Friday Photo #78

Yesterday evening saw the final ever Late Show with Stephen Colbert, following its cancellation by the CBS network. Colbert's tenure ends after eleven years, the past nine of them at No.1 in the ratings. The blame for the scrapping of the Late Show franchise has been widely placed in the hands of the current US administration, who have individually and collectively borne the brunt of Colbert's hilariously withering political analysis, delivered during his monologues at the top of each show. 

I was lucky enough to attend recordings of The Late Show while visiting my cousin and her family in both 2023 and 2025 and sitting in the historic Ed Sullivan Theatre is a hairs-on-the-back-of-the-neck experience I can tell you. In the attached video, Colbert leads a short guided tour of his set and surroundings, touching on a little of the theatre's back story.

Over the past few years, an occasional feature of the show has been the amusingly titled Colbert Questionert, where a celebrity guest is asked 15 quick-fire questions, a mixture of the deep and the flippant, with the aim to become truly 'known' by Stephen - there are plenty of examples available to peruse on YouTube. To mark the end of The Late Show, as a two time former attendee, I'm now taking the Colbert Questionert.

1. What’s the best sandwich? 

Eye-wateringly strong cheddar, with thinly sliced red onion and sweet chili sauce. 

2. What’s one thing you own that you really should throw out? 

I have two large dolls of my Mum's from when she was a kid in the early 1930s. They're in a box together with a selection of baby clothes that were worn by my brother, the child my parents lost in unbearably tragic circumstances two years before I came along. The contents of the box aren't directly connected to me, have no commercial value and I have no-one to pass them on to, yet, over 15 years after Mum's death, I can't bring myself to part with them. 

3. What is the scariest animal? 

Any animal protecting its young. A couple of summers ago I made the rookie mistake of walking between a cow and its calf while crossing a field in the middle of nowhere. I was a good distance from both animals, but the cow was not amused and became quite agitated. They are intimidatingly large up close. Bulls, of course, even more so.

4. Apples or oranges? 

Apples. 

5. Have you ever asked someone for their autograph? 

Many, many times, since I was a very young kid going to speedway matches with my Dad. Later musicians, I still get LPs signed today if I get the chance. 

6. What do you think happens when we die? 

The rest is silence. 

7. Earliest memory? 

I have a couple of early memories, both involve me crying hysterically. One was falling down the stairs at home, the other was temporarily losing sight of Mum & Dad while shopping in Clacton-on-Sea. I would've been 3-4 years of age on both occasions. Also, come to think of it, my first day at school, when I became so hysterical that the staff had to call Mum in to take me home and calm me down. What a melodramatic child I was in 1964.

8. Favourite smell? 

Really good coffee. 

9. Least favourite smell? 

Boiling beetroot. It felt as if my aunt, who lived upstairs from me when I was a child, boiled beetroot morning, noon and night - I can still smell the gag-inducing aroma now. Also, I can't let this question pass with mentioning mushrooms - the smell, the texture, the taste. They truly are the devil's shite. 

10. Exercise: worth it? 

Absolutely, physically and mentally. I'm only sorry that I left it relatively late in life to figure that out. 

11. Flat or sparkling? 

Beer flat, water sparkling.

12. Most used app on your phone? 

Pocket Casts. I listen to podcasts by day and night. 

13. You get one song to listen to for the rest of your life: what is it? (Colbert points out that this doesn’t mean listening to it on repeat, but every time you choose to listen to music this is the only song you’ll hear). 

The piece of music I could literally listen to on a permanent loop is 'Circle in the Round' by Miles Davis, though given that it's 30+ minutes long I'm probably bending the rules a bit. If we're talking about a normal length song, '1952 Vincent Black Lightning' by Richard Thompson is very difficult to beat, particularly a live acoustic version. 

14. Window or aisle? 

If we're talking flying, it makes little difference. I'll have no legroom either way and spend the entire flight in a state of extreme anxiety. For ground transportation I'll take a window. 

15. Describe the rest of your life in 5 words. 

All over bar the shouting.

 

Friday Photo #77

Ah, the old double exposure. When the film didn't wind on completely and you ended up with a photo of a zebra superimposed over that lovely view of your garden. I have a few such happy accidents in my own family archive, though I strongly suspect that today's anonymous example is a very deliberate one. I can offer no information or explanation for the shot, other than it was part of a job lot of similar ephemera that I purchased at auction a decade ago, though one can imagine an enthusiastic offspring directing their parents to remain completely still while moving their respective heads from one shoulder to the other between clicks.

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A considerable amount of record company money was thrown at young guitar bands in the mid-1990s. Good, bad or indifferent, many were given a chance to make a single or two and perhaps, if they were very fortunate, a whole album. Coming straight outta the Lake District, TC: Hug was one such band, who gave it their best shot for a couple of years before falling off the map. They deserved better. Their songwriting was strong and they weren't afraid to throw in the odd curveball every now and then. 'Two Heads' initially appeared on the b-side of TC: Hug's debut single 'Day Today' in the summer of '96, before being rejigged (to its detriment I reckon) for their one and only album 'Pie-MONDO' early the following year. This, needless to say, is the first of those versions.

Two Heads

Friday Photo #76

Milkweed is an experimental gothic folk-noir duo, responsible for 'Remscéla', an LP created with banjos, loops, found sounds and glitchy, unsettling vocals. It was very possibly my album of 2025, certainly one of my most played. At the end of the year, they also reissued two earlier cassette only releases, 'The Mound People' and 'Folklore 1979', on vinyl for the first time. The band's lyrics are inspired by folkloric texts and their music is is lo-fi and haunting, claustrophobically enveloping the listener like a dense fog. I was lucky enough to see Milkweed perform twice last year, the first time was in my own home town, where the photo above was taken. 

Exile the Sons of Uisliu

How Conchobor was Begotten

Friday Photo #75

Fate had a damn good crack at scuppering my birthday week plans. Firstly, while dressing for work the week before last, my back went into spasm, both agonising and scary given that it came out of the blue. I couldn't really move without considerable pain for a few days, after which it gradually eased, though a fortnight on it still isn't right. I never pull a sickie, so my boss knew it must be something serious when I called the store in some distress. By Thursday I was mobile enough to welcome my cousin and her husband for their long planned stay, during which we enjoyed a number of local excursions in the warm, spring weather, including a jaunt over to Snape Maltings where Barbara Hepworth's 'Family of Man' looked particularly majestic standing before the reedbeds of the Alde estuary. The last time I visited Snape the piece was absent, so it was nice to see it back in situ. The hand of fate hadn't quite finished trying to put a spanner in the works though, as a Tube strike had been belatedly announced for the very day of the family reunion in London that I mentioned in my previous post. But, in spite of all the obstacles, each of us somehow made it to the Euston pub at roughly the appointed time and enjoyed a memorable, if all too brief, few hours together.

Steve Wynn - My Family

Friday Photo #74

My heart sank a little on Martin's behalf when he mentioned a bunch of chattering gig-goers in his recent review of an Echo & the Bunnymen gig in Norwich. We've all experienced them at one time or another I'm sure. The constant blathering of a small, inconsiderate minority can so easily take the shine off of an otherwise good night out. But what's the best course of action in such a circumstance? Confront or try to ignore? It's a tricky one.

In October last year, I attended a gig that was almost comically polar opposite in terms of audience kerfuffle. Modern Nature played a basement show in front of a sell-out crowd of 60 uber-polite spectators, who remained so respectfully quiet during and between songs, that Jack Cooper felt the need to break the silence with a light-hearted remark every now and then. The band's 'The Heat Warps' was one of my favourite releases of 2025 and thanks to the particularly attentive audience that night, we could all fully appreciate every nuance of every tune.

Modern Nature - Pharaoh

Friday Photo(s) #73

I traditionally save myself just enough annual leave to take a little time off after the Christmas mayhem has subsided, though most years I seem to fritter it away, in a state of exhaustion, achieving very little of any consequence. When I submitted my holiday request several months ago, the earliest post-festivities period available to me this year was the second week of February and to ensure that I didn't waste all of it, I took the opportunity to book a 48 hour stay in an Airbnb on the North Norfolk coast, planning to get some walking done. I'd mapped out a couple of routes ahead of time to give myself some choices, but ultimately the weather had other ideas. Following such a long spell of consistent rain, any thoughts of walking across country were out of the question and I was forced to stick to mostly hard surfaces. I put some miles into my legs though and it was good to get away, even if every item of clothing I took with me was soggy by the time I came home!

It's hard to believe that 'Under Heavy Manners' by the mighty Prince Far I is half a century old this year, though age has not withered its crackling intensity one jot. The appropriately titled 'Rain a Fall' opens the album. The Voice of Thunder was just 38 years old when he was murdered during a burglary at his home in 1983. 

Rain a Fall

Friday Photo(s) #72

At this time each year, the area's livestock is moved to higher ground, as the chance of local flooding increases. This is my sixth winter here (my how time flies) two of those being particularly heavy flood seasons. So far this year, the water has been contained mainly to the marshes and fields, with comparatively little finding its way onto roads or into properties, though it was still a sight to behold when I took a wander a couple of weeks back. The photo at the top of the page shows the river, full and wide. The thin strip of green is all that's visible of the far bank and beyond that, the flooded fields where cattle usually graze.

I couldn't make it all the way round my usual circuit, as, a little further along, the river had burst its bank on my side. I sploshed onward for a bit, but eventually started sinking, so reluctantly turned back.

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Prints are another American band who were big news in Swede Towers for a brief period in 2007/8. During that time they released one album and one EP before vanishing, though constituent members Kenseth Thibideau and Zac Nelson appear to keep themselves busy with a number of other projects.

Prints - Too Much Water

Friday Photo #71

Over the course of recent weeks, the familiar local landscape underwent not one, but two transformations as a substantial snow covering was quickly followed by torrential rain and flooding. I managed to get out for a wander in the aftermath of both weather events. I'll get to the floods in due course, but today here's a snapshot taken on the first of those memorable walks. I left the house initially intending to check out my immediate locale and just kept walking, eventually arriving back at home some 2½ hours later.  

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Samara Lubelski is an American musician and recording engineer, who has released ten albums under own name and contributed to dozens more by artists such as MV & EE, Sunburned Hand of the Man, Thurston Moore, Fiery Furnaces and Animal Collective. Her fourth solo record, the gently woozy Parallel Suns was a firm favourite in our house circa 2007/8 and still sounds as gorgeous to these ears today.

Samara Lubelski - Snowy Meadows II

Friday Photo(s) #70

'...a photo, probably taken on my phone while out walking, or maybe an oldie retrieved from the family archive, perhaps even an anonymous antique snapshot plucked from what remains of my collection of such ephemera. To accompany it, a tune, ideally one that's at least partially inspired by the image...'

Long boozy evenings in packed, noisy pubs was very much my thing back in the smoking age, but these days I like nothing better than to push open the door of a near deserted hostelry just after midday, enjoy a couple of quiet pints, then head off home in time for lunch. Only yesterday, as I type these words, I wandered round to my local at a little after 12 to find just one other person in the place, a really friendly old boy in his late 70s who is always surprised when I greet him by name, as he doesn't know mine. We've chatted several times over the past few years and our conversations generally revolve around the same subject - the many former pubs that have disappeared in the 40+ years he's lived in town. He vividly recollects every establishment, the names of their respective landlords and, quite often, a number of the regular characters that propped up the bar in each one. He's quite the raconteur when he gets going. As I got my hat and scarf together, readying myself to leave, my elderly companion stood to shake my hand, wordlessly thanking me for my company. He knows my name now, but by the next time I see him it will probably have slipped away and much of our conversation will be repeated once again. He has early onset dementia, it's been obvious for some time. For now he manages his day to day life by leaving notes to himself around the house and having a structured routine, one which revolves around a quiet lunchtime pint or two in comfortable, familiar surroundings. 

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These anonymous photos of staff in an empty pub probably originate from the mid 1960s and were unearthed by me at a car-boot sale around 10 years ago. I'm grateful that the landlord of my own local is not as sour-faced as the one pictured here appears to be. I think I'd struggle to relax and enjoy my pint with him glaring across the bar at me.  

'The Man Who Loved Beer' is, on the surface, a typically lush Lambchop song (one of my favourites by the band), though on closer lyrical inspection it's an adaptation of a dark ancient Egyptian text 'The Man Who Was Tired of Life'. It originally appeared on their 1996 album 'How I Quit Smoking' and was covered by David Byrne on his 'Grown Backwards' LP in 2004.

Lambchop - The Man Who Loved Beer

Friday Photo(s) #69

My gaff is in Suffolk, though only just. The River Waveney flows about 100 yards from my front door and this ancient waterway defines the county's boundary with Norfolk. Across the footbridge that spans the river is a substantial green space, protected in perpetuity for the town, even though, technically, it sits just outside the town. I use the meadow regularly as either a cut through, a brief circular walk or a place to stop and recalibrate while watching the river flow. To quote Courtney Barnett, sometimes I sit and think, and sometimes I just sit.

A vantage point just before the footbridge offers the opportunity of an uninterrupted view along a stretch of the river and it's one I seldom turn down. Here's that view in spring, summer and winter. It never gets old.

Brian Eno - By This River

Friday Photo #68

A 1930 photo of Joyce in the arms of her maternal grandmother, Anorah.

My Aunt Joyce's life, which began over 95 years ago in an East London terraced house, ended last Sunday evening in a small white room in a Norwich hospital, with my cousin and I by her side. Following a couple of years of steadily declining health, her passing from this world was peaceful.

My cousin has spent much of the last 18 months criss-crossing the Atlantic to care for her mum, while I made regular, though somewhat shorter journeys up and down the M11 to support them both. Latterly my aunt was relocated to a lovely residential care home, just across the Norfolk/Suffolk border, about a mile from my front door. It was by far the longest period she'd spent outside London in her entire life and, unsurprisingly, she didn't care for it much, but it was close enough that I could drop in to see her and report back to my cousin on a regular basis.  

For the first 15 years of my life Joyce, my uncle and my cousin lived upstairs in the same house as us. As a consequence, my cousin and I regard each other as siblings and grew up feeling that we'd each been blessed with an extra set of parents. 

Joyce leaves her daughter, son-in-law and three remarkable grandchildren.

Johnson Mkhalali - Joyce No.2

Friday Photo #67

In my mind, this series is a relatively recent, if not altogether regular, feature on the blog. Of course nothing has been particularly regular round these parts for some time, but you catch my drift. Anyway, imagine my horror to discover that the very first Friday Photo entry was way back in June 2021 - 3½ years ago! I set out my intentions in that very first post. 

'...a photo, probably taken on my phone while out walking, or maybe an oldie retrieved from the family archive, perhaps even an anonymous antique snapshot plucked from what remains of my collection of such ephemera. To accompany it, a tune, ideally one that's at least partially inspired by the image...'

Up to now, the majority of photos that I've shared have been drawn from the second category - the family archive. Unsurprising really, as it's a gift that keeps giving and there'll be more to come no doubt. Although I've dispatched hundreds of old anonymous photos that I picked up along the way, a few boxes still remain to be sifted through and/or scanned and shared - I hope to make some inroads in that direction over the coming weeks and months.

Here's an unknown drummer from the Royal Army Service Corps during WW2. He has a very modest kit, handy for moving in a hurry I would guess, though I wouldn't have wanted to be perched anywhere near that huge bass drum when it kicked in.

Jackie Mittoo - Drum Song

Friday Photo #66

My view pitch-side at Wembley in July

When Bruce Springsteen & the E-Street Band toured Europe during the Summer of 2023, the only London date scheduled was for the vast, flat, atmos-free, chatterbox-infested Hyde Park. My E-Street buddy and I hummed and hawed, consulted our wallets, took a deep breath and headed out to catch a gig in Amsterdam instead, flying back via Edinburgh for a second show a couple of days later. In spite of coming hot on the heels of a nasty bout of Covid, it was a truly glorious experience, though, for a man of my meagre means, catastrophically expensive. Still, at their advanced age, we figured that these were probably the last precious opportunities to see the E-Street Band in full effect. How wrong I was. 

When another European jaunt was announced for the Summer of 2024, my pal and I, convinced that this really would be the last time, hocked our family heirlooms and caught two UK shows, at Sunderland and Wembley. 43 years after my first Springsteen gig just across the road in the Arena, I left Wembley Stadium tired and elated after a staggering three hour performance. A great one to finish on I thought, as I shuffled down Wembley Way towards the tube station.

So now Bruce is coming back to Europe yet again next Summer, ostensibly to mop up a few 2024 shows in Italy and Spain that had to be postponed when he fell ill, but he's also added a handful of UK dates to the run. This time I was absolutely going to give it a miss (as indeed I am with Dylan's potential UK concert farewell this very week), as money, in the immortal words of The Valentine Brothers, really is too tight to mention. My E-Street buddy talked me round though and consequently I now have debts no honest man can pay, because I've stumped up for one more night on E-Street in Manchester next May. 

A moving solo acoustic interpretation of I'll See You in My Dreams has closed practically every show for the past couple of years and call me an old fool, but it gets me every time. Here's Bruce performing it at the 20th 9/11 Memorial Ceremony in New York.

Friday Photo #65

Not too long ago, I stumbled upon a forgotten old external hard-drive, buried at the bottom of a box. Firing it up, I found 500GB of music, most of which I'd long since dragged and dropped elsewhere, plus a few dozen folders worth of photos. The majority of the snapshots had been backed up on other drives too, however to my surprise I spotted an unnamed folder containing around 30-40 Swedey McSwedefaces from 2017 & 2018, roughly half of which incorporated a cunningly positioned 7" single, where an LP would traditionally be. I have no memory of taking these shots, or what I originally had in mind for them, though they were obviously intended for the blog. Here's one now! 

Jon Hart's 'Toytown' was released in September 1980, very early on in my record shop career. The single marks Hart's one and only appearance on vinyl....and then the trail goes cold. Even this new fangled World Wide Web that everyone's talking about fails to throw up any further information about the man. One thing I can state categorically though, without fear of contradiction, is that Jon Hart was an admirer of  David Bowie's music circa 1967-69. How do I know this seemingly random fact? Take a listen to both sides of the single, then have a gander at the quite extraordinary, recently unearthed, period TV performance. Your jaw will drop.

Jon Hart - Toytown

Jon Hart - Recollections

Friday Photo #64

It's the Spring of 1964 and I've just arrived home after a little rough and tumble down the park at the end of the road, probably instigated by the lad across at No.13 ringing the doorbell and, with all the innocence he could muster, asking Mum '...is Swede playing out?' My shirt hangs loose from beneath a favourite cardigan, one that I will outgrow within a matter of weeks. The wellies are still on and a plaster just above my left knee covers the most recent scrape in a childhood full of scuffs, cuts and grazes. Look at that face though - properly over-excited. The reason? It's right behind me. While I was out, Dad (and probably Uncle Ivor) had installed a full sized swing at the bottom of the garden - a swing! Actually at this point it's just the metal frame cemented into the ground, but the all important hanging bit would materialise shortly afterwards. The swing's arrival was a complete surprise and I'm impishly as pleased as punch about it.

On and off for a handful of young summers, that swing at the end of the garden was central to my world. The frame alone became a mini-chicane as I careered around the garden on a succession of scooters and bikes, it also formed the goalposts for a thousand kickabouts (reducing Mum's grass to a muddy swamp in the process) and it substituted as a Bat-pole for my imaginary adventures as the Caped Crusader. All this in addition to being a, y'know, swing! 

I've no idea (and irritatingly never thought to ask) how Dad acquired this magical plaything that made me the envy of my infant school pals and equally I have absolutely no recollection of it being dug up and removed from the garden a few years down the line, after I'd outgrown it it. The scruffy little scamp in the photo couldn't give a hoot about the details though. What larks he's going to have.

Mice Parade - Swing

Friday Photo #63

It's the summer of 1974. Go down to the bottom of my road, through the park, round the edge of the allotments beyond, on past the cricket pitches, then over the Lea Flood Relief Channel and you'd eventually find yourself in a remote open wasteland, criss-crossed by railway lines. It was the kind of no man's land where all sorts of mischief took place. Where burned out husks of cars, vans and fridges sat rusting and abandoned and where smashed bottles, broken bricks and jagged chunks of metal littered every surface. In short, it was our playground. Oblivious to the inherent danger of cuts and bruises from all of the dumped rubbish, or bloodied noses from the bigger boys who invariably loitered menacingly nearby, my mates and I often headed down there when nothing else was going on. And yes, each of us at one time or another, returned home with a cut, a bruise, a bloody nose, or occasionally all three.

In one area, a crude mud track had been carved out by the bigger boys on their mopeds and whenever they were otherwise occupied, no doubt giving some other poor unsuspecting youngster a bloody nose, we would hare around it on our bikes. Yay, yet more opportunities for cuts and bruises! And here I am, haring around that very track 50 years ago, long hair and flares flailing in the breeze, a vision in colour co-ordinated clothing. But what colour is that jeans/jumper combo exactly? Mauve? Purple? Violet? Scarlet? Vermillion? Who knows, but it sure ain't pretty and the fashion police have most definitely been informed. 

The good news to end on is that the dangerous sprawling urban wasteland of my youth is now home to a spacious nature reserve and lengthy walking trail.

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I'm sending today's tune out to our mutual blogging chum John Medd, as I reckon it fits in rather neatly with his recent Philip Glass/Steve Reich/John Adams post.

Hauschka - Blue Bicycle

Friday Photo #62

I started to seriously look into my family tree over the past winter, in an effort to make sense of the paper trail left by Mum. In the 1980s and 1990s she subscribed to various genealogy newsletters, spent hours poring over dusty documents at Somerset House in London and dragged Dad around endless country graveyards on the Norfolk/Suffolk border, in search of any clues about the life and times of our ancestors. She was keen to share her discoveries with me at the time, but of course I paid scant attention back then. Now that I am interested, there's no-one left to ask. However within a couple of clicks on Ancestry, cross-referred with Mum's handwritten notes, I'd already travelled further back into history than she managed in over 15 years of research. And I've barely scratched the surface.

This is the only known photo of my maternal grandmother's brother Sidney, with whom I share a middle name. He was born on August 30th 1895 and though I found all kinds of information about his parents and siblings with relative ease, Sidney's trail quickly went cold. Then it dawned on me and I turned my attention from birth, marriage and census records, towards an altogether more tragic resource, where I discovered that Sidney, a rifleman, was killed in action in Flanders on Good Friday March 29th 1918, 106 years ago today, and is buried in Arras, Pas-de-Calais.

Guided By Voices - Now to War

Friday Photo(s) #61

Just lately I've been spending more time than usual in London. My aunt is having a few health issues and my cousin has had to fly in from America to monitor the situation. I've bombed down the M11 at every opportunity over the past month or so to give them both a bit of moral support (I'm heading down again today). During this uncertain period, my cousin is also working all hours, including seemingly endless daily conference calls carried out on New York time. To see an unwell aunt and a horribly stressed out cousin without really being able to do anything to help either is upsetting to say the least. 

One day, while my cousin was up to her neck in unfathomably complicated technical discussions with multiple colleagues scattered around the globe and with the relentless rain briefly pausing, I took myself off to the East Ham Nature Reserve to clear my head. The reserve winds through the defunct 9 acre graveyard of an 800 year old church and in spite of incessant A13 traffic hammering across the flyover a few yards to the South and planes from the nearby London City Airport roaring overhead, it's a relative oasis of calm amid the turmoil of life.

Jape - Graveyard

Friday Photo #60

Maud, my Maternal Grandmother (Nan), was born in Stratford in the East End of London on January 19th 1893, 131 years ago. She passed away two days before my 16th birthday in 1976. Here Nan is pictured standing between two of her sisters in the early 1920s. On the left of the photo is Beatrice, known to me over 40 years later as emphysema ridden Aunt Beat, who was born in 1897 and died in 1974. To the right is Caroline, Aunt Carrie to me, who enjoyed the longest life of the three sisters, born in 1892 and passing away in 1979. There appear to have been at least a further three siblings in the family, including another sister lost in infancy and a brother Sidney, killed in France during the First World War at just 22 years of age.

This second photo, from the late 1960s, shows (left to right) Beatrice, Carrie and Nan as I knew them.

This Mortal Coil - You and Your Sister

Friday Photo #59

My maternal grandmother remarried late in life and thus Uncle Ted became the only male grandparent figure I'd ever have. He worked at the Leyton Orient football ground (in those days known simply as Orient) in the 1960s and frequently took me with him to home matches. Uncle Ted served in both wars, though, like so many, never discussed the horrors he undoubtedly witnessed - a fuller picture only emerging after his death with the discovery of his photos, papers and medals. Sadly he suffered a debilitating stroke in 1970 and passed away in 1972. Here we are in 1965.

The Sensational Alex Harvey Band - Hammer Song