Like a record, baby

I completed the Andrew Marr book a week ago and have since started The Blair Years, Alastair Campbell’s diaries documenting New Labour’s journey from opposition to power. I must admit I’m appreciating a voyeuristic peek behind the scenes as a whole host of egos (Brown, Mandelson, Cook, Prescott etc.) clash and clash again. The energy of the first Labour administration is captured strongly, especially the relentless pace and ultra-delicate diplomacy required in seeking solutions in Northern Ireland. Blair cuts a fascinating figure, desperate to reach Number Ten and railing with impatience against any agency putting the quest for power at risk; in the early diaries this is mainly the old guard union leaders, later cabinet members with a tendency to produce unwelcome headlines (Clare Short is admonished on a seemingly weekly basis). I suppose this book’s main success is demonstrating just how difficult the job of Prime Minister is, an utterly tiring, some would say thankless, task. As one would expect, ‘spin’ plays a large part in this tome and, with massive decisions being made daily, the need to address how the various media will be briefed and manipulated is rarely far from the surface. I’m also enjoying the humanisation of key figures; Brown comes across as dark, moody and unpredictable, Clinton is ever charming, charismatic and inspirational and Blair flits between panic, vigour, relentless optimism and black humour almost hourly. I suppose my views on Campbell have changed having read his diaries. Yes, this is a cold, calculating operator, suffering not one fool but a more emotional, compassionate side is also manifest especially when dealing with friends, family and a political party he plainly loves. A fascinating read.

Vert Enough

The Green Man Festival is galloping up on the rails; there’s just over a fortnight to go and I’m excited and praying it stays dry. If the weather is like today’s – warm, dry and blue of sky – I’ll be very satisfied. I’m contemplating who I’m most keen on seeing. I would suggest The National is my ‘must-see’ and, indeed, the Sunday line-up looks rather tasty. Iron & Wine and Pentangle complete a hat trick of splendid acts but I’m also keen on Laura Marling and I’ve read such splendid things about Damien Jurado that I’ve snuck onto Amazon today and ordered two or three of his albums. That makes a hat trick plus two. On the Saturday, School of Language bring their off-kilter, angular art rock to Brecon. They precede legends Richard Thompson (I’m really keen to see him) and Super Furry Animals on the main stage. I’ll avoiding Lightspeed Champion like the proverbial plague and lamenting the clash of the Super Furries with Badly Drawn Boy who is strangely playing the tiny Green Man Café. Do you know, nothing stands out on the Friday yet? Spiritualized doesn’t inspire me too much and I don’t really know a great deal about King Creosote or Drive-by Truckers. Maybe I should just go with the flow.

...like your English

Strolling to our local park, the youngest Cole child and I witnessed a pigeon fly at a decent pace into the upstairs window of the house – a late 1950s three bedroomed semi – we were adjacent to. The foolish bird made a cracking thud against the glass but, despite appearing a touch dazed, was able to fly away merrily into the distance. The pair of us stood for a second or two, staring in vague disbelief at the aforementioned pane, when a gentleman appeared at it. He was stern of face and, in the absence of any other human or beast in the immediate vicinity, must have deduced that we were in some way to blame for the resounding crack on his glassy panel. We hurried on. It certainly felt wrong to tarry any longer.

Shell Of Light

The Klaxons, an act I regard as insignificant and humdrum, won the Mercury Music Prize last year and I lost some faith in an award I had grown to respect. Happily, my spirits have been raised this afternoon by a rather more consequential and interesting list of nominees for the 2008 gong. In my opinion, all bets are off; Radiohead and their sublime In Rainbows shall succeed at a canter. However, I’m thrilled that the mysterious and haunting Rachel Unthank and the Winterset’s The Bairns, the witty and catchy Stainless Style by Neon Neon, and the earnest and esoteric Do You Like Rock Music? by British Sea Power have found favour with the nominators. A couple more of my favourite recordings are mentioned too. Robert Plant and Alison Krauss’s Raising Sand is a very special collection of songs while Burial’s dark and menacing soundscapes on Untrue are worthy of inclusion. I’d be more than happy for any of the long players I’ve noted to take the prize but, to counteract last year’s unimaginative and mainstream choice, I would be most satisfied if that Burial fellow triumphed.

Roy

Summer may be here and the time may be right for dancin’ in the streets but, for the time being, I’ve kept a lowish profile; a nasty sore throat, now abating, and migraine hostility have left me wan and delicate.

I’m coming to the end of my Andrew Marr tome, A History of Modern Britain. Out of 600 pages, I note that over one hundred feature the Blair years and I’m ploughing through those now. The Twin Towers have just been attacked and it’s all about to kick off ‘big style’ in Afghanistan. Marr’s appraisal of the Thatcher years has proved interesting; I have ‘views’ on the woman but it was refreshing to read deeper into events such as the Falklands Conflict and the mining strike. The one figure that has truly fascinated me from reading this book is Roy Jenkins. I never knew he was such a liberal Home Secretary in the 1960s, introducing far-reaching legislation and reform on divorce, abortion, homosexual rights and capital and corporal punishment. Beyond this, of course, Jenkins enjoyed tenures as Chancellor, founder and leader of the SDP and President of the EC and must be regarded as one of the most important post-war figures. I’m keen to learn more about him.

Strange Town

Relief washes o’er me with the realisation that a brace of Calmer* shows has been announced. These are always unusual events and the hepcats that a-gather in the spa town to a-seek musical treats do so with the proviso that they should always ‘expect the unexpected’. The second Calmer* features Martin Stephenson who will surely take no prisoners in the compact and bijou Slak Bar with his energetic guitaring style, ebullient banter and accomplished songsmithery. I look forward to these evenings.

Life's a highway

Did the pop world really need a concept album about American automobile engineer and executive, John DeLorean? I insist it did, for Neon Neon’s Stainless Style is one of this year’s most enchanting and hypnotically enjoyable treats. Neon Neon is a collaboration between Animal (Super and Furry variety) and pop prankster Gruff Rhys and producer, ahem, Boom Bip. There is a splendid Eighties charm to this long player, catchy and simple electronic beats forming the backdrop to melodic gems and witty numbers that tell of DeLorean’s personal and business life. It’s an unusual recording really but tremendously pleasing; both groovy and quaintly humorous, Stainless Style is an album this rather damp summer was waiting for.

Looking for a ride to your secret location...

This site is jolly. Muxtape makes me feel youthful again, returning me to the days when, time on my hands, I would construct compilation tapes for the entertainment of myself and of others. I was a notoriously poor taper and many of my chosen tracks had either the beginning or end missing; controlling ‘pause’, ‘record’ and ‘play’ proved consistently troublesome for my wandering mind and trembling digits. Quaintly, S and I used to make a C90 tape to play on the way to festivals each year. I’d pitch up at his house with a bag full of records – or vice versa - and the rule was that we’d select alternate tracks until the blighter was full. These tapes were called ‘Oh You Have To Say That’s Remarkable!’ and they were true labours of love. Occasionally there was a touch of disquiet about a particular choice (I haven’t really forgiven S, over twenty years on, for insisting on One of These Days by Pink Floyd) but generally the selections were justly appreciated by all and sundry. Of the top of my head I can remember plenty of ‘Remarkable’ tracks: The Cross by Prince, Army Dreamers by Kate Bush, Tony’s Theme by The Pixies, World Shut Your Mouth by Julian Cope, Teenage Riot ( or was it (I Got a) Catholic Block?) by Sonic Youth, The Whole of the Moon by The Waterboys and, blimey, Beat Dis by Bomb the Bass.

Anyhow, you can make 12 track digital ‘tapes’ on muxtape and my effort is here. Click on a track to play it and the rest will follow automatically. It was a lot of fun but tricky keeping the number down to the required dozen. I originally selected both Battered Old Bird by Elvis Costello and Reggae Sounds by Linton Kwesi Johnson but ending up deleting them although I can’t really explain why.

Reunion Wilderness

I won’t linger long on Glastonbury lest I be dubbed a bore. However, I welcomed veteran journalist and Guardian columnist Alexander Chancellor’s wry words about his visit to the festival site and I find myself agreeing with plenty of his views. He is correct about the lavatories which require much mental courage to enter and his observation regarding the sheer volume of litter that is merrily cast away onto the ground is spot on. I find myself concurring with the fellow most heartily when he mentions just how friendly everybody is. Although a shy fellow at heart, as the years advance I quite appreciate making small talk with like-minded (and that’s extremely important) strangers and as there were plenty of them wondering around Pilton I managed several rather decent chats wi’ gentlefolk. Queuing up to enter the site, tents in paw, it was engaging to witness a definite abundance of patience among the punters near me, allowing opportunities for chummy ‘Where have you come from?’ and ‘Who are you keen to see?’ exchanges. I enjoyed a smashing conversation with a pair of young hipsters from Derby after Edwyn Collins and before John Cale, despite a twenty year age gap; we debated the current fad for gigs where an artist plays a classic album in its entirety, analysed the Velvet Underground back catalogue and they suggested (for my benefit) the best starting point for someone wanting to check out Nico’s back catalogue.

I’m happy to report a couple of really pleasing meets that took place last weekend. I hadn’t seen my old Sheffield student mucker T for 16 years or so and it proved hearty to catch up with the chap. He was playing tuba with no little gusto for festival stalwarts Carnival Collective and we sat outside the Leftfield Stage after the group’s opening set and merrily conversed and caught up. The meeting was recorded for posterity by a jovial man from, I believe, the Merseyside region who produced the above snap at my behest. I include a ‘compare and contrast’ picture from 1990 for interest and to indicate that time has been much, much kinder to my Brighton-based comrade. By huge coincidence, another dude from my degree course was spotted later that day. I perceived the witty yet warm-hearted A pass me by and I hallooed a halloo to initiate a welcome reunion. Sickeningly, this character has hardly aged either; there must be plenty of portraits in attics up and down the country. The Barnsley balladeer was performing at the festival too and his remarkable antics are announced here. I salute them both.