For quite a while now I've tuned in to Radio 2 at 11.00pm every Thursday night for Bob Dylan's Theme Time Radio Hour. As I've said before, Dylan's part of my life and I grew up with his music, so it's a huge and unexpected treat to hear his voice talking to me every week.
One would never have imagined in the 60s that he'd end up as a DJ, especially one playing old stuff from the 30s, 40s and 50s, though actually it's clear that he's a musical scholar of enormous erudition. He often talks at some length, reciting poetry or excerpts from Shakespeare. His language is like his songs, and his book, Chronicles is the same, freewheeling, sometimes random, but highly literate. I gloried in it and look forward to any further volumes, if there are any, with great anticipation.
Sometimes he takes off, and there's more Dylan talking than music which is fine by me. He doesn't actually talk, but speak - there's a big difference. I could never have imagined that he would go down this road, and of course he still makes music. I haven't heard any of his recent stuff, and some of it is, by all accounts, excellent. I've always deliberately steered clear of everything post-John Wesley Harding, but I'm thinking that I might have to think again. I did hear Most of the Time by accident recently and loved it.
Anyway, he clearly loves being a DJ and he's uncovered some remarkable, obscure old stuff. I love listening to him and 11.00pm on Thursdays has become a highlight of my week.
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Monday, 29 September 2008
Monday, 7 July 2008
Nick Cave
Nick Cave is someone I've always been aware of , yet I've only got into his music relatively recently. I watched a compilation of his appearances on Jools Holland's Later the other day and it was fascinating to see the way in which he's evolved over the years. The earliest performances were from around 1990, when he would have been in his early 30s, and the most recent in March this year, so there was nearly 20 years to look at and appreciate.
He has certainly, unlike many musicians, become rougher round the edges as he's got older - his performing style is pretty deranged nowadays. The 50-year-old Cave is a true original, wild and woolly, and his recent garage-band album, Grinderman, and his latest, Dig, Lazurus, Dig, are albums I'll certainly be getting as soon as possible. I think my musical taste is evolving along a similar trajectory.
He's open about his insistence on dying his hair a stern and uncompromising black, has a fearsome moustache, and often dresses in an un-popstar-like suit and tie. He has an extensive online presence, with personal websites and a MySpace page which has several tracks available for listening. Films are something he's heavily involved in, doing the soundtrack for The Proposition and appearing in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, a wonderful film, whose treatment at the hands of the distributors was nothing short of scandalous. (It appeared at the Watershed in Bristol for a couple of weeks, and that was that. Although Roger Deakins won an Oscar for his cinematography, it was shamefully neglected in all the other categories, in spite of it featuring Brad Pitt's finest performance to date - I could go on...).
I discovered from his Wikipedia site that one of his songs featured in Ascension, an X-Files episode. Apparently, although he doesn't watch much television, he's a fan of the show, which in my book, is a major badge of honour. (I'm a massive fan myself, and will be blogging soon on the subject). I could go on on - what is there not to like? He also writes and paints, but one of his most endearing features is his Australian nationality. In spite of the fact that he now lives in Brighton, he's very much an Aussie. His singing's a bit tuneless, and his 'dancing' is not great, but he's retained a punk sensibility, while becoming a fascinating personality, and a bit of a polymath.
Anway, he's a pretty recent discovery for me, so there's lots to look forward to as I discover his stuff.
He has certainly, unlike many musicians, become rougher round the edges as he's got older - his performing style is pretty deranged nowadays. The 50-year-old Cave is a true original, wild and woolly, and his recent garage-band album, Grinderman, and his latest, Dig, Lazurus, Dig, are albums I'll certainly be getting as soon as possible. I think my musical taste is evolving along a similar trajectory.
He's open about his insistence on dying his hair a stern and uncompromising black, has a fearsome moustache, and often dresses in an un-popstar-like suit and tie. He has an extensive online presence, with personal websites and a MySpace page which has several tracks available for listening. Films are something he's heavily involved in, doing the soundtrack for The Proposition and appearing in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, a wonderful film, whose treatment at the hands of the distributors was nothing short of scandalous. (It appeared at the Watershed in Bristol for a couple of weeks, and that was that. Although Roger Deakins won an Oscar for his cinematography, it was shamefully neglected in all the other categories, in spite of it featuring Brad Pitt's finest performance to date - I could go on...).
I discovered from his Wikipedia site that one of his songs featured in Ascension, an X-Files episode. Apparently, although he doesn't watch much television, he's a fan of the show, which in my book, is a major badge of honour. (I'm a massive fan myself, and will be blogging soon on the subject). I could go on on - what is there not to like? He also writes and paints, but one of his most endearing features is his Australian nationality. In spite of the fact that he now lives in Brighton, he's very much an Aussie. His singing's a bit tuneless, and his 'dancing' is not great, but he's retained a punk sensibility, while becoming a fascinating personality, and a bit of a polymath.
Anway, he's a pretty recent discovery for me, so there's lots to look forward to as I discover his stuff.
Saturday, 2 February 2008
Spem in Allium
Radio 4 had a programme today on Thomas Tallis' Spem in Allium, one of the greatest pieces of music ever written. It was just some people talking about the work and how it affected them, and it was fascinating. Someone who had spent time working with serious offenders in Alabama told how, at times of extreme stress, he would spend his evenings at his computer with headphones on listening to it over and over again, as no other piece was able to give him such a sense of inner peace. Another speaker talked of how it 'invaded the soul', an entirely accurate description. The writer, Michael Morpurgo, talked about his friendship with Ted Hughes, and his grief at his death. Spem in Allium was played at the funeral, and he described how his feelings of intense sorrow melted away as it was sung. It's not just the music, but the words - Man's lowliness and humility in the face of eternity.
Tallis' work is extraordinary - along with Byrd he was the great musician of the Tudor period, composing amidst almost unimaginable upheavals, political and religious. I first became aware of it relatively recently, when I went with one of my sons to a performance by Brian Eno and Joanna McGregor, in Bath Abbey, as part of the Bath Festival, a few years ago, in which Spem in Allium featured. The piece consists of 40 voices, divided into eight 5-piece choirs and they were ranged all around the packed abbey, in the dark, and Eno had devised a light show to accompany it. The result was unforgettable - music for all time.
Tallis' work is extraordinary - along with Byrd he was the great musician of the Tudor period, composing amidst almost unimaginable upheavals, political and religious. I first became aware of it relatively recently, when I went with one of my sons to a performance by Brian Eno and Joanna McGregor, in Bath Abbey, as part of the Bath Festival, a few years ago, in which Spem in Allium featured. The piece consists of 40 voices, divided into eight 5-piece choirs and they were ranged all around the packed abbey, in the dark, and Eno had devised a light show to accompany it. The result was unforgettable - music for all time.
Saturday, 19 January 2008
No Direction Home
I saw Martin Scorsese's film when it was originally screened on TV a while ago, but when it was recently released on DVD, one of my sons bought a copy, and he's lent it to me. I watched both the original film, and the extras and special features on Disc 2 - many of these I hadn't seen before. It included some complete performances, from 1964 to 1966 - early TV appearances in his earnest protest-singing days, through to 1966, when he was in full, semi-deranged 'Judas' mode.
As I've said before, I know practically every note of his music in this period, right up to Nashville Skyline, after which he began to lose me. It's hardwired into my DNA, but seeing all this footage brought home to me for the first time his extraordinary diction. Every word can be clearly heard, even in the middle of his drug-fuelled, Blonde on Blonde period. This is crucial, as his words are central to what he's all about. Another thing; hearing so much Dylan at one sitting, one is reminded that he really is like Shakespeare. So many lines of his lyrics have practically passed into the language, so that you almost forget he was responsible for them.
The early footage, from '61-'62 reminds us how young he was - 20-21 when he started out, yet he was already becoming well-known enough for his performances to be filmed.
The film traces his development from his earliest years in Hibbing, Minnesota, ending abruptly with his motporcycle crash in 1966. after which he disappeared from view for 3 years, interspersed with clips from a recent interview with Dylan, in which he talks openly about his life. This is often revelatory, as he's never been one for interviews or profiles and he's never bared his soul in public to anyone before, as far as I can remember - certainly not about his background or influences. He's a highly unusual interviewee - I read the first volume of his autobiography, Chronicles, recently, and felt as if reading it was like hearing him talk; random, stream-of-consciousness stuff, overlaid with a sharp, spiky intelligence. He really does talk like that. Yet he seems a little uncomfortable; he's a bit reticent and unpractised - he's not a media-created figure, pouring out his emotions, yet on another level he's extraordibarily eloquent; it's like hearing someone speak as if they're scripted by Cormac McCarthy.
He seems to have profoundly ambivalent feelings about his upbringing in Hibbing. In the '60s he frequently claimed that he grew up somewhere more glamorous - a clip from an early interview is played in the film in which he admits to having been born in Duluth, Minnesota, but goes on to state that he grew up in Mexico. The interviewer obviously believed him, as everyone did in those days.
What's clear is that the young Dylan was a sponge; soaking up everything around him. There was little stimulus in his environment, but he made the most of it. His recollection of the carnival that used to come to town - a strange relic of pioneer days that survived into post-war society before TV took hold is vivid, and sharply detailed, and makes sense of the scene in I'm Not There in which Richard Gere encounters a travelling carnival - the characters appear as if in a dream; like a childhood memory, and mirror those recalled by Dylan.
He remembers feeling completely disconnected from his surroundings from an early age, yet he seems to have been a normal teenager, listening to the radio, and forming a band, yet his experience, as he remembers it, is of feeling as if he belonged somewhere else, like a changeling, adopted by his parents, and belonging elsewhere; feelings which must have fuelled all those invented childhoods. His self-invention is very much a part of his career trajectory - he's always been something of a shapeshifter. I remember when I saw him at the famous Isle of Wight festival in 1969; his first appearance since his motorbike crash. I almost couldn't quite believe it was him; he wore a white suit, had a skimpy beard, and had obviously put on quite a bit of weight. My picture of him up until then was that of the skinny, nervy sunglassed fugure memorialised by Cate Blanchett. Throughout his career he's perpetually reinvented himself - he's now a deejay, a very good one, but he's been all sorts of people, which is why I'm Not There works so well.
No Direction Home ends in 1966, and its centrepiece is the famous British tour in which he played with The Band, triggering the infamous 'Judas' at the Manchester Free Trade Hall. I acquired a bootleg LP of that tour in the early '70s, so was familiar with the music and atmosphere. The concert footage was superb, with excellent sound quality - it must have been remastered as sound systems then were notoriously bad. Seeing the 'Judas' footage again brought home the crushing failure to portray this sequence adequately in I'm Not There. The blistering music, Dylan's ferocious energy, with the Band's thunderous accompaniment - none of this was even remotely suggested in the film. Fascinating though Blanchett's performance was, I now feel that it didn't come near to the reality of the wasted, yet coruscating figure he'd become by 1966. Dylan performed as if possessed - astonishing. I still admire Haynes' film, but now feel that the Blanchett sequence was, in some ways, the weakest - her portrayal, precise and acute though it was, merely scraped the surface.
Anyway - a fantastic achievement from Scorsese - they were extraordinary times. The world hadn't seen anything like Dylan before and such is the nature of fame now, we won't see anything like him again. This film brought home for me the extent to which he, and his music, are deeply embedded in US culture and history - a giant of the twentieth century.
As I've said before, I know practically every note of his music in this period, right up to Nashville Skyline, after which he began to lose me. It's hardwired into my DNA, but seeing all this footage brought home to me for the first time his extraordinary diction. Every word can be clearly heard, even in the middle of his drug-fuelled, Blonde on Blonde period. This is crucial, as his words are central to what he's all about. Another thing; hearing so much Dylan at one sitting, one is reminded that he really is like Shakespeare. So many lines of his lyrics have practically passed into the language, so that you almost forget he was responsible for them.
The early footage, from '61-'62 reminds us how young he was - 20-21 when he started out, yet he was already becoming well-known enough for his performances to be filmed.
The film traces his development from his earliest years in Hibbing, Minnesota, ending abruptly with his motporcycle crash in 1966. after which he disappeared from view for 3 years, interspersed with clips from a recent interview with Dylan, in which he talks openly about his life. This is often revelatory, as he's never been one for interviews or profiles and he's never bared his soul in public to anyone before, as far as I can remember - certainly not about his background or influences. He's a highly unusual interviewee - I read the first volume of his autobiography, Chronicles, recently, and felt as if reading it was like hearing him talk; random, stream-of-consciousness stuff, overlaid with a sharp, spiky intelligence. He really does talk like that. Yet he seems a little uncomfortable; he's a bit reticent and unpractised - he's not a media-created figure, pouring out his emotions, yet on another level he's extraordibarily eloquent; it's like hearing someone speak as if they're scripted by Cormac McCarthy.
He seems to have profoundly ambivalent feelings about his upbringing in Hibbing. In the '60s he frequently claimed that he grew up somewhere more glamorous - a clip from an early interview is played in the film in which he admits to having been born in Duluth, Minnesota, but goes on to state that he grew up in Mexico. The interviewer obviously believed him, as everyone did in those days.
What's clear is that the young Dylan was a sponge; soaking up everything around him. There was little stimulus in his environment, but he made the most of it. His recollection of the carnival that used to come to town - a strange relic of pioneer days that survived into post-war society before TV took hold is vivid, and sharply detailed, and makes sense of the scene in I'm Not There in which Richard Gere encounters a travelling carnival - the characters appear as if in a dream; like a childhood memory, and mirror those recalled by Dylan.
He remembers feeling completely disconnected from his surroundings from an early age, yet he seems to have been a normal teenager, listening to the radio, and forming a band, yet his experience, as he remembers it, is of feeling as if he belonged somewhere else, like a changeling, adopted by his parents, and belonging elsewhere; feelings which must have fuelled all those invented childhoods. His self-invention is very much a part of his career trajectory - he's always been something of a shapeshifter. I remember when I saw him at the famous Isle of Wight festival in 1969; his first appearance since his motorbike crash. I almost couldn't quite believe it was him; he wore a white suit, had a skimpy beard, and had obviously put on quite a bit of weight. My picture of him up until then was that of the skinny, nervy sunglassed fugure memorialised by Cate Blanchett. Throughout his career he's perpetually reinvented himself - he's now a deejay, a very good one, but he's been all sorts of people, which is why I'm Not There works so well.
No Direction Home ends in 1966, and its centrepiece is the famous British tour in which he played with The Band, triggering the infamous 'Judas' at the Manchester Free Trade Hall. I acquired a bootleg LP of that tour in the early '70s, so was familiar with the music and atmosphere. The concert footage was superb, with excellent sound quality - it must have been remastered as sound systems then were notoriously bad. Seeing the 'Judas' footage again brought home the crushing failure to portray this sequence adequately in I'm Not There. The blistering music, Dylan's ferocious energy, with the Band's thunderous accompaniment - none of this was even remotely suggested in the film. Fascinating though Blanchett's performance was, I now feel that it didn't come near to the reality of the wasted, yet coruscating figure he'd become by 1966. Dylan performed as if possessed - astonishing. I still admire Haynes' film, but now feel that the Blanchett sequence was, in some ways, the weakest - her portrayal, precise and acute though it was, merely scraped the surface.
Anyway - a fantastic achievement from Scorsese - they were extraordinary times. The world hadn't seen anything like Dylan before and such is the nature of fame now, we won't see anything like him again. This film brought home for me the extent to which he, and his music, are deeply embedded in US culture and history - a giant of the twentieth century.
Thursday, 3 January 2008
I'm Not There
I went to see I'm Not There today; I was determined to see it before it disappeared from the big screen, as, for me, the prospect of seeing Dylan's life portrayed on screen was irresistable. I'd read the reviews, which were mixed. This always makes me want to go and see a film even more, as I'm intrigued by films that elicit a variety of responses.
Well, I wasn't disappointed; I'd read an interview with Todd Haynes, the director, and seen a few of his other film, so knew that Dylan would be in good hands, He's clearly felt that himself, as he's refused previous offers to portray him on screen. In addition, one of my favourite actors, Christian Bale, was one of the six people portraying Dylan, and I'll go and see practically anything he's in.
On one level, the film's a chaotic shambles, as it flits backwards and forwards between the various Dylans. It's basic structure consists of depicting Dylan's life in six chapters, played by, in chronological order, Marcus Carl Franklin, a 13-year-old black boy, who plays the young Dylan hitching his way out of Minnesota; Bale, who plays the protest singing Dylan; Ben Whishaw who Dylan as he moves away from the political, to the personal; Blanchett plays him as he rejects the acoustic for the electric - the 'Judas' Dylan; Heath Ledger (rather confusingly) plays him as a movie actor with a dark side, misogynist, selfish and reactionary; Richard Gere plays the Dylan who famously disappeared to 'get it together in the country', and Bale (again) plays the preaching, born-again Christian Dylan. And, to make things even more confusing, none of the characters are called Dylan; they are, respectively, Woody, Jack Rollins, Arthur Rimbaud, Jude, Robbie, and Billy. Bale's preacher-Dylan I assume, was Jack Rollins, a few years later.
All the performers are fantastic, but Blanchett's, understandably, I suppose, has gathered up most of the publicity. Ledger did really well, portraying Dylan at his most unsympathetic, and Bale - well...he did his own singing (of course he would) in both of his incarnations, but was also utterly convincing. His preacher-Dylan section was only a short sequence but I found it extaordinarily powerful. He was in a small, down-at-heel hall somewhere in the sticks, preaching to a small congregation; inattentive children played at the back, and he had a rather perfunctory gospel choir behind him. He preached the usual born-againstuff, then began to sing, and, suddenly, he sprang to life, and his stature and authority shone through. Here, Bale captured perfectly Dylan's essential charisma.
Of course, much has been written about this film - I suppose what it's really saying is that Dylan's life and career; its almost mythic qualities - I mean, who could possibly invent the story of e Jewish teenager growing up in a small town in Minnesota, borrowing the name of a Welsh poet, taking on the persona of a dustbowl troubadour and conquering the coffe houses of New York? And then recreate himself again, several times over. He's a deejay now, producing a brilliant programme every week of his own choice of music - Radio 2 broadcast it, and it's unmissable.
There was an excellent article recently in the New York Times which encapsulated him perfectly, describing his personality as 'inclusive as Walt Whitman's' and 'as unsettlingly splintered as Herman Melville's Confidence Man'. Dylan is 'vulnerable to misunderstanding', but also 'actively solicits it'.
As the article puts it, the film 'hurls a Molotov cocktail through the facade of the Hollywood biopic factory' - I couldn't possibly have put it better, and wonder if the genre will ever, can ever be the same.
Talking of Whitman, in Simon Barnes' recent book, The Meaning of Sport (excellent), he quotes Whitman:-
'Do I contradict myself?
Very well, I contradict myself
(I am large, I contain multitudes)
I copied this quote down, I liked it so much, and then was delighted to find it a few days later in Philip French's review of I'm Not There. It encapsulates Dylan perfectly, and French spotted it right away. It's funny, but at the very end, Haynes seems to acknowledge that it's impossible for anyone else to do full justice to Dylan, and the man himself appears, in a clip from the film Eat the Document. It's some footage from 1966, in which he, playfully and inventively, improvises on his harmonica.
One last thing - Haynes' command of cinematic styles is well-known; his confident reworking, visually and thematically, of the 50s domestic melodrama, in Far From Heaven, was justly praised. He's done it again here, perfectly recreating the look of each period as it appeared on screens and in photographs. His films seem to luxuriate in being films, if you get my meaning.
I intend to acquire this on DVD as I know I need to see it several times. I have to say I loved it, and can't keep it out of my head.
Well, I wasn't disappointed; I'd read an interview with Todd Haynes, the director, and seen a few of his other film, so knew that Dylan would be in good hands, He's clearly felt that himself, as he's refused previous offers to portray him on screen. In addition, one of my favourite actors, Christian Bale, was one of the six people portraying Dylan, and I'll go and see practically anything he's in.
On one level, the film's a chaotic shambles, as it flits backwards and forwards between the various Dylans. It's basic structure consists of depicting Dylan's life in six chapters, played by, in chronological order, Marcus Carl Franklin, a 13-year-old black boy, who plays the young Dylan hitching his way out of Minnesota; Bale, who plays the protest singing Dylan; Ben Whishaw who Dylan as he moves away from the political, to the personal; Blanchett plays him as he rejects the acoustic for the electric - the 'Judas' Dylan; Heath Ledger (rather confusingly) plays him as a movie actor with a dark side, misogynist, selfish and reactionary; Richard Gere plays the Dylan who famously disappeared to 'get it together in the country', and Bale (again) plays the preaching, born-again Christian Dylan. And, to make things even more confusing, none of the characters are called Dylan; they are, respectively, Woody, Jack Rollins, Arthur Rimbaud, Jude, Robbie, and Billy. Bale's preacher-Dylan I assume, was Jack Rollins, a few years later.
All the performers are fantastic, but Blanchett's, understandably, I suppose, has gathered up most of the publicity. Ledger did really well, portraying Dylan at his most unsympathetic, and Bale - well...he did his own singing (of course he would) in both of his incarnations, but was also utterly convincing. His preacher-Dylan section was only a short sequence but I found it extaordinarily powerful. He was in a small, down-at-heel hall somewhere in the sticks, preaching to a small congregation; inattentive children played at the back, and he had a rather perfunctory gospel choir behind him. He preached the usual born-againstuff, then began to sing, and, suddenly, he sprang to life, and his stature and authority shone through. Here, Bale captured perfectly Dylan's essential charisma.
Of course, much has been written about this film - I suppose what it's really saying is that Dylan's life and career; its almost mythic qualities - I mean, who could possibly invent the story of e Jewish teenager growing up in a small town in Minnesota, borrowing the name of a Welsh poet, taking on the persona of a dustbowl troubadour and conquering the coffe houses of New York? And then recreate himself again, several times over. He's a deejay now, producing a brilliant programme every week of his own choice of music - Radio 2 broadcast it, and it's unmissable.
There was an excellent article recently in the New York Times which encapsulated him perfectly, describing his personality as 'inclusive as Walt Whitman's' and 'as unsettlingly splintered as Herman Melville's Confidence Man'. Dylan is 'vulnerable to misunderstanding', but also 'actively solicits it'.
As the article puts it, the film 'hurls a Molotov cocktail through the facade of the Hollywood biopic factory' - I couldn't possibly have put it better, and wonder if the genre will ever, can ever be the same.
Talking of Whitman, in Simon Barnes' recent book, The Meaning of Sport (excellent), he quotes Whitman:-
'Do I contradict myself?
Very well, I contradict myself
(I am large, I contain multitudes)
I copied this quote down, I liked it so much, and then was delighted to find it a few days later in Philip French's review of I'm Not There. It encapsulates Dylan perfectly, and French spotted it right away. It's funny, but at the very end, Haynes seems to acknowledge that it's impossible for anyone else to do full justice to Dylan, and the man himself appears, in a clip from the film Eat the Document. It's some footage from 1966, in which he, playfully and inventively, improvises on his harmonica.
One last thing - Haynes' command of cinematic styles is well-known; his confident reworking, visually and thematically, of the 50s domestic melodrama, in Far From Heaven, was justly praised. He's done it again here, perfectly recreating the look of each period as it appeared on screens and in photographs. His films seem to luxuriate in being films, if you get my meaning.
I intend to acquire this on DVD as I know I need to see it several times. I have to say I loved it, and can't keep it out of my head.
Monday, 17 December 2007
Led Zeppelin
I was interested in Led Zeppelin's reunion concert the other day at the O2 arena (previously the notorious Millenium Dome). It's funny, but I think I would have enjoyed it. I saw Led Zep twice, in 1969 and 1970, the first time at a Blues Festival at the Recreation Ground in the middle of Bath. I know Bath pretty well now, as my mother moved there 20 years ago, but in those days it was way off my beaten track.
It was in the early days of open-air festivals - I'm a bit muddled about the dates. I remember giong to the Blind Faith free concert in Hyde Park, and finding myself sitting next to John Peel - was that 1968? Or 1969? There was the famous Rolling Stones free concert in Hyde Park, just after Brian Jones died - the one where Mick Jagger released all those butterfies and wore a dress. I was on my own there (it's a long story), and found myself near the front, so felt immersed in the whole event. It's funny how time has cast a patina over such occasions - it felt huge at the time, and was, but now it's legendary. I was 18 at the time so you don't think you're making history - it's just your life. What strrikes me now is the way an 18-year-old could wander into Hyde Park, and drift about in perfect safety. Also the absence of money-making outlets, just the odd ice-cream van. And, even with so many people, the ease with which one could get around. Ah, those were the days - I think the lack of commercialism is the thing I'm most nostalgic about.....
I can't remember who I went with to the Bath Festival, or how I got there, but I know I must have been with some friends from college. I can remember vividly being there, where I sat in relation to the stage - I can see it now. I found a website devoted to Led Zep which had some pictures of them performing, against a backdrop of Georgian terraces. The stage was ridiculously small by today's standards, and apparently there were only about 12,000 people there. The website brought back so many memories, and there was much that I'd forgotten. Lots of people had posted their own memories, and it was interesting to see how young everyone was. I was 17, and most were around that age. I suppose we really were the first generation to really get into music in such an obsessive way, so there wouldn't have been many people there who were much older.
It was billed as a blues festival and according to the website page dedicated to the event, all the usual suspects played, the bands who seemed to be there at every festival at that time; Chicken Shack, Keef Hartley, Fleetwood Mac, Blodwyn Pig, Colosseum, The Nice, John Mayall, Ten Years After and Taste. I wasn't actually particularly fond of any of this, but, as one did then, convinced myself that I was. I was distinctly underwhelmed by much of what I heard, as, by this time, I was becoming deeply enamoured of American music. Blues music seemed dull, and the fashion for extended drum/guitar/etc solos - many of them exceptionally tedious, had firmly taken hold. Led Zeppelin seemed no better or worse than the other bands, and I took little notice of them.
They did even less for me a year later, at the huge festival at the Bath & West Showground at Shepton Mallet. I'll do more extensive blog entry on that festival, and the one on the Isle of Wight graced by Bob Dylan, but I'll mention Led Zep. I a year they had become huge, and played (I think) for about 3 hours. It seemed the longest 3 hours of my life. I found them unutterably tedious, though I was in a tiny minority.
I disliked their music intensely throughout the 1970s, but sometime in the 1980s I came across Kashmir, and I thought, I like this - with its pumping powerhouse underbelly. There was a perfect description of it in a recent review by Pete Paphidis in The Times of their reunion concert at the O2 arena - Kashmir, he said, had a rhythm that sounded like the 'advancing of Martian tripods'.
I saw a recording of a concert Robert Plant did a year ago at the festival on TV, and I enjoyed it very much. Such is the passage of time - it does strange things. I find much of the West Coast stuff I liked so much in the early 70s pretty hard to listen to now, and Led Zep's stuff now has a power, strength and authenticity which somehow sounds good today - who would have though it?
It was in the early days of open-air festivals - I'm a bit muddled about the dates. I remember giong to the Blind Faith free concert in Hyde Park, and finding myself sitting next to John Peel - was that 1968? Or 1969? There was the famous Rolling Stones free concert in Hyde Park, just after Brian Jones died - the one where Mick Jagger released all those butterfies and wore a dress. I was on my own there (it's a long story), and found myself near the front, so felt immersed in the whole event. It's funny how time has cast a patina over such occasions - it felt huge at the time, and was, but now it's legendary. I was 18 at the time so you don't think you're making history - it's just your life. What strrikes me now is the way an 18-year-old could wander into Hyde Park, and drift about in perfect safety. Also the absence of money-making outlets, just the odd ice-cream van. And, even with so many people, the ease with which one could get around. Ah, those were the days - I think the lack of commercialism is the thing I'm most nostalgic about.....
I can't remember who I went with to the Bath Festival, or how I got there, but I know I must have been with some friends from college. I can remember vividly being there, where I sat in relation to the stage - I can see it now. I found a website devoted to Led Zep which had some pictures of them performing, against a backdrop of Georgian terraces. The stage was ridiculously small by today's standards, and apparently there were only about 12,000 people there. The website brought back so many memories, and there was much that I'd forgotten. Lots of people had posted their own memories, and it was interesting to see how young everyone was. I was 17, and most were around that age. I suppose we really were the first generation to really get into music in such an obsessive way, so there wouldn't have been many people there who were much older.
It was billed as a blues festival and according to the website page dedicated to the event, all the usual suspects played, the bands who seemed to be there at every festival at that time; Chicken Shack, Keef Hartley, Fleetwood Mac, Blodwyn Pig, Colosseum, The Nice, John Mayall, Ten Years After and Taste. I wasn't actually particularly fond of any of this, but, as one did then, convinced myself that I was. I was distinctly underwhelmed by much of what I heard, as, by this time, I was becoming deeply enamoured of American music. Blues music seemed dull, and the fashion for extended drum/guitar/etc solos - many of them exceptionally tedious, had firmly taken hold. Led Zeppelin seemed no better or worse than the other bands, and I took little notice of them.
They did even less for me a year later, at the huge festival at the Bath & West Showground at Shepton Mallet. I'll do more extensive blog entry on that festival, and the one on the Isle of Wight graced by Bob Dylan, but I'll mention Led Zep. I a year they had become huge, and played (I think) for about 3 hours. It seemed the longest 3 hours of my life. I found them unutterably tedious, though I was in a tiny minority.
I disliked their music intensely throughout the 1970s, but sometime in the 1980s I came across Kashmir, and I thought, I like this - with its pumping powerhouse underbelly. There was a perfect description of it in a recent review by Pete Paphidis in The Times of their reunion concert at the O2 arena - Kashmir, he said, had a rhythm that sounded like the 'advancing of Martian tripods'.
I saw a recording of a concert Robert Plant did a year ago at the festival on TV, and I enjoyed it very much. Such is the passage of time - it does strange things. I find much of the West Coast stuff I liked so much in the early 70s pretty hard to listen to now, and Led Zep's stuff now has a power, strength and authenticity which somehow sounds good today - who would have though it?
Friday, 26 October 2007
Bob Dylan
I can't wait to see the Todd Haynes film, I'm Not There. It's due to be screened at the London Film Festival this week, and it won't go on general release until Christmas, so I'll have to be patient. It's hard to describe, and I'm not going to try until I've seen it, but basically, six actors (I think it's six), portray Dylan at various stages of his career. Only they aren't called Dylan in the film. See what I mean?
I'm looking forward to seeing it because, as I think I've mentioned before, Dylan has played a major part in my life. My earliest memory of him is of hearing Tambourine Man and Blowing in the Wind and becoming hooked; buying a book of sheet music of his songs, and sitting in the front room (I was in my early-mid teens and had been learning the piano since I was seven), and doggedly playing the songs, singing them to myself. I'd never actually heard any of them, as we didn't have a record player then.
I can remember hearing Like a Rolling Stone on Radio London for the first time, one of the pirate stations, to which I listened obsessively - was it 1965? It's hard, now to conjure up a time when Dylan was new, hadn't been analysed to extinction. He was hard - wrote lyrics of a kind nobody had ever written before, and sang them with a passionate menace that was thrilling in the extreme to a teenager who was just beginning to become aware that the world was changing in ways that were only dimly becoming understood. Certainly not by my parents generation. That line - 'something is happening, and you don't know what it is, do you, Mr Jones', summed up how I was starting to feel about the world. We, the younger generation, were in possession of the world - there were more of us than them, our lives hadn't been blighted by having to fight in a war, and somehow, we felt we were in possession of a secret knowledge - we knew more than they did. I suppose it was our education, something denied to our parents, that gave us the key to all this, but Dylan spoke to us and articulated what was in our heads. HIs appearance in Don't Look Back, which I saw in about 1968, said it all. He treated people in suits with contempt - all the time he seemed in possession of a secret. It was revelatory.
So I'm looking forward with enormous anticipation to I'm Not There: I'll post more when I've seen it.
I'm looking forward to seeing it because, as I think I've mentioned before, Dylan has played a major part in my life. My earliest memory of him is of hearing Tambourine Man and Blowing in the Wind and becoming hooked; buying a book of sheet music of his songs, and sitting in the front room (I was in my early-mid teens and had been learning the piano since I was seven), and doggedly playing the songs, singing them to myself. I'd never actually heard any of them, as we didn't have a record player then.
I can remember hearing Like a Rolling Stone on Radio London for the first time, one of the pirate stations, to which I listened obsessively - was it 1965? It's hard, now to conjure up a time when Dylan was new, hadn't been analysed to extinction. He was hard - wrote lyrics of a kind nobody had ever written before, and sang them with a passionate menace that was thrilling in the extreme to a teenager who was just beginning to become aware that the world was changing in ways that were only dimly becoming understood. Certainly not by my parents generation. That line - 'something is happening, and you don't know what it is, do you, Mr Jones', summed up how I was starting to feel about the world. We, the younger generation, were in possession of the world - there were more of us than them, our lives hadn't been blighted by having to fight in a war, and somehow, we felt we were in possession of a secret knowledge - we knew more than they did. I suppose it was our education, something denied to our parents, that gave us the key to all this, but Dylan spoke to us and articulated what was in our heads. HIs appearance in Don't Look Back, which I saw in about 1968, said it all. He treated people in suits with contempt - all the time he seemed in possession of a secret. It was revelatory.
So I'm looking forward with enormous anticipation to I'm Not There: I'll post more when I've seen it.
Friday, 15 June 2007
music
Music's always played a big part in my life and my earliest memory is listening to the radio. 2-Way Family Favourites and Housewives' Choice, which my mother listened to every week provided part of the soundtrack of my childhood, introducing me to, among much else, Nellie the Elephant, The Laughing Policeman and Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture, always played as the grand finale. Then, in 1962, I can't remember what prompted me to turn the radio on at 4.00 one Sunday afternoon, but I know that I heard Pick of the Pops with Alan Freeman for the first time around then. I'd been aware of Saturday Club in the background of busy Saturday mornings, but not really listened to it; on Sunday afternoons, though, my parents tended to fall asleep over the papers after Sunday lunch, so I had the radio to myself.
I looked at a list of the top twenty number one singles for 1962 the other day and was overwhelmed with memories; I could remember almost every line of every song. I know that memories of things experienced when young go very deep and stay there, certainly these songs, the only pop music I listened to then are virtually imprinted into my DNA. The first Number One I remember ever hearing was Frank Ifield's I Remember You and I can recall every note, every yodel. Other singers I remember well from that time were Roy Orbison, Del Shannon and Neil Sedaka and their songs were always in the charts.
Anyway, that was it; I discovered Radio Luxembourg soon after, and then of course, the tidal wave of the Beatles crashed on to the scene, drowning everything. Nothing would ever be the same again. We had fierce debates at school over who was the best Beatle, and then, when the Rolling Stones appeared, the class was divided into camps, Stones versus Beatles, and we spent our breaktimes arguing passionately. When With the Beatles was released, I remember going round to a friend's house on a dark December afternoon to hear it for the first time as her older sister had just bought it, and we sat round the dansette record player on the floor, listening to it in silence, over and over again. I still know every line, every note, of every song, by heart and I suppose most people of my generation do.
The next major development was pirate radio which opened up our musical horizons further and we used to spend our breaktimes talking endlesslyabout the songs and DJ's we'd heard on Radion London. I don't think our teachers had the faintest idea that our minds, our whole beings, were being gradually colonised by music. I can only speak for myself, but I was totally obsessed with music, with clothes and boys coming second (although they were important - I was a teenager after all). I'd started going out to a club where Motown and soul held centre stage - my schoolfriends and I were mods, or thought we were, and danced around our handbags to Sam and Dave and the Temptations, among many others.
Bob Dylan, though, was always there, and, although the only music of his I knew were his hits, Tambourine Man and Blowing in the Wind, I knew that he was special. I bought a book of his songs complete with music, and, as I was learning the piano at the time, I doggedly laboured over Chimes of Freedom and many other early songs - I hadn't got a clue how they should sound as I'd never heard them, but they moved me deeply and I played them (very badly) over and over again. Then gradually his songs could be heard on the radio more often, and Highway 61 and Blonde on Blonde became part of the soundtrack of my life.
My horizons opened up further as I discovered bands such as Jefferson Airplane and the Doors. America music of the hippy era was what me and my friends were listening to now and soul became deeply unfashionable and a bit of a joke. West Coast music was now of central importance and we began to think that music had the potential to change society. Almost nothing else mattered. But when punk and new-wave hit the country in the mid-Seventies I found that it was more to my liking; the Clash, Talking Heads, Television etc. and I've realised that this is the music I enjoy the most. I've always retained a love of the short, snappy pop songs that I grew up with in the early Sixties and have returned to them.
I'm pretty eclectic in my musical taste, all the same, and I'm listening to Patti Smith and Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers a lot at the moment, but am also enjoying Rufus Wainwright and Richard Hawley, about as different as it's possible to be. There's classical music as well, of course, but that's another story......
I looked at a list of the top twenty number one singles for 1962 the other day and was overwhelmed with memories; I could remember almost every line of every song. I know that memories of things experienced when young go very deep and stay there, certainly these songs, the only pop music I listened to then are virtually imprinted into my DNA. The first Number One I remember ever hearing was Frank Ifield's I Remember You and I can recall every note, every yodel. Other singers I remember well from that time were Roy Orbison, Del Shannon and Neil Sedaka and their songs were always in the charts.
Anyway, that was it; I discovered Radio Luxembourg soon after, and then of course, the tidal wave of the Beatles crashed on to the scene, drowning everything. Nothing would ever be the same again. We had fierce debates at school over who was the best Beatle, and then, when the Rolling Stones appeared, the class was divided into camps, Stones versus Beatles, and we spent our breaktimes arguing passionately. When With the Beatles was released, I remember going round to a friend's house on a dark December afternoon to hear it for the first time as her older sister had just bought it, and we sat round the dansette record player on the floor, listening to it in silence, over and over again. I still know every line, every note, of every song, by heart and I suppose most people of my generation do.
The next major development was pirate radio which opened up our musical horizons further and we used to spend our breaktimes talking endlesslyabout the songs and DJ's we'd heard on Radion London. I don't think our teachers had the faintest idea that our minds, our whole beings, were being gradually colonised by music. I can only speak for myself, but I was totally obsessed with music, with clothes and boys coming second (although they were important - I was a teenager after all). I'd started going out to a club where Motown and soul held centre stage - my schoolfriends and I were mods, or thought we were, and danced around our handbags to Sam and Dave and the Temptations, among many others.
Bob Dylan, though, was always there, and, although the only music of his I knew were his hits, Tambourine Man and Blowing in the Wind, I knew that he was special. I bought a book of his songs complete with music, and, as I was learning the piano at the time, I doggedly laboured over Chimes of Freedom and many other early songs - I hadn't got a clue how they should sound as I'd never heard them, but they moved me deeply and I played them (very badly) over and over again. Then gradually his songs could be heard on the radio more often, and Highway 61 and Blonde on Blonde became part of the soundtrack of my life.
My horizons opened up further as I discovered bands such as Jefferson Airplane and the Doors. America music of the hippy era was what me and my friends were listening to now and soul became deeply unfashionable and a bit of a joke. West Coast music was now of central importance and we began to think that music had the potential to change society. Almost nothing else mattered. But when punk and new-wave hit the country in the mid-Seventies I found that it was more to my liking; the Clash, Talking Heads, Television etc. and I've realised that this is the music I enjoy the most. I've always retained a love of the short, snappy pop songs that I grew up with in the early Sixties and have returned to them.
I'm pretty eclectic in my musical taste, all the same, and I'm listening to Patti Smith and Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers a lot at the moment, but am also enjoying Rufus Wainwright and Richard Hawley, about as different as it's possible to be. There's classical music as well, of course, but that's another story......
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