This is my niece Lauren Dempsey, singing 'Ruby' with the group 'Doubting Herons'. (Click on the photo to open a SoundCloud window.... hopefully .... ) It's folk music. You couldn't get much more folky unless you knit your own muesli. But it's modern folk - and isn't it nice to know that people are still writing songs in a great tradition? After the song, there are some jigs with accordion accompaniment. Feel free to jig around in your room - nobody is watching. Again, one of the reasons I like this is because of Lauren's wonderful accent. Listen out for the words 'front', 'phone' and so on. I am not being disrespectful, I genuinely like a broad Derby accent. I was born in Derby too, but my own accent is bland and boring; I probably watched and listened to too much BBC.
I can't resist posting up more stuff about Neil Young.
Good god, the man just doesn't stop creating. If I were a Neil Young completist, I could have spent my whole life tracking down vinyl, films, videos, cassettes, CDs, DVDs .....
Anyway, as I mentioned in my last post, Neil claims to be clean and sober, and has just released a double CD entitled 'Psychedelic Pill'. Well, that didn't give me much confidence (although his titles have never been less than obscure), but tonight I have just come across 'Ramada Inn'. It's a long track - is a 16 minute tune ever going to get play on Radio One or XFM? I think not - but it's fully justified. As is the video, below.
Try and watch some before you flit away. The found footage is wonderful, and appropriate. The song itself seems so simple, but if you are of a certain age and experience it is hard to listen to. Thankfully he spaces the verses with some classic guitar solos - toning down the aggression he obviously loves into something more expressive and elegaic. And how can his voice still sound as it did?
Neil Young and Crazy Horse. Yes, there are many musicians with more technical mastery, and more bands that are pushing at the envelope .... but few have made more people happier, for longer, than this little crew. [Later - 27/12/12:] The man is a 24 carat, first water, primo quality, appelation controlee genius. I have just come across his other recent album 'Americana', which contains the most unpromising list of traditional folk song and other well-known titles I have ever seen. He just waves his hand over them, and they become magic. You have never heard the phrase; "And I come from Alabama with my B-A-N-J-O on my knee!" in quite the same way as Neil phrases it ....
And this illustrates how he puts his music together. Basically, it is mostly recorded live, which is why his live shows are so wildly successful. If you stick with it to the end, you will hear the banter as Crazy Horse discuss the tune. [Later and even later - 27/12/12:] No, I can't let it go at that. The video to 'Oh Susannah' is a rare find. Look at the careworn faces of the parents - and I bet they are not even into their late forties. Look at the pudding bowl haircut of the tap dancing boy. Look at the smudges on the little girl's face. Look at the older child slumped against the timber wall. These are real people - I would love to know where and how it was made, and what the father is playing on his banjo. We don't know we're born. [More later - 30/12/12:]
I have been trying to research the video that goes with 'Oh Susannah', without much success. But on the way I did find this - someone posted it up as a song that sounds similar, and the video is equally of its time (1970s). I can remember this tune; isn't that frightening? OK, they're miming, and I think a session musician was brought in to do the guitar break .... but why in god's name are they doing this in front of an animal cage in some kind of menagerie?! It took me a couple of views to confirm this .... that's a chimpanzee hanging on the wire, isn't it?
Not even – and let me stress this – not even when they are doing the writing themselves.Perhaps especially not then.
I can’t remember the last time I stopped reading a book (at least, a book I thought I’d care about) halfway through.It might have been one of the strange sequels to ‘Rendezvous with Rama’ that Arthur C. Clarke wrote with a collaborator.Yes, I’m pretty sure it was.Should have left it alone, Artie, it was perfect as a trilogy of one.
But I did it with Neil Young’s autobiography.I went away to read Danny Baker’s “Going to Sea in a Sieve” instead, a jolly romp through his early years, where I learned that he had lived much the same life as me, if you subtract from mine everything about his except his taste in music and the records he collected.
But, as when I stopped reading “Snuff” by Terry Pratchett, for reasons I won’t go into here (Pratchett, again, is living my life, but in his case with the added bonus of actually having written thirty or more books), I didn’t abandon it, but later went back to finish Neil’s book as well, out of some kind of horrible fascination.
“Waging Heavy Peace” (lol!) is subtitled; “A Hippie Dream”, god save us, which if I’d spotted it first time might have been some kind of warning.Neil Young is many things, but a hippie he never was.Maybe it IS a warning, direct from Neil;“Hey, I’ve re-read this thing, and it’s a bit of a nightmare.But I’m an artist, and I do what I feel, man.”
Where to start, where to start ….
OK, there are five main themes in the book.No, make that six.He confronts you with the first in Chapter One, Page One.Model trains.That’s right, boys and girls, you heard me right – model trains.Neil Young has been a model train fanatic from his youth, and when he had big money to play around with bought his way into one of the major model trains companies of the USA which, sadly, has now been forced to manufacture in China.We hear a lot about control systems and sound effects and track layout design.More than we want to know, in fact.
The other five (in no particular order) are his PureTone recording/broadcasting system, his LincVolt electric car scheme, his relationships and family, a theme you could call ‘all my friends are dead’, and music.
The problem is that, although he tells us (several times) that he has stopped drinking and no longer uses ‘weed’ in haybale quantities, the book reads as if it was written by somebody who has fried his brains.It hops backwards and forwards in time, for no good reason.He says things that just occur to him.He goes off on one occasionally.Anecdotes start in one chapter, and maybe crop up and end two hundred pages later.Sometimes they are repeated, subtly altered.Only somebody who already has an encyclopaedic knowledge of the history of Buffalo Springfield, CSNY, Crazy Horse, The Squires and so on would stand a chance of keeping up.I haven’t.I just bought a few records, and read some magazines occasionally.And love Neil Young.
Maybe if an editor was asked to look at this 500-page book and see if, by judicious cutting and pasting of sections, he could re-arrange it into some kind of narrative, readability could be restored.But Neil proudly states (several times) that he doesn’t hold with that kind of shit.Bully, Neil ….. bully!
Oh, there are six themes, not five!How could I forget about the cars?He talks endlessly about the cars he has owned when, as all of us know, the only one we are really interested in, is the one that ‘Long may you run’ was written about.You thought that that was a love song?You were wrong.It was about a big shiny car that burnt out in BlindRiver in ought six, or something.Very romantic.
LincVolt, his electric hybrid car scheme for powering lunkers from big batteries, forms part of this car obsession.He has spent fortunes on trying to make the car work.It doesn’t.Once it tried to commit suicide by self-immolation, but he persists in trying to make it live.Look, Neil once invested in ‘power your car on water’ schemes.He sounds genuinely hurt and surprised that the guys turned out to be frauds.
I should cut him some slack.Neil is 65, he (and also his last and long-term wife Pegi, also now a musician) has had major brain surgery, fears what his recent brain scans have shown and still ploughs on actually doing things.Although he admits he hasn’t written a thing since on medical advice he stopped quaffing and toking, some twelve months before the book was written;he gives hints that maybe the odd tincture might be needed soon.
And I would actually have liked to hear more about PureTone.He rails against MP3 and Spotify and iTunes, claiming that since they are digital they may only give you fifteen percent of the original analogue sound, and that he has a miracle solution.It’s the argument of CDs against vinyl.A topic close to my heart.I only hope that, in this one instance, it isn’t another of Neil’s wild and unwise enthusiasms.
You may ask me, why am I not talking more about music?Go on, you may.
Well, part of the reason is that Neil doesn’t talk too much about it.Sure, there’s a great deal about the bands and the tours and his guitars and amps and gizmos, but we rarely get to hear things like, oh, I don’t know ….. what was ‘Mansion on the hill’ written about? [Time for a video to break this up:]
He only really comes alive and gets enthusiastic when he describes how other people play with him – and sadly like Danny Whitten of the original Crazy Horse and Ben Keith his long-time sidekick slide guitar player, they’re dead.He is generous in praise of them, and of nearly all the other musicians he mentions;Pearl Jam, Sonic Youth …. some other names you might find surprising.He was trying to get in touch with Kurt Cobain shortly before Kurt’s demise, and was brought up short by the fact that Kurt’s last letter quotes something similar to lyrics from ‘Rust Never Sleeps’.(Unkind words, as you might expect, are usually directed at record companies and managers.)
But there are passages in this that I wish I’d never read.
I’m well aware that musicians and others sometimes use substances to lubricate the creative process.But I didn’t really want to hear that that the process of recording one of my favourite NY albums (I won’t name it, because I’m trying to forget the fact) consisted of sitting around drinking Jose Cuervo with the band until well after midnight, stumbling out to the barn and thrashing away until they seemed to be going in the same and right direction, then adding some lyrics that mostly didn’t have any meaning.Learned academic theses have probably been written about some of those songs.
I got to the stage where I was trying to scan the lines ahead without actually taking them in, just in case he was about to reveal that, say, ‘Cinnamon girl’ was about a waitress in Starbucks who always used to give him extra sprinkles.
Oh hell.I will forgive him anything.Just for the intro to ‘Ohio’, and the fact of having written the song;written overnight, recorded next day, no messing.Raw and direct.And as for his guitarwork ….. there are many fancier guitarists but no others who understand (in the phrase coined by Robert Fripp) ‘guitar mechanics’ better.Not even Jamie of The Kills.There are some harmonics he gets in some of his solos that just transfix you.Many is the night I’ve spent in headphones, wanting the workouts at the end of ‘Cowgirl in the sand’ or other tunes just to go until dawn.
Whatever else this book is, it is honest. And if you struggle all the way through it, taking in with difficulty all the things that are important to him, the last chapter will break your heart.I thought only love was supposed to do that.
I'm OK, but this has not been a good few days, technology-wise. And now I am having issues with both Facebook and YouTube, just when I want to talk about Terry Kath. Figures.
Terry was the guitarist with the blues/jazz/rock fusion band Chicago. He was incredible. Don't take my word for it - listen to someone who might know. Sorry, I am having trouble constructing this, please bear with me.
Jimi Hendrix was so self-effacing and modest, for someone who could play a guitar "just like a'ringing a bell." Watch him in this clip, while I try and find the ONE I ACTUALLY NEED, GODDAMMIT!
OK, I give up, this computer is driving me mental, and my usual search procedures are producing gibberish. I'll have to come back and fix this up, but I want to publish it now. Look, take my word for it, Jimi said that 'that guy from 'Chicago' is a better player', and many people agree. There was just too much hype about at the time, who was or wasn't 'the world's greatest guitar player'.
I am STILL trying to find the video I know exists, as above. But I have got sidetracked, and today I had some information that means that I have lost focus. But you don't need to know that. Look, watch Jimi Hendrix in this interview with Dick Cavett.
OK, let me try and find a video of Kath at his height.
No, it's no good, my technology has let me down. I will have to come back and find the exact ones I want. But this one isn't bad:
OK, fellow bloggers, you must have been here before ... I was going to go on and insert videos from the later career of Terry Kath, to build up to the climax of his sad early death. He drank, he got fat, he lost his finger speed and ability, some of the last videos of this song are painful to watch ...... yes, yes, yet another sacrifice on the altar of rock and roll. But it's all going wrong. Even the font is wrong, just let me go and fix that ....
I am so frustrated right now. Cat, come here, I want to kick you.
[Later: OK, I have found one of the videos I wanted. I'll leave the earlier one up - but this one is so much of its era, and you'll see why. Sadly, it also foreshadows Terry's fatal accident. You'll see that, too.]
No, I'm being disrepectful. Honest, I will come back and fix this up. The music is worth it. The story is that Terry, who collected handguns, was tired and emotional for various reasons (well, Jack Daniels will do that to you), was happily cleaning one at the kitchen table and, when warned of the danger said the immortal words 'Don't worry, it ain't loaded!" or similar. Versions vary. But then there was a gunshot, and no more Terry.
Drat. He sure could play. Clapton, you're a journeyman. Go look at some of the other Chicago videos, while I try and fix this up.
Jesus, just listen to the solos in these videos. You won't find anything better.
Right, should I do this? In the mood I am today, yes. You have to know that, as I've said elsewhere, any story taken to its end, ends in tragedy.
I apologise, this blog entry is a mess. I have tried to do too many things at once. And I am just not in the mood. I am going to leave it here.
OK, let's check me out, so you can see where this is coming from.
I love female vocal. I like folk music. I come from Derbyshire, and a broad Derby accent gives me warm feelings of home. (It's 'grass', not 'grarss', fer crissake.) I do what I can to support my family. So here is my neice Lauren Dempsey, singing with other musicians. The song is called 'The Grappler'.
Right, this is my music blog, I can put anything up here that just seems like a good idea to to me. This is 'Jimmy Tait', an Australian band, performing 'The Pond'. I find something to appeal to me in its sparseness and build. The lead singer is Sara Retallick, to whom I am distantly related, I declare an interest. The Pond
We are having a Neil Young fest here, this evening. I have dragged out all my vinyl, and one or two CDs. From Harvest, to Trans, and beyond. Currently, 'Computer age' is pumping out through my Tannoys. This man is a genius, and I just love his guitar work. OK, be about your business. Nothing to see here. Just an aged man boogieing to riffs that are decades old. Oh, here comes 'We R in control'. Must go and pump up the volume. [Normal service will be resumed at some future date.] Lord, Neil has given so much pleasure to so many people. I am just seizing one video at random - 'Cinnamon Girl ' (oooh, there's a surprise!), with Jawas dancing round on stage. So much fun.
Incidentally, I have been turned down for AdSense signup. Maybe they detect that this is a vanity project. Maybe they're a complete bunch of mindless jerks who'll be first against the wall when the revolution comes. Don't they know I have a barefoot and pregnant wife in the kitchen to support, as well as a tribe of indigent children she claims are mine, and two hungry cats? Well, no, because that's all lies. Except about the cats.
To answer my many critics who say; "Ed, all you write about are young ladies or otherwise female warblers. And we've seen your blog about the pre-Raphaelites - a preponderance of damsels. We begin to doubt that you are truly an impartial observer of all things popular musical. What of Rory Gallagher, Wilko, or The Boss and his sweaty, checked-shirt shoutings? Eschew this nimminy-pimminy, and do some in-depth analysis of something grungey". And since they are currently backing this up with mobs, torches and pitchforks, and the paint on my mock-Edwardian front door is starting to blister, I thought I'd comply.
Now look, on the male/female coverage front, the only reason I haven't done anything about, say, Neil Young is because, like Kate Bush (Careful - editor), the subject is vast. Buffalo Springfield NY, CSNY NY, NY solo, NY and Crazy Horse, 'TRANS' NY, post-vinyl digital NY ...... left-wing NY, redneck/C&W/reactionary NY ..... even I haven't listened to all his tracks. But I know I love at least some tracks from every aspect of his career; until 'How to be Invisible' by Kate Bush (I said "Careful"! - editor) came along, I was going to be cremated to the sound of 'Cinnamon Girl' (with the full guitar flourish at the end).
So, to business. The 'axe', or lead guitar, if you will.
We are going to have to take Jimmy Page as a given. Like B B King or Muddy Waters, there's no more to be said, there.
No, we're going into the murkier waters (see what I did there?) of the vast range of 'not quite guitar gods, but people will glass you in pubs when their incoherent arguments fail to convince you that THEIR particular candidate is one' string pickers.
I've listened to them all. Jeff Beck. The guy from 'Chicago' whose name always escapes me, but who Jimi Hendrix (another one) said was a better guitarist. Jeff Lynne. Steve Hillage. Gilmour. J J Cale. Syd Barrett, god love him. And others too numerous to mention hem hem. Ooh, Bill Nelson (who has possibly released more albums than anyone else on the planet apart from Frank Zappa, without becoming well-known, never mind famous)!
"But surely," I hear you interject, "it's common knowledge. Eric Clapton, without a doubt."
Whisper it quietly - I have never rated Slowhand. I tried hard to like Cream and Blind Faith, because everyone else did, and The Yardbirds and John Mayall's Bluesbreakers are interesting pieces of popular music archaeology, but - apart from one startlingly good riff (Layla, you knew, it was going to be Layla) - he bores me stupid.
Oh look, we've gone too long without a video. Take a break and just enjoy this (I know I do). A cover of Led Zep's 'When the levee breaks', by Zepparella:
Ah, Gretchen Menn, there, on lead guitar. Check out her YouTube video of 'Oleo Strut', it's immense. A talented guitarist. She does not need to wear those clothes her PR people foisted on her for that other video, which (Ed, we've been through this, get a grip or we'll pull the plug - editor)
As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, there's more to slightly-less-than-guitar-god-but-still-major status than finger speed and facility. For example, although I like Mark Knopfler, and 'Local Hero' wouldn't have been the same without his music .... it's more something to admire than get lost in. Like a rock crystal, as opposed to a fish supper with mushy peas. (Needs work - editor)
Funnily enough, I was reminded of my choice by a lunch we had to celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday, round at their gaff. Her other half and I were discussing technical issues while the ladies twittered charmingly about ladies' topics, and he wanted to demonstrate his sound system. He's a guitar instructor (also does a bit of consultant technician work for QOTSA, Rage, bands like that), so after about half an hour perusing the vinyl collection, he chose Django Reinhardt, and the 'Hot Club de France' waxing. If you've ever listened to that (it's purely acoustic, one-take, no overdubbing, autotuning - nothing), you'll know it's phenomenal.
"Now," I said to myself, "which latter day guitarist would I put up against Django, to achieve the same degree of fluidity and yet with feeling?"
Here he is. Not fashionable, never in the charts .... Johnny Winter, playing "Jumpin' Jack Flash". There are dozens of videos I could have chosen, but I chose this to honour my pal DW, who is probably still reeling from the BBC coverage about one of his favourite bands, 'The Rolling Stones', and if he hasn't got a ticket to their forthcoming O2 concert performances may be suicidal. Dave, I'm here for you. I'm not a Rolling Stones fan, but I will feel your pain. Let me divert you with Johnny a'prancin, and a'hollerin!
Dave says; "I want red meat - and you offer me veal!".
Well, the hell with it. Just trying to be a bro.
Any road up .... do you realise, Johnny was a twin. An albino twin - he was the virtuoso guitar player, and his brother Edgar Winter was the virtuoso keyboard player. I hear that Edgar is now born again and preachin' and all that, but before THAT he was famous for recording 'Frankenstein':
I think what I like about Johnny's guitar playing is that it looks effortless, and inspired moment to moment. He's virtually blind, he can't be looking at his finger placements anyway, and he just intuits his way through riffs, transitions and songs. Sure, I know that he's been playing these for decades, but he still manages to inject them with feeling. If you look at recently uploaded videos, you will see that he's now as ancient as hell and close to the Reaper, but when he picks up a guitar he still has it.
If you want a more extended workout, then here it is. Remember, Johnny did this kind of performance every couple of nights, for about a quarter of a century, and still he seemed to enjoy it. That's called paying dues. Respect.
The essential recordings for Johnny Winter are 'Johnny Winter And', and 'Johnny Winter And Live'. Of course, I have them both, in pristine condition. I also have 'The Johnny Winter Story' double album, a cheapo compilation which nevertheless has many interesting items of note. He played on these with Rick Derringer, famous name, fabulous rhythm guitarist and second lead. They played intuitively together. Rick wanted him to do "Rock and Roll, Hoochie Coo" as a 'heavy metal' number. Johnny wouldn't desert da blooze. Wouldn't it be nice, to have a cause to live and die for. I want something good to die for To make it beautiful to live. QOTSA
Oh hell .... look, I'm never going to do an in-depth piece about Queens of the Stone Age, because although they reach me and push some buttons, I don't share a hinterland with them. So I might as well put up my favourite song right here, right now, and get it over with. It's 'Go with the flow'.
QOTSA are dark, noisy and Handel would not have understood their choice of chord progressions and diminished ninths. Which is probably the point.
[Sorry, Dave, you're going to have to spot the Monty Python reference in the title too, or you're off my Xmas card list. Eventually, I will just include a word such as 'confuse', 'lupin' or 'Ilchester', and it'll get tough. After that, I will expect you to recognise the use of the word 'Dolores', and finally 'the'. If you pass those tests, you become part of the Secret Python Brotherhood. There's a blood oath and some frankly gratuitous humiliation (always good for a laugh, eh?!), but I'll put in a good word for you with the Master.] Well, that was a bit of fun, but now to our muttons. Anyone know where the word 'banksman' comes from? Nope, neither do I. Maybe it's something to do with ships, boats or barges, or thatching, or ferret juggling, but I really can't be bothered to look it up. Basically, it's the guy who stands around on building sites doing sod all, but at certain moments he controls the matter of the moment (see what I did there?!) by the flick of a finger or similar. Right, at the moment [That's enough moments - Editor] Kingston are spending an inordinate amount of money redeveloping what used to be the power station. It's absolutely unbelievable what they are doing to it. I'd tell you, but you wouldn't believe me. Honest, you wouldn't. (Well, maybe Dave would, but then he's resigned to looking at major building and civil engineering programmes that look totally insane to normal people. No offence, Dave!) You'd say 'Pshaw!'. Or 'You're 'avin' a larf!'. Depending on your class. And you lower class types can b*gger off, I think I have exhausted your attention span by now. [I'm just writing this purely for my own pleasure ... you can tell, can't you?] Oh, I've built this up too much. I should have just Tweeted. Hey ho, let's plunge on. Anyway, I cycle past this place every day. Today, they were using a JCB to knock down a wall next to the roadway, with its grab. This is not a recommended technique, but it does the job. There were wire fences up, it wasn't a clear and present danger, as far as I could see. I stopped to savour the moment [I said, no more moments - Editor] and Banksman No. 1 went into jobsworth mode and screamed at me:
"Whoa, whoa! There's no stopping here!". So I looked down at my stationary bicycle, and said something along the lines of 'My God, then this must be a miracle I have just performed!". Much gay banter ensued, and then much handwaving from Banksman No. 2 up the road (the one who never speaks, but does the hand jive stuff), and I eventually moved on. Purely because I was bored. Look, we don't have to take this. I am tired of being ordered around by people who think they have power, but who don't. And I am prepared to back this up with arbitrary violence. They have just pushed us too far. Are you with me? No? Oh, well, I'll back off.
You think I'm writing about this because I like to watch Ms Bush flaunting herself in scanty clothes, and with scarily edged weapons. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Well, OK, that's a tired phrase ..... I don't object to looking at Kate, who could. But as with so many aspects of the music industry, if there isn't a hinterland that 'adds value' to the experience, you might as well listen to the refrigerator humming. Ours does some freaky crackling and whining sounds, here in the early hours. I'm going to sample them, add some beats, and start a new genre. 'White Goods 'n Bass'. Hmmm. Maybe not.
Hello, hello ... look, I'm sorry to drag you back, I guess you've just been watching Kate bump and grind. Again, nothing wrong with that, but I encourage you to look at the artistry. Not only the musical and vocal performance, but the choreography, the dress sense, the innovative costume, the miming, the timing, those startling facial expressions, and what a great ass. [OK, you're suspended. No, out the door, now. I will have your things sent on. You disgust me - Editor] Just like to add .... Babooshka is a term used for Russian grandmothers or otherwise venerable ladies. So it really doesn't make much sense in this context. But who cares, when you can watch Kate [I've deleted the rest of this review. You are so busted. I'm putting you on 'One Direction' reviews until you mend your ways. And if you don't, I'll allocate you to Barry Manilow retrospectives. Don't think I won't do it - Editor]
I have nibbled away at the subject of Kate Bush [Careful. I'm watching you - Editor]. But art is long and life is short (in Latin, that's an album by The Nice, by the way - Ars Longa, Vita Brevis - I hope you're getting all these muso references), so I'm going straight for the main chance. This is the video of 'Sensual World', from the album of the same name.
Where to start, where to start. We have art, literature, music and video all tied up in one package, plus Ms Bush at the peak of all her powers. Spoilt for choice. I'll go for the low-hanging fruit. This song is based on the soliloquy (yep, had to spell check that) of Molly Bloom from the end of 'Ulysses' (ditto) by James Joyce. I won't go into the interpretations and fevered imaginings that have already been written about that soliloquy (ditto), except to say that because the estate of James Joyce wouldn't allow Kate Bush to use the precise words from the novel, she had to use a pastiche or approach, which nevertheless captures the essence of what is in places a breathless tirade [Mop your brow, these keyboards aren't cheap - Editor]. If you can listen to her flute "Mmmmmmmm - yes!" and not feel a sudden excess of some kind, then you're probably a dispensing machine that has accessed this stuff by accident. Go back and replenish the roasted peanuts. And no, I'm not ashamed to say that this is the most sensual piece of music video I've ever seen, although all that she divests is a hat. I would stack this up against your Beyonces or Black Eyed Peas, and I would win. The moment when she moves from striding to whirling ...... oh, beat me, mama, four to the bar! [I think we may need to move you to the small ads - Editor] And I haven't even started on the music! She has some kind of aeullian harp or Celtic bagpipe going (sorry, not done my research on this one) that is just so apropos. I know her older brother is a folk music expert, so maybe that's where that came from? OK, it's as I feared. I am descending into hero worship and gibberish. Just watch the damned video, and see for yourself. Maybe I will come back and tidy this up, maybe I won't.
There's just no way I can write about Kate Bush in a single post, it's too big a subject. So instead I'm going to work my way up to liontaming - via banking, for example! [That's a Monty Python quote - Dave Wildsmith, where are you, when I need you to validate my existence.] OK, Kate was famous for inviting session musicians and others to contribute to her songs, with little creative direction. They would produce a riff, or a chord sequence ... and then get asked to do it again. And again. And again. Sometimes, all the work they did would never appear on the final track, although I believe they would be paid for their time. I don't remember any particular barneys about that kind of thing. And she would make tea for them and offer other refreshments; waccy baccy is hinted at. So why am I focussing on this aspect? Because it demonstrates her perfectionism, and why the elements of her songs go together so well. For example, here is the video of 'King of the Mountain', from 'Aerial' (go out and buy that album NOW, I insist). This is a great video, and a great song, with steady and accelerating build ..... and it's one of Kate's quirky song subjects. I'm not sure, but I believe she is using one of her many Fairlight synthesisers to provide the strings and other basic tracks. But what I want you to listen to, as you watch this, is the accompaniment. The bass is perfect. The drums are perfect. And as for the rhythm guitar - what chops! Just the right degree of attack and sustain. Hey, I'm writing a music blog here. I'm entitled to get nerdish. The section from 3:37 to 3:50 just transfixes me. And doesn't Kate look a charmful armful in this video? [That's enough of that, me laddo - Editor]
You know the tired old joke, don't you? "What do you call someone who hangs around with musicians? A drummer." Oh ho ho ho. Collapse of stout party. The opposite is true, as it were. The drummer is the measure of the health of a band. The bassist can sometimes phone it in, if they choose to. But if the drummer is staring at the walls and flailing ineffectually at the skins, it's a sign that their heart is not in the music, and that there may not be a heart to the music at all. I take as my example Nick Falla, of the late and much lamented Right Turn Left. He never phoned it in, when I saw them perform. Intense, in the 'Repo Man' sense of the word. And then there's Clementine, the drummer with the Led Zep tribute band 'Zepparella'; go and watch their video of 'When the Levee Breaks', which is one of my favourite YouTube videos of all time and yes, I can enjoy it even with my eyes closed. And I was reminded of them when I came across this video. This is Jon Stone, from the band called The Indieannas who hail from Buxton, Derbyshire. I love that town, that county, and my ashes are to be scattered in the river at Hartington, and good riddance. I have listened to their published tracks, and I have pronounced them high energy and fine. So much music, so little time ... Any road up, look at the commitment. Imagine yourself perched on an uncomfortable little stool, in a smokey cellar club, not only trying to co-ordinate two drumsticks but a foot pedal for the bass drum, and in many instances another pedal for a hi-hat (whatever the hell that is). Slap those skins and lids for us, Jon:
I may be a dinosaur, but I've been on the Internet for a very, very long time. I even had a primitive form of email, before anyone really knew the term; I actually went to a British Telecom launch event somewhere Up West, as a proper business prospect, in a suit, and took notes. We used just to call it electronic mail, in the days of Telecom Gold. Which at times was so slow that I can remember watching individual letters (by which I mean characters of the alphabet, not fully formed missives) adding themselves to messages in real time.
And I've been on eBay for ten years, so can remember when it was a service for ordinary people who wanted to sell stuff to other ordinary people by auction, rather than the wannabee Amazon that it has become.
So I have come across chat rooms in many guises, and signed up for message boards of all kinds. The White Goods Information Line springs to mind for no very good reason - I think I was trying to find spare parts for our gas oven, or something.
But I have never, ever come across the vituperation, insult and sheer gratuitous use of curse words (as George McGovern would say, if he weren't dead) that occurs on YouTube.
Look, on eBay we could get quite worked up about people who imposed extra conditions in their listings, or who abused the (once fully functioning) feedback system. The debate could become heated, but anyone who trolled or flamed would be quickly sat upon, we would all pile in to nay say and suppress them - and finally The Moderator might step in and remove their posts. Regulars on eBay boards (and ooooh, we sorted ourselves out into tightly-knit cliques on the various boards!) soon got to know The Moderators .... they were like your secondary school teacher, your nanny, your parent ... maybe your minor deity. (Secretly, we all got a thrill when Big Daddy/Mommy came in and tried to impose order. For a moment, we weren't just pathetic losers keying text into the ether ... someone had at least noticed us.)
But I digress.
I suppose in a perverse way it's encouraging. People feel strongly enough about music (which, let's face it, is one of the things that makes life worth living, over and above Dime bars, kittens, and the first pull on a Balkan Sobranie ..... oh no, sorry, that's denied me, because SMOKING KILLS) to abuse each other, disrespect their taste, and mock their opinions as to the divide between 'drum and bass' or some equally arbitrary way of hitting or plucking things and then treating them electronically in order to produce audible wave forms. Idiots - it's all music! (See, even I can't resist the temptation to abuse.)
[Sir, step away from the keyboard. Hands by your side, please, sir.] "But that bastard said that Kate Bush was just a whiney female with parent issues, and that Aerial was a mishmash of half-realised ideas! I must destroy him, in a comment!" [Permission to deploy Taser, please, Control. This looks like a bad one.]
*sighs*
I just don't see why they have to swear so much, or be personally abusive. It isn't big, and it isn't clever. Use a few more words, and your attack can be more devastating than saying ****, *****, ******* or even **** you.
Let's get things straight, I'm not going to give you a lot of information about the derivation of the band name, a complete discography, an in-depth analysis of the major influences on Flo's songwriting, and all that stuff. This is MY blog, I just do what I feel.
What I AM going to do is to try to make you understand why I am drawn to her material. Other than that, admittedly (and as heretofore stated) I am a sucker for female vocal. I said 'vocal'; stop tittering at the back.
And really, it starts with the voice, and what a voice she has. OK, here's a video from the very early days which I hope she wouldn't disown, much as you wouldn't put your first teddy bear out for landfill.
It's a virtually unaccompanied version of 'My boy builds coffins', and has a charm all its own. There is some charming preamble, but you could always skip to the three minute mark, where the song begins.
If you're at all interested in Ms. Welch, and I suppose there's a chance you are to have arrived here, you will know that she has, since those days, gone global. Whilst managing to retain her quirky humour and not becoming subsumed in the industry. Good for her, I say.
For example, I have it on the highest authority that after performing a major concert in the London area, giving it her all in front of her family, fans and friends, she repaired to a local hostelry and continued to entertain until the early hours. It's rare that performers can maintain that energy and interest.
Now, I'm not going to criticise the FATM operation for the recent videos they have produced; lavish, controversial ..... look, Shania Twain is a guilty pleasure of mine, and her videos went the same route. With me, it's mostly about the music, so that don't impress me much. Florence's 'No Light, No Light' went just about as far and as far out as can feasibly be imagined, and I don't know what they were thinking. You can go and look at the official video - or why not watch that of 'What the water gave me', which strikes a happier balance.
Or you could watch some of the live videos on YouTube. In fact, I'm going to include here one of my favourites. Recorded from the crowd, it is neverthless of high quality, and manages to capture some of the .... well, come on, let's not beat about the bush .... the magic of performance. (Maybe 'electricity' would have been less sick-making - Editor)
Oh, that's my problem, I can never stop at one .... here comes another. This is from the same evening. Watch Flo prance as she performs 'No Light, No Light' live. We were there the next night, and she was equally [electric - Editor].
Warning - flashing lights.
Warning - excessive backing choir.
And so, to my conclusion ....
Made you look, made you stare! I don't have one.
Didn't I say? I just do what I feel.
Evenin', all.
*whistling fades away down the gasoline alleywhere I was born*
[YouTube videos courtesy of the ID - and legend - known as knappafire]
"When I was sixteen, it was a very good year .... "
I had my pristine collection of vinyl (before we acquired cats, and they clawed the spines off every album), and a state-of-the-art (mid-range, admittedly) hifi system. Trio amp and FM tuner, Garrard deck, Akai reel-to-reel - and my hand-built Peerless speakers. Literally. I bought not one, but TWO sets of stereo speaker components from Peerless (tweeter, midrange, bass, plus crossover circuit board), and constructed the cabinets themselves.
I can still remember going down to the wood yard (in my white Renault 4) and, in my innocence, asking them to cut out from three-quarter inch chipboard all the panels I needed to build the boxes. Amazingly, they did! Then all it took was days and days nailing and glueing them together, cutting out with a jigsaw the holes for the speakers in the front plate, fitting the speakers, soldering and running the wires, filling the cabinets with rockwool, screwing the front plates into place, wiring up the terminals .... and then standing in trepidation as I connected them to the amp and played .... oh, I can't remember ..... 'Mothers Live At The Fillmore East', say.
You can't tell me that that's the same enjoyment you might get from instant access to YouTube, or from opening a box of bits bought on Amazon and plugging straight in.
And let me tell you, these cabinets could withstand a tactical nuclear missile. And they delivered 40 watts RMS - that's Root Mean Square, none of your 'Total Music Power' rubbish. And I once used all four in a pseudo-quadraphonic setup (to do with mirror placement and phase shifting) and I could have spent my whole life in the centre of that square of speakers. Except that of course I would have died of thirst in about four days. Hmmm. Wonder if I made the right decision.
Any road up. I have clung on to these speakers through university, marriage, multiple ultimately unsatisfying jobs and one almost-career, two house moves, childbirth (not me personally, you understand, I am male), but finally have to admit that they are, after forty years and not to put too fine a point on it, clapped out. And at great expense and offspring insistence I have just bought some floorstanding Tannoys that hardly even work up a sweat when you put the MC5 through them.
So on Monday, it's Kingston Dump time:
What's that you say? You didn't realise any 1986 Ford Escorts were still running? Have you learned NOTHING from this experience, Grasshopper? And do you not observe the all-natural hazel branch holding open the car boot? (One day, I will get those air supports replaced. Ford parts are made forever.)
OK, I'm a retrophile. OK, I hate change, But as long as it works, or works well enough, don't junk it. We have had enough of the throwaway culture, and planned obsolescence. Save the planet, a bit at a time.
Oh yes. That's going to be my next subject. Excuse me, I just have to get some paid-for work out of the way, but later today I am going to immerse myself in Flo. Boy, it's fun to be me right now. Wasn't always the case, but you don't want to know that. [Later: Well, as with the best laid plans of mice and men, I haven't yet got a round tuit. But I will do. Incidentally, I just quoted a famous poet from north of the border. If I tell you he also wrote 'Wee cow'rin', sleekit, timorous beastie' or some such, also about mice, why don't you comment ffs, and tell me his (or her!) name? There may be a small prize.]
Wooof. Ok, that last post was a bit heavy. Still not going to write and analyse about Kate Bush, but here are two videos of lighter material. One ('Them heavy people') nevertheless hides complexity in its silliness, but 'Violin' is just a romp. One day, I may post about the album 'Aerial'. I will need to take a run up at that. It is a masterpiece, and as with other masterpieces such as the 'Mona Lisa' or 'David' or 'The fairy feller's master-stroke', all you can really do is to stare at it. Metaphorically. Because in our case we are listening, with eyes shut and once or twice weeping buckets. Go listen to it right now. That's an order. Oops, this was supposed to be lighthearted. Here come the videos. 'Them Heavy People':
'Violin':
For more fun, go and watch 'There goes a tenner', or 'The Dreaming'. Lord, she comes across in interviews as ordinary and everyday, but there's a whole different world inside her head. And I fondly believe that I'd still be interested in her material, even if she wasn't stunningly attractive, in all her decades. Hey, I'm a fan of Neil Young. No-one can say that he ever turned heads. Stop slouching, that man ... and get a haircut!
Ms Bush is an immense subject, and as yet I don't trust myself to write sensibly about her without degenerating into hero worship and sheer gibberish. So instead I'm simply going to post a link to possibly one of the most disturbing of her videos (in this case disturbing in a bad way - others disturb on a more friendly basis), which is the Efteling video of 'The Kick Inside'. Incest, suicide .... no wonder the world was not ready for her. I wasn't. Took me forty years to come around. Any road up .....
She was seventeen or eighteen. Almost unbelievable.
