Signing off

Rocket Records in Redwood City first opened its doors in 1964 at the height of Beatlemania. And, after Amoeba (twenty-four miles up the Interstate in San Francisco), was the second biggest record outlet in the state of California. However, news has just come in that, a couple of months shy of its fifty first birthday, they've shut up shop for the last time.
One of the many things that set Rocket apart from its competitors was its visitors' book: everyone who walked through their bright red front door (irrespective of whether they'd made a purchase or not) was encouraged to sign their book. I say book, when the receivers came in last week they took control of fifty A4 bound volumes - one for every year. Rumour has it that the Frank Zappa and Jim Morrison signatures in there are for real; though probably not the Mick Jagger or (several) John Lennons.

Don't forget the Joker(s)

My dad knows one card trick. He's very proud of it. He'll shuffle a complete deck of cards, offer you them face down and ask you to pick a card, any card. He will then proceed to tell you which card you've just picked. 'The Joker', he'll say, smilingly. And, sure enough, it is the Joker. However, considering this pack comprises fifty-two Jokers, it's hardly magic. But it keeps my dad amused.

I'd like to think Lemmy would have liked it too.

Lemmy: b. 24 December 1945, d. 28 December 2015

James Medd rounds up 2015 (2)

James Medd - he's listening

1. Hurtin Class - King Khan (feat. Ian Svenonius)

2. Don’t Wanna Fight - Alabama Shakes

3. Alright - Kendrick Lamar

4. On Fire Tonight - Blackalicious

5. Cockeyed Rabbit Wrapped in Plastic - SLUG

6. The Night Josh Tillman Came To Our Apt. - Father John Misty

7. Pretty Pimpin’ - Kurt Vile

8. 20/20 - Gaz Coombes

9. Beautiful Blue Sky - Ought

10. Breaker - Deerhunter

11. Fractals - Keep Shelly In Athens

12. Don’t Breath Out- Roots Manuva

13. Come Home Baby - The Charlatans

It probably won't surprise you to hear that The Number One Son listens to far more new music than his old man these days. Anyone on the receiving end of one of my Best Ofs this year doesn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to work out that precious little contained therein was made this year; precious little of it was made this century.

James asked if I'd listen to his 2015 round up and tell him what I thought of it. Like he does every year. But he already knows that Come Home Baby (track 13) was voted my Single of the Year way back in March and that Father John Misty (track 5) can do no wrong. So, instead of a conventional review, here's my pick of the rest. Each one comes with its own concise (some may say lazy) one word synopsis.

Gaz Coombes

'20/20'

Dreamy

Ought
'Beautiful Blue Sky'
Hypnotic



Roots Manuva
'Don't Breathe Out'
Majestic



Keep Shelly in Athens
'Fractals'
Soaring



SLUG
'Cockeyed Rabbit Wrapped in Plastic'
Tenebrous

Older? Yep. Wiser? Probably not

The card from The Number One Son

The cake

The baker

It had to happen. You can't stay in your early fifties forever. I was born on a Wednesday, so I really am trying not to be full of woe. Being surrounded by family helps; that and having my birthday cake delivered, personally, earlier this morning by the baker. A few beers and a curry later and I'm sure the idea of reaching my Britvic birthday will sink in. Life must go on.

No excuses

in the games room: hours of endless fun c/o the freaky deaky Dutch

Last night's Boxing Day celebrations at Medd Towers will live long in the memory. A veritable feast was laid on for this invite only event, straddling, as it does, Christmas Day and my birthday; all washed down with (among other concoctions) several Black & Tans and a rather nice Port (poured direct from the freezer, for reasons nobody can quite remember). The entertainment included a few rounds of Sjoelbakken - a spectacular game from The Netherlands that has been played in Medds' residences up and down the UK for at least three generations.

The lovely Adele came bearing gifts: I was presented with a beautiful note book - it's got lines and perforations and everything. And in the bottom right hand corner of each page sits an outline drawing of an acoustic guitar. Now I have absolutely no excuse for not using the opportunity of a few days' down time to write a new song. Have I?

Christmases were better in the seventies

Weren't they? Maybe it's just me. Anyway, whether they were or whether they weren't, I'd just like to wish anyone who's stuck their head around the door in the last twelve months a very Happy Christmas. Have a joyous one and have a safe one. And have one for me.

The images above show that there was a time when I could slide quite comfortably into a football strip (and a tank top come to that) and not get asked if I'd eaten all the pies. And the final picture (below), although not taken at Christmas, is a photograph that only came into my possession yesterday. It's of mum and her father in the back garden of the family home in Strokestown, Co. Roscommon. I'm guessing it was taken c.1937.

Fragile?

That was then, this is now

Some of you may recall me mentioning that when we first moved up here in 2010 I had, what I referred to as, euphemistically, at the time, a bit of a wobble. But it was actually a bit more serious than that. I was struck down by such a massive wave of negativity and melancholia I honestly, at the time, couldn’t see a way out. It all seems like a bad dream now; which, I suppose, it was. However, within three months and after some very emotional conversations with my (brilliant) Doctor, and the love and support of the current Mrs. Medd, I came out the other side; a little bit shaken, a little bit stirred. Interestingly, the Doc buggered off not long after I started to feel better. Jenny, on the other hand, stuck around. Thank God.

I mention all of this because the other day someone referred to me as fragile. I let it pass. But I really had to bite my lip. Five years ago, maybe. You can call me sensitive all day long – guilty as charged. But fragile? Not any more.

Fifth Beatles

Late yesterday afternoon whilst debating whether or not an Early Doors would be in order*, a couple of photos landed on my phone.

The lovely Kirstie, currently stepping out with The Number One Son (and a none too shabby photographer), had just taken these two excellent snaps of the pair of them and decided to share them with me and Jenny.

'You remind me of Stuart Sutcliffe and Astrid Kirchherr' I replied.



* Turns out it was

Slackers

Despite reports to the contrary, I did not pull Steve's first born from a burning building: one more thing we have in common. However, we did share a few festive flagons of frothing ale earlier in the week. Our evening was rounded off in a hipsters bar where the beers were long on price and the staff short on common courtesy: our beards and/or turn-ups obviously didn't meet with current hipster regulations.
If I make but one New Year's Resolution it will be to make sure Steve and I see more of each other next year than we did this. Maybe a return trip to New York could be on the cards - twenty one years since we were last there together. And maybe, if the planets align, we could catch resident New Yorker Vic Ruggiero at The Knitting Factory. Or some other hipster venue. I think I'll start growing my beard now.

Vic Ruggiero: Always Something In My Blindspot

You're the One

After another harmonious session in Oakwood last week with James and producer Carl Hetherington, I left the studio with a totally reworked version of You’re The One in the can. The previous take that I’d used for my Chip Off The Old Block album earlier this year was a very spartan affair; which, to be fair, is how I play it live. But when I saw the upright piano standing in the corner, looking very unloved, I knew James would have to add some keys. So, with just a five minute run through before the red light came on, The Number One Son was able to introduce some subtle flourishes to the song I wrote about nine months ago.

Bells

Rumours abound that Bon Scott, AC/DC's original hell raising vocalist, had recorded a version of Hell’s Bells before his untimely death in 1979. Whether he did or whether he didn’t is academic. The band, with new singer Brian Johnson, released their comeback in Black album (see what I did there?) in 1980 and virtually, to a man, convinced all doubting Thomases that they’d found the right man to continue the DC legacy. I wasn’t so sure at the time. In fact, it took me over twenty years to finally accept what a great song Hell’s Bells is: my third and final themed Full English selection.

Cherries

At the wrong end of your digital radio dial lives a music station that time forgot. Reports have reached Medd Towers that Doug McClure was spotted there recently. Planet Rock, clad from head to toe in faded denim soaked in patchouli oil and with more badges, patches and studs than can possibly be good for you, have a strapline - ‘Where Rock Lives’ - a little incongruous for a dinasour led station. 'Where Rock Made In The 1970s Lives’, although a bit of a mouthful for their gravel throated voice over man, would be a far truer mission statement.

Every weekday morning Dave Double Decks (real name Paul Anthony – surely the most wooden radio presenter ever to have sat in front of a microphone) presents The Full English: a trio of heavy rock classics chosen by a hapless listener from Wolverhampton (they’re always from Wolverhampton) and played between 7:30 and 8:00. This is Planet Rock in microcosm. And I love it. Actually, I loathe it – it’s a fine line. But it sure beats Thought for the Day. Did I mention that some of these metal trilogies are themed? Wolverhampton Man will often put his thinking cap on and come up with three bands he saw at his local miners welfare in 1979 or three songs he had on his car cassette player when he bought his first Austin Allegro.

Not that I could do any better. But I’ll give it a go. In fact, I started yesterday. If you read Monday’s blog, that was my first selection. At the bottom of this page you’ll see my second selection.

UFO epitomise English rock bands. English rock bands are hard working, honest as the day is long and know how to write a catchy riff. Sometimes they’ll get lucky (think Def Leppard), but usually they’re quite happy plying their trade in the lower leagues. Phil Mogg and Pete Way (UFO's vocalist and bass player) not only know how to write great riffs (Rock Bottom, Lights Out, Doctor Doctor) but they can write melodies too. Cherry being a case in point. Apologies in advance for this quite literal video interpretation of today’s Full English: contains gratuitous table top dancing.

UFO: Cherry

Lemons

Led Zeppelin's first tour of the US opened in Denver on Boxing Day 1968 and wrapped up in Miami Beach on 15 February 1969. It was on that initial jaunt that they first dropped a version of Howlin' Wolf's Killing Floor into their live set. But by the time they kicked off the second leg in the April, the song had transmogrified into The Lemon Song - c/w more Robert Plant babies than you can shake a shitty stick at.

And it was whilst in North America that year they took time out to record selections for what would become Led Zeppelin 2, the imaginatively titled follow up to their debut platter. And the album that would break them on both sides of the Atlantic.

This little bit of rock and roll plagiarism  may have cost them a few bob in out of court settlements and royalties, but by that time they were good for it.

Old Toy Trains

Quality Street. Not just a tin of chocolates that comes into the house but once a year, but also the title of Nick Lowe's festive album from 2013.

It's been playing in the car all week and may well be the soundtrack to this afternoon's decorating of the tree. I'll have to run it by the committee first, of course. The tree is traditionally decked with Dean Martin 'Live at the Sands' playing in the background, but as we're a week early (James is here this weekend, not next), it may be time to ring in the changes. I am, however, expecting stiff opposition.

Maybe they'll let me play both?

Nick Lowe - Old Toy Trains (2013)

 

Dear Diary...

Driving to the studio on Wednesday evening, James mentioned how touched he was when reading the recent posts I’d written about his Pop. I must confess that there has, of late, been a more Dear Diary approach to this blog – more than at any other time, possibly, in its, now, six year history. What started out as a personal platform for me to wax lyrical about the music, the bands and general pop culture that influenced and shaped me as a kid (and the stranglehold it’s had on me ever since) has changed. Matured? Probably not - but these days I’m just as likely to talk about the state of my head or my relationship with friends & family as I am with a current groove I've been pointed in the direction of. Is any of this making sense? Possibly not; but therein lies the rub, it doesn't have to. I maybe a daydreamer, but I also know that this little digital backwater where I reside is the equivalent of a derelict castle on the Isle of Skye. However great, or not, it is, there will only ever be one 53 seater a week that comes to visit it. More or less. Actually, my stats indicate a few more than that, but you know what I mean.

So if you're reading this, and have stuck with me this far, thank you. What started out as nothing more than a vanity project has certainly lasted longer than I ever thought it would. I look forward to writing each of these pieces so much I can't begin to tell you. What it must be like to read them, however, I couldn't possibly say. But as 2016 is only a handful of days away and this blog enters its seventh year, even I can only guess what lies in wait around the next corner.

Feeling Low

December comes and December goes. With only a couple of weeks left till Christmas, I’m still trying to get my head around how fast the last twelve months has gone. And all that’s happened in those 365 days. My ex-business partner, Steve*, and I used to say: it’s only people that let you down. Never has that maxim been more true than in 2015. Maybe I let my guard down more than I would normally, but, one thing’s for sure – if you want to be my friend next year I may well be asking for references.

Then again, you'll probably be shortlisted if you tell me that you normally despise Christmas records, but are quite partial to this little ditty.

Low: Just Like Christmas

* It's Steve's daughter's birthday today. Happy Birthday Faye x

The only creed you need

You may have a personal creed. Or you may not. You may well wing it most of the time - I know I do. And just when you think things should be wrapped up nicely and everything in its place, you find life still throws bouncers in your general direction. Thankfully, most of them whistle by your ears without actually making contact. Most of them. I'm hoping one day things will start to settle down. Or, maybe, this is how it's meant to be. Who knows? All I do know is - don't be reckless with other people's hearts, and don't put up with people that are reckless with yours. It's the only creed you need.

Five things I've discovered in 2015

I always like to learn at least one new fact each day: something I didn't know the day before. That and counting three good things that have happened to me each day before I go to sleep. Some days that's easier than others.

But discovering new things that you know will enrich your life forever is something that doesn't happen every day. And if you think I mean discovering inner peace or lining up my chakras then you obviously don't know me very well. No, I mean things that have blindsided me out of nowhere. You may call them trivial, but I would argue otherwise. So here are five things that I discovered this year.

Frozen Grapes

I recently ordered the cheeseboard in a newly opened pub in Leeds and was taken immediately with the bunches of frozen grapes that accompanied the cheese, crackers, cucumber and pickle. Each bite was like an instant sorbet rush that, to many, may well set their teeth on edge. Not me. Rest assured this delicacy will be coming to a menu near my dining table soon. And often.

Black & Tan

I like beer. Who doesn't? And I like real ales. Again, what's not to like? I'm even, for my sins, a card carrying member of CAMRA. I go to beer festivals and everything. But, at the end of the day, I like the taste of beer. And as a result I'm not precious about where it comes from or, indeed, whether it calls itself cask or keg. Or Craft. And trust me on this one, many many people do. And will debate for hours about how they will only drink a particular style of beer that is brewed in a particular way and kept a particular way.
So when a friend of mine said to me recently he's rather partial to half a pint of stout and half a pint of bitter in the same pint glass, I was intrigued. So intrigued that since this recent discovery I've drunk nothing else since. The purists probably hate it. Their loss.

Art

Now obviously I didn't discover art in 2015. But what I did discover is that I like doing it. And other people quite like it too: I even exhibited my work for the first time. Nothing has pleased me more this year than doing paintings for friends, especially my Penguin range, and creating unique pieces of art I know they will treasure. My friends Adele and Darren being two that spring to mind.
I've got some great ideas for 2016 and hope to show some of them here in the not too distant.

Guitar solos make all the difference

Ben Watt writes some great songs. You've only got to take one look at his output with Everything But The Girl to appreciate that. But last year he made a delightful album with Bernard Butler. And it was Butler's deft guitar work that transformed many of those tunes. Not least, this live version of Never Forget.
James Medd did something similar for me only last month. My song, What Are You Waiting For, had been languishing in the long grass for ages before James brought his magic to it.

Dad

I know I said this list was going to be trivial. But I can't put this year to bed without mentioning the most seismic thing that happened to me this year. After mum passed away in the summer my dad could so easily have hit the buffers and given up. In fact, if dad had gone first that's precisely what would have happened to mum. But he didn't. Yes, he mourned her loss (and still does, obviously) and yes he continues to live in the same house they shared for the last forty odd years. But dad is slowly coming out the other side. And, what I've discovered, certainly, is a new version of my dad. I've touched upon it before so won't dwell on it here. Suffice to say he'll be back again in a couple of weeks and will spend Christmas (and my birthday) with us and that's the only present I want this year.

James Medd rounds up 2015 (1)

After a couple of beers and a superb fish curry in Leeds with The Number One Son last night, it was time to hit the road. But not before he foisted his Best of 2015 CD upon me (an annual Medd tradition - he'll be getting mine next week) and said 'listen to this on the way home.'

Thirteen tracks and fifty minutes later, the last song was fading out just as I pulled on to the drive and killed the engine. It's all about the timing(s).

A full track listing, c/w links, and review will be posted here before Crimbo. But in the meantime, this was the third or fourth tune in. A modern classic, I'm sure you'll agree.

Father John Misty: The Night Josh Tilllman Visited our Apartment