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The thought of the Nineteen Eighties usually evokes in me a depressed sort of feeling. It all seemed so dismal. The years 1980 to 1989 covered the latter half of my childhood which, as an experience ranged from being a bit boring at times to absolutely bloody fantastic at others. So I don't know why I should be so generally down on the Eighties.
Anyway, I will admit that of all the decades that we so arbitrarily clump music together in the Eighties were great for innovation and weirdness. Looking it up (and to prove the arbitrary point) I see that the track below was actually released in 1979. But it is so not Seventies. The bouncy, squiggly sounds in this made me think of the Vince Clark remix of WFL. But, listening again to WFL, it seems incredibly sluggish in comparison.
M Pop Muzik
Reading them now I realise that I received some, if not most, of my moral education from the teachings of Roger Hargreaves. I retain some affection for the hapless Mr Bump but I think the two stories that still really stand up are Mr Greedy and Mr Nosey.
As you may remember Mr Nosey's neighbours, tired of his peeking and prying, devise a simple enough course of aversion therapy. The punishments meted out to the offending nose escalate in severity and it comes as a relief that he has learned his lesson before Mr Herd (the farmer) is called upon to bring his saw down on the nose, in a scene that would probably have been too horrific for the book.
Mr Greedy features some very fine language, the similes used to describe the giant's furniture for instance and the line, "laughed a laugh as loud as thunder" I always feel would have gone down well with an Anglo-Saxon audience. On balance I think I probably prefer Mr Greedy, possibly as I identify more with his particular failing than Mr Nosey's.
On holiday once I remember my dad (an irrepressible bibliophile) pointing out a house, and telling me that it was the home of Roger Hargreaves, author of the Mr Men books. Aged ten or so, I was too cool to care by then.
Sort of on topic, I had a teacher called Mr Mann. He was a nice bloke, probably not far off retirement. He endured me for A level Early Modern History. He clearly knew the period inside out and he was one of those teachers who could, with a disingenuous question, be induced into veering off on wide ranging and lengthy monologues, which often had little to do with the Holy Roman Empire, Ignatius Loyola or Zwingli etc. I found his lessons quite relaxing but I remember the shock I felt once when one of his extended digressions ended with the words, "...and that is why Adolf Hitler will be burning in Hell." I hadn't really been paying attention, I can only think he'd started off somewhere with Martin Luther.
I have, so far, been unable to get into Felt and to be honest I have my doubts as to whether it's ever going to happen. The main stumbling block being that Lawrence, to borrow John Squire's immortal phrase, just strikes me as a tuneless knob. Why do I care? Well I don't really, I promise it's not simply a case of wanting to tick off a classic indie band, but instead a feeling that so many people rate them that it nags away at me that there must be something I'm missing.
Strangely though I do very much like Denim. I think it might be that there's less of a contrast between the music and the vocals. Or maybe a more detectable sense of humour? I dunno. Anyway, here's the track, chosen because I like it and also to fulfill a weird little post title conceit I came up with ages ago, which would have worked better had I carried it out in its entirety back then.
Denim Middle Of The Road
As I was not out last night and not making a right tit of myself, there isn't quite the same impetus for New Years resolutions as usual. This year I think I'll probably make do with the perennial: To be a mensch.
Last year I made at least three resolutions, but such was my dedication and determination I can't even remember what two of them were. The one I do remember was: To read the Canterbury Tales. And do you know what? I did. Well, several bits of it anyway. Far more important than having read the whole thing is the fact that I've enjoyed very much what I've read so far. Which pretty much guarantees I'll polish it off at some point.
While I was reading it I remembered that I had a recording of some of it (in Middle English). So I gave it a spin, it's great. It reminded me strongly of the talking bits in Ogden's Nut Gone Flake. I suppose if this was any kind of a proper MP3 blog I'd give you a blast, with a snippet of ONGF for comparison. I might get round to it. I've got to do some ripping for one of the round the world posts.
My car's mileometer tripped over 100,000 miles last night. Obviously I'd known this moment was on the way, and given the time of year I had thought we'd be on a longish journey somewhere and had visions of pulling over for a celebratory snack or cup of coffee, maybe treat the car to a premium car wash or something. As it was I was just returning from the supermarket fairly late on, in response to an urgent hankering for some enchiladas.
This arrived today, it's Trevor Henderson's depiction of Major Tom's probable fate. Think I might get it framed for Christmas. After death by quicksand death by shattered spacesuit visor was probably that which most preoccupied my morbid nine year old mind. Looking it up, outer space isn't actually that bad for you. It's the lack of air mainly.
*Tortured by the thought of any passing Latinists: I realise that pace is not pronounced to rhyme with space, but it looks good.
Speleology - the scientific study of caves, from Greek Spelaion for cave. Spotted today in an interesting article about Caracalla's Baths in the Guardian. You'll pardon my ignorance, my Oxford book of Ologies & Isms leaps from spectr(o) to -sperm. Before today, if challenged to come up with a word for the study of caves, I'd probably have gone for Troglology.
I remember in 1988 or 89 making a very definite decision not to go along with some friends to a proper rave in a field somewhere. I wasn't into the clothes and it seemed ridiculous to me to pay £25 for a tab of ecstasy.
Round at their places though I never found it an unpleasant experience to listen to the tunes they were into. I was (and still am) an armchair enthusiast of house, techno etc. This track dates from 1991 and while I'm sure youngsters are at this very moment getting blissfully off their tits to no doubt excellent records I regard this kind of thing as the Motown of house music.
M & M Don't Stand In My Way
As reasonably serious Bob Dylan fans me and the missus scurried out to buy No Direction Home on the day it was released. It's a great film, I especially like the interview with Bob when he's rocking back and forth in his chair, physically and mentally on the very edge.
Of all the many songs featured in the film the one that most blew me away was Waterboy by Odetta, and I've been quietly on the look out for it ever since (about seven years, I was surprised to learn). During my quest I turned up many a disappointing version. However, yesterday I found the one true version - hiding on a Harry Belafonte live album.
Odetta Waterboy
Prompted by Rol's latest top ten, I was just going to leave a comment but it would have got too long. So, here we are.
1. Midnight Rambler
This is the only one that's going to get a numerical ranking. I can remember thinking, the first few times I heard it, that it was just a bit of a jumble. Then one listen it just clicked for me and has been my favourite Stones track ever since.
Picked for the sound of it all, lyrically it has its moments ("I'm just a shoot 'em dead brain bell jangler") but really - a song from the viewpoint of a rapist?
Jumpin' Jack Flash
Proves that lyrics can be dead simple and about anything, you've just got to think of them. Often I get bored of songs and cut them short to put the next one on, but I always listen to this one right to the end for the little organ bit. Also a candidate for best pop video ever.
Honky Tonk Women
Possibly the best intro of any of their songs. Like a lot of my choices here it pretty much comes down to the sound of the guitar. There's a bit in David Dalton's The Rolling Stones: The First Twenty-Five Years in which Keith reveals the tunings he used for Beggars Banquet and Let It Bleed. Very interesting stuff.
Parachute Woman
Very short, a sort of concentrated version of Midnight Rambler in a way (for if you're in a hurry). Most of the same ingredients: lolloping drumbeat, slide guitar, harmonica. I dunno what a parachute woman is, one especially dropped in for Mick? More talk of blowing.
Play With Fire
Such an immense sound. The b side to The Last Time but the better song I think. Features a harpsichord, which I'm sure I've said before is my favourite pop instrument. Is it misogynistic? I'm afraid it probably is.
Citadel
For the most part I'm an orthodox Stones fan, sticking to the run of albums Beggars Banquet to Exile On Main Street and I take the view that Their Satanic Majesties Request is a bit silly. It does have three good tunes on it though and this is the best of them. Weirdly good lyrics, uses the word pinnacles.
Turd On The Run
Exuberant whooping from Exile On Main Street.
Little Red Rooster
An early favourite. For the immaculate slide guitar and the tick of the drums. I like loads of their earlier things (Walking The Dog nearly made the list) and their big middle period hits (Ruby Tuesday, Get Off My Cloud etc.) but I've just listened most of them to death.
Under My Thumb
Except for this one. After harpsichords, marimbas may be my favourite pop instrument. Or anything that makes a chiming noise I suppose. I heard a live version of this on a documentary once, the delicate marimba riff had been replaced by a fairly crude guitar - sounded really good.
Monkey Man
More Let It Bleed era badness. For the intro, especially the bit where Keith doesn't play the guitar at about the 19 seconds mark. Excellent bassline.
