Friday Photo #80

Robyn H at The Portland Arms

I sometimes feel that all I do is write about Robyn Hitchcock, though a quick look through my back pages shows that I have in fact been displaying admirable restraint and that he hasn't actually darkened the doors of this here blog since the Spring of 2023. Time for a catch-up then.

Last Wednesday I did a 136 mile round trip to The Portland Arms in Cambridge to see Robyn and his superb pick-up band tear through a swathe of songs from his catalogue (plus a few covers), many of which were written within walking distance of the venue in the 1970s & 80s. He took a moment before opening the show, '...I first played at the Portland Arms 52 years ago...and looking round the audience, I see some familiar faces...' I got home a little after midnight, managing around 3½ hours sleep before my 4am alarm roused me for work.

The following evening's jaunt was a mere 80 mile round trip to see Robyn again in Ipswich, this time without a full band. He kicked things off with a magnificent 'Ghost Ship', a long time favourite of your humble author, and was ten songs into the set before we got a repeat from the Cambridge show. The gig ran a little late and I arrived home around midnight once again, zonking out until rudely awakened by that pesky 4am alarm. Needless to say, Friday at work was a bit of a struggle, but completely worth it. Emma Swift opened for Robyn on both nights and was absolutely stunning.

4 years ago, I was among the audience in Norwich for the debut public performance of 'I Am This Thing', the song that opens Robyn's latest LP 'The Confuser'. It's become a staple in his sets these days, whatever the onstage configuration, and contains the particularly lovely lines - '...I grew out of somebody else, she wore a wedding ring, and when I decompose I will be part of everything...'

I Am This Thing

Monday Long Song

I watched one of those YouTube ranking videos recently, where the artist under the microscope was Neil Young and it struck me then how much of his later output I just don't know. Sure, Young's back catalogue has been swelled even further in recent years thanks to his ongoing Archive series, but I'm talking about the actual studio albums - I didn't even recognise the titles of many of the 21st century records. Boy am I out of touch.

A brief flick through his discography reveals exactly when I got off the Neil bus - curiously, it was immediately following two of my favourites of all his albums, 1994's 'Sleeps With Angels' and 'Mirror Ball', the Pearl Jam collaboration from the following year. Then there's a long, oblivious, gap until 2014's lovely low-fi experiment 'A Letter Home' and after that another 15 or so studio albums that I have absolutely no knowledge of. 

I'm no Pearl Jam fan, but 'Mirror Ball' really worked for me - I even sang a couple of songs from the album at a local Neil Young covers show at the time. Where 'Mirror Ball' rocks, its predecessor, 'Sleeps With Angels', provides a sombre counterpoint (save for the abysmal, aptly titled, 'Piece of Crap'), the highlight of which is the magnificent 'Change Your Mind'.  

Change Your Mind

Monday Long Song

Released 53 years ago today, 'Faust IV' was, remarkably, the band's third LP of 1973. I (along with many of my age group I suspect) originally bumped into Faust via 'The Faust Tapes', a budget (49p!) album issued five months earlier, that my Glam-infused brain struggled to make head or tails of initially and was latterly, accurately, described by Wire magazine as showcasing '...sonic collage at its best...' Also released in 1973 was 'Outside the Dream Syndicate', Faust's fabulous collaboration with Tony Conrad, an album that I didn't actually hear for the first time until I was significantly longer in the tooth.

'Faust IV' kicks off with the epic droning 'Krautrock', running just shy of 12 minutes. When an expanded reissue of the album appeared in 2006, an equally lengthy, though slightly more abrasive Peel Session recording of 'Krautrock' was among the extra tracks and it's that particular version I offer here.

Krautrock

Friday Photo(s) #79

Last week I took a bus over to the town I work in and walked home along country footpaths. I've done the jaunt before, more than once, but was trying out a new route this time. I estimated that it would take around 1¾ hours and for the first few miles all was going swimmingly, then I hit the first of two sweetcorn fields I'd have to cross. Footpaths should be maintained by the land owner, regardless of whether or not there's a crop in the field, so I followed the wooden 'Public Footpath' sign into the field, which was only slightly overgrown at this point. As I pressed on, the worn down path beneath my feet became gradually less obvious as previous walkers had presumably given up the ghost and turned round. By the time I realised that the footpath was completely gone and I couldn't actually walk any further, the sweetcorn surrounding me was over head height - I felt disorientated and even a little panicky. For the photo below I was holding the camera up over my head and shooting blind. It took me some time to hack my way out, imagining I was roughly retracing my steps, but I actually emerged from the corn some distance from where I entered it, such was my disorientation. Long story short, taking a series of alternative footpaths around the field instead of walking across it added considerably to my step count. 

Fortunately the second sweetcorn field, a mile or so further on, was perfectly maintained, offering a clear cut footpath straight through the middle of the towering crop - you can see it disappearing into the distance in the photo at the top of this post. A short while later however, the next phase of my pre-planned walk was scuppered by a stretch of country footpath that had been officially closed by the Parish Council, damaged by off-road vehicles apparently, necessitating yet another detour for me. I eventually arrived home, wearier than anticipated, more than three hours after setting off.

Here's The Coral, summoning the spirit of early Pink Floyd I feel, with an appropriately titled tune from their 2004 LP 'Nightfreak and the Sons of Becker'.

Song of the Corn

Monday Long Song

As we turn the corner of the year, I find that I've already posted on, and generally interacted with, this little corner of the internet more regularly in the first six months of 2026 than in the entirety of both 2024 and 2025, something I'm quietly pleased about, particularly given that I've not really been in a great place for the last month or so. What strikes me though, leafing through my back pages, is that I've barely made mention of the records I've purchased or of the many gigs I've attended so far this year, an oversight on my part and something I'll attempt to rectify as we forge ahead through the second half of 2026.

Brown Wimpenny are a Manchester folk collective whose membership currently stands at 11, down from an earlier, somewhat daunting, 25. They've been playing live for over two years and finally released their debut LP last month, on the ever magnificent Broadside Hacks label. The record bursts at the seams with richly drawn characters, largely from the Northern English tradition, and is by turns angry, rambunctious or, in the case of Old Molly Metcalfe, really quite moving. This ancient tale of sheep-counting in the North Riding of Yorkshire is based upon an accappella piece by the late (and really bloody great) Jake Thackray, whose voice is heard in the song's introduction. 

(As a bonus, I've included a 1971 BBC shiny floor clip of Old Molly Metcalfe from Jake, which is honestly worth four minutes of everyone's time). 

Old Molly Metcalfe

Dave Greenslade

The ultra-rare quadruple Swedeface - don't try this at home kids!

Composer, producer and all-round keyboard maestro Dave Greenslade died earlier this week, at the age of 83. Following a short stint with Geno Washington's Ram Jam Band in 1968, Dave joined British jazz-rock heavyweights Colosseum, staying until their split in late 1971, after which came the band that bore his name. I first crossed paths with Greenslade in late 1973, via a friend who had their second LP 'Bedside Manners Are Extra' and quickly became a firm fan. All these years later, Greenslade's four original albums remain in my collection and whenever I play one of them, I invariably end up playing them all. 

From 'Time and Tide', the band's final LP (and my own favourite), 'Catalan' is a fine showcase for Dave Greenslade's dexterity on the ivories. 

Catalan

Monday Long Song

I'm just back from Leeds, where a small group of us blogging types (and available partners) assembled for a couple of days to hang out, waffle relentlessly, amble aimlessly, imbibe fine ales and scoff top scran. These occasions are always over far too quickly and, before we knew it, hugs and handshakes were being exchanged as we headed off in separate directions for home. In spite of working in a busy supermarket, my life these days is a fairly solitary one, so I particularly treasure such get-togethers with like minded souls - a pinprick of brightness in an increasingly dark and unpleasant world.

As my train trundled south-eastwards out of Leeds, I cranked up some tunes to soundtrack the passing scenery and my melancholy mood. By chance one of the first to hit my eardrums was 'Spin Me Endless in the Universe' by Richard Youngs, which perfectly suited my disposition in that moment. As of 2026 Youngs has put out close to 300 albums, ranging from electronic squalls to banging drum & bass, musique concrète to epic ambient drones. This 2013 performance, however, finds Richard alone in a studio with just an acoustic guitar and his own untreated voice. It's a thing of beauty and is dedicated to the BlogCon'26 posse.

Richard Youngs - Spin Me Endless in the Universe