Gentleman Jim
- 27 Feb 07, 11:52 PM
Like many people across the world, but particularly here in Northern Ireland, I was extremely saddened to hear of the death of the music promoter Jim Aiken. In an industry that could most commonly be likened to a shark pool, Jim was a gentleman. That¡¯s not to say that he wasn¡¯t tough and shrewd in business, but he was the kind of man for whom his word was his bond and a deal could be sealed with a handshake.
I had the great privilege of interviewing him many times on Radio Ulster. He was a very modest man, but once you got him started he had tons of tales from his years in show business. He was the one man who brought music from the rest of the world to Northern Ireland during the darkest days of the Troubles, and for that we all owe him a huge debt of gratitude. He had stories about driving Roy Orbison across Northern Ireland as towns around him were burning, or bringing Elton John home for dinner because there was nowhere for him to eat in the strife torn city centre. It is particularly fitting that this same combination would go on to bring music to Stormont for the first time after the Good Friday Agreement.
Of course, like all successful promoters, he was also a gambler. On more than one occasion he almost lost everything, including the roof over his family¡¯s head. I remember him telling me about one particular concert at the King¡¯s Hall that he hadn¡¯t been able to get insurance for and so he put his house up as collateral. Next thing he knew there was a suspect device outside the venue, if it had gone off he would have been ruined. It didn¡¯t, and Jim survived another day.
He also kept everything. After Johnny Cash died I talked to him on Artsextra about his memories of working with the legendary singer, and in the middle of the interview he produced all the original papers and documents relating to the tour, all in pristine condition. It was a unique slice of history, and in a sense that is exactly what Jim Aiken was himself. A big man in every way, he will be much missed by everyone who had the good fortune to meet or work with him.
Teenage Pix
- 27 Feb 07, 02:23 PM
Photoblogs can be deadly dull. Many of them are jammed up with cutesy kids, macro shots of the petunias in the back garden and grandma¡¯s blurry birthday. Which is one reason why I admire . This is the work of an 18 year old from Belfast, Gavin Mullan. Every day, he posts up a new image, and a startling new way to see the local landscape.
He¡¯s got an amazing eye for composition and loads of poetry in his heart. He finds beauty in twigs, ceilings, beer cans and puddles. He¡¯s looking for significance in the Mournes, the Law Courts and Shaw¡¯s Bridge. One of his specialities is long exposures, catching the trails of car headlights and the lesser known night features. And his increasing confidence at post-processing on the computer makes every new posting a fresh revelation.
In the coming weeks, I may also point to the photographic talents of Iona Bateman, Graham Smith, Gavin Millar, Phil O¡¯ Kane, Paul Smith, Keith Wilson and Alan Maguire. But while I¡¯m in the process of showing you some of mine, why not show me yours?
Back with a song in my heart¡
- 27 Feb 07, 02:17 PM
So here I am, back and blogging after a spot of leave with my loved one. He¡¯s currently working abroad, ¡®my man in Milan¡¯ as I like to call him, and so when we actually do manage to get a few days together we try to make it ¡®quality¡¯ time, which is exactly what it has been. We had a short trip up the North Antrim Coast and you know, even when the weather isn¡¯t great it¡¯s still the most magical place to be. A windswept walk along the beach at the White Rocks and afterwards snuggling up to the fire with a hot toddy at the Harbour Bar ¨C it doesn¡¯t come much better.
Then when we decided we¡¯d had enough of rural life we returned to the big city to sample the delights of the Belfast Nashville Songwriter¡¯s Festival, and what a treat that was. We went along to some outstanding gigs and, as my man is also a fine musician, we even attended some of the workshops. There were songwriters, Stetsons and slow southern accents galore, and naturally I had to feature at least a few of them on air.
Paul Overstreet has written a number of huge country hits, but probably the best known is ¡®When You Say Nothing At All¡¯ which he sang just for me on Artsextra last Friday night ¨C and really, Ronan¡¯s version is rubbish by comparison. He also writes some of the funniest, cleverest lyrics I¡¯ve heard, ¡®She Only Loves Me For My Willie¡¯ being chief among them¡.and I think you¡¯ll find the ¡®Willie¡¯ in question is ¡®Nelson¡¯, so get your mind out of that gutter!!!
Then on Sunday morning I had the very talented, not to mention cute, James Dean Hicks as my guest on This New Day. Originally from Kentucky, he became a child star in Nashville at the age of 10, and he¡¯s written for everybody from Johnny Cash to Jessica Simpson. Unbelievably, he arrived at the studio at 7o¡¯clock in the morning complete with guitar and happy to play live. I was stunned - and he was wonderful! Search it out and listen again!
Ultimately though, what all these talents have done is inspire me to put pen to paper myself, especially after James Dean Hicks told me all you have to do to write a hit country song is tell the truth and make it rhyme - oh, and heartbreak is also a very popular theme. So here goes¡.
I¡¯ve cried countless tears
Sang all my sad songs
Drank too many bottles of wine
But none of that matters
It won¡¯t change a thing
Now I know you won¡¯t ever be mine
When I¡¯ve finished I¡¯m sending it to Dolly¡..
Ash From The Ashes
- 26 Feb 07, 09:35 AM
One of the great things about being in a band is that you can take your work anywhere. So when the Downpatrick band Ash felt they needed a change of scenery, they hired themselves a studio space in New York and started rocking afresh. Once again, they became familiar with big melodies and roaring guitars. They were finding inspiration in the tumult of Manhattan and in Tim¡¯s case, discovering some romance there also.
I met up with the singer in December, filming some parts of a TV documentary on the roof of his studio building, just off 6th Avenue. It was ferociously cold, but he obliged us with thoughtful answers, humour and warmth. Ash has been one of the excellent features of Ulster music for the past 12 years and they¡¯re surely going to continue that way.
As from today, you can download a free track from Ash, ¡®I Started A Fire¡¯. It¡¯s a teaser for the new album and finds the band returning to the core three piece after the departure of guitarist Charlotte Hatherley. They¡¯re playing with the gusto of teenagers and the savvy of veterans. It¡¯s rather great.
I heard some of the rough mixes from the album and they include swooning ballads, lusty declarations and a perfectly massive closing track. We conclude that 2007 is clearly another vintage year for Ulster music, and it¡¯s such a treat to hear the Ash contribution.
Click on to get your own free download.
Let's Hear It For The Foy
- 21 Feb 07, 06:34 PM
And so Foy Vance plays the Meter Room in the old Gas Works complex in Belfast. Many people at this Tuesday night reception are a little refreshed, and aren¡¯t paying full attention. But if you care to check it out, you will hear excellent singing, guitar skill, humour, intensity and grace. In a few years, people who weren¡¯t even here will pretend that they listened all the way through.
Foy comes from Bangor, with a broad detour through America with his preacher dad. His music is high on hope, notably on the future classic, ¡®Indiscriminate Act Of Kindness¡¯ which pictures beautiful deeds in surprising places. He plays in a kind of soul-jazz vernacular and you guess that he¡¯s into John Martyn. A bonus.
He lightens the tone with an abstract version of ¡®Another Brick In The Wall¡¯ and a romp though ¡®I Wanna Be Like You¡¯, with Linley Hamilton on trumpet, blowing some happy boogaloo.
At the very end of his set, the music and the voices are looped and layered on some digital device, chiming and recurring even when the author has left the stage and stepped out into the night air. Hours later and those notes are still in our head, sweetly rebounding.
A Close Shave
- 19 Feb 07, 07:46 PM
Just what is going on with Britney Spears? First she loses her husband, then she loses her sense of propriety and ¡®forgets¡¯ to put her knickers on before leaving home, now she seems to have lost all her hair as well and not, I might add, in a Gail Porter way. No, after reports that she spent just 24 hours in rehab in Antigua, Britney flew back to LA, visited the hairdressers and once there proceeded to shave her head when, understandably, none of the stylists were too keen to undertake that particular task for her. So, this obvious act of self mutilation then poses the question, has Britney lost her marbles along with her tumbling tresses?
One thing that seems not to have been lost is the opportunity of making a few bucks by the enterprising salon owner who has already put the former pop princess¡¯s once lustrous locks up for sale on e-bay. But how do you prove the hair is Britney¡¯s, that¡¯s what I want to know. Without DNA tests it could belong to Lassie the dog and who would be any the wiser? Indeed, I confidently predict that by the time potential buyers on e-bay have finished bidding, Britney will have had roughly the same amount of hair as Rapunzel, although still less than Crystal Gale.
As for how she looks? Well, I would judge better than Sigourney but not as a good as Sinead. But then this is no fashion statement, this is a clearly a cry for attention. You ask any woman. Drastic hairdo equals major life change ¨C usually of the traumatic variety. But there¡¯s a big difference between getting divorced and going blonde and getting divorced and going bald. This is a girl who clearly has issues.
So the good news is that Britney¡¯s hair will grow back. The bad news is her self esteem will not, well, not unless she does something about it. I think she may find more time in therapy and less time in the hairdressers to be the way forward. Britney might even consider going into rehab with Robbie. Now there¡¯s a duet in the making.
LA Lore
- 19 Feb 07, 02:40 PM
Back in 1935, an Ulster songwriter called Jimmy Kennedy was so enthralled by a Portstewart evening that he wrote ¡®Red Sails In The Sunset¡¯, a tune later recorded by Louis Armstrong, Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby. Fast forward to 2007 and some young punks from Whitehead called Switch 14 are also writing about the Antrim coastline.
However, there¡¯s no rosy glow to their tune. ¡®By The Sea¡¯ is a sustained moan about the lack of rock and roll facilities in this seaside town. Verse by verse, they mither and rubbish the place, while the guitars clatter and a very youthful singer makes petulant faces. Every day might be like Sunday in your world, but does your music have to sound like it?
Welcome to the second year of ATL Rock School, a clearing house for imminent talent and flailing chancers. In Switch 14¡¯s case, the average ago is 14 and so their ill-aimed attack is forgivable. Some others are visibly dying in front of the cameras. The Humbleweeds play lumpen indie-synth, and the judging panel (Neil Hannon, Michael McKeegan and NME¡¯s James Jam) is quite savage. Derry act The Q are probably too cool for this sort of thing while Post Mortem noodle and thrash with empty precision.
But hooray for Nice ¡®N¡¯ Sleezy, a band made of hairspray, leopardskin and rock lore. They come from Enniskillen but their metier is the sound of Hollywood and Sunset Strip. Neil Hannon says that it¡¯s a bag of star-spangled clich¨¦s, but fun with it. The others agree. And so it¡¯s a Sleezy triumph, another milestone on the corpse-spattered road to Wonderland Avenue.
¡°We¡¯re the saviours of rock and roll,¡± they promise. ¡°If you don¡¯t know us, then your daughters will.¡±
And by the way, mine aren¡¯t coming out.
Dream Me Up, Scotty
- 16 Feb 07, 10:30 AM
As a cub reporter in 1985, I was asked to interview a band called The Waterboys. Their big record at the time was ¡®The Whole Of The Moon¡¯ and I thought it was a bunch of overwrought piffle. Actually, I was completely wrong about the tune, but myself and Mike Scott had a bit of a barney in his record company offices and it made for a good feature.
Three years later, The Waterboys released the ¡®Fisherman¡¯s Blues¡¯, and I was smitten. By this stage, Mike had given up on the interview caper and so I basically stalked him across Dublin and Spiddal, Kilburn and Belfast. We eventually set up an interview in Stornaway, in the Outer Hebrides. The night before we¡¯d taken a moonlight adventure to see the Callanish Stones, this mind-blowing megalithic walkway, which also helped me to understand the guy.
There¡¯s a very long version of this story, but essentially, we became quite friendly. I got a dedication on his ¡®Dream Harder¡¯ album and we corresponded a bit. And on my Radio Ulster programme tonight, sometime after 10pm, you can hear us talking up his new album ¡®Book Of Lightning¡¯.
It¡¯s a rousing collection, with Steve Wickam lashing out the fiddle lines, while trumpet player Roddy Lorimer is blowing with gusto. A couple of tracks date back to the ¡®Fisherman¡¯s Blues¡¯ period and they are instantly regal. The news songs also have a majestic dimension and I¡¯m very much looking forward to the Waterboys show at the Waterfront Hall, Belfast, March 25. And if they play ¡®Whole Of The Moon¡¯ I may be leaping around like I¡¯ve always, always loved that record.
So flower, so good¡
- 14 Feb 07, 07:25 PM
And so I am pleased to report that my man came up trumps and I did indeed get flowers for Valentine¡¯s Day. But just in case you¡¯re about to accuse me of joining the ranks of the smugly loved up, let me share the story of the last time I got a bouquet on the big day.¡.
It was several years ago ¨C yes, I have a lengthy history of dating unromantic blokes ¨C and it was the classic dozen, long stemmed, red roses. The only drawback was that he had in fact dumped me the day before. Confused? Yes, so was I. What did it mean? Was it an apology? Had he changed his mind? Did he want us to get back together? The answer, it transpired, was a definite no.
Having waited all day for the phone call that never came, I finally plucked up the courage to ring him. He was embarrassed but unapologetic as he explained the only reason I got the flowers was because he¡¯d ordered them earlier in the week and had forgotten to cancel them. I was gutted, and before you could say Interflora about a hundred quids worth of roses hit the bin, petal by velvety petal.
Now I am not wishing to pour cold water on the language of love, but I think the moral of the story is¡..if you are saying it with flowers just make sure you¡¯re having the same conversation.
Laura, Laura Love
- 14 Feb 07, 09:13 AM
Yesterday I interviewed an artist from Portland, Oregon called Laura Veirs. She was in a studio in London and I in Belfast, but it worked fine down the wires as we discussed her excellent new record, ¡®Saltbreakers¡¯. It is strange and elemental music, with hints of Patti Smith and Emily Bronte. Apparently her personal life was a bit tempestuous at the time. But she sounds revived now and she gushes quietly, remembering a recording session at Johnny Cash¡¯s old home studio in Henderson, Tennessee. Apparently the mantelpiece is signed by all the guests, including Bob Dylan, and Laura was also asked to add her name.
Even minor stars have interesting things happen to them, and Laura went to France last year, where a school choir was singing these ethereal versions of her songs. She was smiling and weeping at the same time. I hope she gets so famous that she¡¯s immortalised on Rockney Rhyming slang. As in: ¡°I went down to the pub for a few Lauras, and then across the road for a Ruby.¡±
She speaks fluent Chinese and has a degree in geology. I told her about the Giant¡¯s Causeway and she¡¯s already talking about a field trip during her next Irish tour. Let it rock!
You don't bring me flowers.....
- 13 Feb 07, 03:38 PM
The following few lines are almost exclusively for the benefit of our male audience.
Guys¡. if you want some invaluable insight into the female psyche, if you want your relationship to soar not sour, then take note of these words of wisdom borne from years of experience.
No matter how much you think that Valentine¡¯s Day is a waste of time, a commercial ploy, a cheap gimmick for florists and greetings card companies, and even when your other half claims to agree with you wholeheartedly, I promise you that deep down inside she doesn¡¯t mean it. There isn¡¯t a woman on the planet that wouldn¡¯t be delighted, secretly or otherwise, to get a bunch of flowers, a box of chocolates, even a card tomorrow.
Excuses such as ¡°I¡¯m not the romantic type¡± or ¡°I refuse to be manipulated into making some sort of empty gesture just because it¡¯s Valentine¡¯s Day¡± are entirely unacceptable. I agree that you shouldn¡¯t be pressurised into showing someone you care on any one particular day in the year, you should do it every day. But come clean! When exactly was the last time you spontaneously arrived home with a bunch of flowers and it wasn¡¯t a special occasion, or you weren¡¯t feeling guilty about something? See!
Also, continuing with that particularly male logic, if tomorrow really is just another day then what harm can it do if it happens, coincidentally, to be quite a romantic one. Game to me I think!
Look, you don¡¯t have to spend a fortune, you don¡¯t have to go to the ends of the earth, just go out - unprompted - and do something, anything, to show her that you love and appreciate her. Now is that so hard?
PS. And ladies, if all this still fails¡¡statistics show that on Valentine¡¯s Day, 15% of American women send flowers to themselves. Perhaps they realised if you can¡¯t beat ¡®em¡..
Ready, Steady, Joe
- 12 Feb 07, 10:54 PM
When is a name change nothing to worry about? That¡¯s what some of my radio listeners want to know when the Friday 10pm slot finds me changing my wrapper from Across The Line to the Late Show livery. Does it mean that the playlist will suffer, that Stu¡¯s freestyle tendencies will be curbed?
Actually no. It¡¯s still a lovely and indulgent show, from Doug Sahm to The Ramones, stopping off for a dose of Gruff Rhys, Studio One reggae and that magnificent new Soulsavers album. It¡¯s a combination of precious values and chance collisions: your fave music all in one place. And the name change is like the classic Marathon bar mutating into the Snickers. You still have that combination of sweet coating and savoury nut, plus all the essential nutrients. You dig?
Anyway, I¡¯m no longer signing off the station for Friday listeners. The every-frisky Joe Lindsay takes it onwards from midnight until one am, lashing out the Jarvis Cocker, The Cramps, The James Gang and turbulent hip hop. Just ahead of his launch, we bicker about the value of Mark E Smith and The Fall (horrendously over-rated, says I) and I feel glad because Joe effectively keeps the radio nation awake for longer that the norm. Extra value. Join us for next week¡¯s unruly experiment, and don¡¯t be shy of a challenging song request.
Love, Death and Drama Queens....
- 12 Feb 07, 03:26 PM
I have been knee deep in love all weekend ¨C in a purely professional capacity you understand. First it was my favourite combination of love and chocolate on The Saturday Magazine, followed by love at first sight in Just One Look. But even if I¡¯d been on love island, the love boat or in love on the Star Ship Enterprise I could not have failed to see the acres of newsprint devoted to the death of Anna Nicole Smith.
I keep on having these conversations with people along the lines of ¡°Isn¡¯t it awful about poor Anna Nicole Smith?¡± or ¡°Didn¡¯t she have the most tragic life?¡± Of course the answer is yes and yes, but why is it that we never speak ill of the dead but tear the living limb from limb? I do it myself so I know what I¡¯m talking about, but in a week she has gone from a cheap joke to a tragic icon, and I¡¯ve lost count of the number of times I¡¯ve seen her compared to Marilyn Monroe.
She was the girl from the wrong side of the tracks who, with her ample cleavage and bombshell blonde coiffure, moved along the time honoured path of beauty queen, playmate and ¡®actress¡¯. She married a billionaire 60 years her senior and was branded a gold digger. But what¡¯s so wrong with that? Successful men have been buying women since the beginning of time. Don¡¯t look so shocked, you know it¡¯s true. It¡¯s just that society likes to add a veneer of respectability. It calls them trophy wives and every successful tycoon has one, updated for a new model, in this case literally, every few years.
If she¡¯d been a man she would have been slapped on the back, congratulated on making the most of her god given assets and in rising from her humble origins. She would have been hailed like a Trump, not like a tramp. But that¡¯s never been the way it is for women and it probably never will be. It seems only death can redeem a good time girl's bad reputation.
From one extreme to the other, and a woman on top of the world. Having watched the BAFTAs there is no doubt that queen of the night in every way was Helen Mirren. Not only did she win the award for Best Actress but she was also a winner in the style stakes. Looking gorgeous and glamorous, the sexy 61 year old knocked spots off actresses half her age, although Sienna Millar, who last grabbed the fashion headlines for going out in what could only be described as a pair of black gym knickers and tights, also looked ravishing in a backless gown which only the very young and the very thin could get away with.
Mind you, Bond Girl Eva Green is both of those things and still looked a perfect fright. Apparently her dress was vintage Dior, but her hair was pure bird¡¯s nest. It looked like she was attempting that classic fin de siecle look you get in a Gustav Klimt painting, but ultimately she looked more like the long lost sister of Marge Simpson. As for Kylie¡.somebody needs to tell her that the last days of disco are definitely over. But then, she has had a hard few weeks, what with her French love rat and everything and maybe she thought if she looked bright and glitzy on the outside¡.maybe not. Kylie girl, in my experience, chocolate is the cure for a broken heart.
And so we¡¯re back where we started!
Hill Hath No Fury
- 10 Feb 07, 08:53 PM
Many years ago, my old dad sat by the TV and laughed himself silly over Tommy Cooper, Harry Worth and Eric Morecambe. We giggled along with him, sharing his pleasure, even when the finer points of the jokes were lost on us. It was, of course, a vintage stratum of light entertainment, when people bonded over daft jokes and ill-fitting spectacles. We assume that this era has given way to more sophisticated and worldly television. But then we watch Harry Hill on a Saturday and all is hilariously well again.
Harry starts his evening run with You¡¯ve Been Framed, which was never so great with Jeremy Beadle or Lisa Riley. They were either smug or patronising, and the punch lines were often blunted by our dislike of the grinning face between clips. But how would you find harm with Harry? He has little malice and he tickles us with scatty observations about golfing mishaps, BMX pile-ups and hamsters opening biscuit tins. The video footage often takes place at a safari park, prompting Hill to exclaim: ¡°the baboon ¨C chav of the monkey world!¡± just before a startled granny is relieved of her cheese baguette.
Next up is Harry Hill¡¯s TV Burp, another barmpot critique of modern life. We are invited to see the absurd side of Eastenders, and Phil Mitchell¡¯s acting style is a weekly rip-snorter. The naturalist Nick Baker provides endless mirth and yes, there really is a therapy farm for fussy eaters, where a young lad is encourage to chow down on a sausage, despite his terrible misgivings.
One of the gag writers for this show is David Quantick, and old pal from my NME days. He can write a funny sentence like other people can play an amazing guitar solo, and one of his old music reviews was the basis of the band name, Pop Will Eat Itself.
So here¡¯s the after dinner belch. We end this week¡¯s show as Harry dresses as a giant hamburger and sings the advertising theme to Reggae Reggae Sauce. I am filled with helpless laugher, and the Bailie girls all join in.
A Fantabulous Night
- 9 Feb 07, 10:44 AM
It¡¯s Thursday at the Waterfront Hall, Belfast and Van Morrison is in legendary form. He¡¯s blowing sax on ¡®Moondance¡¯ and riffing on the piano, he¡¯s thumping the guitar strings with the flat of his hand and he¡¯s slurping away at the harmonica during a peerless version of ¡®Help Me¡¯.
When he¡¯s in this kind of form, summoning up great sheets of memory and sentiment, you can forgive him almost anything. He¡¯s lifting us beyond the humdrum, out of our petty worries and greater woes. He¡¯s giving us religion in a way that most churches can not. The centrepiece of tonight¡¯s rhapsody is ¡®The Healing Has Begun¡¯, in which the singer¡¯s thoughts return to a girl and a glorious Belfast avenue, back in the day. He¡¯s floored by the beauty of it all, but still feeling lustful, murmuring salacious things about where they might go and what they might do.
The song rises and rises, off into the swirl of time, as Van sings about being back home in the backstreets, where the spirit first moved him. It¡¯s like William Blake doing the boogie with John Lee Hooker and it¡¯s perfectly great.
He bleats ¡®There Stands The Glass¡¯ and you shudder as the lovesick narrator thinks about getting drunk and obliterated. He changes ¡®Have I Told You Lately¡¯ into a jump-blues tune, like something from an old Louis Prima record. And bless him, he even signs off ¡®Brown Eyed Girl¡¯ and the timeless ballyhoo of ¡®Gloria¡¯.
At times like this, how could you not love the fella?
Problems problems
- 9 Feb 07, 10:03 AM
Apologies to anyone who's been having problems contacting us here.
The Â鶹ԼÅÄ is aware of this and you can find out more about what's going on via this link
Could I have a wee word?
- 8 Feb 07, 01:28 PM
I¡¯m sorry, but there is something I really need to get off my chest. I have just spent my lunch hour down town shopping, and even though I¡¯ve been engaged in my single favourite pastime, I¡¯ve come back to the office more than a little irritated. The reason? The endless use of the diminutive in every single store I went into. ¡°Do you have your wee card there?¡±¡.¡±Would you like a wee bag?¡±¡. ¡°Here¡¯s your wee receipt!¡±¡..¡±That¡¯s a lovely wee top¡± ¨C and in my case that¡¯s blatantly not the case! Once is ok, twice is a bit annoying, but every single time is insanity!!
Then, came the final straw! ¡°Do you want your wee hanger with that love?¡± Love? Love? Being called love by some complete stranger, at least 20 years younger than me ¨C actually I was just about to call her a wee girl there and then I remembered my rant. So do we all say wee? Is it something in our genetic makeup? Maybe we could have a wee chat about that one later love.
Digging The Duke
- 7 Feb 07, 11:47 AM
Belfast¡¯s Royal Avenue on a damp Monday evening isn¡¯t the best prospects for Winter fun. But inside the Virgin Megastore there¡¯s a perfect glow. Peter Wilson from Duke Special is playing a bespoke gig, meeting his ever-increasing fan club and signing records. Everybody¡¯s smiling and a proper, feel-good event is in session.
It¡¯s been a tremendous time for the fella. He¡¯s done Jools Holland and TOTP2, while ¡®Freewheel¡¯ has been Radio 2¡¯s record of the week. His online messageboard is alive with new believers and satisfied, older followers. By degrees, the world is finding out about our uncommon talent. It¡¯s been many years coming, but that¡¯s been a compelling part of the story also.
As I watch him singing ¡®Brixton Leaves¡¯ amongst the record racks, I¡¯m thinking of another difficult and perilous story. If Duke Special was a book, it would be ¡®Pilgrim¡¯s Progress¡¯ by John Bunyan. It¡¯s been a long quest, battling through the slough of despond (playing covers in the local bars for rent money), and distracting times at Vanity Fair (the music biz). It¡¯s not been effortless, but that difficulty has informed the music, with those tales of peril, near death and perseverance.
The road is long and home is indeed a distant drumlin. But Peter has a good soul and an unfaltering sense of purpose. And happily, we¡¯re beginning to see the light.
One of Those Days...
- 6 Feb 07, 02:26 PM
Today is one of those days! Not in a bad sense, but one of those days when it just feels so good to be alive. I took Ella the ancient dog for a walk in the park this morning before I came into work and it was completely perfect. So much so it¡¯s made me come over all poetic. There was a deep golden sun in a turquoise blue sky, the frost was like a dusting of icing sugar over the red berried bushes and the skeletal branches of the trees. Braving the cold were clusters of tiny, pure white snowdrops and carpets of crocuses like splashes of purple paint on a knitted green blanket. Enough now of my sub-Wordsworthian moment!
Seriously though, I am one of those people who always bangs on about how great it would be to live in warmer, sunnier climes. And ok, while you would avoid those grey, drizzly days, you¡¯d also miss out on glorious days like these. Just ask me if I feel the same the next time it¡¯s raining.
Middle Aged? I Don't Think So!
- 5 Feb 07, 04:13 PM
Over the weekend I was out with a group of friends, all of whom are somewhere in their fourth decade. Not surprisingly then, our conversation turned to the subject of aging ¨C or more accurately anti-aging. Now most of them had heard me on The Saturday Magazine interviewing jungle ¡®celebrity¡¯ Lauren Booth who hit the headlines during the week with her suggestion that as soon as they turn forty women should just let themselves go and slide gracefully into middle age. Talk about putting the pigeon among the cats!
First off, we all agreed that if 50 is the new 30 then there is no way girlfriend that 40 is middle aged. Secondly, not one of us had an elasticated waistband on between us ¨C although I must admit to having enjoyed a brief flirtation with that particular feature post Christmas. Thirdly, still on the fashion front, we had all managed, in our opinion, to stay on just the right side of mutton without tipping over into mumsy. Mind you, there was one slightly dubious moment when one of our number with a particularly fine figure for a mother of three, lifted a pair of long shorts before being steered in the direction of those very fashionable knee length trousers. She couldn¡¯t see the problem as they were only a few inches longer, but as I tried delicately to explain ¡°It¡¯s not the inches sweetie, it¡¯s the mileage.¡±
Then there¡¯s the hair. I looked around the table and did any of us have grey hair? Yes, all of us, but now ask if any of us had it on show. Most of them have started the process of blonding up, although I¡¯ve decided to stick to the Rita red ¨C that¡¯s as in Coronation Street, not Hayworth. I am never going grey gracefully, to the extent that I have made a solemn and binding pact with one particular friend that whichever of us ¡®goes¡¯ first, the other will make sure that even in our coffins there are no nasty roots ¨C nice ¡®n¡¯ easy, just like that.
Actually none of this is easy, and it gets harder every year. We all have jobs, families, relationships, commitments, and in most cases the budget is more Primark than Prada. But we are resourceful women, we can multi-task, and we find the time to slap on our makeup from somewhere. And the reason? It¡¯s nothing to do with society¡¯s expectations. We do it because it makes us feel like ourselves.
So Lauren Booth, our Saturday afternoon was not like a scene from Last of the Summer Wine, it was all shoe shopping and frothy cappuccinos. We may need our specs now to read the menu but our role models will always be more Carrie Bradshaw than Norah Batty. But that¡¯s just us.
The general consensus as the sun went down and the cappuccinos turned to cocktails was that whether it¡¯s saggy and baggy or smooth as a baby¡¯s behind, you have to be comfortable with the skin you¡¯re in.
As for me, just like my mates, I take the Winston Churchill attitude to wrinkles¡..I will battle them on all fronts and I will never surrender. Realistically I know gravity will get me in the end but while there's breath in my body and age-defying miracle cream in my bathroom cupboard I will go down fighting.
Rock Against Rugby
- 5 Feb 07, 09:49 AM
Why do I feel so offended that a Ramones song is being used in a TV advert for rugby? Is it right to feel precious about an ancient punk song called ¡®Blitzkrieg Bop¡¯ when so many of the band members are no longer with us, and the New York bar that birthed them has recently been taken apart? The answer is still yes. Because rugby stinks.
In my experience, rugby players are a dull lot, with their misshapen ears and ill-fitting sweat pants. The Ramones, on the other hand, looked amazing in their leather jackets, their pipe cleaner jeans and white sneakers. The Ramones were raised on three chords, overloaded guitars and the majestic sounds of Phil Spector and The Ronnettes. Meanwhile, a rugby tour bus still resounds to tawdry versions of ¡®Old Sir Jasper¡¯, ¡®Four And Twenty Virgins¡¯ and ¡®Dina Dina, Show Us Your Leg¡¯. These people just don¡¯t deserve punk rock.
Rugby is sustained by assistant bank managers, slumming it at the weekend in their sheepskin jackets, pouring pints of beer over each other¡¯s heads. It has no style, no attitude. It¡¯s the playground of the petite bourgeoisie, the school ties, the boys-own bores. The Ramones were genuine freaks who were shunned by the mainstream when they released their first record. Their style came from Marlon Brando and New York¡¯s gay subculture. And they were rapidly hailed by the underground, by teenagers who had been bullied and sidelined by the jocks and their dumb culture.
In my school, punks were routinely beaten up by the rugger buggers. It was a clash between the creatives and the conservatives, and the latter could only respond with their fat fists. I doubt that anything has changed. Which is why I despair at thought of their sons, bellowing ¡°hey ho, let¡¯s go¡± as they infect each other with scrum pox and trot smugly back to their locker rooms for another round of dirty jokes.
Life Isn't Over at 11....
- 3 Feb 07, 02:36 PM
And so today those all important 11 plus results dropped through letter boxes the length and breadth of Northern Ireland. I had a particular vested interest this year as my niece Katy was one of thousands of primary sevens nervously holding their collective breath and waiting for the results. In the end we needn¡¯t have worried. Katy, like her sister before her, got an A.
Of course we¡¯re all absolutely delighted, but for me the family celebrations were tinged with just a little sadness and regret. You see I didn¡¯t pass the 11 plus and, more than thirty years on, I still remember that day so vividly. It was like the end of the world. Bad enough being branded a failure when you're only just in double figures, but then to add insult to injury I was also losing all my friends, they were going to grammar schools while I was off to the local secondary.
As it turned out I got a very fine education there, went on to university and carved out a glittering career like many of my fellow failures. Not to mention the fact that these days a less academic and more vocational education may well be the better choice. Who wants a degree when they can be a plumber? So don¡¯t get me wrong, I¡¯m not saying it keeps me awake nights, but every so often when somebody asks me what school I went to and I see a hint of shock registering on their face, it all comes flooding back.
If you¡¯re reading this thinking ¡°get over it dear¡± you're probably right, but the disappointments of childhood cut deep. We¡¯ve all got them, and I promise you this is much worse than not getting the bike you wanted for Christmas, or not being allowed to go and see the Bay City Rollers at the New Vic ¨C although that still rankles as well.
No, all I¡¯m saying is that with the final 11 plus exams scheduled for 2008, I, for one, won¡¯t be sorry to see them go.
The Gong Show
- 2 Feb 07, 03:45 PM
Throughout February, Snow Patrol will be doing the equivalent of a victory lap.
Their first leg was the Meteor Awards in Dublin last night, where they won Best Band, Best Live Performance. Most Downloaded Single and Best Album. Not bad. They¡¯ve been completely blanked at the NME Awards, but maybe that¡¯s just the price of fame. Next up is The Grammys in Los Angeles, Feb 11, the Brit Awards, London, Feb 14 and the Choice music bash, again in Dublin, Feb 28.
This month should be useful for the air miles account if nothing else, and while I strongly fancy Duke Special for a Choice award, a Snow Patrol Brit is entirely possible. Amazing, innit?
The Brand Man Cometh
- 1 Feb 07, 12:21 PM
Russell Brand¡¯s illegitimate children are scampering around the Ulster Hall in Belfast, proudly wearing the eyeliner and haystack bouffants. They have found themselves a new cultural icon and while these teenagers may not be genetically linked to the bearded one, he is their spiritual dad. They share his excitable nature, his potty mouth and his fondness for unfeasibly tight black jeans.
Am I jealous? Well, tight pants would fit my legs like sausage skins, so I¡¯ll not be returning there. It¡¯s a youth thing, of course. And the event in question is the NME Indie Tour, our annual look at the cool acts of the season. Back in 1993, I was one of the music writers who launched the NME Brats, our answer to the boring Brits, so I too have a parental role in this.
I see that the event is sponsored by hair products and that the music chain stores are hurling money at the show. Adverts from other parts of yoof culture industry are also getting intimate. And of course all of the bands on the bill are all signed to major record labels. It¡¯s a corporate love-in, but should that matter?
I watch The Horrors, with their bad approximations of Nick Cave and Screaming Lord Such. They have stack hair and dress in black. The keyboard player keeps flapping his cape around, but he¡¯s not going anywhere.
I see an old mate at the back of the venue, Phil Jupitus. We chat about the old days, about Billy Bragg and the Housemartins and the time when he was an illustrator and stand-up comic called Porky the Poet. We watch The View with some approval, hoping that some loud guitars and songs about bad hygiene in Dundee might put a bit of attitude into this audience, with their ever-flashing phones and vacant political outlooks.
The kids of today, eh?
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