The other night I went to see a gig by a duo called Knight and Gayle, who were performing in a rather nice little restaurant in Hayle called The Foundry Bar. Kris Gayle is a singer who has been one of the south west's best kept secrets for many years and John Knight is a guitarist of considerable ability who ran his own recording studio for some time and is now involved in production and design. They first worked together in the early seventies in a band called 'Matrix', and have recently got together again to form this interesting unit.
Kris has a superb, pitch-perfect voice, a great sense of timing and phrasing and an ability to really inhabit a song. The pair performed an eclectic mix of material ranging from Van Morrison and Randy Crawford to Sting and Steely Dan but Kris managed to make each song her own without ever indulging in flamboyance or histrionics. John's accompaniments are most interesting. He uses a Roland guitar synthesiser, which allows him to generate bass lines, organ and string parts - all in real time: there are no backing tapes here! Despite the problems with latency that a guitar synth has (the synth voices respond a fraction of a second after the notes have been played), John manages to sustain a great groove. His chord voicings involve some pretty challenging stretches so as to accommodate the bass lines and he really has mastered the art of accompaniment. Oh, and his harmony backing vocals are spot on too! I really do recommend that you go and hear them if you get the chance.
Kris also works regularly with pianist Viv Rodd. Kris and Viv have landed a deal for their new CD '8.00 am' with Discovery Records and which was released nationally on June 2nd. Jazzwise gave it a great review in the May issue and Jack Massarik of the London Evening Standard made it his CD of the week, in the June 6th issue. Kris's web site is http://www.krisgayle.com/ and you can hear tracks from the new CD, which also happens to feature another ex band mate of mine, Marc Hadley. Go on.Check it out! It's well worth a listen.
Saturday, 7 June 2008
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
The twang's not the thang
Having been only briefly enchanted by Duane Eddy (see Pop and Me), I remained vaguely interested in guitars. Unlike most of my contemporaries I didn't necessarily want to play one at this stage. I just quite liked the noise they made, provided that it was allied to some sort of actual content.
My next guitar-orientated record purchase was an EP (if you've been reading this blog for a while you'll know that term by now) by a musician called Laurindo Almeida, entitled 'Guitar Music of Spain'. I was, I admit, primarily attracted by the word 'guitar'. I had no idea who Laurindo Almeida was and not the remotest idea what Spanish guitar music might be, or how it differed from any other kind of guitar music. So when I pulled that sleeve out of the rack and asked the shopkeeper to play me a track I had no idea what to expect.
What a revelation that was. As the sound of Fernado Sor's Study No.12 washed over me for the first time I moved swiftly from 'vaguely interested' to 'totally hooked' in the space of a few minutes. It wasn't so much the Spanish guitar as the guitar itself that embedded itself in my consciousness. I could suddenly see that it was an instrument which allowed you to play more than one note at a time, that it was possible to play melody and accompaniment simultaneously, in the same way that you could on a piano. I played that record endlessly. It was my introduction to an entirely new world - that of Sor, Tarrega, Turina and Albeniz. It was also, unbeknownst to me at the time, my first record by a Brazilian artist.
The next guitarist to seriously grab my attention was Tal Farlow. (Here's a clip from, I think, the early eighties). This was another accidental discovery. My friend Mole (see Wonderful, round, black, shiny things) had an older brother with an interest in Modern jazz. Mole turned up at our mutual friend Dave's house one day, with a selection of his brother's LPs under his arm. One of these was a Tal Farlow album (there were also records by Gerry Mulligan and Dave Brubeck, but that's a different strand of this tale). Once again I was transfixed. The music was totally different and yet it 'spoke' to me in the same way that the Laurindo Almeida record had. Needless to say I was soon hunting in the record shop for Tal Farlow recordings, but because my dad (a) kept me very short of pocket money and (b) would not allow me to get a paper round so as to earn money for myself, I could not afford to buy LPs, and there were no EPs of Mr Farlow available. But I had discovered modern jazz guitar and soon found an EP called 'The Train and the River' by the Jimmy Giuffre 3, which featured a guitarist called Jim Hall.
This was yet another revelation of a find. Not only did it introduce me to a guitarist who has remained one of my favourite musicians of all time, but it let me see that a musical group was could be more than the sum of its parts - that at the highest levels some sort of gestalt seemed to operate. Here's another, much later clip of Jim Hall (this time with the late, great Michel Petrucciani) which I think illustrates that gestalt at work, as well as demonstrating just what a great musician he is.
Followers of this blog will realise that I was dipping into all sorts of music at the same time and that I'm just trying to pursue some individual strands here. My burgeoning parallel interest in folk music had led me to trust the Topic record label, so when I came across a guitar instrumental EP on Topic called 3/4 AD, I thought it was worth checking out. It was by someone called Davy Graham. The tracks were 'Angi', 'Davy's Train Blues' and a duet with Alexis Korner called '3/4 AD' Once again, this was a revelation. It was a whole new musical arena: it wasn't folk or jazz or blues or pop but it had elements of all of those things. Whatever it was, I found it deeply satisfying. Davy inspired a whole raft of players to follow in his wake and I subsequently bought albums by disciples Bert Jansch and John Renbourn, both of whom reached fame in their own right. But with hindsight I realise that Graham was the man and that what he played was not folk or jazz or blues or world music or guitar music. It was just MUSIC. (Alexis Korner will feature in yet another strand of this blog, as will Bill Leader, who recorded Graham, Jansch and Renbourn (see also Keeping it in the family)
After that there were many players that whose work I fell in love with, in all spheres of music - Segovia, Narciso Yepes, Django Rheinhardt, Eddie Lang, Tony Rice, Mike Marshall, John McLaughlin, Pat Metheny, Larry Carlton, Jim Mullen, Julian Bream, Baden Powell (no, not that Baden Powell)...the list is endless and I will come back to them, but if you've checked out any of the clips in this piece then you'll know why Duane Eddy never made the final cut!
My next guitar-orientated record purchase was an EP (if you've been reading this blog for a while you'll know that term by now) by a musician called Laurindo Almeida, entitled 'Guitar Music of Spain'. I was, I admit, primarily attracted by the word 'guitar'. I had no idea who Laurindo Almeida was and not the remotest idea what Spanish guitar music might be, or how it differed from any other kind of guitar music. So when I pulled that sleeve out of the rack and asked the shopkeeper to play me a track I had no idea what to expect.
What a revelation that was. As the sound of Fernado Sor's Study No.12 washed over me for the first time I moved swiftly from 'vaguely interested' to 'totally hooked' in the space of a few minutes. It wasn't so much the Spanish guitar as the guitar itself that embedded itself in my consciousness. I could suddenly see that it was an instrument which allowed you to play more than one note at a time, that it was possible to play melody and accompaniment simultaneously, in the same way that you could on a piano. I played that record endlessly. It was my introduction to an entirely new world - that of Sor, Tarrega, Turina and Albeniz. It was also, unbeknownst to me at the time, my first record by a Brazilian artist.
The next guitarist to seriously grab my attention was Tal Farlow. (Here's a clip from, I think, the early eighties). This was another accidental discovery. My friend Mole (see Wonderful, round, black, shiny things) had an older brother with an interest in Modern jazz. Mole turned up at our mutual friend Dave's house one day, with a selection of his brother's LPs under his arm. One of these was a Tal Farlow album (there were also records by Gerry Mulligan and Dave Brubeck, but that's a different strand of this tale). Once again I was transfixed. The music was totally different and yet it 'spoke' to me in the same way that the Laurindo Almeida record had. Needless to say I was soon hunting in the record shop for Tal Farlow recordings, but because my dad (a) kept me very short of pocket money and (b) would not allow me to get a paper round so as to earn money for myself, I could not afford to buy LPs, and there were no EPs of Mr Farlow available. But I had discovered modern jazz guitar and soon found an EP called 'The Train and the River' by the Jimmy Giuffre 3, which featured a guitarist called Jim Hall.
This was yet another revelation of a find. Not only did it introduce me to a guitarist who has remained one of my favourite musicians of all time, but it let me see that a musical group was could be more than the sum of its parts - that at the highest levels some sort of gestalt seemed to operate. Here's another, much later clip of Jim Hall (this time with the late, great Michel Petrucciani) which I think illustrates that gestalt at work, as well as demonstrating just what a great musician he is.
Followers of this blog will realise that I was dipping into all sorts of music at the same time and that I'm just trying to pursue some individual strands here. My burgeoning parallel interest in folk music had led me to trust the Topic record label, so when I came across a guitar instrumental EP on Topic called 3/4 AD, I thought it was worth checking out. It was by someone called Davy Graham. The tracks were 'Angi', 'Davy's Train Blues' and a duet with Alexis Korner called '3/4 AD' Once again, this was a revelation. It was a whole new musical arena: it wasn't folk or jazz or blues or pop but it had elements of all of those things. Whatever it was, I found it deeply satisfying. Davy inspired a whole raft of players to follow in his wake and I subsequently bought albums by disciples Bert Jansch and John Renbourn, both of whom reached fame in their own right. But with hindsight I realise that Graham was the man and that what he played was not folk or jazz or blues or world music or guitar music. It was just MUSIC. (Alexis Korner will feature in yet another strand of this blog, as will Bill Leader, who recorded Graham, Jansch and Renbourn (see also Keeping it in the family)
After that there were many players that whose work I fell in love with, in all spheres of music - Segovia, Narciso Yepes, Django Rheinhardt, Eddie Lang, Tony Rice, Mike Marshall, John McLaughlin, Pat Metheny, Larry Carlton, Jim Mullen, Julian Bream, Baden Powell (no, not that Baden Powell)...the list is endless and I will come back to them, but if you've checked out any of the clips in this piece then you'll know why Duane Eddy never made the final cut!
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
Pop and me
I've always had a very uneasy relationship with Pop (and I'm not talking about my late father here - that relationship was a bloody sight more than just uneasy!). The schmalzy confections that infested the late forties and early fifties were not really aimed at my age group anyway, although I was vaguely aware of them - 'Shrimp Boats is a Comin'', 'There's a Pawn Shop on the Corner in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania', 'Hey Up, Pat him on the BoBo', 'Where Will the Baby's Dimple Be?' and similar stuff. The official version of the invention of the 'Teenager' and the evolution of the youth-orientated music industry says that it was all pretty dire until Rock and Roll came along, and I would agree with that up to a point. It was all pretty dire. Unfortunately I felt the same way about Rock and Roll (I still do. I can now see its importance and relevance in the scheme of things but I still don't actually like it).
I had heard stuff on the radio - 'Rock Around the Clock' and so forth, but had remained unimpressed, then one day we went to visit relatives and I found myself in the company of my cousin Michael and his record player. "Right" he said, "you've got to listen to this!". 'This' was "Tutti Frutti" by Little Richard. I have read so many Rock biographies in which the writers describe that seminal moment when they heard Rock and Roll for the first time and it totally changed their lives. Often it is the words (if you can call them that) - "A Wop Bop a Lubop, A Wop Bamboo" - that are cited as the great eye-opener. They certainly were in my case. I knew then for certain that if I never heard this drivel again it would be too soon for me.
The first record I ever bought was 'Rebel Rouser' by Duane Eddy. I was fascinated by the guitar and thought that maybe I had found a route into pop through instrumentals (I still had that instinct to be like my peers and they were nearly all into 'teenage' music by now). The next record I bought was an EP (see Wonderful round, black, shiny things.) of Mendelssohn Overtures, with 'Fingal's Cave' on one Side and 'Ruy Blas' on the other. 50 years later I still have a recording of those works (in fact I still have my original EP but it's pretty unplayable now), but I had wrung all the juice out of Duane Eddy within six weeks. I did have another flirtation with the charts when I bought 'Hoots Mon (there's a moose loose aboot this hoose)' by Lord Rockingham's Eleven, but this was another six-week wonder. (Incidentally, the recently reformed Bonzo Dog Band have recorded a version of this on their new CD, under the title 'Hawkeye the Gnu')
The next pop act to grab my attention wasn't really a pop act at all. It was The Temperance Seven, whose unlikely appearance in the charts with 'You're Driving Me Crazy' was a part of a singularly anachronistic hiccup in the English pop world that saw 'Trad' jazz become the great teenage thing for a brief period. (I'll undoubtedly return to this theme later.) I was much taken with this band and went several times to see them play. Curiously, I was to end up in a band with some one who, to this day, still plays with them. When 'Fingers' Bartram left the Jugular Vein, he was replaced by Mike Deighan, whose connection with 'The Temps' opened several doors for the J.V. (but that, again, is another story). Many years later I also recorded a more contemporary instrumental version of 'You're Driving Me Crazy' with my own band.
The Beatles, initially at any rate, received a somewhat lukewarm reception from me and it wasn't until 'A Hard Day's Night' that they began to get my full attention, although by this time they were already becoming much more than just pop. I was initially more excited by 'The Who', and purchased 'Substitute', whose opening riff was an object of interest for the then aspiring guitarist in me. There was then a gap of about four years and I bought 'America' by The Nice, then another gap of nearly ten years and I bought 'Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll' by Ian Dury and the Blockheads - and that was it for me and pop singles. I bought many albums by people who had chart success - The Beatles, The Band, Paul Simon, Stevie Wonder, Earth, Wind and Fire, Steely Dan, Manhattan Transfer and Kirsty MacColl - but they , like most of my supposedly pop choices all transcended the genre and their music was far and away removed from the ephemeral nature of purely commercial 'product'.
I think that for most people, the pop of their time is not just about the music. it's about relating to a time and a place, style, clothes and rituals, their peer group - their tribe. I've never felt that sort of sense of identity. Yes - I can wax nostalgic about the music of my youth, but there's an awful lot of it and there's a great deal of variety to it. My tribe was a very small one that consisted mostly of people with similarly catholic tastes to my own. I'm still in regular contact with most of them -and still arguing about music
I had heard stuff on the radio - 'Rock Around the Clock' and so forth, but had remained unimpressed, then one day we went to visit relatives and I found myself in the company of my cousin Michael and his record player. "Right" he said, "you've got to listen to this!". 'This' was "Tutti Frutti" by Little Richard. I have read so many Rock biographies in which the writers describe that seminal moment when they heard Rock and Roll for the first time and it totally changed their lives. Often it is the words (if you can call them that) - "A Wop Bop a Lubop, A Wop Bamboo" - that are cited as the great eye-opener. They certainly were in my case. I knew then for certain that if I never heard this drivel again it would be too soon for me.
The first record I ever bought was 'Rebel Rouser' by Duane Eddy. I was fascinated by the guitar and thought that maybe I had found a route into pop through instrumentals (I still had that instinct to be like my peers and they were nearly all into 'teenage' music by now). The next record I bought was an EP (see Wonderful round, black, shiny things.) of Mendelssohn Overtures, with 'Fingal's Cave' on one Side and 'Ruy Blas' on the other. 50 years later I still have a recording of those works (in fact I still have my original EP but it's pretty unplayable now), but I had wrung all the juice out of Duane Eddy within six weeks. I did have another flirtation with the charts when I bought 'Hoots Mon (there's a moose loose aboot this hoose)' by Lord Rockingham's Eleven, but this was another six-week wonder. (Incidentally, the recently reformed Bonzo Dog Band have recorded a version of this on their new CD, under the title 'Hawkeye the Gnu')
The next pop act to grab my attention wasn't really a pop act at all. It was The Temperance Seven, whose unlikely appearance in the charts with 'You're Driving Me Crazy' was a part of a singularly anachronistic hiccup in the English pop world that saw 'Trad' jazz become the great teenage thing for a brief period. (I'll undoubtedly return to this theme later.) I was much taken with this band and went several times to see them play. Curiously, I was to end up in a band with some one who, to this day, still plays with them. When 'Fingers' Bartram left the Jugular Vein, he was replaced by Mike Deighan, whose connection with 'The Temps' opened several doors for the J.V. (but that, again, is another story). Many years later I also recorded a more contemporary instrumental version of 'You're Driving Me Crazy' with my own band.
The Beatles, initially at any rate, received a somewhat lukewarm reception from me and it wasn't until 'A Hard Day's Night' that they began to get my full attention, although by this time they were already becoming much more than just pop. I was initially more excited by 'The Who', and purchased 'Substitute', whose opening riff was an object of interest for the then aspiring guitarist in me. There was then a gap of about four years and I bought 'America' by The Nice, then another gap of nearly ten years and I bought 'Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll' by Ian Dury and the Blockheads - and that was it for me and pop singles. I bought many albums by people who had chart success - The Beatles, The Band, Paul Simon, Stevie Wonder, Earth, Wind and Fire, Steely Dan, Manhattan Transfer and Kirsty MacColl - but they , like most of my supposedly pop choices all transcended the genre and their music was far and away removed from the ephemeral nature of purely commercial 'product'.
I think that for most people, the pop of their time is not just about the music. it's about relating to a time and a place, style, clothes and rituals, their peer group - their tribe. I've never felt that sort of sense of identity. Yes - I can wax nostalgic about the music of my youth, but there's an awful lot of it and there's a great deal of variety to it. My tribe was a very small one that consisted mostly of people with similarly catholic tastes to my own. I'm still in regular contact with most of them -and still arguing about music
Monday, 2 June 2008
Indian Summer
I heard Ravi Shankar being interviewed on the Today programme this morning. Now in his eighties, he is making his farewell tour of Europe, although many of the concerts have been cancelled or postponed due to ill health. I first heard his music in the early 60's and, on one unforgettable occasion, heard him play in a pub.
My first introduction to Indian music had come about through my working in a record and hi fi shop in Southall, a town well known for its large Indian population. The shop, as you would expect, stocked many imported Indian records and as well as a great deal of film soundtracks(the title "Bhoot Bungla" sticks in my mind for some reason...) there was a selection of Indian classical music. By this point in my life I had realised that I had an insatiable appetite for all kinds of music and would listen to anything and everything, so I was soon checking out the Indian selections. The film music did not do it for me but one or two the classical musicians did - particularly Ustad Ali Akbar Khan and Ravi Shankar.
In the mean time I had become friends with one of our customers, one Richard Bartram, who shared my catholic tastes in music and was soon to manifest himself as 'Fingers' Bartram of the Jugular Vein (see 'Mutt and Jeff'). Richard would go on to be one of this country's finest guitar builders but at this point in time was still laying bricks for a living. His sister was working for the Co-operative Society at that time and had some sort of involvement in the Co-op's Folk Club. One day in, I think, 1966, Richard came into the shop and announced that he'd got tickets for a performance by Ravi Shankar at the Co-op's folk club, and did I want some? Rats and drains come to mind when trying to describe the speed with which I said 'yes', so one Saturday a few weeks later, accompanied by Richard's then girl friend and my then wife, we set off for the West End.
I can't recall the name of the pub now but I'm sure it wasn't the club's regular venue which was, I think, The Pindar of Wakefield in Kings Cross. I do remember that it was a very hot evening and that by the time we reached the venue we were all somewhat steamy. We bought drinks and went through into the room where the performance was to take place. A low, white-sheeted dais had been set up at one end and the rest of the room was jammed shoulder to shoulder with people. It was 'standing room only' and I guess there were about 250 people in a space that might comfortably held 90 or so.The compere for the evening was the late Bruce Dunnet , who was once described by the critic Karl Dallas as a "...Rabelaisian, lantern-jawed, foul-mouthed, stooping, commanding presence." At the start of the evening at least he was fairly restrained, although his famous cry of "Tak' yer glasses wi' ye tae the bar!" which was delivered in a broad Scots accent, rang out a couple of times before the performance started.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, the introductions were made and Ravi Shankar stepped onto the dais, accompanied by the great tabla player Alla Rhaka (whose son Zakir Hussain is probably even more famous than his father, thanks to his associations with the likes of John McLaughlin, Billy Cobham, Van Morrison etc.) and a tamboura player whose name I forget. He addressed the audience quietly and politely, requesting that we did not drink or smoke during the performance, also that we refrain from applauding until the end of the entire performance (which would last about one and a half hours). He also requested that the windows be closed during the performance as the noise of the traffic was somewhat intrusive. The musicians then settled themselves cross-legged on the floor and commenced to play.
Despite the rapidly mounting temperature and lack of liquid refreshment the audience remained entranced for the next 90 minutes. It was a breathtaking musical and spiritual experience that seemed to transcend its environment and transport everybody to an entirely new place. At last the music wound down to a conclusion. The last notes of the tamboura died away. There was a silence that must have lasted for a full minute before the audience finally errupted into frantic applause that must have lasted a full five minutes. At last, when it had become apparent that there was to be no encore, the clapping and cheering faded to nothing and once again there was silence as the audience again dwelt upon the sheer spirituality of the experience that they had just shared. At this point Bruce Dunnet leapt to his feet and hollered "Aah. Come on Ravi, gi'e us another chune!"
Once again - if there's anyone out there that remembers the occasion then I'd love to hear from you
My first introduction to Indian music had come about through my working in a record and hi fi shop in Southall, a town well known for its large Indian population. The shop, as you would expect, stocked many imported Indian records and as well as a great deal of film soundtracks(the title "Bhoot Bungla" sticks in my mind for some reason...) there was a selection of Indian classical music. By this point in my life I had realised that I had an insatiable appetite for all kinds of music and would listen to anything and everything, so I was soon checking out the Indian selections. The film music did not do it for me but one or two the classical musicians did - particularly Ustad Ali Akbar Khan and Ravi Shankar.
In the mean time I had become friends with one of our customers, one Richard Bartram, who shared my catholic tastes in music and was soon to manifest himself as 'Fingers' Bartram of the Jugular Vein (see 'Mutt and Jeff'). Richard would go on to be one of this country's finest guitar builders but at this point in time was still laying bricks for a living. His sister was working for the Co-operative Society at that time and had some sort of involvement in the Co-op's Folk Club. One day in, I think, 1966, Richard came into the shop and announced that he'd got tickets for a performance by Ravi Shankar at the Co-op's folk club, and did I want some? Rats and drains come to mind when trying to describe the speed with which I said 'yes', so one Saturday a few weeks later, accompanied by Richard's then girl friend and my then wife, we set off for the West End.
I can't recall the name of the pub now but I'm sure it wasn't the club's regular venue which was, I think, The Pindar of Wakefield in Kings Cross. I do remember that it was a very hot evening and that by the time we reached the venue we were all somewhat steamy. We bought drinks and went through into the room where the performance was to take place. A low, white-sheeted dais had been set up at one end and the rest of the room was jammed shoulder to shoulder with people. It was 'standing room only' and I guess there were about 250 people in a space that might comfortably held 90 or so.The compere for the evening was the late Bruce Dunnet , who was once described by the critic Karl Dallas as a "...Rabelaisian, lantern-jawed, foul-mouthed, stooping, commanding presence." At the start of the evening at least he was fairly restrained, although his famous cry of "Tak' yer glasses wi' ye tae the bar!" which was delivered in a broad Scots accent, rang out a couple of times before the performance started.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, the introductions were made and Ravi Shankar stepped onto the dais, accompanied by the great tabla player Alla Rhaka (whose son Zakir Hussain is probably even more famous than his father, thanks to his associations with the likes of John McLaughlin, Billy Cobham, Van Morrison etc.) and a tamboura player whose name I forget. He addressed the audience quietly and politely, requesting that we did not drink or smoke during the performance, also that we refrain from applauding until the end of the entire performance (which would last about one and a half hours). He also requested that the windows be closed during the performance as the noise of the traffic was somewhat intrusive. The musicians then settled themselves cross-legged on the floor and commenced to play.
Despite the rapidly mounting temperature and lack of liquid refreshment the audience remained entranced for the next 90 minutes. It was a breathtaking musical and spiritual experience that seemed to transcend its environment and transport everybody to an entirely new place. At last the music wound down to a conclusion. The last notes of the tamboura died away. There was a silence that must have lasted for a full minute before the audience finally errupted into frantic applause that must have lasted a full five minutes. At last, when it had become apparent that there was to be no encore, the clapping and cheering faded to nothing and once again there was silence as the audience again dwelt upon the sheer spirituality of the experience that they had just shared. At this point Bruce Dunnet leapt to his feet and hollered "Aah. Come on Ravi, gi'e us another chune!"
Once again - if there's anyone out there that remembers the occasion then I'd love to hear from you
Friday, 30 May 2008
We apologise for the break in transmission...
I suppose I must have known when I started writing this thing that I was due to go away on holiday almost immediately, but somehow I managed to push that fact to the back of my mind. I was so caught up in this blogging business that I didn't really think much about the imminent hiatus - at least, no further than "I can't keep my audience waiting for a fortnight...Audience? What audience?" What I didn't realise was how much I would miss it! It's a powerful drug is this. I've only been using for a little while but realise that I'm completely hooked. As soon as I powered up the computer this morning I felt a sudden rush. "All will be well and all will be well and all manner of things will be well." I don't think Julian of Norwich was actually talking about blogging but you get the picture...
Anyway, Mrs Voltarol and I have been away in foreign parts with our friends R and P, enjoying sea, sunshine, food and wine and hair-raising motoring experiences. Rest easy - this will not turn into 'What We Did on Our Holidays'. It does, however, give me fuel for a couple of rants -
RANT NUMBER ONE - Ryan Air
I shall never ever EVER travel with that lot again. I don't care how cheap it is - I will not be flim-flammed (priority boarding pass sir?), I will not be continually marketed at (BUY THIS ENERGY DRINK! BUY THIS CHEAP PHONE CARD! BUY THIS LOTTERY TICKET!) but most of all I will not be subjected to the total torture of a mindless, endless, beat box-boosted, cacophonically compressed, soullessly synthesised, totally banal rendition of "Chopsticks" - BOOTZ! BOOTZ! BOOTZ! BOOTZ! BOOTZ! BOOTZ! BOOTZ! BOOTZ! DIDDLE UM DINGDING, DIDDLE UM DINGDING, DIDDLE UMDING UMDING UM DINGDING...on and on for ever and ever, rotting your mind and eating your soul...AAAAAAAAAAAARRRGH!!!!!!
RANT NUMBER TWO - Sat Navs
Actually, as rants go, this one pales into insignificance when measured against the previous one. In fact - cancel 'Sat Navs' and replace it with a repeat of 'Ryan Air'. All 'Sat Nav's' requires is a slight 'tut' by comparison with the aforementioned unspeakable racket. Musician's Hell isn't a choice of banjo or accordion after all (see Accordion Crimes), it's eternity on a Ryan Air flight that hasn't yet left the ground. DIDDLE UM DINGDING "No! Nurse -quick! The screens..."
Well, that's got me up and running again. I feel better for that. Normal Service will be resumed on Monday.
STOP PRESS! I've just discovered that Maria Rita (see "Keeping it in the family") is appearing in London at The Barbican on Saturday June 28th. I've booked my tickets. If you want to book yours then follow this link. http://www.barbican.org.uk/music/event-detail.asp?ID=7626. See you there!
Anyway, Mrs Voltarol and I have been away in foreign parts with our friends R and P, enjoying sea, sunshine, food and wine and hair-raising motoring experiences. Rest easy - this will not turn into 'What We Did on Our Holidays'. It does, however, give me fuel for a couple of rants -
RANT NUMBER ONE - Ryan Air
I shall never ever EVER travel with that lot again. I don't care how cheap it is - I will not be flim-flammed (priority boarding pass sir?), I will not be continually marketed at (BUY THIS ENERGY DRINK! BUY THIS CHEAP PHONE CARD! BUY THIS LOTTERY TICKET!) but most of all I will not be subjected to the total torture of a mindless, endless, beat box-boosted, cacophonically compressed, soullessly synthesised, totally banal rendition of "Chopsticks" - BOOTZ! BOOTZ! BOOTZ! BOOTZ! BOOTZ! BOOTZ! BOOTZ! BOOTZ! DIDDLE UM DINGDING, DIDDLE UM DINGDING, DIDDLE UMDING UMDING UM DINGDING...on and on for ever and ever, rotting your mind and eating your soul...AAAAAAAAAAAARRRGH!!!!!!
RANT NUMBER TWO - Sat Navs
Actually, as rants go, this one pales into insignificance when measured against the previous one. In fact - cancel 'Sat Navs' and replace it with a repeat of 'Ryan Air'. All 'Sat Nav's' requires is a slight 'tut' by comparison with the aforementioned unspeakable racket. Musician's Hell isn't a choice of banjo or accordion after all (see Accordion Crimes), it's eternity on a Ryan Air flight that hasn't yet left the ground. DIDDLE UM DINGDING "No! Nurse -quick! The screens..."
Well, that's got me up and running again. I feel better for that. Normal Service will be resumed on Monday.
STOP PRESS! I've just discovered that Maria Rita (see "Keeping it in the family") is appearing in London at The Barbican on Saturday June 28th. I've booked my tickets. If you want to book yours then follow this link. http://www.barbican.org.uk/music/event-detail.asp?ID=7626. See you there!
Friday, 16 May 2008
Keeping it in the family
It's interesting how musicality often runs in families. In my case it seemed to come from nowhere - I can't find any evidence of it amongst my forbears - but my children and grandchildren certainly have it and I have to say that there are few pleasures in life greater than making music with members of your family. I have written and recorded with both my daughter and my grandson and have found the experience immensely satisfying.
It was around 1963 that I encountered my first musical family. I had discovered folk music generally and Topic Records in particular (the hows and whys of that will be the subject of yet another posting...) and was in the habit of dipping into their catalogue almost at random and ordering an EP (see Slide by slide for a definition) whenever I could afford it). On this occasion I selected a disc entitled 'Wild Mountain Thyme' by The McPeake Family. I was immediately captivated by the sound of the uilleann pipes - an instrument that I had never come across before - and by the the closeness (I can think of no other word to describe it) of the voices when the family sang together. Three generations of the family played on that disc, which was recorded in their native Belfast by the legendary Bill Leader, who was to play quite a part in my own life within a few years.
Another family that Bill recorded was The Waterson Family from Hull. Their first offerings were on an album called 'New Voices', which came out - again on the Topic label - in 1965, and to which they contributed five tracks. These had a fantastic impact on the world of folk music and that same year saw the release of 'Frost and Fire' which was, to my mind, probably the first 'concept' album. I was bowled over by their harmony sound. Once again it was that closeness of
the voices that seems to come when the participants are closely related (in this case, two sisters, a brother and a cousin). Norma Waterson subsequently married another great talent from the folk music scene, Martin Carthy. Their daughter, Liza Carthy, is an outstanding musician and a formidable force amongst those offspring I referred to in my digression about Folk Clubs in the Mutt and Jeff posting.
I heard my first Brazilian music around about the same time as I first heard the Watersons. It was, inevitably, Astrud Gilberto singing 'The Girl from Ipanema' accompanied by Stan Getz. As my interest in the music developed I soon realised that her then husband, João Gilberto, was by far the greater talent. João subsequently married Heloísa Maria Buarque de Hollanda (sister of another great Brazilian singer/songwriter - Chico Buarque), who performed under the name of Miúcha. They produced a daughter, Bebel Gilberto, who had world-wide success with her first album 'Tanto Tempo'.
Another great Brazilian singer was Elis Regina. Although not so widely known outside Brazil as Astrud Gilberto she was a far greater talent. Inside Brazil she was probably the most famous singer of all time. Her career was a relatively short one (she died of a drug overdose at the age of 37) but she married twice and produced three children, all of whom pursued careers in music. Her second marriage was to her long time collaborator and frequent accompanist, Cesar Camargo Mariano, who was, and remains, a brilliant musician in his own right. In fact, it took me a while to 'get into' Elis' music as my first experience of it was a rather poor compilation that I bought when on a canoe trip down the Dordogne about sixteen years ago (and thereby hangs another tale), but I was introduced to pianist Cesar Camargo Mariano by my good friend Alberto (whose blog - boogie woody -is well worth a visit) and was knocked out by his playing. That second marriage produced the singer Maria Rita, who has made a huge impact with her music. Her first album won a Latin Grammy and her third album has been nominated for the BBC World Music awards.
There are undoubtedly many more musical families out there - The McGarrigles, The Copper Family,The Carter Family, The Everly Brothers, Doc and Merle Watson, Bucky and John Pizarelli, The Dankworth dynasty, Stan and Clark Tracey, James Taylor and his siblings and offspring, to name but a few - but those I have mentioned are the ones that have had the most impact on me personally. As to my own family - well, my grandson, The Everyday Junglist, is beginning to carve out a career in music as a guitarist and producer and my granddaughter is already frighteningly musical at the age of eight. I might not have found musical fame and fortune but I wouldn't be at all surprised if either one of them did. I look forward to being a burden to them...
Background and Youtube clips:-
McPeakes - http://www.iol.ie/~ronolan/mcpeakes.html
Watersons - http://www.slipcue.com/music/international/celtic/artists/watersons.html
Liza Carthy - http://www.eliza-carthy.com/eliza/index.cfm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmtEy_2rv3Y
João Gilberto - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jo%C3%A3o_Gilberto
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_NYrI1Mt9I&feature=related
Miúcha - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mi%C3%BAcha
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0ZngC8H0Bg&feature=related
Bebel Gilberto - http://www.bebelgilberto.com/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dpcg5Pg4zHY&feature=related
Elis Regina - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elis_Regina
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fj1yQOj2OPw
Chico Buarque - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chico_Buarque
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a62maWloQHQ&feature=related
Cesar Camargo Mariano - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cesar_Camargo_Mariano
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90Z-LGSwiFM&feature=related
Maria Rita - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Rita
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gUsDwB_tas
It was around 1963 that I encountered my first musical family. I had discovered folk music generally and Topic Records in particular (the hows and whys of that will be the subject of yet another posting...) and was in the habit of dipping into their catalogue almost at random and ordering an EP (see Slide by slide for a definition) whenever I could afford it). On this occasion I selected a disc entitled 'Wild Mountain Thyme' by The McPeake Family. I was immediately captivated by the sound of the uilleann pipes - an instrument that I had never come across before - and by the the closeness (I can think of no other word to describe it) of the voices when the family sang together. Three generations of the family played on that disc, which was recorded in their native Belfast by the legendary Bill Leader, who was to play quite a part in my own life within a few years.
Another family that Bill recorded was The Waterson Family from Hull. Their first offerings were on an album called 'New Voices', which came out - again on the Topic label - in 1965, and to which they contributed five tracks. These had a fantastic impact on the world of folk music and that same year saw the release of 'Frost and Fire' which was, to my mind, probably the first 'concept' album. I was bowled over by their harmony sound. Once again it was that closeness of
the voices that seems to come when the participants are closely related (in this case, two sisters, a brother and a cousin). Norma Waterson subsequently married another great talent from the folk music scene, Martin Carthy. Their daughter, Liza Carthy, is an outstanding musician and a formidable force amongst those offspring I referred to in my digression about Folk Clubs in the Mutt and Jeff posting.
I heard my first Brazilian music around about the same time as I first heard the Watersons. It was, inevitably, Astrud Gilberto singing 'The Girl from Ipanema' accompanied by Stan Getz. As my interest in the music developed I soon realised that her then husband, João Gilberto, was by far the greater talent. João subsequently married Heloísa Maria Buarque de Hollanda (sister of another great Brazilian singer/songwriter - Chico Buarque), who performed under the name of Miúcha. They produced a daughter, Bebel Gilberto, who had world-wide success with her first album 'Tanto Tempo'.
Another great Brazilian singer was Elis Regina. Although not so widely known outside Brazil as Astrud Gilberto she was a far greater talent. Inside Brazil she was probably the most famous singer of all time. Her career was a relatively short one (she died of a drug overdose at the age of 37) but she married twice and produced three children, all of whom pursued careers in music. Her second marriage was to her long time collaborator and frequent accompanist, Cesar Camargo Mariano, who was, and remains, a brilliant musician in his own right. In fact, it took me a while to 'get into' Elis' music as my first experience of it was a rather poor compilation that I bought when on a canoe trip down the Dordogne about sixteen years ago (and thereby hangs another tale), but I was introduced to pianist Cesar Camargo Mariano by my good friend Alberto (whose blog - boogie woody -is well worth a visit) and was knocked out by his playing. That second marriage produced the singer Maria Rita, who has made a huge impact with her music. Her first album won a Latin Grammy and her third album has been nominated for the BBC World Music awards.
There are undoubtedly many more musical families out there - The McGarrigles, The Copper Family,The Carter Family, The Everly Brothers, Doc and Merle Watson, Bucky and John Pizarelli, The Dankworth dynasty, Stan and Clark Tracey, James Taylor and his siblings and offspring, to name but a few - but those I have mentioned are the ones that have had the most impact on me personally. As to my own family - well, my grandson, The Everyday Junglist, is beginning to carve out a career in music as a guitarist and producer and my granddaughter is already frighteningly musical at the age of eight. I might not have found musical fame and fortune but I wouldn't be at all surprised if either one of them did. I look forward to being a burden to them...
Background and Youtube clips:-
McPeakes - http://www.iol.ie/~ronolan/mcpeakes.html
Watersons - http://www.slipcue.com/music/international/celtic/artists/watersons.html
Liza Carthy - http://www.eliza-carthy.com/eliza/index.cfm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmtEy_2rv3Y
João Gilberto - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jo%C3%A3o_Gilberto
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_NYrI1Mt9I&feature=related
Miúcha - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mi%C3%BAcha
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0ZngC8H0Bg&feature=related
Bebel Gilberto - http://www.bebelgilberto.com/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dpcg5Pg4zHY&feature=related
Elis Regina - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elis_Regina
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fj1yQOj2OPw
Chico Buarque - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chico_Buarque
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a62maWloQHQ&feature=related
Cesar Camargo Mariano - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cesar_Camargo_Mariano
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90Z-LGSwiFM&feature=related
Maria Rita - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Rita
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gUsDwB_tas
Thursday, 15 May 2008
Wonderful round, black, shiny things
I think that the first piece of music that ever grabbed my attention was 'The Teddy Bear's Picnic' when I was about six years old. I'm told that I would get very excited when it was played on the radio and very tearful when it stopped. Children's Hour was the next influence - I enjoyed the programmes but was particularly taken with some of the music used for the serials. To this day I still have a fondness for English Light Music, a genre which featured heavily on BBC radio in the late forties and early fifties. I can also remember asking my parents if I could have piano lessons and being given a very firm 'No'. To be fair, we didn't actually own a piano.
We were not a particularly musical household and indeed it was not until the late fifties that the family actually acquired a record player. By this time my father was running a shop and one or two of his customers worked at the E.M.I. record pressing plant in nearby Hayes. The old man was very straight and hadn't bought a gramophone record since - as he would have put it - "the night old Leather Arse died", so it did not seem particularly strange to him to be offered a random bundle of sleeveless LPs for a modest sum. This - as it turns out - fortuitous selection of discs materialised one night in the front room, along with an enticing-looking, rectangular box that had a hinged lid and was finished in a sort of pink and cream, diagonally candy-striped vinyl fabric. This was our new Bush record player. It was a mono, single-play model without auto changer and had three knobs located inside. These were an on/off/volume control, a tone control and a three position speed selector which gave you a choice of 78rpm, 45rpm or 33⅓rpm.
I think that the first record played was probably the original soundtrack recording of Roger's and Hammerstein's 'Oklahoma'. The other records included 'At the Drop of a Hat' by Michael Flanders and Donald Swan, the soundtrack recordings of 'Carousel', 'The Wizard of Oz', 'The Pajama Game' and 'Damn Yankees', a Jackie Gleason instrumental album and Frank Sinatra's 'Where are You?'. This collection was to leave me with a life-long affection for 'Oklahoma', a love of good comic songs, a great respect for Frank Sinatra's musicianship and a deep loathing of wallpaper music and Judy Garland (not necessarily in that order). But the most evocative thing to sink into my subconscious was the smell of hot vinyl. The record player's amplifier was powered by valves and as they heated up, so did the vinyl covering. I would recognise that odour anywhere. I associate it with my earliest moments of musical joy.
Soon I would start buying my own records, as well as enjoying my older brother's burgeoning classical collection. There would be second hand shop expeditions with my friend Barry, in pursuit of anything old and weird in the way of "sennyeights". There would be the discovery - in the company of Barry, Dave and 'Mole' - of modern jazz, courtesy of Mole's big brother's record collection. There would be the treasure trove of Pete Seeger, The Kingston Trio, Tom Lehrer and Victor Borge on my friend Paul's father's reel to reel tape recorder, but nothing fills me with quite so much nostalgic affection as that first experience with a pack of knocked-off LPs.
We were not a particularly musical household and indeed it was not until the late fifties that the family actually acquired a record player. By this time my father was running a shop and one or two of his customers worked at the E.M.I. record pressing plant in nearby Hayes. The old man was very straight and hadn't bought a gramophone record since - as he would have put it - "the night old Leather Arse died", so it did not seem particularly strange to him to be offered a random bundle of sleeveless LPs for a modest sum. This - as it turns out - fortuitous selection of discs materialised one night in the front room, along with an enticing-looking, rectangular box that had a hinged lid and was finished in a sort of pink and cream, diagonally candy-striped vinyl fabric. This was our new Bush record player. It was a mono, single-play model without auto changer and had three knobs located inside. These were an on/off/volume control, a tone control and a three position speed selector which gave you a choice of 78rpm, 45rpm or 33⅓rpm.
I think that the first record played was probably the original soundtrack recording of Roger's and Hammerstein's 'Oklahoma'. The other records included 'At the Drop of a Hat' by Michael Flanders and Donald Swan, the soundtrack recordings of 'Carousel', 'The Wizard of Oz', 'The Pajama Game' and 'Damn Yankees', a Jackie Gleason instrumental album and Frank Sinatra's 'Where are You?'. This collection was to leave me with a life-long affection for 'Oklahoma', a love of good comic songs, a great respect for Frank Sinatra's musicianship and a deep loathing of wallpaper music and Judy Garland (not necessarily in that order). But the most evocative thing to sink into my subconscious was the smell of hot vinyl. The record player's amplifier was powered by valves and as they heated up, so did the vinyl covering. I would recognise that odour anywhere. I associate it with my earliest moments of musical joy.
Soon I would start buying my own records, as well as enjoying my older brother's burgeoning classical collection. There would be second hand shop expeditions with my friend Barry, in pursuit of anything old and weird in the way of "sennyeights". There would be the discovery - in the company of Barry, Dave and 'Mole' - of modern jazz, courtesy of Mole's big brother's record collection. There would be the treasure trove of Pete Seeger, The Kingston Trio, Tom Lehrer and Victor Borge on my friend Paul's father's reel to reel tape recorder, but nothing fills me with quite so much nostalgic affection as that first experience with a pack of knocked-off LPs.
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