Pervy Porridge

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I have an idea for a new sitcom where Jimmy Tarbuck, Max Clifford, William Roache, Jim Davidson, Freddie Starr, Rolf Harris, Stuart Hall and Dave Lee Travis are serving their time in an open prison. The opening scene would be a prison guard showing the men to their cells in the newly opened block called Savile Row. The show would be scripted by Ronnie Barker’s son and be called either ‘Pervy Porridge’ if on the BBC or ‘Up the Shitter’ if on Channel 5. New cast members are imminent.

I think the world will stop spinning, at least for people in the UK, should Sir Terence of Wogan ever get caught up in the tsunami of sexual scandal that has engulfed comedians and light entertainers of a certain age. So many household names have been arrested in relation to allegations of sexual abuse that the public now, more or less, expect anyone on TV during the 1970s and 1980s to be the next front page story.

But surely it is unreasonable to expect such a narrow strata of society to be the only culpable party? Apart from the stupendously stupid Gary Glitter, who went to get his computer fixed with a hard drive full of child porn, no rock stars from that era have been targetted. And yet, surely, when we consider sex with underage fans, rock stars, by their own admission, have been leading the way for decades, whether singing about the joys of underage sex (Hello, Alex Chilton), actively participating (Hi, Mr Berry, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad to see me? Oh both)  or a mixture of the two (Way to go, Motley Crue).

King of the Pervs surely has to be Chuck Berry, who not only transported a Sweet Little 16 year old girl, no make that 14 years old, across state lines for immoral purposes but also installed cameras in the women’s toilets of his restaurant so he could subsequently play with his ding-a-ling whilst watching the videos he had made. Jerry Lee Lewis thought it a good idea to marry his 13 year old cousin and we should probably draw a veil over a secondary reason as to why he may be known as The Killer. Ted Nugent has even admitted to being a serial paedophile with his marriage ending due to his numerous flings on tour, often with underage women (Courtney Love evidently gave him a blowjob when she was 12). Don Henley of The Eagles drugged and fucked a 16 year old. Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler even adopted his under age girlfriend so he could fuck her. And that’s just a small sample of our American cousins (that’s cousins in the loosest sense, Jerry Lee).

Now Operation Yewtree is not going to concern itself with Americans but it is difficult to believe that British musicians have not behaved similarly. Some are lucky not to have been already incarcerated. Bill Wyman of The Rolling Stones admitted to fucking Mandy Smith when she was 14 and yet the police were not interested in pursuing the case.  Leaving aside the fucking of girls with sharks, Jimmy Page got his roadie to kidnap a 14 year old girl and then kept her imprisoned while he fucked her.  Make no mistake about it, the list of English stars will rival that of Americans and it won’t be long before well known names of 70s and 80s rockers will be added to the names of light entertainment as the branches of Yewtree grow and extend over spring and summer.

There is a moral witch hunt being waged here which, by design or not, takes headlines away from the economy, austerity measures and the privatisation of the NHS. It comes as no surprise that it was the morally repugnant Daily Mail which broke the Jimmy Tarbuck story. This leaking of names feeds into the prurient interest of the general public and by targetting high profile names, the police know they will gain the requisite publicity which demonstrates they are doing an efficient job. Americans appear to forgive or forget the sexual peccadilloes of their stars. The French are used to sexual scandal and shrug their shoulders ( hell, in Roman Polanski we keep a paedophile as a personal pet to taunt the Americans). But the British appear horrified, surprised and upset that some of their national treasures are being paraded through town with a sign around their necks that reads “PAEDOPHILE”. When they run out of comedians to entertain us in their twilight years, don’t be surprised when they come for your music heroes, a final encore which will see their music removed from playlists and record stores. Now, can someone tell me where I can get a copy of ‘Rock n Roll Part 2′?

Daily Playlist 9/05/2013

Last Night In Town – The Twilight Singers

Tiger Mountain Peasant Song – Fleet Foxes

Billion Dollar Babies – Alice Cooper

Pilentze Pee – Le Mystere des Voix Bulgares

One By One – Billy Bragg and Wilco

The Summerhouse – The Divine Comedy

Go Away – Katy B

Let It Be So – Victoria Williams

Alone Apart – Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova

New Box of People – Lee Hazlewood

L’Illusioniste – Keren Ann

She’s Not Dead – Suede

In My Own Dream – Karen Dalton

Icona Pop – I Love It

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Stuck in a Beirut apartment not feeling well. I resorted to my favourite pastime of winding people up on Twitter and Facebook when I came across an updated status that read, “I put your shit into a bag and pushed it down the stairs.” A little concerned that I might be intruding on private grief, I responded that that would make a good first line for a song or story. And it was then that my ignorance was laid bare when he responded that I should listen to Icona Pop’s song ‘I Love It.’ 90% of what’s recommended to me is rubbish and, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting this to be much different. However, the sample lyric intrigued me and the name of the band suggested a certain intelligence at work.

I’m not sure what I was expecting but it wasn’t the sugar adrenaline rush of pure pleasure at hearing someone who knew how to construct a perfect pop song. This had everything: the way memorable verse led to  catchy chorus and a fantastic bridge, all perfectly constructed; a lyric that was arch and knowing ( how can you not fall in love with a song whose opening words are “I got this feeling on the summer day when you were gone / I crashed my car into the bridge. I watched, I let it burn / I threw your shit into a bag and pushed it down the stairs / I crashed my car into the bridge” and then the pay off punk, nihilism of the chorus, ” And I don’t care, I love it. I don’t care”?” And then there are the two female singers of Icona Pop, Caroline Hjelt and Aino Jawo,  young women who sound and look as though they’re having the time of their lives.

Icona Pop are from Stockholm and this particular song appears to have been a big hit in most places apart from the UK. Ironically, one of the people behind the band is Charli XCX, or English singer-songwriter Charlotte Aitchison, who with Swedish producers Linus Eklöw and Patrik Berger (also responsible for Robyn) have written this paeon to not giving a fuck in the face of adversity. Whether they can go on to produce anything as good as this in the future is questionable but the video for another of their songs ‘Nights Like This’ suggests that there is a real artistic vision behind the frippery. In this video, there is an intermission, with no music,  where the two women eat a Mexican meal; the film itself appears to catch fire and disintegrates; and then, when the video does resume, the women, stranded in a car that’s broken down, are about to be murdered by the man who has stopped to help them with a car jack. It’s an intriguing and unsettling video and far removed from most airhead pop acts.

‘I Love It’ is a song that makes you glad to be alive. It lifts up your soul, puts a smile on your face and hope in your heart. On this single, Icona Pop are truly icons of pop.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qcULnDtJ3AM

Daily Playlist 15/04/2013

Black Light Blue – Shelby Lynne

The Murder Mystery – The Velvet Underground

Teenage Spaceship – Smog

Sugar Lee – Donny Hathaway

So Dead – Manic Street Preachers

Honest Mistake – Ron Sexsmith

On a Bayonet – Beirut

Crash – Asian Dub Foundation

If You Want Me To Stay – Sly and the Family Stone

Constantly Changing – Young Marble Giants

Mom’s TV – American Music Club

Hit The North – The Fall

Time – La Dusseldorf

Don’t Say No To Techno

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It may come as some surprise to you that, as well as being a lover of punk, post-punk and folk, living in London has opened my eyes to the joys of techno. I have long been an admirer of Aphex Twin and Alec Empire and so it was a logical progression to some of the more esoteric sounds that now regularly soundtrack my Friday nights at the Tottenham underground club I frequent. On my last visit, DJ Stash supplied me with an armful of records (actually a memory stick) that he said I might like to review. Always happy to oblige.

 

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Gezundtheid – (Cumin) Atchoo. Now if I had ingested a cranium full of cumin, rather than the ketamine I normally consume, I would be sneezing as well. This sounds like the aural equivalent of having a swab pushed so far up your nasal cavity that you are left squirming in agony, thrashing around trying to find relief. Tinnitus would be preferable to this – in fact this is what tinnitus sounds like. I can’t wait to see people attempt to dance to this.

 

 

 

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Fucknob – Fuck My Shitty Nob (And Then Suck Me, Bitch). New York performance artist, Molly Mollycoddle, takes the blueprint laid down by John Sex thirty years ago and runs it into the ground.  Irrespective of the sexual, and sexist, undercurrents of the title, this is a mighty tune that takes the bass from some dub reggae track and speeds it up while Molly wails “Fuck My Shitty Nob” over increasing bass pandemonium. The presence of a woman’s voice subtly subverts the disturbingly sexist title until you imagine Molly emerging triumphant with a giant strap-on (albeit a rather messy one). This is the shit.

 

 

 

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Arkan – U Dnt Mess Wiv Me (And Live Bro).  Yes I do! If you take your name from a Balkan warlord, you need to live up to the hype. Arkan sounds like someone who has had his notebook flushed down the toilet and sweets taken off him and then threatens to tell his mum. The music is equally as weedy. Lightweight (and I say that knowing you live in my hood)! Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough, or better still, send your mum.

 

 

 

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Abu Hamza – Hook Me Up (Muslim Pirate remix). If there had been a better hook to this, Abu Hamza would have nailed it. As it is, this sounds like Nine Inch Nails crucifying Jesus Jones. That good.

 

 

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Collateral Damage – Druze Victory (DJ Shrinkrap mix). You know that bit in every Faithless song where a stoned Maxi Jazz starts to speak gibberish hippy shit before Sister Bliss plonks out a couple of chords? This is like that for 15 fucking minutes, over and over. I hate Faithless but even they don’t deserve this.

 

 

 

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Craven Coward – Hole. When I initially read this I thought some misguided fool had allowed Courtney Love back into a studio to record a song about Dave Grohl. Berlin based Craven Coward sound like Burial, but a slowed down Burial so that every note is stretched and elongated and seems to last an eternity. With strobe lighting and the right drugs, this could be immense on the dancefloor.

 

 

 

 

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Diaspora – Mu Pi. Throbbing Gristle spent years encased in a fortified complex trying to find the exact frequency which would make an entire live audience evacuate their bowels. Diaspora need to let Genesis P-Orridge in on the secret. Mu Pi made me have a dump on my living room floor as a form of dirty protest.

 

 

 

 

Manicured Noise – Metronome

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What a schizophrenic band Manicured Noise were. Christened by Morrissey’s friend and member of Ludus, Linder Sterling, they released a few singles and then imploded before being able to release an album. The person who formed the band, Owen Gavin, also their lead singer, was forced to leave the band after an argument about head attire (also the fact he couldn’t sing a note and was a megalomaniac could have had something to do with it). Taking over on lead vocals was Steve Walsh, a writer for Sniffin’ Glue and an original member of the infamous Flowers of Romance, which also featured Sid Vicious and members of The Banshees and The Slits. Because of Gavin’s vocal shortcomings, much of the band’s repertoire consisted of instrumentals often dominated by the saxophone of Peter Bannister, probably best exemplified by ‘Moscow 1980.’ It sounds like a mixture of Pigbag and The Contortions. If they have a best known song, it is probably ‘Faith’, probably because it was covered years later by Shack.

However, it is ‘Metronome’ which for me best sums up Manicured Noise. Its twisted funk bass and tense, nervous, can’t relax vocal recall early Talking Heads, specifically the songs on ’77′. If Talking Heads ever reform and David Byrne refuses to participate, in Steve Walsh they have a ready made replacement vocalist. From the military style drumming, seemingly played on a kid’s drum, at the very beginning to the sudden vocal interjection, this is music that you can’t ignore. Gone are the vague free jazzeries of the past and in their place a tight, coiled funk that demands your presence on the dancefloor. Just as James Brown’s lyrics often make no sense when analysed in the cold light of day, so too here. Walsh sings, “We don’t move / We don’t walk / We get caught / We get caught”, when in fact the music is impelling us to do the exact opposite. It is making us move and if we are caught, we are caught in the funk that is propelling us breathlessly onward. And when the chorus hits, even the singer seems to realise resistance is useless: “Metronome / Keep in time / Metronome / Hypnotise / It takes my breath away / It makes me feel alive” before a sax cools things down briefly before the next onslaught. By now Walsh is totally caught up, no longer able to remain detached: “Some people watch / And some people do / And some people are / Just like you / People are moving / People are moving / People are moving / Stop / Watch me!” There is a Van Morrissonesque losing of self, losing of composure, here. From being the detached observer at the start of the song, Walsh now wants to be the centre of attention with everyone’s eyes on him as he screams and whoops in abandon at the end of the song.

This is a single that “takes my breath away,” a song that “makes me feel alive.”  It may have wanted to be metronomic but is forced into joyful exuberance. It is a noise that has been carefully manicured. In short, it is Manicured Noise.

 

Daily Playlist 21/03/2013

Caroline and I – The Go-Betweens

Barcarolle – Tom Waits

Travelling Light – Tindersticks

Cloudbursting – Kate Bush

Like An Old Fashioned Waltz – Sandy Denny

My Daddy Knew Dixie Howell – Randy Newman

Closer – Lamb

Friday Night – Lily Allen

The Same Boy You’ve Always Known – The White Stripes

Prowler – Fruit

La La – Cortney Tidwell

Public Service Broadcasting / Stella Martyr Live at the Exeter Phoenix

public service broadcasting2013 02 28 150x150 Public Service Broadcasting / Stella Martyr Live at the Exeter Phoenix

 

 

 

 

 

Imagine your dad, paunchy and grey haired, coming onstage in cheap plastic trainers and a bleached shellsuit that has been shat on by cancerous seagulls. That’s the first impression you have of Stella Martyr. The second impression is that this lead singer has vague memories of seeing Happy Mondays and Joy Division in his youth and is now, finally, going to use these influences in his art. Unfortunately, any hope of cred is dashed when he comes close to tripping himself up in the microphone wire and Worzel Gummidge makes an offputting appearance in the audience standing right in front of the hapless singer. It used to be the kids from the council estates you worried about when interviewing bands, now it’s their fucking fathers (and judging by the rest of the band, they could well be his kids). Highlight of the set is ‘Hospital Fields’ but it’s more Section 25 than Joy Division.

Public Service Broadcasting are an odd mix of analogue tv and digital technology, of old British propaganda films and modern music, albeit played on a banjo on occasions. As their name suggests, they use old, public service information films as a visual backdrop to their live instrumentation of guitar, keyboards, sequencer and drums. With more than a touch of Big Audio Dynamite without Mick Jones’ vocals, there is certainly a danger here of over reliance on the visuals and the instrumentation being a mere distraction. But, against the odds, Public Service Broadcasting pull it off. The set really kicks in with ‘If War Should Come’, built around a mammoth Bootsy Collins like bass,  building to a maelstrom of guitar cacophony as the backdrop depicts England being prepared for the second World War. This song is immediately followed by the raucous ‘Spitfire’ delivering a classic one / two knockout blow that had me dancing and making a spectacle of myself. Unlike the unintentional humour of Stella Martyr, the seriousness of Public Service Broadcasting’s visuals and music is leavened by mainman J. Willgoose, Esq. not talking to the audience but having all vocal responses keyed into his synth. It’s as though Stephen Hawking or Sparky is saying, “It’s great to be here in (long pause) Exeter. We have always wanted to be in (long pause) Exeter.” At one point, Willgoose cocks up his programming but has the wit to press a key that admonishes him with “Silly boy.” New single, ‘Signal 30′ shows them at their best, a collision of raucous guitar and thrilling visual whilst the encore ‘Everest’ takes the audience to the suggested heights.

This review has been a public service. This band is Public Service Broadcasting.

Daily Playlist 02/03/2013

Suspended Variation V – Tomasz Stanko Quartet

I’m A Man – Al Green

Seasick, Yet Still Docked – Morrissey

May God Protect Your Home – Hefner

Old Marcus Garvey – Burning Spear

The Morning – The Weeknd

End of May – Keren Ann

Rhythm of Cruelty – Magazine

This Light Is For the World – The Waterboys

45 and Fat – Babybird

So Young – Suede

Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five – Wings

Seven Months – Portishead

Hello There – John Cale

Calistan – Frank Black

 

Ryan Adams – Rock N Roll

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Ryan Adams is a chameleon. He is like that restless boy in school, unable to concentrate on any one thing before getting bored with it and moving on, only to be eventually  diagnosed with ADHD. From Whiskeytown to The Cardinals, from country to rock, from acoustic to electric, he shifts identities, as easily as Carlos the Jackal. His albums are generally well received by critics but there was one, ‘Rock N Roll’, which was almost universally panned. And, of course, it is that one which is my own personal favourite.

As the title suggests, ‘Rock N Roll’ is his one out and out rock record but what he seems to be trying to do here is write and play each song in the style of his favourite rock artists. It is a lot of fun trying to guess which artist each song is modelled on. In some cases, for example the first track, it’s not that difficult. Whilst the title ‘This Is It’ alerts you to The Strokes’ reference, so does the opening guitar riff before Adams cheekily intones, “Let me sing a song for you / That’s never been sung before /All the words were meant for you /And never been said before’. It is, of course, a double bluff as every song and word reflect on the rock canon and so the lyric here drips with irony, commenting not only on this particular album, but also on The Strokes’ whole oeuvre.The next track ‘Shallow’ begins with a T Rex guitar riff before the greatest chorus Kurt Cobain never wrote kicks in. It’s that sort of album: classic rock references for the trainspotter (ie me) allied to blistering tunes. ’1974′ begins with a thunderous guitar riff that Primal Scream would sell their drugs to have written before taking the logical step and becoming a 1974 Stones’ rocker. ‘Wish You Were Here’ thankfully doesn’t sound like Pink Floyd; indeed the opening guitar chords could be Billy Bragg’s ‘A New England’ whilst on ‘So Alive’, “Tonight, Matthew, I shall be U2.” ‘Luminol’ is that great lost Queens of the Stone Age track (circa ‘Rated R’) whilst ‘Do Miss America’ is ‘Murmur’ period REM, complete with barbed  lyrical digs at Michael’s good friend Courtney Love (“Hey, come everybody do Miss America / Hey, you know when she goes down it’s hysterical”). Ironically, and believe me there is a lot of irony on this album including songs called ‘She’s Lost Total Control’ and ‘The Drugs Not Working’, ‘Rock N Roll’ itself is a delicate piano ballad, by far the most gentle piece here. ‘Boys’ manages to reference both Nirvana and Blur whilst the closing section of ‘The Drugs Not Working’ is the collected works of Spiritualized. However, the crowning glory of this album is the genius track that is ‘Anybody Wanna Take Me Home’. We already knew how big a fan of The Smiths Adams is: on his very first solo album, the very first track was ‘(Argument with David Rawlings Concerning Morrissey)’.  From the opening Johnny Marr guitar to the Morrissey croon, Ryan Adams rivals The Dears as best Smiths’ copyist.

‘Rock N Roll’ isn’t Ryan Adams’ most mature or heartfelt record. It was recorded in less than two weeks as a fuck off to his record company who would not release ‘Love Is Hell’, a far more personal and cogent collection of songs. Yet ‘Rock N Roll’ is knowing, clever and dumb all at the same time. The lyrics, by and large, lack the sensitivity and intelligence that has always been Adams’ calling card but the music is a lot of fun to listen to, an album chock-full of great tunes, almost a K-tel compilation of your favourite artists singing unknown songs. If you want a record to get your party started, a record to kickstart your weekend, a record to leap around your bedroom and throw some shapes, ‘Rock N Roll’ delivers in (Ace Of) spades.

 

 

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