Losing My Religion

You know how something only becomes apparent years later in retrospect? Usually, these sorts of moments occur long after the event and it takes a catalytic jerk to slot all the pieces together in your brain.

It happened to me recently when I was forced into thinking about my school years following a meeting with an old schoolfriend – someone I hadn’t seen for over 30 years. This meeting was the catalyst that suddenly jolted me into the realisation that I had actually witnessed the end of the hippy dream, in real time, as it were.

It was about 1970 and I was sitting at my school desk paying my usual non-attention in a class designed to impart religious instruction. Following a prolonged bout of window gazing, I had tuned in just long enough to hear the teacher say, “I just don’t know about John Lennon any more…once it was ‘All You Need is Love’, but now…”

And she trailed off into a sort of melancholic reverie for a few moments during which there was total silence in the class. I think we all realised that this was a moment of discovery for her, but it is only now that I can appreciate what it was. It was the catastrophic awakening to the fact that hippydom had failed and the real world had re-invaded our consciousness.

1970 was certainly a defining year. It marked the end of those years with a ‘6’ in them, the Beatles were no more and suddenly reality was as grim as it had ever been. The Vietnam war raged, the UK began its slide into industrial unrest with strikes and the three day week only years away. For my teacher, who clearly saw the future in that far off instant, it must have been a crushing blow after the naïve optimism of the late 60s.

Funnily enough, John Lennon and religion always seem to be linked. I once swapped my copy of ‘Imagine’ for the Who’s ‘Who’s Next’ with a member of the God Squad at University. Clearly he thought that Lennon was more likely to redeem his soul than Pete Townshend. And who’s to say he was not wrong. After all, Lennon had once claimed that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus so perhaps he had a point.

But Lennon alone was not enough to save the world from the 1970s and by the middle of the decade, not only was the UK in turmoil but pop music was on its knees waiting for the deathblow of punk to re-start the circle of raw development that had originally occurred in the 1950s. Nevertheless, I didn’t really expect to witness the end of an era in last period before break.

Corporate Rock Rules OK

You know how it is; there are just some things that start to niggle away at you. Not so long ago, there were two such incidents that started the red lights flashing in my consciousness.
A) Amber warning – the debut of a new musical based on the classical Shakespearean story of Romeo and Juliet, set to the music of Boney M (no, I’m not joking).
B) Red warning – a business corporate event was to be held whereby clients would be entertained at a Madonna concert.

The growing implication here is that the world of rock ‘n’ roll, once the preserve of the young, is now firmly in the grip of the establishment. In the first example, a well known story is dumbed down by the addition of music produced by one of the most cringeworthy bands of all time and in the second, a pop event is hijacked by people who are less interested in pop music and more interested in furthering their own business interests. Let’s leave aside Madonna’s credentials as corporate entertainment for the moment, especially after the monstrosity that was Live Earth.

The effect of such events is to raise entry prices by increasing demand backed by corporate expense accounts, at the cost of the true fan, who is priced out of the market.

Of course, this sort of thing has been going on in the field of sport for years. In the 1980s, I attended the Formula 1 British Grand Prix at Silverstone only to find that whilst I was squashed in to a small area with countless others, there was a large area of the trackside roped off for corporate entertainment. The enclosure was empty as all the invitees were drinking themselves stupid in a tent some distance from the track.

But to find this sort of thing happening to rock music is somehow profoundly depressing. I look forward to a time when great swathes of auditoriums worldwide are permanently vacant whilst us true fans fight for a view of our heroes from the ‘restricted view’ areas. And all for a month’s pay per ticket. My feeling is that it won’t be long.

Somehow, I can’t imagine watching the Who circa 1966 or the Clash circa 1977 under these conditions and it just seems to underline how the insidious creep of corporatisation has affected the music industry without anybody really noticing.

Glasto - The Awards!

Whew! I’ve just completed the marathon task of watching all 12 hours or so of recorded Glastonbury highlights (thanks BBC) and have to say that, as usual, what a thoroughly enjoyable experience it was. The more so that I didn’t actually have to be there!

So. After much deliberation, five minutes at least, I am now ready to give out my awards to the best three acts – bearing in mind the limitations of only having seen those that were televised – in the customary reverse order.

In third place are the Killers, who I thought looked like a genuinely capable headline band this year, unlike the Arctic Monkeys, whom I really don’t get and the Who, who are just too familiar. Sounding a touch U2ish at times the Las Vegas outfit were melodic and dramatic in the best stadium rock tradition. Fabulous. Just as well I’m not an Elk lover!

In second place are the bizarre Brazilians, CSS who were thoroughly entertaining and bonkers in equal order. Who’d have thought that lycra catsuits were back in fashion? Oh…they’re not. In a strange way, this lot put me in mind of The Fall with their relentlessly patchworked rhythms and scattergun vocals – I’d like them to do a cover of Slang King or Pat Trip Dispenser just to test this assertion. I dare say I’ll get a load of comments from grim northerners telling me they’re nothing like them now. So moving swiftly on…

And in first place is the truly mesmerising duo of Rodrigo Y Gabriela, the Flamenco Heavy Metal guitarists. Until you have seen these two you just cannot conceive of how two acoustic guitars can produce the dynamics and gut wrenching excitement of Thrash Metal. And not a Marshall stack in sight. A bit of a cheek to get the audience to sing ‘Wish you were here’ all by themselves – how do they remember the words, do you have to learn them beforehand on the off chance or do you get handed a lyric sheet at the gate? Anyway, amazing stuff from the Irish Mexicans and I shall be investigating their CDs in the not too distant future.

Of the rest, Bjork was her usual fascinating self (loved the horn section) and the Pigeon Detectives kept me amused for at least a couple of songs – a rarity these days. Lily Allen was sweet and John Fogerty reminded us all how to write songs. Babyshambles were just that and I found Iggy Pop a shade disappointing. Is it me getting old or can’t new bands write melodies anymore? OK, it’s me. But really – they can’t. I can’t stand Paul Weller, but his set was bursting with great melodies, yet most other bright young things were monotone in the extreme (Killers excepted). Come on guys!

But frankly there’s nothing quite like live, as opposed to recorded, music. The highs are higher and the lows cannot be disguised by an MTV makeover. Who’s on next year?

Wham! It's the Other One!

You know, it could have been so different. With the undoubted benefit of hindsight, it is all too obvious where I went wrong in the 1980s. It has nothing to do with not wearing power suits or big hair, although this may have helped. Nor has it to do with not being a stockbroker or investment banker. I should have been a Silent Partner.

Think about it. One of the more popular configurations for the 80s pop star was the duo as essayed by the likes of Yazoo, Erasure, Pet Shop Boys, Eurythmics, Tears for Fears, Soft Cell and the rest, including, of course, Wham! What all these duos had in common was that they comprised a seemingly talented front man/woman who hogged the limelight and generally beguiled the public into thinking that they were the driving force and general trouser-wearing half of the partnership… and the Other One. But together they succeeded where one might not have.

And it is the post of Other One that should have attracted me as it seemed that the job basically entailed skulking around in the background playing two-finger keyboards or strumming a guitar and scowling, something that I reckon I could handle, whilst picking up a huge pay-packet at regular intervals.

But I then the downside kicks in, because anybody with half a brain would twig that the Other One in both Yazoo and Erasure was one Vince Clark. And in Eurythmics it was Dave Stewart and so on and what all these people have in common is that they are darn good songwriters. Damn! This Other One job looks harder than I thought.

Until you look at Wham! Surely the Andrew Ridgeley role would be more suitable? You know, lounging around hotel swimming pools and crashing racing cars. But even then, there’s that nagging suspicion that perhaps all is not as it seems. Careful investigation of George Michael’s post Wham! Career reveals a worryingly downward trend when it comes to quality of product and a veritable wealth of personal trouble to boot.

Perhaps the Other One’s role here was more catalytic than first imagined. In any event, it looks like there may have been a lack of Other One vacancies available at the requisite time as it clearly required a certain aptitude.

Oh well. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea after all. Sigh!

The Brave, the Bold...and Kirsty MacColl

To diversify or not to diversify, that is the question. It is a question that haunts not just successful businesses, but successful pop stars as well. Once a winning formula has been found there is always the temptation to repeat it ad infinitum until your adoring public has had enough and skulks off to do something else.

There are those that discover that elusive formula quite early on and make a whole career out of it, like Oasis or, dare I mention them, Status Quo but the reason for such doggedness is generally a large financial return so who’s arguing? Then there are those that get bored with the formula and try something else. These are the risk takers; the ones that seek to gain not only monetary reward but also that most elusive attribute: artistic recognition. Of course, as with all risky ventures, you tend to win some and lose others – Tin Machine, anyone?

The reason why I am ruminating on the subject of diversity is that I have just bought a CD of the best of Kirsty MacColl and the first thing that strikes you about its contents is the sheer range of styles on display. In a career spanning some twenty odd years before her tragically early death in 2000, we are treated to songs in virtually every style imaginable. Pop, country and western, folk, dance and latin are all covered with varying degrees of success. She is also extremely adept at covering others’ material as her reinterpretations of Billy Bragg’s ‘New England’ and the Kinks’ ‘Days’ attest. It is always the sign of a strong character that artists can make others’ songs their own.

But a propensity to diversity is an unpredictable trait and although her biting wit is apparent in virtually every song, there is definitely a hit-or-miss quality to the collection. In other words, some work brilliantly and others are average at best and dire at worst.

But I can live with all this because the highs are very high indeed and the remainder justifies the reason why ipod playlists were invented. There is something heroic about those that go out on a limb and try a different style in the face of potential public desertion that deserves our support. True, not everything works to plan but there is always the chance that a gleaming nugget will emerge to brighten our world. Funnily enough, many of my most cherished albums are not ones that are consistently good all the way through, but have a reasonable number of real crackers of tracks amongst the also-rans. In the days of vinyl, these were difficult albums to play but in the age of the skip button, they have made a comeback.

I never imagined that I would welcome Latin American into popular music but then I’d never heard ‘In These Shoes’. It is the brave and the bold that show us what might be. Rest in peace, Kirsty.

My Heroine

A not very well kept secret, at least amongst my acquaintances (Hi, you two!), is that my heroine is Jean Millington. Ok, ok, wait a second and I’ll explain. Jean is a bass player of exceptional talent and used to play in a pioneering but largely forgotten band; Fanny, during those oh-god-did-I-really-wear-those years of the early 1970s and indeed still plays today under the banner of the Slammin Babes.

A little background. Jean was born in Manila, Philippines and moved to California, USA with older sister, June and the rest of the Millington clan in 1961. By the time the sisters were teenagers they were both guitar veterans, had together formed a band and were already fighting over who would play lead guitar. As is customary in family disputes of this type, age wins out and June bagged the guitar spot, relegating Jean to that forgotten outpost that nobody wants – bass. In fact, this is the best thing that could’ve happened as it turned out because Jean took to the instrument like the proverbial duck.

As luck would have it, this was also a time when I was becoming fascinated with bass players and bass playing generally. Chris Squire, Peter Cetera, Jack Bruce and their ilk were my gods and guitars were for wimps. Why is bass always assumed to be the least talent-requiring occupation in a band? Phil Collins famously said that the best gig in a band is drumming. But he’s wrong – It’s bass playing.

By the time Fanny had convened in 1969 comprising, in addition, sister June, ace drummer Alice deBuhr and keyboards wizard Nickey Barclay, Jean had mastered bass playing to a quite eye-popping degree. Basing her style on a cross between Paul McCartney’s pugnacious melodies and James Jameson’s skittering harmony, she had it nailed. And all this before her 20th birthday.

Assuming you have your copy of Fanny’s long deleted ‘Charity Ball’ with you, just have a listen to Jean’s playing on ‘Place in the Country’ especially during sister June’s solo. The melodic structure of her bass line just builds and builds using chromatic runs and octave skips to fabulous effect. But don’t stop there, have a listen to the play out of ‘Lady’s Choice’, the whole of ‘Cat Fever’….I could go on.

But that’s not all – she is also possessed of a fine singing voice capable of handling the whole gamut from the soulful pop of her own ‘Wonderful Feeling’ to the murderously tough R&B of Ike & Tina Turner’s ‘Young and Dumb’. There are more than enough attributes here to fulfil ‘heroine’ status, so she’s mine.

Postscript: Fanny were recently honoured by ROCKRGRL at Berklee College of Music in Boston and played a short set, the first for over 30 years. I should have been there, if only to hear that bass playing once more.

Congratulations Jean, June, Alice and Nickey – you deserve it.

To find out more, visit their website at www.fannyrocks.com