A Song I Want Played At My Funeral
I wasn’t taking this category seriously until a colleague from work died a few weeks ago and it suddenly took on a bit of poignancy. I didn’t know the chap in question, Scott, incredibly well, but he was lovely and deserved a few more years before popping his clogs. He’ll be missed by his friends at work.
I don’t know what music was played at his funeral but it has made me wonder what I would want to have played at mine. I suppose you can either go for the upbeat – to get everyone dancing in the aisles – or serve something up that will really wring the tears out.
I’m not brave enough to go for the former – it takes a great force of will to go against the prevailing mood of an event, in this case a funeral, and impose a completely different mood, in this case a bouncy happy tune. I’d rather play up to the prevailing mood and ratchet up the sadness.
So no Always Look on the Bright Side of Life or Ying Tong Song for me. Instead I’m going to draw upon my fine line of Death Songs.
The Seekers get slated as a bland and insipid folk band but I really like them. The Carnival is Over is a great song that can break my heart every time, and I commend it to the house.
A Song That I Want To Play At My Wedding
I’m married, so this post isn’t speculation, it’s what happened.
We put playlists together of our favourite songs, helped by that great musicologist, Michael Mann. (Thanks, Mike!) We had 4 CD’s worth and asked the DJ to stick with them, (he snuck in Phil Collins’ version of Can’t Hurry Love, which was a bastard’s trick). It was wonderful dancing with so many of our favourite people to so many of our favourite tunes.
Fi and I picked a song each for our dance. Fi went with I’m Sticking With You by The Velvet Underground. I went with Love Me, by Elvis Presley:
A Song I Listen To When I’m Sad
I can get into a right morose sulk these days. And when I do, I tend to reach for:
Midlake. Acts of Man. It’s like being in a damp and sunless forest 100 years ago. (This would also have been my choice for the category, ‘A Song I Skim Moose To’).
A Song I Listen To When I’m Happy
Here’s a song that always heightens my good mood whenever I’m feeling happy. Nina Gordon‘s version of NWA‘s Straight Outta Compton.
Forgive the swear words and cuss words – they are not words I would normally say or promote, and thinking about it now, they are hard to justify. Please don’t listen to this if you can’t understand that sometimes insulting terms (of the foulest nature) can be re-purposed to become positive. In this version, for example, Nina delivers what amounts to the Ballad of Ice Cube, a eulogy for a folk antihero.
A Song You Listen To When You’re Angry
A few years back, I was driving up Glasgow to stay with the In-Laws. I was traveling alone after working in Oxford all day. I’d caught the train there from London and picked up a hire car after calling at Blackwell’s Broad St and Waterstones.
Within 5 miles of joining the M40 northwards, the traffic slowed down to a halt. We sat and we sat. Three hours. And then, as sometimes happens, it cleared within a matter of minutes and we were rolling again. I have no idea why we were stuck. It had been cleared by the time I got there. It must have been an incident around Banbury but I don’t know for certain. (I’m of belief that we should be told what the hold-up was. If you’ve wasted, say, an hour or more, with all its attendant inconvenience and headaches, it’s not unreasonable to want to know why you were stuck).
Anyway, 3 hours! I was livid. And though I flicked through channels and tried to listen to music, the only thing that had any calming benefit whatsoever, was this kind of thing.
French football radio commentary. I have no idea what game I was listening to or who the commentators were, but a couple of hours lost in a game I couldn’t comprehend between two teams I didn’t know did the trick.
A Song From My Favourite Album
It’s either incredibly fashionable to love Springsteen or it’s incredibly unfashionable. I never know which, and frankly, it doesn’t bother me either way. I don’t love the guy unconditionally but his first two albums are both in my top 10 albums of all time. I love Nebraska and I like bits and pieces of lots of his other albums, but the two albums I really love are the first two. Greetings From Asbury Park and the Wild, The Innocent and the E Street Shuffle are exuberant, imaginative, wordy, tunefully and wonderfully arranged. (I feel I ought to offer my apologies to Matt and Russell, at least one of whom has nothing but contempt for the Springmeister).
To pick just one track, hmmm, that’s tricky. It’s going to have to be New York City Serenade:
“Walk tall or don’t walk at all” indeed!
A Song That You Wished You Heard On The Radio
Living in South London, I hear a lot of crap from passing cars. Terrible, terrible four-to-the-floor dance music that rattles the very framework of the the car the song emanates from, as well as the foundations of our house. (I used to get quite angry about it until I came to see it as an early warning signal that there was a dickhead on his way!) They can’t enjoy listening to music like that, surely! I can only conclude there is some other reason for putting such rubbish music on so loud.
Anyway, so for a while I’ve been thinking a good music blog meme would be Songs Heard From A Car Window. Those little snippets of wonderful music that brush past you in the street.
And one song I heard at the corner of Ellison Road and Greyhound Lane was Gene Vincent‘s Be Bop A-Lula. Now, that’s a great record to stumble upon!:
A Song That You Often Hear On The Radio
A few years ago, a few friends and myself went to Leicester to see the Foxes play Huddersfield Town. Driving back down the M1, we listened to Suzi Quatro on the radio. We didn’t realise it was her at first, but she put on a fine radio show, playing lots of great R&B (old school R&B) and garage band stuff. I can’t remember a single record that she played, (the chaps who weren’t driving had had a few drinks) but I’m going to pretend that I Can’t Stand Up For Falling Down by Sam and Dave was one of them. It’s the *kind* of thing she played, and it’s such a magnificent song, it’s worth playing for whatever reason. Elvis Costello’s version is good, but not as good as this, (Elvis wouldn’t disagree!)
In reality, I first heard this on a Sam and Dave album that my brother owned, and it contains some of the greatest lines in pop in the verses:
I am the living result/ of a man who has been hurt a little too much
And I’ve tasted the bitterness of my own tears
and:
Simple that love it, still it confuses me
Why I’m not loved the way I should be
Simple stuff, but wonderful. And beautifully sung, too!
A Song I Used To Love But Now Hate
I think this is another category that I’m going to fail. I genuinely can’t think of a song that I think worse of now than I did at its height in my affections. Even if I over-face myself with a song, I know I’ll love it again before too long.
So, here’s Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds, original version:
A Song That Describes Me
The adjective, to be ‘rock and roll’, when applied to a person, has become shorthand for being beautifully reckless, acting impulsively without thought of consequence. Most times, if you dig under the surface, it’s nothing but a stance. And I kind of avoid the people for whom it isn’t.
A few years ago, I saw Crystal Castles at Latitude. I didn’t know them before they came on. I haven’t listened to them since. Their music was OK, not terrible, not brilliant. The singer came on slugging at a bottle of Jim Beam, and put in a completely haywire performance, diving into the audience and scrapping with the crowd, who loved it. She was wearing a beautifully-disheveled Smith’s t-shirt. Everything about her said rock and roll, but beside that initial slug of bourbon, she never touched it again. And though she went for long walks into the crowd, she never missed a cue. It was a performance, simulating the wilder aspects of rock and roll, but underneath it all she was very professional.
At first, it really got my goat. But once I’d worked out what was going on, I was fine with it. It was most entertaining. It was not unlike James Brown’s cape act. And, like James Brown, it was all business. That’s one of the things you learn if you watch American bands, they are always incredibly professional. They know exactly what they are doing and how it will affect the audience and they have practiced their set until it is slick. I once read when The Cult were on the same bill as Guns and Roses, there was a delay before the gig was due to start. Slash went to practice. Billy Duffy went to the bar.
Er, what’s point? That the pose is fine so long as you know that if you extend that sort of hedonism into real life, you’ll come a cropper. It’s no way to live a life. And the bands that appeal to me most are the ones who have managed to find a balance between the performance and real life, without compromising either.
Jonathan Richmond and the Modern Lovers always strike me as having thought through these dilemmas. I love that line in I’m Straight, “… if he’s so great, why can’t he take this place, and take it straight.” And I particularly like the one we had played at my wedding, and which sums up my attitude as much as any other song I can think of, Dignified and Old:
A Song No One Would Expect Me To Like
I’m tempted to run with Donald Where’s Your Trousers. Or the Brotherhood of Man doing Figaro. Or Bucks Fizz doing Land of Make Believe.
I’ve no idea what other people think I would or wouldn’t like. How about Let’s Go Fly A Kite from Mary Poppins:
A Song That Is A Guilty Pleasure
I generally don’t feel guilty about the music that appeals to me. Music is there to be enjoyed, whatever it is, however it comes to you. I might occasionally not mention certain things I like in front of certain people if I think it won’t go down well – I’m not confrontational and I don’t like to court controversy for the sake of it – but at the same time, if asked I wouldn’t dream of denying I like something, whoever it is that is asking. I’m not going to fib in order to prevent myself looking uncool in someone’s eyes.
The stuff I feel guilty about – on the rare occasions I feel guilty about music – is when the lyrics don’t tally with my world view. Which is to say, when they are misogynistic, homophobic etc. Of course, if the music is crap as well it makes it very easy to deal with – haha, they’re sexist *and* they’re shit – but when the music is magnificent, what are you supposed to do, pretend that you’re feet aren’t dancing?:
A Song From A Band I Hate
Hate’s a bit strong for it, but I really wish I didn’t like some of U2’s songs. It grieves me to admit it but they have produced some wonderful records. I won’t go into the reasons for it as I’m not the only one who feels ambivalent about them. I’m going to go with Sweetest Thing:
A Song By My Favourite Band
The band that ultimately makes the most sense to me is Orange Juice. Their influences were impeccable, which is remarkable considering the bands they championed were highly unfashionable at the time, like Creedence Clearwater Revival and Chic. I love the do-it-yourself thing they did with Postcard. I love the prickliness. I totally understand that sounding trashy wasn’t enough for them, that they wanted to sound accomplished. They were very tuneful and they dropped wonderful lyrics onto inventive, beautiful melodies.
But I have to ration them. I can’t listen to them constantly. And every now and again, a band will come along that will completely take over my listening habits for a while. Flaming Lips, The Smiths, Midlake, The Beatles, The Stone Roses, Black, Elliot Smith, Arctic Monkeys, Black Keys, White Stripes, Jesus and Mary Chain, Belle and Sebastian, Postal Service, even Judas Priest, Deep Purple and UFO, if I go back to my Heavy Metal days. Each of those has been the band that captured my entire attention for a month of so and, while they did, I couldn’t imagine any band wanting to sound any other way. (This caused a real problem when I was recording the Scaremongers album. I so desperately wanted to sound like the Black Keys and the Mary Chain that I made the guitars far too heavy, which ultimately did the album no favours. It would have been much better if I’d kept the guitars jaggedy and lighter on their feet).
The Sensational Alex Harvey Band are a prime example of a band that completely won me over for a while. I love them, though I can’t vouch for everything they did. They released one magnificent album, SAHB Stories, and lots of great singles. I never saw them live, which is a real disappointment. Alex was still alive when they first crossed my radar.
Their version of Next is by far the best, for me. All the theatricality that Alex Harvey could bring to a performance is front and centre here and the arrangement is better than either Jacques Brel‘s and Scott Walker‘s, the other two most notable versions, though I like both of those, too, (I’m sure you’re aware that it’s a Jacques Brel song).
A Song That Makes Me Fall Asleep
Nawp, nothing. No music makes me fall asleep. At different times, it has made me enraged, traumatised, ecstatic, triumphant, doleful, unbeatable, giddy, frightened, vulnerable, cheerful, tortured, giggly. It has offered insight, salvation, exercise, bliss.
But it has never sent me to sleep. There’s always *something* in it that grabs my attention, for the right or wrong reasons.
So I’m afraid I’m going to fail this category.
Instead, here’s Paranoid by Black Sabbath:
A Song I Can Dance To
I used to love dancing. I would get up anywhere, anytime, alone or with friends. Provided I loved the song, nothing would stop me. It takes a bit more of a push to get me up on the dance floor these days but I thoroughly enjoy it once I shake the rust from my joints and get into the groove.
A bunch of us go away together for New Year, and invariably we have at least two nights giving it plenty in the church of dance. We each pick 5 songs which play at random so at some juncture your songs will turn up but you’re never quite sure when. It’s great fun.
This was the first song that turned up after midnight on New Year’s Eve. It’s as important a message song as you’ll ever hear, and it’s irresistible.
Enjoy Yourself, The Specials. (And a link to a magnificent live version).
A Song That I Know All The Words To
Good lyrics are pretty low down on my list of what makes a good record (hook comes top, with the closely-related melody second, groove and performance coming next (sometimes those are difficult to separate out)). But lyrics are very high on my list of what makes a great record. I’m not on about anything profound or clever, and it’s not important for every line to be a zinger or even to be intelligible (Song Two, No Woman No Cry, Wooly Bully being fine examples of songs with some great catchy lyrics but for which you couldn’t work out the majority of words without sitting down and listening very hard indeed). I’m on about words that perfect match the mood of the song, for which the lyric drapes itself across the melody with unerring sympathy, and which has a personality of its own.
There are millions of songs that I know all the words to. So for the sake of being able to include a song on here that I adore, here’s The Cookies, with Don’t Say Nothing Bad About My Baby:
I won’t bother writing them all out, or analysing them. But suffice to say, the middle 8 contains one of my favourite lyrics of any song ever:
Everyone says he’s lazy
But he’s not when he’s kissing me
Everyone says he’s crazy
Sure he’s crazy, crazy about me!
A Song That Reminds Me Of A Certain Event
Way back when, back when I was signing on, early to mid 80’s, not sure what to do with my life, three friends and I decided to put together a country band to play around the northern working men’s clubs. I was a drummer back then. I wasn’t a fan of country music at the time, although I can really appreciate it nowadays (not unreservedly, you understand. I mainly like the old skool and outlaw stuff, like Hank Williams or Kris Kristofferson) and though we rehearsed a few times and put together a set list of the few country songs we knew, we didn’t take it seriously enough.
The sum total of the band’s country career ran to one audition for a booking agent at a club in Doncaster. If we’d applied ourselves, we would have sailed through the showcase and would have been in a position to earn a passable living on the club circuit. Country music, as I’m sure you know, is a relatively lucrative market. We were all capable musicians and the songs weren’t taxing at all, so it should have been simple. As it was, we giggled to ourselves throughout the gig and it was obvious to the booking agent that we didn’t respect the songs or our performance of them.
Among Johnny Cash numbers and Gordon Giltrap songs, there were a fair few Eagles‘ songs in the set. The ones I can recall are Peaceful Easy Feeling, Lying Eyes and Take It Easy. I know they are shorthand for lazy American MOR, but I have a soft spot for The Eagles. I can’t listen to them all the time, (I can’t listen to anything all the time) but I have the Hotel California album on vinyl, and the song Hotel California is magnificent, (which itself reminds me of a disco on a campsite in the South of France).
So My Song That Reminds Me Of A Certain Event is Take It Easy, and I always have a little pang of regret and embarrassment that we didn’t apply ourselves to that audition. It might have opened up a lot of doors for us. But I remember fondly the one bar of 9/8 that The Eagles threw into the arrangement, (bar 8. I don’t know if the Jackson Browne original includes it). We learned that bit properly and got right on the night.
A Song That Reminds Me Of Somewhere
I have never been a regular blogger, diary-keeper, journal-writer, event-logger. I’ve never regularly carried a camera, or, now one travels with me courtesy of my phone, I never think to bring it out if ever I see something interesting. I wish I was that kind of person, it seems like a lovely thing to do, to have a record of how you felt and what you did at different junctures in your life, of what you saw. I don’t have that sort of mental make-up, I’m afraid. I like things like Last.fm that do it for me, (and it aggrieves me that certain music I listen to goes un-logged) and for convenience sake, I like the lists of previous grocery orders on Sainsburys Online or Ocado so I don’t have to think what to order. But general speaking I don’t have the discipline or the subscription to a routine that allows me to document all I do. I try and cram too much into the limited hours we all have available to us as it is, without committing time I don’t have to the process of recording what I’m up to.
So this 30 Days of Music thing is quite a challenge, to make a point of not just thinking about what to include, but to write it up, with justification or at least some side-story that gives the song context. I’m thoroughly enjoying it. (And I’m glad to say that at least one person is reading this. Hi, James! Strikes me this is the kind of thing you’d be good at, especially when your life is going through such seismic changes!). I’m enjoying thinking about music, how it affects me, what it stands for, how it does the things it does, and working out how various bands and pieces of music fit into the scheme of things. I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about music and reading about music. I’m not very good at documenting what I think but it does come out, albeit in funny ways. I’ve written two book-length pieces about music and musicians, with another three to come at some point. A friend and I wrote a sitcom about a music journalist, (which sadly wasn’t very funny). Most of the books I read are about music, musicians, record labels, (I’m on a bit of a roll with them this calendar year. I really should write up some reviews of them).
So in picking a song for any given day, any given topic, I’m trying to make it less about me and more about the music itself. While it would be a little too literal to pick a song for the A Song That Reminds Me Of Somewhere category that name-checked somewhere – Scarborough Fair or Ilkley Moor Bhat t’At – I don’t want to go with a song that just happened to be playing when something important or tragic happened to me, (nothing wrong with doing that, I hasten to add).
So if that’s what A Song That Reminds Me Of Somewhere shouldn’t be, I need to come up with something that it is. I’m going to go for a song that conjures up a place for me, without the song being particularly associated with that place or a given time. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Arctic Monkey’s Riot Van:
This is the most oblique song about unrequited love that I’ve ever come across. The reason the kids in the song are baiting the coppers is because the girl they fancy at school doesn’t fancy them back. Or at least that’s how I read the subtext to the song. They are too young and too skint to get into pubs, so all they can do is float around in front of a row of shops that are closed for the night, bored and reaching for whatever entertainment they can muster, in this case arguing with the police.
I did that kind of knocking about from time to time, though generally speaking we always had someone’s house to go to. But Riot Van reminds me of hanging around the shops half way up Fox Hill in Sheffield, which is not a million miles away from where the Arctic Monkeys are from. But the odd thing is, I never did that. By the time I lived in Sheffield, I was in my mid- to late-20’s, maybe even my 30’s, and I was a bit beyond knocking about around a row of shops. However, Riot Van evokes that time and place so well that it makes me nostalgic for something I never did. That’s a quality piece of writing, if ever there was one.
A Song That Reminds Me Of Someone
Little Old Wine Drinker Me by Dean Martin was a song on the Jukebox at the Rising Sun in Shelley in the years after getting back from Poly. My pal, Graham Womersley, and I always reached for Little Old Wine Drinker Me whenever we had a few pence to spend on sounds. It reminds of drinking Worthington’s hand-pull ale, (a fine pint), playing dominoes and darts. From a song point of view, it’s a wonderful piece of writing. Dean Martin is one of the all-time greats and this an under-rated song of his:
A Song That Makes Me Sad
I am torn between going for a song that make me sad purely because of the music or a song with sad associations. In the first camp, I’d include songs such as Bing Crosby‘s White Christmas (which is a death song in my mind! That line about “may your days be merry and bright” definitely has the subtext that your days are finite!) and The Carnival Is Over by The Seekers, (another death song). In the latter camp, I’d include songs by people who died too soon, such as Waltz #2 by Elliot Smith and Lilac Wine by Jeff Buckley, (obviously, Halleluiah is the classic on that album but classics have to be rationed, don’t they, or you get sick of them).
Ultimately, because I’m a music geek, and because I love the fact that music has the power to move you just by the way it’s put together, I’m going to go with a song that makes me sad simply because it’s sad. There are dozen songs I could pick, Dusty Springfield‘s version of If You Go Away. Seasons in the Sun by Terry Jacks, (another Jaques Brel song!), Dr Hook‘s Sylvia’s Mother or Marianne Faithfull‘s Ballad of Lucy Jordan, (both written by Shel Silverstein), Death Letter by the White Stripes. All worthy candidates.
But today’s choice is Jackie Wilson‘s version of Danny Boy, which is operatic, almost a little bit silly, but it touches me every single time:
A Song That Makes Me Happy
Hmm, a song that makes me happy. Well, let’s see.
Oddly enough, I don’t reach to music to make me happy or when I feel happy. I’m a ‘wallow in misery’ type of pop fan. I like sadness and tragedy in music. I love death and heartbreak. Happiness is alien to my listening habits. So it’s tough to nail down a song that regularly triggers happiness in me.
There were a few contenders. I thought about Sonique It Feels So Good, which is a lovely song. And Groove is the Heart by Deee-lite, which always makes me want to dance. And even Do You Realize by The Flaming Lips, (which might seem pretty counter-intuitive, if you know the song). But in the end it boiled down to Orange Juice, my favourite band, and Rip It Up.
I believe Rip It Up was the first chart hit to feature a Roland TR-303 bass line. (I read that – I haven’t been through every UK chart song and analysed them!)
Last week, I finished reading Simply Thrilled: The Preposterous Story of Postcard Records, which, as part of the tale, documents Orange Juice’s early years. I love books about record labels. I love the investment in other people, the faith that they are making something important, the sheer nerve involved in spending money they didn’t have on something that might fall flat. In the case of Postcard, they released some great singles but, though they were seeking a hit record, it didn’t happen till the bands left the label and went with a major. As well as Orange Juice, Postcard let Aztec Camera, the Bluebells and Strawberry Switchblade slip through their fingers. But somehow, through it all, Postcard became legendary.
I never feel Orange Juice get the credit they deserve, and frankly, I kind of like that. I like them being a secret for those that know. They were always a band labouring against the odds and, when I stick up for them, it feels like I’m helping make a case for them taking their place in the rock pantheon.
My Least Favourite Song
I thought I’d struggle with My Least Favourite Song because I try and stay away from negative stuff. I much prefer to be positive where I can. But it took me about three seconds to realise Texas I Feel the Same About You was the perfect candidate. It’s such a bad song in a million ways. The fact that it shamelessly rips off Al Green and Marvin Gaye is shocking. And the hookline doesn’t sit right on the melody and because of it, the meaning is changed, (that kind of thing drives me nuts!). It’s just lazy, lazy, lazy pop. (I’ve added the link to the song but I won’t embed it into this post. I don’t want that crap clogging up my blog!)
When I was first getting into music, you went to great lengths not to sound like anyone else. The worst insult that could be leveled at your band was you sounded like Echo and the Bunnymen or the Teardrop Explodes or whoever. These days bands seem to actively chase after the sound of big name bands. But Texas came out of punk, or the arse end of it, anyway, and should have known better. But they didn’t, or they chose not to. There’s a circle of Hell reserved for bands that should have known better.
Anyway, that’s enough negative stuff, and enough time thinking about a crap song. Looking forward to the next post, A Song That Makes You Happy.
My Favourite Song
Martha Reeves and the Vandellas – Heatwave.
There are lots of wonderful songs in the world, but there isn’t a better song than this. (I stole that line from Jimmy Greaves, who was talking about George Best – “You can’t say he was the best player ever in the world – how can you compare Maradona, Pele, Cruyff? – but you *can* say there has never been a *better* player”). Heatwave is the sound of summer, the sound of that delirious craziness when you first fall for someone. Love as blissful torment. I love her vocals – that’s not a kid singing, that’s a grown woman’s voice. I love the call-outs from the backing singers, the voice of kids on the street egging her on. I can only presume it’s James Jamerson and Benny Benjamin driving the song along on bass and drums respectively. It’s such a great feel, aided by the magnificent piano.
I knew The Who version before I heard the original, my 17-year old self coming out of his Heavy Metal days and learning the joy of Soul Music via Maximum R&B. I still love The Who’s version, but once I’d heard Martha Reeves’ version a couple of times, it came toppermost in my affections. I don’t think the guys in The Who would have a problem with that!
I hadn’t seen this footage before. It looks like it’s from Ready Steady Go. I like how the singers stand out from the audience but only from the waist upwards. Differentiated enough to present the group well, but with that sense that they are of the audience. Very nicely put together.
I once danced on stage with Martha Reeves and the Vandellas, which is a whole other story! It’s one of my tales of choice that I reach for after a few drinks!
Back out of mothballs
This blog has been a-mouldering for some time, (good word, a-mouldering). I se that Russell and Matt are doing the 30 Days of Music thing and to follow suit seems like a good excuse to get the blog back out of mothballs.
Hmm, news since I last blogged …
… well, I’ve been at Wiley for 2 and 1/2 years now. I’ve a good few books under my belt which I’m very proud of. I’ll write them up at some juncture, if I actually keep this blog going. The boy is growing very nicely. He’s three and 1/2 tomorrow, getting smarter and smarter every day.
I think that’s it. 18 months summed up in a paragraph, with sentences to spare!
I am sure you will all be very relieved to know that Huddersfield Town’s place in the Championship has been preserved for another year. And that the Tour de France will pass through Huddersfield.
Vansen Jonsen and the History of Cool Rocking Records
About ten years ago, I started writing a novel about a music entrepreneur called Vansen Jonsen. Jonsen was an American draft dodger who moved to the UK in the early sixties and worked through the history of British pop music. He was part Bill Drummond, part Tony Visconti, with a touch of Richard Branson, a jigger of Larry Parnes and a smatter of Andrew Loog Oldham. The novel was a place to dump all the daft ideas about pop music I harbour, all the daft schemes I’ve come up with over the years, the screenplays for films that I’ll never get chance to make, the band names that were never quite good enough for bands I was in but which I wanted to find a home for.
Anyway, the first draft is written. I’m not sure when I’ll get around to writing the second draft.
Can We Stop The Season Now, Please …
It’s not going to last, but I’m going to enjoy it while it does.
Team GB Moth
“Please STOP dumping your rubbish” – Sign on Estreham Road, Streatham.
from http://flic.kr/p/bwtQUt
Clattermonger 