Sunday, June 18, 2023
Song of the Day # 3,423 Michael Hurley
Wistful Country reflections. Michael Hurley is one of the true stalwarts. A veteran of the Greenwich Village Folk Scene of the 60s and 70s. He's lived a truly remarkable life.
You can visualise him in his rocking chair on his porch on his latest album Sweetkorn. It's well titled. It's corny as corn.
But it's also learned and wistful. He's forgotten more than most of us will ever know.
Saturday, June 17, 2023
What Happened to the C86 Kids? # 3 Soup Dragons
A band that made it initially with a Rolling Stones cover and had a not inconsiderate career in the States,
Janelle Monae - The Age of Pleasure
Janelle Monae is one of the best we've got. I thought her last record, 2018's Dirty Computer was the best album I heard that year. Then, lots of promotion and touring and finally a belated follow up, The Age of Pleasure just out.
It's not such an immediately weighty statement. Only thirty minutes compared to The Dirty Computer which pushed fifty. It's also not on first play such am impressive record. Plenty of the usual broad sexual gestures and posing but without the WOW! factor.
I'll give it further airtime. It's Janelle so deserves respect and may be a grower. But initially I'm not blown away and repeat plays are going to have to work hard to win me over. I suspect she may have lost some of the wind in her sails.
Song of the Day # 3,422 May Rio
There are so many records around like this at the moment. The Billie Eilish and Arlo Parks ones. The young women sitting in their bedrooms in America and The UK. Thinking about the state of the world and trying to find exactly where they fit within it..
Here's May Rio with her second album French Bath. Her first on vinyl. It's a statement. She's from New York, New York, lucky girl. May has the floating, womb-like voice that seems so particularly common in records like this. It sounds like she's on the process of being born.
The first thing that strikes me is how strong the songs are. This is a good record which is worth getting to know better. Most notably I thought of John and Yoko and their strange, floaty sound The record is short. Give it a listen.
Friday, June 16, 2023
Jesse Williamson - Time Ain't Accidental
Ennui. That's as good a description of the new Jesse Williamson album Time Ain't Accidental as any. A song from here should have been on the Thelma & Louise. The whole record is incredibly Thelma & Louise frankly. I'm not complaining. I like that movie.
Two pretty middle aged ladies at the wheel of a cool sports car. Wind in their hair, driving across a great American landscape seeking their revenge on men and life.
Jesse Williamson has been around for a while. She's had big features in Uncut Magazine which understands this great American longing, this pain, the feeling of wanting to go 'a hundred down the highway...' better than most.
She's been round the block. Particularly recently. She's had a protracted break up with a long time partner who left her high and dry at the start of the pandemic. Ah fuck that guy. It's Jesse we're interested in here and she's getting her own back in the best possible way.
It's a great record. Pained and honest. Jesse's from Texas. Thelma and Louise hail from Arkansas but it hardly matters. They might as well come from the Lone Star state. That's where they're heading.. Jesse is either Thelma or Louise. That doesn't matter either. She's not planning on falling for Brad Pott's good looks and charm. That's for sure.
What Happened to the C86 Kids? # 2 The Mighty Lemon Drops
The Mighty Lemon Drops, who went on longer than you might imagine and had no little success in America.
Thursday, June 15, 2023
What Happened to the C86 Kids? # 1 Primal Scream
Bought on Sunday. Signed generously in the evening by the wonderful Pete Astor. Read with increasing appreciation ever since. Appreciation of a time and place. In the words of Danny Kelly who was NME editor at the time the legendary cassette compilation was released. 'About music, but also about youthful dreams and mature reality.'
Starting with the band who became the biggest, Primal Scream. Bobby Gillespie, as so often, doesn't come out of it looking good. My favourite song of their's probably.
What I Did on Monday Night: The Chills & Rafts on Rats at The Cluny
' Tell me a story. Let me drift..' Frantic Drift
The wonderful weather continues. So does my year of gigging recklessly. Last night was the twelfth by my estimation. I need to start looking for some more. The Chills are one of the most important ones of my year thus far. They take me back. Back to The Eighties. They're high on the list of bands that are absolutely sacred to me. When I listen to them, I'm transported back to my past, when I was discovering adult life for the first time. Monday night was like time travel. And judging by the faces of some of the people at the Cluny when they finished, I was far from alone.
I started late. I had my Sunday spent with Pete Astor and Nev Clay to itemise on the blog here. I'm having so many of these incredible gig experiences in 2023, it would be rude not to tell other people. So it was past four before I was done, had given mum a call and was able to get out and enjoy the sun. England is uncommonly good at this weather thing lately.
First I went to Beatdown Records opposite me. Sam was there. I love the other guys in the shop but I'm always so pleased when Sam is there. He's like a great big oversized kid, or doll. With his floppy hair and oversized dead mens charity shop suits, the way he's always studying something. Scrutinising some piece of paper without being able to work out quite what it is. He's always playing Syd Barrett whenever he can. I heartily approve of this.
Sam's my Rock & Roll friend. He's lead singer and guitarist for local band No Teeth. Ludicrous Geordie Dadaists who I saw giving their new album's launch party at The Cumberland Arms a few weeks back. I tell him about my night at Bobik's, show him my copy of C-86, signed by Pete Astor and describe the scene.
I flip through the book, remarking on how may of the bands might be of interest to him. There were so many bands at that time who wanted to be what No Teeth want to be. Ramshackle, chaotic experiments in living and gigging. In honour of Syd Barrett, Captain Beefheart and The Fall. Stump, Cud, Age of Chance, Bogshed. They couldn't play, they didn't make sense, they didn't care. You could make a good argument that they were totally crap. a waste of electricity. Again they didn't care. It was what being young was all about.
Sam is living that dream now. He wrote down the names of the bands I mentioned. Then in return told me his tale of overdosing at 18 on Jack Daniels and goodness knows what else at The Dog & Parrot, Newcastle's home for youthful over-indulgence. He almost died. Got rushed to hospital and got the telling off of his life from his mum. The wonders of youth.
Then onto The Dog & Parrot itself which is a stone's throw from Beatbox. More youth. The pool table, tattoos and an indie soundtrack over the system. A coke and basket of chips. But I'm running out of time. Onwards for a quick cider and songs on the jukebox with Chloe at The Telegraph.
This is Chloe's last night. She's bored and feels under-appreciated here, She can't wait to leave. She has plans to go to Australia. early next sure. I'll miss her though. Chloe's sweet and smart and I'll be sad to lose her bored look and her big bug eyes as she slumps across the counter mournfully as if she's at a wake in the invariably deserted Telegraph in the afternoons..
I haven't had time to swim or eat properly so I feel restless. I'm definitely one for routine. Aren't we all. So along the Quayside into the hills and down the slope into the Ouseburn Valley. The half mile stroll to The Cluny I've been taking so often recently. The Yellow Brick Road.
I'm thick with wonder and anticipation of what awaits me this evening. Because I'm going to see The Chills and they're one of the great loves of my musical life. The Chills, The Go Betweens, The Clean, The Triffids. Vistas of Antipodean experience and happiness. Some incredible pain too. That's what life has to offer you. Don't kid yourselves. It's all part of the package. There was more, the whole phenomenal Flying Nun roster, but this was at the core of it for me. A promise that is wonderfully only being fully realised now right now with all the great music coming out of New Zealand and Australia. The colonies revenge..
I wander down the slope and there they are sat around the table with beers and soft drinks. The Chills. And there he is. The man himself. Martin Phillipps, the band's guiding visionary. He's a large man and he has a large face. I know his story and he's experienced a lot of pain that often goes along with the gift of remarkable creativity. He's been compared with Brian Wilson and Syd Barrett and there are certainly parallels.
I'm lost in emotion. His songs have meant so much to me over the years. I think he's a complete genius. I'm not exaggerating. I'm really not. My eyes begin welling up, I approach him and his big face turns to me. I say something to him about how much his band and his songs mean to me, how they're one of the very best. He's obviously appreciative of my praise and thanks me.
I'm not sufficiently immersed in the history of the band to know which of the others gathered around the table are Chills. They seem a happy crew, basking in the sun like happy seals. There's a bearded American in a Scars T-Shirt who I'll chat to later. A pretty slim blond lady in a lovely coloured dress who looks like a New Zealand cousin of Amanda and Lindy from the Go Betweens with the loveliest beam of joy on her face. A thickset broad shouldered man in fabulously managed dreads which stretch down to his waist. I'll see them all later. Get to know them better.
Still shaken by the unexpected experience I wander into the venue, Walter, the guy from Wandering Oak who organises half of the gigs I go to, is there at the door. Exchanging tickets for a black stamp on the back of your hand. Next to him the merch table manned by a doe eyed young woman. The table is covered with fabulous product for The Chills and Rats on Rafts all of which I want instantly.
Next to me at the table are the strangest young couple. He's a tall slim man boy. Taller than me. He's wearing a Television Personalities T Shirt. The 'Mummy Your not Watching Me' sleeve. There's a small blond girl with him in blond ponytails. She resembles no-one so much as Jaws elfin girlfriend in The Spy Who Loved Me.
They are both frothing uncontrollably at the mouth in manic fervor. And when I write fervor, this does their condition no justice. We're talking Beatlemania. I'll refer to them as the Beatlemaniacs from now on. What are they frothing about? About The Chills and how they're their favourite band ever. About The Television Personalities and how they might be. About goodness know what else. I can't keep up. Still, I'm touched by them. They remind me of myself. Of how I was in my youth. I was never as bad as they are. But I remember my first beer. My first kiss, We'll stop there.
I tell Daniel and Catherine that The Chills are sitting outside and they start frothing again and rush outside to greet their heroes. I buy a Chills T-Shirt from the doe eyed girl and chat to those around me about how I love the Flying Nun label and The Chills particularly. Daniel is back and lends me the pen which Martin has used to sign his product. I go out myself. I'd like to get my t-shirt signed myself. Martin is otherwise detained so I chat with a Scottish guy who lives in Darlington, who I'd met up at the Pete Astor gig last night. Then I get in the queue to see Martin. I don't plan to talk to him. I know he's a sensitive man who's been through a lot. A signature will do me.
I'm confronted by a strange apparition. An intense, but clearly shy young woman lacking in confidence and rather full of herself at the same time. She says there'll be plenty of time for that after the gig when they'll do a meet and greet. I say I only want to get my shirt signed. I don't want to hang around after the gig, though I don't say that. I'm confused. She won't let it go. There will be time after the gig. I'm a bit lost again. 'What's it got to do with you.' 'I'm the tour manager' she says. 'Oh that's ridiculous' I tell her. She's a bit stunned. She doesn't know how to speak to people of my age. I slope back into the venue, determined not to lose my temper over such a trivial matter when I'm in such a good mood. She's hardly Peter Grant or Epstein.
Rafts on Rats are just on inside. They're five impossibly young Dutch people. Immaculately dressed in a cool for school way. Mostly in black. I've been very impressed by their 2022 album, Excerpts from Chapter 3; The Mind Runs a Net of Rabbit Paths. would you believe it and have been looking forward to seeing them.
There is plenty of room, the gig is well populated, but certainly not sold out. I plant myself at the lip of the stage. Initially I'm not as impressed by Rats on Rafts, apart from their look and stage manner which is intense and committed. Intensity had been what I'd been roused by in their record. The way they babbled frantically. Not unlike the Beatlemaniacs who are next to me. Leaping around like deranged escaped members from a cult..
It turns out that The Rats are largely trying out material for their forthcoming record. This is admirable though I'm not sure it's all worked out yet. Suddenly though, they click into gear and I get what I'd been hoping four. The four front people, the two young guys and the two girls flanking them start yelling at the top of their lungs.
It's apocalyptic. It's also brilliant and original. Most of all, the descriptions that fit best to Raft on Rats are apocalypse and dystopia. Think of the mood of The Clash's London Calling, (the single) meets the War of the World soundtrack and stretched out to a 40 minute set of Post Punk friction, melody and terror. It's the end of the world as we know it and the carnage stems and spreads from Rotterdam. I think they're terrific and tell their lead singer, who looks like a young Robert Forster, with a splendid perched hair do, just how wonderful they are. I mean highly promising really, I think they haven't quite realised the greatness within them yet, but they're on the way.
I switch wings of the stage and fiddle with the camera on my phone. I've been given advice in The Telegraph and am determined to get some half decent snaps this time.
The Chills slowly gather onstage and they're off. There is a keyboardist and drummer at the back and the three pronged front line of the blond lady, Martin and the braided prop forward. The feeling that they gave me when they started to play was one of the most extraordinary emotions I've ever had at a gig in almost forty years of going to them. I'll never forget it. I was finally getting to see heroes of mine after all these years of loving them and hoping to see them play. They were all I ever wanted and more. It was all going to be alright. I was bathed in light.
With The Chills, much of the wonder they create is anchored by their bass sound. It's like an undertow, an anchor around which their glorious melody and tales of escape into childhood love nd joy, gather and bloom. As someone said to me after it was over, they're like a perfect marriage of Joy Division and The Byrds. But they're also so distinctively New Zealand. Nautical wonder. You're swimming in clear water. Exploring the coral..
The prop forward and a fabulous whirling dervish drummer are in charge of the engine room. Martin and Amanda's cousin provide the melody and light. A keyboardist flits between defence and attack. They're a band who know exactly what they're doing and how to do it. It really doesn't matter what songs they play as I reflect with the Scars T-Shirt guy who is standing right behind me grinning from ear to ear. They have the formula, the sound and they're casting their spell. The story is about to be told. 'Show us the castle. Show us to their lair.' Rolling Moon.
They play plenty I knew. Plenty that I need to know. The Chills recording history goes back forty years now and contains plenty of wonder. They do Submarine Bells, Doledrums, Kaleidoscope World, I Love my Leather Jacket. Chills staples. What you'd expect. As part of the encore, they play a new song Counting which is about advancing years and appreciating the wonder. The man is a genus though it's not as widely appreciated as it should be. His band are one of the greats and I'm so glad I'm getting to witness and experience them in full flow.
There is more. Of course they play Pink Frost mid-set. It's one they really have to play. It's not necessarily their best, I love so many. But it's a song apart and one that has to be heard and fully appreciated to understand their wonder but also their pain. It's a narrative. About a death in the forest. A murder of a young girl. A moment of intense and ultimate dread. When they play it I'm taken to an incredible place. I'll never forget it.
But there are other blissful moments. Martin is wonderfully garrulous. He teases the Beatlemaniacs who never stop shrieking and babbling and appear to be speaking in tongues by now. But he's wonderfully indulgent with them, like a father with beloved, possibly spoilt children. Their youth, their sincere love. There is a banter back and forth but it's clear that he is always in control.
There is a questions round where Martin elicits stuff from the audience. 'Why can't you get Submarine Bells on vinyl'. I shout out at this point, 'You should have bought it at the time.' I'm naturally shy but I don't care in these situations. People laugh I'm pleased to say. I did buy it and played it earlier today. Then I ask a question, 'Who apart from you were your favourite band on Flying Nun?' Martin considers. 'The John Paul Sartre Experience were pretty good.' Then he says, 'that was the best question' and with a smile chucks me The Chills t-shirt that they're offering for this section of the evening. It feels like a bridal bouquet moment. I almost blush. Middle aged blokes and the Beatlemaniacs are looking at me. Sucks to you, officious and self-important Tour Manager lady. I have two Chills t-shirts now. Neither of them signed. I couldn't care less about that. Sucks to you.
There is one more moment I'll cherish. The chiming, celestial opening chords of Heavenly Pop Hit from 1990's Submarine Bells. The Chills hit that never was but damn well should have been. Their Streets of Your Town. Simon Mayo, who was Radio 1 Breakfast DJ played it relentlessly and I listened in my university room in my last months as I came towards graduation. It stalled midway in the forties of the UK singles charts. A crime.
I ask the American behind me if he's in a band. I'm fairly sure he is. He says 'Yes. I' in a band called The Brian Jonestown Massacre.' The Brian Jonestown Massacre. That must be some band to be in. 'That guy,' I said. He smiles. He says they're The Chills are the most wonderful, modest unassuming people. He lives in their vicinity' Tell them for me what a truly wonderful band they are. One for the ages ' 'You should tell them yourself.' He says. They'd appreciate it. They're hanging around after the gig.' I can't do this. I'm too modest. Shy essentially. I get embarrassed. Telling my heroes how much they mean to me and have meant. For so many years. I'd start crying and I don't want to.
I'm content to walk home. Down the Quayside which is utterly serene and almost deserted. I've had the most wonderful evening and I'm really happy..
Song(s) of the Day # 3,420 Christopher Bear & Daniel Rossen
Grizzly Bear seem to have been put aside as an ongoing project for the indefinite future. This is a shame. They're one of the brightest stars in the Pop sky. What it does mean is that we have their solo outings as some kind of consolation.
Here's another one. After Daniel Rossen's splendid You Being There from 2022 here comes another offering from him, along with Grizzly drummer Christopher Bear. The soundtrack to Past Lives a film about childhood reunion that's due in September and which is the object of considerable anticipation.
These are atmospheric, instrumental pieces, Most of all they develop a mood of reflection and space. The lack of vocals mean detail is not filled in allowing the listener considerable input. It's fine work which has much in common with the solo records from ex-members of Japan over many years. Daniel has already had a song of the day and for the most part I don't wish to repeat myself on here but in this case, given the beauty here. I'll make an exception,
Wednesday, June 14, 2023
Lightning Dust - Nostalgia Killer
I very much liked Spectre, the last album from Vancouver synth duo Lightning Dust. I placed it as my seventh favourite album of 2019, in case you're not taking notes, and let's face it, why on earth should you be. You have lives of your own I presume. I sent the band the review and said how much I liked them on their Facebook page. They didn't reply to me and for some reason I took offence against them for not getting back to me. How utterly ridiculous we all are.
Still, they're back now with a belated follow up in Nostalgia Killer and it's another damned good record so perhaps it's time to let my grudge go, Lightning Dust have a long history so it's no real surprise they're pretty good. Before they kicked off in their current incarnation in 2007, they were both members of Vancouver 'Rock Institution' Black Mountain. No wonder they feel entitled to be photographed in shades, leaning against a wall these days.
Nostalgia Killer draws on many Rock and Roll stand bys of cool. Suicide, Arcade Fire, David Lynch, Bonnie Tyler occasionally. There's a constant dread to the record. As if we're about to enter, are right in the middle of or have just come out of The Last Battle for the soul of humanity. Hobbits and elves verses Orcs and other really bad things. The outcome seems uncertain but this is hardly the worst record to listen to while we listen for the final scores.
They take themselves rather seriously so no wonder they had no time to reply to the likes of me. Their synthy sounds means they're Eighties sounding most of all. There was a lot of this portentous nonsense at the time. Hazel O'Connor, Flock of Seagulls, Men Without Hats, Orchestral Manoueveres in the Dark. For God sake. how can you call yourselves Orchestral Manoueveres in the Dark, write pop songs about the atom bomb and not just one but two songs about Joan of Arc. All the while wearing dodgy pullovers from Marks & Spencer? Rock & Roll eh? Phew! I'm not sending Lightning Dust this review on Facebook this time. I'm not sure I could stand the rejection. The record is good. Probably not Top Ten this time guys. Nothing personal I promise you.
Song(s) of the Day # 3,419 Decisive Pink
Very much inspired by Depeche Mode, Yazoo, Visage and all that. But that's hardly a failing. Decisive Punk find Synth utopia on debut album Ticket to Fame.
This is all bound by the rhythms of Electric Dreams but it's a worldview which endures.
Tuesday, June 13, 2023
Song(s) of the Day # 3,418 Dudu Tassa
Israeli pop. Dudu Tassa is still a young 'un but he already seems like an institution. He's been doing this since he was 13 years old and his records sounds like exercises in religious fervour. His latest Jarak Quaribak features Johnny Greenwood.
Monday, June 12, 2023
What I Did Last Night: Pete Astor at Bobik's
'I watched the swans in diesel river. I struck a match and watched it burn against the night. I almost prayed ...' The Weather Prophets, I Almost Prayed,
I'm enjoying this period of my life as much as I have any other. I don't give a flying one anymore. I'm at the point where I feel I know a few things and I'm not prepared to be cowed by others anymore in a way that I might once have been, because of my working position or my more fragile state of mind. I think I'm a reasonable nice person. At least I strive to be. I'm intent on enjoying life and I wake every day planning to do so.
Good weather helps. We're in the middle of a wonderful unbroken spell which reminds me of the fabled, long hot summer which the UK experienced in 1977, when Punk broke and I was eleven. It was a very happy time in my life.
I was in my last year at Primary School in a lovely school called The Vineyard, the name of the road it was located in, on Richmond Hill in Surrey. That part of South London was and remains rather idyllic. Aesthetically beautiful and almost regal in terms of its grace and bearing. If you can I advise you to move there. Warning, you almost certainly won't be able to afford to do so.
Anyway, I'm perfectly happy to wake up in Newcastle where I am and have been for fifteen years now.. I did so yesterday, got up and bathed and prepared to go to church. I go to church. I have done for eighteen months now, having neglected the spiritual side of my life for the best part of fifty years.
I had a religious upbringing though never an intimidating, evangelical one. Faith is the cornerstone of my parents life. They're still soldiering on, at 88 in Canterbury and are both delighted that I have decided to get dressed on Sunday mornings and pay a visit to my local church, rather than sit in my dressing gown and listen to music like I generally do. It's what they've wanted me to do since I gave up on all of that, gradually from 13 to 17.
Anyway, I won't try to evangelise myself. Especially as I don't really know what I think myself. I like the guy in charge. I'm not talking about God, . The guy in charge at St. Andrew's, the church I attend.. I think of him as the Reverend Mike, although I'm sure that's not his official title. I like the services, I like the choir, I like the hymns I appreciate the Communion and I enjoy the post service discussion and tea and cakes and biscuits.
When I was younger I was ashamed of going to church with my parents and siblings. It was the kind of thing other kids laughed and made fun of you at school about. I'm not really bothered who knows now though I don't run around telling everybody I meet. I imagine most people don't care how I spend my Sunday mornings.
Yesterday I had a great chat with a lady called Marion who seemed to be in her late seventies or early eighties. She has a great bearing, a calmness which struck me as soon as I saw her. She's a widow. We talked about her father and his wartime service in Normandy. I talked about my Grandfather, who I never met and his time in a concentration camp in Germany during the First World War. He never spoke about it. You wouldn't would you.
After I'd finished my tea I said farewell to Marion went and bought a book for the day. I plumped for Whatever Happened to the C-86 Kids. It's about that scene. In David Quantick's words 'the most influential loser tribe in music history.' My kind of tribe. My copy is now signed by Pete Astor who I saw play at Bobik's later in the day. Pete played in The Loft and The Weather Prophets. Both early Creation bands, neither of whom appeared on the infamous C-86 compilation. But they're both strongly associated with that scene. The latter certainly among its greatest 'losers' though of course they're not. They put out some very fine records. Strangely, the sermon today was about 'the lost, though not losers. Who is to say what a loser is. Anyhow, I'm sure Mike didn't have Indie bands influenced by The Velvet Underground, The Byrds, The Fall and Buzzcocks in mind. I think he was probably referring primarily to Food Banks.
I went to The Newcastle Arms and had a fruit cider, put a few C-86 related songs on the jukebox and had a chat with Talia who had just opened up. Talia is a pretty young woman with an infectious laugh and an irritating habit of falling for 'bad boys' who are not nearly good enough for her and are curiously unattractive in any way. .It's a strange tendency in people. I've told her off about it jokingly and she laughs it off. Each to their own I guess. Some people like living in Eastenders I suppose. I don't particularly enjoy even watching it really.
Onto Rosie's which has been by most steadfast local for almost fifteen years now since I got to Newcastle. A chat with Mark and Cath in the company of the knuckle dragging barmen who's been there for a couple of years now to my dismay, and resembles nothing so much as a twenty something lobotomy who will serve you a pint if you ask him really nicely. I don't tarry long.
Then round the corner to my flat, a call to mum who's just finished Sunday lunch and head off to Jesmond to get my own. I walk through the mall. I like to go to a record shop or a restaurant most days at the minute. I've slipped into a routine. I go to HMV and stroke the cover of Sun Ra's singles collection which I covet and have vowed to buy in a few weeks.
Then on leaving the shop I almost bump into Mustafa from Baghdad with his wife and two small boys. Mustafa is one of the favourite students I've taught in my career of 32 years 'at the chalkface' if you care to use that ludicrous expression. I taught him about three ago now. At the height of Lockdown. He was a smart, eager and funny student who joined us from a house he'd built himself in Baghdad. The infrastructure in Baghdad was still in such tatters that his electrical connection flickered on and off on his screen throughout the lesson. It was a constant reminder to me of how fortunate we in the West still are despite our 'apparent' woes and how we should never forget it.
Anyway, we chat, take selfies and vow to meet and catch up properly. I continue on my way to Jesmond. It's a fifteen minute walk and the day is incredibly warm and beautiful. I make my way past my office buildings and am at the doors to The Carriage, just past Jesmond Station before I know it.
I used to socialise quite a lot in this part of the world when I first came to Newcastle. I stopped coming here for almost ten years but am now starting to frequent it much more again now I'm walking and gigging more. It's my main source of venues now along with the Byker and Ouseburn Valley area. I love NE1 where I live but am not starting to find these districts cooler in some respects.
The Carriage is one of the coolest pubs in Newcastle. It has a jukebox, an actual old school jukebox, a stately lounge, a fine selection of ales and a wonderful garden with an actual section of a railway carriage. I enjoy my beer and move on to As You Like It.
As You Like It was a major feature of my life for several years when I first came to Newcastle. It's a classy restaurant / bar on several levels with a pretty unique ambience. It's classy without being elitist, the food is excellent and the service good. I had a two course Sunday lunch which blew my head off, (no not actually), and I chatted with the two pretty young waitresses about just how wonderful everything was. Things are unwinding very nicely.
Then a walk round Jesmond Dene, a small miracle in the heart of Newcastle, the place for great walks and bike rides. The pastoral creation of Victorian engineer, inventor and philanthropist William Armstrong. A couple of years ago when activists started getting excited by the idea of pulling down statues of historical figures they disapproved of, Armstrong became a prime candidate for such treatment round here. Largely as far as I can see, because his inventions and engineering genius led to the production of whole arsenals of weaponry. My personal take is that proponents of such rigid judgement should be taken for a long walk in Jesmond Dene with the hope that some reflection would occur within its beauty. Then back to the fine local pub The Punchbowl to discuss the matter further.
I now find myself in The Punchbowl, upstairs at its gig venue with a pint of coke and ice. I'm tired, I'd got slightly lost in Jesmond Dene and had walked the best part of a mile further than I'd wanted or intended to. I was put back on the right path by a young music fan, who was quite unaware of Pete Astor, The Loft or The Weather Prophets but very knowledgeable on the subject of another Creation act, My Bloody Valentine and Loveless in particular. He walked me back to where I needed to be and I thanked him.
But now I needed to sit and I was grateful that it was a seated gig. This suited the small audience who turned up at Bobik's looking to see Pete and his support for the evening Nev Clay. We were all of an age. I chatted with Chris and his lady friend for fifteen minutes before the gig. They like me and Pete and Nev were of a certain vintage. Eighties Indie people.
We talked about Pete and Bobby. The Fall, R.E.M. and Tom Waits. The music that was playing on their playlist. Christ was a stalwart of the scene. He's also known as Prancey Dog and he puts on events at local venues like this one and The Cumberland Arms. The local scene wouldn't survive without the determination of people like him with the get up and go to put on events for those that care. I'm very grateful for them.
Nev Clay was now on. He's another local phenomenon to be grateful for. A regular on the scene. An unremarkable looking man with a beard, a reddish one and something of a comb over, he was a mental health nurse in 2018 and his work experiences seem to form the basis of his material. He's a raconteur and his rambling digressions, often mid-song are as much of his act as his actual songs, perhaps more so. He's like some kind of Folk Ronnie Corbett. Ivor Cutler and Jake Thakray are further reference points. He's very funny, frequently laugh out loud so and I'll see him again, just as soon as I can.
He leaves and Pete, who's been at the back of the venue, enjoying Nev's set along with the rest of us, stands up and sets up his Merch table. He's a dapper, medium heighted man in his sixties with glasses, a good head of hair and a good mouthful of well tended teeth. He has a certain, residual Rock & Roll cool, but he's not showy about it. Nice white suit, cool boots. He knows it's still a good idea to dress up to a certain degree. He's about to put on a performance after all.
I chat to him a bit at the table. I say I was at a Weather Prophets gig at The Hammersmith Clarendon. Supported by the early Happy Mondays who were quite startling frankly, as well as The Servants and Pop Will It Itself. It was quite a night looking back. He was immediately friendly and laughed at the memory of it and said they were nice guys and had had a good tour together and worked on a version of One Nation Under a Groove together.
I also indicated his latest album, last years Time on Earth and said I thought it was the best thing he'd ever done. I genuinely think this. It has a gravitas and precision that are quite remarkable. Some artists become comfortable in their skin later on in life and I think this is the case with Pete. He was obviously pleased with the compliment and said that a few people had said this. More people should.
He was onstage shortly afterwards, a few rows of people facing him. He was incredibly comfortable and soon had us all eating out of the palm of his hand. He pushed away the mic and settled into his set, thanking Nev and chatted away to Chris, a couple of guys he'd put on his gig in Darlington the previous night, me actually, and anyone else who had anything to say. It was a delightful night of conversation between a group of people of a certain age and disposition who shared a love of Rock & Roll lore first and foremost. For some this isn't just a hobby among other hobbies. For some of us, it's a more abiding and enduring passion. The heart of the matter.
He's funny and smart and self-depreciating and reflective. A teacher at college and I imagine a good one. He said that life gets easier as you get older and I agree with him. That chimes with my own current experience. With age you're better able to cope with it, predict it and mold it though you're obviously just as prone to the bad things about it. People you love dying mostly.
Anyhow, Pete chats about being in The Weather Prophets. Not so much about The Loft. He talks about he and Dave Morgan, his drummer, being mean to Simon Reynolds and Dave Stubbs when they stopped over with them as strangers at Oxford in their early musical days and how the two of them wreaked their revenge on them in the late Eighties whenever they reviewed the Weather Prophets in Melody Maker. He talks about the Trotskyite dictates of Post Punk and how you weren't allowed to like The Grateful Dead for a few years.
He's cool in short. He takes requests for his 'encore' though says it's not really that. He's going to play and then stop as he pleases. Three songs are asked for and he goes out when he's played the set he planned into a backroom to work out the chords and lyrics. The three that he's asked for are, The Undertaker which is about death and how we're all a lot smaller and less significant than we like to believe. He plays Peter Cook, which I asked for and is about, err Peter Cook, and how funny and special he was.
As his last song he plays, Why Does The Rain, which was so good he recorded it twice, for The Loft and The Weather Prophets and released twice as a single. It should have been a huge hit. It's probably the song he's most known for. It describes the English condition, our phlegmatic and debilitated condition as well as any song I know. He said it was the product of a very angry young 23 year old. He's clearly much happier now. That's great to see.
He signs my copy of C-86, saying that it's a great book and I head for the train. I'm listening to Mayflower, the first Weather Prophets album now. For the second time today. The one that was supposed to make Pete a Pop Star, but didn't for some reason. Possibly because it was not the right time. Possibly because it was not quite good enough. I like it more than I've ever liked it before now I've shaken the hand and spent an evening in the company of the man behind it. He's a very interesting and very wise fellow.
TEKE: TEKE - Hagata
Last year I went to see Canadian Japanese avant nutters at Headful of Steam, just round the corner from me in the Newcastle city centre. It was one of the most purely enjoyable evenings out I've had for years.
It made little coherent sense, neither do their records but lets face it, neither do most Manga films and these seem to act as much as a basis for what TEKE: TEKE do as anything else.
They've got another record out called Hagata. I'd find it difficult to state with any authority whether it's any better than 2021's Shirushi. It just seems like a natural continuation of its utterly freeform madcap spirit.
If you like nights at the funfair, screaming your head off for no apparent reason, beach parties, fireworks, behaving like a child, The B 52's, Sun Ra and Shonen Knife then you will probably like this. If you don't, what exactly is wrong with you?
Song(s) of the Day # 3,417 Keaton Henson
English musician Keaton Henson seems to be mining a particular area of music that's rather neglected. The road that R.E.M. took with Out of Time, probably not their most revered record but certainly one of their most successful ones.
The one where their straightened out the enigma, at least as far as you can when you deal so constantly in enigma as a communicative tool and you're frontman as Michael Stipe.
Out of Time is not my favourite R.E.M. record and never will be. In fact its the record I like least of their superlative opening run up to New Adventures, but they were a superlative act and everything they fd for almost fifteen years was blessed with quality.
I don't know Henson at all. He seems like an amiable fellow, judging by the portrait of him on the cover of the slightly oddly named House Party. He looks not unlike a Home Counties Jesus, in his nicely managed beard and pink suit. It's the first record of his I've heard, and its his sixth in all. It won't make me want to explore his work further it's not the most exciting record, I'd give it a seven, but I admire the way it focuses consistently on the full side of the glass and its lyrics and melody are gently seductive..
Sunday, June 11, 2023
Guardian Singles - Feed Me to the Doves
I've written about Guardian Singles before. On the occasion of their debut album, in 2021. They're back with their second Feed Me to the Doves and its well worhy of cupping an ear to and writing about again.
The band, first and foremost have a great name, taken from a column where middle aged and probably middle class lonely hearts seek their life partners. They hail from New Zealand, and are something of an Indie supergroup, though I won't bother you with a roll call of where they all were previously.
The songs on here are melodic, barbed Mayday distress signals. Clenched and urgent, they remind me of Wire's first two albums most of all. But also those inspired by Wire, Mission of Burma, the early Flying Nun bands and Husker Du.
Guardian Singles are too smart for this world and the realisation of that wounds them. This isn't always the easiest listen as its informed by pain. The immediacy, the melodies and the beauty within this pain mean perseverance is amply rewarded.
Song(s) of the Day # 3,416 Goo
I love New York City. The way The Bronx is up and The Battery's down. Manhattan. Brooklyn. Rockaway Beach and the way it's not ao hard to reach. Queens. Harlem. The Lower East Side The Statue of Liberty. The New York Yankies. The Bowery. Broadway. The way it's so medieval. And flaps like little pages. Reinvention. Sexuality. Risk. Adventure. Art. Rock & Roll. I want to go back. Just as soon as I can.
Here's another reason to love New York. If you need another one. Goo. They're a band. Goo already has a New York connection. Sonic Youth made a great album called Goo. And there's a band who never stopped going on about how they were from New York City.
Goo's latest album Squid Ink Sky, is not really an album that screams NEW YORK! It could be from any number of places. But it's completely terrific. So it's by no means letting the old place down. It's dreamy. They have a gorgeously voiced, croony female Folk singer called Beck Zegans. Beck Zegans for goodness sake. It just gets better and better.
Beck and Co play a soft, gentle brand of Folk Pop that you can sink back into like the softest pillows. Their music is timeless. You could easily compare them to the Strawberry Alarm Clark or Blondie's Shayla. It's just beautiful stuff. Once more I have Darren Jones to thank for pointing me in this direction. Thanks Darren! I'll buy you a drink one day. Unfortunately, probably not in New York.
Saturday, June 10, 2023
This is the Kit - Careful of Your Keeper
Kate Staples, who essentially if the driving motor and heart of This is the Kit has been an important part of many people lives for some years now. This seems to be set to continue and the loving bond to harden, with the release of her latest record. Careful of Your Keepers.
Out of Winchester, Kate has channeled the Folk spirit with her ongoing project for over fifteen years now. I've always found her records almost mathematical in terms of their symmetry and unity.
There's a calm authority in her delivery that radiates health and vision. It feels like you're in the company of someone you know and love and trust intimately. A walk in the countryside with the promise of a pub lunch at the point of arrival. Thirty five minutes with an old and deeply valued friend.
Careful of Your Keepers has a tick tock certitude that's deeply reassuring in these troubled times. In November the band will kick off a 50 part UK and European tour which will take them from Edinburgh, Tunbridge Wells, Hamburg, Amsterdam, Leipzig, Rheims among their destinations and then on to New York. One stop on this trek is The Sage in Gateshead, less than a couple of miles from where I'm sitting listening and writing this. I'm already planning. Plotting my co-ordinates
Song(s) of the Day # 3,415 Brown Spirits
Melbourne seems to have all angles covered music wise at the minute. Hot on the heels of RVG's deeply emotive bloodletting on Blood Worms comes this fabulous Krautrock veined record Solitary Transmissions.
It recalls and channels the spirit of Can, and Jaki in particular, more than anything else. Deep, hypnotic instrumental jams that summon up the anima of Oh Yeah, Doo Right and Hallelujah.
In the words of their press release, 'With a range of influences that range from Neu! to Soft Machine, Gang of Four, Miles Davis, Hendrix, Argent, Lonnie Liston Smith and beyond...' This is truly cosmic stuff. Krautrock imbued with the id of, (yes it needs saying), Post Punk. It's far out. Hits from the bong.
Friday, June 9, 2023
Things Found on My Local's Jukebox # 569 Hot Chocolate
A great couple of sunny hours in Rosie's with tunes of the early Seventies booming out of the jukebox.
Paul Simon - Seven Psalms
A record I've been playing on and off over the last few weeks since just after its release. A thirty three minute record that sounds more like Paul Simon's last will and testimony with every play.
Simon is 81 now. Every artist at such and advanced age is entitled to think, 'this might be be the last one' on putting am album out at this point.
Simon's latest Seven Psalms is an unusual record To all intents and purposes it seems to be his attempt to reconcile himself with his god, with mortality.
Given such weighty concerns it's a very approachable record. Simon has always been a master of melody and lyricism. What he's actually saying is something of an enigma to untangle. I won't even attempt to do so here. It seems an almost intrusive thing to listen to. Like overhearing someone at their confession.
Every time I listen to it I enjoy the experience anyhow. And it's a journey I'll take a fair few more times before 2023 runs its course. It's a bold and daring record. I imagine he's very proud of it.
Song(s) of the Day # 3,414 Youth Lagoon
I like disembodied qualities in musicians. The unhinged and possibly unwell. Syd Barrett, and Skip Spence in the late Sixties. Patti Smith and Marc Bolan in the early Seventies, David Bowie throughout that decade. Tricky and Thom Yorke in the late Nineties. Cries for help but also a kind of weird alien control of the wheel at one and the same time. A sense that a rare wisdom is being imparted if we can try to interpret it.
Heaven is a Junkyard the new album from Youth Lagoon has some of this strange, uncanny wisdom about it. Idaho's Trevor Powers is the prime mover behind this project and though he doesn't necessarily sound in the rudest of health here, this is hardly a prerequisite for producing successful, resonant Art Pop or Rock records.
This is front line testimony of pain. 'Junkie on a back yard mattress.' The desolation of long term over the counter medication addiction. Everyday tales of smalltown America. Shades of Smashing Pumpkins and Mercury Rev here as well as the other artists I've mentioned. It's brave, honest and beautiful. Like I say its disembodied. But its message is loud and clear.
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