In January, a notable anniversary slipped quietly by while I was looking the other way - David Bowie's 'Station to Station' turned 50. It can be terrifying stuff, this aging malarky. The album came a mere 10 months after 'Young Americans' and just a little over 4 years after my proper introduction to the man via 'Hunky Dory'. In real time, the gaps between Bowie's releases felt unremarkable because, as Paul Weller noted, '...life is timeless, days are long when you're young...', but looking back at his extraordinary 1970s output (which for me actually begins with 1969's 'Space Oddity' and ends 9 months into the 1980s with 'Scary Monsters'), it's clearly unsustainably prolific in the long term. 13 studio albums, 2 live sets, a clutch of stand alone singles plus all of the unreleased material that has surfaced subsequently, is considerably more than most artists create over an entire career. What a time to be alive. Such is the stuff from where dreams are woven.
On Monday evening I stood towards the back of a small Norwich venue as Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs hurled their splendidly unholy racket in my general direction. And that was just for starters. Five nights later, downstairs in the larger room, Sleaford Mods made their third visit to the Fine City. While 'Moptop', Tweet Tweet Tweet' 'Giddy on the Ciggies' and 'No-one's Bothered' have all disappeared from the band's current setlist, newer songs like 'TCR', 'Stick in a Five and Go', 'Kebab Spider' and 'Discourse' have quickly become live favourites. Another grand night out.
The rarely seen Double McSwedeface
The following morning I was up with the larks and on the road early to reach a 2pm appointment in Nottingham. After a 150 mile drive, I stepped through the doors of the Running Horse public house to be greeted by a chap adjusting the levels behind his mixing desk. The event in question was the inaugural Sunday Vinyl Session and the chap twiddling the knobs was our mutual friend John Medd. Crucially, he didn't know I was coming and his casual nodded greeting told me that he didn't recognise me from Adam, so I did the only thing I could think of and held up the LP I was carrying so that it covered the bottom half of my face in a Swedey McSwedeface stylee. If anyone in the Nottingham area heard a clunking sound around that time, it was probably the sound of John's jaw hitting the floor. Along with his co-conspirator Bright Ambassador (he of Modern Gutnish), John introduced, played, then led an informal discussion on, David Bowie's 'Hunky Dory' LP. The three hour session was an absolute joy and fairly flew by. Exciting plans are well underway for future Sunday Vinyl Sessions, which will take place at the same venue on the second Sunday of every month. Watch John's blog / twitter account for further details - there's even a Facebook group you can join. Is there anything better than sitting in a good pub for a few hours with a group of like minded, friendly people, while listening to a few records? I can't think of anything.
My drive to Nottingham was punctuated by a couple of long roadwork related tailbacks, which meant that by the time I eventually arrived at the Running Horse, I hadn't had a chance to grab a bite to eat as planned. Consequently, by the time the Sunday Vinyl Session wound down at 5pm, I'd consumed a few beers on a stomach that had seen no food since a bowl of cereal at 8 o'clock that morning and was in imminent danger of sliding off my chair. Step forward John and Jenny, who marched their unexpected guest off to The Angel for a big plate of delicious grub and the first of many more beers that we enjoyed throughout the evening.
You may well be aware of this, but I've only stumbled upon it comparatively recently. It's a short video comprising extracts
from David Bowie & Mick Jagger's 'Dancing in the Street' clip.....minus the music. The uploader removed
the song, then added various incidental noises for comic effect - and it's a hoot. Apparently Bowie himself even thought
so. This is Ben Monder, who played guitar on 'Blackstar', recalling the atmosphere during the recording sessions. 'I remember us watching this thing...somebody did a series of music videos without the music. Somebody did one of
those for the video he (Bowie) did with Mick Jagger for "Dancing In The Streets." But there's no music, just footsteps
and grunts and burps and stuff like that. He thought that was hilarious and would just have us watch the whole thing.'
'Strung Out In Heaven: A Bowie String Quartet Tribute' is a digital
EP, conceived and created by Amanda Palmer and Jherek Bischoff within the space of just two weeks, an admirable achievement under any circumstances. Tracks include 'Space Oddity', 'Heroes', 'Life on Mars', a gripping 'Ashes to Ashes' and a particularly fearless 'Blackstar', featuring Anna
Calvi on vocals and guitar. Until March 5th, the bulk of the the proceeds from the EP's sales will go
to the cancer research wing of Tufts Medical Centre in Boston, Massachusetts.
Read more about the project and recording here.
Listen to/buy the whole EP here.
Seven days on from the shock of David Bowie's sudden passing, many of us are still struggling to adjust to life in a post-Bowie
world. It isn't easy, though of course it's immeasurably less easy for Iman, Lexi & Duncan and right now all my thoughts are
with them. So, apologies for my recent radio silence. Normal service, whatever the heck that is, resumes forthwith.
Here's Bruce Springsteen & the E-Street Band paying their own tribute to David Bowie, with a performance from the
opening night of their US tour in Pittsburgh.
One evening after school in 1971, a pal played me 'Get It On' by T.Rex. I was
11 years old at the time and when I listened
to the record it was as if a black and white
curtain had been pulled aside, to reveal a vivid
technicolour world beyond. It was a personal
musical revelation. A life-changing moment.
So I've had roughly 44 years to consider what
I might say, should I one day be lucky enough
to meet Tony Visconti, the producer of 'Get
It On' and of many subsequent records that
ended up in my collection. I had a close call
once, on a bitingly cold Winter afternoon in
mid-1990's New York, when we passed each
other on the street. We were both wrapped up
against the fierce sub-zero winds so that our
faces were only partially visible, but I
recognised him instantly and also instantly
decided that I wasn't going to disturb him in
those hostile circumstances. I've quietly
regretted that decision ever since.
On Wednesday evening (after this show) I
found myself in a queue, edging ever closer
to Tony Visconti, who was seated signing
autographs a few feet away. I had just a
couple of minutes of those 44 years left to
decide what words I could possibly use to, A) adequately summarise what a profound effect
the music he's produced has had on my life,
and B) not sound like a gushing buffoon.
As I drew level with him, Tony looked up,
smiled and said 'Hello'. This was my moment.
'Do you mind if I shake your hand?' I said.
His smile broadened as he gripped my hand
firmly. Quite suddenly I knew exactly what I
should say. I didn't need a to make a grand
statement or sweeping gesture to encapsulate
the years of pleasure this man's work had
given me. The solution was far simpler and
more obvious than that.
'Thank you', I said, shaking his hand warmly
and blinking back the stinging in my eyes. 'Thank you.'
To begin an LP with a song as ambitious in scale as 'The Width of a Circle' is, at the very least, a bold statement of intent. For an ad-hoc band to attempt to cover said LP 45 years later and thus open their set with 'The Width of a Circle' must surely take nerves of steel. At the Norwich Arts Centre on Wednesday, the song was nailed to perfection. It was the first of many. The evening was billed, snappily, as 'Tony Visconti & Woody Woodmansey with Glenn Gregory (Heaven 17) perform David Bowie's The Man Who Sold the World album and another set of classic Bowie songs from 1969-73', and did pretty much what it said on the tin.
The big draws were obviously Woodmansey and Visconti, although the 10 piece band each played their part in impeccably recreating every nuance of the original arrangements of the songs, all of which were welcomed like much loved old friends by the packed audience. To his immense credit, Glenn Gregory did not, at any point, attempt to 'do a Bowie', instead interpreting each song faithfully in his own voice and manner. And some of those songs are hard! Many of us could probably mumble our way through a passable 'Man Who Sold the World', but next time you're in the shower have a go at 'The Supermen' or 'Saviour Machine' or 'She Shook Me Cold'. Gregory did a faultless job on the whole lot.
The second half of the set featured 'Time', 'Changes', 'Life on Mars' and no less than 7 selections from 'Ziggy Stardust', including a blistering reading of 'Moonage Daydream', a real highlight of the evening. I briefly met Woody after the show and he was pleased with my observation that the pure joy of playing those wonderful songs was evident to everyone and literally poured from the stage. The show lasted two hours, it felt like 10 minutes. A great night.
Hanni El Khatib's 'Moonlight' is a real grower, that's for sure, but, until recently,
growing in tandem with my enjoyment of the
song was my frustration as to what exactly
the brief 'dum dum dum dum' intro reminded me
of.
Cue John Medd's perfectly timed post on
RCA record sleeves (here). Ding! Light-bulb
moment! In my mind's eye, I could immediately see my 14
year-old self flipping over his RCA 7" single of
David Bowie's 'Diamond Dogs' to reveal 'Holy
Holy' on the b-side. Check that 'dum dum dum
dum' intro. Thanks for helping me put my mind at rest John.
Anyone who is as old as me (quite old and
about to get older) will probably be able to remember an
example of the primitive tannoy system.
Basically a bunch of cone speakers, connected
by draped cables, hung high on posts around a
field for a school sports day, fete, or
similar parochial event. The combination of audio delay and wind
speed were never considered as a factor in those days, so with the slightest breeze,
the sound could drift in and out of shape,
causing unsettling sonic collisions as
different passages of the same piece of music
reached the eardrum simultaneously.
I felt a similar sensation when I heard this on Stuart Maconie's Freak Zone recently.
It's Philip Glass's 1996 symphonic
interpretation of 'Heroes', mashed up with a
smattering of David Bowie's original vocal
and given a faintly disturbing remix by Aphex
Twin. Is it possible to like and be weirded
out by something at the same time?
It became a little ritual of mine that, on the
final evening of a visit to my relatives in
New York, I would spend a couple of hours at
the top of the World Trade Centre, watching
the sun set on the city, before catching up
with the family for one last dinner before I
headed home the following morning. At the time, they lived on 23rd Street, but in the summer of 2001 they bought an apartment in Tribeca, which, thankfully, they hadn't yet moved into by the September of that year.
By chance, I came across this photo a few days ago. I
took it on the final evening of my trip in
1996. The apartment that my family were destined to acquire, five years later, is in the brown building, at the very bottom and centre of the frame, with sunlight hitting the upper floors and what looks like just a small white roof between it and the base of the image.
BBC Radio 6 Music is currently running a David
Bowie week, with liberal sprinklings of
familiar and not so familiar archive
material scattered through it's schedule. In addition, it's also
broadcasting a handful of one-off programmes
dedicated to the great man and his music.
One I'm particularly looking forward to is
on Sunday at 4pm and is hosted by well known
Bowie fanatic Adam Buxton.
When 6Music was facing the very real possibility of termination a few years ago,
Buxton, with help from Tom Robinson, quickly
produced a little song in the style
of his hero to encourage people to show
their support for the station. Needless to
say, people power eventually won the day and
6Music was saved. Wuzza wuzza wuzza wuzza, wuzz wuzz wuzz.....
Check out the BBC iPlayer
for all the David Bowie goodies on offer
this week.
By way of rounding off this
week's short series of
posts, Steven from
Manchester has been in
touch. Apparently Steven
was in a band for a few
years in the 1980s and
still occasionally finds
the time to get up and belt
out a few numbers now and
then - including these
interpretations of some
great pop moments.
Thanks for your suggestions
Steven and good on you for
sticking at it, your big
break could be just around
the corner.
It's become a cliche, because it's borne of truth - David Bowie bestrode the 1970s and was a musical roadmap, guiding the way for my generation as we came of age. He's done other great work of course, but it's the run of albums from 'Space Oddity' in late '69 through to 'Scary Monsters' in 1980 that cement his legacy.
In August 1997 I was crushed towards the front of the crowd at the Shepherds Bush Empire, for a show on the 'Earthling' tour. The album flirted with drum'n'bass, so I was anticipating something of a sonic assault. To my astonishment he walked from the wings with an acoustic guitar and opened the show with 'Quicksand' from my first Bowie LP, 'Hunky Dory'. Grown men wept.
That performance is available to view on YouTube thanks to an amateur camera operator doing a sterling job. This, however, is from a couple of months later, when the tour had moved on to the USA and is notable for some snazzy professional camera work which allows us a glimpse at Bowie's footwear of choice at the time - sandals with socks!
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