Baxter Dury at the Sage

 

I'm woken by sunlight streaming through the living room windows of my mezzanine flat. I'm snug in bed but it's good to wake up and rise early and prepare for my day.

In recent weeks I've generally had three online lessons to prepare for on Tuesdays,  now two of them have come to an end for a while. One of the students for my early morning double hander has cancelled and I just need to prepare myself for the eventuality that Juergen arrives.

I put on a Mercury Rev album on my headphones and start to prepare stuff for the possibility that Juergen might show. I adhere to routine these days since I went freelance and spend much of the week at home. I'm happy that my life has taken this turn.

 One thing I don't and will never miss is the office space. I came to the conclusion that it had nothing to do with what I was doing, which was teaching. Now I'm my own master and my bank account seems reasonably healthy without giving me enough money to really make a nuisance of myself. 

Every morning I've got a handful of albums to work my way through in the ascending and descending chart lists I chronicle on her. It's a comforting routine. The Rev's All Is Dream is a smooth listen this morning although I've never cared for the guy's voice. He sounds like a homesick ET cast adrift in a Bond OST here. I shrug and get up to run my bath. 

I put It's a Sin on. That's better. It takes me instantly back to the late Eighties. The Pet Shop Boys always do. Not always the happiest time of my life. In fact quite the opposite. The first time  I was ever really tested. But I was young and I came through. Even though it has the most painful memories.

When It's  A Sin runs its course I put on their new album Nonetheless and listen to a few songs while my bath runs. Tennant and Lowe know exactly what they're doing. They always did. The humdrum meets the widescreen. Works for me for precisely the reason why Mercury Rev doesn't. Because Tennant's persona doesn't grate while the homesick ET at the heart of Mercury Rev always does.  Nonetheless is excellent. They've never put a foot wrong. They've got great taste. 

Juergen is prepared for anyhow. If he turns up we'll talk and seewhat he wants to do. I've got some grammar work on the back burner which I'd say is what he really needs. Just in case. He's in charge. This work with German business people that I'm embarked on is fundamentally reactive. Responding and teaching to students needs. It's enjoyable work and often doesn't actually feel like work. Early retirement in many respects. I'm responsive but I also feel in charge crucially. I've cut out the middle man.

Before my bath I take a brief listen to Stiff Little Fingers Nobody's Hero which is another one on my lists for today. Stiff Little Fingers is not something I'd normally choose to listen to before seven at my age. Maybe when it came out and I was 14 in 1980.

I take my tablets while Jake Burns rants and the guitarists mount the barricades and come on like the Irish Clash. Stif Llittle Fingers were big at my secondary school. The kind of band name that the boys in my year liked to write on their pencil cases. I could write an essay about the hierarchy of cool between boys at secondary school.

Tablets taken and ablutions completed I'm ready for breakfast. Ordinarily I'd wander down to the fitness centre and spend an hour in the sauna, the plunge pool and the pool. There's been a leak of some kind in the building and its closed. Irritating. I don't like my routine broken.

I put XTC's Drums & Wires on my record player while I sort out breakfast. In the bath I'd been ruminating between Squeeze and The Teardrop Explodes but this will do. 'She's up there turning round. Just like a helicopter...' Andy Partridge's manic spectrum Reggaisms. I used to love XTC when I was young and I stand by my 14 year old self. I still like his taste. Well perhaps I didn't need that record by The Fixx.

Drums & Wires fits my mood anyhow. You can't fault a band that wants to be The Kinks one minute. Captain Beefheart's Magic Band the next, But you know at heart that they're really just a bunch of dweeb non-conformists from Swindon. And are just mightily relieved to avoid the 9 to 5 mortgage, unhappy marriage shift. Or else the job in the warehouse or the garage.  

At half eight I click on the Teams invitation and Juergen is there. From his flat just North of the Swiss border in Freiburg. Wearing a baggy Techno Festival t shirt. Just after nine.  Rico, the other guy in the class shows up. Even though technically he cancelled. It's always a pleasure to see him. 

The lesson that proceeds is anarchic though very funny. We laugh a lot. Neither Rico nor Juergen has much grammar. Their sentences are unmoored and sometimes it's a struggle to hang on to what they are talking about when they describe their work practices. Generally Germans are highly proficient given ten or fifteen years of rigorous schooling in the English tongue.Not these two, They missed out on the schooling for reasons I don't need to go into here. 

It's a real riot of a lesson anyhow. I keep circling back to them to the need of preparing using the given tools and apps whenever they have a meeting in English. We discuss Rico's forthcoming holiday with his partner on a North Sea Island. Germans seem always about to embark on a holiday. Sensible.

I'm done by ten and the rest of the day is mine. It's quite nice to have some down time after a few weeks of fairly relentless, online lessons. The day is bright, the heavens are full and I've got the full range of Newcastle's hostelries and restaurants to choose from.

In some ways since breaking away from my nine to five at the beginning f the year, I'm starting to think of the phase I'm going through now as early retirement in some respects. That opens up a lot of choice and that's how I'm approaching my life these days.

I decide to get in touch with Louise. An old school friend. Within a couple of messages we set up a school reunion event on social media. Always a slightly risky manoeuvere digging up the past. Stirring up memories. That's the space I'm in now. And partially will be until the reunion happens in September.  'The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there.' J.P. Harttley

But today I'm free. So I visit haunts. Rosie's where a couple of great ladies are setting up a birthday meal in the rooftop restaurant in Chinatown. Freeplay on the jukebox so I put on a Queen and a Rolling Stones song on for the pair of them.

Then to RPM Records. Have they got a copy of Eat To The Beat. They have and for eight quid.I love record shops for this kind of moment.  I don't hesitate. I have a brief chat with Marek and Ritchie. Record Store banter. About Debbie Harry on this occasion. Blokes love to talk about how Debbie Harry and Kate Bush made them feel when they were young. 

Then I'm home and put the record on full blast. Sing along. My younger sister attached herself to Blondie before she was ten. Had every record until The Hunter. Sang their songs at full blast round our family house in Richmond.Younger sisters are generally right. She slipped a few years when she and her friends switched allegiance to Duran Duran a couple of years later. Teenage hormones demand such reckless switches. Eat To The Beat though doesn't date or tarnish. It deserves to be held in the same respect as Parallel Lines. I'm so glad I have a copy.

Blondie was Alison's contribution to our families soundtrack growing up. I countered with the Bunnymen, Simple Minds, Associates, an most importantly R.E.M. when they came into my life played Murmur, Reckoning and Fables relentlessly in my room at the top of our house. 

I play the first side now. No time for more as I've booked myself at the French Quarter for five. Always sensible to book ahead at The French Quarter. I'd say its the best restaurant in Newcastle. 

But I have time for Feeling Gravity's Pull and the rest of Side One of Fables. Never mind Gravity's Pull. That record has a centrifugal tug on me that drags me down the years into the vortex of youth. It's magical what music can do to you. Few recotds like this particular one. There's nothing quite like a record that takes you back to being nineteen as this invariably does for me.  Memory and the change, the relentless change that occurs in your teenage years that is unmatched elsewhere in life. 

Once Old Man Kensey has had its say I'm off into the sunlight and make my way to The French Quarter where they open the doors for me and take e to my table. French Quarter is classy, The food is fantastic. The waitresses and waiters are smiley and chatty and love their jobs as much as it's possible to love a job. The one I know best rolled me a rollie that takes me from the doors of The French Quarter to the doors of The Bridge Hotel.

I must make my way to The Bridge Hotel at least three times a week. It never lets me down. I don't drink alcohol much anymore but pubs are special places. And The Bridge Hotel understands what most discenrning punters want from a pub. Best you go there and appreciate what I'm getting at for yourself.

I pop in briefly at The Central acroos the High Level Bridge in Gateshead. It's Book Club Night and it always pays to make an appearance. But it's a brief  appearance and Bill who's also going to see Baxter make our leave and we're off into the sunlight and head down the slope and through the doors to the Sage.

Just in time for Ernie. And I'm not taking about the fastest Milkcart in The West. I've just settled down in my seat at the back of the fantastic Glasshouse Venue and they're on. A sensitive local fourpiece just starting on their way. They've got a great sound somewhere between Elbow and Travis. No that's not wet. They have heart..Ones to watch, 

A non alcoholic beer in the foyer. A chance to appreciate light and space again. Then back for the main event . Baxter, The Man.

Baxter is Ian Dury's son. There's no disguising the fact, He doesn't bother to hide it himself. He's the son of The Guvnor. Both Ian and Baxter remind me of the things I cannot stand about London. The cheap, fake machismo of being a Cockney lad. The stuff that Ray Winston and Michael Caine before him built their personas upon. Fagin's mantra. 'You gotta pick a pocket or two.' Jack, the Lad. 

Baxter projects it. The aggressive, phoney ugly aggression. The constant threat of violence. The vast aching loneliness inside.  Baxter's not taken in for a moment. he can 'talk the talk' but has no interest in Walking the Walk. No interest in becoming a 'total cunt' in the words of Oi, one of his defining songs,  which he plays and is a set highlight tonight. 

He stays in persona, Its only right. I love persona. It's a lost art. Bowie, Ferry and Ayers specialised in this in the early Seventies. Ian himself. Never let the mask slip.

We get our money's worth. Then after a brief pause, the encore. Baxter lets his hair down. After a disciplined performance of throwing shapes. he let's us know he loves us. There's some manic almost Acid Techno. The audience gets to its feet like only a Newcastle audience can and the venue is alive. 'I love you.,' he shouts and its clear that he means it. 'I hate London. I love it here.' 

It's what I want to hear I grew up in London adn despite many things it has going for it, I reject much of it too, It's a facade that's not for me. I'm happy here, Newcastle's my home now., It's been a great night. A great day. I make my way across the  serene Newcastle streets and home. Play the second side of Fables in my darkened flat. You have to respect the narrative of a great record. Then hit the sack. 

Gnoomes & Dextro at the Lubber Fiend

 

I made quite a day of it yesterday. Well it's Spring. Last day of March and best day weather wise of the year. I'd decided to see Gnoomes at the end of it at Cumberland Arms. It's was a Wandering Oak event organised by Walter Allison. Walter's a nice man and an Event Organiser for the better venues in the Newcastle area. It's worth making an effort to go out and give his events a try. I've struck it lucky on many occasions,

After church I wandered into town. I won't bother you with detailed discussion of church. This is a music blog not quite Good News For Modern Man just yet. St Andrew's the oldest church in Newcastle was full, the crowd were in good voice and the minister, Mike Hills, 'to whom I owe a great personal debt I'll never be able to repay climbed up onto the pulpit for a change and gave the world some choice words. Let's face it, the world deserves it right now. It's letting itself and all of us down. 

Anyway, after the service I didn't tarry. I had a few words with Matt, with Rosemarie and with Marion. Parishioners I care for. I met Mike at the gate. He tried to get me to stay for some champagne. But I never care for champagne much and it was a lovely day. I thanked him and headed off to The Bridge.

I'm heading into a new chapter in my life right now. I've recently finished working with a company that I grew not to care for and left after fifteen years in their service. I'm not sure I care to be fully in  anybody else's service again. I'll work with people that I respect and who respect me. But I'm freelance now and I think it makes sense at my stage in life. Until I retire. Maybe I won't properly retire. I like teaching which is what I do best. I want to concentrate on that from now on.

I like The Bridge. It's one of the best pubs in Newcastle. A city which is blessed with fine pubs. I've got so many personal memories of the place and find my legs leading me there at least once a week. I like the regular barman there. He's a man of few words but the words he does say are generally funny ones.

I get my non alcoholic beer. I rarely drink actual alcohol any more. I made a decision a few months ago and generally stick to it. I feel I've done my bit for the cause of drinking over the years, I have no regrets but thought I'd done my bit and have come to like the control I have over my decisions, my thoughts, my finances and my life in general.

The sun is streaming through the windows at The Bridge. I could sit out in the gardens but I've always liked sitting in dark pubs on bright days for some reason. I get out my books.I'm reading a lot at the moment and that's good. I've always liked reading. I like learning about things I don't know about. 

Currently I'm following a formula and it's paying dividends. Twenty five pages of three books every day. One a music related book and I post my reflections here. At the moment Sly Stone's memoirs. Fascinating man Sly. I suspect the ghost writer has done much of the actual writing but it's an incredible story and document. Also two novels.

Currently I'm making my way through two absolute crackers. Richard Ford's Canada. A sparse elegant book in the Great American Novel tradition. Also Hardy's Far From The Madding Crowd. I've always loved Hardy and his plotlines and poetry. I know the films of Madding Crowd  inside out. It's great to be making my way through the actual novel for the first time. Every paragraph is alive. You are forced to interact with the words. The description of character. Of nature. Of events. Hardy is something else at his best. 

I make my way across the High Level Bridge to continue my reading at The Central on the Gateshead side of the River Tyne. Newcastle is a city defined by its bridges and if asked to choose one it would be The High Level Bridge for me . It's the way to my Book Club. A walk I take every month. On the first Monday of the month. But more than that. It reminds me of a special person in my life. Some incredible moments which I'll always treasure. Every time I cross The Bridge.

Anyway, after The Central I make my way down the hill across the busy thoroughfare which crosses The Tyne Bridge and the cars rush by at breakneck speed meaning you feel like you're taking your life in your hands every time you cross. I pass the Sage which appears to be closed for some reason. 

I stop off at The Baltic for a comfort break. Have a Portuguese Custard Tart, I forget the official name And a hot chocolate. Then after a quick look aroind the Baltic's fine shop I cross Millenium Bridge back onto the Newcastle side. The Millenium Bridge has a good memory of the same special person but I'm not planning to tarry.

Anyway, I won't trouble you with every tedious detail. About half an hour later I find myself in The Cumberland Arms. It's another of Newcastle's finest pubs. It has a terrace garden here you can look down the stone staircase at the Ouseburn Valley from. It also has two good sized old school pub rooms downstairs where you can sit and sup your ale. 

Today Stagger Lee Fisher is spinning some tunes as he generally does on a Sunday afternoon, I enjoy Velvets I'll Be Your Mirror, Gram's Hot Burrito # 2. Give Stagger Lee a thumbs up. Then I'm off because I'm peckish. Down the stone staircase and when I get to the valley, up the hill again. For a burger and a Sol and a chat with a pretty barmaid with a lovely smile at The Tanner's Arms. Life's small pleasures. 

By the time I get back to The Cumberland Arms it's dark. Proceedings for the evening have begun. Walter is at the door upstairs and a small bunch of Indie types in sweatshirts, dresses and t-shirts they've chosen specially for the occasion have gathered.

I like this kind of crowd. They're my people. You get the feeling you could sit down at a table together and enjoy an evening discussing Television, Suicide or Fairport Convention. Or else Raymond Carver, Raymond Chandler, Graham Greene or Surrealism. They're nice people who let you through if you want to get to the front of the stage to get a better view or take a photo. 

There's a Scottish guy in a cool Bovril T-Shirt which I covert. There's a cool and beautiful young woman who I have a chat with about Gnoomes excellent trousers. They're setting up the stage. These are just as much part of the experience of going to great gigs  as the bands themselves. You can go alone but you're not alone. You're in a safe place. A wonderful one

The bands. Dextro, the support is a middle aged man with glasses , a beard and a bank of keyboards. His set is one continuous electronic piece. It feels like we are orbiting the earth and he has a slideshow that compliments that sensation. I don't find the music that engrossing so don't make an effort to follow the slideshow. Besides I'm leaning at the bar. Conserving my energy. 

Gnoomes are more to my liking. I've loved listening to Ax Ox, their splendid album from last year which I started listening to in preparation for being here since Friday. They're Russian. I'm surprised to see them in the flesh after listening to the record. It struck me as being rather exciting. And a new sound to me. The Brothers Karamazov or Rasputin's family meet Tago Mago Can.

I was half expecting a bunch of heavily bearded and sombre monks. Instead they're a rather cute and appreciative couple. A young guy with a keyboard but also a guitar. And a fringe hanging down across his face. A cute young woman behind a bank of keyboards.

Anyway they're pleased to be here. Thank Walter who they refer to as their fairy godmother, ask the crowd nicely to move closer to the stage. And we're off. Into a set that seems a third early OMD, a third early Kraftwerk and a third their own brewing and invention.

It's Poppy. It feels like a machine warming up slowly and then suddenly bursting into life. A cult Post Punk duo suddenly deciding they wouldn't mind having a chart hit, appearing on Top of the Pops and the cover of Smash Hits in 1982. If they were a song from that period they would be Radio Waves from OMD. I really like them.

Anyway I've had a great day and a good evening but my thighs are beginning to  ache. I say my goodbyes to Walter and head for the bus. 

 

Richard Thompson at The Sage

 

I live a life of routine these times. I find routine suits me. A daily regime driven by certain hardened principles. Positivity. Choice. Opportunity. Experience. COPE if you prefer a daft acronym. You can't beat those. 

I'm up early. I blink at the sunlight. What day is it? Do I have any lessons I need to get up for. Is there anything pressing I need to focus on. Once I establish there's no immediate need to panic I rise. Throw my dressing gown around me and descend the staircase of my mezzanine flat and make myself a cuppa and take it across to my desk. It's generally between five and six.

I don't have any online lessons with German business people today. I prefer it when I do generally. Good for my bank balance but also for my head. I wouldn't mind lessons at the weekend actually. I like teaching. Particularly now I'm working online and I'm not obliged to spend time in staffrooms. But it's good to keep my bank account ticking over now I'm freelance. 

Given that I don't have any lessons today my routine today is completely devoid of pressing concerns. So I can concentrate on the records I have lined up to play and write brief reviews for before I start my day in earnest.

Today I've got Amelia Coburn, The Fall, John Fahey and Roddy Frame. It's a cool mix. I'm particularly excited about Amelia Coburn, a fantastic new discovery I chanced upon the night before. One of the best albums I've heard this year. And I've heard a lot of great records, When people say music isn't what it was they're not really listening. 

I live with a certain inner intensity these days. I've jut left a job and lifestyle that I despised and threatened to do me in. But while my daily routine is much more settled and in my own control now I still have to keep an eye on my health, my diet, my lifestyle and finances. I like this discipline but need to keep a watch on it constantly. Just so we keep steering in the right direction.

I won't bother you with a blow by blow account of everything I do today. I go to the fitness centre and alternate between the sauna and the plunge pool and pool. I listen to High Land, Hard Rain and think about when I bought it when I was 17. I walk down Northumberland Street and toy with going for a slice of pizza in the cafe of the organisation I used to work in but decide against it. I go to Marks & Sparks and do some food shopping and clothes browsing.

By half six I'm in The Central , having spurned The Bridge Hotel my constant stand by watering hole. Instead I cross the High Level Bridge in brilliant sunshine. I'm excited about the prospect of seeing Richard Thompson tonight. It feels like a moment to savour. He's a genuine hero if it's worth having heroes in music. I think it is.

The man's a survivor and he's still putting out fantastic product. His new album Ship To Shore is out tomorrow and it showcases an artist who can still land a considerable punch when he chooses to while retaining a wry mischievious smile on his face. He's a genuine legend even though he won't keep a straight face if you call him one. He's a man who knows music and what it's all about. Also the human cost of deciding to devote your life to it. 

I find myself at The Sage and in my seat an hour later among the oldies. It's fair  to say most of the audience have been round the block a few times. The pair of women next to me gabble about autism, Eastenders and going to Durham University but I'm relieved when they retreat into silence when support Jim Moray makes his way onstage.

Moray is a relative stalwart of twenty years or more but of course he still a pup by comparison with the likes of Thompson. But he knows his trade and keeps us entertained with his banter and knowledge of the Folk fretboard and eternal concerns for half an hour.

I enjoy another alcohol free in the lobby deciding I don't need anything from the merch table. No sign of Billy and Chris, who I thought I might bump into but our paths don't cross. Then I'm back in my seat just in time as Thompson and his five piece band make their way onstage and kick off their set.

I'm immediately thrilled to just be here. It's the first time I've seen Richard Thompson  do his thing. The man after all who did such timeless guitar work before he reached his twenties on wondrous Fairport Convention albums like Unhalfbricking and Liege and Lief. Really we should bow before him.

He's not a man who stands on ceremony. He wants to joke and chat. Modesty and mischief itself. But when he sings and plays you have to reach for your synonym dictionary. Coruscating, Incendiary. Words that mock you and don't contain his ragged but fluent majesty and mastery. Don't do him any justice at all frankly. Both his guitar work and his voice are bettter than words.

 I find the evening and experience moving and a privelidge. Even though my seat was not cheap. Probably the most expensive ticket I've ever bought for a single performance.. But my memory of watching Thompson will stay with me forever..

We get our money's worth. He comments on making sure we do. It helps being in such a state of the art modern venue as The Glasshouse Sage. 'This place has changed its name every time I come here.' He says, He apologises for playing so much from his new record but frankly it sounds very strong indeed And he and his band have every right to be very proud of it.

They play their encores, he pays his tribute to Sandy Denny and declares Trump guilty on all counts to a huge cheer. The announcement has just been made. The band make their bows and we're off into the night. Happier and enriched by the experience.  

Fievel Is Glauque at The Lubber Fiend

 A repost for a few interesting things I did this year...

'May you live in interesting times.' is an English expression that is claimed to be a translation of a traditional Chinese curse. The expression is ironic. 'Interesting times are usually times of trouble.'

These are interesting times. I’ll give them that. A British General Election with a Prime Minister who is rich as Croesus but looking to blame everyone else but himself and his party for the state of the nation after 14 years of Conservative government. 

War on the edge of Europe and a scramble for resources of the kind and in a scale which we've never seen. An American Presidential candidate found guilty on all kinds of criminal charges but still intent on running for President again in his Eighties, and apparently with every chance of getting in.

Never mind about all that. It's my day off. But nevertheless, as I usually do when I'm teaching, I'm up with the larks as the sun breaks through the high Georgian windows of my flat. Play some records. Write some reflections on here. Nothing that particularly grabs my attention today. Sometimes you go through the motions.

Anyway I put Easter by the Patti Smith Group on and  run my bath. I had Horses in mind as nothing beats Horses, 'Wild card up my sleeve.'. But any of the first four will do. On the sleeve of Easter, Patti famously flashes a hairy armpit. Yeah. 'Take that Mr Man!' 'Outside of society...'

Anyway, I bathe and dress and I'm off to Newcastle Library just before 10 to get there when it opens. Talking of 'the Man'. I'm on an ongoing battle with Lucifer, also known as my energy company who are trying to fleece me of every last penny if they can get away with it, with excessive, and to my mind criminally high utility charges. The Citizens Advice Bureau open at ten. I'm here to seek their advice.

I get it, but this morning I have to wait. You get your clipboard and pen from the nice lady on the reception desk and have to be patient until your number's called. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. This morning I'm in the Energy queue which moves more slowly than general enquiries and I have to wait the best part of an hour before someone comes for me.

But when someone shows it's worth the wait. An eager young man leads me to a table. I get the feeling he's on the spectrum. But as they say we're all somewhere on that these days and he's ultra efficient and goes through the procedures with impeccable care and attention. A phone call to explore my issues is booked in and I'm on my way. Happy that the matter is being pushed forwards. 

The rest of the day is mine. I've noticed that Fievel is Glauque, a band I've praised in the highest terms on here, are playing at Lubber Fiend in the evening. Lubber Fiend is a venue I've heard a lot about but not been to experience for myself . Tonight's the night.

But first the Fitness Centre. Lucy is in reception and she seems a bit glum. There's a hospitality do in the Balmoral Suite at The Royal Station Hotel where  the Fitness Centre is. It's being held to make an apology exercise as the centre was closed for a couple of weeks in Spring because there'd been a leak of some sort. Anyway Lucy is worried we're all going to go down there and slag off her and, David, Adam and Jack the other Fitness Centre staff. 

Morale is not good here. Even though all the staff here are all great, do their jobs well as far as I can see, and are ceaselessly friendly and polite to customers regardless of how much they hate their jobs. It's The Man again. Everywhere you look these days, you see 'The Man'. Call him Big Brother. Call him Rishi Sunak, a multimillionaire Prime Minister who thinks it's all our fault but still wants our vote. They're everywhere you look. Reject them.

I do half an hour in the sauna. Plunge in the pool at regular intervals. Do a few lengths of the pool. I'm out just as a noisier pair of members turn up and start bellowing like a pair of horny walruses. I've learned my lesson at the Fitness Centre. When these types show, I put my head down and make for the exit. 

I'm back home and I've got a bit of time before this free do at the Royal Station Hotel so I watch an Episode of Father Ted. The 'Is Father Ted a Racist.'. I don't know where we're allowed to stand on this episode of classic comedy, twenty five years and more after it.was made. It relaxes me. I post about it on WhatsApp and a friend laughs too. That will do for me. 

Tony Bennett's Greatest Hits on my Record Player sets me up in a fantastic mood. Into Royal Station Reception and they direct me towards the Balmoral Suite. The Royal Station I'd guess is the best hotel in Newcaste. I'm sorry I'm not interested in The Hilton and certainly not in Travel Lodges or Premier Inns which don't qualify as hotels in my book. Just rooms you open with a card and pay for with a card. 

But The Royal Station offers something more. There are actual people working there. In Reception, in the bar and in the Restaurant. Who will make you feel alive. Queen Victoria stayed here and you can tell. From the majestic hallways, ceilings and chandaliers.

The people who work here are nice. As are the hotel guests. The layout, the grub and the do. I stay for half an hour and chat. About football, weather, holidays the hotel. Then I'm on my way. The daylight is firm but the hour is getting late and it's time to get my phone out, locate the whereabouts of The Lubber Fiend which I've heard so much about. Make my way down there for this evening's entertainment.

It's less than ten minutes from me but I go the wrong way, not helped by misdirection from a well meaning young bloke outside the Alphabetti Theatre and I wander down to Newcastle College before I realise the error of my ways mentally and turn on my heels and head back in the direction I'd come from with a clear idea of where I need to go.

It's down an unprepossessing back alley of the kind you'd never venture down unless you had  specific reason to be here. I love the ritual of making my way to a gig these days. Particularly during the glorious sunny spell we're enjoying at the moment. Whether I'm going to the Sage, The Cobalt Studios, The Black Swan, The Cluny, The Cumberland Arms, The Prohibition Cabaret, The Globe, The Central. Now I can add The Lubber Fiend to the list. I've found another destination.  And this is going to be a particularly special and memorable discovery.

'I was in search of love in those days, and I went full of curiosity and the faint unrecognised apprehension that here at last, I should find tht low hole in the wall, which others I knew had found before me, which opened on an enclosed and enchanted garden, which was somewhere, not overlooked by any window, in the heart of that grey city.' 

Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

I make my way up a staircase in total darkness, and find myself in a corridor of equally total darkness. I turn left and I'm in a gender neutral bathroom area. I'm not in need of the loo, or a gender neutral area, so I turn right and make my way to a set of doors. There are a couple of young blokes with headphones around their necks, stood at turntables. I register my confusion and they smile, it obviously happens a lot. They redirect me in friendly manner to the venue's main entrance, another large, forbidding doorway. It seems that I'm here.

I push the door open and find myself at a bar, with two smiling attractive young women behind it. One with dark hair, one a redhead. They are immediately friendly and welcoming. I chat to the redhead about how excited I am to be here to see Fievel Is Glauque. She nods and says she's not surprised. She's seen them soundcheck this afternoon and they are indeed something special. They've gone out just now to check out the vicinity.

I order myself a non-alcoholic beer from the well stocked fridge and make my way to the merch table which is located in front of a comfy sofa.  I look around me. It's  a reasonably large room.

A DiY music and events space that's been open since May 2022. A dark space but lovingly established, built and decorated by volunteers like the delightful redhead I've just been chatting to. Around the stage sofas and tables with seating and there's a floorspace with wooden floorboards. A saxophonist and drummer have made their way onto it and set off. The evening's entertainment is underway.

I'm immediately blown away. It's one of those Road To Damascus moments I look for when  I go out. A Bohemian venue. CBGB'S is always the go to totem for me.The absolute I'm always searching for. 

There have been plenty in Newcastle for me. Keith Crombie's Jazz Cafe. The Cooperage at the Quayside. Zerox, which is there now. Cumberland Arms. Now The Lubber Fiend. I'm blessed to live here.

The saxophonist blasts out free-form jazz noise bending and jerking like he's wired to the mains. An apparently Japanese, or possibly Chinese drummer with a scarf wrapped around his head is beating seven levels of shit out of an enormous one man band drum he's carrying on a rope thrown around his neck. He moves onto a relentless tattoo on a chair.

These people are beatniks and this experience is beyond my wildest dreams. I start taking photos and posting them on social media and getting positive responses from friends with similar tastes. 'These people are beatniks. This man is playing a chair,' I squeak on social media posting an accompanying picture. 

I'm almost 60 now but that doesn't mean I can't still get excited. Access the inner child. I don't enjoy the drunken state as much as I used to and I'm not really interested in the stoned state anymore either but that doesn't make me any less pleased to come across spaces and gatherings of people like these. 

This is the modern condition. I've come alone as I generally do but I'm not alone. This is a friendly youthful place but it's genuinely inclusive and welcoming in a way that modern British corporate spaces cannot dream of and have no right to even make a claim to. This strikes ne as a genuine alternative. A counterculture. Atonal sax and some bloke battering a sensational tattoo out of hastily assembled and convenient drumkits. It doesn't get better than this.

I've had a brief chat to Zak, the brainchild  behind Fievel Is Glauque. He's immediately an interesting man with interesting opinions on life and music. I tell him that what I like about his music is that it takes an interesting and original slant. It's not dictated by a given and recieved way of thinking and doing things. Not like a lot of young bands I hear where you find it hard to get past Joy Division. and The Fall. He says he doesn't really care for Joy Division. They're too dark for him. But he does like The Fall. He starts mentioning records by them which he cares for. Not being a huge fan of the band I lose track of his argument. But I don't care if people have the same tastes as me. I appreciate people who put forward  their enthusiasms with conviction and have a rationale behind it which they've clearly thought through.

He's a New Yorker with shoulder length untended hair and sturdy glasses. He asks me questions about what I do. I appreciate the fact that he's interested and listens even though he's clearly got a vision and story of his own. It's not an easy world to live in but we're all making our way. We can all guide each other,

Bernice, the next band are on. A threepiece from Toronto with an entrancing tall woman singing. She's immediately transfixing in a wonderfully loose and hippie like manner. The music they come out with definitely has an affecting quality. I feel like I've been transported through some weird Being John Malkovitch portal back to the Sixties. It's a very nice sensation. We're getting back to the Garden.

They play a warm ecletic set. Robin, the leader of the collective plays a recorder. Their set includes an incredible version of Tenderly, the Jazz classic covered memorably in a Punk fashion by Animal of The Muppets. But also by Rosemary Clooney and Nat King Cole. I can't process what Bernice are doing just yet. But I'm intrigued.. They play a song about deciding to live on a commune and I find it an inspiring idea.  'We are stardust... and we got to get ourselves back to the garden.' It's not actually a quaint idea. It's a potent one. 

Bernice finishes the set and comes to the merch table. The rest of the evening I chat to her and she's friendly and generous with her attention. She's got a set of wire John Lennon glasses and she's really rather special. I buy a Fievel Is Glauque t shirt at a reduced price from their singer. She's not that bothered if I pay at all but I give her what I've got. There's such a generous,open,  non judgemental approach to everything. 

We talk about Joni and what she means to her. Her partner, also in the band come and join us. They wrap themselves around each other. They're very loose, inclusive and self contained people but they're not arrogant, They're on a journey. I'm aware that what I'm writing does not slot in with conventional Punk dictates. The Bobby Gillespie narrative. Kill all Hippies. But frankly I don't buy into that narrative at all.It's all rather me, me, me. There's too much me, me, me these days.

Fievel Is Glauque come on and are enchanting. I direct you to their music. It's really something But I've had my experience for the night and it's been in meeting these people and enjoying this space. I wish them well and head into the night. I've been charmed. Won over.

Best Ever Albums - 2,000 - 1,001 - 1,709 Broadcast - Tender Buttons

 

By contrast with the unwelcome prospect of feeling obliged to listen to a Metallica album. A possibility that I rejected. The idea of listening to Broadcast albums is something I welcome. And embrace. They're a band that deserve to be cherished. And celebrated. While Oasis are ignored. And forgotten. Apart from a few decent B Sides. Credit where it's due. 

Broadcast celebrate Hauntology and all its welcome manifestations. A genuine celebration and immersion in the past. The ghostlike. Things we don't understand. The casting of a spell. 

500 Greatest Albums of the 1980s ... Ranked! # 147 Metallica - Still the Lightning

 

Itis a still sacred late December morning. The last thing I intend to do is sully its purity by listening to a Metallica record called Still the Lightning.

It Starts with a Birthstone - Albums of the Year 2019

 

 

This is me. Looking a bit worse for wear and wist ul midway through the calendar year in my new local. Here is the final rundown of my favourite records of the year. It's the fourth year I've done this Top Fifty on here, counting down one day at a time from the beginning of November. This one seems like my best list, not necessarily because the records are better this year but because the process has been the most thorough it's ever been. I can vouch fully for every album listed here. Many very good records haven't made it; Lana Del Ray, Bubblegum Lemonade, The Murder Capital, Ona, Mac Demarco, Wives, Sleaford Mods, The Persian Leaps, Jeanines, A.A.Bondy, Divino Nino and myriad others. Check out the upcoming playlist for specifics.

1. Bill Callahan - Shepherd In A Sheepskin Vest
2. Sarathy Korwar - More Arriving
3. Vanishing Twin - The Age of Immunity
4. Big Thief - U.F.O.F.
5. Lightning Dust - Spectre
6. Robert Forster - Inferno
7. Aldous Harding - Designer
8. Wild Firth - Lawn Memory
9. Purple Mountains - Purple Mountains
10. Fontaines D.C. - Dogrel
11. Big Thief - Two Hands
12. Mega Bog - Dolphine
13. The Mystery Lights - Too Much Tension
14. Wilco - Ode To Joy
15. Cate Le Bon - Reward
16. Little Simz - Grey Area
17. Weyes Blood - Titanic Rising
18. Sharon Van Etten - Remind Me Tomorrow
19. Damon Locks & the Black Monument Ensemble - Where Future Unfolds
20. Joan Shelley - Like The River Loves The Sea
21. Olden Yolk - Living Theatre
22. Neil Young & Crazy Horse - Colorado
23. Elva - Winter Sun
24. Jeremy Tuplin - Pink Mirror
25. Shana Cleveland - Night of the Worm Moon
26. Hand Habits - placeholder
27. Joanna Sternberg - Then I Try Some More
28. Adam Green - Engine of Paradise
29. Trash Kit - Horizon
30. Possible Humans - Aspiring to be a Bloke
31. Kevin Morby - Oh My God
32. Fat White Family - Serf's Up!
33. KOKOKO - Fongola!
34. Tiny Ruins - Olympic Girls
35. Good Morning - Basketball Breakups
36. Rustin Man - Drift Code
37. Program - Show Me
38. Neutrals - Kebab Disco
39. Boogarins - Sombre Duvida
40. Penelope Isles - Until The Tide Creeps In
41. Parsnip - When The Tree Bears Fruit
42. James Yorkston - The Route To The Harmonium
43. Kit Sebastian - Mantre Moderne
44. Modern Nature - How To Live
45. Kelsey Lu - Blood
46. John Southworth - Miracle In The Night
47. International Teachers of Pop - International Teachers of Pop
48. Half Japanese - Invincible
49. Doug Tuttle - Dream Road
50. Jenny Hval - The Practice Of Love

It Starts With a Birthstone - Albums of the Year 2018

 

That's me. And here are my Top 50 albums of 2018. It's been a great year for music. I can vouch for that by the number of fine records that haven't made this list. Among them; Ty Segall, Sons of Kemet, Kadhja Bonet, Hovvdy, Spare Snare, Clint Michigan, Wooden Shjips, Parquet Courts, Walter Martin, Loose Tooth, The Plastic Shoelaces, The Saxaphones, Joan As Policewoman and many more. Here are the the ones that made my list.

1. Janelle Monae - Dirty Computer
2. The Good, The Bad & The Queen - Merrie Land
3. U.S. Girls - In A Poem Unlimited
4. Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever - Hope Downs
5. Elza Soares - Deus E Mulher
6. Lawn - Blood On The Tracks
7. Low - Double Negative
8. Phosphorescent - C'est La Vie
9. Emily Fairlight - Mother Of Gloom
10. Gwenno - Le Kov
11. Bill Ryder- Jones - Yawn
12. Cat Power - Wanderer
13. Courtney Barnett - Tell Me How You Really Feel
14. Trembling Bells - Dungeness
15. Blood Orange - Negro Swan
16. The Goon Sax - We're Not Talking
17. The Lavender Flu - Mow The Glass
18. Richard Swift - The Hex
19. Young Fathers - Cocoa Sugar
20. Papercuts - Parallel Universe Blues
21. Natalie Prass - The Future & The Past
22. Olden Yolk - Olden Yolk
23. Tomberlin - At Weddings
24. Say Sue Me - Where We Were Together
25. Alela Diane - Cusp
26. The Essex Green - Hardly Electronic
27. Vital Idles - Left Hand
28. Eleanor Friedberger - Rebound
29. Elephant Micah - Genericana
30. Amen Dunes - Freedom
31. Air Waves - Warrior
32. Emma Tricca - St.Peter
33. Fog Lake - Captain
34. Rosali - Trouble Anyway
35. Cafe Racer - Famous Dust
36. The Innocence Mission - Sun On The Square
37. New Silver Girl - New Silver Girl
38. Blue Orchids - Righteous Harmony Fist
39. Whyte Horses - Empty Words
40. The Orielles - Silver Dollar Moment
41. Kikagaku Moyo - Masana Temples
42. Yo La Tengo - There's A Riot Going On
43. Adrianne Lenker - abysskiss
44. The Shacks - The Shacks
45. Santigold - I Don't Want: The Gold Fire Sessions
46. Frankie Cosmos - Vessel
47. Wussy - What Heaven Is Like
48. Nap Eyes - I'm Bad Now
49. Amaya Laucirica - Rituals

50. Holy Tunics - Butterdish