**************************************************
It's finally here! Bob Dylan singing Doctor Seuss!
http://dylanhearsawho.com/home.htm
**************************************************
Parishioner Magnus: I'm interested in rock folk who go by the same handle. The prime example must be Mick Jones. On the one hand, he's the heroic, liquorice legged guitar slinger in The Clash. On the other, the songwriter and poodle perm sporting bloke from emotive Americans: Foreigner. Same name, very different mission.
Shortly after attending a gig at the Assembly Rooms Tamworth I received the following letter. " Dear Customer, Due to the fact that Midge Ure's voice was not to his usual high standard at the show on Wednesday, we would like to offer you, as a good will gesture, a £5 credit against another show at the venue" I had found the evening quite difficult to get through, especially the acoustic version of Vienna, so was quite relived when I got the letter.
I saw Thin Lizzy at Hammersmith Odeon in about 1979/80 and Gary Moore was unhappy with a guitar that he had been handed. He simultaneously lobbed/threw said axe into the outstretched arms of the 'guilty' roadie and strode across the stage to plant a foot between the outstretched thighs of said, otherwise distracted, roadie. That had to hurt, and it was the worst display of angry petulence that I have ever witnessed.
Re Worst Temper In Rock, just two words will surely suffice: Van Fecking Morrison
Often, when faced with a journalist from the the rock press, musicians are on their best behavior for fear that news of what they are really like gets back to their constituency. Not always, obviously. But ocasionally, when the journalist is long gone, they save an insight into their real selves for us, the mere smudgers. In thirty years of photographing rock stars and musicians, the worst and most inexplicable bad temper I have ever personally encountered was that of Ben Watt. Back in 1986 I was commisioned to shoot Everything But The Girl for a cover of the NME. I'd been instructed by then editor Danny Kelly to get some good colour photographs of them and not to come back until I did. It was in the early days of NME colour covers and good vibrant colour was considered very important then. It was a bright, sunny, early summer day when I turned up at EBTG's chic little flat in one of
the back roads of Hampstead. After the usually pleasantries, Ben and Tracey asked me what I wanted to do. Since their flat was fashionably monochrome (see example as evidence here - http://tinyurl.com/3aq2vg) with white walls, black and white tiles and black and white photos of Louise Brooks on the wall, I asked them if they'd mind stepping outside into the sunshine. They, for some reason, only wanted to do the photos inside their flat. It wasn't exactly hot outside but it was not at all cold. I explained that I could do some perfectly decent photos of them inside their flat but that then the photos wouldn't be able to go on the cover. At this, Ben Watt went almost instantly incandescent with rage. I heard a full gamut of four letter words and a lot of hand wringing, shouting, banging of tables, storming around and all about what rubbish the NME was anyway. I'd spent many years
photographing bikers, punks, skinheads and drug addicts and none of them had ever ever reacted so badly to a photo suggestion of mine. A slightly embarrassed looking Tracey Watt was almost obliged to join in the tirade, so she did. As I predicted the photos were fine and they didn't go on the cover. The photos show them looking peaceful and contemplative. Which just goes to show how un-verite the medium can sometimes be. They didn't apologise afterwards and I've never met them since. It was a long time before his illness, so that could not have been Ben Watt's excuse. I once recounted this episode to a guy that had been his guitar tech for a while. He told me that on an entire US tour, Ben Watt never managed to say "please" or "thank you" once.
Stephen Stills must come in the Top 10. There's a CD doing the round of collectors at the moment that includes a recording of Stills playing the acoustic guitar track to "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes". At one point his cohorts Crosby and Nash break into applause. Is Stills pleased by this ? Not at all;
(Stills): "Goddamn you guys, I was really playing groovy.."
(Nash): "We just wanted to tell you about it...
(Stills): "You just shouted in my ear and blew my whole groove. Now shut up
for a while and let's get down and mellow ? OK ?"
(Nash): "I'm not gonna say anything.."
(Stills): "You just said something else..."
There was also the time during the first night of the two night stint they did at Hammersmith in 2005 where, after the end of the first song, Stills stalked to the side of the stage taking his guitar off as he did so. His roadie presented him with the guitar for the next song only for Stills to extend an arm, place the flat of his hand against the poor employee's chest and force him out of the way as Stills sought the object of his quest, a towel.
Not strictly rock, I know, but surely no bad temper in show business has been more carefully recorded and documented than drummer Buddy Rich. Click here to hear him tearing a strip off and then firing an entire band.
http://www.divshare.com/download/209952-740
My wife dragged me along to a 'modern antiques' fair at Olympia this morning, and the very first stall I saw was labelled 'Holly Johnson Antiques - Knutsford, Cheshire'. No sign of the proprietor, sadly, so I can't say whether it was Mr FGTH himself. But I was disappointed that their slogan wasn't something along the lines of: 'Relax - in a vintage chair from Holly Johnson Antiques'.
It was my belief that Geordie from Killing Joke was actually from County Durham (which technically wouldn't make him a Geordie, of course). Another factor in his North Eastern lineage would be that he used to use Burman guitar amplifiers, made in the North East by Greg Burman. A mate of mine used to work for Burman's servicing department, and once had to repair one of Geordie's amplifiers, back when 'The Joke' were huge. On removing the back panel of the amplifier, he was greeted by the horrendous sight of valves and transistors caked with gouts of dried phlegm and other discharge from the mucus membranes of post-Punk striplings. It resembled something like a cross between a contemporary hospital ward and a germ warfare lab. Them were the days, etc.
My favourite example of artistic self-reference is the mid-90s Waylon Jennings classic Nobody Knows. A blinding, mid-tempo rockabilly number, this boasts the central conceit that Waylon is in fact the undead Elvis Presley, disguising himself as the bearded outlaw country icon to avoid detection. This allows Waylon not only to mention his own name in song, but also to call himself handsome, rugged, an amazing singer and guitar player, as well as a true star - all said modestly, of course, in the voice/persona of Elvis Presley. It's so good that I think the lyrics bear inclusion in full here.
Well I nearly got caught at a Burger King
And a couple of times on a plane
I thought I was safe from detection
With all of the weight I had gained
But walking around in a jumpsuit
That didn't work worth a damn
So I bought me some Levis and grew me a beard
You'll never guess who I am
Chorus:
Nobody knows I'm Elvis
Nobody knows this is me
After all of my tries...
I've got the perfect disguise
And I'm who I want to be
Nobody knows I'm Elvis
Nobody knows this is me
Bet you thought I was ol' Waylon
With all of my rugged good looks
Swaggering walk, body and soul
I barely had what it took
I've always envied his singing
The way he played the guitar
Black vest and hat, that's where it's at
That's what I call a star
Chorus.
(Bridge)
I want to show you Graceland, baby
That's where you ought to be
I'll give you a call...but let's keep it all
Somewhere between you and me
Nick Lowe's not the only one - there's a Wonder Stuff b-side all about "Astley in the Noose" ("of he hasn't got a use, but he's trying...)
"This is not a love song. / This is not a love song. / This is not a love song." You're telling me it's not a bleeding love song, John.
Pip pip!!
From time to time The Vicar's likes to communicate with the parish via email. If you'd like to be added to his address book, just click below.
New edition out now:
Graeme Thompson's revealing Music Producers article, in which he talks to the men behind music from Bob Dylan, Radiohead, Madonna, Crowded House, The Verve, and Siouxsie and the Banshees. Our definitive guide to The Worst of the Internet. Former KLF agent-provocateur Bill Drummond reveals why you'll never get to hear The Future of Music.
more >
welcome | pew tube | ask the parish | archive | letterbox | links | myspace site by mks:creative (c) The Rocking Vicar 2008