Duggie Chop likes this site...
It's peaceful, by the river. Only the dirty great dual-carriageway disturbs the silence. Oh, and the railway line – primarily freight traffic, containers, aggregates. Of course, the nearby airport doesn't help. Ok, ok, so it's noisy here!
But we live in a noisy town, so we locals are used to the constant swish of traffic, burst of train horns and accelerating jet engines.
Take all of that out of the equation and it's peaceful by the river.
I'm listening to headphones while Duggie digs for worms. 'Black Sabbath' by Black Sabbath. One of the great rock debut albums. Cancels out the background hum. The album begins with 'Black Sabbath': rainfall, like the pitter patter you get on the roof of a conservatory, then a riff and finally Ozzy, slurring, “What is this that stands before me...[then stuff about figures in black pointing, black shapes, Satan smiling, flames, you get the picture]...Oh no, no please God help me!”
The song goes into a chugging riff, the drums crash in and Tony Iommi's back with a wailing solo, kind of bending the notes off the human scale, twiddling and twirling, and the song ends in a final burst of guitar.
Second track, 'The Wizard', is a whole lot more blusey, with Ozzy playing a harmonica as well as singing. It's upbeat...rather than a black figure and Satan smiling, there's a wizard walking by, “spreading his magic”.
Me and Duggie often debate the pros and cons of 'the Sabbath'. He's coming back now, with a shovel full of worms.
“You still listening to Sabbath?” says Duggie.
“Yeah, their first album.” I say, “Great riff, that opening to 'Behind The Wall Of Sleep' [Track 3], ground breaking. They invented heavy metal,” I say.
“Shame that Ozzy is such a dickhead,” says Duggie. He can't get over the fact that the finest vocalist in rock history is now a kind of mainstream figure of fun. It's like when something you're into get's popular. It becomes annoying.
“I'm more into the Dio stuff now [Ronnie James Dio – Sabbath lead vocals from 1979 to 1982] like 'Live Evil' [1982 live album].” says Duggie.
“Get out of here! 'Live Evil' by Miles Davis, maybe!” I say. Guaranteed to wind Duggie up. He's not into Jazz.
“Miles Davis, you're winding me up! [see, told you] When did you last listen to that?” says Duggie.
“Didn't say I wanted to listen to it, just given the choice I'd rather listen to Miles Davis than Dio.” I say. That's gotta be that.
And, indeed it is. “Well, sod it,” says Duggie, “Life's too short.”
“Just like Dio [Ronnie James Dio – Height reputed to be 5' 4”]” I say. Don't know why, I've never been 'height-ist'.
And Duggie tips the shovel full of worms over my packed lunch.
Record Duggie Chop's into, right this moment:
Duggie Chop recommends:
Sunday, 29 November 2009
Thursday, 26 November 2009
Sinister interlude by Duggie C
Running and running, down the street. And I just remember...it'd be quicker if I used my bike [as if I didn't know that already].
It's dark - but only about 4pm. Just started raining. And I'm peddling hard, on my 5-speed racer with taped drop-handlebars. Looking down at the road, the car headlights flashing on the silver-grey tarmac.
I'm going to overtake the bus that's just pulled in. Shall I? And I spurt past, quick, the bus driver can see me in his mirror now, and he indicates to pull out as I reach his window - and indicates to me with a single finger. I suppose the 'Ever-Ready' bike lights are a bit crap. Maybe he couldn't see me. Plus I have to bash the red one to get it working properly.
Into town and I lock-up the bike in an alley beneath the dentist surgery. There's a motorbike bloke revving up in the alley. The two-stroke engine echoes around the brickwork, like an amplified football rattle.
I leg it down the High Street, splashing through the growing puddles. I've got more than a bootful. And I get to the door of 'Our Price' just as the guy's got his hoover out.
Flick, flick, flick, flick, flick, through the 'F' section. The Fall. Bend Sinister. £5.99.
Just made it.
On the way back the LP blows into my bike wheel and the corner of the cover's a bit mangled [to this day]. Also, one of the flimsy 'Our Price' bag handles snaps, and I have to make it back one handed, clutching the record to my chest, the rain hammering my face.
Love Duggie.
It's dark - but only about 4pm. Just started raining. And I'm peddling hard, on my 5-speed racer with taped drop-handlebars. Looking down at the road, the car headlights flashing on the silver-grey tarmac.
I'm going to overtake the bus that's just pulled in. Shall I? And I spurt past, quick, the bus driver can see me in his mirror now, and he indicates to pull out as I reach his window - and indicates to me with a single finger. I suppose the 'Ever-Ready' bike lights are a bit crap. Maybe he couldn't see me. Plus I have to bash the red one to get it working properly.
Into town and I lock-up the bike in an alley beneath the dentist surgery. There's a motorbike bloke revving up in the alley. The two-stroke engine echoes around the brickwork, like an amplified football rattle.
I leg it down the High Street, splashing through the growing puddles. I've got more than a bootful. And I get to the door of 'Our Price' just as the guy's got his hoover out.
Flick, flick, flick, flick, flick, through the 'F' section. The Fall. Bend Sinister. £5.99.
Just made it.
On the way back the LP blows into my bike wheel and the corner of the cover's a bit mangled [to this day]. Also, one of the flimsy 'Our Price' bag handles snaps, and I have to make it back one handed, clutching the record to my chest, the rain hammering my face.
Love Duggie.
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
Ash - 1977 (1996)
[Written from the perspective of 'Me']
Round Duggie's house, is a little room with an orange leather sofa. It's stuffed with old pasty wrappers, bits of scrap paper, notebooks, newspapers and music.
Me and Duggie Chop sit in there sometimes to listen to records. By records I mean LPs. One of the walls is filled with a white Ikea ['Expedit'] shelving unit containing 1,000s of LPs, stacked in alphabetical order.
He's got a nice set up, Duggie: Rega turntable and Roksan [Kandy LIII] amplifier through some tiny Dali speakers [Lektor 1] placed on a shelf. "You should always overdrive your speakers," says Duggie, "first principle of setting up a hifi."
We decide to do an A-Z thing, listen to whatever turns up scanning from left to right on the shelf. Duggie hands me a Ginsters and I settle down into the sofa.
"Ash," says Duggie, "Haven't played that for ages." And he selects the black cover of '1977' from the shelf.
It's a gatefold cover with the image of a street scene and an upturned bin on the front. The image is placed sideways and printed twice. It's repeated on the back. You can tell the thing is designed for CD, the tracks are listed 1 - 12, no 'side 1', 'side 2' (luckily this is sorted in the gatefold - still numbered 1-12, but at least 'side 1' and 'side 2' are split).
Inside are shots of the band having a laugh in the studio and on tour, photographed next to signs that say things like: 'Domination - Teenage - Bi-sexual'. The band are either sticking their tongues out or holding bottles of booze.
"The LP's called '1977' cos that's when they were born, they were all about 19 when they recorded it," says Duggie, "precocious gits!"
"Didn't know you were into them," I say.
"I liked that 'Girl From Mars' track and 'Kung Fu' was pretty cool at the time, you know," says Duggie, "also it was on vinyl and dead cheap. Couldn't resist it."
On vinyl in 1996. Right in the middle of the time that record companies, shops and 'The Man' were trying to scrap vinyl in favour of an alternative new(ish) format: The CD. Or the SACD or some other nonsensical platform. Am I being cynical by imagining that this was a way to encourage music lovers to replace their entire collections with a new format - to buy the whole lot all over again? Plus invest in some pricey new equipment?
"Yeah, on vinyl," says Duggie, "it was like jumping in bed with your mates Mum, to buy LPs back them. It's kinda cool now."
Duggie takes a big chomp out of his chilli pasty and stares at the wall, thinking, "If I'd bought this record on CD, it'd be on a shelf now gathering dust, there'd be no reason to play it. It'd also seem alot more dated."
"I know what you mean," I say, "CDs are like commodities aren't they. Some crap you buy from Tescos."
And Duggie's nodding his head, no doubt just like thousands of other people who care about music are doing this very moment, as they have this same conversation.
"Ash wrote some bloody good tunes," says Duggie, "I like the way the album starts with that heavy metal thing. Side 2 is cool as well, I forgot about 'Oh Yeah' - you know, 'Oh yeah, she was taking me over, Oh yeah, it was the start of the summer.' Gets you all nostalgic for school, doesn't it?"
"Yep," I say, "that moment when, in the heat of July, the bell rings and everyone runs across the school field, seeking new adventures duirng that long, six week break."
"You mean snogging, don't you?" says Duggie.
"Yep," I say.
Duggie opens his flask of tea and hands me a cup. It's weird the way he always uses a thermos, even at home. Says he can't be bothered to get up once he starts listening. What a pro!
"Reckon I'll be spinning this one again," says Duggie, "funny how that happens with music. I mean, '1977' has been sitting up there for years."
"It's a continual renewal," I say, "record collections. Something just sparks off an urge to play an obscure record and one thing leads to another."
"You gotta play the whole record though, haven't you?" says Duggie.
"Too right, none of this Mp3 skipping around," I say.
I mean, we've both got iPods, you know. It's just that's not proper listening. It's like when you had your tape on a Walkman. Something you'd recorded from an LP. You'd play it on the Walkman when you couldn't get to the family music centre to listen to it properly.
"Reckon we're becoming old farts?" says Duggie.
I take a bite of my pasty and chew, washing it down with a slurp of tea.
Round Duggie's house, is a little room with an orange leather sofa. It's stuffed with old pasty wrappers, bits of scrap paper, notebooks, newspapers and music.
Me and Duggie Chop sit in there sometimes to listen to records. By records I mean LPs. One of the walls is filled with a white Ikea ['Expedit'] shelving unit containing 1,000s of LPs, stacked in alphabetical order.
He's got a nice set up, Duggie: Rega turntable and Roksan [Kandy LIII] amplifier through some tiny Dali speakers [Lektor 1] placed on a shelf. "You should always overdrive your speakers," says Duggie, "first principle of setting up a hifi."
We decide to do an A-Z thing, listen to whatever turns up scanning from left to right on the shelf. Duggie hands me a Ginsters and I settle down into the sofa.
"Ash," says Duggie, "Haven't played that for ages." And he selects the black cover of '1977' from the shelf.
It's a gatefold cover with the image of a street scene and an upturned bin on the front. The image is placed sideways and printed twice. It's repeated on the back. You can tell the thing is designed for CD, the tracks are listed 1 - 12, no 'side 1', 'side 2' (luckily this is sorted in the gatefold - still numbered 1-12, but at least 'side 1' and 'side 2' are split).
Inside are shots of the band having a laugh in the studio and on tour, photographed next to signs that say things like: 'Domination - Teenage - Bi-sexual'. The band are either sticking their tongues out or holding bottles of booze.
"The LP's called '1977' cos that's when they were born, they were all about 19 when they recorded it," says Duggie, "precocious gits!"
"Didn't know you were into them," I say.
"I liked that 'Girl From Mars' track and 'Kung Fu' was pretty cool at the time, you know," says Duggie, "also it was on vinyl and dead cheap. Couldn't resist it."
On vinyl in 1996. Right in the middle of the time that record companies, shops and 'The Man' were trying to scrap vinyl in favour of an alternative new(ish) format: The CD. Or the SACD or some other nonsensical platform. Am I being cynical by imagining that this was a way to encourage music lovers to replace their entire collections with a new format - to buy the whole lot all over again? Plus invest in some pricey new equipment?
"Yeah, on vinyl," says Duggie, "it was like jumping in bed with your mates Mum, to buy LPs back them. It's kinda cool now."
Duggie takes a big chomp out of his chilli pasty and stares at the wall, thinking, "If I'd bought this record on CD, it'd be on a shelf now gathering dust, there'd be no reason to play it. It'd also seem alot more dated."
"I know what you mean," I say, "CDs are like commodities aren't they. Some crap you buy from Tescos."
And Duggie's nodding his head, no doubt just like thousands of other people who care about music are doing this very moment, as they have this same conversation.
"Ash wrote some bloody good tunes," says Duggie, "I like the way the album starts with that heavy metal thing. Side 2 is cool as well, I forgot about 'Oh Yeah' - you know, 'Oh yeah, she was taking me over, Oh yeah, it was the start of the summer.' Gets you all nostalgic for school, doesn't it?"
"Yep," I say, "that moment when, in the heat of July, the bell rings and everyone runs across the school field, seeking new adventures duirng that long, six week break."
"You mean snogging, don't you?" says Duggie.
"Yep," I say.
Duggie opens his flask of tea and hands me a cup. It's weird the way he always uses a thermos, even at home. Says he can't be bothered to get up once he starts listening. What a pro!
"Reckon I'll be spinning this one again," says Duggie, "funny how that happens with music. I mean, '1977' has been sitting up there for years."
"It's a continual renewal," I say, "record collections. Something just sparks off an urge to play an obscure record and one thing leads to another."
"You gotta play the whole record though, haven't you?" says Duggie.
"Too right, none of this Mp3 skipping around," I say.
I mean, we've both got iPods, you know. It's just that's not proper listening. It's like when you had your tape on a Walkman. Something you'd recorded from an LP. You'd play it on the Walkman when you couldn't get to the family music centre to listen to it properly.
"Reckon we're becoming old farts?" says Duggie.
I take a bite of my pasty and chew, washing it down with a slurp of tea.
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Arctic Monkeys - Humbug (2009)
(Let's scroll back a little, find out some more about Me and Duggie...)
[He's sitting by the edge of a canal. The canal is through a little gate at the end of Duggie's garden. It's 1974, Duggie's managed to sneak through the little gate at the end of the garden, and he's kneeling on the gravel path that runs alongside the canal, the sharp stones pressing into his knees as he's wearing short trousers. "Duggie! Hey, Duggie, I can see it!" It's Duggie's best mate sitting by his side, cross-legged. He's also managed to sneak out of his 'little gate', next door. "Don't shout, man," says Duggie, "you'll scare him off! He's biting." A teenage couple is approaching. The boy is wearing a fur coat, purple jeans with huge bell-bottoms and really bulbous green, red and purple patent leather shoes. The girl isn't really wearing much at all. Duggie remembers seeing shoes like that in Clark's, on the 'big boy' shelf when he and his mum went to get a pair of school shoes. "Hey Duggie," his mate says, "you see that band on Top of the Pops? I was dancing about, me sister was getting annoyed, she was watching it with her mates."
"What band?" says Duggie? "The song goes: 'Only you can, oh oh, oh oh, oh only you...' and the singer looks like that teacher at school, the hippy one." "That's your sister's mate Angie, isn't it," says Duggie, pointing at the teenage couple, "walking about with that bloke." "Yeah, I'm gonna hide, she'll tell me mum about me getting through the gate!" Duggie's mate gets up and turns to run back to his garden. His leg gets twisted in the fishing line and he splashes into the filthy canal water. Duggie's almost frozen to the spot. At least he would be if he hadn't kept hold of the fishing line and been pulled in after his friend. Angie's fella throws off his fur coat and jumps straight in as Me and Duggie thrash about in the water. It's like a live enactment of the 'Charlie Says...' public information films. And, just like those films, the boyfriend can't swim, either. So Angie kneels down and leans over the canal side, "Greg, hold on to my hand! Hold on to my hand!. Oh no! Duggie and Lorna's brother! Grab hold of Greg." She over balances and they're all in the water. None of them can swim. Now they're all thinking about the Rolf Harris public information film about learning to swim. It feels like they've been in the water for hours and hours. It's been less than a minute. Duggie's swallowed loads of water. He's coughing and it makes the whole thing sound so much worse.]
Duggie coughs and places the needle on the brand spanking new piece of vinyl that he's just bought: Arctic Monkeys, Humbug. Their latest album. Memories, man, thinks Duggie. That canal. Phew.
Funny buying the Arctic Monkeys. It's the only time Duggie ever feels the generation gap. Ok, it's standard pop-rock with modern cultural references, like every other piece of rock-pop, pop-rock ever recorded. But now he, Duggie, is a different generation. Is this for me? Why am I still listening to this kind of thing. Do these guys really want to speak to me? A forty-something year-old man?
It's a good record. They're trying to get somewhere, do something different. The Arctic Monkeys. Great name and they look cool. The cover of this LP is just a random picture, kind of anti-design. [Note: why did I use 'random' in that way? It's the word usage of a younger generation, man.]
I like the way they don't conform, the Arctic Monkeys. They're turning into rockers, long hair and all. And that's out, isn't it? Or is it in, now? Dunno.
[After the thrashing around, Duggie gets a nudge in the back and looks round. His friend is hanging onto him and Angie and Greg are holding each other to keep afloat. The nudge is from a blue and orange inflatable dinghy. There's a copper on board, helmet and all. "Grab hold of the rope," says the PC, "and haul yourselves aboard." In fact, it's not him speaking, it's a man, standing on the gravel path, holding a loud hailer. They all try to do what they are told. As they scramble aboard, the weight of five people and waterlogged bell-bottom trousers has forced the dinghy down into the water, which laps over the side. The boat capsizes and they all end up in the canal. The thing that always sticks in Duggie's mind is the final image he had before falling in. Michael Crawford's face. He didn't imagine it, he was the man shouting though the loud hailer. He was wearing his Frank Spencer tank top and everything. Turns out they'd been filming some location shots for the sit-com 'Some Mother's Do 'Ave 'Em' when the director heard the commotion. Michael eventually held out a boom mic as a kind of life-line.]
Sort of passed me by, 'Humbug', on the first listen. I kept getting flashbacks to the canal thing and being 'saved' by Michael Crawford. It was great, really. He invited us all to a studio recording of 'Some Mother's Do 'Ave 'Em', the one where Frank falls through the ceiling. He really did do his own stunts.
But, got into the record, by listening to it constantly on me iPod. How did I get an LP on the iPod? Simple, they gave away free Mp3 downloads on a card inside. Great idea.
Right. off now, Kojak's on ITV3.
Duggie.
[He's sitting by the edge of a canal. The canal is through a little gate at the end of Duggie's garden. It's 1974, Duggie's managed to sneak through the little gate at the end of the garden, and he's kneeling on the gravel path that runs alongside the canal, the sharp stones pressing into his knees as he's wearing short trousers. "Duggie! Hey, Duggie, I can see it!" It's Duggie's best mate sitting by his side, cross-legged. He's also managed to sneak out of his 'little gate', next door. "Don't shout, man," says Duggie, "you'll scare him off! He's biting." A teenage couple is approaching. The boy is wearing a fur coat, purple jeans with huge bell-bottoms and really bulbous green, red and purple patent leather shoes. The girl isn't really wearing much at all. Duggie remembers seeing shoes like that in Clark's, on the 'big boy' shelf when he and his mum went to get a pair of school shoes. "Hey Duggie," his mate says, "you see that band on Top of the Pops? I was dancing about, me sister was getting annoyed, she was watching it with her mates."
"What band?" says Duggie? "The song goes: 'Only you can, oh oh, oh oh, oh only you...' and the singer looks like that teacher at school, the hippy one." "That's your sister's mate Angie, isn't it," says Duggie, pointing at the teenage couple, "walking about with that bloke." "Yeah, I'm gonna hide, she'll tell me mum about me getting through the gate!" Duggie's mate gets up and turns to run back to his garden. His leg gets twisted in the fishing line and he splashes into the filthy canal water. Duggie's almost frozen to the spot. At least he would be if he hadn't kept hold of the fishing line and been pulled in after his friend. Angie's fella throws off his fur coat and jumps straight in as Me and Duggie thrash about in the water. It's like a live enactment of the 'Charlie Says...' public information films. And, just like those films, the boyfriend can't swim, either. So Angie kneels down and leans over the canal side, "Greg, hold on to my hand! Hold on to my hand!. Oh no! Duggie and Lorna's brother! Grab hold of Greg." She over balances and they're all in the water. None of them can swim. Now they're all thinking about the Rolf Harris public information film about learning to swim. It feels like they've been in the water for hours and hours. It's been less than a minute. Duggie's swallowed loads of water. He's coughing and it makes the whole thing sound so much worse.]
Duggie coughs and places the needle on the brand spanking new piece of vinyl that he's just bought: Arctic Monkeys, Humbug. Their latest album. Memories, man, thinks Duggie. That canal. Phew.
Funny buying the Arctic Monkeys. It's the only time Duggie ever feels the generation gap. Ok, it's standard pop-rock with modern cultural references, like every other piece of rock-pop, pop-rock ever recorded. But now he, Duggie, is a different generation. Is this for me? Why am I still listening to this kind of thing. Do these guys really want to speak to me? A forty-something year-old man?
It's a good record. They're trying to get somewhere, do something different. The Arctic Monkeys. Great name and they look cool. The cover of this LP is just a random picture, kind of anti-design. [Note: why did I use 'random' in that way? It's the word usage of a younger generation, man.]
I like the way they don't conform, the Arctic Monkeys. They're turning into rockers, long hair and all. And that's out, isn't it? Or is it in, now? Dunno.
[After the thrashing around, Duggie gets a nudge in the back and looks round. His friend is hanging onto him and Angie and Greg are holding each other to keep afloat. The nudge is from a blue and orange inflatable dinghy. There's a copper on board, helmet and all. "Grab hold of the rope," says the PC, "and haul yourselves aboard." In fact, it's not him speaking, it's a man, standing on the gravel path, holding a loud hailer. They all try to do what they are told. As they scramble aboard, the weight of five people and waterlogged bell-bottom trousers has forced the dinghy down into the water, which laps over the side. The boat capsizes and they all end up in the canal. The thing that always sticks in Duggie's mind is the final image he had before falling in. Michael Crawford's face. He didn't imagine it, he was the man shouting though the loud hailer. He was wearing his Frank Spencer tank top and everything. Turns out they'd been filming some location shots for the sit-com 'Some Mother's Do 'Ave 'Em' when the director heard the commotion. Michael eventually held out a boom mic as a kind of life-line.]
Sort of passed me by, 'Humbug', on the first listen. I kept getting flashbacks to the canal thing and being 'saved' by Michael Crawford. It was great, really. He invited us all to a studio recording of 'Some Mother's Do 'Ave 'Em', the one where Frank falls through the ceiling. He really did do his own stunts.
But, got into the record, by listening to it constantly on me iPod. How did I get an LP on the iPod? Simple, they gave away free Mp3 downloads on a card inside. Great idea.
Right. off now, Kojak's on ITV3.
Duggie.
Friday, 20 November 2009
Me and Marc Almond
[It's dawn. One week later. Me and Duggie Chop are back by the river.
Our bikes are next to us, laying in the tufty grass and Duggie is attempting to light a camping stove in the wind. He fancies frying up some sausages.]
"I'm not sure about the bangers, Duggie," I say, "they'll just attract stray dogs, like that Irish Wolfhound who came over a couple of years ago, when you were trying to cook up some chicken soup, remember?"
"Yeah," says Duggie, "Janine gave me 'River Cottage Cookbook' for Christmas."
"And you spent months experimenting on the camping stove," I say.
"And that Wolfhound came over and gobbled up me fish!"
[Duggie remembers the day well, it was about the only time we'd caught any fish worth eating.]
But he gets the bangers on anyway, and as they start to fizz and pop, I notice someone with a familiar face walking by.
[And you know that feeling when you see someone who you think you know, but you're not quite sure what part of your life they come from. Well, I had that feeling, then.]
"Hi," I say, waving.
The man stops and lifts his hand and starts to walk over.
He's dressed in tight black clothing, and although he has a clear and blemish-free complexion, he could easily be 50. He's got the tattoo of a bird on his neck.
My word, it's Marc Almond!
Duggie's busy flipping his porkers and doesn't notice.
"Doing a bit of fishing, eh?" says Marc.
"Yes," I say, "I'm sorry for waving and calling out, I thought I knew you."
"I'd like to say it happens all the time but, you know, that moment passed ages ago! Ha!" says Marc, flicking his head towards the river or the distance or somewhere.
[And when I'm in this kind of situation, my brain freezes. I know Marc Almond's music pretty well.]
"In fact I was only listening to 'Jacques' the other day," I say.
[Was that a thought inside my head or did I just say it?]
"Jacques?" says Marc, "oh my, that was a labour of love. I'd been on a roll, you know with the Gene Pitney stuff and all..."
"Something's gotten hold of my heart!" I sing, badly. [loving music doesn't always mean you can sing in tune.]
"...yes," says Marc, rather politely, I think, "when you have a bit of success, they kind of believe in you. At least for 5 minutes. It doesn't last."
"I loved 'The Lockman' (L'Eclusier) and The Bulls (Les Toros), was fantastic. As good as Scott Walker did Brel to my ears."
"Thanks," says Marc. "You know, someone came up to me once and thought that 'Les Toros' was the guy who wrote it, wanted to know where to get more of his stuff. Can you believe it?"
I nod, just like a fill-in shot from a TV news interview. And it feels like that, too.
"The record came together over a period of a couple of years, and what a time that was. The '80s. Such freedom!"
Marc's shaking his head. He looks sad, all of a sudden.
"You ok?" I say.
"It's just the passing of time. Oh, you know. I'm on my way to the 'Torpid Emancipator'. I've not been there for years. Bet it's all video games and t-shirts now. Amazing it hasn't closed down."
I can't quite believe that Marc Almond is a regular at the 'Torpid Emancipator': record shop, studio and way of life.
And, he explains: "I used to record backing vocals there and I'm doing some today, for an album of George Michael covers. It's renowned for backing vocals, you know, 'the Torpid one'" says Marc.
"Yes, Me and Duggie - Duggie Chop over there frying-up some sausages - we used to go down there all the time. Then we hit our 40s and..."
"Don't go there, love, I know only too well," he says, getting up to go.
"Why don't you stay and have a banger?" I say, "Duggie will have done more than enough, eyes bigger than his belly that boy."
"Oh no," says Marc, rolling his eyes to the clouds, "I'm a vegan. Didn't you know!"
And he leaves, saying: "Look out for the new CD, it'll be ready for the summer." He disappears rapidly, enveloped in smoke and fumes from Duggie's friying bangers.
Duggie yawns and says: "The thing about this flamin' camping stove, is it takes so long to cook anything on it. Do you think they're still pink?"
"I was just talking to Marc Almond," I say, "He was just passing by on his way to record some backing vox at 'the Torpid one,'" I say.
"What are you on about?"
"Marc Almond," I say.
"I know what you said, but I don't know what you're on about," says Duggie.
He looks thoughtful and says: "All I remember about Marc Almond, apart from 'Soft Cell' and 'Tainted Love', was when we were students."
He stabs a fork in a banger, the fat spurts out, he continues: "You were running around our flat in your underpants, with the sleeve from 'The Stars We Are" on your head, like a dunce's hat."
"The Stars We Are?" I say.
"Yeah, the one with Gene Pitney on it," says Duggie and chomps on a sausage, burning his tongue in the process."
"You doing any onions to go with them?" I say.
Our bikes are next to us, laying in the tufty grass and Duggie is attempting to light a camping stove in the wind. He fancies frying up some sausages.]
"I'm not sure about the bangers, Duggie," I say, "they'll just attract stray dogs, like that Irish Wolfhound who came over a couple of years ago, when you were trying to cook up some chicken soup, remember?"
"Yeah," says Duggie, "Janine gave me 'River Cottage Cookbook' for Christmas."
"And you spent months experimenting on the camping stove," I say.
"And that Wolfhound came over and gobbled up me fish!"
[Duggie remembers the day well, it was about the only time we'd caught any fish worth eating.]
But he gets the bangers on anyway, and as they start to fizz and pop, I notice someone with a familiar face walking by.
[And you know that feeling when you see someone who you think you know, but you're not quite sure what part of your life they come from. Well, I had that feeling, then.]
"Hi," I say, waving.
The man stops and lifts his hand and starts to walk over.
He's dressed in tight black clothing, and although he has a clear and blemish-free complexion, he could easily be 50. He's got the tattoo of a bird on his neck.
My word, it's Marc Almond!
Duggie's busy flipping his porkers and doesn't notice.
"Doing a bit of fishing, eh?" says Marc.
"Yes," I say, "I'm sorry for waving and calling out, I thought I knew you."
"I'd like to say it happens all the time but, you know, that moment passed ages ago! Ha!" says Marc, flicking his head towards the river or the distance or somewhere.
[And when I'm in this kind of situation, my brain freezes. I know Marc Almond's music pretty well.]
"In fact I was only listening to 'Jacques' the other day," I say.
[Was that a thought inside my head or did I just say it?]
"Jacques?" says Marc, "oh my, that was a labour of love. I'd been on a roll, you know with the Gene Pitney stuff and all..."
"Something's gotten hold of my heart!" I sing, badly. [loving music doesn't always mean you can sing in tune.]
"...yes," says Marc, rather politely, I think, "when you have a bit of success, they kind of believe in you. At least for 5 minutes. It doesn't last."
"I loved 'The Lockman' (L'Eclusier) and The Bulls (Les Toros), was fantastic. As good as Scott Walker did Brel to my ears."
"Thanks," says Marc. "You know, someone came up to me once and thought that 'Les Toros' was the guy who wrote it, wanted to know where to get more of his stuff. Can you believe it?"
I nod, just like a fill-in shot from a TV news interview. And it feels like that, too.
"The record came together over a period of a couple of years, and what a time that was. The '80s. Such freedom!"
Marc's shaking his head. He looks sad, all of a sudden.
"You ok?" I say.
"It's just the passing of time. Oh, you know. I'm on my way to the 'Torpid Emancipator'. I've not been there for years. Bet it's all video games and t-shirts now. Amazing it hasn't closed down."
I can't quite believe that Marc Almond is a regular at the 'Torpid Emancipator': record shop, studio and way of life.
And, he explains: "I used to record backing vocals there and I'm doing some today, for an album of George Michael covers. It's renowned for backing vocals, you know, 'the Torpid one'" says Marc.
"Yes, Me and Duggie - Duggie Chop over there frying-up some sausages - we used to go down there all the time. Then we hit our 40s and..."
"Don't go there, love, I know only too well," he says, getting up to go.
"Why don't you stay and have a banger?" I say, "Duggie will have done more than enough, eyes bigger than his belly that boy."
"Oh no," says Marc, rolling his eyes to the clouds, "I'm a vegan. Didn't you know!"
And he leaves, saying: "Look out for the new CD, it'll be ready for the summer." He disappears rapidly, enveloped in smoke and fumes from Duggie's friying bangers.
Duggie yawns and says: "The thing about this flamin' camping stove, is it takes so long to cook anything on it. Do you think they're still pink?"
"I was just talking to Marc Almond," I say, "He was just passing by on his way to record some backing vox at 'the Torpid one,'" I say.
"What are you on about?"
"Marc Almond," I say.
"I know what you said, but I don't know what you're on about," says Duggie.
He looks thoughtful and says: "All I remember about Marc Almond, apart from 'Soft Cell' and 'Tainted Love', was when we were students."
He stabs a fork in a banger, the fat spurts out, he continues: "You were running around our flat in your underpants, with the sleeve from 'The Stars We Are" on your head, like a dunce's hat."
"The Stars We Are?" I say.
"Yeah, the one with Gene Pitney on it," says Duggie and chomps on a sausage, burning his tongue in the process."
"You doing any onions to go with them?" I say.
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
Tubular Bells - Mike Oldfield (2009 mix version)
The twisted bell, floating in the sky.
[then Duggie notices that the bent bell, on the cover of the new CD, doesn't ring true]
Hang about...It's a little too perfect!
[he walks over to the second hand LP section, selects an original, 1973, vinyl copy]
As I thought, the bell on the old album cover is a real one, with sawn off ends. You can see the saw marks...
[anyone listening to Duggie's thoughts would wonder why he wasn't thinking about the music]
...sort of spoiled it for me, that has.
[But, Duggie does think about the significance of Tubular Bells in his life...]
Mike Oldfield called Tubular Bells 'Opus One' while he was sketching out ideas in an old notebook. When I got my first car in the mid-'80s, I called it 'Opus One' - stuck the letters at the top of the windscreen, behind a green sun-visor, where people used to put 'Kev (on one side, usually the driver's and Tracey on the other.
Spun round the streets, window wound down, Mike Oldfield's 'Opus One', Tubular Bells pouring out of the speakers...everyone else was listening to 'Living In A Box' and 'I Want Your Sex' on cassette single.
[and does think about the music, eventually]
I liked the way he played all the instruments and was only about 17 when he started writing it.
I also liked Viv Stanshall introducing all the instruments, "Grand Piano" blah, blah, blah "And, Tubular...Bells!"
And the fact that his sister Sally was on vocals in the background. Had a thing about Sally, she reminded me of one of my teachers when I was about 5. A bit of a hippy. Had that minor hit with 'Mirrors' (1978). I remember buying the single as an 'ex-jukebox' single from the newsagent on the corner after seeing it on Top of the Pops a few months earlier.
Oh yeah, of course, being a teenage boy, I liked the bit at the start that they used for the banned - and most scary horror film of the era - "The Exorcist".
Then on Side Two you've got the floaty bit with mandolins and acoustic guitars, that you'd try and play along to on your own guitar, and it'd sound alright until you turned the music down and realised that what you were playing wasn't actually making any sound - just a click on the fretboard - because you didn't actually know what to play.
Then you've got a wind instrument bit, with a bit of finger-picking in the background and the girlie chorus (it's actually called that in a real touch of 1973 terminology).
And after that, a few drum rolls and a chugging riff and the 'Piltdown Man' starts growling, and it all goes rocky and then goes spacy, like the guitars are emulating seagulls flying and a church organ comes in. It ends in the cool arrangement of the sailor's hornpipe, getting faster and faster. Another one to imagine you're playing along to, when you're not really.
I remember reading somewhere that Mike liked loads of bits of other people's music and wanted to make a whole record like that. For ages I was totally into that philosophy. I mean, back then, Mike Oldfield was a total role model for me: gazing through a rain smeared window on the cover of 'Ommadawn' with a messiah-like beard and whimsical expression, hands in his pockets standing on the beach on the cover of 'Incantations', no beard, but wearing a cool ear ring. Man, what more can I say?
[Before he knows it, Duggie's taken the triple CD to the counter - triple because it's the 'Deluxe Edition' complete with 2009 stereo mix, 5.1 surround sound mix, original 1973 mix and a DVD - and he's going to buy it, despite the bogus bell on the cover]
"£19.98, mate" says the guy behind the counter. "Oi, mate." [Duggie's still in a trance. Driving around in his Fiat 126, in the '80s, listening to Tubular Bells.]
"I'm sorry," Duggie tells the guy, shaking his head like a dog running out of the sea, "I was day dreaming, what am I doing with this?"
[Duggie examines the CD in his hand. Pauses. And takes it back to the shelf.]
[then Duggie notices that the bent bell, on the cover of the new CD, doesn't ring true]
Hang about...It's a little too perfect!
[he walks over to the second hand LP section, selects an original, 1973, vinyl copy]
As I thought, the bell on the old album cover is a real one, with sawn off ends. You can see the saw marks...
[anyone listening to Duggie's thoughts would wonder why he wasn't thinking about the music]
...sort of spoiled it for me, that has.
[But, Duggie does think about the significance of Tubular Bells in his life...]
Mike Oldfield called Tubular Bells 'Opus One' while he was sketching out ideas in an old notebook. When I got my first car in the mid-'80s, I called it 'Opus One' - stuck the letters at the top of the windscreen, behind a green sun-visor, where people used to put 'Kev (on one side, usually the driver's and Tracey on the other.
Spun round the streets, window wound down, Mike Oldfield's 'Opus One', Tubular Bells pouring out of the speakers...everyone else was listening to 'Living In A Box' and 'I Want Your Sex' on cassette single.
[and does think about the music, eventually]
I liked the way he played all the instruments and was only about 17 when he started writing it.
I also liked Viv Stanshall introducing all the instruments, "Grand Piano" blah, blah, blah "And, Tubular...Bells!"
And the fact that his sister Sally was on vocals in the background. Had a thing about Sally, she reminded me of one of my teachers when I was about 5. A bit of a hippy. Had that minor hit with 'Mirrors' (1978). I remember buying the single as an 'ex-jukebox' single from the newsagent on the corner after seeing it on Top of the Pops a few months earlier.
Oh yeah, of course, being a teenage boy, I liked the bit at the start that they used for the banned - and most scary horror film of the era - "The Exorcist".
Then on Side Two you've got the floaty bit with mandolins and acoustic guitars, that you'd try and play along to on your own guitar, and it'd sound alright until you turned the music down and realised that what you were playing wasn't actually making any sound - just a click on the fretboard - because you didn't actually know what to play.
Then you've got a wind instrument bit, with a bit of finger-picking in the background and the girlie chorus (it's actually called that in a real touch of 1973 terminology).
And after that, a few drum rolls and a chugging riff and the 'Piltdown Man' starts growling, and it all goes rocky and then goes spacy, like the guitars are emulating seagulls flying and a church organ comes in. It ends in the cool arrangement of the sailor's hornpipe, getting faster and faster. Another one to imagine you're playing along to, when you're not really.
I remember reading somewhere that Mike liked loads of bits of other people's music and wanted to make a whole record like that. For ages I was totally into that philosophy. I mean, back then, Mike Oldfield was a total role model for me: gazing through a rain smeared window on the cover of 'Ommadawn' with a messiah-like beard and whimsical expression, hands in his pockets standing on the beach on the cover of 'Incantations', no beard, but wearing a cool ear ring. Man, what more can I say?
[Before he knows it, Duggie's taken the triple CD to the counter - triple because it's the 'Deluxe Edition' complete with 2009 stereo mix, 5.1 surround sound mix, original 1973 mix and a DVD - and he's going to buy it, despite the bogus bell on the cover]
"£19.98, mate" says the guy behind the counter. "Oi, mate." [Duggie's still in a trance. Driving around in his Fiat 126, in the '80s, listening to Tubular Bells.]
"I'm sorry," Duggie tells the guy, shaking his head like a dog running out of the sea, "I was day dreaming, what am I doing with this?"
[Duggie examines the CD in his hand. Pauses. And takes it back to the shelf.]
Sunday, 15 November 2009
Welcome! Torpid Emancipator
So, me and Duggie leave the river bank for a while. When you start talking to sticklebacks, you know it's time for a break.
"Let's go down the Torpid one," says Duggie. For years, going to the 'Torpid one' was the default setting for what you did when you'd finished your homework, or wanted to hang-out with your mates, or split up with a girlfriend - or even when you just wanted to buy a record.
The 'Torpid Emancipator', best record shop in this, or any, town. But it's more than just a record shop. It's a way of life. It's got recording studios, a cafe, a musical instrument department. And it's totally independent.
Situated in a crumbling Victorian building, as ornate as a wedding cake with pastel stucco'd facade, shedding flakes of plaster like dandruff. As semi-derelict as an occupied squat, with an 'unsavoury' crowd [so says the local rag: The Bugle'] always in attendance.
In the '70s, the shop was home to the 'Sound of Torpidity', a local (and national) prog rock movement, featuring enduring festival rockers, like 'Hair Tom', all from around the local area.
Nowadays, Me and Duggie notice the age of the kids that hang around outside, as they've done for generations. It's like the cliche about coppers getting younger, "I mean, we never looked like that when we used to slope off school to listen to the charts come out were we? We were so mature," says Duggie, as we walk past a particularly callow youth blowing a pink bubble gum bubble, which snaps - pop! - in Duggie's ear.
Inside, racks of CDs have replaced the racks of Albums of our youth, and the growing video games area is slowly encroaching on the music area, taking away valuable floorspace. But the place is full of kids twanging guitars - or looking like they intend to twang guitars, one day. There's still an anything goes, bohemian, feel about the place - not that common in our town. Let's face it, the place is a flamin' sanctuary.
Not many women though, except hanging around the studios, although I did see Nels, the female bass player from Hair Tom, browsing through some second-hand LPs a few weeks ago.
One of the highlights of a visit to the Torpid Emancipator is meeting owner - and founder - Richard, Ricky, Fleese. Fleesey is an aging hippy in every sense of the word. Yet as sharp as a tack.
Reminds me of the time I visited Glastonbury [the town not the festival] and was taken by the new-age atmosphere, but couldn't get away from the fact that the place was occupied by hippies with cash registers.
That's Fleesey - a hippy with a cash register. total entrepreneur, he created the vibe that made and still makes the crumbling glory of the Torpid one, THE place to be. And he seems to be able to float through the generations like a hippified Muhammed Ali skipping round the ring. More about him later.
"Hey," says Duggie, selecting a chunky looking CD package from the shelf, " 'Tubular Bells', Mike Oldfield. There's 3 CDs in here, 2009 remixes and that."
Me and Duggie used to listen to 'Tubular Bells' on tape in Duggie's first car, a clapped out Fiat 126. [Analogue Tapeheads Fact: 'Tubular Bells' didn't fit on one side of a C90, so there was an annoying break near the end - or you had loads of hissing 'silent' tape at the end of each side of a C60] We could hardly hear it above the din of the tiny 600cc engine clattering away.
I think I sense a Duggie 'post' coming up, he's got that nostalgic look in his eyes.
"Let's go down the Torpid one," says Duggie. For years, going to the 'Torpid one' was the default setting for what you did when you'd finished your homework, or wanted to hang-out with your mates, or split up with a girlfriend - or even when you just wanted to buy a record.
The 'Torpid Emancipator', best record shop in this, or any, town. But it's more than just a record shop. It's a way of life. It's got recording studios, a cafe, a musical instrument department. And it's totally independent.
Situated in a crumbling Victorian building, as ornate as a wedding cake with pastel stucco'd facade, shedding flakes of plaster like dandruff. As semi-derelict as an occupied squat, with an 'unsavoury' crowd [so says the local rag: The Bugle'] always in attendance.
In the '70s, the shop was home to the 'Sound of Torpidity', a local (and national) prog rock movement, featuring enduring festival rockers, like 'Hair Tom', all from around the local area.
Nowadays, Me and Duggie notice the age of the kids that hang around outside, as they've done for generations. It's like the cliche about coppers getting younger, "I mean, we never looked like that when we used to slope off school to listen to the charts come out were we? We were so mature," says Duggie, as we walk past a particularly callow youth blowing a pink bubble gum bubble, which snaps - pop! - in Duggie's ear.
Inside, racks of CDs have replaced the racks of Albums of our youth, and the growing video games area is slowly encroaching on the music area, taking away valuable floorspace. But the place is full of kids twanging guitars - or looking like they intend to twang guitars, one day. There's still an anything goes, bohemian, feel about the place - not that common in our town. Let's face it, the place is a flamin' sanctuary.
Not many women though, except hanging around the studios, although I did see Nels, the female bass player from Hair Tom, browsing through some second-hand LPs a few weeks ago.
One of the highlights of a visit to the Torpid Emancipator is meeting owner - and founder - Richard, Ricky, Fleese. Fleesey is an aging hippy in every sense of the word. Yet as sharp as a tack.
Reminds me of the time I visited Glastonbury [the town not the festival] and was taken by the new-age atmosphere, but couldn't get away from the fact that the place was occupied by hippies with cash registers.
That's Fleesey - a hippy with a cash register. total entrepreneur, he created the vibe that made and still makes the crumbling glory of the Torpid one, THE place to be. And he seems to be able to float through the generations like a hippified Muhammed Ali skipping round the ring. More about him later.
"Hey," says Duggie, selecting a chunky looking CD package from the shelf, " 'Tubular Bells', Mike Oldfield. There's 3 CDs in here, 2009 remixes and that."
Me and Duggie used to listen to 'Tubular Bells' on tape in Duggie's first car, a clapped out Fiat 126. [Analogue Tapeheads Fact: 'Tubular Bells' didn't fit on one side of a C90, so there was an annoying break near the end - or you had loads of hissing 'silent' tape at the end of each side of a C60] We could hardly hear it above the din of the tiny 600cc engine clattering away.
I think I sense a Duggie 'post' coming up, he's got that nostalgic look in his eyes.
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