Saturday, March 29, 2014

Left Again at the Womble- the tale of the tent



Extracted from "Left Again at the Womble-The Adventures of a Middle-Aged Dad Working at the Glastonbury Festival". This bit is all about practicing putting a tent up...   


The remaining time before Glasto sped by without really noticing. Before I knew it, it was the beginning of June and therefore only 3 weeks away. Apart from buying all the gear a few weeks before, I hadn’t done anything else. I knew that I had to try to put the tent up, in a practice run sort of way, but considering my general ineptitude in all matters tent-related, I’d kept putting off the evil day, but faced with such a short deadline, I knew that I’d have to face up to my demons and just do it. At the very least, if there was something missing or broken, then I’d have time (just about) to sort it out. I couldn’t really leave it until when I was actually at Glastonbury to try to put it up for the first time. 

As a side issue, and this is something I’ve noticed every time I’ve been to Glasto, is that everyone else seems to be an expert at putting tents up. Even really complicated, big ones seem to get whizzed up with no difficulties and look really professional; tight, florescent guy ropes and everything securely in place. Each time I’ve put our tent up, it’s always involved a lot of wrestling and swearing, and the end result appears to look as if I haven’t a clue about what I’m doing or really know how it should turn out. Which I haven’t and I don’t. The fabric always seems gravitate towards slackness, so by the end it’s the camping equivalent of some wrinkled prune. Whereas everyone else’s remains as tight as a drum, repelling water and wind, without a second thought. 

Anyway, I decided I couldn’t leave having the practice run any longer, so one night after work I summoned up the courage to give it a go. Now for ease we’d got one of these new-fangled pop- up tents, which in theory, should be able to be erected with simply a deft flick of the wrist. I was a bit sceptical about this. Surely this was the camping version of the old “whip-the-tablecloth-off-whilst-leaving- the-bone china-in-place” trick. It would all end in tears. Always ready for a good laugh, the whole family gathered around while I studied the instruction booklet intently. It did seem fairly simple and because it was only a two-man tent, I decided not to mess around with putting it up outside. The front room would do. It was a flat circular affair when packed; like a big nylon pancake. I undid the packaging, and to my utter surprise, it seemed to leap out of my fingers of its own volition and jump into the middle of the floor, all set up.

“And you all doubted me”, I said, somewhat triumphantly. “I knew exactly what I was doing”.

Amy looked at me, over her cup of tea. “Ah, you’ve just got to get it all back in place now. That should be easy as well.” Sarcasm is not a very likeable trait in one so young.



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Friday, March 28, 2014

Totally Shuffled-Kate Bush



(extracted from "Totally Shuffled-A Year of Listening to Music on a Broken iPod" - 366 days/366 tracks/366 artists)

February 14th

Kate Bush-In The Warm Room-Lionheart



It would be inevitable that somewhere during this year that the iPod would stumble across one of the handful of artists that are up there. In my stratosphere of appreciation, there are only a few who tick all boxes. There are some artists who have released great albums/singles over the years and some who can be valued because they pursue interesting directions and push at boundaries, but sometimes flop and can’t keep the quality going. There are those who are interesting in themselves, but part of that that makes them interesting is that they are inherently flawed. All of these are worthwhile and good and have produced music that I have loved over the years. There aren’t many artists who have consistently released great music and continually do challenging work. Off the top of my head, and without being a bit listist-Bob Dylan, The Fall, Flaming Lips. 

There’s Bruce Springsteen and Blind Willie McTell. 

And Kate Bush.

Where to start with Kate Bush? I know exactly the moment when the penny dropped for me. It wasn’t upon the release of “Wuthering Heights” or any of her first few albums. They kind of passed me by. I thought that they were ok-ish, but only really heard the singles, and even then only on TOTPs. There was a lot of nonsense about Kate Bush being only for Dads and her astounding beauty etc. I honestly can say that this definitely went over my head at the time, and even now I see it a total red herring.  Between “Wuthering Heights” and “the moment”, I was more preoccupied with post-punk stuff and, in retrospect, had fairly limited horizons. It would be stuff that John Peel would play by and large, and tend only to be on indie labels. Major label and commercial music was out.

Anyway, it was a Saturday afternoon in September 1985, and I was alone in the shared house I was renting. I know it was a Saturday afternoon. as I was listening to a Radio 1 magazine-type show, hosted by Richard Skinner. I was cleaning the stairs (oh, how I lived a rock and roll life back then), when he introduced an item about Kate Bush’s new forthcoming album, “The Hounds Of Love.” I would have normally let this waft over me or turned to Radio 4. Because I was busy and had my hands full-the radio was in another room- I simply couldn’t be bothered. The item was a fairly lengthy interview with Kate Bush and with clips of the album. I listened to it with increasing wonder-this sounded brilliant -in all senses of the word. The sound itself was so clear and sharp, quite unlike the Rough Trade stuff that was my then current stock-in-trade.  The fact that it was a semi-concept album should have put me off, but it was intriguing in itself-possibly it was a sign that I was getting a bit bored with the same old stuff. I shouldn’t have liked this hippy-ish idea, but found myself doing less and less of the cleaning, and listening more and more intently to the interview. By the time the item had finished, I was both convinced and converted. I went into town first thing on the Monday morning and bought the album. No prevarication-straight to HMV at 9.00 a.m. It is still up there as one of my all time favourite records-at least in the top ten and probably the top three. (Looking at the internet for the release date of “Hounds of Love”, I see it was September 16th 1985. Presuming that the item ran on the Saturday before then, that must have been the 14th of September. I do remember it was a warm, sunny afternoon and recall sitting on the top of the stairs, sunlight streaming across the landing, with a cup of tea by my side and the duster discarded).
 

Since then, over the past twenty-odd years or so, I’ve got hold of all her studio albums, really early demos and a couple of live shows. Without fault they are on their own, head and shoulders above most other music, fascinating, brilliant and well, just different.

Possibly stating that they are head and shoulders above everything else is a bit much. Maybe that they are on a whole different plane from most other music would be more apt.

A bit like Kate Bush herself-a whole different plane(t).   

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Saturday, March 22, 2014

Totally Shuffled-Madonna

extracted from "Totally Shuffled-A Year of Listening to Music on a Broken iPod"

this is just one of the 366 tracks I played at random from 366 different artists over 366 different days in one (leap) year....



Madonna-Like a Virgin-The Immaculate Collection

Back in 1985 I went to see Oliver Stone’s “Salvador” in Manchester. It was a longish way to go to see a film, just to see a film. I didn’t have a car then and I went on the train. Getting there, door to door, nearly took as long as the film itself lasted. This was in the day before multiplexes however, and the choice of film was limited to the usual blockbuster fare that all the same chains were showing. The only cinema in Liverpool that showed films that were not 100% mainstream was Merseyside Film Institute. This MFI was not as high profile as it sounded. It was a great little cinema, but only really one step up from a film club. They were at the mercy of the British Film Institute and very rarely did they get that chance to screen anything that was on general release. This all is a little over twenty five years ago and, in the age of multi channels, TiVO, and file sharing on the internet, it all seems like something from a bygone age. 

But that’s how it was back then, and if I wished to see a film like Salvador, I had to get a bus into town (30 minutes), a train to Manchester (an hour or so), and finally a 15 minute walk to the Cornerhouse. (The Cornerhouse was one of the first cinemas/arts centres outside of London that are now not such a rarity. Back then, for anyone with a passing interest in contemporary cinema or art, it was like an oasis in a very big and dry desert of mediocrity. It’s good to note that Liverpool now has FACT; a similar set up to the Cornerhouse. Ironically since FACT opened about 15 years ago, I’ve only actually been there a couple of times. I guess that it’s because of multichannel TV, TIVO and…well, file sharing).

Anyway, back in 1985, and armed with a whole day spare, off I trooped to Manchester. I should add that not only that this was the days before the internet and the rest, but before I was married and had children and therefore the concept of having a whole day to squander wasn’t something that was totally unbelievable. (Such decisions to go to Manchester to see a film could be made largely upon a whim). I had the whole day free and an open-ended train ticket. By the time Salvador had finished-and it had been a journey well worth making, as the film was that good-I was at a bit of a loose end. It was mid-afternoon and I could have just jumped the train back home. But it seemed a bit of a waste of an opportunity to do something else whist I was there. I mooched around the gallery and looked at the books in the bookshop and thought that it would make sense to see another film. Being a bit shell-shocked after Stone’s film, I had the choice of either something distinctly art house (some Czech animation) or Susan Sarandon’s “Desperately Seeking Susan” starring Madonna. As much as I loved Eastern European animation, I didn’t have any paracetemol to hand and Madonna won the day.    

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Sunday, March 16, 2014

Totally Shuffled-Talking Heads



extracted from "Totally Shuffled-A Year of Listening to Music on a Broken iPod"


Talking Heads-Burning Down The House-Stop Making Sense    

   

Of all the co-incidences this year whilst writing this book, the fact that Al Green immediately preceded Talking Heads is one that is purely co-incidental, but not wholly believable. If I was reading a book that had such a link, I’d view it as more than a bit suspicious (especially because this track is off the “Stop Making Sense” album),  and simply because this Talking Heads album ends with a cover of one of Al Green’s most famous songs, “Take Me To The River”. That would give plenty of opportunities to compare and contrast Al Green to Talking Heads, and speculate as to why rock bands cover soul classics and generally make it all a bit embarrassing. But that wouldn’t have been the case for Talking Heads on their version of Green’s classic because, for once, the rock band made a pretty decent fist of it. In fact, I’d be hard pushed to say which version I prefer. Sometimes it’s Al’s and sometimes it’s Talking Heads. That’s an indication of how well I think that this cover works-there’s nothing really to distinguish between the two. It’s not that they simply sound the same; there would be no point in that.  

But that’s really enough of Al Green. I should be writing about this track, and if not this track explicitly, then at least the album from which it is taken.

“Stop Making Sense” is a brilliant album, and even if you’ve never seen the film from which it is the soundtrack of, then it still makes perfect sense. If, like me, you are not an especially big Talking Heads fan, it’s possibly the best place to start (or end). It is probably the only Talking Heads album you would ever need to listen to, and it would suffice as a perfect encapsulation for the band to the extent that it’s far better than any of their greatest hits compilations. For me, it speaks more of what they were really all about rather than any of their other records, either the compilations, or any of their studio recordings.

Most filmed concerts tend to be a little bit boring. There’s only so much you can do when you’ve pointed a camera at a stage and filmed the results. A couple of songs are ok, but any more than that and it all goes a bit flat. However, “Stop Making Sense” (the film) is a little bit different and I think that’s because it has a distinct narrative flow to it. It starts with David Byrne shuffling into stage armed just with a beat box and an acoustic guitar. He tells the crowd that he wants to play them something and then leans down and presses the pay button on the beatbox. The drum track for “Pyschokiller” starts and he sings the song just with a simple strum of the guitar. Song by song, more of the band come on stage, one, two of them at a time, building something up in an orchestral, almost symphonic way, that most ordinary concert films don’t have. I’m unsure of how much that this was down to the band or the director (Jonathan Demme (Silence of the Lambs etc)), but it was an inspired way of doing things.

As far as this version of “Burning Down the House” goes, it’s impossible to hear it without breaking into a little dance of joy.      


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