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Faces/Hucknall – A dilemma

There has been plenty of comment about Mick Hucknall’s suitability or otherwise as a replacement for Rod Stewart in a reformed Faces but unless I’ve missed it what no-one seems to have mentioned is what they might actually play. When The Faces played live back in the day their repertoire consisted of around 50% songs from Faces albums and 50% songs from Rod’s solo albums, including many of the (often splendid) covers that Rod chose to record on those albums. And the general consensus of opinion in those days was that Rod’s albums were superior to Faces’ albums.

Presumably, without Rod, there won’t be the incentive or the will to play the material from his albums, and what with Ronnie Lane regrettably not around to sing his songs, this will surely leave them with a chronic lack of material.

Unless, of course, The Faces chance their arm on a few Simply Red songs. Oh dear…

JAILHOUSE ROCK BRAZILIAN STYLE

I came across this hilarious document in an Elvis book many years ago and Xeroxed it. At the weekend I was clearing out some old files and I came across it again. It is evidently an aural transcription of the lyrics to Jailhouse Rock, which was actually printed on the cover of an old Brazilian Elvis LP.

One, two part in the cany dial
Prison in the stand they forgot the wale
When this job is none
The job began to swing
You should have to rock
Dead jail bird sing let’s rock
Everybody let’s rock
Everybody in all say oh! Bob
You stand till Jail our rock

Start a marble place in the saxphone
Little Joe in blow in old sax trombone
Climb across the matter
You gonna track oil band
You hold a red sax
You wanna purple game

Now I’m part of seven
Said my mamma three
You use cute this Jail further ever did see
I show I’ll be alive when you call for me
Come on and do the Jail
Let’s rock it wanna be

It said sax is secret on the block stone
You call in the corner we are not alone
You want to say
Nobody don’t be no square
You can’t by a part
It used to worry in Jail

She forgot her sad about for heaven sake
It want look matter just to make a break
Brother turn his shirt
To empty sad Mrs Smith
I want to stick around
Or wanna give my kick

Carol Clerk

I’m sure I’m not alone amongst RBP contributors in mourning the death this weekend of Carol Clerk. I first met Carol in 1972 when she turned up out of the blue at the offices of Melody Maker on Fleet Street, just to say hello to the staff on the paper she read avidly each week at her home in Belfast. Charmed by her enthusiasm and probably not a little flattered, Roy Hollingworth and I took her for a drink in our local, the Red Lion at the back of the building. She was a big MM fan and no-one was surprised when a few years later she joined the staff, hanging on in there until the bitter end in 1999, its News Editor, a real pillar of strength on the ailing magazine and a fine journalist to boot.

Later she wrote four books for Omnibus which I commissioned and edited, on The Damned, Hawkwind, The Pogues and Madonna, and all of them reflected her superlatively professional work ethic. Until she moved down to Kent we saw one another about once a year to discuss projects, and I was last in contact with her in January, wondering why she hadn’t delivered a promised update to the Hawkwind book that was slightly overdue. She said she was sorry but she hadn’t been well. My God! But that was Carol – 100% professional even if she was in the throes of a fatal illness which, bravely, she kept to herself.

I will miss her a lot. RIP Carol. One of the best of us.

Best Beatles cover ever?

Check this out music lovers…

John Lennon For Nobel Peace Prize

Twenty-nine years ago today I awoke to the news that John Lennon had been murdered by a gun-toting lunatic in New York, and it still rankles.

Henry Kissinger, who I believe is still wanted for war crimes in parts of south east Asia, was awarded a Nobel Peace Prize in 1973.

John, whose song ‘Give Peace A Chance’ has become the anthem of peace campaigners everywhere and will likely remain so until the end of time, and who with Yoko did more to promote peace than any man alive and continues to do so through the ongoing poularity of songs like ‘Happy Xmas (War is Over’), was to the best of my knowledge never considered for a Nobel Peace Prize.

Does anyone know whether it can be awarded posthumously? And if so might not a campaign for such an award on the 30th Anniversary of John Winston O’Boogie’s passing be a worthy cause for RBP’s contributors and readers to get behind?

IAN DURY BIOGRAPHY

Let me start by declaring an interest. I commissioned, edited and published the book ‘Sex & Drugs & Rock’n'Roll: The Life Of Ian Dury’ by Richard Balls which was first published in 2000 by Omnibus Press.

This book contains 145,000 words over 336 pages and in the course of his research Richard interviewed around 50 people, fellow musicians from the Blockheads and Kilburns, business associates of Ian at Stiff and elsewhere, and many personal friends. He also met Ian and through him was granted access to an elderly relative who filled him in on the Dury ancestry. Ian was aware of the book and though he declined to be interviewed himself gave the green light to others to be interviewed.

The book has done very well. We sold almost 15,000 in hardback and it’s now done slightly more than that in a B-format (small) soft-back edition. It continues to shift around 25 a month. By rock biog standards this is pretty damn good.

In many ways this isn’t surprising. Richard, an experienced journalist on a regional daily, did a very professional job, as reflected in the reviews. Q: “This splendid bawdy account grips right from the start”; Time Out: “Very thoroughly researched…. indispensible”; The Times: “Grips right from the start”; Uncut: “A refreshing, honest, moving account”. The reviews by readers on Amazon vary from 4 to 5 star.

I mention all this because it has come to my attention that in January Sidgwick & Jackson will publish a book entitled ‘Ian Dury: The Definitive Biography’ by Will Birch.

Now I have nothing against Will Birch who by all accounts is a grand bloke and his book on Ian certainly won’t be shabby. However, its publishers are promoting it with blurb that opens with the following statement:

This groundbreaking and authoritative book gives the first in-depth and compelling account of the life of this charismatic yet complex artist.

The implication here is that this new book is the first decent biography of Ian. This is an outright lie. Richard’s book was and remains the first in-depth and compelling account of Ian’s life. It is and remains definitive.

There are some who might accuse me of sour grapes here, but it seems iniquitous to me that when a reasonable length of time has elapsed between biographies, in this case a decade, publishers seem to think they can make claims for the merits a new biography while ignoring the existence of a previous (equally meritorious) biography. The hope, of course, is that reviewers of the new book will be unfamiliar with the previous work, regurgitate the blurb and fail to note that – and I’m guessing here, of course – it reiterates biographical information that has been readily available for a considerable period of time.

Here’s hoping that those who bought ‘Sex & Drugs & Rock’n’Roll’ – and there’s well over 30,000 of them, almost all in the UK – won’t make the same mistake.

MOST PLAYED

My iPod is my best friend that doesn’t breathe. It accompanies me everywhere, on the trains to and from London every day, when I walk my dog in the Surrey Hills and when I go to the supermarket. I plug it into my car stereo when I’m driving. Now that I have a business-like docking speaker in the dining room it provides accompaniment for meals and, when I’m relaxing in the sitting room and the TV is off, I plug it into the stereo to save having to find CDs. I’ve even taken it to parties in case the host’s music is lacking.

The number of songs on my iPod fluctuates but at the time of writing there are 7,477, almost full but enough for any one time I think. I have experimented with creating my own temporary ‘on the go’ playlists, but the two permanent ones (Top Rated and Most Played) tend to be used when I’m lazy. There are 554 ‘Top Rated’ songs right now, and the regulation 25 ‘Most Played’. Of course the Most Played tend to be songs which have been on the iPod the longest – anything new won’t have reached this level yet – so although the list might appear to condemn me as someone who wallows in nostalgia, this isn’t strictly true. There is plenty of newer stuff on the iPod but it hasn’t been played so much because it hasn’t been on as long, and when I delete old stuff to make way for new I won’t delete all time favourites.

Here Is my current 25 Most Played, with a comment or two. There’s an element of randomness to this list but mostly I’ve pressed play because I simply want to hear them again and again. The actual number of plays vary from somewhere in the high 40s down to the 20s, and some might be tied.

1) There She Goes – The La’s
Just perfect pop I guess. A song I never tire of.
2) Walking The Long Miles Home (Live, from Austin 2/7/01) – Richard Thompson
The first of five Thompson songs in the list including one with Linda, making him the most played artist on my iPod. This live album is terrific.
3) How Can I Tell You – Cat Stevens
Mrs C is a big fan and I’m partial to this song too. One of the most romantic songs ever written.
4) Brown Eyed Girl (Van Morrison)
More perfect pop.
5) Don’t Worry Baby – Beach Boys
My favourite BB song. It’s quite possible that this ought to be higher on the list as another, newer, re-mixed version is on the iPod too, and this has been played a lot as well. It could even to be number one on aggregate plays.
6) Going’ Back – The Byrds
Just a great version of a beautiful song.
7) Teach Your Children – CSN&Y
Another Mrs C favourite. We never miss Goldrush, a CSN&Y tribute band, when they play at our village pub. 8) Something – The Beatles
This is the version from the Love album, remastered. Up there in my top five Beatle songs, along with Don’t Let Me Down and their spin through Long tall Sally.
9) Waterloo Sunset – The Kinks
Everybody’s favourite Kinks song.
10) Going To California (Live from Earls Court, 1975) – Led Zeppelin
Mrs C’s favourite Zep song, beautifully played.
11) Dimming Of The Day – Richard & Linda Thompson
A live duet from the Life & Times of RT box set. I adored this version when I first heard it and for a long time it was number one most played. Somehow it’s slipped down the chart.
12) If Paradise Is (Half As Nice) – Amen Corner
An odd favourite of mine that I never tire of. Another in the same category – random 60s pop – that’s probably hovering underneath the 25 is I Can’t Let Maggie Go by Honeybus.
13) I Want You – Dylan
Tambourine Man is my favourite Dylan song but that doesn’t make the list somehow. This is a pretty good substitute.
14) Highway Patrolman (live, Dublin) – Springsteen & Sessions Band
I loved this ‘story’ song when I first heard it on Nebraska but this version is the best.
15) Make Me A Pallet On Your Floor – Gillian Welch
A guy at work turned me on to GW about six years ago and I now play her a lot. Her take on this old blues song by Mississippi John Hurt is as good as she gets.
16) Rockin’ Chair (Live, RAH, 6/2/21) – The Band
Probably my favourite Band song, and much played because of the counterpoint vocals during the last verse. From that 5-CD box set/book with a knockout version of Slippin’ & Slidin’ which is almost certainly hovering just under this list.
17) Positively Fourth Street – Dylan
Probably the best put down song ever written. Glad it wasn’t about me.
18) In My Command – Crowded House
I love Crowded House but I’m not too sure why this song of theirs has been played more than any other. Distant Sun and Into Temptation are up there too.
19) Mother Knows Best – Richard Thompson
Thompson on fire.
20) Nothing Compares To You – Sinead O’Connor
Another favourite of Mrs C.
21) In My Hour Of Darkness – Gram Parsons
My favourite GP song.
22) Cooksferry Queen (Live, from Austin) – Richard Thompson
Opening song on this live CD, a real belter.
23) Twist And Shout – Beatles
I gave a talk on John Lennon earlier this year but before I said a word I played this loud. It said everything there was to say really.
24) Roy Orbison Knows – John Wesley Harding
Wes was a pal of mine years ago and this song has stuck in my consciousness ever since. This version is from his first ever (live) album which has a picture of my old Gibson guitar on the back.
25) 1953 Vincent Black Lightning (Live, Austin) – Richard Thompson
Probably my favourite RT song, and what I said about Don’t Worry Baby applies to this too, though in this case there’s two other versions on the IPod, both of which have been played a fair bit too, so the aggregate total of all three will put this much higher.

Those who know me might wonder why there’s nothing by The Who or R.E.M. (or more Springsteen) on this list and I have no explanation other than that if I listed numbers 26-50 they’d probably be there. (There’s more Who tracks on the iPod than anyone else actually – 347!) Maybe another time…

Departing Reading 2009

Yesterday I drove to Reading pick up my 17-year-old daughter who had spent five days and four nights in a tent at the festival along with a crowd of friends, her first ever big rock experience. In some ways she’s a chip off the old block but you know what – the departing Reading audience in their teeming hordes, magnificent in their unwashed disarray, their hair uncombed, their clothes filthy, all carrying their belongings like refugees from a war zone, looked exactly the same to my eyes as the tribes who descended on Bath and the IOW and Plumpton and the rest in my festival days. Almost 40 years have passed and the music has certainly changed, but those who love it now look absolutely identical to those who loved it then.

Olivia and her three friends couldn’t stay awake in the car on the drive home but before they all nodded off there was a fierce discussion on the relative merits of the sets performed by Radiohead, Arctic Monkeys, Prodigy, Jamie T and more. I wished I could have joined in and, indeed, tried to at one point but Olivia gave me the sort of look that communicated, “Shut up dad, just drive.” So I did.

In Search of the Rockin’ Pandas

All of them start somewhere and most of them, including me, fail but every so often I think back fondly to the brief career of my teenage band, The Rockin’ Pandas from Skipton in West Yorkshire, which featured yours truly on lead guitar, and my friends Terry Garner on rhythm, John Holmfield on bass and Bob Gumby of drums. John didn’t have a real bass guitar so he and I sort of shared the bass lines on the bottom strings of our regular guitars. Terry, John and Bob all sang. To my ongoing disappointment I was useless in this department.

We formed around 1963 and hung together for almost three years, strictly covers only and semi-pro in that we accepted a pittance for the handful of dates we got. We had a card printed – “The Rockin’ Pandas – Available for Dances, Parties and Special Occasions” – and in keeping with the name wore black shirts and white jeans. We had a picture of a panda on the front of the bass drum.

Our repertoire consisted of instrumentals by the Shadows and others, songs by the Beatles, Rolling Stones and Searchers, and some older R&R and R&B songs, most especially Chuck Berry, almost all of which we’d discovered on early LPs by the Beatles and Stones and their contemporaries like the Animals, Searchers, Hollies etc. Indeed, we played no fewer than 10 non-originals that appeared on the first two Beatles and first Stones albums. I remember mastering ‘Saturday Night At The Duck Pond’, a variation of the theme from Swan Lake, by The Cougars, and ‘Hall Of The Mountain King’, a favourite of instrumental bands, whose theme is borrowed from Greig’s Peer Gynt, but gradually we dropped the instrumentals in favour of songs. We always began our first set with ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ and closed the final set with ‘Twist And Shout’. I suppose we had about thirty songs in all, and my favourites were ‘You’d Better Move On’, ‘Bring It On Home To Me’ and ‘All My Loving’.

John had the best amp, a Selmer 30 watt affair, and a Vox guitar; I had a Futurama 15 watt amp, selected no doubt because it had the same black and gold livery as the celebrated Vox AC 30s used by the Beatles, and a red Futurama III guitar which looked a bit like a Strat, but somewhere along the line I swapped it for a real bass guitar, a Hofner violin like McCartney; and Terry had a Hofner f-hole guitar with a pick-up he’d stuck on himself. Bob’s drum-kit was white with the Pandas logo, make unknown, which he tended to hit it very hard and drown us out. We ‘borrowed’ a hopelessly inadequate PA system from a local youth club and I cannot be sure if it was ever returned.

We rehearsed in our homes, creating a terrible din. We had one or two fairly regular ‘bread and butter’ gigs locally, at Skipton Rugby Club and at the RAF Club. We played at private parties and occasional dances in church halls in the surrounding villages, sometimes supporting older, better-equipped groups, and once – memorably – at a dance at the local comprehensive school in front of about 200, probably our biggest ever audience

Terry was a handsome Lothario with a roving eye but he could be an awkward, arrogant sod. He missed rehearsals, preferring the company of girls to us three, and didn’t maintain his equipment properly. He was always breaking strings and having no replacements and his amp was crap, an old radio that he’d somehow transformed into a piss-poor, tone-free guitar amp. Hence he was always wanting to plug into the superior amps of John and myself, and cadging strings. Nevertheless he was crucial to the group’s line-up as for all his faults he had heaps of confidence and reckless enthusiasm, ‘punk’ qualities that only later did I come to realise were just as important as musicianship in any successful group.

Predictably, Terry was first to leave, the consequence of him having finally and inevitably impregnated one of his many girlfriends. He fled to Leeds where he worked for an insurance company, and rented a flat there with the mother-to-be, but although his departure decisively weakened the group and hastened its demise, in one respect it had unforeseen benefits for me. In his wake he left several despairing girlfriends, two of whom, on the rebound, briefly stepped out on my arm. After Terry left, Bob, John and myself held a few half-hearted rehearsals as a trio with me on bass but it wasn’t the same so the group disbanded.

After that I played lead guitar in a group from Cross Hills called Sandra & The Montanas who played Working Men’s Clubs around Leeds and Bradford, a far more disciplined outfit than the Pandas with a strict rehearsal schedule (and a driver/roadie who owned an old coach), but I was never that friendly with them so I left after a few months. My best memory of them was playing support in some big WMC in Leeds to Bob Monkhouse who told the most outrageously filthy jokes I’d ever heard. Then I played bass a few times for a local soul band, The Black Sheep, whose speciality was a note-for-note duplication of Geno Washington’s Funky Butt Show album. We drove around the Yorkshire Dales in an old hearse. That was fun, but by now I knew I’d never make it as a muso so I packed those dreams away and decided I’d do better writing about it. By now I worked for the Telegraph & Argus in Bradford and it was around this time I suggested to the editor that a rock and pop column, written by me, would boost sales. I don’t know whether it did or not but that was my first step to MM.

Pete Frame dedicated one of his books to ‘anyone who’s ever got into the back of a van to play a gig’, and I’m proud to be say that includes me. Does it include any other RBP bloggers?

Michael Jackson’s Dilemma

Over the past three days I have been frantically attending to an update of an Omnibus Press book entitled Michael Jackson: The Visual Documentary which was last published in 2005, just before the much publicised child molestation trial from which he was acquitted.

Until his death last week I hadn’t paid much attention to whatever might have been happening in the world of Michael Jackson but I now realise that in the intervening years he doesn’t appear to have done very much in terms of real work, no albums of new material, no concert tours, not many public appearances apart from the odd awards ceremony or shopping expedition. There is no real evidence of any new recordings, only vague statements about ‘writing new material’, though there’s probably something in the can somewhere. What he does seem to have done, though, is travel a lot, often with an entourage of 25 or more, including his three children and attendant nursing staff and personal doctors, from America to Bahrain, where he was based for a while though he and most everyone else on his payroll took trips to Dubai, Paris, London, Hamburg and Tokyo, and to Ireland where he rented a castle for a while, and back to Bahrain again, and finally to America where, having fallen out with his hosts in Bahrain, he settled for a while in Las Vegas before finally returning to Los Angeles. The enormous expense of this nomadic travel, the private planes, limousines and suites in five star hotels, the rented luxury homes with ten or more bedrooms, clearly explains why he was in financial difficulties. No one apart from Bill Gates and a few oil sheiks can afford to live like this, constantly on the run with huge entourages, yet he seems not to have cared one iota. Somehow the cost was paid from his mounting overdraft.

In the meantime he was the focus of all manner of expensive legal actions, from former managers and lawyers claiming unpaid fees, from financial institutions with million dollar claims for ‘restructuring debt’, from employees at Neverland claiming unpaid wages, from the mother of his two elder children claiming maintenance, legal fees and changes in visitation rights, from people selling Jackson memorabilia which may or may not have been stolen from his various homes, and from assorted bandwagon jumpers with spurious claims about being sexually assaulted, all of which were thrown out of court, but all this must have been costing Jackson big money too. Indeed, a whole Jackson-led legal industry seems to have developed to feed off him like a pack of vultures.

Crucially, his family are largely absent from this diary-style day-to-day reportage I’ve been editing. Also, he doesn’t seem to have had one key advisor on whom he could depend and who was loyal unto him in the manner of say, Paul McGuiness to U2 or Jon Landau to Bruce Springsteen. Managers come and go and when they go they sue.

In amongst the entries are odd announcements about this or that project, a Hurricane Katrina benefit record, a ‘new album’ that he’s ‘writing himself’, a business venture with some wealthy individual, a newly created label, but nothing seems to come of these plans beyond a press release dripping in hyperbole. Then there’s appearances at awards ceremonies where, reading between the lines, you get the impression that a new award has been created especially for Michael – the ‘Legend Award’, the ‘Diamond Award’ – purely in the hope that he’ll attend the event and thus boost publicity, which might or might not benefit some charity somewhere along the line, but you somehow know that someone somewhere will benefit financially from his appearance and it ain’t Michael. Also, invariably, there’s a controversy over his appearance, something goes wrong, and through no fault of his own other than that he seems to have appointed advisors who cannot discriminate between what is good for him and what is not, between integrity and schlock, Michael ends up with egg on his face and the tabloids lap it up.

The dreadful rootlessness of his lifestyle, the quagmire of endless trouble, the appalling uncertainly of everything surrounding him, not least the forthcoming O2 concerts, seems to me to be what has killed him, and although it makes me very sad I can’t help but think that he’s somehow better off out of it all.

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