Four darkly funny scenes from the sit-com Svengali... hapless band manager Dixie punting his new act The Premature Congratulations (Happy Mondays for the 20th century) hooks up with old friend from the Welsh valleys who has now 'made it' in the music biz (and left his past behind... some how Dixie's world accidently collides into some familiar faces of pop as the story of his search for a record deal unfolds
episode (1) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-b1ZuLwYGs
episode (2) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hT9bumvQvN8
episode (3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2G1fWap1drY
episode (4) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sG7A0ubEsYM
Monday, 4 May 2009
Sunday, 4 January 2009
Tapestry New Years Eve Party - Jim Jones Revue / Sabretooth Tiger Band
Belated, but not forgotten thoughts on new years eve at London's best night time happening Tapestry.
Firstly, not been to St Aloysius Social Club for a long time - I'm more loyal to the Tapestry Goes West Festival, it's summer spin off - and boy is it good for the wallet and the staff are all great too! Who says central London can't be an affordable night out - even on NYE.
First up is Sabretooth Tiger Band. London's newest powerpop rock four piece comprising of a hybrid of: two parts ex-Tokyo Dragons and two parts ex-Do Me Bad Things. Only tonight, they're a: 'power trio', to quote lead singer/guitarist Steve Lomax as he gees up the audience with a yelp or two. Only their fourth gig to date and their second as a three, they rip through a set of glorious melodic tunes carved out of rock. A fast emerging favourite is their own 'Power of Love'. Feels so familiar... Cheap Trick teaching Hold Steady a thing two springs to mind. Consciously, The Raspberries, Turbonegro and Bob Seger influences litter their six song set - although their have been Kenny Loggins accusations flying about too - and world is a better place for hearing it. More please.
2009 is now very near as STTB pack up their gear and receive congratulations from people near the front.
Forgotten, groovy sounds of the sixties and seventies fill the room as the new year beckons Jim Jones Revue on to the stage. A countdown begins, party poppers get drowned out by the new wave of optimistic cheers and rock'n'roll is rebirthed by the precise, stripped down sound of JJR - Little Richard and The Stooges fighting for attention only begins to describes the noise they make. Drenched in sweat almost from the start (mocking the cold weather outside), the JJR set is relentless as the very basics of r'n'r are exposed as the only ingredients you need to make people dance. You dig it right away and the new year emotion is given a final soulful boost with the grinding, repeated guitar motif of their semi-epic 'Cement Mixer'.
Washed up and euphoric by the close of their set - plus many pints of the 'bow - the final lingering memory of a great night out was smiling at anyone and everyone dancing to the ridiculous proto-dance/rock of Hot Butter's Popcorn.
Result!
Firstly, not been to St Aloysius Social Club for a long time - I'm more loyal to the Tapestry Goes West Festival, it's summer spin off - and boy is it good for the wallet and the staff are all great too! Who says central London can't be an affordable night out - even on NYE.
First up is Sabretooth Tiger Band. London's newest powerpop rock four piece comprising of a hybrid of: two parts ex-Tokyo Dragons and two parts ex-Do Me Bad Things. Only tonight, they're a: 'power trio', to quote lead singer/guitarist Steve Lomax as he gees up the audience with a yelp or two. Only their fourth gig to date and their second as a three, they rip through a set of glorious melodic tunes carved out of rock. A fast emerging favourite is their own 'Power of Love'. Feels so familiar... Cheap Trick teaching Hold Steady a thing two springs to mind. Consciously, The Raspberries, Turbonegro and Bob Seger influences litter their six song set - although their have been Kenny Loggins accusations flying about too - and world is a better place for hearing it. More please.
2009 is now very near as STTB pack up their gear and receive congratulations from people near the front.
Forgotten, groovy sounds of the sixties and seventies fill the room as the new year beckons Jim Jones Revue on to the stage. A countdown begins, party poppers get drowned out by the new wave of optimistic cheers and rock'n'roll is rebirthed by the precise, stripped down sound of JJR - Little Richard and The Stooges fighting for attention only begins to describes the noise they make. Drenched in sweat almost from the start (mocking the cold weather outside), the JJR set is relentless as the very basics of r'n'r are exposed as the only ingredients you need to make people dance. You dig it right away and the new year emotion is given a final soulful boost with the grinding, repeated guitar motif of their semi-epic 'Cement Mixer'.
Washed up and euphoric by the close of their set - plus many pints of the 'bow - the final lingering memory of a great night out was smiling at anyone and everyone dancing to the ridiculous proto-dance/rock of Hot Butter's Popcorn.
Result!
Tuesday, 28 October 2008
the state of the world we increasingly live in
Sometimes you read something and you spend the entire duration shouting "yes!". I guess this is when a column is really doing it's job, articulating something which we poor mortals haven't manage to, or if we have, we've done it without the eloquence, or just without anyone listening. This article written by Charlie Brooker, is a piece from a journalist at the very top of his game;
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2008/oct/27/celebrity-television
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2008/oct/27/celebrity-television
Thursday, 18 September 2008
Stevie Smith - Not Waving But Drowning
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
In search of the uber-mod.
In my best Fred Perry and with my suit laid delicately on the back-seat, we set of for Germany and a mod experience. Having been at the Velvet & Silk weekender last year, I had a good idea what to expect from Krefeld, and it's annual mod get-together. The difference this year was that I would be doing a set for the faithful. Things got off to a predictable erratic start as half-an-hour into the journey I suddenly realised that I'd forgotten my records. We returned, and then proceeded to take a variety of wrong turns ( Sparky, the driver, must be the worst navigator in automobile history, I'm sure he won't mind my saying this as he's sensibly aware of his few failings).
Krefeld is big enough to keep one's interest over a weekend, and also small enough to be known completely after that weekend. The decision to go for one night instead of two now seemed like a good decision. We traipsed the streets with the assurance of locals. The cafe with the yellow canopy, the Irish bar that wasn't remotely Irish in any way, the scary bar with homage to the war, these were our footholds on this fair city. We had simple missions to complete, visit the nice squatters bar and eat at the mexican.
The Nice Sqatters Bar.
We managed to find the said bar, as we remembered it was in a more decrepit and for that reason more welcoming area of town.
Things were completely the same so we chose different seats from before to add to the excitement. We decided to sit outside. Despite the egotistical ramblings of the yank at the next table, the beer went down very well. During this time we kept noticing young mohicans leaving an adjacent street then returning with alcohol. We got up to investigate.
Turning the corner we came across a quite unexpected sight. A cul-de-sac with stalls on either side emblazoned with red flags and hammer and sickles. Further into the street was a small stage with a teenage punk band playing to a small enthusiastic crowd. This in a normal residential side-street seemed quite odd. Everybody that was there seemed very content and very open. A quite refreshing sight. Upon researching the various posters we saw on my return. I discovered that it was a mix of a neighbourhood anti-rascist demo and a celebration of 40 years of the German Communist Party (KPD). A party who's leader recently remarked how the Stasi are sadly missed and he wished for a return to the East German Republic. Still they know how to throw a party it seems.
The Mexican.
Somewhat of a disappointment was the Mexican restaurant. We recalled good food served by the most beautiful array of waitresses. Only to find that it was now run by an entirely male staff. The food was all right though.
We returned to our shabby hotel to find it over-ran by pubescent kids who felt the need to wrestle at every given opportunity. Watching them as they did this in the street, I couldn't help wonder was I ever like this? I fear not. Have I missed out on something, does this omission make me what I am? We began the ritual of dressing for the night. My mate went for a cool dark green suit with black polo shirt. I, my grey suit, pink Ben Sherman and, for a little excitement, a Tootle paisley cravat (oh how this caused ripples amongst the faithful!).
The actual night seems a bit of a blur to be honest. All the usual faces were present and correct, however I felt a little underwhelmed. Still can't put my finger on why, but there you go, these things happen. I played my set in quite a nervous state, it was dark up there so any thoughts of following my ingenious plan which I'd prepared the night before was impossible due to the lack of light. Still that was probably for the best, as I played a fresh selection of pretty sure-fire 45's, with 1-2-5 by The Haunted raising a faint cheer. It seemed to go down well, I say seemed, as the booth was unusually high, obscuring my view of the dance-floor. And then the memory of the rest of the night is lost to that old thief of memory that is alcohol.
In my best Fred Perry and with my suit laid delicately on the back-seat, we set of for Germany and a mod experience. Having been at the Velvet & Silk weekender last year, I had a good idea what to expect from Krefeld, and it's annual mod get-together. The difference this year was that I would be doing a set for the faithful. Things got off to a predictable erratic start as half-an-hour into the journey I suddenly realised that I'd forgotten my records. We returned, and then proceeded to take a variety of wrong turns ( Sparky, the driver, must be the worst navigator in automobile history, I'm sure he won't mind my saying this as he's sensibly aware of his few failings).
Krefeld is big enough to keep one's interest over a weekend, and also small enough to be known completely after that weekend. The decision to go for one night instead of two now seemed like a good decision. We traipsed the streets with the assurance of locals. The cafe with the yellow canopy, the Irish bar that wasn't remotely Irish in any way, the scary bar with homage to the war, these were our footholds on this fair city. We had simple missions to complete, visit the nice squatters bar and eat at the mexican.
The Nice Sqatters Bar.
We managed to find the said bar, as we remembered it was in a more decrepit and for that reason more welcoming area of town.
Things were completely the same so we chose different seats from before to add to the excitement. We decided to sit outside. Despite the egotistical ramblings of the yank at the next table, the beer went down very well. During this time we kept noticing young mohicans leaving an adjacent street then returning with alcohol. We got up to investigate.
Turning the corner we came across a quite unexpected sight. A cul-de-sac with stalls on either side emblazoned with red flags and hammer and sickles. Further into the street was a small stage with a teenage punk band playing to a small enthusiastic crowd. This in a normal residential side-street seemed quite odd. Everybody that was there seemed very content and very open. A quite refreshing sight. Upon researching the various posters we saw on my return. I discovered that it was a mix of a neighbourhood anti-rascist demo and a celebration of 40 years of the German Communist Party (KPD). A party who's leader recently remarked how the Stasi are sadly missed and he wished for a return to the East German Republic. Still they know how to throw a party it seems.
The Mexican.
Somewhat of a disappointment was the Mexican restaurant. We recalled good food served by the most beautiful array of waitresses. Only to find that it was now run by an entirely male staff. The food was all right though.
We returned to our shabby hotel to find it over-ran by pubescent kids who felt the need to wrestle at every given opportunity. Watching them as they did this in the street, I couldn't help wonder was I ever like this? I fear not. Have I missed out on something, does this omission make me what I am? We began the ritual of dressing for the night. My mate went for a cool dark green suit with black polo shirt. I, my grey suit, pink Ben Sherman and, for a little excitement, a Tootle paisley cravat (oh how this caused ripples amongst the faithful!).
The actual night seems a bit of a blur to be honest. All the usual faces were present and correct, however I felt a little underwhelmed. Still can't put my finger on why, but there you go, these things happen. I played my set in quite a nervous state, it was dark up there so any thoughts of following my ingenious plan which I'd prepared the night before was impossible due to the lack of light. Still that was probably for the best, as I played a fresh selection of pretty sure-fire 45's, with 1-2-5 by The Haunted raising a faint cheer. It seemed to go down well, I say seemed, as the booth was unusually high, obscuring my view of the dance-floor. And then the memory of the rest of the night is lost to that old thief of memory that is alcohol.
Sunday, 7 September 2008
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