nZkj_N36V/s3414/Fleetwood%20Mac-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2466" data-original-width="3414" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha516pSvgW1u6kiC5os4neh4b8NAsE0OxTnvFXELAoYQbio-JsUljDQNyhHdA4vG40d6OxcT3nmJJ14tLU0y_pV8U02ixPDJWpOraHUTnObIeHNJICIGp8T-vywvrgSBoXDSP-wakW3IUSSCsoNSINUvUPvpyCV0Dz9qb4WcqdwdDmBH5nZkj_N36V/w400-h289/Fleetwood%20Mac-7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Now – in the wake of Abba and Queen-derived stage-success, there are rumours that Matthew Vaughan – husband of Claudia Schiffer (and financier of <b><i>‘Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels’</i></b>) is producing a stage-musical of <b><i>‘Rumours’</i></b>. And it’s an album rich in potential source-material, notorious for coming out of a period of personal stress and group disruptions, recorded ‘through various forms of emotional hell’ according to Mick. A Soap-Opera drama involving relationship make-ups and break-ups, with those ups-and-downs, those chaotic periods he talks about, presumably fuelling its edgy creativity? So were the downer-periods an essential part of the process that made the highs possible? ‘I think they have been known to do that. There’s no doubt that that sick equation can exist, from my own memories of – ‘oh my god, I’ve been up for five days’ – yeah! I don’t feel horribly comfortable applauding the fact. But it would be less than honest if I said that we – or I, didn’t, er... have moments of what I think were fairly <i>CREATIVE </i>moments, that came out of some lunatic situation that I was in.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>But then there’s also the element of happy accident. For example “The Chain” ‘basically came out of a jam. That song was ‘put together’ as distinct from someone literally sitting down and writing ‘a song’. It was very much collectively a band composition. The riff is John McVie’s contribution – a major contribution. Because that bassline is still being played on British TV in the car-racing series to this day. The Grand Prix thing. But it was really – something that just came out of us playing in the studio. Originally we had no words to it. And it really only became a song when Stevie wrote some. She walked in one day and said ‘I’ve written some words that might be good for that thing you were doing in the studio the other day.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>So it was ‘put together’. Lindsey arranged and made a song out of all the bits and pieces that we were putting down onto tape. And then once it was arranged and we knew what we were doing, we went in and recorded it. But it ultimately becomes a ‘band’ thing anyway, because we all have so much of our own individual style, our own stamp that makes the sound of Fleetwood Mac. So it’s not like you feel disconnected from the fact that maybe you haven’t written one of the songs. Because what you do, and what you feel when we’re all making music together, is what Fleetwood Mac ends up being, and that’s the stuff you hear on the albums. Whether one likes it or not, this is – after all, a combined effort from different people playing music together.’</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8TwWRzEk2Zosaly4jdHuq5vR-4YwoABWkwMkjRMbaCKnLHbUGE42KbxrW9_xC6ic34eiJucvXk7QhlYtgNM51MlhDssIR2Fh0bAS466ityFaxXWdEqBE8QaF-TyBhtVCxuLI7E7FceM_-p2sn_PhYlxgsAY9BH-OyNrubf4lkfMte31PxXKjnPtba/s3402/Fleetwood%20Mac-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2429" data-original-width="3402" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8TwWRzEk2Zosaly4jdHuq5vR-4YwoABWkwMkjRMbaCKnLHbUGE42KbxrW9_xC6ic34eiJucvXk7QhlYtgNM51MlhDssIR2Fh0bAS466ityFaxXWdEqBE8QaF-TyBhtVCxuLI7E7FceM_-p2sn_PhYlxgsAY9BH-OyNrubf4lkfMte31PxXKjnPtba/w400-h285/Fleetwood%20Mac-4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>Listen to <b><i>‘Rumours’</i></b> now, and it hardly sounds like one of the Top Five biggest-selling albums of all time. On vinyl or CD. Thirty-million-plus copies so far, and counting. You know the tracks. They’re all familiar, of course. It couldn’t really be any other way. They’ve been wall-to-wall on daytime radio ever since their first release, playlisted relentlessly between phone-ins, traffic reports and polite banter. Pleasant folky non-intrusive guitar riffs, cleanly urgent harmonies, usually from Stevie Nicks or Christine McVie. But none of the characteristics we assume with Rock greatness. No bombastic ambition. No searing angsty solos. That’s not what it’s about. This is where AOR begins. This is music for grown-ups. For expensive sound-systems and settled double-income young partners. It was <b><i>‘Rumours’</i></b> which first defined this lucrative market, this demographic. And it sounds so effortless. It demands only to be listened to. But that’s Mick’s drumming on the original of Stevie Nicks’ “Dreams” (‘I keep my visions to myself’), and Lindsey Buckingham’s “Second-Hand News”, his ‘Ticket To Ride’-snap-drums on Buckingham’s “Go Your Own Way”, “The Chain” and Christine McVie’s plaintive “Songbird”, or “You Make Loving Fun”. You know these songs. You grew up listening to them, consciously or not... </div><div><br /></div><div>Stupid questions sometimes have to be asked. Impossible, sure, but did Mick have any premonitions when it was first released (in August 1975) of just how big <b><i>‘Rumours’</i></b> would be? ‘No. I thought it would do well. ‘Cos we’d just had <b><i>‘Fleetwood Mac: Fleetwood Mac’</i></b> which was the first album that sold – like, about four-million copies in the United States alone. So – unless we really fucked it up, we knew we had a shot of at least doing fairly well with the next album. But no, we had no clue that that album was going to blow up, and – it’s like Pink Floyd’s <b><i>‘Dark Side Of The Moon’</i></b>, it still keeps going. To this day it’s still one of those classic albums. So no – we could have no concept of what was about to happen to us...’ </div><div><br /></div><div>And now it continues. ‘Yes, we are currently being <i>VERY</i> active, ‘cos we’ll be touring with <b><i>‘Say You Will’</i></b> throughout this year and it’s going to be very busy. But this is what we know how to do. It’s like – people are still amazed at the Rolling Stones. Every six years or so THEY go out and tour. And every time they do it they say ‘this will be the last time we’re going to do it’ – and who knows, maybe it is the last time? But with us, we’re just really looking forward to doing it.’</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf6XhQkwrVZMtdUrRpHEJrQaaTGY9kBXnhcxpXjrwzubljPdoqJDarjJB3sJUEoNuw1fpgTaSr4hvjUCPjyhzIhsItgjEwBWavYapLUkFh-1-wDoZ6qO-7QYWdYqbENUv7TFcFjtVGKe4MYxzuT5k-h9qvesdAknZHlkzLTG0sHqczNh_le2lnnxlC/s3467/Fleetwood%20Mac-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2514" data-original-width="3467" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf6XhQkwrVZMtdUrRpHEJrQaaTGY9kBXnhcxpXjrwzubljPdoqJDarjJB3sJUEoNuw1fpgTaSr4hvjUCPjyhzIhsItgjEwBWavYapLUkFh-1-wDoZ6qO-7QYWdYqbENUv7TFcFjtVGKe4MYxzuT5k-h9qvesdAknZHlkzLTG0sHqczNh_le2lnnxlC/w400-h290/Fleetwood%20Mac-5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘MAN OF THE WORLD...’</span></b> </div><div><br /></div><div>Did you ever want to go back? Back to those moments that changed your life forever. Mick Fleetwood did. The film closes with him today, sitting on the beach, staring into the Hawaiian sunset. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘Now – it’s just a different time, a different space,’ he tells me. ‘We all take care of ourselves, and we wanna be healthy and well when we’re seventy-five years old. And there’s only one way of doing that. You have to take notice of your body and respect it, and do the right thing. And certainly – in my opinion, the music we’re playing now proves that the creative juices are still present and still very much intact.’ It wasn’t always so. There are life-changing moments. One occurred as he stood on Platform Four of Gloucester Station, on a ‘wet and dreary’ 1963, as the train pulls away, and he sets off for a new life in London... and another happened in 1989, in Maui with his third wife, Lynn. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘My life was increasingly controlled – as years went on, by my use of cocaine, and I was a heavy drinker.’ Sometimes stress and creative chaos can be a stimulant. ‘But it happens the other way too. ‘Cos sometimes people can lose confidence and say ‘well, if I’m not drunk I don’t think that I can play’ – or ‘I don’t think that I can have a good time on stage etc etc etc’. It’s a bit of everything.’ Until finally, ‘in a wretched condition from alcohol abuse, drug abuse, a wretched life-style, and not a happy one, it was no longer a laugh, it was no longer funny, it was sad.’ He turns his life around.... </div><div><br /></div><div>‘If that young Mick Fleetwood knew what the ‘Mick-Fleetwood-now’ had gone through, I think he’d say ‘you’re pretty lucky to have survived. And I’m <i>glad</i> you’ve survived!’ But my first love is my music, and to be around music. Luckily, I was able to do that, and I’m still doing that. So more than anything else it would be – ‘I’m really happy that you took my dream of being a musician, and you stayed true to that original dream. You didn’t waver.’ I never have – and I don’t think I ever will.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>On my TV screen Mick Fleetwood is sitting on a beach full of ghosts. And in his eyes there’s ‘a boy with a dream and eyes full of fun, ready to conquer the world with two sticks and a drum’. And he’s asking that question – ‘how did I get here, from there’?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcWov9Eo2d8EVVAPetO2Ybp9zGojCCj7dYCeM4cuhOI4981UIYrPJWynB1imdxkHQ2kPTHotBysqjZpZUk3E5W9a4CYyYmJ29xvAn4g3DgyaSC1RwMaHoGXpZk2TvdjVTT12Ti1EIC0mC69-pkrG3N5X-lyrUNqvQXrlzKHQnz7JUcFOe5wi9xEVS/s3402/Fleetwood%20Mac-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3402" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcWov9Eo2d8EVVAPetO2Ybp9zGojCCj7dYCeM4cuhOI4981UIYrPJWynB1imdxkHQ2kPTHotBysqjZpZUk3E5W9a4CYyYmJ29xvAn4g3DgyaSC1RwMaHoGXpZk2TvdjVTT12Ti1EIC0mC69-pkrG3N5X-lyrUNqvQXrlzKHQnz7JUcFOe5wi9xEVS/w400-h288/Fleetwood%20Mac-6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>*His personal and at times extremely candid DVD/video profile ‘THE MICK FLEETWOOD STORY’ (Direct Video Distribution. DVDUK-001D) forms a definitive portrait of his extraordinary life lived at the heart of Rock ‘n’ Roll’s greatest years.
</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjTotYErgvDSlDtOcDM25Kgs6lPGM6ksygMOU0TlgEUJNS3CZHoSCIj-No81Mb2YmsXcxgo7l_XuHzZZpK0ZX1Uy9kShwvwdhceQpbQN96k-maqtpqiFm4KNXFu6IYzDwuVJ8EECoV8E2GbV534cjx6dZecTJd2XbN74i9Pvue4Yhw4YXB1s9Ys7XI/s2000/GettyImages-1037532770.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1270" data-original-width="2000" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjTotYErgvDSlDtOcDM25Kgs6lPGM6ksygMOU0TlgEUJNS3CZHoSCIj-No81Mb2YmsXcxgo7l_XuHzZZpK0ZX1Uy9kShwvwdhceQpbQN96k-maqtpqiFm4KNXFu6IYzDwuVJ8EECoV8E2GbV534cjx6dZecTJd2XbN74i9Pvue4Yhw4YXB1s9Ys7XI/w400-h254/GettyImages-1037532770.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-78960476127895887312022-10-29T18:20:00.000+01:002022-10-29T18:20:00.828+01:00Cult Album: Fleetwood Mac 'Tango In The Night'<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-SHKrg4vFdFKkgzwgclQb4tlX1Ymfcdlsjw2MVte2v_0K5ZLbs6hx-zzuOFsZcV0SIABVmEqaOORjOODSs1UhfkiFdXiMzZVLUJzeKwYKgl0xT_GrvsJ6ifPdQGgkKKrEviUd026gLJHWFG71rrVekK8y2iGGXiMSa-yUx-fYmXrgsA4heen56Qm/s3408/Fleetwood%20Mac-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2454" data-original-width="3408" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-SHKrg4vFdFKkgzwgclQb4tlX1Ymfcdlsjw2MVte2v_0K5ZLbs6hx-zzuOFsZcV0SIABVmEqaOORjOODSs1UhfkiFdXiMzZVLUJzeKwYKgl0xT_GrvsJ6ifPdQGgkKKrEviUd026gLJHWFG71rrVekK8y2iGGXiMSa-yUx-fYmXrgsA4heen56Qm/w400-h288/Fleetwood%20Mac-8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">TANGO’D…</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Album Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘TANGO IN THE NIGHT </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">(DELUXE EDITION)’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">FLEETWOOD MAC </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Warner Bros Records R2-554813 /018227946388) </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.fleetwoodmac.com/tango">www.fleetwoodmac.com/tango</a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGfmKl78upeYMZjbxuShm3Chxbwg-w70pbmfGEIyq1c5X3fJDXvD39Owmlpq634_Q6Bcb8FHyCv-rVzLX6iJFtc2O3EbR2mcGO_gZ-TFXHJPqt3V1RzG-RwIvsX_r4hT02mPTfXx74RK0kL0hbxxMGckX74uGxcxo-hDO4nxAKYsPvD3q31ZtzghF/s1200/FLEETWOOD%20MAC%20(6)-min.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGfmKl78upeYMZjbxuShm3Chxbwg-w70pbmfGEIyq1c5X3fJDXvD39Owmlpq634_Q6Bcb8FHyCv-rVzLX6iJFtc2O3EbR2mcGO_gZ-TFXHJPqt3V1RzG-RwIvsX_r4hT02mPTfXx74RK0kL0hbxxMGckX74uGxcxo-hDO4nxAKYsPvD3q31ZtzghF/w400-h210/FLEETWOOD%20MAC%20(6)-min.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>As if scoring the biggest-selling white Rock LP of all time isn’t enough, to follow it with a fifteen-million-selling sequel is pure ostentation. By bolting the sweet LA songwriterly harmonies of the Stevie Nicks-Lindsey Buckingham duo onto the rusting rhythm section of three tired Blues-boom veterans, the Mac went unexpectedly floaty soft-rock stellar. They follow <b><i>‘Rumours’</i></b> (1977) with the more eccentric <b><i>‘Tusk’ </i></b>(1979), get back on safe AOR form with <b><i>‘Mirage’ </i></b>(1982), but go mega all over again when they get Tango’d (1987), their final ‘classic’ line-up outing. The various formats of this 3CD+DVD box-set are an embarrassment of radio-friendly riches. Of course you know the hits – “Little Lies”, “Everywhere” and the copulatory ooh-ahs of “Big Love”, it’s impossible not to. For those who really need more there’s the full remastered original album, plus the inevitable demos (including “Tango In The Night”), early versions (“Seven Wonders”), alternate mixes (“Isn’t It Midnight”), extended takes (“You And I”), dub twelve-inch remixes (Jellybean Benitez’s “Little Lies”), and instrumental demos (“Mystified”), as well as gathering previously non-album B-sides – Christine McVie’s “Ricky” and “Down Endless Street”, plus the “Book Of Miracles” instrumental and “Juliet” run-through of what would subsequently be Stevie Nicks solo album track. Classic Rock seldom came more classic, and chances are, it never will be again. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Side One: </div><div>(1) ‘Big Love’ (Lindsey Buckingham, 3:37) </div><div>(2) ‘Seven Wonders’ (Stevie Nicks-Sandy Stewart, 3:38) </div><div>(3) ‘Everywhere’ (Christine McVie, 3:48) </div><div>(4) ‘Caroline’ (Buckingham, 3:50) </div><div>(5) ‘Tango In The Night’ (Buckingham, 3:56) </div><div>(6) ‘Mystified’ (Christine McVie-Buckingham, 3:08) </div><div>Side Two: </div><div>(1) ‘Little Lies’ (Christine McVie-Eddy Quintela, 3:40) </div><div>(2) ‘Family Man’ (Buckinghan-Richard Dashut, 4:08) </div><div>(3) ‘Welcome To The Room… Sara’ (Nicks, 3:37) </div><div>(4) ‘Isn’t It Midnight’ (Christine McVie-Quintela-Buckingham, 4:06) </div><div>(5) ‘When I See You Again’ (Nicks, 3:49) </div><div>(6) ‘You And I, Part Two’ (Buckingham-Christine McVie, 2:40) </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published in: </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘RNR: ROCK ‘N’ REEL Vol.2 No.63’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(UK – May 2017)
</span></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyavklNJUmA2qDc0MdR-WzFRlNdRvah6kD_cECCBNnbPQL5tDIUaiaHxoH-PR05hyjsdYPeWZjwqcFitTkd0IJRKep5hEVorLRDeDVMVU71hSvV8f4nOkAmdsGfw6tNlNggpq_toFa8GbNm6sJ6UkiOQR7dvgDMru6250gui2Y1qJXcaqmpOXzc5m-/s3347/Fleetwood%20Mac-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3347" data-original-width="2514" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyavklNJUmA2qDc0MdR-WzFRlNdRvah6kD_cECCBNnbPQL5tDIUaiaHxoH-PR05hyjsdYPeWZjwqcFitTkd0IJRKep5hEVorLRDeDVMVU71hSvV8f4nOkAmdsGfw6tNlNggpq_toFa8GbNm6sJ6UkiOQR7dvgDMru6250gui2Y1qJXcaqmpOXzc5m-/w300-h400/Fleetwood%20Mac-9.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-31410500505336833062022-10-29T18:05:00.002+01:002022-10-29T18:05:55.185+01:00Cult Album: Fleetwood Mac 'Then Play On'<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT8wOEI8Zm8BqQxZRLQ5bXucEKZsUzEIkult-lpV8hsWJ1Ie3yilundZhQ8KKFeR_2SjtyXmfnteU64GcqRLfDDUp50f6-xWqiymqWMB3qto0j6BUEeN0x8xbcD2Wr1kl4sj62h3dot-OQ0JFSqo3_I02zK8hZv70JOG65t7qnUlAOX1p2cqmaHVrZ/s3389/Fleetwood%20Mac-Then%20Play%20On.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3389" data-original-width="1967" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT8wOEI8Zm8BqQxZRLQ5bXucEKZsUzEIkult-lpV8hsWJ1Ie3yilundZhQ8KKFeR_2SjtyXmfnteU64GcqRLfDDUp50f6-xWqiymqWMB3qto0j6BUEeN0x8xbcD2Wr1kl4sj62h3dot-OQ0JFSqo3_I02zK8hZv70JOG65t7qnUlAOX1p2cqmaHVrZ/w233-h400/Fleetwood%20Mac-Then%20Play%20On.jpg" width="233" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">IF MUSIC BE… </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Album Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘THEN PLAY ON’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">FLEETWOOD MAC </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Reprise/ Rhino Records Deluxe Edition 8122796443) </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.fleetwoodmac.com">www.fleetwoodmac.com</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwdMWVAVEaUg25HgOCMeXYLkEjPlyWGgjfDpXKDaIgOu71F6Hys-dddoIsD7obxJVuEdNnZX2yWjP9q-Sijh3syc4TY4uJs3vgkFORTDx03mZjr3eyEHuMuOh2RCsiM1XpT6deJm8Xn2iyUE0wAhWGuPnm2052570V-b2qmrgUjUmLTwuN-Ewqnzc/s1000/dceb71f04db18d73f926c0edacaec061.1000x1000x1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwdMWVAVEaUg25HgOCMeXYLkEjPlyWGgjfDpXKDaIgOu71F6Hys-dddoIsD7obxJVuEdNnZX2yWjP9q-Sijh3syc4TY4uJs3vgkFORTDx03mZjr3eyEHuMuOh2RCsiM1XpT6deJm8Xn2iyUE0wAhWGuPnm2052570V-b2qmrgUjUmLTwuN-Ewqnzc/w400-h400/dceb71f04db18d73f926c0edacaec061.1000x1000x1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>A stunning, complex, astonishing, conflicted, beautifully baffling, exquisitely problematic album, unlike anything they’d previously released, and nothing like anything that ever came after, anywhere in the vinyl cosmos. <b><i>‘Then Play On’</i></b> was the Mac’s third studio album. The John Mayall kudos had them rated as the most authentic Blues outfit around, but by 1969 their restless creativity was taking them way beyond such genre restrictions. Think of their no.1 single “Oh Well” – both sides of which are here. It’s soft-loud dynamic is something of a touchstone, although the fourteen original (and four bonus CD) tracks range much further. The 54-minute playing time allows jamming-space, but Peter Green’s spiritually charged improvisations are always immaculately interplayed and never self-indulgent. A vital element of the album’s incandescence is its unstable fragility. On the tipping-point of cataclysmic implosion, with Green’s traumatic state of disintegrating mental health scarily apparent on ‘The Green Manalishi’, Jeremy Spencer equally messed-up, soon to flee to a Christian commune, and with troubled Danny Kirwan’s first album contributions to the Mac canon, this line-up wouldn’t survive a moment longer. Leaving all these doors of potential wide open. This is one of the most breathtakingly mystifying albums of the decade. </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published in: </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘R2: ROCK ‘N’ REEL Vol.2 Issue.42’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(UK – November 2013) </span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>(1) ‘Coming Your Way’ (Kirwan, 3:45) </div><div>(2) ‘Closing My Eyes’ (Green, 4:51) </div><div>(3) ‘Fighting For Madge’ (Fleetwood, 2:42) </div><div>(4) ‘When You Say’ (Kirwan, 4:31) </div><div>(5) ‘Show-Biz Blues’ (Green, 3:51) </div><div>(6) ‘Underway’ (Green, 3:04) </div><div>(7) ‘One Sunny Day’ (Kirwan, 3:13) </div><div>(8) ‘Although The Sun Is Shining’ (Kirwan, 2:25) </div><div>(9) ‘Rattlesnake Shake’ (Green, 3:30) </div><div>(10) ‘Without You’ (Kirwan, 4:35) </div><div>(11) ‘Searching For Madge’ (McVie, 6:56) </div><div>(12) ‘My Dream’ (Kirwan, 3:31) </div><div>(13) ‘Like Crying’ (Kirwan, 2:25) </div><div>(14) ‘Before The Beginning’ (Green, 3:30) </div><div>Bonus tracks: </div><div>(15) ‘Oh Well, Part One’ Bonus mono track (Green, 3:32) </div><div>(16) ‘Oh Well, Part Two’ Bonus mono track (Green, 5:39) </div><div>(17) ‘The Green Manalishi (With The Two-Pronged Crown)’ (Green, 4:37) </div><div>(18) ‘World In Harmony’ (Kirwan-Green, 3:26)
</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPnieD4uFjEOcb4j4bqWqTC1bOMBw9CUXL2clgKTptTCG0CWfi-TMDAsOlMx8Ux_8AmqTScYMLUEoOqedFMY4erGIIvaaTngsyZnmrDFlmF0MZnGw02CXxQIicAXC2RlKpPg75pcvngTWX9xFhg-33eCx7m1K-LE2zrq4WzvL5wP6melPm_iHBL_3a/s2602/Fleetwood%20Man-Then%20Play%20On-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2602" data-original-width="1980" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPnieD4uFjEOcb4j4bqWqTC1bOMBw9CUXL2clgKTptTCG0CWfi-TMDAsOlMx8Ux_8AmqTScYMLUEoOqedFMY4erGIIvaaTngsyZnmrDFlmF0MZnGw02CXxQIicAXC2RlKpPg75pcvngTWX9xFhg-33eCx7m1K-LE2zrq4WzvL5wP6melPm_iHBL_3a/w305-h400/Fleetwood%20Man-Then%20Play%20On-2.jpg" width="305" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-40688531008387054022022-10-28T18:40:00.000+01:002022-10-28T18:40:14.120+01:00Interview: Peter Green<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXaWWj1OP0UIWZu88St2-njhHJkzJ2vVw-wIRvw80C8Q_HgrN1B2QOBfcU7dKL_fZhX8Ou5i4nsq-cTLscFzixfIic6vzISsJZgjTQORd48CYxXPP-gVivLMD353mk1NNP1WNr_WPDTEmyjRRCT0nKvdsxinFwGUyQ6UzLoXoouH5gTDNNgselT2sE/s2436/Peter%20Green-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2118" data-original-width="2436" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXaWWj1OP0UIWZu88St2-njhHJkzJ2vVw-wIRvw80C8Q_HgrN1B2QOBfcU7dKL_fZhX8Ou5i4nsq-cTLscFzixfIic6vzISsJZgjTQORd48CYxXPP-gVivLMD353mk1NNP1WNr_WPDTEmyjRRCT0nKvdsxinFwGUyQ6UzLoXoouH5gTDNNgselT2sE/w400-h348/Peter%20Green-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">PETER GREEN
AND </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">THE DEVIL BLUES </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">PETER GREEN </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">29 October 1946-25 July 2020</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Peter Green</span></b>, British Blues Legend and Acid-Damaged </div><div style="text-align: center;">founder of <b>Fleetwood Mac</b> returns from the Dead Zone </div><div style="text-align: center;">with a tribute album to <b>Robert Johnson</b>, the genius, womaniser, </div><div style="text-align: center;">gambler and Blues Pioneer who sold his soul to the Devil </div><div style="text-align: center;">and was then
poisoned at twenty-six by a jealous husband. </div><div style="text-align: center;">From strange... to stranger... </div><div style="text-align: center;">A previously unpublished interview.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBMQP8x6nC98hm46sxbnssxEjFzZSi5JYqvx-MXf4h3tKY9Ari0jQYdSSB8kIuVa-ldFm8AC9ErxhJjuvMp6XUiCL6ExcY5c0-iTLAxQL1VhWlUgdyaj42uovVS8oMA293grK6ASokZ7cB7YywakMRbpz05b8ugfPx0QImIqDl3wcHJAzyRcmAXR_o/s1024/B506GN-1024x640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1024" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBMQP8x6nC98hm46sxbnssxEjFzZSi5JYqvx-MXf4h3tKY9Ari0jQYdSSB8kIuVa-ldFm8AC9ErxhJjuvMp6XUiCL6ExcY5c0-iTLAxQL1VhWlUgdyaj42uovVS8oMA293grK6ASokZ7cB7YywakMRbpz05b8ugfPx0QImIqDl3wcHJAzyRcmAXR_o/w400-h250/B506GN-1024x640.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">“Got those Fleetwood Mac, Chicken Shack </div><div style="text-align: center;">John Mayall, can’t fail Blues...” </div><div style="text-align: center;"> Adrian Henri/ The Liverpool Scene (1969)</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div><br /></div><div>There’s a Bill Hicks routine which goes ‘if you don’t believe that drugs have done some good things for us, go home tonight, take all your albums, all your CD’s, all your tapes – and <i>BURN</i> them, because the musicians who made all that great music that’s enhanced your lives throughout the years...? they were all real fucking high on drugs, man.’ He’s right. Of course. And that list of musicians who made all that life-enhancing music has got to include Syd Barrett... right? Brian Jones and Jimi Hendrix... right? Kurt Cobain and Peter Green too. </div><div><br /></div><div>In Peter Green’s garden there’s a dim coffin-smelling gloom, sweet and oversweet with twice-blooming apple-blossom, and there’s lilac beyond the outer wall by the savage quiet sky, the sun impacting, distilled and hyperdistilled. Peter Green is sat across the rustic table from me. His is no designer slouch, just the unkempt growth of a genuine couldn’t give a shit. Look at the early photos. The Mayall shots. The first Fleetwood Mac line-ups. A nation bracing itself for decimalisation. The days before Alcopops. This is a man who began with the Blues. Now he’s returned to it again. Blues is the colour. </div><div><br /></div><div>And he’s returned to touring too, with possible Irish dates? ‘I’ve done lots of tours’ he says dismissively. ‘About six. Yeah. They were good. Ireland? We’ve played in Ireland. And yeah, we’re going back again. I fink we are. I enjoy playing most everywhere. And Ireland is a good place. It’s OK. It’s got a... what’s the word? a good bill – you know? They’ve got their things, you know? when you go there, it’s different. With different sort-of experiences and that.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>‘He enjoys most of the gigs he does’ adds live-in friend Michelle helpfully. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘I don’t’ he snorts. ‘Germany and (with heavy emphasis) <i>TWO</i> other places. But Switzerland, yeah. It was lovely in Switzerland. But everywhere we go to do our show, you have to appreciate it for what it is. When we go to Austria there’s not much night life there, not much going on in the way of shops and things. But it’s just nice. An <i>old</i> feeling, y’know. There’s an <i>OLD</i> feeling to it. And Naples. Naples was good. It was great there. Beautiful weather. The weather was... like being in Africa. It was so beautiful that it just cleared the head of all futuristic sort-of... er, futuristic er... I don’t know what to call it, all futuristic weather, with acclimatisation to where we were it just cleared the head completely. I felt marvellous. It was like Africa, so African.’ </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOv2jjQgn-pyQ9w4OcYWoSuGhL0MulBx2ZJN4UJ3zuJBrH1Y71KwNWsQtCkmJeA59h0uEwOujFCgrGO5QxJY0ojJFIcT2tio0gxr7wUbwNvkexzGfzXSJ18v3Wmaw-h3R32pxtW-vA5HEeypdAZ1vmKgTYPM2ZpWza2zwKlAjdQNqzYpHAzKsc5bk/s800/0636551807319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOv2jjQgn-pyQ9w4OcYWoSuGhL0MulBx2ZJN4UJ3zuJBrH1Y71KwNWsQtCkmJeA59h0uEwOujFCgrGO5QxJY0ojJFIcT2tio0gxr7wUbwNvkexzGfzXSJ18v3Wmaw-h3R32pxtW-vA5HEeypdAZ1vmKgTYPM2ZpWza2zwKlAjdQNqzYpHAzKsc5bk/w400-h400/0636551807319.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The album? Oh yeah – we’re here to talk about the remarkable <b><i>‘The Robert Johnson Songbook’</i></b>, recorded by Peter with his current ‘Splinter Group’, a sixteen-track tribute to the Spookily near-mythic ‘King of the Delta Blues’, featuring heavy inputs from Nigel Watson (Michelle’s brother) and guest vocals by Paul ‘Superlungs’ Rodgers on “Sweet Home Chicago”. That’s Paul Rodgers as in Free, Bad Company, and that annoying Chewing Gum TV-ad about the two kids on the bus. No mean Blues-Wailer in his own right. But it’s never less than Peter Green’s album. Neil Spencer (in The Observer) comments that ‘sadly, the emotional demands of Johnson’s often harrowing songs prove beyond Green’s ravaged voice, while the guitar licks he would once have rattled off are now merely adequately played.’ Mr Spencer, I suggest, misses the point. </div><div><br /></div><div>This album is the work of a musician who started out with the Blues, with the fanatical purist’s devotion to reproducing its every detail in pristine academic perfection. The sparse “Stop Breaking Down” here most closely resembles the raw force of those old John Mayall days, with brief but precise solos. But now Peter Green has gone beyond that. He’s <i>lived</i> it. His voice is more scuffed and cracked than it was then. He knows the music inside out. It still benefits from those countless hours spent poring over albums, meticulously replicating their sounds. But now the ache comes direct from authentic lived experience. “Love in Vain” for example. The song about waiting at the station, suitcase in my hand. It was last sighted on the Rolling Stones’ <b><i>‘Let It Bleed’</i></b> (1969) album. They do it stark, electric, and extreme. Peter opts for less histrionic drama. But his is a weary, truer, more convincingly Gospel-edged reading. Closer, probably, to Johnson’s original intention. Like the easy-rolling harmonica-edged “When You Got A Good Friend”, or the mood of abstract desolation caught by Roger Cotton’s slow Blues piano as it perfectly matches Peter’s cracked vocals on “Phonograph Blues” </div><div><br /></div><div>‘But I might never be allowed past the Blues Pearly Gates’ he admits, ‘‘cos it seems that there’s a magic somewhere on those old records. A lot of people say there’s trickery under the recording, or in the production. That they’re completed through certain processes. They sound sort-of, really unique. Sounds that you can’t copy. You can’t do it. Elvis Presley’s records used to sound a bit like that, didn’t they? “Blue Suede Shoes”. A special sound. “Hound Dog” as well – all that (he handclaps “Hound Dog” in perfect sync), all that sort-of clapping, it all sounds like it’s as NATURALLY HAPPENING as it is when you pull the toilet chain. It all sounds SO NATURAL. Like a fried egg or something. It just sounds so natural. But you don’t know how long they worked on it. There might be 122 takes on it or something.’</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3PSEpFZ9MVtcUOlXvQKbG_eKrRfe7oN04LEheM1CacOJ_S6QLxYnKKwMNsZ8w7-ui2YxYQf6ql6DEjOgG3WUs0RItbz_XfHBtyt0CwFkVNst35yL2OALhEm2ms-00wIjML2WiDEDJSZ81HIUSUsJYV7aCQxAy6wuNBD_wGWch0WIoaaArwfeUaIm6/s2190/Peter%20Green-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2190" data-original-width="1559" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3PSEpFZ9MVtcUOlXvQKbG_eKrRfe7oN04LEheM1CacOJ_S6QLxYnKKwMNsZ8w7-ui2YxYQf6ql6DEjOgG3WUs0RItbz_XfHBtyt0CwFkVNst35yL2OALhEm2ms-00wIjML2WiDEDJSZ81HIUSUsJYV7aCQxAy6wuNBD_wGWch0WIoaaArwfeUaIm6/w285-h400/Peter%20Green-5.jpg" width="285" /></a> </div></div><div><br /></div><div>‘He likes Robert Johnson’ coaxes Michelle. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘I like Robert Johnson’ he confirms. ‘Me and Nigel are great fans of Robert Johnson.’ The Splinter Group comprises Peter and Nigel, plus former-Whitesnake bassist Neil Murray and keyboardist Spike Edney, ex-Bob Geldof. There was also Cozy Powell on drums, until his untimely death in a 104mph auto-wreck earlier this year (‘a super bloke, no doubt about it, and he’d got a beautiful place to go, if we wanted to go somewhere. A lovely cottage’ says Peter now). His drum-chair has since been taken by Larry Tolfree. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, a Todd Terry remix shoves the highly videogenic Corrs into the Top Ten with their Mac-relic “Dreams”. And the <b><i>‘Rumours’</i></b>-vintage platinum albums/ platinum noses MOR Mac reform for <b><i>‘The Dance’</i></b> (1977) and its attendant commercial feeding-frenzy. But Fleetwood Mac would never have existed without Peter Green. Mick Fleetwood acknowledged as much. There’s a new compilation of studio out-takes and oddities to prove it, <b><i>‘The Vaudeville Years Of Fleetwood Mac 1968-1970’</i></b> (Receiver Records Ltd RDPCD 14Z) consisting of long unedited seventeen-minute Blues jams complete with pauses and false starts, but between the sound of nails scratching the bottom of barrels there are also alternate takes of “Green Manalishi”, “Man Of The World”, “Oh Well” and forgotten gems like “Someone’s Gonna Get Their Head Kicked In Tonight” (originally credited to Earl Vince & The Vincents), essential ingredients from the most vital of the ‘Fleetwood Mac, Chicken Shack, John Mayall can’t fail Blues’ days (Chicken Shack – for those too young to remember, was Christine McVie’s highly rated pre-Mac band). All recorded with Peter, prior to his fateful meeting with New York Acid Guru Stan Owsley III, the Willy Wonka of LSD, and hello to the drugs hell that left his brain as limp as a salad in a sauna. ‘We went to the States, y’know. And we... erm... crossed paths with the Grateful Dead. I remember sitting on stage with them taking this acid and then trying to sing...!’ Bill Hicks fails to mention that. And Fleetwood Mac? ‘It was a load of clowns of some kind’ he muses now. ‘I don’t know what to make of all those guys. They’re very secretive. They turn up in all kinds of places, in all kinds of situations. But – um, I dunno. That’s a long while ago. It’s a sharky business as well. Not just the managers, you’ve got to watch out for everything (he pronounces it ‘everyfing’). Anything can fool you...’ </div><div><br /></div><div>Now he’s an ageing Boy Scout relearning how to tie all those tricky Blues knots. Despite the acid shrapnel in his head. ‘I couldn’t... sort-of... get back. What I learned on those LSD trips was so special to me, meant so much to me that I was told I could have this all the time. Your mind is in a state. You can’t locate yourself. You just see a mist and you don’t feel clear. I’m not really clear now, but at least I can see little things.’ At one point he suddenly asks me ‘John Bonham’s dead, isn’t he? Who plays drums for Led Zeppelin now?’ Bonham died in September 1980. There’s been no Led Zep at least since Live Aid in July 1985. But who knows where the time goes? ‘Jimmy Page’ he adds, ‘he became a great personality, didn’t he?’ </div><div><br /></div><div>And the legendary long nails? They’re <i>still</i> long... ish, but chopped off square, as though hacked off with scissors just prior to my arriving. He’s unfazed. More at ease and content with his life than he’s been for years. Decades even. ‘I’ve been doing millions of interviews’ he grins. ‘Saying anything and everything that comes my way. Saying all kinds of queer things.’ </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">“I’d rather jack
than Fleetwood Mac ...” </div><div style="text-align: center;">(single by Stock-Aitken-Waterman’s REYNOLD’S
GIRLS </div><div style="text-align: center;">which hit no.8 1st April 1989)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘THE ROBERT JOHNSON SONGBOOK’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">by <b>PETER GREEN & THE SPLINTER GROUP </b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Artisan Records SARCD 002)</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"> and </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘THE VAUDEVILLE YEARS OF </span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">FLEETWOOD MAC 1968-1970’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Receiver 2CD Digipack Receiver Records Ltd RDPCD 14-Z, </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">including 56-page Booklet, issued 21 September 1998)</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjkG9-9bZAwqhGvUWaNqzt399apwhJbibGEQu05J47XYrAdibjxm73BsKbIg_M1_27rmp-r9sQ-rOttTfuiK-Y_Kjul-wyhTgQwlMVu89L92lOedhLtl5TT_KsCgHLdr7YFZmqto0iEgAJEIv0M9dUrO_dFa7p7ECu2BkuWGv27QO5b4VsFzgk9u0/s2838/Peter%20Green-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2508" data-original-width="2838" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjkG9-9bZAwqhGvUWaNqzt399apwhJbibGEQu05J47XYrAdibjxm73BsKbIg_M1_27rmp-r9sQ-rOttTfuiK-Y_Kjul-wyhTgQwlMVu89L92lOedhLtl5TT_KsCgHLdr7YFZmqto0iEgAJEIv0M9dUrO_dFa7p7ECu2BkuWGv27QO5b4VsFzgk9u0/w400-h354/Peter%20Green-4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-15427515503258368842022-10-28T18:10:00.000+01:002022-10-28T18:10:03.937+01:00Peter Green: Man Of The World (DVD)<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXTaIHwdlaQIAOdsAtpKFD1uvzU6qmFkdPljXuS-defEjrhGV0E-5iolQPJZ924g2ODouh6ir_N70tgLueNVeslUoIjHb8QdqS6u_ThHCONBlZSjJ2kQB6UvYhm5sbwKXlIbYVhECxgmcZjGVlfP8MISYB4PGUsnaynFD-oWuTlCexKfkd0uBkWqeu/s3402/Peter%20Green-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3402" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXTaIHwdlaQIAOdsAtpKFD1uvzU6qmFkdPljXuS-defEjrhGV0E-5iolQPJZ924g2ODouh6ir_N70tgLueNVeslUoIjHb8QdqS6u_ThHCONBlZSjJ2kQB6UvYhm5sbwKXlIbYVhECxgmcZjGVlfP8MISYB4PGUsnaynFD-oWuTlCexKfkd0uBkWqeu/w288-h400/Peter%20Green-1.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">‘MAN OF THE WORLD’: </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">THE PETER GREEN STORY </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">DVD Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">THE PETER GREEN STORY: </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">MAN OF THE WORLD </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">A Dougie Dudgeon and Henry Hadaway film </div><div style="text-align: center;">Scanbox Entertainment (2018, Wienerworld) </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.wienerworld.com">www.wienerworld.com</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtf9Niguz8Kf24DoDHpulmOQ-bN5XYC3nnm7sfndHi-5xpgF1ZiD5iD2xmsiVmRvYeDOvPlfmzPOj3i78FTLKhhtP-wHWv6CIiMgEkaYY1onV9EAzKznyM_AZbBRzs7VQV5UVXgW1TnUH40KTrIGYSjGvMymXUa8gwtOYHMHMql0l65uq1qe5i2zrG/s2167/Peter%20Green%20-DVD%20art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2167" data-original-width="1529" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtf9Niguz8Kf24DoDHpulmOQ-bN5XYC3nnm7sfndHi-5xpgF1ZiD5iD2xmsiVmRvYeDOvPlfmzPOj3i78FTLKhhtP-wHWv6CIiMgEkaYY1onV9EAzKznyM_AZbBRzs7VQV5UVXgW1TnUH40KTrIGYSjGvMymXUa8gwtOYHMHMql0l65uq1qe5i2zrG/w283-h400/Peter%20Green%20-DVD%20art.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div></div><div><br /></div><div>Where is Peter Green now? </div><div><br /></div><div>‘It was an incredibly short run’ says Mick Fleetwood, ‘and yet we’re still talking about it, nearly forty years or so later.’ And he’s correct. Peter Green was with Fleetwood Mac two years and eight months. In the vast cosmic scheme of things, that’s not long. Yet that’s where the kernel of the legend exists. This valuable documentary, directed by Steven Graham for the BBC, thoroughly details that arc of years, across a generous 150-minutes. It takes a bemused Peter Greenbaum wandering back to where it began, all the way to ‘my very first memories’ of Flat 18, Antenor House, off Old Bethnal Green Road E2 6QS, ‘coming across this road here, and then up there.’ Shuffling along the pavement, beside black railings and neatly-spaced saplings, indicating up at the white first-floor balcony of his childhood flat. He’s a survivor, who’s been to hell and back. Yet, ‘It’s nice to revisit yourself’ he adds brightly. </div><div><br /></div><div>Brothers Mike and Len Green take up the story of Peter’s first guitar. Born 29 October 1946, he honed his skills through skiffle and the Blues, his debut single came as a twenty-year-old part of Peter B’s Looners, a four-piece led by Peter Bardens. An organ-led shuffle-instrumental version of Jimmy Soul’s risqué calypso, “If You Wanna Be Happy” c/w “Jodrell Blues” (1966, Columbia DB7862), it makes an inauspicious start for Peter Green, despite the stinging guitar solo on the B-side. Yet, produced by impresario Rik Gunnell, Mick Fleetwood also happens to be there on drums, billed according to his previous group as ‘ex-Bo Street Runners’. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnWdikSVnJwLXuX78qItYDhzDKJs8OU4YHzFKbBcVGzVdu7rEyaSGseFYaxJUsEN1vkIIFfCPfglK6lq3qM_VCdqGQUru7WeQBTTfG4zheNcRe4_cXT_l6mcVw4yBIVgZkyuFVQTxmpWl8yFY6BLoYZkXhfJoIYVCipS-6CNO8dPB_qaaLxoa-Pcyw/s1200/john-mayall-hard-road-1163.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="1200" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnWdikSVnJwLXuX78qItYDhzDKJs8OU4YHzFKbBcVGzVdu7rEyaSGseFYaxJUsEN1vkIIFfCPfglK6lq3qM_VCdqGQUru7WeQBTTfG4zheNcRe4_cXT_l6mcVw4yBIVgZkyuFVQTxmpWl8yFY6BLoYZkXhfJoIYVCipS-6CNO8dPB_qaaLxoa-Pcyw/w400-h380/john-mayall-hard-road-1163.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Then Peter was playing with the Bluesbreakers at ‘The Flamingo’. John Mayall explains how ‘Peter in his prime in the sixties was just without equal, he was a force to be reckoned with.’ Replacing Eric Clapton in the line-up was a poison chalice, which he accepted decisively by not replicating what ‘Slowhand’ had done – avoiding playing the hard fast virtuoso style, but taking his Les Paul down other routes. For the <b><i>‘A Hard Road’</i></b> (Decca, February 1967) album – with drummer Aynsley Dunbar and John McVie on bass, Peter sings lead on “You Don’t Love Me” and his own “The Same Way”, but it’s the haunting instrumental “The Supernatural” that stands out, playing what journalist Keith Altham defines as ‘ethnic Blues’, a spirit that underpins it all. Many years later, after the maelstrom that swept him away, Peter would play “The Supernatural” again, with the Splinter Group. And it still sounds magical. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘There’s no word for it’ Peter struggles to explain to me, ‘I copy them (the Blues Masters) as best as I can. I’m Jewish. So I’ve got a little trapdoor there. The old Hebrew Testament thing, right back to Moses. It could be worse, couldn’t it?’ </div><div><br /></div><div>Soon Mick Fleetwood replaced the ‘too technical’ Dunbar, and the core of Fleetwood Mac was in place, initially freelancing without Mayall on dates with bluesman Eddie Boyd. Jeremy Spencer gets recruited into Peter Green’s new venture from the Midlands-based Levi Set, following just the exchange of names ‘Elmore James, BB King’. Encouraged by Mike Vernon, their debut album together – issued in February 1968, is a ‘plug-in and play’ exercise according to Mick Fleetwood, cut at the New Bond Street CBS studios with Vernon producing. Apparently the name Fleetwood Mac was Peter’s deliberate legacy to his friends, in anticipation of further adventures – although he could never have imagined how those further adventures were to play out, and he was outraged when Blue Horizon choose to promote the record as <b><i>‘Peter Green’s Fleetwood Mac’</i></b>. It was preceded by debut single – Jeremy Spencer’s “I Believe My Time Ain’t Long” c/w Peter’s “Rambling Pony” (November 1967, Blue Horizon 3051), followed by the startling classic “Black Magic Woman” (c/w “The Sun Is Shining”, March 1968, Blue Horizon 57-3138). With the song’s background story narrated here by celibate girlfriend Sandra Elsen. It climbs to no.37 in the UK chart, but soon gets taken up as a key recording by Santana. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHm3Lll0-H2R9NkKsutMuvw-wEdU1h8VxiOCAec0_XCW6K34Z-PcRD-ZqQsUdX0_jmZAkLWRYw3KZyKAkmA7pk7IyalYUoNNb94E_h7YosZArfsuZ674CR6viVCwlwOk6ghjeXHk01qmsV-eq1E0l9Mh0nTCASMzwlfmrgeJQtA0U4p7rryhZDK7HQ/s320/Fleetwood_Mac_-_Fleetwood_Mac_%25281968%2529.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="320" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHm3Lll0-H2R9NkKsutMuvw-wEdU1h8VxiOCAec0_XCW6K34Z-PcRD-ZqQsUdX0_jmZAkLWRYw3KZyKAkmA7pk7IyalYUoNNb94E_h7YosZArfsuZ674CR6viVCwlwOk6ghjeXHk01qmsV-eq1E0l9Mh0nTCASMzwlfmrgeJQtA0U4p7rryhZDK7HQ/w400-h400/Fleetwood_Mac_-_Fleetwood_Mac_%25281968%2529.webp" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Blue Horizon had a community feel to it, and as part of the label house band both Peter and Mick sit in on sessions for Duster Bennett’s first LP <b><i>‘Smiling Like I’m Happy’ </i></b>(1968), and Peter helps out on the Brunning Sunflower Blues Band’s <b><i>‘Trackside Blues’</i></b> (1969). Studio jams and back-up sessions from this phase continue to be released under various guises for a number of years, from <b><i>‘Blues Jam At Chess’ </i></b>(1969) with Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf, to <b><i>‘The Complete Blue Horizon Sessions 1967-1969’ </i></b>(1999) 6CD box-set with previously-unreleased outtakes, studio talk and alternate takes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Always a self-deprecating man of fragile sensitivities – the lines ‘I can’t sing, I ain’t pretty and my legs are thin’ reflects Peter’s own sense of bewilderment and lack of self-worth, he was already caught up in destructive contradictions. Always prone to reflective moments, even in the studio recording of the straight-Blues <b><i>‘Mr Wonderful’</i></b> (August 1968), amid the band’s bawdy excesses. “Rattlesnake Shake” on <b><i>‘Then Play On’ </i></b>(September 1969) is Peter’s ribald commentary on Mick Fleetwood’s masturbation habit. Yet he’s deeply troubled by white-liberal guilt over the band’s accumulating wealth, when contrasted with TV images of the Biafran famine. Seeing real human beings starve to death on-screen, with the same sense of moral outrage that would later power Bob Geldof to kick-start Band Aid. Resolving not only to channel his royalties into charity, but to persuade other members of Fleetwood Mac to do the same. Suggestions not always sympathetically received. </div><div><br /></div><div>Those anti-materialist tendencies were exacerbated by meeting Jerry Garcia during the band’s first American trip, as well as the Grateful Dead’s chemist LSD-guru Stanley Owsley. Initially suspicious, Jeremy Spencer was the first to sample the new lysergic-acid wonder-drug, then Peter drank laced kool-aid. The textbook version is that he was unaware the drink was spiked. The way he tells it now, with an amused twinkle, he was more than a willing accomplice to the pretence. ‘I didn’t talk to god’ relates Mick Fleetwood, ‘just felt a bit strange’. They play ‘The Warehouse’ in New Orleans with the Dead, all stoned. ‘I did feel a bit… effervescent’ recalls Peter, about LSD. The tour climaxes into acid-horror in the Frisco Gorham Hotel after jamming with the Grateful Dead at the Fillmore. Mick hallucinating every band member as skeletons as they sit around the floor holding hands, phoning Owsley to talk them down, in vain. It was ‘horrible’ concludes Mick.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhskrXonJCBwEW6OhMbbnAx69Jc4SpLhPQYYP0g5k1xPDIskT7fyHPQPRdqRNAfWxwqxtHzPA0SMcbDOuSDVnrB7Niw0oIKamZOesCwTeN4C8LFUu0-Kmli97IOU_Z4EPAs8WtOQTsdCkkojkiOql2qrv-X0K1jNSJQIz5ihRVYAKin1ZVpvM08XfN_/s800/107056-mr.-wonderful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="394" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhskrXonJCBwEW6OhMbbnAx69Jc4SpLhPQYYP0g5k1xPDIskT7fyHPQPRdqRNAfWxwqxtHzPA0SMcbDOuSDVnrB7Niw0oIKamZOesCwTeN4C8LFUu0-Kmli97IOU_Z4EPAs8WtOQTsdCkkojkiOql2qrv-X0K1jNSJQIz5ihRVYAKin1ZVpvM08XfN_/w198-h400/107056-mr.-wonderful.jpg" width="198" /></a></div><br /></div><div>The continuing John Mayall kudos had Fleetwood Mac rated as the most authentic Blues outfit around, with <b><i>‘Mr Wonderful’</i></b> rarely straying from the Elmore James blueprint despite a ‘dirtier, gutsier’ horn-section and Christine Perfect (soon to be McVie) on piano, but by 1969 their restless creativity was taking them way beyond such genre restrictions. Blues was the spine, and would continue to be, underpinning diverse new bands and evolutions across the seventies. But it was already becoming porous, flexible, open to positive mutations in the light of new lifestyles. The single “Need Your Love So Bad” (c/w “No Place To Go”, Blue Horizon 57-3157), a cover of Little Willie John’s 1956 original, antagonises purists with sweeping strings offsetting Peter’s raw pleading vocal lines. Yet it climbs to no.31 on the chart, and is successfully reissued a number of times, collected onto the compilation <b><i>‘The Pious Bird Of Good Omen’ </i></b>(August 1969), alongside both sides of the earlier singles, plus two tracks from Eddie Boyd’s <b><i>‘7936 South Rhodes’</i></b> (Blue Horizon, 1968) album on which the Mac play back-up. A re-jigged version of this album becomes <b><i>‘English Rose’</i></b> for the US Epic label, with a fright-wig cover-art photo of Mick Fleetwood in drag. He’d already appeared naked but for battered hat and strategically-positioned shrubbery on the <b><i>‘Mr Wonderful’</i></b> gatefold cover! </div><div><br /></div><div>Danny Kirwan was brought in (from Boilerhouse) as third guitar in time for what Peter calls the ‘Santo and Johnny’ sound of the next single, “Albatross”. Peter plays his Stratocaster lap-style, plucking the title from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner”, months before Procol Harum use the epic poem as the base for their “A Salty Dog”. Although the label was initially dubious, an appearance on the ‘Simon Dee’ TV-show shoves it into the charts, and all the way up to no.1. There were two charts in general use. In ‘Record Mirror’ it was no.1 for the single week 29 January 1969 – but would return on re-issue to no.2 in 1975! In ‘New Musical Express’ it nudges Marmalade’s Beatles-cover “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” from top slot and stays there three weeks until 8 February, when it’s dislodged by Move’s “Blackberry Way”. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then the achingly-heartfelt “Man Of The World” single was ‘the first cry for help that we heard from Peter Green’ opines Altham, direct-to-camera. ‘Almost like a suicide note’ agrees a pensive Jeremy Spencer. The voice, ‘I’m not saying that I’m a good man, oh, but I would be if I could,’ is painfully autobiographical. Issued through a one-off deal with Andrew Loog Oldham’s Immediate records, it peaks at no.2 – just below the Beatles “Get Back” (24 May 1969). Although it’s stop-start loud-soft structure makes it impossible to dance to, I recall playing it in a sense of awed wonder to other students at the Hull College Of Technology, frustrated that they can’t see how starkly revelatory it is, the chillingly confessional line ‘I just wish that I had never been born’ is still spine-tingling. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQE6w50Ejw0zOvLtP4uIF97gH6KmiJDGlxpK0FSu4JBSNcVTycM69tZWl2YFszR7eoRt1Ph8mlV6VBj7rzsq9Cx0UAQovzgYUeImR51_-R_Lkjyein1wCFf5e6iBnchhHkshg2qzggdft98Cm4Fm0bVDjyKv9vacVBhlWjDtVgHFEAdWrjiWCzlXuz/s3213/Peter%20Green-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2477" data-original-width="3213" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQE6w50Ejw0zOvLtP4uIF97gH6KmiJDGlxpK0FSu4JBSNcVTycM69tZWl2YFszR7eoRt1Ph8mlV6VBj7rzsq9Cx0UAQovzgYUeImR51_-R_Lkjyein1wCFf5e6iBnchhHkshg2qzggdft98Cm4Fm0bVDjyKv9vacVBhlWjDtVgHFEAdWrjiWCzlXuz/w400-h309/Peter%20Green-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The single also spells goodbye to nurturing producer Mike Vernon. Leading to the Mac’s third studio album, <b><i>‘Then Play On’</i></b>, arriving through a lucrative up-deal with Reprise. A stunning, complex, astonishing, conflicted, beautifully baffling, exquisitely problematic album, unlike anything they’d previously released, and nothing like anything that ever came after, anywhere in the vinyl cosmos. The soft-loud dynamic of their no.1 single “Oh Well” – both sides of which are included, is something of a touchstone, although the fourteen original (and four bonus CD) tracks range much further. The 54-minute playing time allows jamming-space, but Peter’s spiritually charged improvisations are always immaculately interplayed and never self-indulgent. A vital element of the album’s incandescence is its unstable fragility. It was Peter’s ‘last calling card’ according to Fleetwood. With his traumatic state of disintegrating mental health even more scarily explicit on “The Green Manalishi”, which not only reveals ‘the Brian Wilson side of Peter Green’ in its overdub builds, but shows him on the tipping-point of cataclysmic implosion. Jeremy Spencer was equally messed-up and soon to flee, alongside troubled Danny Kirwan’s first album contributions to the Mac canon, this line-up wouldn’t survive a moment longer. Leaving all these doors of potential wide open. This is one of the most breathtakingly mystifying albums of the decade. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, “Oh Well” completes a trilogy of Top Three singles, with Peter playing a Michigan guitar. It reaches no.1 for the single week of 15 November 1969, if only in the ‘New Musical Express’ chart – replacing the Archies cartoon-comical Bubble-Pop “Sugar Sugar”. Now, Peter dismisses the vocal lead-in verses, in preference to the more reflective instrumental passages following the mid-point storm (reminiscent of Love’s “Seven And Seven Is”). </div><div><br /></div><div>By now there were strange scenes during a German tour involving a Munich cult, ‘weirding out big time’ according to Jeremy Spencer. Precipitating the crash into Peter’s dark years. ‘That was the fork in the road’ according to John McVie. ‘I had an ultimate respect for Peter’ adds Fleetwood wistfully, ‘and we had so much fun.’ Without Peter ‘we were all… lost’ admits Mick. Although soon after, Jeremy quit too – ‘I heard the voice of the lord say ‘go’’ and he went. In the sad burned-out come-down from the hippie loss of innocence there were any number of phony opportunistic cults on hand to offer spiritual solace, and Jeremy was seduced away by the Children Of God religious sect. Loyally, Peter returns to play the rest of the US dates, climaxing in an amazing version of “Black Magic Woman” at the Fillmore East in New York, which Clifford Adams recalls with a sense of wonder. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdzxiD8MW7VuaVtrmw2BUkzDOyXJ7n6MwGW3M6ROvPbXm5cf7a7GSLUewp1IuTcVRCjYr5gaH2LxfisMry0apYF7cWHwM1qCuaTwhkkx4JAHZcceJa_DfEV5s1YGOSTCOp-3Tog2pQG4-aOm-HbAn6kt223j7acDR7XB5SaOolpW9aLwTgUt4oDNQ4/s493/Fleetwood%20Mac%20ticket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="493" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdzxiD8MW7VuaVtrmw2BUkzDOyXJ7n6MwGW3M6ROvPbXm5cf7a7GSLUewp1IuTcVRCjYr5gaH2LxfisMry0apYF7cWHwM1qCuaTwhkkx4JAHZcceJa_DfEV5s1YGOSTCOp-3Tog2pQG4-aOm-HbAn6kt223j7acDR7XB5SaOolpW9aLwTgUt4oDNQ4/w400-h326/Fleetwood%20Mac%20ticket.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Now Peter was ‘exorcising the demons within him’ (according to Fleetwood) on an intense instrumental solo album called <b><i>‘The End Of The Game’ </i></b>(Reprise, December 1970). Leading only to further mental collapses. ‘A lot of strange experiences inside my head’ he comments, straining to make sense of it all. Retreating into a kind of Syd Barrett ‘Twilight Zone’ of legendary limbo. As, after a confused directionless period, the rest of Fleetwood Mac hook up with Stevie Nicks and Lindsay Buckingham to go mega-global, Peter was sedated in psycho-house mental institutions, undergoing electro-convulsive therapy in a living nightmare, with myths and rumours multiplying. He was working as a hospital porter, or a gravedigger. He threatened his accountant with an air-rifle. He spent time in prison. ‘I was quite happy in prison’ he comments, totally without guile. </div><div><br /></div><div>Interviewing Peter Green, sitting at a table in his back garden, was both the strangest and most touching experiences of my journalistic career. Afterwards, he shows me his guitar collection, lifting them down from the wall and passing them across to me, asking ‘Do you play?’ And I have to admit, no. Which is the closest I’ve ever got to jamming with a guitar hero. </div><div><br /></div><div>By turn poignant, candid, always informative, with mesmerising electrifyingly evocative black-and-white clips, this DVD constitutes the definitive story. Noel Gallagher adds respectful comment, across the arc of those forty years. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘I can outplay Sooty’ says Peter now with typically self-deprecating humour, ‘but that’s it, don’t put Sweep on that xylophone whatever you do.’ He was brought back into playing and recording through the recuperative process of the Splinter Group, with a supportive Nigel Watson – and initially drummer Cozy Powell. His <b><i>‘Me And The Devil Blues’ </i></b>(Snapper 1998, 2001) remains a classic interpretation of the Robert Johnson catalogue, and one of eleven albums taking him from the late nineties into the new millennium. Although some unspecified altercation led to Peter leaving in 2004, he re-emerged in 2009 touring as Peter Green And Friends – around the time this DVD was compiled. ‘Whatever I’m expecting, it never arrives,’ he muses. Then, more brightly ‘It’s nice to revisit yourself.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>So, where is Peter Green now?</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>Bringins Multimedia Ltd 2007 </div><div>Bonus DVD features: </div><div>‘Peter Takes Us Through His Guitar Collection’ </div><div>‘Clifford Adams Reads Out Peter Green’s Letter From Hawaii’ </div><div>‘Jeremy Spencer, Mick Fleetwood as John McVie Reminisce About The Old Days’ </div><div>‘Rick Veto Tells How He Saw Fleetwood Mac For The First Time’ </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published in: </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘R’N’R: ROCK ‘N’ REEL Vol.2 Issue.67’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(UK – January 2018) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Expanded version featured online at: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘IT: INTERNATIONAL TIMES’</b> (14 March 2018) </span></div><div><a href="http://internationaltimes.it/the-peter-grenn-story-man-of-the-world/"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://internationaltimes.it/the-peter-grenn-story-man-of-the-world/</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4jXuqeksV8ygQx-8E9Qpge-qrSR-dURSlxxdZo08LjZuzVzJrpR7cE_L93-qRw3Sgencc-I1wI-bjS3ofhtpLW6EVz7Uxvb0BEbg5ht4NdGIiGjIFvvMzAVBiUSIjXfy74smWjqQTrDn5lXrJrSYLnP3JTh2brMcNQZlQDcqhVzk-IGCveVF5mkQq/s1768/petergreen-96studio-rehearsals2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1387" data-original-width="1768" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4jXuqeksV8ygQx-8E9Qpge-qrSR-dURSlxxdZo08LjZuzVzJrpR7cE_L93-qRw3Sgencc-I1wI-bjS3ofhtpLW6EVz7Uxvb0BEbg5ht4NdGIiGjIFvvMzAVBiUSIjXfy74smWjqQTrDn5lXrJrSYLnP3JTh2brMcNQZlQDcqhVzk-IGCveVF5mkQq/w400-h314/petergreen-96studio-rehearsals2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-54356554755624642712022-10-28T17:33:00.000+01:002022-10-28T17:33:12.191+01:00Peter Green: The Splintered Years<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_v2c0bIixHC-a4Y-Yng6P6wpBfWqPcRHqjciyiaUW2NVZ_5UVc6G0bq3_wzYKQc5HzLHJ5aXIw2wdeJq7Vu1__tRkXxpaSQxu7bCM5Lq1ASkkIqKveX6gP9fAEGEKEqb9-JGr5SQfU794LWgD7l8-Hw-tAb7XLw84YOjRtYFO4Sy4Tz14_eCK44TH/s1209/3bc53732bd0280df51ba9c09ef7be17c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1209" data-original-width="1079" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_v2c0bIixHC-a4Y-Yng6P6wpBfWqPcRHqjciyiaUW2NVZ_5UVc6G0bq3_wzYKQc5HzLHJ5aXIw2wdeJq7Vu1__tRkXxpaSQxu7bCM5Lq1ASkkIqKveX6gP9fAEGEKEqb9-JGr5SQfU794LWgD7l8-Hw-tAb7XLw84YOjRtYFO4Sy4Tz14_eCK44TH/w358-h400/3bc53732bd0280df51ba9c09ef7be17c.jpg" width="358" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">PETER GREEN, </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">THE SPLINTERED YEARS </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘TIME TRADERS’</span></b> and </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘REACHING THE COLD 100’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">PETER GREEN SPLINTER GROUP </span></b></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">(2014, Eagle Records EDG1015262) </div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="http://www.eagle-rock.com">www.eagle-rock.com</a> </div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>‘Time Traders’</i></b> is from 2001, <b><i>‘Reaching the Cold 100’</i></b> from a few years later – in 2003, now repackaged together into a neat slipcase 2CD edition. They are made up of thirteen tracks each, consisting of songs written by Splinter Group member Nigel Watson (rhythm guitar), Roger Cotton (keyboards), and Pete Stroud (bass). Drummer Larry Tolfree is content to hold down the steady backbeat. Peter Green – credited by his birth-name Peter Greenbaum, gets just one writer credit, for the instrumental “Underway”, and that a retread of a track from Fleetwood Mac’s <b><i>‘Then Play On’</i></b> album, albeit with a guesting Snowy White helping out. “Uganda Woman” another track with Peter’s strong input, had previously been a 1972 B-side. This nevertheless marks the albums out from Peter’s more regular fare of Blues standards, and particularly the Robert Johnson catalogue. <b><i>‘Reaching The Cold 100’</i></b>, the Group’s eighth and final album together, includes “Legal Fee Blues” perhaps hinting at symptoms of the group’s litigious demise. Whatever its internal politics, the Splinter Group proved vital as a support vehicle enabling Peter to resume live working and recording. We should be grateful for that, and it leaves some fine material here to enjoy. </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published in: </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘R2: ROCK ‘N’ REEL Vol.2 No.44’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(UK – March 2014) </span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMFF6zgJqrF5Wy04MmaUuw1946YoNPTxmaky4oKVVd7liMPO5M9nC9C-E_H5iewCnEXAMnrtgC-NKAi3-pI7kmtJ_HzFYnXoPDXHulmIRfdNuEp0h7Caro74jUOBxnPZq8XIdX5jfQ9-8ILXg5XUMaK4HB-SW_hlW5kE3xF_IhJMr6NFpE1pztut7n/s620/Peter-Green1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="428" data-original-width="620" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMFF6zgJqrF5Wy04MmaUuw1946YoNPTxmaky4oKVVd7liMPO5M9nC9C-E_H5iewCnEXAMnrtgC-NKAi3-pI7kmtJ_HzFYnXoPDXHulmIRfdNuEp0h7Caro74jUOBxnPZq8XIdX5jfQ9-8ILXg5XUMaK4HB-SW_hlW5kE3xF_IhJMr6NFpE1pztut7n/w400-h276/Peter-Green1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘PETER GREEN SPLINTER GROUP: </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">ME AND THE DEVIL’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(2008, Snapper SBLUECD 501X) </div><div><br /></div><div>Robert Johnson exists in the twilight zone where truth spirals into haunted myth, hard facts are uncertain and legends shadow in the details. As such it’s entirely appropriate that Peter Green, a musician with more than his own share of tales to tell, used the Johnson songbook as part of his route-map back into Blues prominence. This 3CD set invites direct comparison between the full existing Robert Johnson catalogue, with the Splinter Group’s versions of exactly the same twenty-nine songs. It does considerable merit to both. There was Blues before Robert Johnson, but after him it could never be the same again. He invested it with a literacy and stripped-down poetry that remain spine-chillingly effective even across the decades since. “Ramblin’ On My Mind”, “Hell Hound On My Trail”, “Cross Road Blues” and “Me And The Devil Blues” stand as the cornerstones of the entire Sixties British Blues revival, covered and reinterpreted by everyone from Cream and Dylan, to Led Zep and the Stones, but seldom has the harrowing soul of the songs been as well captured as it is by Peter Green, less by meticulous replication, as through bone-weary empathy. </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published in: </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘ROCK ‘N’ REEL Vol.2 No.12’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(UK – November 2008)</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg14tNFkrOzQkD793GZoq4n5txuTq8neZaLi9D7_8b1vJpeVo3kHKlQbUsyEdLf-HdBN9MyiN7ZV38Bmxnb64IUv13tUJ7T6RwYV9h66LP-ZJaCNQlT8zoBkHiODmC6HIIFPwXBwvhiEcDw_sdDcURGNq5VDcp1pHqU9vEU9llSLJYgk7KpmLQHCDvs/s640/e52ef721-9989-47d8-a959-f0661c630d01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg14tNFkrOzQkD793GZoq4n5txuTq8neZaLi9D7_8b1vJpeVo3kHKlQbUsyEdLf-HdBN9MyiN7ZV38Bmxnb64IUv13tUJ7T6RwYV9h66LP-ZJaCNQlT8zoBkHiODmC6HIIFPwXBwvhiEcDw_sdDcURGNq5VDcp1pHqU9vEU9llSLJYgk7KpmLQHCDvs/w400-h400/e52ef721-9989-47d8-a959-f0661c630d01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘THE VERY BEST OF </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">PETER GREEN SPLINTER GROUP’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">PETER GREEN SPLINTER GROUP </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(2012, Madfish SMACD987) </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.madfishmusic.com">www.madfishmusic.com</a> </div><div><br /></div><div>Even if his adventures, and misadventures of the late-Sixties had never happened, Peter Green would still have written himself into Brit-Blues credibility with his series of eight Splinter Group albums and tours from 1997 through to 2003. As the curator of the Robert Johnson legacy he brings more than mere note-by-note replication to those seminal originals, he reinterprets them through his own bone-weary experience and battered soul, into contemporary demon-haunted relevance, singing and playing harp on “Steady Rollin’ Man”. This two-disc selection also includes two revisions of Peter’s tortured Fleetwood Mac originals – an abrasive rasp-voiced “The Green Manalishi” done live at his ‘Ronnie Scotts’ Soho Session, and an effectively understated instrumental “Man Of The World” that burnishes its sensitive beauty, plus the smoky Santana-esque samba “The Supernatural” from his John Mayall period. Plus Freddie King’s “The Stumble” with its long Peter Green association. New composition “Hiding In Shadows” even evokes the memory of “Albatross”. Guesting contributers include Paul Rodgers on “Sweet Home Chicago”, and Dr John, plus Otis Rush and the late Hubert Sumlin. There’s some gospel-flavouring from the Street Angels, and Peter’s “Underway” features some classy Snowy White guitar interplay. But Peter Green remains the solid centre of this fine album. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaXyYY_tp_PBbbreIpZz-v4Zc-ac6SapSE2JncH3ggmgfMIJUVZPFzbZKxJs1nW_EqIMTwbgVrEBEzkRUhVvu0AfdUqdO-Ma1yrQJMhInGk5eEGRwcoOicQXM_Q58FQhCsYD9ucKMTBQ1d88x4IQMwiJR9EoIkdh_ZRDG116ZXUInrB5aNW1acK8x/s1454/in-this-photo-taken-in-1970-peter-green-travels-the-fantastic-with-his-legendary-1959-les-paul-standard-known-as-the-holy-grail-with-fleetwood-mac-like-green-the-instrument-also-has-an-enduring-legacy-and-is-now-owned-by-kirk-hammett.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1454" data-original-width="980" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaXyYY_tp_PBbbreIpZz-v4Zc-ac6SapSE2JncH3ggmgfMIJUVZPFzbZKxJs1nW_EqIMTwbgVrEBEzkRUhVvu0AfdUqdO-Ma1yrQJMhInGk5eEGRwcoOicQXM_Q58FQhCsYD9ucKMTBQ1d88x4IQMwiJR9EoIkdh_ZRDG116ZXUInrB5aNW1acK8x/w270-h400/in-this-photo-taken-in-1970-peter-green-travels-the-fantastic-with-his-legendary-1959-les-paul-standard-known-as-the-holy-grail-with-fleetwood-mac-like-green-the-instrument-also-has-an-enduring-legacy-and-is-now-owned-by-kirk-hammett.webp" width="270" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘BLUES DON’T CHANGE’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">PETER GREEN SPLINTER GROUP </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(2012, Eagle Records ER202622) </div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="http://www.eagle-rock.com">www.eagle-rock.com</a> </div><div><br /></div><div>Begun as part of Peter’s rehabilitation following his long post-Fleetwood Mac lost years, the Splinter Group is now very much a respected integral part of the Blues scene. Although recorded in 2001, this album was only previously available at gigs or through the ‘Splinter Group’ website. So this is its first proper release, and it’s worth the wait. The eleven tracks don’t stray too far from standard Blues repertoire – “Little Red Rooster”, “Crawlin’ King Snake” and a spooky “Honey Bee”, but done with such easy authority they emerge renewed as part of a living tradition. Peter started out with the Blues, it’s embedded in his DNA, with the sympathetic supporting structure provided by Nigel Watson (bass), drummer Larry Tolfree, Roger Cotton adding keyboards and the second guitar of Pete Stroud. There’s no striving for histrionics. It flows natural. Peter’s lived-in rasp says all that needs saying about living the Blues life. With minimal rehearsal, done ‘live’ and pretty-much spontaneous in the studio, drawing from their touring set, this is an object lesson in Blues, the genre that ever-evolves, and yet, essentially don’t change… </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published in: </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘R2 (ROCK ‘N’ REEL) Vol.2 No.35’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(UK – September 2012) </span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghiTwmHTD4dtKqnFgNKV2mteHLrFWO-TBnOVBRcj2R59bZvtRc_x0qOsaCnBmujnIeIIMVQoHzlHsFAwSXKu1MQnqcUFK3Ea8F5uVPANHEM39tzvNjqC7ipYyWIxaMWa5juuqSkKEyo7k6Adf3TSPwGkXROqM1luirT5E3AN4o5xYkz6Jr5OnDuzr8/s500/tumblr_lveuutnyWI1r2t0uao1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghiTwmHTD4dtKqnFgNKV2mteHLrFWO-TBnOVBRcj2R59bZvtRc_x0qOsaCnBmujnIeIIMVQoHzlHsFAwSXKu1MQnqcUFK3Ea8F5uVPANHEM39tzvNjqC7ipYyWIxaMWa5juuqSkKEyo7k6Adf3TSPwGkXROqM1luirT5E3AN4o5xYkz6Jr5OnDuzr8/w400-h400/tumblr_lveuutnyWI1r2t0uao1_500.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘ALONE WITH THE BLUES’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by
<b><span style="font-size: medium;">PETER GREEN & </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">THE ORIGINAL FLEETWOOD MAC </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(2015, Metro Select METRSL118) </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="www.unionsquaremusic.co.uk ">www.unionsquaremusic.co.uk </a></div><div><br /></div><div>The music industry has not always treated Peter Green kindly. His natural unworldly quality has left him vulnerable to abuse and misuse from numerous unscrupulous agencies throughout his explosive rise, long decline and painful climb back into visibility. But his ability has never been in doubt. This 2CD 34-track anthology is no exception. Blues is Peter’s lodestone, the single constant that defines each life and career-phase. And although the track provenance is not always obvious, without scrupulous reference to Joel McIver’s liner-notes, it runs from early Brit-Blues “Long Grey Mare” lifted from Fleetwood Mac’s 1968 debut LP, woozy live versions of “Black Magic Woman” and no.1 single “Oh Well”, before sampling “Ride With Your Daddy Tonight” – his harmonica-driven contribution to the 1969 Brunning Sunflower Blues Band album <b><i>‘Trackside Blues’</i></b>, plus session-outtake “Uranus”. The second phase is inaugurated by tracks from the 1979 <b><i>‘In The Skies’</i></b> set, with Snowy White and Peter Bardens on hand, through his neglected solo albums up to <b><i>‘A Case For The Blues’</i></b> (1985) with Vincent Crane and Ray Dorset. Stopping short of his relaunch with Splinter Group this set revisits familiar material, mixing it with lesser-known and rare tracks. Throughout, Peter’s ability has never been in doubt, no matter what company he’s found himself in. </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published in: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘R2: ROCK ‘N’ REEL Vol.2 no.54’</b> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(UK – November 2015)</span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDmJs3gWvsH080JJyk1coic7SutDcANziq3rCqUy3dpjOxKTDbXPO27lBwWknhM_piUi3wOQLtNxiPiTMNSRPNw6NMYkZUV1ZZZZEdcxjl5ckYbg7-XuyLAOLoLb0kuLF09SjwUeCFD7H_9Q51tK1co5oksnqgsC7V0gkYASmXDecqGIAqikgZLNuI/s600/R-7025388-1531721176-2345.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="598" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDmJs3gWvsH080JJyk1coic7SutDcANziq3rCqUy3dpjOxKTDbXPO27lBwWknhM_piUi3wOQLtNxiPiTMNSRPNw6NMYkZUV1ZZZZEdcxjl5ckYbg7-XuyLAOLoLb0kuLF09SjwUeCFD7H_9Q51tK1co5oksnqgsC7V0gkYASmXDecqGIAqikgZLNuI/w399-h400/R-7025388-1531721176-2345.jpg" width="399" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-37252494380685665932022-09-29T16:37:00.002+01:002022-09-29T16:37:47.905+01:00Poem: SHELF-LIFE<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganq58a3If0IZ8pQHUg3gK3cF2vs-3dC91pL7peBtNr3LOMy8rCfblZXvTg0-bbwPhoL7vZHWF9_VnQKBjTYmUyglVD38uFF-3bMbRALxmKP2dpWpFxSAK6lxzhi3pRsuzy4CFdelbMmz1Mp1TKa1agsU5jKoP8AcTjGKzm2sqK4ehgdgBWL2nf1ws/s480/Vice%20Versa%20'Modern%20As%20In%20Mary%20Quant'.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="350" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganq58a3If0IZ8pQHUg3gK3cF2vs-3dC91pL7peBtNr3LOMy8rCfblZXvTg0-bbwPhoL7vZHWF9_VnQKBjTYmUyglVD38uFF-3bMbRALxmKP2dpWpFxSAK6lxzhi3pRsuzy4CFdelbMmz1Mp1TKa1agsU5jKoP8AcTjGKzm2sqK4ehgdgBWL2nf1ws/w291-h400/Vice%20Versa%20'Modern%20As%20In%20Mary%20Quant'.jpg" width="291" /></a></div></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">SHELF LIFE </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>(For Stephen Singleton </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>circa
Vice Versa-Neutron Records)</b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This is </div><div>post-modernist po/ </div><div>etry designed for use in </div><div>hypermarkets, offices, </div><div>telephone answering services, </div><div>air-terminals, in-car systems, </div><div>and pedestrian precincts. </div><div>Functional poetry with </div><div>stylistic malleability, </div><div>angle-poise connotations and </div><div>audio-visual connectivity. </div><div>Conceptual poetry that </div><div>is its own medium, </div><div>modified and attuned to taste. </div><div>This is post-modernist po/ </div><div>etry with the appliance </div><div>of science. </div><div>Ideologically unsound sound </div><div>for limited attention spans. </div><div>Post-modernism is a </div><div>synthesis placed at the </div><div>correct cultural nexus, and has </div><div>interchangeable/ mix and match </div><div>influence components. </div><div>It is shrink-wrapped </div><div>and date-stamped for </div><div>an ideal shelf life </div><div>of three and a half minutes. </div><div>This is post-modernist </div><div>environment-specific poetry </div><div>for subliminal subversion. </div><div>Soundtrack jingles for discord </div><div>imprinted on/ symptoms of </div><div>rapid eye movement. </div><div>Retinal shadow-shows in </div><div>hygienic cellophane packs, </div><div>ready for use. </div><div>This is
post-modern po/ </div><div>etry with a disposable </div><div>bio-degradable </div><div>shelf-life </div><div>of the next </div><div>three and a half minutes…</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published in: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘TEMPUS FUGIT no.8’ </b>(Belgium – December 1988) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘WORKING TITLES no.2’</b> (UK – February 1990) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">plus my collection: </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘POWER LINES’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Unibird Publications) (UK – October 1988) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">on cassette: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘ULISES DOG NR.9’</b> (C60 Vec Audio) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Netherlands – July 1981) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘L.P.G no.2’</b> (UK – July 1981) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">my own cassette: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘SLITS IN AEROSOL GREEN’</b> (Eight Miles Higher) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(UK – January 1981) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">and on: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘DIAL-A-POEM’</b> telephone service </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(8 August 1980, Liverpool) </span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">‘G.A.S. POETRY, ART AND MUSIC’ </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">edited by Belinda Subraman </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(YouTube, 6 June 2020)
</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxAlqrKGp0piro89ZeWq314AIlfN097WnSolXpi3GkVRBKEj2fBLfGq2hTwLUJoHq2W6lfYLkNJ9-f_ysp1ez0u-03AJ51vEOBOxOjL46tkWz8KD6FIaQy9VJWfeY9FXikqZSUsNWFAb9_bES-LUvU-HxlxT2rUrngomePDpVqkLMFYLQsrs9BSxOf/s1685/Sine-Wave%20Attack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1169" data-original-width="1685" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxAlqrKGp0piro89ZeWq314AIlfN097WnSolXpi3GkVRBKEj2fBLfGq2hTwLUJoHq2W6lfYLkNJ9-f_ysp1ez0u-03AJ51vEOBOxOjL46tkWz8KD6FIaQy9VJWfeY9FXikqZSUsNWFAb9_bES-LUvU-HxlxT2rUrngomePDpVqkLMFYLQsrs9BSxOf/w400-h278/Sine-Wave%20Attack.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-51618940567099635972022-09-28T18:54:00.002+01:002022-09-28T18:54:20.062+01:00SHEFFIELD ELECTRO - THE BE-BOP OF ROCK<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoznzA-SBBJlESZHU4mu8MswbDK_MfwRsSyPstNMi7DZ6BWdNS-E3mel4w4RP0SxREImxUH22WRoQqSg6Joo6csEBtnBvTSMVfVdYbhZOVx4E3wk6AL7Kd6IiISrJF5Pw6HrTGVcFWOzySmHdQY9cRSF0BQ0roNmoaEBuSRRsk93eplk3vooVt3U7/s3467/Human%20League-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2514" data-original-width="3467" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoznzA-SBBJlESZHU4mu8MswbDK_MfwRsSyPstNMi7DZ6BWdNS-E3mel4w4RP0SxREImxUH22WRoQqSg6Joo6csEBtnBvTSMVfVdYbhZOVx4E3wk6AL7Kd6IiISrJF5Pw6HrTGVcFWOzySmHdQY9cRSF0BQ0roNmoaEBuSRRsk93eplk3vooVt3U7/w400-h290/Human%20League-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">SHEFFIELD ELECTRO -</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">THE BE-BOP OF ROCK:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">THE BIRTH OF A NEW COOL </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">‘None of The Human League have any orthodox musical </div><div style="text-align: center;"> training, but prefer to regard composition as an extension of </div><div style="text-align: center;"> logic, inspiration and luck. Therefore, unlike conventional </div><div style="text-align: center;"> musicians their influences are not so obvious’ </div><div style="text-align: center;">(Fast Product Press Pack, June 1978)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFmfqlZP2nSJvqZYQE7Sj1oq9YdKt_MNddiqvKuCBDsDM1ETlZx-Z9TUy7sACzQ3MzfpR8czaVdmjShkQ3tgJDng-1lV4dcAPSvhPYzdCo8NrB0i-XG1m4IjVRlJUaiCEuNGc0gvVibpTQ6M2iA4hoCX5BvDCjCtao9wJJO7wNnqiPn2Bf9HpI6nR/s3414/Cabaret%20Voltaire-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2454" data-original-width="3414" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFmfqlZP2nSJvqZYQE7Sj1oq9YdKt_MNddiqvKuCBDsDM1ETlZx-Z9TUy7sACzQ3MzfpR8czaVdmjShkQ3tgJDng-1lV4dcAPSvhPYzdCo8NrB0i-XG1m4IjVRlJUaiCEuNGc0gvVibpTQ6M2iA4hoCX5BvDCjCtao9wJJO7wNnqiPn2Bf9HpI6nR/w400-h288/Cabaret%20Voltaire-4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Rock ‘n’ Roll was never intended to be about virtuosity. It was more a DIY Folk music. </div><div><br /></div><div>Skiffle was a 1950s fad championed by Lonnie Donegan, which ignited a thousand ad-hoc austerity groups repurposing household items – a washboard, an old tea-chest impaled with a broom-handle and tension-strung to create a stand-up bass, and maybe a couple of battered acoustic guitars played with more energy than technique. Two decades later Sheffield created a new kind of Electronic Skiffle. </div><div><br /></div><div>Why Sheffield? </div><div><br /></div><div>The M1 slip-road 34 takes you into the small South Yorkshire industrial city, but with a greater music tradition than that description would imply. We could start with Wurlitzer organist Reginald Dixon, famous for his radio broadcasts from the Blackpool Tower Ballroom. But we probably won’t. Instead we’ll begin in the Beat Boom era with Dave Berry, his distinctive creepy stage persona and hits that included ‘The Crying Game’, his cover of Bobby Goldsboro’s ‘Little Things’ and the Ray Davies-penned ‘This Strange Effect’. Dave was born in Woodhouse, to the south-east of Sheffield in February 1941. Then there’s Joe Cocker who took the Woodstock Festival by storm with his anguished take on Ringo’s modest singalong ‘With A Little Help From My Friends’. He was born at 38 Tasker Road in the Crookes suburb of Sheffield in May 1944. Tony Christie might have been born in nearby Conisbrough, but his long association with the steel city includes his 2008 <b><i>‘Made In Sheffield’</i></b> album, produced by Richard Hawley with contributions from Alex Turner and Jarvis Cocker.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLaICJIKq3MjUKhXwnJBGOio0_EOZjE0nfugO7igPKdNzidrVIf4aAYlXObnNOrqaVjZlFCfMix986x-praU6WrnncII_-egzR1HKpDoE6EBg4f66xX7IrQlFQA4T2qxS3-2HpLOeifuJgiT-pVa1tslKJcd5ezg9q2zTOJSAHxBNSN5hi-TK9jJi/s2044/Human%20League%20Smash%20Hits-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2044" data-original-width="1577" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLaICJIKq3MjUKhXwnJBGOio0_EOZjE0nfugO7igPKdNzidrVIf4aAYlXObnNOrqaVjZlFCfMix986x-praU6WrnncII_-egzR1HKpDoE6EBg4f66xX7IrQlFQA4T2qxS3-2HpLOeifuJgiT-pVa1tslKJcd5ezg9q2zTOJSAHxBNSN5hi-TK9jJi/w309-h400/Human%20League%20Smash%20Hits-1.jpg" width="309" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Of course there’s Def Leppard, jazz guitarist Derek Bailey, singer Paul Carrack, jazz drummer Tony Oxley, Pulp, Arctic Monkeys and beyond. But this book is largely centred around the cluster of electro-musicians who were feeling their way through the 1970s, to upsurge into the 1980s as the ‘soundtrack for the second industrial revolution: 45 and 33-&-a-third rpm.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>The first time I visited Sheffield, where now there is the labyrinthine Meadowhall temple to opulent consumerism, there were still foundries you could smell in the air and that shook the street beneath your feet, ‘like a metronome, like a heartbeat for the whole city’ according to Ian Craig Marsh. ‘We all come from pretty strong working-class backgrounds’ Ian told me, ‘my Dad’s a bricklayer and my Mum used to work at Bassett’s Liquorice Allsorts Factory. My Grandfather got burned clear down his right side when he was splashed with molten steel at a steel works!’ De-industrialisation left abandoned factory units to colonise as rehearsal rooms and studio space for insurrectionary anti-musicians who ‘discarded natural sound source in favour of synthetic instrumentation because of its convenience, mobility and vast source of, as yet, untapped potential’ (the Vice Versa manifesto). </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJQaXr7UprZ3QP8xzz9Fj-emjfTMTUwyWRFdiwg9pMnR5mCRkbKu22SQ-KuC1uTFok-J_MIfhci7WPwdIDhr-3GDHmUkpGOD9E62EIs7EvBybfVZ7UE4Vff_GFRDwjToxOr_iGf_KrbaE9mBagtImrrX_oQJtwbk4bAm76TFZHtokW_8pZzBa86-pm/s1812/Music%204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1241" data-original-width="1812" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJQaXr7UprZ3QP8xzz9Fj-emjfTMTUwyWRFdiwg9pMnR5mCRkbKu22SQ-KuC1uTFok-J_MIfhci7WPwdIDhr-3GDHmUkpGOD9E62EIs7EvBybfVZ7UE4Vff_GFRDwjToxOr_iGf_KrbaE9mBagtImrrX_oQJtwbk4bAm76TFZHtokW_8pZzBa86-pm/w400-h274/Music%204.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>And there was cheap front-room technology easily adaptable, Skiffle-style, sufficient to bend to purpose. Original – in the sense of not using drums, which were just too tedious to learn, and guitars which were considered obsolete. ‘We wanted to sound like a proper Pop group, but we were not prepared to put in the five or six years that it would have taken to learn a traditional instrument’ explained Philip Oakey. The non-Sheffield Nick Rhodes of Duran Duran described his discovery of synths as ‘this is a new planet that I could live on.’ And yes, that’s how it was. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was a time of dense-black Xeroxed fanzines, Sheffield had its own <b><i>‘GunRubber’ </i></b>produced since February 1977 by Paul Bower and Adi Newton, as well as <b><i>‘Modern Drugs’</i></b> from Martin Fry, <b><i>‘NMX’</i></b> from Martin Russian and the photocopied <b><i>‘Steve’s Paper’</i></b> from Stephen Singleton, all documenting the burgeoning local music scene, centred around Cabaret Voltaire and The Future. And the cassette-underground where, for the first time, bands and musicians as well as poets could use their bedrooms to home-record their own experimental sounds, then cheaply reproduce and circulate limited edition C30s or C60s among a proto-internet of linked like-minded activists. It was ignited by the Punk energy and ethos that anyone could get up and do it. It was new. It was exciting, combining the dissident samizdat self-publishing spirit of insurgency with mischievously incendiary early-Dada art-confrontational energies supercharged by the relentlessly dark cut-up strategies of Beat-Generation writer William S. Burroughs and his SF New Wave disciple J.G. Ballard. Each bubblepack package that arrived in the morning mail was ripped open up to reveal new bulletins from the innovative edge of luring and sometimes-scary tomorrows. <b><i>‘NME’</i></b> carried its own weekly review-column with the addesses of more DIY weirdnesses a mere postal order away.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFqH1BTnw2sOU2H8gtRT0998fWTIrub_Sxh0zBycYMSdTYUpzL2n0gYKWDPUwSm_Rd3p2qLsZKr3eOAGkDnw-3-CHEWS_ZFGnAp8pHmQdH855R8SsHU4kmeCvFVRRYXllNymAA7qCuZ2fD79OJB38n7FTkhCuq5ajOXBSMNRFER367b1l6sPqeoCm/s1933/Vice%20Versa%20studio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1933" data-original-width="1876" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFqH1BTnw2sOU2H8gtRT0998fWTIrub_Sxh0zBycYMSdTYUpzL2n0gYKWDPUwSm_Rd3p2qLsZKr3eOAGkDnw-3-CHEWS_ZFGnAp8pHmQdH855R8SsHU4kmeCvFVRRYXllNymAA7qCuZ2fD79OJB38n7FTkhCuq5ajOXBSMNRFER367b1l6sPqeoCm/w389-h400/Vice%20Versa%20studio.jpg" width="389" /></a></div><br /></div><div>The first experimental synthesizer system had been devised in 1955 by RCA, but it was a certain Dr Robert Moog who gave his name to the cheaper more marketable modular version that began to infiltrate awareness during the late-sixties, as demonstrated on the first entirely-synthesized <b><i>‘Switched On Bach’ </i></b>(1968) album by Walter – later Wendy Carlos, followed by <b><i>‘The Well-Tempered Synthesizer’</i></b> a year later. Martyn Ware recalled hearing Carlos on the Clockwork Orange (1971) soundtrack. Heaven 17 would take their name from the same movie.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0sboA_nH1ZiTy_vOQYaoCJdbQza0TO0BxIUW7ociyQbYZAXzaSm2b0IIyJdCBa9jjBQ3u81fiW7jyjT6e_HrfrlQ0pb4Vn6B-vGuP-Fl7IpAPiyM-oXMfnMlLeQGfGLOYyncDd51uKwY7HsnJ6TW8AhXTFM1DuftqtwL70lQjOi9cyOVh57heLgIO/s3402/Human%20League-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3402" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0sboA_nH1ZiTy_vOQYaoCJdbQza0TO0BxIUW7ociyQbYZAXzaSm2b0IIyJdCBa9jjBQ3u81fiW7jyjT6e_HrfrlQ0pb4Vn6B-vGuP-Fl7IpAPiyM-oXMfnMlLeQGfGLOYyncDd51uKwY7HsnJ6TW8AhXTFM1DuftqtwL70lQjOi9cyOVh57heLgIO/w400-h288/Human%20League-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>Bands such as The Byrds, The Pink Floyd, The Moody Blues and others began to dabble in the effects that electronics could produce, with Terry Riley, Tonto’s Expanding Headband and The United States Of America taking it incrementally further, nodding to John Cage as a kind of spiritual godfather. The cosmic synth genre was an extension of the psychedelic ‘music to take trips by’ drug culture, an avant-garde trance deployment of otherworldly textures. Then, incorporated into banks of keyboards, the synthesizer became an exotic embellishment to the assault arsenal employed by virtuoso Prog-Rock musicians. Synths were bulky, heavy, fragile and temperamental, utilising voltage-controlled oscillators and related devices that respond to room-humidity and temperature. Heat changes from the lighting-rig could affect tunings. A Moog required a two-hour warming-up period. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QUqKoG6HNXcUXUiUzYjXrUB58tx1QzZBvsHqLvc7uabHXNBvvUEyaen4qBNaM8H4rWHQuKB4jPdt4VsqWjyKPFQHblomZjhAYQ_4sqYLoqA0DpG7IR0CauvpAg_m53kxILRr5OjH0FcbKoOu2KULb0yMyxEHhD9CJpj7ySIlNI1h2CFH5Xc1O9B0/s1272/Cabaret%20Voltsaire%20Extended%20Play.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1272" data-original-width="1264" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QUqKoG6HNXcUXUiUzYjXrUB58tx1QzZBvsHqLvc7uabHXNBvvUEyaen4qBNaM8H4rWHQuKB4jPdt4VsqWjyKPFQHblomZjhAYQ_4sqYLoqA0DpG7IR0CauvpAg_m53kxILRr5OjH0FcbKoOu2KULb0yMyxEHhD9CJpj7ySIlNI1h2CFH5Xc1O9B0/w398-h400/Cabaret%20Voltsaire%20Extended%20Play.jpg" width="398" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>While in Germany Tangerine Dream, Neu and Kraftwerk were not only adapting and developing their own rhythmic variations but were inventing new ones through the use of sequencers. Kraftwerk – ‘the most important group of the century’ according to Philip Oakey, compressed eccentrically catchy musical ideas into the appropriately stimulating shape of wires, programmes, images, trackers, scanners, impulses and screens. </div><div><br /></div><div>Championed by DJ John Peel, Tangerine Dream grew out of the Berlin Zodiak Free Arts Lab, where they evolved the hypnotic pulsations of their LP <b><i>‘Phaedra’</i></b> (1974), a first charting album for them as well as for Virgin Records. Abstract solo albums by Klaus Schulze and Tangerine Dream’s Edgar Froese dissolved into sound-pixels which absorbed the listener into a Rorschach eyelid-movie of aural fantasia. The 1976 success of <b><i>‘Oxygène’ </i></b>took Jean-Michel Jarre as close as Space music could get to conventional Pop, with brisk programmed percussion and melodic synth-lines that made it both accessible and relentlessly catchy. Yet it was closer to soporific mood-music, conjuring an aid-to-getting-high mindscreen for recumbent sofa-surfers. To gonzo journalist Lester Bangs ‘the men at the keyboards send out sonar blips through the congealing air… three technological monoliths emitting urps, hissings, pings and swooshings in the dark’ (in his <b><i>‘Psychotic Reactions And Carburetor Dung’</i></b>, Serpents Tail, 1987).</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqFyH8QKIjB0Qw4tDPgiee2i__n1JffZ_AhDEjVSnCCY62e6W65MGyUOI1czLk5dRf8AoqPZFqu404L7hsxa5jvpSgUtv2UfzvfX-oJ-cmrwVuGTVzgBjfjz1eBiHi-NbofDRTiuSumR3OE9GUyPKzaur0I1TScDrM5qfxomUcff5jW0OjWiuAAtc/s736/Cabs%20&%20Gristle%20poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="736" data-original-width="522" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqFyH8QKIjB0Qw4tDPgiee2i__n1JffZ_AhDEjVSnCCY62e6W65MGyUOI1czLk5dRf8AoqPZFqu404L7hsxa5jvpSgUtv2UfzvfX-oJ-cmrwVuGTVzgBjfjz1eBiHi-NbofDRTiuSumR3OE9GUyPKzaur0I1TScDrM5qfxomUcff5jW0OjWiuAAtc/w284-h400/Cabs%20&%20Gristle%20poster.jpg" width="284" /></a></div><br /></div><div>In Sheffield it was different. ‘We didn’t need to spend a lot of money to be creative’ said Martyn. The Sheffield answer was to leap obliquely into exploratory voyages to uncharted areas of electronic experiment, sidestepping both conventional musical standards and accepted modes of Rock celebrity. It was innovation inspired by the can-do attitude of Punk, and the art-school Bowie cool. On one side of town was Cabaret Voltaire, on the other there was The Future, a ‘more adventurous but less commercial’ version of The Human League which cannibalised Ian Craig Marsh and Martyn Ware alongside Adi Newton – who operated tape machine-loops and treatments and was destined to form the excellent but much undervalued Clock DVA. </div><div><br /></div><div>If there was a pre-existing language, Kraftwerk had utilized tape-loops, while Holger Czukay used random bursts of short-wave radio interference for his work with Can. Cabaret Voltaire began in trainee telephone-engineer Chris Watson’s attic, inspired by a brief eighty-page book called <b><i>‘Composing With Tape Recorders: Musique Concrète For Beginners’</i></b> by Terence Dwyer (1971, Oxford University Press). So first Chris – then Chris in cahoots with Richard H Kirk, played collage sound-games with reel-to-reel tape recorders, speeded-up, slowed-down, spliced and looped, adding a Farfisa drum-machine with rudimentary mail-order ring-modulator signal processing patched together by Chris – no keyboard, just knobs to twiddle and tweak. ‘I was never a musician’ Chris explained, ‘I had no interest in playing a musical instrument. I had no interest in that sort of discipline. I just wanted to make some noise… we didn’t really know what we were doing, but we knew we wanted to do it!’ </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIB17ftBVTpkgIuTsBBonvZLJRw9zeGczND9SAcP_gG5N4bn0xe-IAFDhj3YeaRyvMX3b1PMqQ5c9f6I9hnlHFwh1ieD1N548fHq3oOdDwlNblvDcG4AJ6RvrguYhwtipVfsIDm-Sl2akHZskUBwNk1-wp_w9EUr1HQYlTmOzumQhOGVu8-IwJ54JT/s722/Cabaret%20Voltaire%20Demos%201982%20boot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="722" data-original-width="700" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIB17ftBVTpkgIuTsBBonvZLJRw9zeGczND9SAcP_gG5N4bn0xe-IAFDhj3YeaRyvMX3b1PMqQ5c9f6I9hnlHFwh1ieD1N548fHq3oOdDwlNblvDcG4AJ6RvrguYhwtipVfsIDm-Sl2akHZskUBwNk1-wp_w9EUr1HQYlTmOzumQhOGVu8-IwJ54JT/w388-h400/Cabaret%20Voltaire%20Demos%201982%20boot.jpg" width="388" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Later the acquisition of an EMS Synthi AKS titled no less than three tracks on their <b><i>‘Methodology ’74-’78: Attic Tapes’</i></b> (Industrial Records, 1980, expanded for Mute Records, 2002). Where Cabaret Voltaire are concerned, definition remained nebulous. How to classify a 01:10-minute ‘Jet Passing Over’ which is simply a doubled electronic sound-replication of aeroplane jets in the sky, phasey, like a radio tuning itself in and out of focus? Or ‘Jack Stereo Unit’ which is a confusion of conflicting speech, ‘Treated Guitar’ is splodge-sounds, at least the 01:47 ‘Sad Synth’ recognizably utilizes a synthesizer, while the 39-second ‘Space Patrol’ uses cheap TV Sci-Fi effects in the way that The Future would. These were what Chris Watson described as the ‘new-found freedoms.’</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCmSCfrouUVjikds9z6wcLvXp4JFIYhnHTX2p49aZ5xsl_bsEYLy0M0Bd9aIqZGbc_oGYz4ADdV-4nLg95H8xdGDTvyN_TtplpprUFM6zYYlkRkOm7vg2vFP1cLijpXJ_XcVzjJzY8QOGL9iZwOlncnwyMlJMf_Z4gcHXABa1NiCzqmZAf3txv3_mp/s3467/Cabaret%20Voltaire-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2514" data-original-width="3467" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCmSCfrouUVjikds9z6wcLvXp4JFIYhnHTX2p49aZ5xsl_bsEYLy0M0Bd9aIqZGbc_oGYz4ADdV-4nLg95H8xdGDTvyN_TtplpprUFM6zYYlkRkOm7vg2vFP1cLijpXJ_XcVzjJzY8QOGL9iZwOlncnwyMlJMf_Z4gcHXABa1NiCzqmZAf3txv3_mp/w400-h290/Cabaret%20Voltaire-7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>Adding Stephen Mallinder’s bass guitar, their first gig was a ‘Science For People’ Student Disco at the University Upper Refectory on Tuesday 13 May 1975, percussion consisted of a tape-loop recording of a steam-hammer – recorded by Chris in Belgium, while Richard improvised on clarinet while bedecked in flashing Xmas-tree lights. Needless to say, reception was not even mixed – it was hostile, resulting in Mallinder’s trip to the A&E department as a consequence of a fracas with the unruly and unappreciative audience. But if there has to be a date for the Big Bang ignition of Sheffield Electro, this is it. The E=MC2 moment. Martyn Ware and Ian Craig Marsh were taking note.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqNy68LrkyjsanPeGLXIeU4pgtdDrQRxn-bY-C9g-RJEHAi0kKgr4NNofZ0mLK8O1IQHFn1Hm5czgu3V0lNeV5UZ3o4cIr0473_vK4iq4WLVAG8t7S7575PCe-GfDC7g-R1TrtHZ2OhSAKLGOgji7UfcFmvjQGgkPgYuCg6IXgNfBNr_AN8iPTF5kp/s1468/Human%20League-Vice%20Versa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1468" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqNy68LrkyjsanPeGLXIeU4pgtdDrQRxn-bY-C9g-RJEHAi0kKgr4NNofZ0mLK8O1IQHFn1Hm5czgu3V0lNeV5UZ3o4cIr0473_vK4iq4WLVAG8t7S7575PCe-GfDC7g-R1TrtHZ2OhSAKLGOgji7UfcFmvjQGgkPgYuCg6IXgNfBNr_AN8iPTF5kp/w294-h400/Human%20League-Vice%20Versa.jpg" width="294" /></a> </div></div><div><br /></div><div>Lest we forget, there was still a Soviet Union and a Cold War going on, the world seemed breathlessly paused on the brink of mutual assured destruction. But if the crack of doom wasn’t to be heard on some hydrogen jukebox, it just might uncoil from that next C60 in the mail. </div><div><br /></div><div>What semantic references, mythological splendours and glittering epithets can be attached to The Human League? Their career was lived forwards, but must be understood backwards, from today back to then. An exercise in de-structuring images and image-making. But all that’s really essential to know is that The Human League brought Pop from the age of the Flintstones to the age of the Jetsons virtually overnight. This is my chance to set history straight, for they were as original as the solar system. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sheffield is a small city, and isolated from what was happening in London. In the same way that Liverpool had been isolated from the fads and fashions of the Southern-based music biz in 1963… and by the end of the 1970s simple Casio synths were as cheap and easily-available as guitars...</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf9x91ccRuk0q2STHwYFuC2jWPfRrgDAUmrye4aVlipH8FyCxGR9-YJ-fIJyUwe5EBUYzVu72gaWpQZ6rGh3XVfIe8mWJ9DCa6eJSOy5GtdGE5SjD91rGLcht0IZl6JktWXsIActKSWKIvaXlfTQ1I-AmMbUzQrFCEjgXFIXdLUgrsmchWv-uBLs4W/s3467/Human%20League-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2514" data-original-width="3467" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf9x91ccRuk0q2STHwYFuC2jWPfRrgDAUmrye4aVlipH8FyCxGR9-YJ-fIJyUwe5EBUYzVu72gaWpQZ6rGh3XVfIe8mWJ9DCa6eJSOy5GtdGE5SjD91rGLcht0IZl6JktWXsIActKSWKIvaXlfTQ1I-AmMbUzQrFCEjgXFIXdLUgrsmchWv-uBLs4W/w400-h290/Human%20League-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This is the ‘Introduction’ of my book:<br /><b>‘ON TRACK... HUMAN LEAGUE &</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>THE SHEFFIELD ELECTRO SCENE,<br />EVERY ALBUM, EVERY SONG’</b><br />(SonicBond Publishing, 2022)</div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-76371387460380240352022-09-27T11:15:00.000+01:002022-09-27T11:15:40.942+01:00New Book: 'ON TRACK... THE HUMAN LEAGUE & THE SHEFFIELD ELECTRO SCENE'<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8yjANAQwAnK6R_fgGfbA9PSl4e2VWrpHUrW2PkPyRGIwFlm-LKwnTOVbqFYKS7THDJXUVdltR_VQZ8FwhfHHl9sI5MVr4t3_vNwo3kEDIKIXNYCTp0Sqtm9AaPzEncLt6JBDeXGSMtuhJ7Lp4D-nfKgC1f879L09RrKar7xmOT91oRREPjOgKbMy/s1904/Book%20Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1904" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8yjANAQwAnK6R_fgGfbA9PSl4e2VWrpHUrW2PkPyRGIwFlm-LKwnTOVbqFYKS7THDJXUVdltR_VQZ8FwhfHHl9sI5MVr4t3_vNwo3kEDIKIXNYCTp0Sqtm9AaPzEncLt6JBDeXGSMtuhJ7Lp4D-nfKgC1f879L09RrKar7xmOT91oRREPjOgKbMy/w400-h272/Book%20Cover.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxalZYrq4gsWD3rj5EPbHQ25y9f8JI--eKbmrDhY5ytGT51Qjhr1b9WB4aJCWTly44lCyWOhK8uQfoCcLvZRbhCOvzTxxfoaNtCEceqnoNgsEBy4X90Ur4_BS_qTYJxp65udQOhkM0R6UJHb-5WBzBhWXqI-Zv5jRgyQPznKHG1JhcHkwe5a77bMAC/s2056/Press-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1216" data-original-width="2056" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxalZYrq4gsWD3rj5EPbHQ25y9f8JI--eKbmrDhY5ytGT51Qjhr1b9WB4aJCWTly44lCyWOhK8uQfoCcLvZRbhCOvzTxxfoaNtCEceqnoNgsEBy4X90Ur4_BS_qTYJxp65udQOhkM0R6UJHb-5WBzBhWXqI-Zv5jRgyQPznKHG1JhcHkwe5a77bMAC/w400-h236/Press-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlAXtgGk0Eq6mmdCvdCVnenXqdoW78s7jZgedPtEs7awgtjH0HlKctmw-vHAV3vwvGAeFjUue7nhEYUwOUuVZuLHtjC6gm4ZvR97ELVGBbvNlElgSQVY7rtVpidHShHTZN8Fg08Pw1m-3YgcMkG9wxaGjWuYDnLGXi_aMd0-IG3fH4Z25U2tfjxl7_/s2071/Press-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1361" data-original-width="2071" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlAXtgGk0Eq6mmdCvdCVnenXqdoW78s7jZgedPtEs7awgtjH0HlKctmw-vHAV3vwvGAeFjUue7nhEYUwOUuVZuLHtjC6gm4ZvR97ELVGBbvNlElgSQVY7rtVpidHShHTZN8Fg08Pw1m-3YgcMkG9wxaGjWuYDnLGXi_aMd0-IG3fH4Z25U2tfjxl7_/w400-h263/Press-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgolPnP_wHyBedRALo_HGes1MbagZzFSss3NIk7pZFKcekz8ayi0Pw94QgrExydqKZnvSK9h1UPzGfbhB6rO7lcY_KmYYmk-gXSaN2t9RH5zJdPPtB06tYa8mzPc5REonrvva8ql8X9IwlEPS6cm4PdjoJxg2KVBdMk8g05Mn8nCrzpOvBjL0I7vtbR/s580/MV5BODg0MDE0ZTEtY2M0MC00NjI4LWFiYTQtMDQwMjI1YWMyMzJmXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyOTc5MDI5NjE@._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="580" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgolPnP_wHyBedRALo_HGes1MbagZzFSss3NIk7pZFKcekz8ayi0Pw94QgrExydqKZnvSK9h1UPzGfbhB6rO7lcY_KmYYmk-gXSaN2t9RH5zJdPPtB06tYa8mzPc5REonrvva8ql8X9IwlEPS6cm4PdjoJxg2KVBdMk8g05Mn8nCrzpOvBjL0I7vtbR/w400-h283/MV5BODg0MDE0ZTEtY2M0MC00NjI4LWFiYTQtMDQwMjI1YWMyMzJmXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyOTc5MDI5NjE@._V1_.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">ELECTRIC DREAMS</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Electric Dreams (Soundtrack) </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by Various Artists </div><div style="text-align: center;">Released: July 1984 </div><div style="text-align: center;">Virgin Records V2318, Epic SE 39600 </div><div style="text-align: center;">Running time: 34:25 USA and Europe CD, </div><div style="text-align: center;">cassette and LP edited version,
50:28 Europe CD, </div><div style="text-align: center;">cassette and LP extended edition (as duration in brackets) </div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Highest UK chart position: 46 </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhutNJocrBpx55VBkRTF8n2KyUBedSkMJRQkbm2RLY9lKqIGb1k8Vi74pQ36vu5SG7mj1P6AubZ80zZXXllfk0hrrHDTd73x09MQTLLXD2R1rgbeutzo8dKAgl2tXbGCo-i-6yOENkNs2VeKzY4fJ4XACD2ULk5vc7_YZ5Q2IMpk2rqoZiWux4VRE/s460/1984484,TfpHoAlyl6FoVNR2ljANu6zfG6xNplQYfKbP39Vm3ZJxgI6nl6ZYECyj0WmlFJbcgKCrIyozGv+zs1YPNZ+fyA==.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="307" data-original-width="460" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhutNJocrBpx55VBkRTF8n2KyUBedSkMJRQkbm2RLY9lKqIGb1k8Vi74pQ36vu5SG7mj1P6AubZ80zZXXllfk0hrrHDTd73x09MQTLLXD2R1rgbeutzo8dKAgl2tXbGCo-i-6yOENkNs2VeKzY4fJ4XACD2ULk5vc7_YZ5Q2IMpk2rqoZiWux4VRE/w400-h268/1984484,TfpHoAlyl6FoVNR2ljANu6zfG6xNplQYfKbP39Vm3ZJxgI6nl6ZYECyj0WmlFJbcgKCrIyozGv+zs1YPNZ+fyA==.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The Science Fiction had always been there. The high-profile visuals were an obvious add-on. So involvement with a movie was inevitable. Released 20 July 1984 by Virgin Films, <b><i>‘Electric Dreams’ </i></b>was a light fluffy romantic Sci-Fi comedy featuring bespectacled Lenny Von Dohlen as young work-obsessed architect ‘Miles’, and Virginia Madsen as cello-player ‘Madeline’ who moved into the upstairs flat, plus Maxwell Caulfield (as Bill) and a computer called ‘Edgar’ voiced by Bud Cort. Bip-bip-bip-PRINT, it develops into a fairy-tale love-triangle between man, woman and computer. After all, computers were new – weren’t they? They were what was happening, albeit years after William Gibson had coined the term ‘cyberspace’ in his 1982 short story ‘Burning Chrome’. ‘Back in the old days before computers roamed the Earth, people used to learn things by reading words on a page’ recalled an Apple Macintosh Performa advert from 1994. </div><div><br /></div><div>The first feature film by Pop-promo director Steve Barron, it was not a great movie, but it has goodies on offer. The video effects that reveal Edgar’s cybernetic thought processes, the champagne poured into Edgar when he overloads – and the fascinating visual effects that ensue as the bubbly soaks into his printed circuits and chips, and the film was rescued by the way the strong soundtrack is woven into the story. It performed even better when it transferred to VHS home-video aided by public familiarity with the songs! Steve Barron went on to direct <b><i>‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ (</i></b>1990). </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Together In Electric Dreams’ </span></b></div><div>by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">Philip Oakey & Giorgio Moroder </span></b></div><div>(Philip Oakey & Giorgio Moroder) </div><div>3:52 on US edition (5:18 European edition) </div><div>Written primarily by German disco-supremo Moroder with no particular vocalist in mind, it was the film director Steve Barron – who’d shot the high-gloss video for ‘Don’t You Want Me’, who suggested Oakey. And no-one refuses a collaboration invitation from the man who’d masterminded Donna Summer’s ‘Love To Love You Baby’. Not Oakey, that’s for sure. ‘All we ever wanted was to sound like Donna Summer. She was our ideal’ he told <b><i>‘Sounds’ </i></b>(10 August 1985). After the first recording Moroder told Philip that the first take was ‘good enough, as first time is always best.’ However, Oakey, who’d considered it just a rehearsal run-through, insisted on doing a second take. Although Moroder agreed, Oakey subsequently said he believes Moroder still used the first take. Synths fall like silver around a perfect Dance-Pop confection, with Philip’s voice matched to Moroder’s song-construction in a marriage made in electric heaven. Philip even wears a ‘You Have Been Judged’ Judge Dredd <b><i>‘2000AD’</i></b> T-shirt in the mini-movie promo-video, as if further proof were needed. </div><div><br /></div><div>Issued as a spin-off single following the perceived failure of Human League’s ‘Life On Your Own’, this peaked at number 3 on the UK chart 27 October 1984 (Virgin VS 713) – although it got no higher than number 4 on the rival NME chart, beneath Wham!’s definitive anthem ‘Freedom’. The success of ‘Electric Dreams’ encouraged Virgin to chance a third track from <b><i>‘Hysteria’</i></b>, hence ‘Louise’. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvxHv1MhEHL33F5SPJcLyAF-VUw7dptJJjK2PyPaGK_q9_TS05V6AlDlQlAn2HZBPDJDnvsm6OU9XMPxsnC82eXNl31D5Gbkl4coN4Mj6LxZN3VlGaeEryOF9N9GgBgC6e0f-AmJL2q7b1SovZ0oKPweoE9WLeRLIp0gv53R_eErcJ8b_i4KylKezs/s820/giorgio-moroder-philip-oakey-giorgio-moroder.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="820" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvxHv1MhEHL33F5SPJcLyAF-VUw7dptJJjK2PyPaGK_q9_TS05V6AlDlQlAn2HZBPDJDnvsm6OU9XMPxsnC82eXNl31D5Gbkl4coN4Mj6LxZN3VlGaeEryOF9N9GgBgC6e0f-AmJL2q7b1SovZ0oKPweoE9WLeRLIp0gv53R_eErcJ8b_i4KylKezs/w400-h400/giorgio-moroder-philip-oakey-giorgio-moroder.webp" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Video’ </span></b></div><div>by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">Jeff Lynne</span></b> (Jeff Lynne) 3:24 (4:53) </div><div>Jeff Lynne started out with the Birmingham sixties no-hoper group The Idle Race, before joining Roy Wood in the The Move with whom he hatched the blueprint for The Electric Light Orchestra. He took time out – before joining The Traveling Wilburys supergroup, for this catchy excursion into programmed drumbeats, about ‘the satellites that search the night that twinkle like a star’ and slyly sneaks the ‘together in electric dreams’ line into the lyric. </div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘The Dream’ </span></b>by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">Culture Club </span></b></div><div>(George O’Dowd, Mikey Craig, Roy Hay, Jon Moss) </div><div>2:28 (3:16) </div><div>When The Human League headed what was termed ‘the second British invasion’ of the American charts, the flamboyant Boy George with Culture Club was just as high-profile. This brief track finds them in a slower, sensitive and more decorative mood with an Alice-In-Wonderland lyric. It was later remastered as a bonus track on the 2003 CD edition of the Culture Club album <b><i>‘Waking Up With The House On Fire’ </i></b>(Virgin, October 1984). </div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘The Duel’</span></b> by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">Giorgio Moroder</span></b> </div><div>(Giorgio Moroder based on ‘Minuet In G Major’ by </div><div>Christian Petzold, formerly attributed to Johann Sebastian Bach) </div><div>3:47 (5:40) </div><div>In the movie, cellist Madeline is rehearsing this piece in her apartment when she’s overheard through the ventilation grille by computer ‘Edgar’, which then improvises its own electric variation. Madeline assumes that she’s playing this duet with Miles Harding, who – due to a mixture of bumble and dishonesty, does not disabuse her, and passes off a love song devised by computer. </div><div>The same tune was lifted for The Toys 1965 hit single ‘A Lover’s Concerto’. </div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Now You’re Mine’</span></b> by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">Helen Terry </span></b></div><div>(Helen St John, Rusty Lemonade) 4:05 (5:20) </div><div>The excoriating voice you hear on Culture Club’s hit ‘Church Of The Poison Mind’ belongs to Helen Terry, an immensely powerful vocalist in the Alison Moyet mould, who wrote the sixties Girl-Group styled ‘Now You’re Mine’ with the pseudonymous Giorgio Moroder, who supplied the eighties add-ons. It also cunningly incorporates the line ‘before my world was feeling the power of the special touch that all electric dreams are made of.’ Although this track was later added as a bonus to the ‘Special Edition’ of her only album ‘Blue Notes’ (1986) she subsequently preferred to play a backroom role within the media industry. </div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Love Is Love’</span></b> by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">Culture Club </span></b></div><div>(George O’Dowd, Mikey Craig, Roy Hay, Jon Moss) </div><div>3:50 (5:53) </div><div>Given the big power-ballad treatment with sweet wah-wah embellishments, the positive message of a non-gender-specific all-embracing force of universal love resonates above and beyond the limitations of the song’s uncomplicated structure, Boy George’s voice – as ever, pours as nourishingly unique and precious as royal jelly.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlAfOs7VbnmXV8mWIxHh-5yOHwrPaUyD3ft-xotQDwNaWMwaAND5JGPX_PNdoLdX4RwOmyTIR_QiPc_-DltAzWM8JN49udXxyf3RVE8d5Fd112AJZoMqycuWsaHBVVonpV5V8EisRY2HaOFgotmCFUSl-JsyHqw5bgkqmKFgNEqKqCJyYV5AocUGXp/s616/GP20664192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="615" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlAfOs7VbnmXV8mWIxHh-5yOHwrPaUyD3ft-xotQDwNaWMwaAND5JGPX_PNdoLdX4RwOmyTIR_QiPc_-DltAzWM8JN49udXxyf3RVE8d5Fd112AJZoMqycuWsaHBVVonpV5V8EisRY2HaOFgotmCFUSl-JsyHqw5bgkqmKFgNEqKqCJyYV5AocUGXp/w399-h400/GP20664192.jpg" width="399" /></a></div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Chase Runner’</span></b> by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">Heaven 17 </span></b></div><div>(Ian Craig Marsh, Martyn Ware, Glenn Gregory) </div><div>3:00 (4:53 for extended edition) </div><div>This is a movie that inadvertently reunites the two separate feuding strands of The Human League Mark 1 onto the same soundtrack album, although the Heaven 17 contingent contribute a high-energy track that is restyled as ‘Counterforce II’ on the B-side of their ‘Sunset Now’ single. It’s an instrumental that actually sounds like the theme-tune for an action movie incorporating high-speed car chase samples, with the thin-pitched whistleable tune gliding and curling over choppy percussive rhythms. </div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Let It Run’</span></b> by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">Jeff Lynne </span></b></div><div>(Jeff Lynne) 3:22 (5:37) </div><div>With a slow gradual fade-in leading into thrashing guitars and rocking keyboards, this is a Jeff Lynne track with the most obvious Electric Light Orchestra sound, betraying more than a passing resemblance to their ‘Don’t Bring Me Down’ hit, although there are spliced-in breaks for a manic Caribbean skank followed by a solid Rock guitar solo – if this is the Rockism that Human League were kicking against, with lyric name-checks for ‘Johnny B Goode’ and ‘Long Tall Sally’, it still makes you get up and boogie. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbG_X2ynOhUnGpSqGoJoVksuA2CS0aE6wpbbx4R9QIW5nwlc8YBirZwOYcthWEjWZWVYzznryY_Zisp1264ybZXqxjWg3IXyCCNXtKkgo5r_3vsex0F_868iIHb4Lvf3tpeaO6WTHJ09vUN-pyvQQQfZJMa1WKJ8GxQBNnC2jHOOlODytKxaVRGkK/s640/KgQVHBff9XmQK9vEbq9aVZX8KhoKBl3iBhhp-WxCi1I.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbG_X2ynOhUnGpSqGoJoVksuA2CS0aE6wpbbx4R9QIW5nwlc8YBirZwOYcthWEjWZWVYzznryY_Zisp1264ybZXqxjWg3IXyCCNXtKkgo5r_3vsex0F_868iIHb4Lvf3tpeaO6WTHJ09vUN-pyvQQQfZJMa1WKJ8GxQBNnC2jHOOlODytKxaVRGkK/w400-h225/KgQVHBff9XmQK9vEbq9aVZX8KhoKBl3iBhhp-WxCi1I.webp" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Madeline’s Theme’ </span></b>by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">Giorgio Moroder </span></b></div><div>(Giorgio Moroder) 2:17 (2:48) </div><div>A companion-piece to ‘The Duel’ this sensitive and touching instrumental takes the synthesizer into territory where it had rarely ventured before, using the cello-setting as key to a simulated string quartet, back to Bach for its bitter-sweet computer-expression of what this thing called love is all about, as soft as a teardrop falling on a silicon chip.</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHJCr1KS0kOmw3CMGhByIxHmOYBV8TWNcNSHx3KabsGa5iWDTzo3VLOlKe5974Q40z0Uwyb7H4Oe7n_Dz0ZNV6lycO6j15N1tQk_xMeZ5XMUgwQF8zJrLnyy-fxrJKZ00UxU7TwjeA1KIZHeQ8M38jTnP9632n3waSZIBjUs0dhHN3JvjSvmjprVd/s500/511OInQ9F2L._SL500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHJCr1KS0kOmw3CMGhByIxHmOYBV8TWNcNSHx3KabsGa5iWDTzo3VLOlKe5974Q40z0Uwyb7H4Oe7n_Dz0ZNV6lycO6j15N1tQk_xMeZ5XMUgwQF8zJrLnyy-fxrJKZ00UxU7TwjeA1KIZHeQ8M38jTnP9632n3waSZIBjUs0dhHN3JvjSvmjprVd/w400-h400/511OInQ9F2L._SL500_.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Electric Dreams’ </span></b>by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">P.P. Arnold </span></b></div><div>(George O’Dowd and Roy Hay) 4:20 (6:50) </div><div>Pat ‘P.P.’ Arnold first came to London with Ike & Tina Turner’s touring band, as part of the Ikettes. She hooked up with Andrew Loog Oldham who produced her version of the Cat Steven’s song ‘The First Cut Is The Deepest’ which became an instant hit single for the Immediate label. She duetted with the Small Faces on their magnificent ‘Tin Soldier’ hit, and went on to enjoy a high-profile voice-for-hire career as a solo artist, a studio voice and a collaborator on multiple projects. </div><div><br /></div><div>Written by the Culture Club duo of Boy George and Roy Hay, here she emotes ‘tell me boy, do you have room in your heart, for the computer boom?’ with full Soul-deep emotional intensity, as Peter Frampton donates a stinging guitar solo. Pat Arnold went further Electro when she returned to the charts as vocalist on the Beatmasters number 14 hit ‘Burn It Up’ (October 1988), and up to number 6 in 1992 with techno duo Altern-8’s ‘Evapor 8’. P.P. Arnold can do no wrong.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lKpRmjj_EKli2eul5WE_ZskXHJ9LPYuCvboILrTV4IS6h-Vi1BOsM1Y4KdzbYrkLB2By1sP_uK5G7tLwr4bDsgIX8PXzt4xaRwXRIBqy4W_z7wzUmB3RoOTP2pde_Rv2qXVjbUKy1TV7JgWBP15CjoiQaGcm4H8ioBpts5RTcycfoLlPCL0bVpUL/s603/881b84f4-e66f-4221-a3d3-2e8b2148bbf2.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="422" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lKpRmjj_EKli2eul5WE_ZskXHJ9LPYuCvboILrTV4IS6h-Vi1BOsM1Y4KdzbYrkLB2By1sP_uK5G7tLwr4bDsgIX8PXzt4xaRwXRIBqy4W_z7wzUmB3RoOTP2pde_Rv2qXVjbUKy1TV7JgWBP15CjoiQaGcm4H8ioBpts5RTcycfoLlPCL0bVpUL/w280-h400/881b84f4-e66f-4221-a3d3-2e8b2148bbf2.webp" width="280" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This is a chapter editorially deleted from my book</div><div style="text-align: left;">as being outside the core scope of the subject, from:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>‘ON TRACK... HUMAN LEAGUE<br />& THE SHEFFIELD ELECTRO SCENE, </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>EVERY ALBUM, EVERY SONG’</b><br />(SonicBond Publishing, 2022)</div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-48065363211164354952022-09-24T14:28:00.001+01:002022-09-24T14:40:21.866+01:00Sci-Fi Horror Movie: 'DOOMSDAY'<p> </p><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwz7sTNjMWeFgeYvpamV6ht4QQe9osvxkyO1MWyDdPkVmz1dDUDNFrH03j1FTBUXRM1Uqftg9vvjq8Sz3zoSuHhEeSRyEsotX8DibLpjPSdY8soFBASIq3ti04EuXtlsC-Kz_8OY2jwivkLNgDaj0OYtcEJgXS7MXBoIKtJQl3phlE5uCpJ1UCkIfx/s574/20bfab10-3839-4e5d-8c5e-5d057f63e851.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="574" data-original-width="400" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwz7sTNjMWeFgeYvpamV6ht4QQe9osvxkyO1MWyDdPkVmz1dDUDNFrH03j1FTBUXRM1Uqftg9vvjq8Sz3zoSuHhEeSRyEsotX8DibLpjPSdY8soFBASIq3ti04EuXtlsC-Kz_8OY2jwivkLNgDaj0OYtcEJgXS7MXBoIKtJQl3phlE5uCpJ1UCkIfx/w279-h400/20bfab10-3839-4e5d-8c5e-5d057f63e851.webp" width="279" /></a></div><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">‘DOOMSDAY’:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">ANATOMY OF CATASTROPHE </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘DOOMSDAY’</span></b>
(2008), Universal Pictures </div><div style="text-align: center;">Produced by Benedict Carver & Steven Paul </div><div style="text-align: center;">Directed and written by Neil Marshall. </div><div style="text-align: center;">With Rhona Mitra, Bob Hoskins, Adrian Lester, </div><div><div style="text-align: center;">David O’Hara, Malcolm McDowell</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEcbnUrfH5QpLng9-EP1afFdgcKJEPC3wjO8cHHqGUtNgxSRYSvtBj6HQAg2d30-evjwVR6a4HRdTBDNUBB-TMoix-O_yKwvmL6wogUcfqB8Ad_3YBygHqSRWp_xL7CTzl4JqnoCe3nxoZ4ve19O0gtLFhuWUgcUwcAVAgeaZJIgP7tJZnTpMQLgnz/s658/Doomsday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="658" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEcbnUrfH5QpLng9-EP1afFdgcKJEPC3wjO8cHHqGUtNgxSRYSvtBj6HQAg2d30-evjwVR6a4HRdTBDNUBB-TMoix-O_yKwvmL6wogUcfqB8Ad_3YBygHqSRWp_xL7CTzl4JqnoCe3nxoZ4ve19O0gtLFhuWUgcUwcAVAgeaZJIgP7tJZnTpMQLgnz/w400-h225/Doomsday.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>It begins ‘like so many epidemics before…’ with cells dividing. ‘It doesn’t hate or even care, it just happens.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>In the future Glasgow of 3 April 2008. ‘The Scotland’ newspaper headlines blare ‘Mystery Virus Kills Hundreds In Days’. </div><div><br /></div><div>We’ve been here before. SF has inflicted exterminating plagues on humans since its very earliest manifestations. There’s a convincing argument that Mary Shelley invented the genre with her <b><i>‘Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus’ </i></b>(1818), she followed it with <b><i>‘The Last Man’</i></b> (1826) in which, first late-twenty-first century Europe, then the world is ravaged to near-extinction by a mysterious plague. Movies have dealt with contagions and epidemics more frequently than you’d imagine. <b><i>‘World War Z’</i></b> (2013) uses the zombie metaphor in which Jerusalem is quarantined within its walls, and yet is overrun. Just as the jaded aristocrats of Roger Corman’s Edgar Allan Poe-derived <b><i>‘The Masque Of The Red Death’ </i></b>(1964) cavort within the illusory safety of their stronghold amid a plague-stricken countryside. Then the mid-credits graphic sequence in <b><i>‘The Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes’</i></b> (2011) shows how the ‘Simian Flu’ pandemic travels and branches around the globe in a matter of hours. On an increasingly integrated planet with mass migrations happening on a daily basis this is less a probability simulation as it is a real-life projection. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is more real than you’d think. In living memory society has withstood the assault of HIV (Aids), Ebola, the SARS virus, Influenza A H1N1-2009, as well as the Corona virus Covid-19. In some ways, terrible as they have been, governments have managed them through persuasion, consensus and information rather than imposed repressions. There have been voluntary, rather that totalitarian Lockdowns, despite whatever the Conspiracy Theorists might claim. Although critically mauled as derivative and commercially underperforming at the box-office, <b><i>‘Doomsday’</i></b> effectively captures the madness and skin-crawling desperation of Britain collapsing into chaotic disorder as the horrifically grim ‘Reaper virus’ rips unchecked through the populace. </div><div><br /></div><div>The writer-director Neil Marshall had already made his big-screen directorial debut in a spectacular fashion with <b><i>‘Dog Soldiers’</i></b> (2002), a highly visceral nerve-scraping group-jeopardy movie in which a squad of soldiers led by Sergeant Harry G Wells (HG Wells!, played by Sean Pertwee) are under constant attack in the Scottish Highlands from a werewolf pack. Pertwee, with Emma Cleasby, Chris Robson, Craig Conway and Darren Morfitt will all transition into the <b><i>‘Doomsday’</i></b> cast. Another unorthodox horror venture – <b><i>‘The Descent’ </i></b>(2005) takes a group of six women into a cave system where they struggle to survive against troglodyte flesh-eating Crawlers. Craig Conway and MyAnna Buring (who is Sam) will be carried over into the next project, which is <b><i>‘Doomsday’</i></b>.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDETMaUiPV_9wHkvRmDJOYW5PxK62Wd_d1aERYWLPl-J75JVRZtaDLOkZ94EBoVf7ib9l91YtctwqRGdS1jlBIqRVBhdxsmqMGgrEjJjqxyUqf2JHGfcz9W34Xn_c33dLhIx4U70dK0XQZUB2qERYoYwomugBch_YN9YQGgM6iEF6I3OE_IR_bxuBG/s1225/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="1225" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDETMaUiPV_9wHkvRmDJOYW5PxK62Wd_d1aERYWLPl-J75JVRZtaDLOkZ94EBoVf7ib9l91YtctwqRGdS1jlBIqRVBhdxsmqMGgrEjJjqxyUqf2JHGfcz9W34Xn_c33dLhIx4U70dK0XQZUB2qERYoYwomugBch_YN9YQGgM6iEF6I3OE_IR_bxuBG/w400-h180/maxresdefault.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>The England-Scotland border is closed soon after the outbreak begins, 9:17pm 20 June. The national separation the SNP agitate for is achieved overnight, although hardly in a way Nicola Sturgeon would have wanted. The 1707 Act of Union is severed, with Scotland placed under quarantine. Trump’s Shining Wall is erected along the contours defined by Roman Emperor Hadrian two thousand years earlier, but this is a thirty-foot high armour-plated monolithic structure with lethal automated defences, stretching from sea to shining sea. During the film’s opening sequence, fleeing victims are machine-gunned, a soldier is mob-attacked in a retaliatory riot. A mother (Emma Cleasby) shields her wounded daughter (Christine Tomlinson) behind their abandoned car, then forces the child onto a military helicopter as it lifts off towards England, as the gates close – on someone’s hand!, and primal savagery consumes north of the wall. </div><div><br /></div><div>The second sequence leaps forward to London, 2035, which is NOW! </div><div><br /></div><div>The girl has become Eden Sinclair of the Department of Domestic Security, who uses the pop-out electronic-eye implant that is the legacy of her escape from Scotland, in a bloody shoot-out to bust a people-trafficking gang. But she also has the buff envelope her mother gave her, bearing her distant home address. She’s convincingly played by Rhona Mitra with all the female-centric resourcefulness shown by the cast of <b><i>‘The Descent’</i></b>. Rhona had already played support parts in movies such as <b><i>‘Hollow Man’ </i></b>(2000), a spin on ‘The Invisible Man’ theme in which she’s raped by an invisible Kevin Bacon. And she’s Rachel Talbot in <b><i>‘Skinwalkers’ </i></b>(2006), a widowed mother in the midst of a werewolf community. She easily and confidently assumes the action role of the team-leader with an electric eye, all of which naturally leads to her role in <b><i>‘Underworld: Rise Of The Lycans’ </i></b>(2009) as vampiric Sonja. Eden’s movie mentor is Bill Nelson (Bob Hoskins very much playing Bob Hoskins), who is summoned to a National Emergency briefing with a ‘bloody hell, George, what’s got your knickers in a twist?’</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyhLQfpd2Y0BqZseWxgv4qTetrs6G7LXrRwJfpDPZSJWYrgBh3gRGhEDPdr6RBOxfa7J5QawpMQHkKeAXwRPiBFJ86jKRk4eQ14KtFiLgwA86lGy4v5g_PYImLMMM_7lo6-nRe_vidDDQhdDanp6pZ0BIn7x3RIeu6Rxm-1PYwOOzOmqqQz5DkJ9vv/s2048/doomsdayhoskins.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1358" data-original-width="2048" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyhLQfpd2Y0BqZseWxgv4qTetrs6G7LXrRwJfpDPZSJWYrgBh3gRGhEDPdr6RBOxfa7J5QawpMQHkKeAXwRPiBFJ86jKRk4eQ14KtFiLgwA86lGy4v5g_PYImLMMM_7lo6-nRe_vidDDQhdDanp6pZ0BIn7x3RIeu6Rxm-1PYwOOzOmqqQz5DkJ9vv/w400-h265/doomsdayhoskins.webp" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>An isolated pariah state, England teeters on the brink of economic and social collapse, and when diseased derelicts are discovered in the Whitechapel ‘Urban Containment Facility’, vacillating Prime Minister John Hatcher (Alexander Siddig, ‘Dr Julian Bashir’ of ‘Star Trek: Deep Space Nine’) is forced to consider the contingency plan of diverting a Climate Change canal-system to flood inner London. The conniving manipulating Michael Canaris (David O’Hara) prompts him, ‘we are at war, Prime Minister.’ It’s similar terrain to Danny Boyle’s <b><i>‘28 Days Later’</i></b> (2002) in which the ‘Rage’ virus is unleashed when an infected chimpanzee is liberated from a Cambridge laboratory by Animal Rights activists. But even more resembling its sequel – <b><i>‘28 Weeks Later’</i></b> (2007) in which NATO forces set up an Isle of Dogs ‘Safe Zone’ with a defensive exclusion perimeter guarded by lethal force. But it’s not difficult to draw parallels with the found-footage movie <b><i>‘Quarantine’ </i></b>(2008), with mutated rabies – and its sequels, or <b><i>‘Contagion’</i></b> (2011) with its ‘Mev-1’ virus. All play on the jittery flesh-horror fear of infection. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hatcher is offered a lifeline when satellite pictures show people on the streets of Glasgow. If there are survivors, there must be a degree of immunity, and a possible cure? The Bob Hoskins character tasks Eden with heading a secret mission into Scotland, to seek out researcher Dr Marcus Kane (Malcolm McDowell), who was working to devise a cure before the north-south divide quarantine was imposed. ‘If it’s there, I’ll find it’ she says. She’s helicoptered to the security wall where two armoured cars are ready equipped for the trip, she’s told that ‘they move like shit off a shovel!’ The gates are unsealed, then soldered shut again once they’ve passed through into the desolation of wrecked cars beyond, with skeletal passengers. Glasgow is darkly overgrown, and St Andrew’s Hospital is littered with skulls.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Vj3AvVn6ha2rSNV5UPy_OK55kmxv-5VtSF2FVnAKyFL7z-8CCBQdN15alddKG5DC-Sa0hAnNC4uF6_ozqmRHEvOeCFhJy-T9oo1PBd1z3tkqnjEewoCJR9RGHsGBHPsc7HQaT9o_fIDEUNfJnvCWXMjv5z356kfBLzuTPcNJ2546eAc9AgKaMUpb/s1727/x1080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1727" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Vj3AvVn6ha2rSNV5UPy_OK55kmxv-5VtSF2FVnAKyFL7z-8CCBQdN15alddKG5DC-Sa0hAnNC4uF6_ozqmRHEvOeCFhJy-T9oo1PBd1z3tkqnjEewoCJR9RGHsGBHPsc7HQaT9o_fIDEUNfJnvCWXMjv5z356kfBLzuTPcNJ2546eAc9AgKaMUpb/w400-h250/x1080.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div></div><div>They emerge from the car wearing biohazard suits, and she uses her detachable eye to look inside, hunting ‘evidence of Kane’s work.’ Meanwhile an ailing girl is given sanctuary in the second armoured car, but as the car is attacked by a hail of Molotov cocktails the girl ‘recovers’ and slits the driver’s throat. And Eden’s team come under sustained attack from hordes of Scots barbarians – a cross between Punk Braveheart and Mad Max, answering with bursts of machinegun fire as they retreat. Escaping in the second car the girl driver is hit in the throat by a crossbow bolt and the car overturns. Under relentless attack Eden escapes on foot, but is surrounded. </div><div><br /></div><div>She’s tortured in a cell, suspended from the ceiling while brutally pummelled by the Punk-Mohican’d Sol (Craig Conway) and tormented by the tattooed Viper (Lee-Anne Liebenberg). A gimp is chained in the corner. A hideous array of torture devices are wheeled into the cell. He bites her face. ‘If Kane is alive, I need to find him’ she tells him by way of explanation. He has other plans, ‘you are our passport to the Promised Land’ he gloats, seeing her as an escape route into forbidden England. Dr Talbot (Sean Pertwee), the team’s medical scientist, has also been captured. Only Sergeant Norton (Adrian Lester) and Dr Stirling (Darren Morfitt) are still at liberty.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmrEKZHv8AyGOrSdXxEepucK7kipKyDRJ6Cali4HMiHImEH5TCPZ92gb-1q_QeHAh-4_Ng2oe6pMhSRmd7pZAEhHCPZ-alkFa3jBRWeb_gtc6EfqDRG1XdiwjxlEuDl0EMgUMbVFW2iUMf-XLQ6NXQTHqOsf_bgkfnYFK2QXA-23xLyI2eE7Qcnhf/s650/image-asset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="650" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmrEKZHv8AyGOrSdXxEepucK7kipKyDRJ6Cali4HMiHImEH5TCPZ92gb-1q_QeHAh-4_Ng2oe6pMhSRmd7pZAEhHCPZ-alkFa3jBRWeb_gtc6EfqDRG1XdiwjxlEuDl0EMgUMbVFW2iUMf-XLQ6NXQTHqOsf_bgkfnYFK2QXA-23xLyI2eE7Qcnhf/w400-h170/image-asset.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> </div><div>The movie centrepiece is the grotesque cannibalistic orgy, off-the-scale ultraviolence, a flame-thrower Rock show Disco spectacular, a pole-dancing motorcycle Hieronymus Bosch vision of hell. ‘The wind of change is blowing a hurricane’ Sol yells through the amp-system to a soundtrack of Adam & The Ants (“Dog Eat Dog”), Fine Young Cannibals (sic), and a grotesque tartan can-can Bad Manners. ‘This is OUR city’ he rabble-rouses as the unfortunate Dr Talbot is suspended over a vat labelled ‘RARE, MED, KRISPY’ and lowered into the sea of flames that Viper ignites as dishes are thrown out to the mob and Sol crown-surfs. Viper beheads Talbot’s crisped corpse and carves it into edible portions. </div><div><br /></div><div>While Eden contrives to escape, pausing at the next cell where a woman pleads that she is Kane’s daughter, ‘I can help you find him.’ Sol, it turns out, is also Kane’s insurgent son. Viper blocks their way out, Eden fights with a calculated desperation, and beheads her. Together the two fugitives head through the streets towards the rail-station, while Sol leads a Mad Max techno-savagery pursuit, riding motorcycles with skeletons strapped to the front, and a coach graffitied ‘Out Of Fucking Service’. Norton and Stirling have a steam-locomotive readied on Platform Four where it says ‘Welcome To Glasgow. </div><div><br /></div><div>The next sequence takes the fugitive group out across wild Scottish countryside, leaving the train and walking strung-out beneath broken powerlines. They reach, and pass through the ‘Ben Crannich Archive’, which is a subterranean Fall-Out shelter stronghold, and out the other side into an idyllic glen, only to be confronted by the bizarre visitation of a medieval knight on horseback. This is Kane’s executioner. Eden demands ‘we want to see Kane,’ and allows the party to be rounded up and taken cross-country roped behind horses, past a row of impaled corpses to an ancient castle – once a tourist attraction complete with ‘Gift Shop’, now the seat of Kane’s own private fiefdom, ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ Kane is the brooding Malcolm McDowell at his most malignant, the beautifully insolent ‘Michael Travis’ of <b><i>‘If’</i></b> (1968), and the evil Droog antihero of Stanley Kubrick’s <b><i>‘A Clockwork Orange’</i></b> (1971). When he returned as the more adult ‘Tolian Soran’ in <b><i>‘Star Trek Generations’</i></b> (1994) he carries over the same charismatic malevolence that he invests in the Kane character. He tells them ‘there is no cure. There never was.’ That the survivors prevailed not through science, but by natural selection. ‘In the land of the infected, the immune is king.’ And he has no sympathy for what is happening south of the wall, ‘they started this fire. They can burn in it!’ </div><div><br /></div><div>‘Same shit. Different era’ Eden tells Kane defiantly, as they are imprisoned.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ43XvWdQUL9kLZ9nSH5gEa-SY7J0HYPz0jVjjlx0LCWzHOvA46EJQOkexCWN3a37Ly182RKxhuDO0TlOA32KiDVn5qdqXf8PVaHjcy7AZtH9Kgl7VtyXXB9A2-CCOlgHxoJwNPZBKz1Zw3U13cy8JNe3fgGrqe2gmsnU35isLruSZGpjt0c0--eue/s276/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="182" data-original-width="276" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ43XvWdQUL9kLZ9nSH5gEa-SY7J0HYPz0jVjjlx0LCWzHOvA46EJQOkexCWN3a37Ly182RKxhuDO0TlOA32KiDVn5qdqXf8PVaHjcy7AZtH9Kgl7VtyXXB9A2-CCOlgHxoJwNPZBKz1Zw3U13cy8JNe3fgGrqe2gmsnU35isLruSZGpjt0c0--eue/w400-h264/download.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>A flashback to London shows the worsening ‘Hot Zone’ crisis, as barbarism breaks out live from Dean Street, and Tower Bridge is barricaded. When an infected victim breaks into the Prime Minister’s compound, Hoskins shoots him, but Siddig’s PM John Hatcher, spattered by tainted blood, retires to his office and shoots himself in the head before the symptoms have time to erupt. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, Eden is released into an arena combat zone against the knight. As, drowned by the sound of cheering jeering crowds, the others escape. After prolonged uneven combat she seizes an axe from a guard and kills the knight by bloodily stoving his head in. They reach the horses and make good their escape as a disconsolate Shakespearian McDowell watches from the battlements. Heading back through the archive Eden finds a radio to alert London, and they also – testing the limits of credulity, locate a fully-functional Bentley Continental GT sealed into a packing case. But Norton (Adrian Lester) is peppered with arrows by Kane’s vengeful pursuers as he fights a rear-guard action. </div><div><br /></div><div>In London, Hoskins picks up her mobile call. ‘Trace the source’ says Michael Canaris, assuming the powers of the conveniently deceased Prime Minister. </div><div><br /></div><div>Again, there are Mad Max overtones as the Bentley is pursued by the full Glasgow wrecking crew in a Police Car labelled ‘Bastard’ and Venom’s severed head impaled beside Sol, all choreographed to Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s “Two Tribes (Carnage Mix)”. There are hair-raising chase sequences, and ferocious eye-gauging combat as Sol leaps into the high-speed fleeing car. The gimp crashes and burns. Sol is killed as they smash through the coach… and the rescue helicopter touches down to retrieve them.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrj_DZc325qO3T7o3hoTh2Lh_Kq-Tqy3ZDdqjmdJ1kEd9GnmHAUo5ig36_61a1TgCk0pBFNFgGo_5hy7J-_maOebrErueJkVPkeBc9PQOjHJOaDeGCXW_Is5iSFiYMXM4ONK5kwT9cQUPGuOverogKvDVkV4hi1i1D_jw0fhAW-f8XZ7IbmFh9S5d/s640/doomsday-final-chase.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrj_DZc325qO3T7o3hoTh2Lh_Kq-Tqy3ZDdqjmdJ1kEd9GnmHAUo5ig36_61a1TgCk0pBFNFgGo_5hy7J-_maOebrErueJkVPkeBc9PQOjHJOaDeGCXW_Is5iSFiYMXM4ONK5kwT9cQUPGuOverogKvDVkV4hi1i1D_jw0fhAW-f8XZ7IbmFh9S5d/w400-h266/doomsday-final-chase.webp" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>There is no cure to the ‘Reaper virus’, but Michael Canaris indicates Cally, Kane’s fugitive daughter, and says ‘we can use her blood to make a vaccine,’ with all manner of implications of unpleasant medical procedures. Eden opts to stay in Scotland, and accelerates the Bentley back to use the address on the buff envelope to locate her family home, and photos of her mother. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hoskins is there too, ‘I used to be a policeman, once.’ She gives him a disc of evidence to incriminate Canaris, recorded from her pop-out electronic-eye implant during their meeting. Later, the disc is shown being screened on TV, presumably destroying his fascistic leadership. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘Drive careful. Be lucky’ Hoskins tells Eden as he leaves her in Glasgow. </div><div><br /></div><div>The movie closes as she confronts the mob, and provocatively tosses Sol’s head at them. ‘If you’re hungry, try a piece of your friend.’ In the combative struggle, this is her gambit as their next leader </div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, it’s a flawed and derivative movie, but its’ insane ride does exert a grotesque fascination that captures something of the madness and skin-crawling panic of civilisation collapsing into chaotic disorder as lethal virus rips unchecked through the populace. And yes, we wore our Covid-masks and observed social distancing, and yes, people died and we feel their loss, but it could be said that – as a global society, we’ve been fortunate… so far! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht1R_WP_JL3toPo92U8tio3BtrmXETHSh-G1h6gVotUdoMQYs3aELGp5570QxcSJ7uHK8OAOaIW0ns8_UBvJ64xpNJsudjROPVvOdFghpsn42BW_QgTeSXcLFt9lgESHlG9mfsKESx_ma4ddGpGvTGaw329aUgAgFEC4afSraBKQJ75x4Ka0QvfITa/s650/static1.squarespace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="650" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht1R_WP_JL3toPo92U8tio3BtrmXETHSh-G1h6gVotUdoMQYs3aELGp5570QxcSJ7uHK8OAOaIW0ns8_UBvJ64xpNJsudjROPVvOdFghpsn42BW_QgTeSXcLFt9lgESHlG9mfsKESx_ma4ddGpGvTGaw329aUgAgFEC4afSraBKQJ75x4Ka0QvfITa/w400-h293/static1.squarespace.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><u>SURVIVE THIS! </u></span></b></div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘DOOMSDAY’</span></b> (2008), Universal Pictures through Rogue Pictures, Crystal Sky Pictures, Intrepid Pictures, Scion Films. Produced by Benedict Carver & Steven Paul. Directed and written by Neil Marshall. With Rhona Mitra (as Eden Sinclair), Bob Hoskins (as Bill Nelson), David O’Hara (as Michael Canaris), Malcolm McDowell (as Marcus Kane), Alexander Siddig (as PM John Hatcher), Adrian Lester (as Sergeant Norton), Craig Conway (as Sol), Lee-Anne Liebenberg (as Viper), Chris Robson (as Miller, part of Eden’s team), Leslie Simpson (as ‘Les Simpson’, Carpenter, part of Eden’s team), Sean Pertwee (Dr Talbot, the team’s medical scientist), Darren Morfitt (as Dr Stirling, the team’s medical scientist), MyAnna Buring (as Cally, Kane’s daughter), Emma Cleasby (Eden’s mother in the opening sequence), Christine Tomlinson (young Eden in the opening sequence).
108-minutes. </div><div>Universal DVD 825-403-2-11, with bonus features ‘Anatomy Of Catastrophe: Civilization On The Brink’ (127:24), ‘The Visual Effects & Wizardry Of Doomsday’ (8:26), ‘Devices Of Death: Guns, Gargets & Vehicle’s Of Destruction’ (20:24), Feature commentaries with Neil Marshall, Sean Pertwee, Darren Morfitt, Rick Warden (who plays Chandler), and Les Simpson.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieSPEzm-CMrsJjiUjFmxDbFP_Y1tXIp9egHt4wEy0Dx2G1qgf7y04nWN0ZH6Hwm66soVieyo_AKI4CmR2_uYQD6xMLuAEsUTHq0HpaUDeM-IRsT-UKXAiolQDX_zwMtHNgS3zS2cDFJ43tKPtc0UFBeyenuWdw646cIaUI6bzAEJhaBF3rpo0jcm_t/s1440/p177176_p_v8_af.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieSPEzm-CMrsJjiUjFmxDbFP_Y1tXIp9egHt4wEy0Dx2G1qgf7y04nWN0ZH6Hwm66soVieyo_AKI4CmR2_uYQD6xMLuAEsUTHq0HpaUDeM-IRsT-UKXAiolQDX_zwMtHNgS3zS2cDFJ43tKPtc0UFBeyenuWdw646cIaUI6bzAEJhaBF3rpo0jcm_t/w266-h400/p177176_p_v8_af.jpg" width="266" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-49268003369497538132022-08-31T18:55:00.000+01:002022-08-31T18:55:26.440+01:00<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBo0k2xz6_5845r7Rv2gGz4TBpivITIZ0yh5wv0sr-_TTGj6A7zgBYKghwLEqcsxmc5jYqPPamjuPEbkBid-rqZrGEZEoFc5AYBWmh0-1yYizBsnlyYdA0gFJb1U9jUsdDeAP0q8LZFV1aPSIKsMQFcnWe1jNUlF5yIBIYX8nZmXEuYDFgh3T31f5s/s646/moon-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="646" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBo0k2xz6_5845r7Rv2gGz4TBpivITIZ0yh5wv0sr-_TTGj6A7zgBYKghwLEqcsxmc5jYqPPamjuPEbkBid-rqZrGEZEoFc5AYBWmh0-1yYizBsnlyYdA0gFJb1U9jUsdDeAP0q8LZFV1aPSIKsMQFcnWe1jNUlF5yIBIYX8nZmXEuYDFgh3T31f5s/w400-h300/moon-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">‘THE ACCEPTED CONVENTIONS </span></b></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> OF SPACE, TIME & REALITY’ </span></b></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>(with thanks to Ian Lee) </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>the scatter-winds of February </div><div>redistribute last week’s garbage </div><div>from there to here in a cascade </div><div>of a hundred yesterdays, until </div><div>I no longer know if JF Kennedy, Buddy Holly </div><div>and Monica Lewinsky are history or myth, </div><div>there are reality shows where Thai girls endure </div><div> cosmetic surgery to become Shakira, or Barbi dolls, </div><div>there are political theorists to explain how Watergate </div><div>was perpetrated by Dustin Hoffman and Robert Redford, </div><div>ethical issues have become a Freeview gameshow with </div><div>trick questions to catch out the unwary, such as whether </div><div>HG Wells made the first moon landing or if it was a CBS </div><div>telecast, contestants get a five second countdown to decide, </div><div>Martin Amis puts characters called Martin Amis </div><div>in his novels, but swears they’re not him, </div><div>I no longer know if Jupiter is really the size we </div><div>see it in data from the James Webb Space Telescope </div><div>or if fortune is simply a poem by another name</div><div> <div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Featured online at: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>‘IT: INTERNATIONAL TIMES’ </b>(12 March 2022) </span></div><div><a href="https://internationaltimes.it/the-accepted-conventions-of-space-time-reality/"><span style="font-size: x-small;">https://internationaltimes.it/the-accepted-conventions-of-space-time-reality/
</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNhTfxsZhdpzN9XwHrlre84sbeHgwjVuNgPhvbZe9zMJ_lhUGI8DLlbJhcsL_deCisetbFC-1iIsMy9lx-9og-8aCv0mhz8qDTR5F8m-3WTT_rbQh_fxmeuTKRrEheUa2hHfRu8-ukJTjTlJXymJST3rd_ZJeHX-7q73nIrEoTLzpvAAf5Ylqo945P/s940/IT-header15-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="116" data-original-width="940" height="49" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNhTfxsZhdpzN9XwHrlre84sbeHgwjVuNgPhvbZe9zMJ_lhUGI8DLlbJhcsL_deCisetbFC-1iIsMy9lx-9og-8aCv0mhz8qDTR5F8m-3WTT_rbQh_fxmeuTKRrEheUa2hHfRu8-ukJTjTlJXymJST3rd_ZJeHX-7q73nIrEoTLzpvAAf5Ylqo945P/w400-h49/IT-header15-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-92126349054798238572022-08-28T18:37:00.000+01:002022-08-28T18:37:13.058+01:00Gene Clark: Two Albums<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWuFf1cPKabJLJsZ8VAS13AjQvO4GZ2V4X87F2JSeY2BMWW2LVw--iSQ4cnhsMN9D4Rq5S_4tFSwuHxfjSv0bqoayOYddNsxoc0RLW7rR1gvzbb_J73UF3VgcRIxmWyLRs4je1UNRN-Pyd48Fs6z8CkrcixlKnFczjCN1NOg8O3ncIvrKomJAFIAMv/s2000/GeneClark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="2000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWuFf1cPKabJLJsZ8VAS13AjQvO4GZ2V4X87F2JSeY2BMWW2LVw--iSQ4cnhsMN9D4Rq5S_4tFSwuHxfjSv0bqoayOYddNsxoc0RLW7rR1gvzbb_J73UF3VgcRIxmWyLRs4je1UNRN-Pyd48Fs6z8CkrcixlKnFczjCN1NOg8O3ncIvrKomJAFIAMv/w400-h266/GeneClark.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">‘FIERY RAIN AND RUBIES, </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">COOLING SUN…’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Album Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘NO OTHER (DELUXE EDITION)’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"> by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">GENE CLARK </span></b></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">(4AD 0070 CDX) <a href="http://www.4ad.com">www.4ad.com</a> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Those perceptive enough to catch the exquisite <b><i>‘The Byrd Who Flew Alone’</i></b> on BBC-4 TV, will know the complex story and provenance of this mythically flawed great lost album. First released in Spring 1974, and already remastered in an Expanded 2003 Asylum reissue, this beautiful 2CD package adds a further two tracks – session-outtakes of “The True One” and a contrasting take on the majestic rococo “Strength Of Strings”, with a learned new Johnny Rogan essay, a studio photo gallery and John Einarson musician notes to create the definitive edition. Despite star sidemen Russ Kunkel (of The Section) and Joe Lala (of Blues Image) on drums, Jesse Ed Davis and Danny Kortchmar on guitars, and the Ventures Jerry McGhee on “Lady Of The North” (written with Doug Dillard), it’s never less than Gene Clark’s album. Here, he’s perfectly at ease working with seasoned technically-slick LA musicians who are exactly attuned and in sympathy with Gene’s aspirations. And it’s a mature work, no more striving through the tyro Byrds Dylan-Beatlesist prism, but with a deeper appeal not always quite so immediate, yielding more to repeated plays. And oh, to have been at those sessions and seen those tracks evolving from songwriter demos through their production stages, through the relegated studio-takes into the final full album. At least we now have some aural glimpses. To misquote Gene himself, ‘our ears are hearing twice.’</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNk9FmcHsJ3nkwYThOgvqkbpdChOV1UkOanRbTokpzlfGHmq1Dbsd2bQ7k5QWwTrFWhwH4HtYw3mMxY8JwycKboHUQFu4bYf6DH6vctsgTjLzsNvI3qh38nfgAycPx4X7xgJwOGmzu8Qz0xY5omjQCCQW9010lMIvC6LbP9g-73FuBJfgERA8YyWf0/s1617/lpad0070.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1617" data-original-width="1613" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNk9FmcHsJ3nkwYThOgvqkbpdChOV1UkOanRbTokpzlfGHmq1Dbsd2bQ7k5QWwTrFWhwH4HtYw3mMxY8JwycKboHUQFu4bYf6DH6vctsgTjLzsNvI3qh38nfgAycPx4X7xgJwOGmzu8Qz0xY5omjQCCQW9010lMIvC6LbP9g-73FuBJfgERA8YyWf0/w399-h400/lpad0070.jpg" width="399" /></a></div><br /></div><div>The opening track “Life Greatest Fool” was issued as the album’s second single in March 1975, with Michael Utley’s keyboard taking a classic Floyd Cramer piano-styling, while Ben Keith’s uncredited dobro adds curling steel guitar to its country-loser weariness. Just the correct side of the Maudlin County Line, the Gospel back-up voices are missing from the 30 April alternate take, leaving the catchy jog-along rhythm more starkly contrasting around its ‘stoned numb and drifting’ lyric. Soaring into the rising acoustic swell of the sharply visionary “Silver Raven”, ‘have you seen the old world dying, which was once what new world’s seem.’ At 4:54-minutes, the outtake rips it apart only to reassemble it into an extended 6:35-minutes of a more murky electric gravity that Sid Griffin’s song-notes term ‘Dr John funk’. Gene’s voice slurs ‘the changing windows’ line and lifts into near falsetto as the raven’s wings ‘they barely gleam’ and the ‘sea begins to cry.’ The long fade resolves into a choppy soul stew. Sly Stone is said to have dropped in on the sessions. If so, his influence ghost-permeates the groove. Just as Gene was said to be in awe of Stevie Wonder’s densely-textured <b><i>‘Innervisions’ </i></b>(August 1973), he works and reworks material with perfectionist producer Thomas Jefferson Kaye, beyond what would otherwise be considered entirely acceptable, towards higher and yet-higher planes of expression, with scant regard for budgetary restrictions. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1q3I4K73znQDDddzz-xWbClDdz3EUmhCjB401i1Y9i-jgIoZOQaWRFzAwzms5VCLACUBlqnQGU3tmyrotlg2gieBrEUolSiEgAuGAT-LJzSDRhpe80PyAWcf0X6LaB_kp-fCwzhcnck2MBiQ9xhpCmz2ZMMU4xiTWjLFtcm35bouL7DUx748dyw6c/s1024/geneclark_b-1024x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1q3I4K73znQDDddzz-xWbClDdz3EUmhCjB401i1Y9i-jgIoZOQaWRFzAwzms5VCLACUBlqnQGU3tmyrotlg2gieBrEUolSiEgAuGAT-LJzSDRhpe80PyAWcf0X6LaB_kp-fCwzhcnck2MBiQ9xhpCmz2ZMMU4xiTWjLFtcm35bouL7DUx748dyw6c/w400-h400/geneclark_b-1024x1024.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The title-track, spun-off as the album’s first single in January 1975, opens with lightly-deployed sprinkles of percussion and guitar, building with supporting back-up harmonies. It seems to be a lyrical argument against the ‘Lord is love’ – in favour of the more humanist ‘all alone we must be part of one another,’ with only ‘the pilot of the mind’ to determine our true course. Although Gene provides a more convoluted explanation, involving untraceable signals from an alien outer-space intruder. There are electric keyboard shimmers leading into the 8 April outtake, with scat vocals seemingly improvised over the lengthy shuffling rhythm interplay play-out, and a false close that rebuilds effectively. Then another stand-out track, “Strength Of Strings” with glistening ascending sweeps that ‘roll on winds, with swirling wings.’ A pause. A resumption, transcendental in its soaring eulogy to the soul-soothing power of music, rephrasing what Albert Ayler had already termed ‘the healing force of the universe.’ The heavier, slightly less ethereal 15 May outtake, with acoustic guitar break, remains as breathtakingly moving. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaf2DksdOSNofJxMPEz6y_QbbuF1SDH0TnIwKPFSYffI6T3MPVHlGekKnot-Gxb9KfEPcsy-nzkzIp83xfRHEkZrBkSANDDf2u0XjXExY04ourKtsUSSpiW3RN4X-FSM7tr11-dy863utKyxBKC0TxknakbpKray3ewu2XgGx8c7oA7FSu1L5eByPj/s1280/20191109_BKP506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaf2DksdOSNofJxMPEz6y_QbbuF1SDH0TnIwKPFSYffI6T3MPVHlGekKnot-Gxb9KfEPcsy-nzkzIp83xfRHEkZrBkSANDDf2u0XjXExY04ourKtsUSSpiW3RN4X-FSM7tr11-dy863utKyxBKC0TxknakbpKray3ewu2XgGx8c7oA7FSu1L5eByPj/w400-h225/20191109_BKP506.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Chris Hillman’s mandolin features on “From A Silver Phial”, following a surging piano play-in, with striding stirring guitar solos, and Gene’s most elaborate metaphorical imagery since “Echoes”, in sense, and evocative abstract non-sense poetry, each alliterative mystical syllable speaks in an impressionistic sonic sorcery of ‘the sword of sorrow sunken in the sands of searching souls.’ Its literal meaning is anyone’s guess. The 25 April alternate take is more acoustic, with the emotive vocal mixed even more clearly to the fore. At eight-minutes, “Some Misunderstanding” has the weary acoustic yearning of Dylan’s “I Shall Be Released”, from its strummed country opening to the aching guitar solo and end-sequence. Gene’s broken voice struggles to articulate how ‘we all have soul’ but ‘nobody knows just how much it takes… to’ with a three-syllable ‘fly-yi-yi’. ‘We all need a fix, at a time like this, but doesn’t it feel good to stay alive’ delivered with eerie intensity.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Zu6IH5xh0ir58-cgPgJPw83JyKAKxynwpLvcDPaqoPNoiHGR1x0UnXot1jiRodEwOn4GKatcWWv9T5SHg8TN5v_z05xGUW-DvJwdK0T7I3CsAsiNOeanK9juv06gIWMZVO2GRNLF6WHPoEA3gVzgT2vOHfzf1F4i-H_UhvqxI5B7I_CadmmgseaJ/s999/Disc%20copy002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="999" data-original-width="999" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Zu6IH5xh0ir58-cgPgJPw83JyKAKxynwpLvcDPaqoPNoiHGR1x0UnXot1jiRodEwOn4GKatcWWv9T5SHg8TN5v_z05xGUW-DvJwdK0T7I3CsAsiNOeanK9juv06gIWMZVO2GRNLF6WHPoEA3gVzgT2vOHfzf1F4i-H_UhvqxI5B7I_CadmmgseaJ/w400-h400/Disc%20copy002.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>For the direct melodic country pacing of “The True One” he assumes the older and wiser role, ‘in the end, the loser is the one who does deceive.’ The simple truths are the ones that matter. As far as regrets are concerned there’s a teasing reference, maybe, to that first Byrds album for which his writer credits resulted in his higher royalty revenue, ‘I used to treat my friends like I was more than a millionaire, spendin’ those big ones like I could afford them.’ A thoughtful David Crosby later recalls how the group were ‘five different people, five very different people’, and how Gene’s sudden affluence provoked an early rift. That the wonder was not that the Byrds broke up when they did, but that they endured for so long. The eighth track, “Lady Of The North” full-circles the album into the redemptive powers of love, its gentle interplay repeating the motif of flight, haunted by the bitter-sweet memory of loss and passing time. Richard Greene’s bluegrass violin saws in around Gene’s baritone intensity. Written for wife Carlie, he selects strong natural organic touchstone key-words ‘seasons’, ‘wind’, ‘mountain’ and ‘ocean’ rooting the imagery firmly in the real. Yet dissolving into an album-closing strangeness of strings.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4s29fa7zF45NdBnRvy19pfyHVFKd0uKzKeiGw3k7Fu1_SOcq3hZ7-dNCgNTsN6Xypq16cMsSsUs5FbtVx7jrrPKuwo0ig6aIoMof9RVK8HCN606VVUVUPdo3D_cBsku2FsP22zSVv2ekcuPWy9AHJkJdfYbUjz7nJVO_V234LSVZxa54dzMWKe4o/s1488/d657bdcf5d246e0e7d1ed594be6dc128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1488" data-original-width="998" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4s29fa7zF45NdBnRvy19pfyHVFKd0uKzKeiGw3k7Fu1_SOcq3hZ7-dNCgNTsN6Xypq16cMsSsUs5FbtVx7jrrPKuwo0ig6aIoMof9RVK8HCN606VVUVUPdo3D_cBsku2FsP22zSVv2ekcuPWy9AHJkJdfYbUjz7nJVO_V234LSVZxa54dzMWKe4o/w269-h400/d657bdcf5d246e0e7d1ed594be6dc128.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><br /></div><div>There’s a bonus slower “Train Leaves Here This Morning”, its strong melody narrating the great American locomotive symbol for movement and new tomorrows beyond open horizons. Already done with light banjo-driven mandolin on Gene’s <b><i>‘The Fantastic Expedition Of Dillard And Clark’ </i></b>(October 1968), and later by its co-writer, Bernie Leadon, taken sweeter and blander for the Eagles megabuck cooing harmonies (on debut LP <b><i>‘Eagles’</i></b>, June 1972). Recorded 29 April, early in the sessions but omitted from the album, this is a gritty stronger interpretation that plays in with moody electric keyboards. If it was intended as a throw-away studio warm-up piece, it shows the level of musicianship operating. And oh, to have been at those sessions. </div><div><br /></div><div>After uneven periods of substance abuse and uncertainty, this was to be the definitive statement. Restlessly imaginative, songs of hurt, losing and deception, mixed in with the metaphors for flight, it is a stately atmospheric album that hangs melody like paintings in sumptuously rich arrangements. Yet it was commercially doomed by the original Mr Tambourine Man’s tragically self-destructive nature, by its eight-track running time, and by Gene’s refusal to play David Geffen’s promotion games. ‘They say there’s a price you pay for going out too far’ he sings on “The True One”. This is the evidence. If through the course of his career Gene had, and blew so many opportunities through his ornery contrariness, this was his best shot. Yet it was left to subsequent generations of musicians, critics and fans to rediscover and rightly acclaim <b><i>‘No Other’</i></b>. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Published in: </div><div><b>‘RNR Vol.2 Issue.80 March-April’ </b></div><div>(UK – March 2020)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_2qjP358euT-DgMsbdrsRENfLKN3m3wsKn5f9JMUjD0PRHzz6XZF9YpFWAWKhHz0lfcDt_k6LUSOI2kGPEy3V4-rzITNLKbAMz3lSXVS5fJlSvXZxCyeQm5HivaZKKV1zMRKBZB20nrC_Y_SG1YVCZZreMGVppGIwQ2cKUTLZ6Z6k2bEa5JHJxYc/s640/ab67616d0000b2737c72c5c916eecb99eb1dc27d.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_2qjP358euT-DgMsbdrsRENfLKN3m3wsKn5f9JMUjD0PRHzz6XZF9YpFWAWKhHz0lfcDt_k6LUSOI2kGPEy3V4-rzITNLKbAMz3lSXVS5fJlSvXZxCyeQm5HivaZKKV1zMRKBZB20nrC_Y_SG1YVCZZreMGVppGIwQ2cKUTLZ6Z6k2bEa5JHJxYc/w400-h400/ab67616d0000b2737c72c5c916eecb99eb1dc27d.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Album Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘GENE CLARK WITH THE GOSDIN BROTHERS’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">GENE CLARK WITH THE GOSDIN BROTHERS </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Floating World) <a href="www.floatingworldrecords.co.uk ">www.floatingworldrecords.co.uk </a></div><div><br /></div><div>The first Byrds songwriter was not Roger McGuinn, and certainly not David Crosby. Check out the credits on those first three albums and it was Gene Clark’s name attached to “Eight Miles High”, “Feel A Whole Lot Better” and “Set You Free This Time”. He was also the first Byrd to quit, ‘me and my friends got on a plane, one of my friends got off again’ as Croz tells the tale. Gene’s debut solo set from February 1967 has been variously reissued in different forms and mixes ever since, the 1991 Columbia Legacy edition boasting a full twenty tracks, and retitled after the exquisite “Echoes” scored with dancing Leon Russell strings, quite unlike anything else he ever recorded, and worth the price of admission alone. Now returned to its original moody sleeve-photo the album then backtracks to the Beatles-harmonies of “Is Yours Is Mine”, retaining Michael Clarke (drums) and Chris Hillman (bass), before lurching off with Vern and Rex Gosdin onto rusty country trails that the Byrds themselves would eventually follow. There’s a diverse spread of directions across the fourteen tracks, with Doug Dillard’s electric banjo (on “Keep On Pushin’”) and Clarence White’s B-Bender bluegrass guitar. Gene Clark was stubbornly uncompromising, ignoring chart hits and commerce in favour of chasing his own vision. But that vision still shines. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Published in: </div><div><b>‘R’N’R: ROCK ‘N’ REEL’ </b></div><div><b> Vol.2 Issue 76 July-August </b></div><div>(UK – July 2019)</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTuAdigknQef8IynP-W9TWqueHCtUeZzMZF9rp4AeRDo00VPgFglSxKG6Bc4cU5mBscj0BZJp7TXvZu7J-xorJqthF3vX7hl9lOlHeg0k9nmK-Zl_Ek2tgEQPNWZe1mntZ_r9-mIO_Dbzsk07vZ1Y8kRPBzIEvjRwoAhZN8jBMWp-dLQvosl0MHtPO/s650/article-15404-hero.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="430" data-original-width="650" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTuAdigknQef8IynP-W9TWqueHCtUeZzMZF9rp4AeRDo00VPgFglSxKG6Bc4cU5mBscj0BZJp7TXvZu7J-xorJqthF3vX7hl9lOlHeg0k9nmK-Zl_Ek2tgEQPNWZe1mntZ_r9-mIO_Dbzsk07vZ1Y8kRPBzIEvjRwoAhZN8jBMWp-dLQvosl0MHtPO/w400-h265/article-15404-hero.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-51498452032129235982022-08-27T17:07:00.000+01:002022-08-27T17:07:32.088+01:00Gene Clark Live In Wakefield<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglPac5sYKeQz6hfAF3fQIqs_ffHB9nD2YRH_rvleda7MJ3FLSubpl9QglsmJ0jdVIylY6xYl_6PKW1KuL-3cuEVk2wck1ZDOqo-A309i-XRO-r4DBcSsaAEbftOy5ijvMqTUiK4A6sYdG1pupzm4M5IomN9BrJhybmknrzcrVIbbWO9ewB06OQu_dn/s3359/Byrds-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2460" data-original-width="3359" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglPac5sYKeQz6hfAF3fQIqs_ffHB9nD2YRH_rvleda7MJ3FLSubpl9QglsmJ0jdVIylY6xYl_6PKW1KuL-3cuEVk2wck1ZDOqo-A309i-XRO-r4DBcSsaAEbftOy5ijvMqTUiK4A6sYdG1pupzm4M5IomN9BrJhybmknrzcrVIbbWO9ewB06OQu_dn/w400-h293/Byrds-6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">GENE CLARK: </span></b></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">EIGHT MILES HIGHER </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>GENE CLARK</b>, founder member and main songwriter of the original </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>BYRDS</b>, toured Britain for the last time in 1985, during which this </div><div style="text-align: center;">interview was taped. He died 24th May 1991, after his return to the States. </div><div style="text-align: center;">This – then, is possibly the text of the last British interview he ever gave... </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It’s the trend-blending factor, the mix ‘n’ match motif. With contemporary musics reducing down to one conceptual digital sampler synthesising and liquidising all our Back Pages, it’s <i>inevitable</i> that consumers are going to sniff out something <i>ROOTSIER</i>, something more <i>REAL</i>. So they’re already digging out lost examples of the successful and now highly collectable re-issue labels like Ace and Kent (delivering Soul), Charly and BGO (Blues and 1960s Beat Groups), Blue Note (Jazz) – and Edsel (psychedelia and beyond). Because the incandescence of their collective roster illuminates today’s shadows the way that only first statements can. And let’s leave TV-advertised compilations out of this, OK? </div><div><br /></div><div>Gene Clark made more first statements than most, and it was only fitting that Edsel should have block re-released four of his albums in a shiny promotional mid-1980s package to meet a groundswell of interest in – and increased demand for his work. A set that seems even more essential today, now that Gene is no longer around. On the early Byrds album sleeves, in promo stills and on ‘Ready Steady Go’ he’s there – basin-cut hair, sharp angular profile, gaunt haunted eyes. A founder member of the band whose rarified stratospheric harmonies and janglipop guitars opened the Dayglo floodgates to all things West Coast esoteric and ultra-Hip.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwR46_x5nnFtVJ5w3tVdiz7Fu7OidmQ1VCkm0Iv8R2bGBcEfjUrnNmUA9l5EtXuea6hyUUW-BPZMbTzEytE3Uw-WIb5qvnJ3YfWijIslI8izPYQcU1iT9_fI9lfWnEt1iXHF25luFh_eO7Z7kaHqipI0JVB_mIxy57Dos-fHg_EgGl97-B6T8kURTi/s3467/Byrds-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2514" data-original-width="3467" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwR46_x5nnFtVJ5w3tVdiz7Fu7OidmQ1VCkm0Iv8R2bGBcEfjUrnNmUA9l5EtXuea6hyUUW-BPZMbTzEytE3Uw-WIb5qvnJ3YfWijIslI8izPYQcU1iT9_fI9lfWnEt1iXHF25luFh_eO7Z7kaHqipI0JVB_mIxy57Dos-fHg_EgGl97-B6T8kURTi/w400-h290/Byrds-7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>Gene Clark died in 1991. And I well remember the last time I saw him alive. He was playing a supernaturally inspiring gig in the prosperously plush Working Man’s Club atmosphere of the ‘Pussycat’ in Wakefield, Yorkshire. Oddly slotted in as a support spot on a Lindisfarne tour. Backstage the unforgiving white light betrays the odd character-lines, the visible reminders of a quarter-century on the road, but he’s fleshed-out healthy and in good shape. And he’s in a speed-jive motor-mouthing mood, derailing one topic into another, anecdotes to drool over, name-dropping Bob (Dylan), Rick (Danko), Roger (McGuinn), leaving me to pick up the connections like they’re too obvious too explain. Telling me how he got to write the quintessential “Eight Miles High” (a song later revived by as diverse names as Roxy Music and Husker Du). He begins ‘it was me and Brian Jones sitting in a Hotel room on the road when we were touring with the Stones...’ </div><div><br /></div><div>And how come, with Roger McGuinn always the accredited leader of the Byrds, Gene got to write the majority of the original material on the first two Byrds albums? Classics like “Feel A Whole Lot Better” (revamped on single by the Flamin’ Groovies, and then again by Tom Petty) and “Set You Free This Time”. He ducks the opportunity to re-write history by McGuinn-sniping, and explains ‘there’s always been streaks that I have in my life where I’ll write a whole bunch of stuff within – like, two weeks. Waking up in the middle of the night just scribbling stuff down, grabbing my guitar, putting it on tape. Then I might not write anything for ages...’ He’s adept at deflecting compliments too, when I tell him the Byrds are acknowledged as one of the first names to ‘intellectualise’ Rock he dismisses it with ‘a lot of that had to do with Dylan too y’know, and John Lennon...’ A likeable guy.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSH_1P3I8sgUgZL5SbL_lnVdFDTkWTwIsA9WQcVieBvesFwGuBtLptQ_zRSangA6gbQT7hrBE3bAF3NZJDy7ZmWVzxZsp4x0zJ5w-IptwnbBWyPLBJ93hNRUGCY3cAaOc_-eqd7A8cF2DBQePfaCJGgSVNm5wL66QFwAYG29bzDhfRnHbENsrT4Sef/s3414/Byrds-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3414" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSH_1P3I8sgUgZL5SbL_lnVdFDTkWTwIsA9WQcVieBvesFwGuBtLptQ_zRSangA6gbQT7hrBE3bAF3NZJDy7ZmWVzxZsp4x0zJ5w-IptwnbBWyPLBJ93hNRUGCY3cAaOc_-eqd7A8cF2DBQePfaCJGgSVNm5wL66QFwAYG29bzDhfRnHbENsrT4Sef/w400-h286/Byrds-8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>And talking first statements – the mid-1980s Edsel package consists of his solo <b><i>‘Roadmaster’</i></b> set, originally issued in 1972, and then available only in Holland, featuring sidesmen of the calibre of Sneaky Pete Kleinow and Clarence White. There’s also <b><i>‘So Rebellious A Lover’</i></b> (1987) recorded with Gene in duo with Textones vocalist Carla Olson, programming Woody Guthrie’s exquisite “Deportees” alongside Phil Ochs “Changes” and Gram Parsons’ “I’m Your Toy (Hot Burrito No.1)” plus the old Creedence Clearwater Revival gem “Almost Saturday Night”. Then there’s the two ‘Dillard & Clark’ albums which Gene cut with fellow-Missourian Doug Dillard in 1969 – <b><i>‘The Fantastic Expedition Of...’ </i></b>(with contributions from Eagles’ Bernie Leadon), and <b><i>‘Through The Morning, Through The Night’</i></b> which Robert Plant perceptively raided in 2007 for his Alison Krauss collaboration <b><i>‘Raising Sand’</i></b>. Original ground-breaking vinyl beautifully packaged <i>THEN</i>, the intervening years have only added an element of perspective from which they benefit. The first Byrd to quit the line-up ‘before the thing started to fall apart,’ the subsequent Dillard hook-up saw Gene blazing Blue-Grass trails that pioneered the Country-Rock vein later to be more commercially exploited by Leadon’s Eagles. And ironically by the remaining Byrds in a couple of albums time!</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0wz8D26pPtWeTGLDBRq_xGUhh5Z8AiCsZhtlHLfVU9m48AevvRMbZeDLfaEilTW2pISsV-lSkazInFhud2wKQ7Wis1Dveup5151BKPUMs-4zSv_eUkoUTbDVHuv0HUbDZlircyr_HXKC969PwvVjPKWBaMpqsDht-Ko7ienNuu4nRWISlicY83P1/s802/Notorious%20Byrd%20Brothers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="802" data-original-width="524" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0wz8D26pPtWeTGLDBRq_xGUhh5Z8AiCsZhtlHLfVU9m48AevvRMbZeDLfaEilTW2pISsV-lSkazInFhud2wKQ7Wis1Dveup5151BKPUMs-4zSv_eUkoUTbDVHuv0HUbDZlircyr_HXKC969PwvVjPKWBaMpqsDht-Ko7ienNuu4nRWISlicY83P1/w261-h400/Notorious%20Byrd%20Brothers.jpg" width="261" /></a></div><br /></div><div>Gene attempts to unravel the complex genesis of the project. ‘Just about the time I left the Byrds, Gram Parsons came to town with a group called The Submarine Band’ he recalls. ‘I really loved them the first time I heard them. I loved his voice. I loved his songs. I loved everything. So consequently, when the spot was open in the Byrds they brought Gram into the group. Roger McGuinn had always been ‘Folksy’ anyway, so he dug the concept of doing a <b><i>‘Sweethearts Of The Rodeo’ </i></b>(1968) album. At the same time they’d also approached Doug Dillard on hiring HIM for the Byrds, but Doug said something to the effect of ‘well, I’ve been playing with Bernie Leadon and Gene, and I really like what’s happening there, so I think we’ll follow through with it’. </div><div><br /></div><div>‘I had an existing deal with A&M records, and when I presented the <b><i>‘Fantastic Expedition Of...’</i></b> idea to them they liked it very much. They didn’t know what to <i>DO</i> with it, but they liked it! It was ‘what do you <i>DO</i> with contemporary Blue-Grass in 1968?’’ He breaks down in incredulous laughter at the very absurdity of the idea. ‘And we had a lot of bumps, I mean a LOT of troubles with it. We went down to Nashville and got literally booted outta there, y’know? And even though our record was played quite a bit when it finally came out we had a problem getting it across. It was a very closed door thing, totally <i>unlike </i>the situation today. These days, <i>ANYTHING</i> to do with the Byrds in that area is like – <i>PHEWWW</i>!!!! So it’s completely different today.’</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjqhjbdP14gYRxx-1iDkkptQJGv_hGnGz4rubsRyQPEWLidWDA7VOHv8f_hsIdC4gcCsm9CExSD2ijc57cHO1Q12sOEv0Rx0fb81U9_n7IsqBZR7zghpk0YGH_m00iP28n_Bxu9oco_pl5pC5VBi8j6VYJpr-YkjQBhzGtrSTeqoG79QnM6XhGrnhb/s3467/Byrds-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2514" data-original-width="3467" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjqhjbdP14gYRxx-1iDkkptQJGv_hGnGz4rubsRyQPEWLidWDA7VOHv8f_hsIdC4gcCsm9CExSD2ijc57cHO1Q12sOEv0Rx0fb81U9_n7IsqBZR7zghpk0YGH_m00iP28n_Bxu9oco_pl5pC5VBi8j6VYJpr-YkjQBhzGtrSTeqoG79QnM6XhGrnhb/w400-h290/Byrds-9.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>By the mid-1980s, with the albums re-emerging on vinyl, there was a whole new Paisley Underground generation of Dayglo trend-blending mix ‘n’ match bands leeching from those first statements, fine bands like Syd Griffin’s Long Ryders (who Gene recorded with), Rain Parade, and – in case you’ve forgotten, a young REM too! It must have been gratifying for Gene that – having assumed near-legendary status by the mere accumulation of years, his albums were faring so well this second time around? ‘I don’t know’ he muses, more contemplatively. ‘Right now I’m seriously looking forward to the <i>future</i>, and what’s going on <i>THERE</i>.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, although that future – for Gene, was to be limited, the albums are still available. And still well worth your ear-time. He was a hugely likeable guy.
</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzKhPlkYarl8Hl4BEakSbWIbf-1RpWf58p2uc2cSYQ6HCky3-s1vqoBdr7zAUdKX1rRTUiGVR_Dz9eiKxZalIyCaYTa2JRDPLXk96f4BRSGgX812Q8Fu2eULsX_veRwSJuuPyI9W-q8Sca3WkFpowuy19bYFmsUhjtFoxeJcDOZG7eMKm4YcurBNHx/s3402/Byrds-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3402" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzKhPlkYarl8Hl4BEakSbWIbf-1RpWf58p2uc2cSYQ6HCky3-s1vqoBdr7zAUdKX1rRTUiGVR_Dz9eiKxZalIyCaYTa2JRDPLXk96f4BRSGgX812Q8Fu2eULsX_veRwSJuuPyI9W-q8Sca3WkFpowuy19bYFmsUhjtFoxeJcDOZG7eMKm4YcurBNHx/w400-h288/Byrds-10.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-3285598915059543922022-08-27T16:31:00.000+01:002022-08-27T16:31:50.809+01:00Byrds Gene Clark: Book Review<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnTgsKCE4KjFBRcP_B9BqSA4M2DIDcUoqPaBHTMuQSM2Nq_14UR9rZT74wU8WT74J6KH4_W4Eo7EBnivKCmEIU0FiflBnlbj7U-xkwAu93374qstX2BOTaS3GLTzjrVswLTdRc-Asd59ALIrGYeUh5Jr8PrWTrqTjGml2x5bGFvidmctAeIv-y7DMv/s3095/Gene%20Clark-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2477" data-original-width="3095" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnTgsKCE4KjFBRcP_B9BqSA4M2DIDcUoqPaBHTMuQSM2Nq_14UR9rZT74wU8WT74J6KH4_W4Eo7EBnivKCmEIU0FiflBnlbj7U-xkwAu93374qstX2BOTaS3GLTzjrVswLTdRc-Asd59ALIrGYeUh5Jr8PrWTrqTjGml2x5bGFvidmctAeIv-y7DMv/w400-h320/Gene%20Clark-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">‘TWO SIDES TO EVERY ECHO...’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Book Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘MR TAMBOURINE MAN:
THE LIFE AND </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">LEGACY OF THE BYRDS’ GENE CLARK’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">JOHN EINARSON </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Backbeat Books, April 2005, ISBN0879307935)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4hmMMhrfR4SAAOT1CYJ1sqYZ8Djbc-TmC0_P2nuLr7Lo_jDaBd1bDe5u7kv_vs8AMezkHg7SUymAHpDXKlmViUFH650sKtordAyr_nvWD7d6teFBuTt5LVjHhsOWuFZOZF1IN-ZooragPsG04apVjuBA_Omh3vid3u37Ga6aXGRkDPn9F-pEds5A/s3157/Byrds-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2454" data-original-width="3157" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4hmMMhrfR4SAAOT1CYJ1sqYZ8Djbc-TmC0_P2nuLr7Lo_jDaBd1bDe5u7kv_vs8AMezkHg7SUymAHpDXKlmViUFH650sKtordAyr_nvWD7d6teFBuTt5LVjHhsOWuFZOZF1IN-ZooragPsG04apVjuBA_Omh3vid3u37Ga6aXGRkDPn9F-pEds5A/w400-h311/Byrds-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div><div>The Byrds, ah yes – Roger McGuinn. Except no, not quite. ‘In 1965 Gene Clark <i>was</i> the Byrds’ writes John Einarson in this excellent rigorously detailed biography. The strongest original songs on the first three Byrds albums – the finest debut trilogy in Rock, were by Harold Eugene Clark. McGuinn seems to agree. Talking at the Leeds ‘City Varieties’ he admits how ‘blessed’ the group was to have so fine a writer aboard. But Gene’s were slow-burn songs, initially relegated to ‘B’-sides in favour of Dylan or Pete Seeger covers, because they lacked radio immediacy, revealing their beauty only through repeated plays the airwaves couldn’t afford. But “Feel A Whole Lot Better” – later peerlessly covered by the Flamin’ Groovies, and by Tom Petty, “I Knew I’d Want You”, “Set You Free This Time” and the rest, are class compositions. Coming from a thirteen-kid Catholic family with Irish and Cree Native American blood, Gene was rugged and athletic, but also intense and wired. A complex, insecure, troubled man, prone to swings in temperament that Einarson’s investigations now interpret as evidence of a bipolar condition. His sister Bonnie recalls how his music began, ‘after Gene saw Elvis, all he wanted to be was a Rock star.’ </div><div><br /></div><div>During his fresher year he joined high-school band Joe Meyer & the Sharks, moving from there into the ‘Michael Row The Boat Ashore’ coffeehouse folk-thing with a doctored ID. By 12 August 1963 the eighteen-year-old Gene was recruited into the wholesome hit-making New Christy Minstrels alongside Barry McGuire. He cut records with them (the first called “Saturday Night”), and appeared on ‘The Andy Williams Show’. They did a special White House performance for new President Lyndon Johnson in January, but to Gene, the group’s cheerful family-friendly choreography was frustratingly ‘square’. At around the same time he heard the Beatles for the first time, on a jukebox in Norfolk, Virginia, and pumped nickels all night to hear them again. He was not only listening, but analysing their dynamics, how they did it, and why what they did worked so well. It was the catalyst he needed.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDIVz4ggvkmxot6zxqCTx9g0ia5VEtDLqwcRqQBVlaTIa0UXm-TL_K8bUySky9N1LiR8nmC62Wrssdn9rbfJIuNo70JvHpnpUs8fvK0KxlCTxEF5DlRoW-hgcb-mZpCoga13Z7FfqoVihaA_vtF37lc3YajNAHmdJh0mUdj8etdpVBbbSogR-qs-Sa/s3414/Byrds-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3414" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDIVz4ggvkmxot6zxqCTx9g0ia5VEtDLqwcRqQBVlaTIa0UXm-TL_K8bUySky9N1LiR8nmC62Wrssdn9rbfJIuNo70JvHpnpUs8fvK0KxlCTxEF5DlRoW-hgcb-mZpCoga13Z7FfqoVihaA_vtF37lc3YajNAHmdJh0mUdj8etdpVBbbSogR-qs-Sa/w400-h286/Byrds-4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> </div><div>He quit the Christy’s – before he was fired and headed for LA, and fame with the Byrds. Two American no.1 singles with “Mr Tambourine Man” c/w Gene’s “I Knew I’d Want You” and “Turn! Turn! Turn!” c/w Gene’s “She Don’t Care About Time”, plus hit albums <b><i>‘Mr Tambourine Man’</i></b> (June 1965, CBS BPG62571), <b><i>‘Turn! Turn! Turn!’ </i></b>(December 1965, CBS BPG62652) and <b><i>‘Fifth Dimension’ </i></b>(July 1966, CBS BPG62783). Einarson clarifies the group’s fractious internal politics in ways that my reading of Johnny Rogan’s <b><i>‘Timeless Flight’</i></b> (Gullane, 1990) never quite did. Jim McGuinn and Gene Clark, with David Crosby were three strong-minded creative wills tied into uneasy compromise and permanent simmering contention. With McGuinn’s icy intellect, and David Crosby as the impish meddler, all complicated by their collective envy of Gene’s writer-royalty cheques. Until, unsettled by the sudden status afforded them – as the American Beatles, Gene was the first to quit, shortly after initiating their finest-ever record, “Eight Miles High”. He was the character in David Crosby’s “Psychodrama City” tale where the Byrds got on a plane, and ‘one of my friends got off again,’ Crosby adding ‘to this day I don’t know why.’ The reasons included tensions and group rivalries amplified by their stratospheric celebrity.</div><div><br /></div><div>For Gene, ill at ease with stardom, there were to be a series of solo albums, groups, lost opportunities, and new beginnings. He went on to pioneer ventures into roots and country that would be more lucratively exploited by others. But he would forever be an ex-Byrd, living well on Byrds-royalties. His solo work was varied – from the textured density of <b><i>‘No Other’</i></b> (1974, Asylum 7E-1016), to the stripped-down <b><i>‘Two Sides To Every Story’ </i></b>(February 1977, US RSO RS-1-3011), but nothing he did would produce a signature ‘Gene Clark sound’ strong enough to replace what had gone before. Never quite ‘in synch with his time,’ his albums tended to be overlooked, only to be subsequently recognised as influential and reclaimed by music historians later. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJgOiI6LQb_1oVpjC0mJCaiDDVFzY6PeAtBTR7eotpQSmUtyXcY0o523XvezGpctGK9NZhG3tXhTpH8ZKl7l_g3oRBKGWFuaHTlHSuytfsqqasrS1i_HcMMuIDGgRINEcrSSeoL6WozPO479S90jHM8Fs0WtEcptudvJ0aOHkK6eoAwiZsAZ6O1TaW/s3161/Gene%20Clark-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2509" data-original-width="3161" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJgOiI6LQb_1oVpjC0mJCaiDDVFzY6PeAtBTR7eotpQSmUtyXcY0o523XvezGpctGK9NZhG3tXhTpH8ZKl7l_g3oRBKGWFuaHTlHSuytfsqqasrS1i_HcMMuIDGgRINEcrSSeoL6WozPO479S90jHM8Fs0WtEcptudvJ0aOHkK6eoAwiZsAZ6O1TaW/w400-h318/Gene%20Clark-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>As the Byrds <b><i>‘Younger Than Yesterday’</i></b> (February 1967, CBS BPG62988) LP emerged, its high-profile launch eclipsed Gene’s first solo work <b><i>‘Gene Clark With The Gosdin Brothers’ </i></b>(February 1967, US Columbia CS9418) which includes his enchanting “Echoes”, and features sidesmen Clarence White and Doug Dillard. <b><i>‘The Fantastic Expeditions Of Dillard And Clark’ </i></b>(October 1968, A&M SP4158) with Doug Dillard and Bernie Leadon met a similar fate, even though it premiered “Train Leaves Here This Morning” which co-writer Leadon would take forward onto the Eagles mega-selling debut LP (Gene’s jokey ‘B’-side version of Elvis Presley’s “Don’t Be Cruel” would be added to the 2001 Edsel-label CD reissue). The second Dillard And Clark album <b><i>‘Through The Morning, Through The Night’ </i></b>(August 1969, A&M SP4203), recorded with an expanded line-up of Donna Washburn, Byron Berline, Sneaky Pete Kleinow, Chris Hillman and Michael Clarke contains no less than two hauntingly beautiful Gene Clark originals which would achieve acclaim as part of Robert Plant And Alison Krauss’ <b><i>‘Raising Sand’</i></b> album in 2008 (it also includes covers of Don Everly’s “So Sad” and John Lennon’s “Don’t Let Me Down”), yet at the time Gene’s reluctance to play the industry game, his unwillingness to tour, to do interviews and promo meant that such albums consistently failed to reach the audiences they deserved, and generated little more than critical respect. His initially stabilising marriage to Carlie, and the country-comforts of Mendocino ran aground. There was a damaging relationship with Terri Messina, and roaring lost months of booze and narcotic excess with Doug Dillard and Jerry Jeff Walker. While touring, their bar bills far exceeded their weekly takings. </div><div><br /></div><div>There was a shaky Byrds reformation in which old grudges, animosities, and antagonisms resurfaced, David Crosby – as the most commercially successful survivor of the ‘Mr Tambourine Man’ line-up, revelled in assuming production duties, mixing McGuinn’s jingle-jangle low and excluding all but two new Gene Clark songs. There were also contentious McGuinn, Clark And Hillman reunion dates, but the rigours of touring itself forced Gene back into chemical dependence. Contracts lapsed. There was litigation over the rights to the Byrds name itself, even as Gene was reduced to touring as a kind of Byrds tribute band. There was stomach surgery, then, when – for the final time, all five original Byrds were together for their induction into ‘The Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall Of Fame’ – 16 January 1991, there was a partial reconciliation, of sorts. Shortly after, during duo recording sessions with Carla Olson, Gene was finally found dead, aged forty-six. The coroner’s verdict was heart attack. But to Einarson, Gene Clark ‘had a fear of success and whenever it came close his self-destruct mechanism activated.’ ‘He couldn’t handle fame’ agrees McGuinn. But when I saw Gene at the Wakefield ‘Pussycat Club’ shortly before he died – playing support to Lindisfarne, he did the full version of “Mr Tambourine Man”. And it was mesmerising. This fine book is all you need to know about the ‘Life and Legacy of Mr Tambourine Man’. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.backbeatbooks.com">www.backbeatbooks.com</a></div><div> </div><div>Published in: </div><div><b>‘ROCK ‘N’ REEL Vol.2 No.11 (Sept/Oct)’ </b></div><div>(UK – August 2008</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh58QxXDeyevmyzCdo6vRqvg9tV_IQZlpCJG-fddOE8miG0AFLAGyw-NLRhHOUhpToi5qjgXkaBOuR_0IZknNBRpbxc5P126dFm4FfAAdyCxWJjxtG7t3erI9tfhJ6-LzOl_tSoyPAEazXL7zQ8rCPoueJ9vmrVfcfnzOxu_LsdtkEDnJUkGCxtsCUC/s3467/Byrds-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2514" data-original-width="3467" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh58QxXDeyevmyzCdo6vRqvg9tV_IQZlpCJG-fddOE8miG0AFLAGyw-NLRhHOUhpToi5qjgXkaBOuR_0IZknNBRpbxc5P126dFm4FfAAdyCxWJjxtG7t3erI9tfhJ6-LzOl_tSoyPAEazXL7zQ8rCPoueJ9vmrVfcfnzOxu_LsdtkEDnJUkGCxtsCUC/w400-h290/Byrds-5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-26686802822823996702022-08-26T20:25:00.000+01:002022-08-26T20:25:42.669+01:00Live in Leeds: Roger McGuinn<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1RsOA-VjxaU4-pC6QTo-hRAABENuK-bf7DITrDNdIWl0FyOEbADazaa9r_2S-6UPc6yvS5QfPH31t5MdciYzSjOvT3U98QBuDJFn6-332Nq-b1FqhrHvDCZfDFviOpjyCeFbyCTnf_P4dfALHQ1ucd1MyfgMeYZG1dcI1IRUqiqdnxCJwIp0JBdtM/s3341/Byrds%20Mr%20Tambourine%20Man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2460" data-original-width="3341" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1RsOA-VjxaU4-pC6QTo-hRAABENuK-bf7DITrDNdIWl0FyOEbADazaa9r_2S-6UPc6yvS5QfPH31t5MdciYzSjOvT3U98QBuDJFn6-332Nq-b1FqhrHvDCZfDFviOpjyCeFbyCTnf_P4dfALHQ1ucd1MyfgMeYZG1dcI1IRUqiqdnxCJwIp0JBdtM/w400-h295/Byrds%20Mr%20Tambourine%20Man.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">‘A FLIGHT THROUGH </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">McGUINN’S BACK PAGES…’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">LAST NIGHT A RECORD SAVED </span></b></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">MY LIFE:
‘MR TAMBOURINE MAN’ </span></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>All ‘Golden Ages’ are brief testosterone-powered interludes coinciding with awkward adolescent sproutings and accelerating biorhythms. Yet that opening startle of rippling jingle-jangle Rickenbacker still shocks. We knew it was Dylan, of course. That only increased its relevance. Dylan spoke in syllables dreadful strange. ‘Ancient empty streets too dead for dreaming,’ so he’d been to Hull? yet transfigured into allusive poetry on the edge of suggesting so much more. And by up-gearing the lyricism of Folk, while allying it to a Rock ‘n’ Roll backbeat it was side-shifting Pop’s vocabulary into new fifth-dimensions. Granting it the gift of literate articulacy. Into Rock. A metamorphosis begun with David Crosby emerging from <b><i>‘A Hard Days Night’ </i></b>high on its energies, his life, his music transfigured too.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_fJURA6xgidcFmLkrxUP6yK6opRyv_WpiMOm49DHQeP1Qt6EG4AryCYjMNRwgM4prkvk2EF2Rz-qUYcd9Pkyie-6yUk-3lx6_nTGXlkJuqeP40hhU_AhtwjXJUiNAr8sRQkdpYdqFN1qIbLMz3sbdt2R43ja1kI7MXBMvKd7ikumRYrqeCpAJHS8T/s3425/Byrds%20Turn%20Turn%20Turn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2472" data-original-width="3425" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_fJURA6xgidcFmLkrxUP6yK6opRyv_WpiMOm49DHQeP1Qt6EG4AryCYjMNRwgM4prkvk2EF2Rz-qUYcd9Pkyie-6yUk-3lx6_nTGXlkJuqeP40hhU_AhtwjXJUiNAr8sRQkdpYdqFN1qIbLMz3sbdt2R43ja1kI7MXBMvKd7ikumRYrqeCpAJHS8T/w400-h289/Byrds%20Turn%20Turn%20Turn.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>The Byrd’s aloof mystique, glimpsed from a single promo shot in ‘Record Mirror’, was immaculately impossibly hip. Razor-perfect Indie fringes emerging from <b><i>‘With The Beatles’</i></b>-darkness. Inaccessibly West Coast. Naturally, on the other side of lake Atlantic, the Yardbirds were just as wonderfully strange, by that same distancing process. But that was there, this was here. A single orange-label 7” record (CBS 201765) in a matching orange CBS-logo’d sleeve. Hearing it once in the listening booth was enough, top floor of ‘Hammonds’ department store, that first hot week of June 1965. Pared down from Dylan’s densely-worded screed into radio-edit size – to chorus, single verse, chorus, until it crackles with futuristic electricity, and a stratospheric glide of alien harmonies. With only enough coins to either make the purchase, or bus-ride home, I slouch the four miles clutching it every pace, conscious of the pulse of vibes conducting up from black vinyl through my fingertips. Over the coming weeks it climbed the chart, to no.1 for a fortnight 22/29 July, before ceding the top slot to “Help”. </div><div><br /></div><div>I never got to see the Byrds while they were together. But later I’d get to see solo Gene Clark magically spin out the full Dylan verse-version, in a low-rent club in West Yorkshire. Then I saw David Crosby with Crosby, Stills & Nash. And I watch solo Roger McGuinn doing “Mr Tambourine Man”, sitting on a chair centre-stage at the Leeds ‘City Varieties’. Each time special. There were other life-changing 45’s. The Byrds themselves would do it again in a few years time with “Eight Miles High”, but “Mr Tambourine Man” would always encompass vistas of limitless possibilities unequalled before… or since. A testosterone-powered thing, a ‘golden age’ maybe, but one that happened at exactly the correct point in my precarious evolution. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlQmVUjxKRlOe7_SSORsIKxrYpLYXmI7EiFnQEDhTum46JaumGuxpP3aXnesAfoUUhIqfKN_wjwGsp2ix6YBDe9uc4-9xnAgS7Su3u1r-oBvIKI6azit00rrv40fMzar2KZr2pBOdhW3Vb3fwWgqRjxb62eix83yzSIbQn_aCiwrKj1it4SgM8EpC/s2008/MV5BNTc0NmY2MTItNThhOS00NTQyLWIwYWUtYTVlZTAyNGUyYTNiXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNDUzOTQ5MjY@._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2008" data-original-width="1993" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlQmVUjxKRlOe7_SSORsIKxrYpLYXmI7EiFnQEDhTum46JaumGuxpP3aXnesAfoUUhIqfKN_wjwGsp2ix6YBDe9uc4-9xnAgS7Su3u1r-oBvIKI6azit00rrv40fMzar2KZr2pBOdhW3Vb3fwWgqRjxb62eix83yzSIbQn_aCiwrKj1it4SgM8EpC/w398-h400/MV5BNTc0NmY2MTItNThhOS00NTQyLWIwYWUtYTVlZTAyNGUyYTNiXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNDUzOTQ5MjY@._V1_.jpg" width="398" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Concert review of </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">ROGER McGUINN </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">at
‘The City Varieties’, Leeds </div><div style="text-align: center;">(Monday 24 June 2002) </div><div><br /></div><div>Leeds. The decorous ‘City Varieties’ Music Hall, home of TV’s retro-cult ‘Good Old Days’. Everything here is dark red, from the brocaded walls to the velvet upholstery. And – it must be said, it’s a venue with an intimacy that suits Roger McGuinn. Squinch your eyes, it’s almost a throwback to the Greenwich Village coffeehouse folkie scene where it all began. When he was still called ‘Jim’ McGuinn, and when he started mixing Beatles’-covers in with his traditional arrangements, to unsympathetic response from hard-core purists. Tonight has that kind of personal one-to-one feel with the audience. Except that now he has history. </div><div><br /></div><div>He opens with “My Back Pages” played on a white twelve-string. A song already wistfully nostalgic for changin’ times of political (un)certainties and abstract threats too noble to neglect. Dylan wrote it for his 1964 <b><i>‘Another Side Of…’</i></b> album, the Byrds version following a few years later, on their <b><i>‘Younger Than Yesterday’ </i></b>(February 1967) album – which obliquely derives its title from the lyric. Roger replicates the pealing guitar-solo that catches its yearning melancholy so exquisitely. He wears a black hat, disciplined beard, glasses, and a black no-logo ‘T’-shirt. He sits on a high stool, stylishly toe-tapping, little more...</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihah6-9Zxrj01QOpkgPVqbkuJDU83k_VFnwvdGU3tWnP4N9lTdim-Xv7a78T8sFX8uxJFqypuIuEoMJ1NB9Qsm1w2Cd57eHZHEdQ-PHFe17rBQ_zMle3r269YWWEn0d7mrJdlYNv6WFogGd9PXA2J0HqnrfszwM9238isrYns8HnjdFpfuvn6ZVGnH/s607/1oqv9rq0q0e41.jpg.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihah6-9Zxrj01QOpkgPVqbkuJDU83k_VFnwvdGU3tWnP4N9lTdim-Xv7a78T8sFX8uxJFqypuIuEoMJ1NB9Qsm1w2Cd57eHZHEdQ-PHFe17rBQ_zMle3r269YWWEn0d7mrJdlYNv6WFogGd9PXA2J0HqnrfszwM9238isrYns8HnjdFpfuvn6ZVGnH/w371-h400/1oqv9rq0q0e41.jpg.webp" width="371" /></a></div><br /></div><div>The evening began with the jazz-inflected vocal-style of <b>Rebecca Hollweg</b>, with gossip about her involvement soundtracking the short 16mm Sara Cox movie <b><i>‘The Bitterest Pill’</i></b> (1999). She’s good, but then McGuinn gets into relating how he got involved in a ‘low-budget motorcycle movie’, how Dylan wrote some lyrics on a napkin for Peter Fonda and told him ‘give these to McGuinn, he’ll know what to do with them.’ Then he plays the results – “The Ballad Of Easy Rider”, conjuring elegiac images of how it played out over the closing credits of that seminal counter-culture movie. From the same source Carole King’s “Wasn’t Born To Follow” originally came with the Byrds phased guitar cascading in light-bursts through ‘leaves of prisms’. It still works, even when pared down to McGuinn’s simple acoustic. </div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, road-songs are a continuity in American culture, which he illustrates with a ‘contemporary folk song’ called “Driving High, Driving Low” made up of CB-radio dialogue. ‘I’ve always been a science and technology buff’ he admits, which provides a neat light-speed jump to introducing “Mr Spaceman”, that quirky appeal to strangers in saucer-shaped lights to take him star-tripping to CTA102 and beyond. He continues with ‘the first country-rock song I did’ – “You Ain’t Going Nowhere”, lifted from Dylan’s ‘Basement Tapes’ under Gram Parson’s influence as a trailer-single for the divisive <b><i>‘Sweethearts Of The Rodeo’</i></b> (August 1968) album which upset as many fans as it created new ones. Now, well beyond all the heated analysis, it sequences smoothly into the set’s contours. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkajmy-SbPmjOPANstI045qbLUYO3Ge-1hYwXWkGMWhxaPsJmpC7xQyIn3Tc9WpMf9sMztxWN-o8tZbEl2q_KI2e9pg7suFmNnxDUGML6TTkXP_BtlVPkugH3183uAJ2rVY7-jrLg9AOrtiMs0LnmtSblsE8ZIbYJdhlhFaIHcOYDQBXFRNd8vIf4j/s549/Byrds%20Sweethearts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="546" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkajmy-SbPmjOPANstI045qbLUYO3Ge-1hYwXWkGMWhxaPsJmpC7xQyIn3Tc9WpMf9sMztxWN-o8tZbEl2q_KI2e9pg7suFmNnxDUGML6TTkXP_BtlVPkugH3183uAJ2rVY7-jrLg9AOrtiMs0LnmtSblsE8ZIbYJdhlhFaIHcOYDQBXFRNd8vIf4j/w398-h400/Byrds%20Sweethearts.jpg" width="398" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>He’s sitting alone on stage, until he reaches to sip from a Volvic bottle, then he’s accompanied by three dark ghost-shadows imitating his actions behind him. All manner of metaphors could be strung out from that, about former colleagues, creative feuds, rifts and reconciliations, thefts and collaborations, but best not to. His voice is still as curiously high, driven by his instantly distinctive guitar-work. Rivers flow. That’s enough. With an effortlessly über-cool aloof persona – wasn’t that always the Byrds ‘unique selling point’? and still slightly detached, he nevertheless sparks ripples of warm connection that others… say, Paul Simon, can never achieve. An already self-confessed tech-geek, he now explains his ‘Treasures from the Folk Den’ project, through which – since around 1994, he’s been using http://mcguinn.com online resources to upload and archive the traditional songs he first encountered during his coffeehouse days, complete with lyrics, guitar tablature, and tales about the musical heroes he first found singing them. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRI6lGUU9meSu9Gla-Q8iLiReIJq7D-YeIJA6KyiJMBCWmtv6U8_YULaZmUleSjoOzXSYN1eQusK0wajahGh1cDDqGyswiU0327wiwBbSzNLq_hnqutpisiiphnWgu0xG7hJwGOzXiykYfrOklxeg4UaesoG7MNZ33nnFR-K-J9qxyXPolQ9qX2IM9/s3366/Byrds-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3366" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRI6lGUU9meSu9Gla-Q8iLiReIJq7D-YeIJA6KyiJMBCWmtv6U8_YULaZmUleSjoOzXSYN1eQusK0wajahGh1cDDqGyswiU0327wiwBbSzNLq_hnqutpisiiphnWgu0xG7hJwGOzXiykYfrOklxeg4UaesoG7MNZ33nnFR-K-J9qxyXPolQ9qX2IM9/w400-h291/Byrds-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>He illustrates with “Pretty Boy Floyd”, “Finnegan’s Wake” – as done with Tommy Makem on the first spin-off CD fuelled on something he describes as ‘the creature-whisky’, and “Fare Thee Well” from Pete Seeger & Josh White Jrn. And it’s evidence of the kind of new-old synthesis that created the Byrds in the first place, a growing-apart together, cultural opposites – yet alike. But should these esoteric new ventures prove distracting for Byrdmaniax he throws in “Chestnut Mare”, the group’s surprising final UK chart record (no.19 in February 1971). Then follows it with the complex guitar phrases of “King Of The Hill” from his 1990 solo album <b><i>‘Back From Rio’</i></b>. He explains how he wrote it with Tom Petty, who’s own career – and especially “American Girl”, started out very much in McGuinn’s stylistic wake. Then his Cajun-flavoured “Lover Of The Bayou” from his 1975 <b><i>‘Roger McGuinn & His Band’ </i></b>album, before returning to the Byrds via Pete Seeger’s “Bells Of Rhymney”, with the explanatory anecdote about how, after performing the song for nigh on twenty years, a Welsh fan finally corrected his pronunciation, so he now takes care to attempt a more authentic ‘Bells Of Rumney’, with fine acoustic interplay. </div><div><br /></div><div>Drawing things towards a Byrds-centred close he briefly tributes how the group was ‘blessed to have Gene Clark’ focussing the line-up of the first three albums, and does Gene’s “Feel A Whole Lot Better” between verses of “Mr Tambourine Man” and “Turn! Turn! Turn!”, playing both rhythm and lead guitar. After a tactful pause he returns for an encore that encompasses an amazing “Eight Miles High” replicating the record’s full mind-skewing guitar-fragmentations live and solo while throwing in ‘Ravi Shankar, just for fun’, a ‘scream-alonga-delica’ with “So You Wanna Be A Rock ‘n’ Roll Star”, then returning to ‘just get an acoustic guitar’ for the closing “5D (Fifth Dimension)”. Having defined and mapped the sound of the last half-century to the extent that generations of pale white jingle-jangle Indie guitar-bands breathe him as second nature, almost without realising it, here within the dark red brocade walls and velvet upholstery of the ‘City Varieties’, Roger McGuinn shows how tradition and technology can respect those roots, and yet still take them restlessly further, into yet newer incarnations…
</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWaX5V7sX2TPfGaADO7i_cBVHaNn1IVXnwvF-faMSQSl3mfJB-5gFzoI3MpOqVzqx1179gsEHkCtXvZQnzpOWXzZoZEewyEpmiJpMaf2M_2rkuKLkwGNualQN7mf4Xsk7aITmzbEyYtNmZZ44_Y02PLhTHudyi8NryiF0qwdAidfGRlAHXByNXTvVf/s3414/Byrds-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2454" data-original-width="3414" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWaX5V7sX2TPfGaADO7i_cBVHaNn1IVXnwvF-faMSQSl3mfJB-5gFzoI3MpOqVzqx1179gsEHkCtXvZQnzpOWXzZoZEewyEpmiJpMaf2M_2rkuKLkwGNualQN7mf4Xsk7aITmzbEyYtNmZZ44_Y02PLhTHudyi8NryiF0qwdAidfGRlAHXByNXTvVf/w400-h288/Byrds-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4009067879087757296.post-53140282210369622932022-08-26T19:44:00.000+01:002022-08-26T19:44:15.303+01:00Book Review: 'So You Want To Be A Rock 'n' Roll Star: The Byrds Day-By-Day 1965-1973'<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCWVjlAIXbuv6zzXkm0KmCx5vL5suvA9q2w_lNn7jsM1NaSQbK9a3Y6VJd0nJHSDZnliNx4hXB3-Hge2rCV5K2PwhsQFLa9nhiq7qlpFoAHUDt1d0EzPB7rYqTpjriwH6dsmRJUVVaWKPAfPzgTz2ci75-WcJ5JEs_ekGs8RH3M6sZcshFfbizUES/s499/51fJHIxIJLL._SX396_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="398" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCWVjlAIXbuv6zzXkm0KmCx5vL5suvA9q2w_lNn7jsM1NaSQbK9a3Y6VJd0nJHSDZnliNx4hXB3-Hge2rCV5K2PwhsQFLa9nhiq7qlpFoAHUDt1d0EzPB7rYqTpjriwH6dsmRJUVVaWKPAfPzgTz2ci75-WcJ5JEs_ekGs8RH3M6sZcshFfbizUES/w319-h400/51fJHIxIJLL._SX396_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" width="319" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">SO YOU WANT TO BE A </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">ROCK ‘N’ ROLL STAR...</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Book Review of: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">‘SO YOU WANT TO BE A ROCK ‘N’ ROLL </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">STAR:
THE BYRDS DAY-BY-DAY 1965-1973’ </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by <b><span style="font-size: medium;">CHRISTOPHER HJORT </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(2008, Jawbone Books, ISBN 978-1-906002-15-2) </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.jawbonepress.com">www.jawbonepress.com</a> </div><div><br /></div><div>It’s five decades since “Mr Tambourine Man”, but still the story resonates. Music is not an exact science, but this large-format book lavish with evocative clippings and memorabilia, covers the years 1965 to 1973, with a lead-in back-story and a follow-on ‘what happened next’ chapter, covering pretty much all of the terrain between. All successful long-term bands have a unique chemistry with a shifting hierarchal structure. For the Byrds that was never the case. They were never a garage-band. Nor were they ever school-friends. They all had separate careers, and recording histories, long before they even met. When they initially signed to CBS it was only Roger ‘Jim’ McGuinn, David Crosby and Gene Clark who inked the contract – they were officially the only real Byrds. And they were all singer-songwriter-guitarists with undefined overlapping group-roles, all jostling and competing for the centre ground. In such a light the surprise is not that the line-up fell apart so early, but that it survived as long as it did. Yet, within a matter of months, taking the pulse from the British invasion, but its romantic lyricism from Dylan, they hit massively on both sides of the Atlantic, with one of the decade’s most defining singles. And <b><i>‘Mr Tambourine Man’ </i></b>(June 1965) was the first of their suite of pristine albums. If James Stewart once said that film actors give their audiences ‘pieces of time’, the same thing is equally true of recording artists. They give little two-and-a-half to three-minute singles-length pieces of time that indelibly freeze the moment, the event, the emotion, and that stay with the listener forever. The Byrds provided more pieces of time than most. After “Turn! Turn! Turn!” topped the chart, “Eight Miles High” set the advance tremors for psychedelia, and carried all the way into the San Francisco sub-culture. And more. These are stories that echo down through the years, and they’ve seldom been told better. </div><div><br /></div><div>Published in: </div><div><b>‘ROCK ‘N’ REEL Vol.2 No.13 (Jan/Feb 2009)’ </b></div><div>(UK – January 2009)
</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzmBs_Dd5kMYAVps1V-U-ZZn0ycDob9K6xjraXbtUn9zLy4S_C-nLQUIRNW5zrlorAR4hUT6wQ3_ZhkbnX78JQbEsvNav8WX59Mzoifz9enogWUxUWsqUSq82cCaBWA60mQsk9nQ8TbGxgEUOu-iesRtJZjudPs-UYZOPhX5BbhE9OxjcCSxkYXiJ/s698/Byrds%20'Eight%20Miles%20High'%20ad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="490" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzmBs_Dd5kMYAVps1V-U-ZZn0ycDob9K6xjraXbtUn9zLy4S_C-nLQUIRNW5zrlorAR4hUT6wQ3_ZhkbnX78JQbEsvNav8WX59Mzoifz9enogWUxUWsqUSq82cCaBWA60mQsk9nQ8TbGxgEUOu-iesRtJZjudPs-UYZOPhX5BbhE9OxjcCSxkYXiJ/w281-h400/Byrds%20'Eight%20Miles%20High'%20ad.jpg" width="281" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andrew Darlingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964525874288660998noreply@blogger.com0