Captain Beefheart. The Dust Blows Back.

I heard the news today oh boy. The Captain passed away on Friday, aged 69.

I usually feel like I am pissing in the wind, when I try to convince people that he was one of the most important musicians to grace the contemporary music scene since the 1950's. It is good, and reassuring therefore, to see that tonight when I spent an hour seaching the net, to see tributes galore. Also to see that the press belatedly admit his influence on disparate musicians across the globe and the years.

I have no idea what I did last Wednesday, but I recall with clarity hearing the man/ magic band for the first time, on my Stella radio, courtesy of his UK envoy John Peel on his Sunday radio show. The track was Sure 'Nuff & Yes I Do from the album Safe as Milk. It tapped into my recently realised fascination with blues ~ particularly the stuff featuring harmonica and slide guitar. The cement hardened a week later, when Peel played Electricity, which I remember hearing on the same radio, sat in a field somewhere here in the Black Country. Clent? That track connected with the underground stuff we were also listening to. Possibly even more than hearing Sonny Terry, he made me want to play blues harp when I was about sixteen. We are back in 1967/8 now. I have had a bash at playing drums in recent years with limited success - and it is obvious that the drummer John "Drumbo" French laid down my patterns.

" Beefheart Through the Eyes of Magic". I had returned to  reading this this week ironically enough, having set it aside to read the Keef biog. Another great ~ really great, read is " Lunar Notes" by Bill Harkelroad who was Zoot Horn Rollo in one of the best manifestations of The Magic Band. His stuff on Clear Spot is just ace.

Beefheart was - according to the written accounts, something of a bully, but what he managed to create by telling the musicians what he wanted was extraordinary. Via numerous line-ups he managed to fuse blues, poetry and jazz. I also think he was funny. A factor missing from a lot of accounts. Peel related that when he drove the Captain to Kidderminster for a gig (now commemerated by a blue plaque: see John Combe's excellent book http://www.kidderocks.com/) the Captain said that he needed to stop to talk to a tree and  it is uncertain whether this was true ~ or more likely that he needed a piss. Also saying that he asked for dressing rooms to be cleared so that he could levitate. Priceless.

Trout Mask Replica is always quoted as the masterpiece. It is , but to a lot of people it is difficult listening. It should be heard with the story of it's making in mind. However with a rock /blues brain in-gear, buy Clear Spot ( which may be available still with The Spotlight Kid) if you don't know the man's music.  Click Clack is the pre-set sound in my head. Here is a live version.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q2ZMOKLsiuY

I only saw him once. Birmingham Town Hall.With the band on this video. The sound was awful!. I dragged along some non-believers, and was given a lot of grief later.

I think that if there was a way of monitoring the number of times tracks were played at home, then my running order would put Big Eyed Beans From Venus, Click Clack, Bat Chain Puller  ~ oh shit and the rest, at the top of my heap. Don's Howling Wolf voice has only been matched (?) by Tom Waits who has been heavily influenced by both, and by Ian Siegal ~ I think.

I am so glad  that he and the musicians he played with hit that long lunar note, and let it float. Maybe the dust blows forward as well.

Thanks for the mark you left Don.

Doors Closing. Mind the Gap

With wife and eldest offspring gone orf to see a friend performing in a local production of Carwash tonight, I was left to my own diabolical devices. Rejecting the obvious allure of the X Factor on TV, I cooked a steak, and settled down with a bottle of wine, to watch the dvd of " When You're Strange" the  doc. film about The Doors with narration by Mr. Depp. This was a self-chosen birthday present.

Other than some misleading film footage, which purports to show J.M. driving in the desert (actually a look-alike) it is a decent overview of The Doors and their brief life as a band but with a Jim bias.

When I read in reviews, that the surviving members of the band approved of the film as an honest portrayal of the band - and in particular of Jim Morrison, and that they were not involved in the production, and were not interviewed for the film, I counted myself in for the ride.

Somehow the film left me just feeling sad. The previously well documented decline of Jim (due to the pull of " Jimbo" according to Manzarek) was the focus, made difficult to take at face value, by the use of shots of Morrison in various stages of off planet mind trips, but often slowed down, and with no continuity of hair length or biblical beard / no beard. They seemed to be random, eyes half closed photographs in non-linear sequence. Stoned immaculate?

The first and last album were both recorded in about a week, and some of the material was written in the studio at both sessions, which I think illustrates something greater than the simple idea that J.M. was just wasted all of the time.

He was however, wasted a lot of the time.

The film does manage to portray the period when The Doors were active in a way which should make young folk sit up and take notice. 100 police at a Doors gig! Many of them on stage! Jim(bo) was arrested on stage and sentenced for a second offence. rack(sic) and role. I think the doors opened around that time, before the end. Groan. Jim sould be alive now, and be creating music with a blend as Plant has done recently.

One of my points, is that it is easy to see how directors & producers work backwards to produce the story they can sell, to get the funding for a film. A celebration of The Doors can't be done without Jim's story, but the film only mentions the nights he crashed, whilst listing how many dates they performed. LOTS.

I lay under my tenage bed-covers listening to Radio Luxembourg the night Jim Morrison died. They played the Doors for hours. L.A Woman is part of my mythology, and Riders on the Storm is a deserted island risk.

Music to my ears, or how I learned to love the cassette as an emblem of...

There is a goodly chance that I will use this outlet to rant about music, and take - up where I left off some years ago, in telling chums about recently acquired albums and gigs. Years ago, I would make a list within a letter, boring innocent people shitless, and thus earning my place in anorak corner for posterity, or until they threw the purple piece of paper daubed with green ink in the bin. I / we progressed to posting cassettes. This enabled tracks to be passed on. " Home recording is killing music" was a campaign by the record companies. Bollocks. Without it, I would not have a collection of jazz cd's, and would not have seen Miles et al.

Sorting my remaining 200 or so cassettes (having carried out a preliminary cull last year) has caused me to re-discover some gems which I have bought on cd for the first time. Others are either going to landfill, or being dumped onto cd, which brings them back to life in a surprisingly good way.

Last week on a car journey, I happily listened to a cd, taken from a best of jazz-rock cassette, compiled from various vinyl albums over ten years ago. I am sure that I had not played the tape for years. Suddenly The Crusaders, Morrisey Mullen & Nucleus etc were brought back into my life. Gary Boyle anyone? I had forgotten him. So: Vinyl to cassette, and then casette to cd. Recycling. 

Now the rant part of the post. We are encouraged to dump outmoded stuff all the time. I am sure that we are not alone in still using video tape sometimes, even though we have a dvd player, plus the video player/cd recorder. Ok I hear you. I am alone on this one. Shut up Chris!

Some of the old formats still work well. I replaced my fifteen year old stereo amp last week. Of course, it has inputs for a turntable. If we had believed the experts, nobody would be playing LP's in 2010 but they are. A lot.

Earlier in the summer/ characterless season which has, according to the calendar, just passed,  I invested in an Apple ipod. When playing on shuffle, it has been a revelation. I have only loaded rock, pop, classic songwriters and bands, with a small amount of blues and jazz onto it, and that is what I intend to stick with.

The shuffle throws up some real goodies. Tonight while typing this, it threw Jimi, Robin Trower and Stevie Ray in sequence. What are the odds? My ipod and me are going to elope, and make a little family of cadmium batteries and live a blissful life in the woods, where nobody can be cruel to us, mocking her cruel domineering corporate Apple ways.                    And relax. 

The interesting outcome of buying the beguilling little minx, is that I realised that I do not actually play the albums which I think of as my favourites, as often as I think I do. The reason? They all have stinker tracks on them! Bung them onto any player/ compilation minus the stinkers, and everythng changes. Your own radio station is the answer. Two good examples are After the Goldrush and Axis Bold as Love. My edit rules.

The other attraction of the ipod, is that part of the reason for my love of the 12 inch LP, was that twenty/five minutes of one artist or style was - I have always thought, ideal. Over seventy minutes is pushing it. Even I turn off.

A final thought for tonight. I don't know if I am alone in being pissed off about music which I love, being used in television adverts. Sarah had to put a cushion over my face regularly, to stop the expletives flying a couple of years ago, when Goin' up the Country by Canned Heat was used in a butter advert. Dark Side of the Moon was sullied, when I stopped for a piss at a services on the M5 to hear "Breathe" coming over the system in the WH Smiths.aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrgggghhhhhh!

A couple of my unused photographs there, from the Tony Gillam "Untangle the Strings" cd  photo session.

http://www.bizibmusic.com/3.html

See also:

http://passengersintime.blogspot.com/

You can also follow his brother if you are unemployed/on drugs/sad/want something good to read/are fixated by the name Gillam. I met someone who was!!

The Years Go Passing By

Tonight I went to The Robin 2 in Bilston, with playmates Paul & Steve, to see Robin Trower. The first time I have seen the man, having spent a lot of time regretting not going to see him with Jack Bruce a while ago.

Admitting to liking Trower was risky for a while. The poor man's Hendrix etc. But somehow, his music, fuelled by evocative fx, mystic lyrics and killer riffs has stayed on my playlist for a long time. I also realised tonight for the first time, that the drum patterns from his albums, are part of the foundation of my pathetic skin bashing (along with John Densmore and Charlie Watts).

In the interval, I was considering the longevity of Mr. Trower (is there anyone else called Trower?) I recalled that I was given a copy of Twice Removed From Yesterday for my 21st birthday (by chum Dave McGinn). Surely not 37 years ago, I thought. I bought a three cd set recently - which is very cheap- and includes the first album. I can now confirm that it was released 37 years ago. Holy Moses! Will people be going to see current bands in 37 years time? Of course they may do,confirming that I am a fossil in waiting, but I doubt it somehow.

The set was perfect. The gurning was perfect. The sound was perfect,and the audience of course could clap in time. Only hair - loss and wrinkles got in the way. One Strat. for the whole night, and 2 tune-ups. Bliss.

The current vocalist is perfect, as he has the same delivery as the late James Dewar, and the bass and drums were spot on.

Thirty seven years. Thirty seven years.Th....

One week ago, we went to see Gwyn Ashton, with Kev on drums, at The Lock at Wolverley. Frankly, it rivalled tonight's gig. They were exceptional. The set was peppered with surprises, such as Eleanor Rigby, which was a great second encore. An audience which was much smaller than this gig deserved, saw two men playing a free at the door gig, at a level I have seldom seen at major venues and festivals. My brother Paul was sat at my right. His mouth hung open at times. To my right was (guitarist) Steve, who was at times, laughing at the improbability of what we were watching and hearing. A new number, which is a tribute to one of my gtr. heroes ~ Roy Buchanan, went down well with me, and will develop even further I'm sure.

http://www.gwynashton.com/ 

I played harp on Monday night at the open mic, on three numbers with Steve & George. We performed Boom Boom, Dear Doctor (from Beggars Banquet) and All Your Love by Otis Rush. Then I played harp with Tony on Little Old Wine Drinker Me, on which he transposed place names from the USA to Kidderminster and Bewdley. He is a little tinker. A good turnout on a rainy night. However, what I - as an old grumpy don't like, is that the young audience who come to see their friends, leave as soon as they have played. The older folk hang around to chew the fat, and we have all learned from each other, and made new chums as a result. A bit sad for them really. Instant gratification? 

A lot of work goes into having fun when camping. All of the stuff to do with the actual accomodation is sheer hell. The regular check-up for cloud battles, the bafflement about how the damned thing should look when erected - even though we have done this before. So why do it? Because every time we have done it it has been a hoot, and we always win. This was on the Monday morning after the Upton Blues Fest. and prior to the last breakfast at Bonjos. 

I thought Dave Arcari deserved another outing on this blog. So here he is.

Every year since we started our daft weekends under canvas, I have taken a photograph of Steve next to the (various) tents, with a mug/glass/ bottle in hand. It used to be a coffee mug while breakfast sizzled. Then we gave up on cooking, when we (i.e. Steve) began the Upton Blues Festival weekends. When in Upton-upon-Severn, a full English breakfast at Banjos is a must.

The taxi usually gets us back to the site at about 12.30. Nice families are asleep, preparing for a new day of wholesome experiences. What they don't anticipate is the dark sonic rumble of us (mainly me), in the middle of their night. At the end of a blues day, fuelled by beer,wine,and cod philosophy - fuelled by the aforementioned, we have a few glasses of red, whilst bemoaning the whole concept of camping. Our neighbours should see the warning signs. Even positioning our tent in a far corner does not work. Some dipstick still erects their adobe next to us. Maybe a sign saying "unclean " would do it. Knowing our luck, we would get a missionary as a neighbour. 

My favourite shot from our stay in Charmouth. The mist hangs around for a lot of the time.That stretch of beach is popular with fossil hunters, who seem happy to pay a couple of quid to hire a hammer, with which to bash rocks in earnest (which is near Charmouth) in the hope of finding something little and old secreted within. They could have bought a Kinder egg, and the cost of the hammer is less than the cost of an eye patch, which they need after the flying shards take out an eye.

Jools, on the day we went to Weymouth while on holiday. We had been dreading her having the threatened operation to remove another gall stone and her gall bladder, which could have spoiled the holiday. We went to Worcester hospital last week, for Jools to be told that there was no sign of another stone, and that the gall bladder itself had shrunk, and was not worth taking out. This decision resulted from a scan performed in June. Bearing in mind the professional opinion beforehand about an operation, would have entailed six weeks off work (on top of the previous six weeks she had earlier this year). " I was glad to see the back of those leeches" trad arr. A. Hancock. Enough to make one cynical. If it was in one's nature.

This is the lighthouse at Portland Bill. Portland: never in the field of human conflict has one man queued for so long for two 99's. Some people - wearing what I believe we called wind cheaters in the last century, debated at length, upon arrival at the counter, the relative advantages of cups,mugs,milk and the string theorum. If C & A and Wimpey Bars make a come-back, the ripples will start there. You heard it here first.

It was a struggle to find a photo. of me on holiday that my Mom would have approved of.Here you have the R & R version, which would have caused concern for her. One evening on a beach... weird that at the moment I typed that "If Six Was Nine" came on the ipod.

A filler

At almost 2.30 a.m. with quite a few drafts of booze in my system , following a bbq at brother Paul's today, and more when I got home, it will be wise to keep this brief. So ~ safe territory: music.

He used his iphone to play music today. Two  tracks came up for discussion. It turns out that we both adore "Slave" from Tattoo You. The drumming on that track is a lesson in itself.  What a groove. I think it was a jam, and not a written song. Then Son House . I have now sent Paul a link to an inferior version of  John the Revalator live. Compared to the one which was on youtube for ages, and earning no money for anyone this one looks crap, but still chills me to the bone.    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9GgkvFJ--G8

Goodnight Vienna

Why?

The first blog was a dry run, to see what this would look like. Random thoughts running amok I see now. I intend to let loose random thoughts and rants in equal abundance, to replace the private & ragged diary entries and notebooks, I have erratically kept since I was about twenty years old. This time with photographs and links.

I needed to find a way to communicate with people in particular, who I do not see regularly. "Pick up the phone" I hear you say. Well, at the time of day when I feel like talking you won't want to listen. So to the blog.

Tonight I sent around 100 photographs to be printed by Snapfish. I reviewed them, and was struck by the lack of consistency. Some i am proud of and a few which are so, so poor. Here is a good one:

Taken in Lyme Regis, and given a good talking to. The photograph that is - not the seagull.

We went to Lolworth Cove early one evening while in Dorset. If you are not in Dorset it is actually difficult to visit the place, so we were totally vindicated. The minimum parking charge on the car park, which was modelled on a bomb site, was £3.50. A jovial cove ( not related to Lolwurth) saw me gurning at the ticket machine. He gave me his ticket, which had 2 hours left before expiry. As he said, the tide was in and he was off.

Beautiful though the bay is, when the tide is in, there is nothing to do other than look at it. We looked at it. A lot. It looked back at us I think.There were a lot of French tourists there ( and everywhere else we went in Dorset ). Like the one that got away fisherman talk about, I missed a photographic opportunity. Sitting on some slate steps painting pebbles, was a hippy/hairy, bearded gent, sporting a number of rings on every finger and thumb, and sporting a pair of overalls splattered in vivid paint splashes. He seemed to be surrounded by people every time I looked. I suspect that for the price of a handsomely painted pebble I could have taken a likeness of his image. His trousers in particular. They are a stage prop but a vety effective one.

Muttering in tongues, about the unfairness of other people being on the same part of the planet as me when I want to take unique photographs, I espied the tree ~ festooned with buckets and spades, shown above. Unique. I called Sarah. Her chum Fran, had been down to Weymouth a few days earlier ,and told her about a tree with buckets and spades hanging in it. Sigh. I have an idea for a song . Don't tell anyone. Opening line: Gonna' Get Up in the Mornin'"

One more:

Another impression of Charmouth Beach for no reason at all.

Virgin territory on the ridiculous

Hello playmates

Realising that I spend too much time sending/replying to people via email, I decided that I would follow the example of the brothers Gillam (who are not Grimm at all) and smile a lot in fact - and blog. It will save you all a lot of time reading duplicated anecdotes I hope, as I can never remember who I have bored. A scattergun approach.

I recall from my ill -spent youth that at the annual visit of the fun fair, we used to shoot pellet guns at a target, and would be given the target, along with a box of Liquorice Allsorts if you were a gunslinger, or just the target with miss-spent holes if you were a loser. These days, a whole field of innocent folk would no doubt be wiped out by a lone gunman if the weapon was handed over.