It seems appropriate for several
reasons that I end September on the blog in the same way as I started it, with
a cultural consumption blog as, somewhat unexpectedly; it has turned into a
month of great acquisition, quantitatively as much as qualitatively.
Books:
Last time, I eulogised over
Eamonn Sweeney’s The Road to Croker, which told of his experiences watching the
2003 football and hurling All Ireland Championships from start to finish, which
I enjoyed as much as his two novels from the turn of the millennium, Waiting
for the Healer and The Photograph. By the power of
Amazon, I tracked down his first book; a celebration of his support for Sligo
Rovers and, in many ways, I wish I hadn’t. What is clear from this book is that
Sweeney was an early master of the cutting phrase and exact description that so
enhances his later works. What he hadn’t learned was how to structure a book; There’s
Only One Red Army is not meant to be a chronological account, but a
thematic one. Sadly it seems poorly edited and repetitive, with certain
anecdotes appearing in consecutive sections. A cursory glance on the Bit o’ Red’s
homepage shows that there are errors in the history of the club as well but, as
an account of an unapologetically heavy drinking early 20s League of Ireland
fan touring the 27 counties (including Derry of course) on the batter, with the
odd game to watch, it is a diverting, anachronistic account of the late 80s to
early 90s pre Tiger Ireland, though quite how Sweeney reconciles his current
role as a hurling expert for De Payper with the coruscating anti
GAA bile this tome is suffused with, is another matter. One for completists
only.
Another book out of Ireland, this
time from the nice bit of Da Nortsoide, is Roddy Doyle’s
latest collection of weekly duologues set in a Dublin pub between two world
weary, cynical middle-aged men, who set the world to rights over a few jars. Another
Two Pints is short, charming, funny, precise, accurate and abusive
where it needs to be; setting the world to rights in the length of time it
takes to sink a brace of black porter, Doyle has managed the art of finding an
innovative way of communicating his paternalist, Socialist world view without
didactic preaching to the converted. It also helps to remind the reader of how
much happens in a short period of time in the world; death, loss, gain,
politics, culture and sport. Nowhere can the death of Nelson Mandela and the
failure of David Moyes be better discussed than in the pub; Roddy Doyle has
done just that in this sparkling volume. A great, great read.
The final book I’ve read this
month, which I did at a belt on account of how intriguing, nay beguiling, I
found it, was Neil Young’s sort of autobiography, Waging Heavy Peace. Not
for Neil is the simple structure of the conventional autobiography; instead we
get stories of his early life in Canada, his time on first arriving in
California with Buffalo Springfield, several of his major records and their genesis,
as well as labyrinthine arguments with unsympathetic record company executives,
interspersed with his family life. Young, at the time of writing, repeatedly
mentions his deep and abiding love for his wife of 37 years; shame he’s recently
filed for divorce from Pegi, but no matter. His love for his quadriplegic son
Ben shines through every page and is a testament to what a good man Young, who
gave up smoking weed after 45 years to write this book, can be. Also, his obsessions
with big, classic cars and a desire to make them environmentally friendly, which
has accounted for a huge portion of his earnings over the years, as well as his
desire to produce a rival to MP3s and CDs that will produce the level of sound
quality of final records, is laboriously detailed. Part family man, part geek,
full time musical genius; Neil Young is as fine a man as he is a musician and
this eccentric, digressive, almost rambling and painfully honest account of most
of his life, is well worth a read.
Music:
No doubt influenced by Young’s
book, my latest purchases at Tynemouth market saw me in a deeply nostalgic
mood. While I’d never owned it in the past, I remember it being a staple of the
collections of many friends in Sixth Form and University, so I knew most of the
contents inside out; the triple album, double CD set Decade by Neil Young was
a must have for the grand total of £2. It does everything the most recent Greatest
Hits collection does, for the first ten years of Young’s career, and
far more beside: Down by the River, Cinnamon Girl, Heart of Gold, Helpless,
Powderfinger, Like a Hurricane and more. What else could a cyclist wish
for as he ploughs up and down the Coast Road in semi darkness? A simply sublime
collection and wonderful to get Long May You Run at last.
The same day, I spent another £3
on artefacts I had previously owned in the past, but whose disappearance from
my life has been a source of regret for many years. Back in the summer of 1977,
I don’t recall ever having heard The Velvet Underground or any other 60s
American garage bands; however, I must have shown a propensity for this kind of
musical heritage as the first time I heard Roadrunner by Jonathan Richman and
the Modern Lovers, it made immediate sense, bridging the gap between Television’s
Marquee
Moon and (I Belong to the) Blank Generation by Richard Hell & The
Voidoids. Amazingly, Pop-Inn records in Felling Square
had it in stock, so I bought a copy, adoring both versions and playing it
repeatedly. Sadly, somehow, I lost or sold or loaned it to someone and it never
appeared in my possession again. Of course, I could easily have picked it up on
an album or compilation over the years but, same as I.R.T. by Snatch that I
acquired earlier this year, I only wanted the vinyl 7”. Seeing it in the market
for a quid, I had to buy it. Happily, my memory wasn’t playing tricks and the
song is as eccentric, adorable and life affirming today as it ever was. While I’ve
no real love for much of Richman’s studied naiveté, this record assures his
place among the greatest tracks of all time. Yes, it would have made it into my
50th birthday top 100 songs.
Ever gone from elation to
depression in 5 seconds? I did when I saw a stall selling Dylan’s John
Wesley Harding album for £5 on original 60s vinyl; the torn and
battered cover was no barrier to my purchase. However, checking the quality of
the actual record, I was crestfallen to find a copy of Nashville Skyline inside;
a record I already had and don’t like that much. Sadly, I moved on, remembering
how I’d bought a semi-legal Spanish bootleg cassette of the album for 190
Pesetas, about a quid at the time, while on holiday in Benidorm at Easter 1976,
aged 11. The questions of copyright infringement didn’t bother me as I found
myself utterly knocked out by 12 songs of astonishing vitality; The
Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest stunned me in its simplicity and
lyrical imagination. Of course, this was a cassette and by the time I reached
16, it had been played to death and was almost unlistenable. The album is seen
as minor treasure among Dylan’s 60s body of work, often overshadowed by the
later release of The Basement Tapes. Luckily my disappointment was temporary, as
the same stall that sold Decade and Roadrunner also had a CBS
Nice
Price CD of John Wesley Harding for £2. I bought it immediately and found,
to my delight, the album to be as enjoyable as back in the day; certainly the
title track is as fantastically constructed as I remember it, with some of my
favourite drumming of all time. A true, joyful find.
Returning a week later to the
same stall, I found a copy of the rare and much maligned final album by
Lindisfarne’s second line up, Happy Daze. Unsurprisingly I suppose,
since Ray Laidlaw and Rod Clements still live in the village, Tynemouth market
is a fertile source of Lindisfarne material; I’ve picked up a couple of live
albums from here in the past, but this one was a real curiosity and I had to
part with £5 for it. After the acrimonious parting of the ways following the
lukewarm reception of Dingly Dell, the Tynemouth trio
(including Canada’s number 1 craft brewer Si Cowe) put Jack the Lad together,
while Ray Jackson and Alan Hull regrouped in Lindisfarne II with a few other
north east musicians. The resulting Roll on Ruby album, containing a
litany of excellent pre written but previously unrecorded material, is as great
as Nicely
Out of Tune or Fog on the Tyne, with North
Country Boy, Goodbye and Taking Care of Business among the
band’s best ever songs. Sadly, it didn’t sell, so the band returned hastily to
the studio to cut Happy Daze, which bombed and the group split early 1975,
reforming almost 2 years later for the December 1976 Christmas Shows at the
City Hall. And the rest is history... Laura, Ben and I are looking forward to
Tuesday 23rd December and this year’s Christmas gig… But what of Happy
Daze? Well, it isn’t terrible, but it isn’t really Lindisfarne; it’s
more straight ahead, soft rock. More Eagles than Dylan meets Fairport over a
few beers and all the poorer for it. Tommy Duffy’s Tonight is a strong
opener and Hull’s Dealer’s Choice is a highlight, but the set as a whole lacks
coherence. A bit dull, but worthy and useful to plug a gap in my collection
would be my verdict.
Back in August during my trip to
Glasgow, I made a fruitless trip to a closed Volcanic Tongue records;
a situation explained by an email sent a day later to tell me the shop was now
shut and they were mail order only. Having used them for arcane, experimental
product in the past, I kept this tradition up by purchasing a rather pleasing
Velvet Underground oddity; a 1968 live recording from Boston, where the
recording engineer had focussed almost exclusively on Lou Reed’s guitar. The
resulting Legendary Guitar Amp Tape is the loudest ambient record I’ve
ever heard and great it is too. There’s five effectively instrumental tracks on
it, including cuts of two of my least favourite Velvets numbers, Jesus
and Run
Run Run, both of which sparkle on here, as do the ever fabulous Beginning
to See the Light and Foggy Notion. It’s a fine addition
to my collection and a superb curio, with a volume 2 promised including What
Goes On, which will ensure I purchase that release. It wasn’t cheap at
£21, but I like to support Volcanic Tongue as I approve of what
they do.
I did buy one new album this
month and it is an absolute beast. Shellac’s Dude Incredible is the
best release of 2014, without question. I regret bitterly buying the CD and not
the vinyl as the depth and power of the usual less than intricate post
hardcore, post rock, post everything ultimate power trio Albini inspired in
your face charge. From the opening notes of the title track, to the closing
seconds of Surveyor, we are in the presence of genius. Uncompromising,
difficult and deeply intolerant, Shellac are true originals; Dude
Incredible is musically no different to 1997’s At Action Park (any other
bands have albums named after Shankhouse’s ground?), but why should it be? The
purity of sound, the strength of vision and accuracy of their venomous,
bile-spitting lyrics, especially on the breath-taking Riding Bikes, mean that
this is the most truly indispensable album of 2014. Adorable, but in a very bad way.
This month I’ve managed 1 gig;
Vic Godard on his annual visit to the Star and Shadow, possibly for the last
time as the venue is closing in December. Vic has played up north about 10
times in recent years and I’ve been at every one. There have been 6 at the Star
and Shadow, 2 at The Cluny and before that, a free gig on the Quayside on May
Day 2005 as part of the Evolution Festival, which was the first time I’d seen
him since 1978 supporting The Buzzcocks. The Quayside gig was also the very
first live music Ben saw, aged 9 going on 10, so it was with great pride, I
took him along to this gig on his last night in Newcastle before moving on to
Leeds and the next part of his life as a History student.
As ever, the usual crowd were in
attendance; Raga, Bill, Mala, Carl, Ant, Richard and Tony; blokes who I don’t
think have missed a Vic gig in the last decade. As ever, it was the Star and
Shadow so things were running a bit late, on account of traffic problems holding the bands up. Support The Fallen
Leaves, including Bill from Band of Holy Joy on drums and Rob from the original
Subway Sect, were damn good, in a kind of 60s garage,
Billy Childish way and I’d be happy to see them again. However Vic, with the
usual band, took it to another level. Having previously toured with 1978
Now, We Come as Aliens and his Northern Soul influenced crooning sets,
available on the newly released 1979 Now which I failed to buy on
the night but will get on line very soon, this was a glorious combination. Is
there a more uproarious song than Holiday Hymn? Sadly, the late running of show times meant
Ben and I had to head at midnight after 14 numbers; we missed out on Chainsmoking,
but the last song we heard, fittingly and wonderfully enough, was the simply
unsurpassable Ambition. There could be no finer final number to draw the
curtains on this part of Ben’s youth. I feel honoured to have been there.
So, what’s next? Well, The Pop
Group in Leeds on Friday October 24th looks likely, then British Sea
Power at the Sage on October 26th, The Wedding Present at The Cluny
on November 10th and the aforementioned Lindisfarne Christmas gig on
December 23rd. I’ll try and read a few books as well. Not to mention
cocking an ear for the album from The Everlasting Yeah.
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