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.
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.
The moment is almost upon us, the hostelries of Leeds are checking stock levels and polishing their glasses in anticipation of the latest instalment of the annual BlogCon, which commences on Monday. I understand that Alyson has already booked us into a couple of splendid looking eating establishments and I've no doubt at all that John Medd is ready to guide us towards the finest alehouses the city has to offer. C will be there, Ernie too and I believe that Walter is flying in once again. I'm a little hazy as to who else is joining in the fun, though needless to say everyone is welcome. Those that can't be with us this time around will be missed that's for sure and will have a glass or two raised to them over our three days together. As usual I've done little by way of research myself, I'm more than happy to go with the flow. As long as I have coffee in the morning, a beer in the evening and good company throughout the day, I'm all set.
Leeds born surrealist, absurdist and all round genius Glen Baxter died in March, a couple of weeks after his 82nd birthday. Baxter's work has loomed large in my life since the early 1980s and several volumes sit on my shelves to this day. I don't believe there's any official recognition of his heritage in Leeds, but there certainly should be.
My floorboards groan under the weight of Miles Davis records and the records that his music has guided me towards. Today marks the great man's centenary and to celebrate this milestone (excuse the pun) I've spent the last few weeks revisiting his catalogue. My go-to period runs from 1969's 'In a Silent Way' through to 1974's 'Get Up With It', seven studio albums and three live sets, the majority of them doubles and many of which have been greatly expanded in recent years by the release of multi-disc complete session box-sets. It's a truly monumental run of music and the albums immediately preceding and following this rich seam are none too shabby either.
Here's something recorded in 1969, though not released until 1974's 'Big Fun'. In spite of being given just the one title on the cover and label, it's actually a medley of 'Great Expectations/Orange Lady', altogether a sprawling, slightly eerie, piece, particularly when the 'Orange Lady' segment kicks in after around 13 minutes.
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.
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.
Anita Ward went to No.1 on both sides of the Atlantic in 1979 with 'Ring My Bell' and, before the year was out, UK lovers rock trio Blood Sisters put out a bass driven cover of the massive hit. They really were blood sisters too - Ouida, Moira and Yvonne McCarthy. Keeping the family theme going, the band on the recording consisted of five brothers - Errol, E. Lloyd, Jerry, Trevor and Paul Robinson, who would go on to issue a couple of albums of their own in the early 1980s, under the One Blood moniker. E. Lloyd Robinson's bassline is even more prominent on the flipside of the 'Ring My Bell' 12", titled, not unreasonably, 'One Blood Dub'. Blood Sisters issued a mere handful of singles during their recording career, though, as of late last year at least, they are still performing in and around London.
I found 'One Blood Dub' lurking on an old hard drive in an anonymous folder of similar vinyl rips. I've no idea where I got it from and in truth the contents are a bit of a mixed bag, but it does contain one or two other dubs worthy of attention that I might swing back to somewhere down the line.
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.
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.
Cosmic Appalachia isn't a descriptor that you come across every day, though in the case of Eight Point Star's 2021 self-titled debut, it's an apt one. Following last year's terrific 'Tom Winter, Tom Spring' LP, created in cahoots with long time favourite of this parish C. Joynes, I've been dipping in and out of American fiddler Mike Gangloff's extensive back catalogue, some of which I was familiar with, but, given the sheer breadth of his collaborations, much of it I was not. Eight Point Star is, as of this writing, a one-off project, with Gangloff and fellow Virginians Tim Thornton, Matt Peyton and Isak Howell on a variety of guitars, fiddles and sruti boxes, creating a series of far-out ragas that effortlessly burrow their way into earworm territory. Take the descending fiddle refrain in 'Winchester's Dream' for example - it's catchy as hell, but trickier than it seems and just lately I find myself unconsciously trying to whistle it, without success.
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.
Whoever it was that said time passes more quickly the older you get was bang on the money. In October I'll have been living in this place for six years and 2027 will mark a whole decade of working in the supermarket. The fourteen years I spent running my own little record shop in my 20s & 30s felt like an eternity, but this past ten years of shelf stacking has absolutely flown by. I enjoy my job tremendously, though these days I have to admit that it takes a lot out of me. 15-18000 steps per shift is not uncommon, plus the constant bending and lifting - I'm not sure how many more years at the sharp end of retail I have in me. Mind you, I still seem to run rings around many of the youngsters, so maybe I've got a handful of Christmases in the old bones yet.
The reason for all these random ruminations? Today I turn 66....sixty bloody six! My cousin and her husband arrive from New York for a short stay in a few hours and before they fly out next week we're going to attempt a unique meet-up with a further two far-flung cousins, one from the Midlands and the other from the South coast. They're both over ten years older than me and, as I've noted, time is marching on, so we're aiming to convene for a long pub lunch in London, before jumping on our respective trains to head home. There are another two cousins along the South coast who can't make it this time round, so hopefully we'll have another chance someday, because, although our Fathers were brothers, we've never all been in a room at the same time.
Devon Irons originally released 'Ketch Vampire' as a 7" single on Lee Perry's Black Art label in 1976, but the following year Scratch piled on the reverb, added a toast by Dr Alimantado and reissued the whole shebang as, simply, 'Vampire'. The song comments on the then pervasive 'false rasta' phenomenon, where imposters wore dreadlocks as a cover for all manner of nefarious activities.
'...a true Rastaman no fire no long gun, a true Rastaman no throw homemade bomb, a true Rastaman him no drink fi drunk, a true Rastaman do not gamble...'
This peculiar version, from a 2022 Lee Perry compilation, features the 12" mix of 'Vampire' with 'Ketch a Dub', the non-reverbed flip-side of the 1976 7", crudely tacked, after an uncomfortable pause, onto the end. A mighty tune for sure, but quite an odd presentation.
It's way too early to speculate on what might end up being my favourite album of 2026, though I'd put good money on Goblin Band's newly released 'Clyde Water' finishing the year as my favourite single. 'Clyde Water', a Scottish ballad dating from the early 19th century, has been interpreted previously by a range of notable artists such as Kate Rusby, Martin Carthy, Ewan MacColl, Anaïs Mitchell and Jon Boden, though for me no-one grasped the epic tale by the throat in quite the way that Nic Jones did. The song appeared on Jones' 1980 masterpiece 'Penguin Eggs' as 'The Drowned Lovers', an alternative title that is a bit of a plot-spoiler to be honest and indeed its original title was duly restored for the release of two subsequent live versions.
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.
I've been fortunate enough to witness Jon Wilks perform 'Greek Street' in venues of all shapes and sizes over the past few years and, be it a field, a hall or, most recently a tiny room, I'm invariably reduced to a blubbering mess by his moving recollection of a brief, fondly remembered, youthful affair. 'Greek Street' was originally released on Jon's fourth album 'Before I Knew What Had Begun I Had Already Lost' and a further two live versions of the song appear on his recent, terrific, odds and sods collection 'Bones'. If you, like me, are prone to a wobbly bottom lip, 'Bones' may well have you reaching for a hanky more than once, particularly with his devastating interpretations of Peter Knight's 'From a Butterfly Kiss' and Robin Williamson's 'October Song', both utterly sublime.
Jon is currently part of the hastily rejigged Songs of Martin Carthy tour and later in the summer, for the third year in succession, he'll be curating a stage at FolkEast. He's also working on a book about the legendary 1960's London folk club Les Cousins, itself based on Greek Street, which is due for publication at the end of this year.
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.
On reflection, I'm pretty sure that my school chum James must've had an older brother or sister, though by this point, a lifetime later, it's difficult to be absolutely certain about such details. What convinces me, all these years down the line, is that so many of the 'serious' rock records that I was only dimly becoming aware of via the weekly music press, already seemed to be sitting on the shelf in his house before I'd even started to save up my pocket money. I can only guess that James had an older sibling, with a job presumably, who brought the records home, steadily introducing him, and by extension me, to a whole new musical world.
James and I were in the right place at the right time for Glam - T.Rex, Bowie, Sweet & Slade etc providing the soundtrack to our day-to-day school lives, but whenever I took the 10 minute bus ride over to his gaff, he'd throw me by slinging something like Pink Floyd's 'Meddle' or Genesis' 'Nursery Cryme' onto the turntable - quite the eye-opener for this 12 year old. Another LP I first heard over at James' place was that literal definition of prog, 'Close to the Edge' by Yes. I don't mind admitting that the band's frequent tempo variations, baffling lyrical content and seemingly random key changes initially proved too much for my young brain and instead I gravitated towards the altogether more accessible prog (if there be such a thing) of Emerson Lake & Palmer. I got there in the end though.
James and I corresponded for a year or two after I moved out of London in 1975 and in our last letters I remember him being steadfastly unconvinced by the burgeoning punk scene. Half a century later, online searches throw up no leads on the whereabouts of my old pal, but I hope he's still out there somewhere, happy and healthy, listening to this old favourite.
1977's 'The Bonny Bunch of Roses' was Fairport Convention's 12th studio album and first after leaving their spiritual home of Island Records for new label Vertigo. The title track is an epic reworking of a 19th Century ballad, revolving around a conversation between Napoleon Bonaparte’s widow and son, following Napoleon’s death. The son promises to avenge his father’s defeat, while his mother cautions that '...England, Ireland and Scotland, their unity will ne’er be broke...'
Great though the 1977 version is (and it really is great), seven years earlier, in the Summer of 1970, Fairport took their first (and best) crack at the song. Richard Thompson is still in the band at this point and it sounds to me as if they're channelling 'The End' by The Doors. It's a magnificent, meandering retelling of the story, that bafflingly remained unreleased for the next 29 years.
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.
If you've been lucky enough to see the great Martin Carthy in concert at any point over the past 50 years, there's a very good chance that you would've heard him perform the daunting 17th century ballad, 'Famous Flower of Serving Men'. As well as being an a staple of his live repertoire, Carthy has also recorded the 32 verse epic on several occasions throughout his career, firstly on 'Shearwater' in 1972 (listen below), again on 'Waiting For Angels' in 2006 and finally the intimate spoken word interpretation on last year's 'Transform Me Then Into a Fish'. There was also an Andy Kershaw session version in 1988, an appearance on limited live album 'At Ruskin Mill' in 2005 and another on a Leigh Folk Festival compilation in 2011.
I've seen Martin Carthy play 'Famous Flower of Serving Men' perhaps a dozen times over the years, most recently in 2024 - a beautifully frail and hesitant performance. He spoke that day of how the song had captivated him and that he'd returned to it time and again because he never felt that he'd quite nailed it. He was wrong of course. He nailed it every single time. Sadly there will be no more opportunities to see this remarkable man in concert, or to hear further renditions of the song that he's wrestled with for so long. Last month Martin was diagnosed with late-onset Alzheimer's Disease, scuppering plans for a farewell tour with his daughter Eliza that was due to start in the middle of February.
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.
My love of Kungens Män's music has been well documented on these pages over the years. The many records made by these guys (and their various offshoot projects) weigh heavily on the shelves and floorboards of this house. 'Resande I Rockmusik' (translates as 'Travellers In Rock Music') is the latest groovy addition to both their catalogue and to the likelihood of my gaff's future subsidence. Side Two track one 'Respekt för Naturen' requires no translation, though who amongst us would've guessed that Side One's closer, the ultra Scandinavian sounding 'Skördetröskan', would translate to something as mundane as 'The Combine Harvester'?
I've accumulated a wealth of Seb Rochford's music over the years, principally in his role as drummer with the great Polar Bear between 2004 and 2015, though also as part of Acoustic Ladyland and Sons of Kemet. All of the above are, to some extent, jazz combos, but his new project, Finding Ways, treads more of a post-rock path. The self-titled album features a rotating cast of guitarists including Verve's Simon Tong, Portishead’s Adrian Utley and Tara Cunningham, who has recently played with both Red Snapper and Modern Nature. Cunningham will be on duty when the Finding Ways tour passes my way in February and I already have a ticket for the show pinned to my digital notice board.
'...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.
Between the summers of 2020 and 2021, John Dwyer (he of The Osees) together with a group of like minded friends, released five instrumental LPs crammed full of fuzzy freaky prog, skronking jazz fusion, pulsating space rock and sundry improvised weirdness. Four of those records ('Bent Arcana', 'Moon Drenched', 'Witch Egg' and 'Gong Splat') quickly became (and remain) firm favourites in my gaff (the fifth, 'Endless Garbage', is still a little too far out, even for me).
In the Autumn of 2024, with little fuss or fanfare, Dwyer put nearly 3½ hours worth of unreleased sessions from those four LPs up on his Bandcamp page and, in early Summer 2025, the thirty three tunes were issued physically across three double albums. Such is the wealth and breadth of amazing music to go at on these records, I rate them every bit as highly than their parent releases.
Here's a 20 minute taster of the delights on offer.
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