2022 was an uncharacteristically quiet year for the usually uber-prolific Richard Youngs, but on January 1st a fantastic new, name your own price, digital album 'Live at the Creation Room' appeared on his Bandcamp page, followed on February 1st by 'Back to the Creation Room'. I sense a theme developing. I wonder what the day after tomorrow will bring?
Here's Richard in PIL-era John Lydon jamming with Jaki Liebezeit mode from January's release.
'This Stupid World', Yo La Tengo's 17th album, is a title that I think we can all get behind...in fact if anything it's far too mild a descriptor for the present day state of the planet. Work initially commenced on the record back in 2020 before being interrupted by the pandemic. Following further sessions in late 2021 and throughout 2022, the LP was finally released a couple of weeks ago. The band visit these shores in April for three dates as part of their world tour. The London Palladium on the 14th sounds enticing to me if anyone else is up for it.
My water-themed photo arrived over at John Medd's gaff too late in the day to be included in his new monthly series last week, so here, rather belatedly, it is. Following a few days of biblical rainfall in mid-January, the local temperatures, to quote the Pythons, didn't so much fall as plummet. The gallons of standing water round these parts, became huge puddles of ice overnight - treacherous, but quite attractive. I ventured out one morning, slipping and sliding all over the place, to fire off a few shots with John's project in mind. This one, taken by the side of the river, though not a particularly large example, is a favourite from the bunch. By this time the sky was blue and the sun piercingly bright, casting shadows of the rushes across the ice. Apologies for my tardiness John, I'll attempt to be more on the ball this month.
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Several of my musical heroes took to their laptops during lockdown, to offer livestreamed shows - Christina Alden & Alex Patterson performed a few, Ed Kuepper beamed in a handful from Australia and Robyn Hitchcock never stopped doing them and is now at the 300 mark. Alasdair Roberts played just the one, but it was memorable indeed. He generally very rarely performs any Appendix Out material these days, but his livestreamed show surprised us all by being entirely made up of acoustic interpretations of some of his very earliest recordings. In June 2020 Alasdair consolidated his look in the rear-view mirror with the release of The Songs of My Boyhood, 11 acoustic reworkings of songs from the Appendix Out catalogue, including Ice Age, in its original incarnation the band's 1995 debut single.
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Getting on for three years in, Robyn Hitchcock and Emma Swift's life-affirming series of streamed concerts (Live From Tubby's House) continue. Every week they perform new songs, old songs, ridiculously obscure out-takes, covers, all interspersed with laughter and life updates. Robyn usually begins each show with a few minutes of instrumental acoustic noodling and concludes, 90 minutes later, with a slow building raga. Yesterday, a mere four months after the release of the magnificent 'Shufflemania', Robyn announced 'Life After Infinity', a brand new completely instrumental album, which is due out in April. Read all about it here.
I paid a flying visit to the smoke last weekend, to check in on my aunt and catch up with my cousin, whose own, literal, flying visit involved significantly more miles than mine. She flew in from New York to stay with her mum on Friday before heading home again on Tuesday.
Three highlights of any trip to my aunt's little corner of London are;
1) Newham Bookshop. A glorious indie on the Barking Road. Enter this place at your own risk. The last things I need at this stage of my life are yet more books to add to the never-ending pile, but once through the door I lose any sense of self control - resistance is absolutely futile. It's a wonderful Aladdin's Cave of a place.
2) Central Park Café. The park itself is a fabulous local resource, but the café at its heart is a real community hub, welcoming families and their canine pals into its generous space. In addition to a friendly welcome and a decent brew, they bake a fresh rack of delicious sourdough every morning, seven days a week. I nipped in to pick up a warm loaf before leaving on Monday and demolished half of it at home that very evening.
3) The Boleyn Tavern. Following a lengthy and much needed refurbishment, The Boleyn welcomed thirsty punters back into the historic pub in June 2021, since when it's been my local whenever I'm in town. The food is great, the beer selection is ever-evolving and the contents of the free jukebox are seemingly purloined from my own record collection. I couldn't ask for anything more.
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Dave Bartholomew, who died in 2019 at the ripe old age of 100, was no slouch in the songwriting department, co-penning such r&b staples as 'I'm Walking', 'Ain't That a Shame', 'Walking to New Orleans' and 'I Hear You Knocking'. Here he is in 1952 though, performing a cleverly written Billy Austin song.
You'd never find these kind of shenanigans going on at The Boleyn.
Dave Bartholomew - Who Drank My Beer While I Was in the Rear?
The closest pub to my gaff had already ceased trading by the time I rolled into town a couple of years ago. It wasn't alone either. Two more former hostelries also stand abandoned and forlorn within a mile of my front door. I quickly became convinced that my would-be local, in spite of its listed building status, was destined to eventually become a residential property. So imagine my delight when, out of the blue, the old place was purchased and reopened as a boozer in the Spring of 2022. Since then the pub has become something of a bolthole for me on a day off, a place to while away an hour at lunchtime with a book, either indoors, or, during the heat of the Summer, out in the yard (it can't really be called a beer garden). The pub was open for a couple of hours on Christmas Day, allowing me the perfect opportunity to stretch my legs, enjoy a pint and have a bit of a chinwag with a group of friendly strangers at the bar, before returning to the solitude of my flat.
As I mentioned previously, I didn't do too well on the eating front during the busy run-up to Christmas, variations of toast and porridge mainly, so I was determined to enjoy a decent meal on the big day itself. When I got home from the pub I roasted every vegetable I could find in the fridge, threw in a few pieces of Quorn, piled the lot onto a monster Yorkshire pud and doused it all with lashings of gravy. It may not look (or sound) that appetising to most readers, but my goodness it was welcome, delicious and filling. The only problem was that following the long, exhausting festive period at work, the bracing wander to the pub, a midday pint and such a hearty repast, within a very short time I could barely keep my eyes open. Long story short, I was in bed by a little after 6pm and didn't stir for a full eleven hours. What a glorious and much needed lump of sleep that was.
