Saturday, June 30, 2007

TEARS FULL OF SOUL AND THE FUTURE OF MUSIC

“I remember my childhood as a sense of looking for myself. The sense of trying  to find myself didn’t come very easily, which could have some bearing on why I was attracted to acting.”

The great John Cazale, as quoted speaking in the production press notes of Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation, 1974.
He continued,
“The process of acting is the process of looking for the person in the character you’re playing. The process is very similar to looking for yourself. I sometimes wonder if the inability to find oneself makes one seek himself in other people, in characters. I’m closer now, having been an actor for a while, than I’ve ever been before to finding myself.”
He was the most gifted. and respected by his peers, actor of his generation, dead 4 years later at the age of 42, by which time fiance Meryl Streep was his constant companion.
So Prince is giving away his album. Good man, he’ll help 2 million find himself, his selves, maybe - what 1.3, 1.4 mill ? more than would have-  had he stayed committed to SonyBmg.
This is the terrifying thought for the record industry.
What if the next generation of moltenly magnificently talented musicians (and I don’t suspect that anyone of us, no matter how aurally deluded, would argue that at at least one, maybe one hundred times, Prince has, in his so sweet way, been just dat) are driven not by a love for a legal tender but a real ego bender.
What if they just decided to put it up and get it out there?
That real good early career stuff?
Hows then is the honeyman going to get the good stuff in his honeypot.
The thing is , the great thing is that in this context , to future generations, recorded music becomes timelessly malleable, free of its constrictions in time or fashion.
You have a suituation where, long after she died Harlem born Gloria Barnes recording of Ed Townsend composed  1971 soul smoulderer OLd Before My Time has a chance to be heard on the same level as every other tune out there.
This ain’t no game any longer decided by Edith Bowman.
Or Gavin Martin. Or any other cunt, this is free and this is easy, this is how things are now.
The secret of music, the hidden stuff its not hidden anymore.
This …
That is technology’s gift for the future.
For those with passion for the good stuff, and Basement Magazine editor David Cole, compiler of the magnificent, gem packed Tears Full Of Soul (Outta Sight Soul Essentials Castle Music) must surely be in their number, this is something to welcome. There is no reason why now that its all out there, on the digital cyber stew, the likes of Jimmy James (yup, he of the Vagabonds) ain’t gonna get recognition from someone, someone’s whose hearts strings zing, down through the mists of time, to his I’m Glad, knowing it was essaying the sort of spacey, disconnected doo wop soul, that, if they pulled it off today, the likes of The Gorillaz would be praised for.
 In this instance the marvellous opening track of Tears Full  remained unreleased for 30 years.
Because the industry couldn’t have found a niche for it?
But if it had been sung and presented by a cuddly hometown (possibly white?) popstar all would have been , err, hunky dory?
Doesn’t matter anymore as B Holly said because in the end they don’t really do it for the money.
They don’t really do it for the fame.
Not the real ones, not the fiery eyed ones.
Not the mad gifted and scientifically Hitchcockly exalted ones.
Not the proud and lonely bullet in the chest ones, are the carry on through the storms of life, til we pound our digits into the wood or grave or bottle or whatever comes first, ones.
Not the illuminated bound and twisted the driven and confused and battered and bruised ones.
NOt the John Cazale filming on through Deer Hunter despite his imminent bone cancer demise ones.
No, they do it for none of that stuff.
They do it because they want to show that they are alive. 
That’s the irony the recording industry can’t work out and Aol’s recent netlive broadcasts aint the way round it. 
How unlive is it when the synch aint right and the screen is there, how much do you feel alive to watch a screen?
Not, I’d wager, that much…
But I been listening to soul music as long as I been able to and, specifically what has emerged, from black America in the 60s and 70s, compilations like this  just underline it would take a lifetime, maybe more than one, to quantify and calibrate all its wonder, peaks and depths. And it sounds as real, more real, alive, now now than it ever did. It is the sound of ever living posterity. The great circular sound of musical history coming back round.
So you know that somewhere at sometime, someone real and palpable, not words on printed page, but voice in  air, captured in a room, felt and lived, real and strong.
Posted by GAVIN at 17:05:37 | Permalink | No Comments »

Friday, June 29, 2007

O2? PARTAY ?

Alan decided, in metagraphic terms, it was pop’s very own Story of O.
The Round obelisk by the river, now the O2 Dome, North Greenwich tube, be prepared for a queue after the show,  Entertainment Complex Extraordinaire, risen from the Ashes of Mandelson’s Millenium Folly.
So the Outside Organization, fiesty youths out for a night of it after a hard day’s slog at the Dome, came complete with branded T Shirts, the seredipitous O occuring again.
Branding was, everywhere, some brands without Os(oo’d a thunk it?) but there was an O onstage screen in the AOL brand who were sponsoring tonights headline show by Crowded House.
The Cop outside agreed it was only a matter of time befoore they too, The Met, were sponsored, in fact he explained in certain circumstances they are already, in all but name.
But Crowded House  was just in one O2 place, in the big place there was Gary Lightbody and No Patrol, valiantly flying the flag for a not so Live Earth.
One where the only recycling that takes place is the manipulation of cheesy images and a say nothing smirk in a know nothing town.
The perfect band, in fact, for a heavily branded auditorium, being almost Jo Whiley-esque in their ability to be transparent and a blank canvas.
The House were predictably Fahne, despite the bizarreness of the Indigo Lounge crowd, many  on VIP corporate paid bar freebies, free bar, free flowers, free straw boaters, free inflatable beach balls.
Neil Finn said it was like  playing the Bowling Social Club and he had a point. The hum of chat got louder when the band were playing music, rather than HITs.
That was the drinkers and schmoozers loss, Crowded House songs reveal themselves in steadily more impressive shades of finery, catch yourself wondering if this is as good as The Ones You KNow and things start happening, they assert themselves.
Really it still holds true - they are as near to seeing late period Beat;les as we all will ever get.
Neil Finn, because he was the only Finn Snr there, no mention made of brother Tim, though just as I wrote that Pete Paphidies, who had  by far the best idea and went downstairs rather than staying in the upstairs bit where I was, just texted to say that young Liam was handling harmonies.
Liam Finn, I presume.
Which would just be  classic Finn enriching tactics, his seed grown afresh its like an actualisation of a shining recurring quality in Neil’s luscious dream songs. And the band rocks like mothers too, if you listen.
But at one point  not enough were.Listening, that is. Neil snapped, suddenly.
“Listen to the songs you bastards, you can talk tomorrow.”

The O2 Dome as now reconfigured is unlike anything I have ever seen.
The entrance to it is so big so magestically modern, it is the modern world, and I mean that in no bad way. Water features with clevermoss walled gardens are a fucking excellent thing! The sheerly magic quality of playing music near water cannot be overstated either. And s the architecture, using the gigantism of its river side setting to full effect, is dazzling. It rolls out into a variety of bars, clubs, restaurants, concession stalls and cinemas. Its a so much better and with the smoking ban, clearer, environment to that of the new Wembley (a place where the absence of smoke just highlights the unappealing odor of the fast food outlets).
A bit Hard Rock, a bit Madison Square gardens, a bit World Fair 21st century style on the ribberbank, its gotta be a good thing.
Impressive slate of acts and all that to launch too.
And I loved the guuitar exhibit in conjunction with Gibson, signed by celebrities various (although the one claiming to be signed by “various artists” and posing as a advert for the Dome was rather shameless and naughty (the guitar exhibits are to auctioned for various chairities).
Overall the geetars,designed by some really gifted, loving artists (feel the love glow and spangle and radiate through Andrew Logan’s Brian May one) and spread through the complex, on a course that involves passing (and who can resist stopping?) a place where you can make your own videos for free and they get emailed to you, are lovely.
I mean, are we having fun yet or what, kids?
I stopped short when I got to one signed by Mark Ronson however - nice design but it kind of said something about the O2 experience.
Namely, Mark Rondson isnt a guitar player is he.
Where’s Mick, I mean really, a shrine or summat please, surely, to the maestro
You have to appreciate the artists and if not given precedence here, our own great and good story, then where?
Oh I know to succeed the Venue has to reach out to those that aren’t interested in buying music (which, lets face it folks, this is reality afterall, a stesadily growing market) but buying, or buying into an experience. And , why not?
You had to hope, after meeting the bright young staff, the gal serving in the themed Italian eaterie, the hat check kid in the VIP bit, that they were there, not just becuase young people have the potential to be better and smarter than we were, buyt also as a result of Good (as opposed to bad Major era) middle management.
Hey maybe David Milliband will turn out to be a clean straight reliable efficent controller.
YOu live in hope.
Couldn’t agree with Stuart about Macca’s Bellamy though I must, sometime, check out Madman Across The Water.
It wasn’t an album I ever heard I explained, I was living in Ireland at the time and the title seemed a little too close to home for comfort I said, in London!
Oh how we laffed.
Anyway fair enough… Im not about to quibble with economic reality (day to day reality I can just about manage)…
But…if the music isn’t given the reverence (reverence not necessarily accorded it by having a large out of synch, broadcasting on the web AOL branded screen above the artist’s head as Neil Finn had)…the experience will be diminished.
Will the circle be unbroken?
O, as Michael Stipe mused, I said too much…
Posted by GAVIN at 01:32:13 | Permalink | No Comments »

Monday, June 25, 2007

GLASTONBURY 2007 - PART 5 THE SOUNDTRACK

Jackson Browne After The Deluge

Creedence Clearwater Revival Who’ll Stop The Rain
Warren Zevon Fistful Of Rain
Lester Young (with Nat King Cole and Buddy Rich) I Cover The Waterfront
Terry Callier Midnight Mile
The Lilac Time And The Ship sails On
Tom Waits Rains On Me
Bruce Springsteen The River
Magic Numbers  Love Me Like You
Babyshambles Fuck Forever
The Hold Steady Walk Around And Drink
Bob Dylan High Water
John Prine Lake Marie
The Beatles I’m So Tired
Talking Heads Road To Nowhere
Jimi Hendrix You Got Me Floatin’
Nick Cave City Of Refuge
Elvis Presley I Washed My hands In Muddy Water
Love Bummer In The Summer
Pink Floyd Wish You Were Here
Willie Nelson Me And Paul
The Buzzcocks Noise Annoys
Crowded House Distant Sun
Dough Sahm I Dont Want To Go Home
Posted by GAVIN at 19:46:59 | Permalink | No Comments »

GLASTONBURY 2007 - PART 4

Legends of Ages Past

1 A friend once saw a Hell’s Angel banging the guy shagging his girlfriend over the head with a plank (the guy was inside his tent at the time). Moral sexual jealousy can lead to violence – all the way from the rout of Altamont, to the Vales of Avalon

 

2 The BBC TV 2007 coverage’s naughty sign off line was from Shirley Bassey, “I will come again,” said the 70 something dame. Who says that, though the tide may be high up round the mud flaps/flats tide, so to speak, ladies cant make the man in the boat stand up and cheer after the age of 60?

 

3 One year there was an extraordinary installation, a detailed wall of shame fence - erected to outline concerns of an international paedophile cover up involving the great and good. It was too treacherous to get up there this time round but I wonder, in 2007, the year The Who played there, if there was anything similar this year?

 

4 Steve saw the Broken Family Band and loved em. Steve also introduced me to my fave Glasto act. Unnamed two man break dancing team suitably attired, bandanas, hand movements, massive soundbox carried on the shoulder, unrelenting fearsome scowls, a rolled up mat, which, when the vibe is sufficiently chilled, they unroll and pop some moves upon. The killer touch is that the “straight” man foil to the main dude in the duo has his lurex leggings lowered at the arse crack to reveal a thong with - are you getting this fashion fans? – added suspender belts. I laughed so much I almost moved to the Bronx.

 

5 I learned something about journalism from my wife. 5 words (from Alex Turner) CAN make a character-revealing quote. The quote? “I’m excited, ladies and gentleman.”

 

6 Sunday night/Monday morning 3.30 in the kitchen, slept 6 to 12, spent an hour in Wells Sunday morning bought beer bread and bananas (small wonder, with so many men having now been turned into monkeys, they disappeared before mastication could begin). And Lo I did enter the cathedral just as Preacher Canon Patrick Woodhouse said a prayer for the festivalgoers and an unfeasibly long list of folk in the Congo. During my short stay I was not made to feel too at ease, or welcome, by the security man (Deacon?) watching my every move from the back of the hall. I guess a mud splattered festival refugee is more likely to make a raid on the communion wine. In his mind.  

 

7 Sunday - all I saw of Glastonbury today was on the TV screen. Kt Tunstall exclusive Beeb lounge new single done acoustic slot sounded strong, Tinariwen were magisterial and the duo that headlined the Avalon stage were ace. Caught up with the Lily Allen Gangsters Specials semi reunion. Terry Hall looked like he had not slept since arriving on the festival site on Wednesday night. Wednesday night in 2005, that is.

 

8 Onetime when we came to Wellands we walked up to the site when it was deserted and wandered round and found a stone circle and lay on hay bales under the sun in the empty Worthy Farm, totally empty, a sea of peace where revellers once roamed. So still and Rainford blew long and lonesome blues from his harmonica hanging in the air like a calming wraith of aural mist. Moral – Glastonbury moments can happen whether the festival is happening or not. Particularly at Worthy farm.

 

9 Conversation at our house on Sunday.

Him “C’mon we should get a move on and get up there.”

Her “Alright dear, my word you’re all bright and perky this morning.

Him”Err it is 3.30 in the afternoon dear.” Moral: it’s hard to get started at the same time as the Caprinas and Moquitos (lotsa fresh garden mint!!).

 

10 When I left James Endeacott’s outside the tent party in the backstage camping party  Saturday night  and I said “I love you man,” I distinctly heard some passers by say “he won’t even remember saying that in morning.” Well I do and I did and I do and I found we share a love object when I saw Pete Doherty on Jonathon Ross show, the first time I saw him move physically in the flesh I think I fell in love with him. I mean, seriously, the gangling boy holds himself with such poise; he’s the Juliette Binoche of rock. James said the first time he saw Pete, he fell in love with him too.

 

11 Id love to have seen CSS but I may have fallen in love with Lovefox so maybe its better I didn’t, love in the mud, from afar, may be too complicated.

 

12 Standing at the right angle, far enough back, at the right angle during The Magics set it seemed like the life-size inflatable of Frank Sidebottom was actually on song adding his presence to Love You Me Like You.

 

13 Somebody died on site – RIP, but be ready for the black humour, the sick joke and look on the brightside, you didn’t have to walk back to your tent in the mud and rain.

 

14 Words of wisdom part 253. John Fogerty, comparing the crowd at Glastonbury 2007 to those assembled at Woodstock 1969 “you are a lot better looking and smarter too.” We love you Johnny, you fucking hero!

 

15 The African quotient COULD be higher, the Jazz stage has got more conventional as years have got on. Oxfam may be a sponsor, beneficiary but a real farir trade would be more of African acts, a stand against the Geldof “only world music fans” go for it canard. Listen, people don’t get to see African bands live and that’s where their true flown high bred wonder takes hold, Toumani was under attended but those that got it got it good(ie bad). Just call him unforgettable.

Posted by GAVIN at 10:35:32 | Permalink | No Comments »

GLASTONBURY 3

It is all about the mud, the mud can dry pretty quickly if wind and sun conspire but otherwise.well with the hay bales soaking up the floods strictly rationed and the rain positively Irish in its drizzling persistence I envisage that up the road at the site the approximattion of trench warfare is nomadic hell for those roaming the site.
The mud has differnet thickens, diferent suction strengths, a slithery surface can be quickly contrasted by another in laid caked with big fucking bits of grit and stones - aching hips is a common complaint the next day as survivors compare the side effects of carrying extra specially weighted rubber boots for hours on end with no respite. Its an experience unlike any other on earth, Glastonbury in the mud and it is one of sheer physical exhaustion on a scale that makes Woodstock seem like a day at Glyndebourne in the VIP enclosure.
Actually at Woodstock they were hungry no excuse here for that, or eating badly, Carib Cuisine by the Jazz World stage is the pick of the nosh pits, a queue with out of the world aubergine and ackee veggie options alongside the goat, chicken, beef dishes. Airrrright .
Seldom sitting thats the thing, crouching on a half beam trunk chair outside the eateries is a memory, but lying prone ? That was a distant dream and memory, something people used to do long ago and far away…in the days before all the world turned brown…
Presently it is Sunday circa 5.30 and I have not made it out of the house, the internet connection has just come on and tonight I am thinking that I may sleep and hit the site for the wee hours, the witching hours, trawling the greenfields later. But all my energy is gone it has been emotional here’s a Glastonbury Dao

1 Any stiffness in Amy Winehouse’s band is dispelled by her sensual relaxed confidence and the obvious chemistry between bright Eyes and his all clad in white band.

2 Patti Smith rock as spectacle and a way of approaching the cultural social issues of the day that recalls early 70s Jackson browne - 2 things that come through in Bright Eyes set. And Conor telling us that where he’s from Cougar means “an older woman who wants to sleep with younger men.” Grrr grrrreat!

3 The Magic Numbers invoke the spirit of both Bo Diddley (their buzz bombinging blistering Bo Diddley finale and Curtis ( their dream drop slip into Curtis and The Impressions People Get ready). But, Romeo, here’s a train a coming? In this mud?

4 Gambling, the only vice not worth indulging in. Wisdom from the mouth of Hold Steady’s manic animated Craig Finn. Buddy Holly hits the 21st century. Mud streaked symphonies fly high though the Saturday River bound route to the Peel stage ranged from the impossible. To the impassable. The thing is, folks, only at Glastonbury are the physical rigours such that you , rare thing this in today’s coddled spoon fed music world, EARN your right to partay. And the performers feel that and they respond. So thats just an illusion brought on by the festival mirage syndrome? So what the fuck? Its all about illusion mate, if the illusion works… thats what works.

5 Lily Allen the child of Glastonbury, invoking the spirit of madness, 2 tone, the sun, the London of post punk cross culture, the Strummer vibe,  the sun, the everything. It was emotional Lily, almost as good as waking up to find your dad  - mad shit eating gri on his mush, bottle in hand  - rounding my tent a few years ago 3 am as I emerged to make the mid sleep call of nature.

6 “This IS amazing”. Words of wisdom, more of em, from Craig Finn.

7 Take head oh lesser minstrels! Symettric Orchestra of Toumani Diambate are on stage preparing their turf, feeling out the boards, summoning spirits for a performance unsurpassed in its foceful radiance about 45 mins before showtime. Mid set some hopefully helpful Antipodean lady at the Songlines tent assures me that Toumani is one of the singers who is not on stage. But she has the wrong guy! Toumani is the seated kora player onstage throughout - the silver purple cape wearing invader from another planet vocalist is perhaps the greatest vocal virtuoso of the day/year/ever seen(since that great Mezzin wailer that Talvin Singh had) whispering invocations and shouted declaimations in Toumani’s ear, raising spinetingling percussive melodies like a snake from an Indian snake charmer’s lair.

8 The Fratellis seem to be stretching out their set in the predictable one album only band risen to high position on the agent promoter shop window sale. A momentary diversion to watch an ad hoc mud diving in a newly made lake ceremony provides salutory lesson in human noise making. The crowd gathered round the lake, willing those less fortunate, more distressed, to dive in and live the md night mare they fear, erupt in cheers when a kilt wearing gent - eyes full of fire, drink and vengenance mixed in the iris - dives in an  emerges with a shit eating grin. But when the next shill slave to their whims arrives in the middle of lake and instead of diving in starts to kick out at the crowd, the sound they make is still loud, but much different. Mud in yer eye means summat different at Glastonbury.

9 Saturday was the day of Doherty and Fogerty. Pete as lithe and lovely and as watchable as ever. And Fuck Forever? Instant Glaston anthem. And mission statement. And a call to spiritual renewal. Unfortunately although the sun shine, a short hail of frogs fell during his new hit Needle Time Is Killing MUsic. Never know the titles but the “washed up wife lousy life” line had - for some reason - something that hit like a soap operatic version of Lyndsey Anderson’s If riff. When the bass harp Dylan intro doesnt work PD flings the instrument into the crowd. I will be interested to find out what happens with that Glasto relic. Hopefully some minstrels gets it up, wipes off and brings POWER FROM THE MUD.

10 There were Ulster flags and Irish republic flags and the greatest banner of the whole festival - DOG SALAD! - during Shambles set. And Pete, Pete you little darling boy, you came on to TB SHeets. Fucking A pal, fucking A. But imagine if Van had re recorded WITH DAVID HAYES ON BASS, with Van calling the production shots. But, if it was any better, my head would explode!

11 The first time I visit the Glastonbury press tent with the objective of actually using it in my in my 3333 years of attending the festival I find what I usually find. The tent is full and it is (First visit) “closed” or (second visit) “closing in 5 minutes”. There’s a statistic on the wall relating to the increase toilet roll demand on site proving that Glastonbury is alot of shite. When I tell the guy at the desk who I am and what I want to do, he says he’ll allow me “5 or 10 minutes” after the Monkeys to file. Welcome to Glasto - where generosity knows bounds.

12 Weller offered Wildwood sustenance to the beleagured masses. Unfortunately the sound underfoot made it clear that Paulie wasnt the only thing that sucked.

13 A beer and No Lay in the Leftfield? In the immortal words of my good friend Steve Tyler “A bunch of hotties shaking their asses? What’s wrong with that?”

14 Definitely a Glasto thing. Was way past the witching hour on a deserted country road, on my wayback home, out of nowhere Duke Special gets out at a junction to ask directions. I am filing tonight for Mail On Sunday and in Birmingham a few weeks ago Duke was the last person I reviewed live for M os . Thats leylines that is!

15 I see the Duke again leaving the GUillemots end of set at the Jazz World, eek he’s gonna miss John Fogerty, he’s gonna miss me standing there shedding my tears in the mud n rain - Fogerty’s working class rock - its so pure, so real, so livid so emotional. Man he feels like an old general rallying the truth in our hearts. Wrote a song for everyone, wrote a song for you? Midnight fucking special? Are you fucking joking? In fact its a tribute to JF’s purity that his greatest song, is, now played last the one where you can see the conviction illusion divide depart each time he has to breath think between each “It aint me”
Forensically - is the shelter in the storm reference in Who’ll Stop The Rain related to the genesis of Bob’s song?

16 A trip to Wells for Sunday service, the Vicar offering a prayer for the festival crowd. The building more impressive inside than out. I saw and heasrd with my own eyes and ears.

17 Somerfield’s Yellow range? Instant noodles 8p? Couldnt they do cut price catering and shittter(cheaper)tickets to Glastonbury? Have they a shheme to bring diasadvantaged city kids rather than city fucking freeloaders to the site? I certainly hopes so, find out what deprivation really means, kids.

18 Do Glasto organizers on rain fests keep the mud content high, relaising its part of the “appeal” ?Everone knew ahead of time the weather was gonna teem why were known flood areas not filled with hay a head of time?


Posted by GAVIN at 01:23:48 | Permalink | No Comments »

Saturday, June 23, 2007

LIVE FROM GLASTONBURY 2007 PART 2

The Killers are on tonight, a rare American headliner on the Pyramid.

 But  there’s more chance of them coming on naked and playing Dixie on the bagpipes than there is of them coming within a country mile of the greatest performance by a US band at a UK festival, ever.

That honour indubitably goes to Lynryd Skynryd, 1976 Knebworth.
You want proof? Get the new DVD Lynryd Skynryd story and - important bit this  - hook it up to the surround system for bass impact.
Go to the clip of Freebird played at Knebworth in the middle of that heatwave summer of punk Sweet Summer of Trix 76. Local nubiles in bikini’s, Ur-Blokes pre obesity fast food rout, stripped to the waste, the great Cassie Haines, a backing singer who would be one of those killed in the end of the era plane crash bout 18 months hence, whose performance here is captured (all credit to the director who, given the rest of the  backroom cast**,must have been la creme) as a  sanctified soul to rate with the great centre stage orchestrator Ronnie Van Zandt
After Knebworth 1976 The Rolling Stones did not play another UK Festival for 31 years and you can see and hear why. There is just no way  that wonderfully wasted, inevitably scrappy Stones could have come within the almighty orbit, the sheer surety and sensuality of the groove the Skynryd lay down.
**Stand by for future exciting announcements
This Skynryd story DVD has been reviewed by some usually sane reviewers and given a curt dismissal.
Have they actually got to the end of the DVD? Have they heard it with the oh so important surround sound on?
 Cant they see that while the metropolis made merry with Johnny Joe and co there was out there in the sticks a band playing who resounding with fiery majesty, a princely white black Deep South groove, who coulda eaten the Stones, The Clash Sex Pistols for breakfast, spat em out in tiny pieces and overturn the 45 years of cant criticism that doesn’t rate Ronnie Van Zandt (look anyone who in name in spirit possesses correct qualities of namesake Ronnie Drew, Van Morrison has gotta be kewl) up with the greats.
Fuck em this is wild and the special annoucment forthcoming as to why everyone should buy Lynryd Skynryd Story DVD, just to watch and look and learn to hear the band, see the audience, capture their magic time tween 76 and 77 (the final footage, August 77 California sunntanned splendour of local gals, shining flying swoop of Freebird, how metapoetic is this fucking thing man?,Pre reaagan post Watergate , adding a whole other dimension to their already mighty peak.
And the reason you should buy or at least hear and see this 1976 performance, the reason why it is an incredibly feat of engineering and a feast of love is that the sound survives because of the guy who captured it on tape.
That guy, an unspeakable legend in the annals of Rocksoul was callt Tom Dowd, the great Tom Dowd mixing magic live that day in Kneb with Lynryd.
Rock n soul gold combined with the Skinherd.
Story, end of..
Except now…
We struggle on, struggle on through the mud and Madness to hear some memories to put longside  Toumani Diabate, The Hold Steady and Magic NUmbers piercing the sky.
But I dont expect on site they have Paul making fruit cocktails avec Pimms after Rainford’s splendifirous breakfast, Steve’s weather forecast (wrong), Debbie’s Lloyd Grossman story, Joimm souless shoe, Julia’s brand new notebook and Colin’s multicoloured frisbee.
Babbyshambles 18.30 may be the first band I see today.
Its hard to swap Wellands for Mudlands
Mail On Sunday piece runs tomorrow. Sub phoned to check one detail and its of something I saw. Or thought I saw. Did I see what I saw. Or did what I see saw me. You saw what I sore? No more.
(this tent closed on account of rabies)
Posted by GAVIN at 15:52:22 | Permalink | Comments (1) »

Friday, June 22, 2007

GLASTONBURYOFTHEMIND LIVE FROM GLASTONBURY 2007 part 1

Its not really about the festival for me, not initially. Its about Eleanor’s house, Wellands, in Pilton. I never thought I’d be back here, Eleanor passed  -quickly - after the last festival. But the house aint sold Paul invited us down and well I’d probably come here if I didn’t have a ticket for the festival just to be back at Wellands and feel the special something Eleanor left here - her books, her art , her presence is still here.

 The books in the library are a poem, a symphony, a tribute to herself, life, times and ever enquiring mind. Eleanor would clear out of the house for the festival, go visit old friends, welcoming her son’s pals before leaving, but her home and heart was as good an example of “the Glastonbury spirit” as anything I’d care to imagine.

The backstage was flooded on Wednesday night when we arrived, the security presence was more notable, extra heavy handed presence.
No surprise - Glastonbury has increased, almost doubled in sze from 100,00 to 180,00, and from a 3 days festival to a 4 day (by Thursday night 87% of the revellers had arrived, the tents and gazedbos stretching over the hillside, an upmarket favelo, guy rope to guy rope, flysheet to flysheet.)
Jeff Barrett is the vivid presence on the first night, we roam the fields drinking, hearing snatch shots of sounds here and there, Jeff is the dreamer scemer fisher king incarnate, always a Glaston associate, right on the money, The Paragon’s Tide Is High, Jackson Browne’s Before The Flood on the soundtrack, the ideas, the crack, the laugh, the food all teeming abundant, great veggie options, you have no excuse to eat bad food at Glasto. Jaymo (?) a new young singer songwriter Jeff is woirking with is in our group at one of our stops as we wait for J1 to ablute she starts singing. Sweet real, live honest lovely unaffected vocals. In a toilet queue, people dont do that anymore, too self conscious half the time possibly but its good to hear it. I dont know how Im not going to like her stuff when I get to hear her play live. She had the same Damuscus Dylan experience with Highway 61 , aged 10, as I did, Van and Bob are her two main men, she just cant understand, is baffled that Bob’s later albums dont get regarded the way they should. Here favourite is Street legal, the canon is changing, the walls are breaking down, Jaymo is a new generation and they WILL, they will break down the walls.
Home to the kitchen by 3 after tramping tramping tramping…got as far as the Green fields, a sacred space, the guy who makes the marvellous example of english ingenuity the candle steam powered boat fashioned from an empty bean can had shit up for the night but in the healing fields…mucho bliss and gentle lights, twinkling in the night. The fucking mobile goes off, I gotta leave in a hurry, or I bespoiling the special mood. But so good to see the healing fields, retains its sanctified glory, despite the increased swecurity, corprorate sponsorship, random checks etc..
THe Paragons and J Browne choons were prophetic - the sky is teeming this morning. Time to start tramping - a day of mud and vibes ahead, I have a review to do for tomorrow. Arctics, Amy and Kasabian on the mainstage though the greatest music of the festival may well be occuring while the Fratellis are doing the honours at the Pyramid - over at the Jazz Stage with Toumani Diabette’s Symettric Orchestra the hot sounds from Mali…
The first lesson you learn in looking at the programme is that - however much you see you can be sure at Glastonbury you are going to miss far more than you hear. 

Posted by GAVIN at 11:43:34 | Permalink | No Comments »

Monday, June 18, 2007

BEGINNING TO WONDER…

If I am an ungrateful sod.
Or is there something seriously…unnecessary about the  presentation discs I have started to receive from  record companies.
Its very nice, is, I suppose, what I SHOULD  say.
But I have problems with should.
A collectable gesture, denoting my part in the campaign to make Jamie T (100,000 copies sold, a presentation framed plaque) and The Fratellis (900,000 copies sold, an even bigger presentation framed plaque) popular?
I mean I’ve been doing this job , for what seems like 500 years now, and this is the first time these things have ever been presented to me.
And now I get two in a week.
Does this mean that I am now in the club?
Some  25 years after saying, in a weekly music paper review, that Thriller, the follow up to Off The Wall, would probably not sell as well as its predecessor?
A footsoldier in the salesforce for an industry that sells that which is freely exchangeable?
I mean imagine that, selling something that’s freely avaialble!
But then, when I was young on the rain soaked Irish plains of my youth, and I’da  told me da I could see into the future and we’d all be buying 70 odd brands a bottled water he’d  a thunk that I was drunk.
This is progress, is it?
This is good, a right thing? I’m enjoying, glad to be part of this, am I ?
Oi don’t know whether to be pleased, rectified,all glowing inside  or  think that this is conclusive proof that the bottom of a rapidly emptying barrel being scraped.
Mind you if they want to give me a Modern Times one, no need to send it  the car, I’ll come and get it myself.



Posted by GAVIN at 20:50:53 | Permalink | Comments (1) »

IM BEGINNING TO WONDER…

If I am an ungrateful sod.

Or is there something seriously…unnecessary about the two presentation discs I have started to receive from  record companies.
Its very nice, is I suppose what I should say.
A collectable gesture, denoting my part in the campaign to make Jamie T (100,000 copies sold, a presentation framed plaque) and The Fratellis (900,000 copies sold, an even bigger presentation framed plaque) popular.
I mean I’ve been doing this job , for what seems like 500 years now, and this is the first time these things have ever been presented to me.
And now I get two in a week
Does this mean that some , what?, 25 years after saying, in a weekly music paper review that Thirller, the follow up to Off The Wall, would probably not sell as well as its predecessor I am now in the club?
A footsoldier in the overall salesforce for the industry that sells that which is freely exchangeable?
Or don’t know whether to be pleased, rectified,all glowing inside  or  think that this is conclusive proof that the bottom of a rapidly emptying barrel being scraped.
Mind you if they want to give me a Modern Times one, no need to send it  the car, I’ll come and get it myself.

Posted by GAVIN at 20:33:59 | Permalink | Comments (1) »

MORE RACIAL PROFILING AT THE BEEB

It really shoulda been called The Seven Ages of White Rock.
While extensive space was given over to the Police and Stewart Copeland claimed “we Owned America”, the biggest act of the 80s - Michael Jackson - was nowhere to seen.
Conclusion - Jacko’s contribution to stadium rock was slight compared to all the whiteboy acts the predictable parade of balding fat white guys (some of them my pals) enthused over?
Plus Roger Taylor allowed to get away with the claim that Freddie Mercury was steadfastly apolitical.
This was the Freddie Mercury who played several times in Sun City - the entertainment playground of the racist South African regime?
Why let FACTS spoil the story, eh?
Have the BBC got some a hang up about associating black acts with rock n roll?
What the fuck is their problem?
Posted by GAVIN at 12:26:19 | Permalink | No Comments »