The time has finally come and it really has
been a long time coming. While generations
are born, raise families, grow old and die, I
sit and wait for a single page to load on my
computer - and when it finally does, I pray
that it doesn't cause the hard-drive to crash into
blue screen mode. How the darned thing hasn't
been thrown out of the window at some point
in the past couple of years, I truly don't
know. So anyway, the short and long of it is
that after much emptying of pockets,
rummaging down the sides of sofas and raiding
of piggy-banks, I've ordered a new Dell
laptop, which should hopefully be arriving at
Swede Towers within the next 48 hours.
I mention all this to forewarn that normal
service might be even more sporadic than
usual while I familiarise myself with the
comparatively cutting edge technology that's
currently winging its way in my direction. If
I get a chance I'll schedule a couple of
posts to tide me over the bedding-in period,
though, as ever, time is tight at the mo'. Also, the endless waiting for, and re-booting of, this old steam driven computer is doing nothing for my stress levels.
In other news, I've nearly finished removing
the jewel-cases from all of my CD's (as
mentioned here). In the process of carrying
out this fingernail shredding task, I've
unearthed a veritable mountain of tunes that
I hope to share in the future. I've also
had bright ideas for a couple of potential
new features that may (or may not) crop up round these parts at some point. I haven't actually written anything down
yet though, so that's a worry - I might well
forget it all by tomorrow.
To commemorate the various changes currently
taking place in my part of the world, here are Sparks, with a favourite of mine from 1985.
This tribute to the great Shirley Collins
pulls no punches and leaves few stones
unturned - 3 CD's containing 45 tracks
stretching to just under 3½ hours of music.
It's a mighty undertaking. Does it overstay
its welcome, sag, drag or bore? No, no, no
and absolutely no. You've got traditional folk, you've got modern folk, you've got
freak folk and you've got interpretations of
songs that stray far outside any recognised
definition of the F-word. It's a marvellous,
lovingly curated set that I'm sure will
continue to reveal further treasures with
repeated plays. 'Shirley Inspired' was put
together, in part, to help fund a new
documentary film, 'The Ballad of Shirley
Collins' and I'm pleased to have played a tiny
part in such a worthwhile venture. Find out
more here.
There was a time when I would have bread with every
meal. Three pieces of toast for breakfast, a sandwich or two for lunch and a couple of slices of bread and butter to mop up my plate after dinner. Those days are long gone though,
along with the almost permanent bloated
feeling and a couple of Stone in weight.
These days, bread is more of an occasional treat, as it was a couple of days ago when Mrs S baked a scrumptious heavily seeded loaf. I had two slices, lightly toasted, topped with a big dollop of thick cut marmalade and washed down with freshly brewed black coffee (Guatemala El Libano Caturra, since you ask). Some things are just made to go together - toast, marmalade and black coffee are three of them.
This isn't actually Mrs S's loaf, but the resemblance is close enough to get my mouth watering.
This is The Geraldine Fibbers, fronted by the redoubtable Carla Bozulich. They were only around for a few years in the mid-1990's, but still managed to put out 2 excellent studio LP's, a live album plus a selection of singles, EP's and mini-albums.
If you know one song by The Geraldine Fibbers, it's probably 'Dragon Lady. The video is a little dated, but the tune still kicks it.
Saturday Scratch, an occasional series that
shines a light on a selection with a Lee
'Scratch' Perry connection.
Earlier this week, the venerable 1001 Songs
posted an utterly indispensable Augustus
Pablo classic, which I highly recommend that
you check out here - your week just isn't
complete without it. This got me rummaging
around for a choice Pablo cut to feature back here at my place. When it came down to it, one
tune stuck out above the rest, 'Vibrate Onn',
recorded with The Upsetters at the Black Ark
in the Summer of 1977. There are a number of
subtly different mixes available of this
dense, far-out piece of oddness, but this
particular uploader has kindly extended the blissful experience by appending the equally groovy
flipside, 'Dub Onn'.
A Dutch glam-rock-one-man-band anyone? Looking
like the lovechild of Alvin Stardust and
Catwoman, this is Pantherman, better known to
his Mum as Frank Klunhaar. In 1974 Klunhaar,
influenced by Roxy Music, Leo Sayer, Todd
Rundgren and Jobriath, wrote, recorded and released an eccentric self-titled single on Polydor in Holland. A second single, 'Panther Walk', was issued later in the year, followed by a third, 'One Man Band' in 1975. Unfortunately, chart success wasn't forthcoming and Klunhaar shelved the Pantherman project to concentrate on a career in record production.
Bittersweet, funny, poignant. This is 'A
Bigger Man' by Paperface. The
song is gorgeous, the clip is inspired and
the photo? That's me on Christmas Day 1972, three days after seeing T.Rex in concert. I was dreaming that I'd take over the world one
day, me and my guitar, in a chauffeur driven
car, all the way.
Anniversaries abound. Yesterday it was exactly 37 years since my first Clash concert and today it's 37 years since my first Bob Dylan gig. Life has never been quite the same since that magical 24 hour period in 1978.
Sadly, yesterday also marked the 35th anniversary of the death of Malcolm Owen, lead singer of The Ruts. The Ruts were one of the few groups with the potential to rival The Clash in terms of passion and musical versitility. Certainly they were the only band who got anywhere near The Clash when it came to reggae. If you don't believe me, check out the 'Rhythm Collision Vol.1' LP, released as Ruts DC in 1982. Meanwhile, here are a pair of roots rockers from 1979. We remember you Malcolm.
It seems I struck a chord of recognition with
a few blogging chums in my last post. Space -
not just the final frontier, but also the
arch enemy of the record and CD collector. I
had a massive clear-out in 2011 prior to our
move, but the quantity of physical product I
own is still fairly substantial. About a year
ago I bought a 6tb external hard-drive and
started ripping all the CDs that were within easy reach and also moved a great deal of my downloaded
music onto it from my laptop. Then the hard-drive crashed
and I lost a ton of stuff. Until that point
I'd had vague thoughts of getting rid of all
the actual CDs, but losing so much so
quickly, changed my mind. Hence my current
attempt at reducing volume.
Here's how slim
an unjewelcased CD in a cellobag is.
What I've done so far. A dozen boxes
cut down to six. In alphabetical order, natch.
And this is how much more there is to do, another 25 or so boxes.
I'm listening to stuff as I go too. Wondering why
I ever bought this, finding I own two copies
of that and generally chipping away at the
chaff. I'm also reacquainting myself with a
few choice nuggets, some of which will find
their way onto these pages in the coming
months I've no doubt. I'll keep you posted on my progress.
Here's one such old favourite I rediscovered
yesterday, French combo Hey Hey My My with
the title track of their 2007 EP 'Too Much
Space', a state of affairs we'll never suffer from here at Swede Towers.
You join me here at Swede Towers as a major,
long-delayed project gets underway. After
nearly 5 years of being boxed up and beyond
reach, I've begun the process of dragging my
CDs, blinking and spluttering, back into the
light. While the collection is nowhere near
the size it once was, the space that the CDs
take up in the house is far more than we have
to spare. I've mused on the various options
open to me for too long, now, to quote Secret
Affair, it's time for action. Step one,
dispatch jewel cases. Step two, put each
booklet, disc and back cover into resealable
cellobags. Step three, repeat process throughout entire collection. Step four, assess how much space I've saved. Step five.....more musing.
Head over forthwith to the very fine Charity Chic Music to sample two choice slices of vintage Jimmy Cliff tunage. A couple of hours ago, immediately after doing that very thing, I continued the party back at my place by digging out a pair of my own favourite sides by the reggae legend, 1970's 'Be Aware' and 'Rub-a-Dub Partner' from 1982.
The local sparrows have always pulled and pecked a
bit, but this year they've really been
munching away at Mrs S's beloved garden.
Leaves from the stems and petals from the
flowers, nothing, it seems, is safe from
their roaming beaks. They leave a trail of
devastation behind them, causing Mrs S a
whole bunch of grief. Perhaps their extra-curricular quaffing is a comment
on the quality of the actual bird food I put
out for them, though that always disappears
fairly sharpish too. To Mrs S's credit the garden still
looks fantastic, regardless.
Nom nom
All of this is a long-winded way of
introducing 'Garden', the latest track to be
lifted from C Duncan's imminent debut LP,
'Architect', following on from last year's
equally classy single, 'For', and 'Say' from
earlier in 2015. C Duncan hails from
Glasgow and I feel sure that one of my Scottish
based blogging chums must have flagged him at
some point over the past few months, though
as I've only lately come to fully realise
just how special his music is, I'm sure they
won't mind me spinning a couple of his tunes
again.
In 15 years of living on the coast in the
1980's and 1990's, I watched many a big storm
roll in from the sea, crash, bang and flash
overhead for a bit, before moving on inland.
I've never experienced a storm like the one
we encountered in the early hours of Saturday
morning though. It was the Mother of all
storms. In fact it was the Mother, Father,
Sister, Brother and complete extended family
of all storms. I grabbed my camera and tried
to document the cacophony kicking off in the skies around us, but this was as good as it
got.
A few more photographic memories of our short
holiday in North Norfolk.
This is Bruce. He immediately made us feel
very welcome on his patch and became a proper little poser whenever a camera appeared.
Fred Astaire. We stayed in a secluded cabin,
the roof of which Fred and Ginger (not
pictured) treated as their dance floor each
morning. Fred appears to have removed his
tap shoes for this photo.
There were no street lights in the remote
village we called home, so we were treated to
some glorious late evening skies.
We saw a wide variety of birds on our travels,
from tiny Wrens to the mighty Marsh Harriers that seemed to be everywhere. I spent much
of the time gazing through my binoculars at
the bird-life rather than the camera lens, but
while walking down a long country lane in the
blistering heat, we encountered this
Chaffinch who showed no inclination to fly
away, at least until he'd finished his song.
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