Photographs and Memories

'Time goes, you say? Ah no! 

Alas, Time stays, we go.' 

(Austin Dobson)

In the back yard of a small terraced house in the East End of London on April 11th 1925, a group of people assemble for a wedding photograph. The marriage in question is that of my maternal Nan and Grandfather, who sit arm in arm at the centre of the image. To Nan's left is my Grandfather's sister Maud, who, a little over 35 years later, would be known to me as Aunt Maud. At the other end of the same row, holding what looks like a small dog, is Maud's sister Marie. Towards the right end of the back row, standing alone, is Nan's sister Beatrice and in front of her, wearing a dark top and holding a baby in white is her other sister Carrie. The baby is Henry.

My Grandfather died in 1956, four years before I was born and Nan, Aunt Maud, Marie, Carrie (mother of my recently departed Aunty Emmy), Beatrice (emphysema ravaged Aunt Beat) and Henry were the only people from this photograph that I would get to know, albeit briefly in some cases. I have many photos of family get-togethers from the 1960's and into the beginning of the 1970's and gradually Beat, Carrie, Marie and Henry disappear from them. I don't remember any sadness or funerals at the time, though no doubt I was spared any such upset at my young age. It's a strange thing that, when you're very young, older people simply slip away almost without you noticing - they just don't come around anymore. You only remember that they were ever there at all many years later when you see a faintly familiar face in a photograph.

The sisters - Beatrice, Carrie and Nan, circa 1967

In 1974 Nan and Aunt Maud came to live with me and my parents, an often fraught arrangement in a small family home. By this time they were both in their late 70's, Nan was struggling to walk while Aunt Maud had been virtually blind since the 1950's. They were very loving though, and I have fond memories of much laughter in the house - they were real characters and each had their individual idiosyncrasies and mannerisms. Nan, for instance, would pepper her conversations with peculiar old proverbial phrases of dubious context, often leaving me scratching my head in confusion. One of the most baffling (and most regularly used) of these was, 'If you can't fight, wear a big hat'. Occasionally though, her arcane phrases would verge on the poetic. For example, after getting out of bed earlier than usual in the morning, she would claim that she had been up 'before the streets were aired', a lovely image which stayed with me in later life, popping into my head on many a frosty morning as I scraped the ice from my windscreen at 5.30am.

Additionally, there were also a number of bona fide homegrown 'Nanisms', her own little quirky ways of saying things, some of which affectionately remained in my family's vocabulary long after Nan died in 1976. These included pyjamas, which she always referred to as a 'pyjam suit' and, as a consequence of Nan's failure to get to grips with decimalisation in 1971, a 50p coin is, was, and shall forever be known as '...a silver ten-bob note...'

Marie and Aunt Maud, circa 1969

Aunt Maud died in 1982, still sneaking outside for the odd crafty ciggy until the end. She was a tiny lady and as I soared through the 6ft barrier in the late 1970's, she would look me up and down and declare in her soft cockney tones, 'I reckon I'm growing downwards!' It's remarkable to think back and realise that Nan, Aunt Maud, Marie, Beat and Carrie were all born in the 19th Century and that, at the time of my birth, Nan's wedding photograph was only 35 years old, although it may as well have been 135 years to my young eyes.

One last photo. Remarkably a present has survived from my Nan's wedding and it has become an unusual family heirloom. Times were hard, money was scarce and therefore an unknown guest (I wish I knew which one) offered a functional gift to the happy couple - a handmade coal shovel. As is often the way with wedding presents, it appears to have never been used and probably occupied a place on display in the family hearth, therefore remaining in the same pristine condition as when it was given, 95 years ago today.

Kevin Ayers - All This Crazy Gift of Time

Old Hat

 

C's brilliant bippity boppity hat musings of a few days ago (here) brought to mind my own long term struggles with.....well, head-wear of any kind really. In the same way that I don't have the correct shaped face to successfully support any kind of facial hair, I also possess a bonce that for some reason just can't carry off a hat, much to my eternal frustration.

Around 15 years ago I bought an old fedora from a vintage store in Brooklyn. It was love at first sight. I wore it constantly all around New York for the rest of that trip, convinced that I looked the bee's knees, regardless of what my reflection in store windows told me to the contrary.

The fedora was made by Fine Wear Hats of 58-14 Myrtle Avenue in Brooklyn, which is approximately three miles from the location of the vintage store where I eventually found it all those years later. I wish the hat could talk. I'd love to know about its original owner. Did it ever leave the city, the borough, or even the neighbourhood?

Back in the UK, in the 15 years I've owned this fine titfer, I've probably worn it outside the house maybe twice, tops. I'm now fully conscious of the fact that it looks ridiculous perched on my head, however much I try to convince myself otherwise. Inside the house though, I wear it constantly - it's both extremely comfortable and strangely comforting. Come to think of it though, with no prospect of having a professional haircut in the foreseeable future and the old barnet becoming increasingly unkempt, perhaps the hat might yet serve an outdoor function as the lesser of two evils. 

Mice Parade - Old Hat

Monday Long Song

The extraordinary 'Bitches Brew' by Miles Davis was released 50 years ago last week. It's particularly extraordinary because even from a vantage point of 2020, so much of the music contained on the double LP still sounds as if it's beamed in from fifty years in the future. You can call it jazz, you can call it jazz-rock, you can call it fusion, you could describe it as deeply funky, ambient, experimental electronic musique concrète - all those terms might well apply, yet are also simultaneously wide of the mark.

Using a band bolstered by such luminaries as Herbie Hancock, John McLaughlin, Wayne Shorter, Chick Corea and Joe Zawinul, the basic tracks were recorded across three days in the Summer of 1969, before being subject to a groundbreaking series of edits, splices, effects and loops in post-production by Miles and his producer Teo Macero. There's nothing quite like it.

Miles Davis - Pharaoh's Dance

Coddle

Howdy one and all. I hope I find everyone in good health in these strange and uncertain times. My recent (and probably ongoing) low profile round these parts is due to the current unparalleled day to day demands of life in the supermarket aisles. It's been an eye-opening period that's for sure. I won't go into graphic detail, but this situation seems to be simultaneously bringing out the very best and very worst of behaviours in the human race. I've not experienced anything like it in all my years in retail. I can only hope some of our customers take a long hard look at themselves when all this is over.

Other than podcasts, my main aural stimulation over the past few days has been the music of Bulbils, the electronic project of Richard Dawson and Sally Pilkington, who at the time of writing have recorded and released seven albums worth of music since March 22nd. They're all here as name your own price digital downloads and the duo show no signs of slowing down as long as the lockdown continues.

Bulbils - Coddle

Monday Long Song

Throughout long shifts in the supermarket over the weekend, I saw and heard things that caused my colleagues and I to wonder aloud what exactly the human race has become. In what is usually a friendly, good-natured working environment, rudeness, verbal abuse, meanness and greed had suddenly become the norm. We're all worried and no-one knows exactly what's happening or what comes next, but surely we can at least maintain a bare minimum level of civility and respect for each other as we go forward.

'Space is the Place' claimed Sun Ra and his Astro Intergalactic Infinity Arkestra in 1973 - and they could well have a point. Earth certainly isn't a barrel of laughs at the moment.

Sun Ra - Space is the Place

Sonna and Sybarite

Swede Towers has been on the market for a few months now and in that time many people have wandered its rooms and hallways with my estate agent in tow, though unfortunately no-one has as yet reached for their cheque book to take it off my hands. Being the proactive geezer I am, I've already commenced the painful business of dismantling shelves and boxing up personal belongings in order to be one step ahead of the game should an unturndownable offer suddenly come my way. The record and CD collections that have only been out of boxes from the previous move for a couple of years are now being packed away all over again. It's a fairly slow process as I'm rediscovering (and playing) all kinds of half-forgotten gems as I go, obvs.

Here's one such old favourite, a catchy slice of melodic post-rock electronica from the combined talents of Baltimore band Sonna and Brooklyn-based multi-instrumentalist Xian Hawkins, who trades under the name Sybarite. This is 'Make Shift', the lead track from a 2002 EP on Temporary Residence Limited.

Sonna/Sybarite - Make Shift

Hot Blood Can Get Chilly

Dave Hill's recent sacking of Don Powell, his friend and Slade bandmate of 57 years, allegedly via the cold medium of email, leaves an unpleasant taste in the mouth of this old glam-rocker. Hill and Powell along with various hired hands kept the spirit and music of Slade alive after the respective departures of Noddy Holder and Jim Lea brought a creative end to the band in 1992. While in reality they've been little more than a glorified tribute act ever since, one might have hoped that as they each approach their 74th birthdays, they would've been able to see out their long careers together. We're obviously not privy to all the ins and outs of the situation, but life is surely too short for this kind of malarkey, as Powell's subsequent minor stroke attests.

Coincidentally, at around the same time as Dave Hill's announcement, 6Music DJ Mark Radcliffe shared this superb photo of himself with Roy Wood and Noddy Holder, with the caption '...a lovely lingering lunch at the Lazy Trout with the grand viziers of glam...'

Stylistically atypical despite being released in 1973 at the very peak of Slade's glam success, 'Kill 'em at the Hot Club Tonite' appeared as the b-side of the massive hit 'Skweeze Me, Pleeze Me' and is a nod (if you'll pardon the pun) to Holder's love of Django Reinhardt.

Slade - Kill 'em at the Hot Club Tonite