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

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

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

Monday Long Song

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.

One Blood Dub

Monday Long Song

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.

Station to Station

Monday Long Song

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.

Eight Point Star - Winchester's Dream

Monday Long Song

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. 

Devon Irons - Vampire

Monday Long Song

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. 

Greek Street

Monday Long Song

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.

Close to the Edge

Monday Long Song

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.

Bonny Bunch of Roses

Monday Long Song

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.

Famous Flower of Serving Men

Monday Long Song

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'?

Magisk Magi

Monday Long Song(s)

The rarely attempted Triple Swedeface

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.

Spoiler

The Burn Pit (Take 2)

Monday Long Song

Some time ago, probably several years by this point, John Medd and I were having a back and forth on the subject of guitar solos in rock. The exact context of the discussion has, like so many things as dotage encroaches, slipped my mind, though John, being still a mere slip of a lad, might be able to remind me. Anyhoo, my foggy memory is just clear enough to recall that during the course of our conversation I alluded to a particular formative guitar solo to which I remained inordinately, perhaps even irrationally, fond and that I would share full details in due course. Well John, the day has finally arrived!

The one-two Alan Lancaster/Rick Parfitt segue of Backwater and Just Take Me are, for me, the most exciting nine minutes in the storied history of Status Quo. The songs opened the band's third Vertigo LP, 'Quo', in 1974 and the guitar solo in question commences at 3.07, running for just 40 seconds. If I was hearing it for the first time in the cold light of 2025, there's every chance that the fairly primitive solo would slip by virtually unnoticed, but half a century ago, as a wide eyed 15 year old, I found it, and indeed both songs, utterly thrilling. 

Status Quo - Backwater/Just Take Me

Monday Long Song

I was very sad to hear of Danny Thompson's passing a couple of weeks back, at the age of 86. Unless you've tried particularly hard to avoid him, it's difficult to imagine that you don't have something or other in your collection featuring this extraordinary double bassist, whose career goes back as far as the early 1960s. I was fortunate enough to see him play with Richard Thompson on a number of occasions, with whom he also recorded, but he's also all over records by the likes of John Martyn, Nick Drake, Talk Talk, Tim Buckley, Kate Bush, The Incredible String Band and, of course, Pentangle, amongst numerous others. His first appearance in my own record collection occurred as far back 1972, when I picked up Rod Stewart's marvellous 'Every Picture Tells a Story' LP and he popped up again in 1974 on T.Rex's 'Zinc Alloy & the Hidden Riders of Tomorrow'. These days I have any number of records featuring Danny's talents sitting of my shelves, including a couple by fellow Pentangler Bert Jansch. Chief among them is 1978's 'Avocet', an instrumental paean to a selection of  various sea and wading birds. The title track is just sublime.

Bert Jansch - Avocet

Monday Long Song

For a period during the 1970s, Sweet were second only in my pop affections to the mighty T.Rex. The band's run of Chinnichap hit singles and the string of self-written hard rock nuggets tucked away on the flipsides, were chewed over and eagerly devoured by me and my music loving pals back in the day. One old school chum and I managed to see Sweet at The Rainbow twice in their 1973 glam pomp, their final UK show with the classic line-up at Hammersmith Odeon in 1978, plus a three piece Sweet show at The Lyceum in 1981, the last concert I ever attended with that particular old mucker as life gradually drew us in separate directions. About 10 years ago, 30 years after losing contact altogether, my pal and I reconnected, thanks to the miracle of the internet. We exchange Christmas cards, birthday greetings and the occasional email, but in spite of living less than 40 miles from each other, we've yet to actually meet up again.

Had he lived beyond his tragically short 51 years, Sweet's lead singer Brian Connolly would have turned 80 yesterday.

Sweet - Healer 

Monday Long Song

A new, all singing all dancing, 50th anniversary super-deluxe reissue of The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway by Genesis arrives this week, even though, in just over a month, the album will actually turn 51 years of age. At this stage of the game, the significant anniversaries pile up at an alarming rate I can tell you. My copy of the LP was one of a select group to survive the punk rock record collection purge of the late 1970s and indeed I subsequently purchased it twice more on CD, in original and remastered configurations. The CDs have left the building now (as indeed they all will eventually), but my original 51 year old LP with the Charisma mad hatter label, a half a century's worth of accumulated surface noise and slightly ring worn sleeve will see me through this life, that's for sure. 

As I listen to the album while typing these words, the memories of of old loves, half forgotten friends and high school high jinks echo down the years. Isn't it miraculous that music can do that?

Genesis - In the Cage

Monday Long Song

Mal Waldron's 'Candy Girl' has been on my look-out-for list for a very long time, though, with original copies changing hands for silly money, I'd long since stopped holding my breath for an affordable one to appear within grabbing distance. Waldron released upwards of 100 albums under his own name between 1957 and 2002, almost exclusively as a jazz pianist. 1975's 'Candy Girl', however, finds him exiled in Europe, playing electric keyboards backed by the funktastic Lafayette Afro Rock Band, whose music would later be sampled by the hip-hop generation and beyond. I'm indebted to the fine folk at Strut Records for dusting off this obscure treasure of an LP and allowing me to finally cross it off the list.

Mal Waldron - Red Match Box

Monday Long Song

The jazz-fusion sweet spot runs from 1969 to 1975, a period where electricity pushed and prodded its way ever further into the previously exclusively acoustic instrumental palate. Miles Davis didn't even regard his seminal 1969 LP 'In a Silent Way' (which effectively kick started the movement) as a part of the jazz genre at all, referring to it instead as '...directions in music...'. Les McCann's 'Invitation to Openness' falls bang in the middle of that sweet spot, being recorded in the summer of 1971 and released the following year. 'The Lovers' takes up the whole of side one and is an eastern infused, ethereal masterpiece. Yusef Lateef and Alphonse Mouzon are probably the prominent names from the jazz world on the LP, but who's providing the guitar hook that threads its way through the tune? It's David Spinozza, whose other credits include Paul McCartney's 'Ram', John Lennon's 'Mind Games' and Don McLean's 'American Pie'.

Les McCann - The Lovers