A bit of a cheat: a music two-fer. One is old, but the other's new; nonetheless, given the difficulty of finding your audience in the ocean of new publications out there, it deserves a boost to the signal.
The Fall: Lyrics by Mark E. Smith
The lynchpin of my current writing career: what, you think I exaggerate? With stories like "It's a Curse" and "Bill is Dead" and "Mandrake Anthrax" and "Grotesque" and "Just Waiting"? I do occasionally have stories not inspired by Smith's lyrics but they're getting to be in the minority. The Fall's lyrics are like Zen koans mashed up with the ramblings of a mad meth drinker with overstuffed carrier bags.
My garden is made of stone There's a computer centre over the road I saw a monster on the roof Its colours glowed on the roof
All the songs in this collection will forever be coloured by reading the German translations out loud on the tube going back from Kentish Town to Stockwellwhile giggling madly after that first hypnotic show. Magic.
John Hodgson's A Hard Road to Nowhere: The Blitzkrieg Bop Story captures that story from the other side of the equation; the intoxicating, maddening, frustrating and elating process of forging music in the fluctuating organism that is a band -- or rather a series of bands that finally create a centre of gravity that becomes Blitzkrieg Bop. Obviously blown away by The Ramones at a crucial age, Hodgson and his fellow bandmates find a wellspring of inspiration as the first eruptions of punk arrive in the remote northeast of England. The third person narrative occasionally feels a bit awkward but it provides a way to highlight the pages ripped from Hodgson's journals of the period, which capture the youthful highs and lows with vivid authenticity.
Cheap as chips: get it now -- and be sure to bookmark Hodgson's Soundcloud page for the music to accompany it. A wide variety of songs, old and new and updated. Good stuff.
See also my review of Val McDermid's The Distant Echo over at A Knife & A Quill.
Not sure if the FFB will be at Patti's or at Todd's -- check both, they're bound to be worth it.
Wi language az rough az a rhino's erse Oary Dundonian in poetic verse Itz oor tongue, oor dialect, itz how wi converse
I heartily recommend The CundeeZ: punk rock with Dundee accent and a DIY can-do spirit. And not just because lead singer/songwriter Gary Robertson was the punk rock cupid that brought me and my sweetie together :-) but because the music is terrific. I've written before about Gary's book Skeem Life (which he tells me he's now turning into a musical) and about finally seeing them play -- albeit briefly -- for the the first time back in December. I suspect I will have plenty of opportunities to see them again when I am back in Dundee.
Their latest CD Lend Wiz Yir Lugs can be bought or downloaded for just £5 and it's a fine set of ear scorchers, veering from punk to ska to a little old school rock-n-roll. It's a wild ride from the evocative pipes of "Caleil" to the blistering "Mr E Go" and the plain-talking "Yir Talkin' Shite" (dedicated to politicians everywhere and all the rest who sling manure). It's all good: check out their first CD, Cundee Radio, too.
Find them on ReverbNation, Facebook and Twitter. Here are some of their videos to give you a taste; if you are of delicate constitution or easily alarmed by frank language, this is not the band for you. Everyone else: Enjoy!
As always, see the full round up of TOA/V at Todd's blog.
Next week, I'll be back to regular posting, but for now, here's a nice picture of my guests. We'll see how many photos they let me post :-) probably better when they get over the jet lag. Yes, a picture at Spanish Arch is required of everyone who sets foot in Galway. Tick that box!
Awesome to finally see The Cundeez in Dundee and talk to Gary and Stevie in person. I even got a shout out from the stage. Alas, we were too late to have a chance to sing back up (we just missed the bus!). Doubtless there will be other opportunities in the future. Headliners TV Smith and the Valentines did a great set of Adverts tunes. And I got a signed copy of the new CD. Wonderful night out!
I am showing great restraint by not simply posting a bunch of clips of John Peel introducing The Fall. Are you proud of me? You should be. Here's a nice four part interview with Peel talking about the reality of punk music and its development in his usual straightforward way (further parts on this other site). Even if you've never heard of John Peel, if you like good music, you owe him a lot. Today's his remembrance day, a good reason for Keeping it Peel.
Be sure to drop by Sweet Freedom to read the rest of the overlooked recommendations.
I met the fabulous Queen of Everything for breakfast at Cafémantic in Willimantic. Quite lovely -- never had been there before; it was delightful.
Then we headed over to WECS to heckle Marko throughout the Punk Rock Jukebox -- I mean, to help promote the Salacious Art show that features some of the QoE's fine work (as is that poster). I got to give a shout out to my Mark up in Scotland, but I couldn't quite convince Marko to play all of Extricate (Extra Kate?). Then we headed off to the Willi Pub and had burgers and beer and more giggles.
Next it was off to Elena's where the puppies were all happy to greet me, especially if I was eating something, eh Shaq?
We had some wine and watched frighteningly bad films, The Godmonster of Indian Flats and a little bit of Swamp Girl (which had one amazing theme song O_o).
On Saturday, Rod and Elena took me to Stew Leonard's, which they'd always talked about but I'd never been to. It's like Whole Foods, except it has all these wacky animatronic displays. Quite an experience. Must work it into a story.
Elena and I hashed out some of the next stage of Jane Quiet, our comic, while -- as I noticed much later -- mosquitoes made a meal of my feet. I headed back to Albany in time to run into the fierce rain, which of course let up once I arrived. Had a nice dinner with Debi (congratulations on finishing that first draft of your novel!) and then it was back to facing the huge pile of things that must be done. Sigh.
For the full list of Friday's Forgotten (or neglected or insufficiently trumpeted) Books, see Patti Abbott's blog. If you're in need of reading material, there are always wonderful suggestions.
I remember when Marko asked if I had got The Fallenyet and I said, "Nah, I'm really only interested in MES, don't think I'll be interested." But then my editor Simon at the Spectator sent me a copy of the updated edition and suggested I follow the author Dave Simpson on Twitter and, well, they were right. This is an amazing book about a singular band and the obsession it provokes -- which really is all about Smith. Shot through the main narrative is also Simpson's account of the unraveling of his own relationship as his obsession with tracking down the dozens of former Fall members grows. He finally realises he has hit bottom when he finds himself listening to -- and liking -- Phil Collins songs:
What greater slur can a man carry than admitting to listening to Phil Collins?
The tale begins and ends and really never travels too far from the enigmatic frontman (whose autobiographical tome I have also written about for FFB). Many of the Fallen have gone on to success on their own -- Brix Smith is a fashionista, Mark Riley a popular DJ, Julia [Nagle] Adamson head of Invisible Girl Records -- but so many expressed a willingness to return to the fold should the boss ever ask them to do so, despite the acrimony that often accompanied their departure. Smith's philosophy gets likened to a football coach, an intimidating schoolmaster and an experimental psychologist, who thinks, "routine is 'the enemy of music'" and that regular shake-ups help keep the team on their toes (as does fiddling with their instruments and equipment on stage in the midst of a show.
While people like to celebrate groups like the Rolling Stones that have been together since the Pleistocene era (yawn) because they don't want their favourite things to change, Smith has managed a musical sleight of hand by means of constant if unpredictable change. He's famously claimed that even if it's "me and your granny on bongos" it's still the Fall and he's right. A Simpson realises,
...for all the hiring and firing in the group, the person most feeling the pressure of carrying the legend like The Fall is Smith -- because, after all, it's his reputation on the line.
By the end of the book, there's a distorted collage of the genius behind the band. Smith seems to grow and change, to be all things to all people, a "God" to some and "the boss" to others, a trusted friend and an unruly psychopath. But singular -- and indeed genius. The Fall are musical Marmite, but I think anyone who loves the music scene will find this book riveting as it delves into the 70s, 80s, 90s and noughties. It's an amazing tale well told by Simpson. Highly recommended.
I won't say I flew into Manchester instead of Heathrow in June just to see The Fall, but once I realised the opportunity existed -- well, no way I was going to pass it up. Besides, I'd never visited Manchester and had the chance to meet up with a couple of friends, so it was all good. I should add that I don't have the set list, I just swiped it from one of the guys on the forum.
Moho Live looked like any of a million subterranean venues, painted black and kept in the dark because if you saw what it looked like in the light you would be horrified. No ticket stub: it's all digital now. The woman from Action Records was there with all the merch. I passed up on the chance to get the blue lyrics book (I'll give in one of these days, but £30?!) but I got a t-shirt for Marko and some badges for us both.
There are so few female Fall fans that I never had to wait in line at the loo. Those who know me well will know how significant that fact is. When I met up with fellow female Fall fan Julie in Leicester (who friended me after reading my Spectator piece on the Fall) it was good to talk to another woman who has the madness.
The first band hit the stage in a squall of noise, pseudo-punks whose name I did not catch though I immediately regretted leaving my earplugs in the hotel room. A thrashing, assaultive barrage requiring only that they all play as loudly and as fast as possible. Yawn. I wandered around crowd-watching and texting Marko just to make him envious share the excitement.
The second band intrigued even as they were starting up. Scumbag Philosopher (no, not a promising name, but oh well) drummer Anne Reekie had just a two piece kit, accentuated by fairy lights, including some hanging out of her pockets. I loved her playing. They started out with a "cut-rate" John Cooper Clark intro which got the audience going. Fun, odd stuff -- check them out. I can see why MES chose them.
Of course the buzz only grew after that, especially once they unfurled the Fall backdrop: a guitar-playing cowboy. I fought my way up near the stage because I just had to do it, though I knew I wouldn't last long. I kept close to a bunch of old geezers, clearly long time fans, who helped keep the obnoxious drunk young guys in check. Quiet menace in action: I was impressed with the polite but utterly unflinching threat when he turned to the stupid kid who'd been shoving people around him and laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "You're going to stop that now."
After what seemed like an impossibly long time, at last the band came out and it sounded like a jet had landed in the tiny club. Hometown crowd, eh? The space in front of the stage began to sway wildly and slam back and forth, erupting even further when MES came out -- just a roar of delight. The old curmudgeon even looked pleased for a moment before hiding it behind a scowl, launching into the new song "Cosmos" with gusto. He looked good: much healthier than the first time I saw them.
I lasted the first two songs and then had to stagger out of the madness and find a new vantage point. Deafened, dripping with sweat but grinning because -- well, just because. I took up a position on the exit stairs which put me on eye level with MES. I was thirty feet away instead of five but I could breathe -- and more importantly -- stand. It was fantastic. I won't give the blow by blow (check the forums for that in abundance) but they were on: the band working, heads down, unsmiling except for Elena who was grinning and having a grand time. MES pottering around the stage adjusting this and that, keeping the band on their toes and sticking his tongue out at Elena and even occasionally addressing the crowd. "Funnel of Love" really seemed to get the crowd going (such a catchy rockabilly tune) and "Psychik Dance Hall" roared along. It was odd that the band came out on stage eventually for an encore but MES stayed back stage -- odd, but not unprecedented. We all left deafened, dripping and vibrating from head to toe.
"That's all you need to know about tonight," a woman said in the toilets after the show, pointing to her mud-spattered, sandal-clad feet. Yep.
Punk icon Poly Styrene (given name Marianne Joan Elliott-Said) has died at the far too young age of 53 after battling advanced breast cancer. She'd been on Twitter for weeks getting the word out about her new album Generation Indigo with its catchy single "Virtual Boyfriend." With the too-early death of The Slits' Ari Up still fresh in mind it's beginning to feel as if some contagion of the poisonous years of Thatcher and Reagan worked its way into their very flesh and given them cancer.
The raucous saxophone of X-Ray Spex and its iconoclast singer inspired many during the formative days of punk. From the braces on her teeth to her unconventional looks and wild attire, she found a freedom in the wildness of punk rock that changed her life. But like most revolutionary movements, it quickly became regimented and stylized into fossil-hard rules.
As Billy Bragg wrote on Facebook...
Knee deep in deadlines. Coming up for air after the first, I swear. I got my ticket for Britain -- yay! Trying to restrain myself from buying tickets for everything I want to see. I don't want to come back broke.
Wednesday already?! Eek! Madness -- this entire week has been, will be, is. Yesterday after the Glass Ceiling talk organized by the Women's Initiative, I jumped in the car and headed down to Kingston for a reading of a new play at the Arts Society of Kingston. The play was on the life of Margaret Fuller and has a lot of potential: the audience offered a lot of good feedback. I hope I'll get a lot of the same on my play.
Two panic moments after the play: first, being horrified to find that my car was missing, afraid it had been towed. No, I had simply walked two blocks past where it was. Can we say distracted? Driving to Bertie's for dinner I had an owl fly right over my hood on the backroads, which initially made me gasp in alarm and then think, "wow, how cool was that?" Great dinner (of course) and then back home again (after midnight).
Finishing the slides for the talk; tomorrow is polishing both. Out with friends Thursday night, on my way to Iowa Friday. Phew! And then next week is PCA. I can relax for a day on the 25th. >_< At last, here's the photos from the Euro Punks Exhibit at the Villa Medici in Rome. A lot of them are awful, but I was snapping away hastily, having fun. At least you get a flavour of the exhibit. If you want to see better pictures, take a look at the catalogue. I know a certain punk rock DJ who might let you take a look at his copy...
Tonight! The Saint Rose Camerata plays Camille Saint-Saëns' Carnival of the Animals. I will read some Ogden Nash poems between the songs. Unfortunately not among them is one of the tiny number of poems I can recite by heart (which includes Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky and Dorothy Parker's Résumé):
The wombat lives across the seas Among the far Antipodes. He may exist on nuts and berries Or then again, on missionaries. His distant habitat precludes Conclusive knowledge of his moods, But I would not engage the wombat In any form of mortal combat.
Wise words!
Get the full round up of Friday's Forgotten Books over at Patti Abbot's blog. I'm stretching the definition of FFB to cover a book that hasn't had much exposure and should: SKEEM LIFE by Gary Robertson. I met Gary on Twitter, first because of his band The Cundeez -- probably because I was touting the Punk Rock Juke Box with Marko (every Thu 12-3 and Fri 11-2 Eastern). Good stuff! As we got to talking, we discovered we both wrote and chatted about plays and books. Gary sent me a lovely package with Skeem Life and his book of poetry, Pure Dundee, and his historical study Gangs of Dundee. You're sensing a theme, eh? He also sent me The Cundeez CDs and a DVD of a performance of his play The Berries.
Well, you know that I'm usually quite good with languages and accents, but I have to admit while I had little trouble reading Dundeez, I have had to listen very closely while watching the play! I'm going to have to watch it again after reading and assimilating the books, but it's a very funny and often rather touching account of a day's work picking berries. Apparently buses would take people out from the city to pick berries during the height of the season, a welcome addition to their often meagre incomes during the tough times, but also a kind of break from the usual routine.
As Robertson puts it in "McGonagall's Disciples" (a reference to the legendary Scottish poet),
We are thi Dundee lihterahti Ejicated on thi streetz an a but bren scatty
and they speak
Wi language az rough az a rhino's erse Oary Dundonian in poetic verse Itz oor tongue, oor dialect, itz how wi converse
You get acclimated quickly. And the stories in Skeem Life are often hilarious though also often relating dangerous events and somewhat scandalous situations, but the matter-of-fact spirit and unflagging sense of fun triumph. It's a hard life, but there's never any self-pity. Great stuff.
Check out the music, poetry and books, and be sure to keep it oary!
My buddy Todd has this fabulous write up on the girl rock band movie Bandits which made me order it from a certain river-named on-line vendor immediately (you can, too!).
If the Go-Go's were the Beach Boys of post/punk all-women rock bands of the early '80s, and the Bangs/Bangles were the Byrds, it took a while for the Monkees correspondent to come along...but they did, with Katja von Garnier's 1997 film Bandits (not to be confused with the later, somewhat less good Bruce Willis vehicle). A German film, ineptly promoted upon its 1999 US release despite a glowing New York Times review by Lawrence Van Gelder and apparently grossing something like $25,000 nationally here, it was a smash in Europe, where the soundtrack album reportedly became the bestselling in European history, ahead of the Beatles' albums, or anyone else's, in that market (the first-year figure is usually given as 750,000 copies).
The film involves a prison band, in a women's facility rife with casual brutality from some of the staff, while some (with some overlap) pride themselves on their progressive attitudes toward reform. The quartet, with a new drummer whose first days at the prison we follow, are trotted out to a Policeman's Ball as show ponies, but they are harassed beyond tolerance by the guards on the way over, and they manage to steal the police van before they are delivered to the ball. Meanwhile, Luna, the somewhat bullying primary songwriter and guitarist of the band (played by Jasmin Tabatabai, who here is almost a dead ringer for Selma Blair, perhaps a bit more muscular), has submitted demos of their songs to various record companies, and while they are on the lam, one of the companies releases their demo recordings as an album, which does very well with the attendant publicity. Von Garnier and Uwe Wilhelm's script resembles both Thelma and Louise and The Monkees' various productions (and, of course, the Beatles' before them) in being comic with both surreal and somewhat seriously desperate edges, and the songs the band performs, or can be heard having performed at various points in the film, reflect this admirably.
Tabatabai, who would go on to collaborate musically with von Garnier on her next project, HBO's English-language feminist historical drama Iron Jawed Angels, and star in such notable productions as Unveiled, was well established as both musician and actor before coming to Bandits, as were two of the other principals, Katja Riemann (who plays the taciturn, sharp-witted Emma) and Nicolette Krebitz (who plays the essentially sweet-natured, rather insecure Angel). All three women sing on the recordings of songs they in various combinations wrote (along with a number of cover versions), but only Tabatabai plays her instrument (rather as with guitarist Roger McGuinn on the earliest Byrds' releases, or the early Monkees releases) for the soundtrack recording. However, Riemann and Krebitz were competent enough on drums and bass respectively to tour in support of the soundtrack album as Bandits. Read the rest at his fabulously detailed book/film/music review blog, Sweet Freedom.
Punk icon 
