Tuesday, 11 May 2010
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
Lou Reed, Royal Festival Hall, London. April 19th 2010.
Not a toe-tapper. That’s obvious though. The Metal Machine Music LP re-imagined by Uncle Lou as a Night of Deep Noise. On bass, guitar and drum. And sax. And gong. And gizmos. The Festival Hall is half empty.
The original album is 4 sides of electronic squall. Cycling white-noise. Distorted, tinny drone. Shifting frequencies. Famously, people took copies back on its release, assuming the vinyl was defective. Some reckoned sides 3 and 4 were actually sides 1 and 2 backwards. The wags.
To be honest, I never listened to the whole thing. Legend has it that Lou wanted to kill off his Glam Rock Star image, and piss his record company off at the same time. Part true, probably. But Lou has always liked noise. He was in the Velvet Underground, fercrissakes.
I always liked the idea of the album. The conceit. The challenge. Something so “other” that you had to admire it, just for its weirdness. And this from a guy who wrote songs as fragile and beautiful as, “Femme Fatale”. A proper concept-album. Back then, it was as out-there as you could get. Still is.
Lou’s assembled a Metal Machine Trio, improvising, based on the theme of the record. So, it’s not a note-for-note recitation. Which is a shame. The sheer skill to recreate exactly the white-noise sound of the original, with real instruments, would have been something to behold.
Tonight was intense, churning sounds but, strangely, also quite quaint. Quaint in its old-school Avantgardeness, which as we all know is French for “bullshit”. Lou Reed is officially an old man. He looks frail and moves like an old guy. How he manages to grind through a show like this has to be applauded. From the bleachers, it’s physically draining. My ears took a pounding just from the intro-tape.
The noise was big and repetitive and droning and feed-backing and pitch-shifted and reverb-ed. It was like the climax of a Sonic Youth gig, slowed down, and spread over 70 minutes.
It started off sounding like early Hawkwind at their most trippiest, with a pulsing digital didgeridoo-type throbbing bass, only, not as much fun. The sounded recede. Lou fiddled with his amps, whilst sat on a wheeled office-chair, shuffling between them like a mad scientist. Lots of FX pedals and wringing of guitar strings. No tune, just dings and stabs and distorted harmonics, processed and filtered through an array of boxes onstage. It went on for a long time…
Suddenly, the sound dipped and Lou was creating a sound like My Bloody Valentine being played on a Stylophone. I laughed. It was preposterous. That’s not a slag. I enjoyed it. It was like one of Nigel Tufnel’s guitar solos. I almost expected to see Lou tune his guitar halfway through.
The sax player threw his all into squonking out notes on his sax. Somehow it seemed out of place with its organic, natural sound. Didn’t do it for me really. Curiously the show wasn’t overly loud. If it had been face-melting all the way through it might have been more effective. Total immersion. Shock and Awe. This was more sedate. Tame even.
Things only really took off when Lou actually stood up and blammed out a few chords. The sound, for a split second, was like the album. Big, grinding noise. My mate Nick always thought Lou’s guitar sounded like a toilet flushing. Dirty.
So, was it any good? Really? Yes. It went pear-shaped, sure, but that was the risk. A totally improvised show. I’ve seen Lou Reed loads and at least this was different. He deserves his eccentricities. As part of the Ether Festival, which celebrates all things electronic, it was spot-on. And brought a little Rock Star magic too.
As Art, with a capital A, it was just the right side of Emperor’s New Clothes. It had the feel a proper classical music recital, only louder. Like the album, though, it’s the idea behind it that makes it work. Not an every day thing. Laughing Lou Reed. Legend.
Thursday, 18 March 2010
Big Star The Grand, Clapham, London, August 1993
(I wrote this before Chilton's sad death, 2010. RIP)
Alex Chilton had been a teenage star in the 60s with the Box Tops. Big Star followed who were the ultimate cult band. They never played Europe and hardly played in the US. Bad management, bad drugs, bad luck. Ahead of their time. I’d seen him solo in Berkeley and had since bought all 3 Big Star albums and knew them inside out.
And suddenly he announced a tour with the original drummer and back up from the Posies. Unbelievable! And it was just down the road from where I was living.
Large group of us went. They concentrated on the first two poppier albums, not the bleak third. Have you ever heard “Holocaust”? Music for the end of the World. Alex had a big semi-acoustic and made it look easy. He’s not sold on the myth and even spent 2 years working in a New Orleans kitchen. He didn’t care. But he played the songs as if they were fresh. Chiming riffs and licks. “September Gurls” was magic. “Back of a Car”, “Baby Beside Me”, “Way Out West”, “I’m in Love with a Girl”, “You Get What You Deserve”. Song after song, all of them bigger and better live. The crowd were screaming approval and Alex seemed to enjoy it, though he commented that he couldn’t believe we wanted to hear this “old shit”. He came back for one last encore 10 minutes after the house lights went up and the venue was half full. Michael Jackson had just been done for kiddy-fiddling (the first time) and he dedicated “Thirteen” to him. One of my Top Ten gigs, easy.
Alex Chilton Berkeley Square, Berkeley, California, November 1985
I knew Alex Chilton had been the lead singer of The Boxtops and I knew one song, “The Letter” from my “Stardust” original movie soundtrack album. A great album by the way and is how I first heard Hendrix. KALX used to play “September Gurls” by his next band, Big Star, all the time. More recently he’d produced the first Cramps and Panther Burns albums, which I loved. He was indie underground Legend. Alan McGee, who set up Creation records and signed Oasis, apparently made all his signings listen to Big Star. They were like the Velvet Underground – no audience first time around, but became cult. At this stage, though, Big Star were a distant memory and Chilton had all but retired from music. So, a rare sighting of a Legend. Big Star reformed in the early 90s for a tour and finally got some kudos and dosh.
He was short, kinda straight looking and played great guitar. There was no ego or rock God posturing. Normal guy. He played “Slut” by Todd Rungren, loads of old soul and RnB covers, one about AIDS (“fuck me and die”), no “The Letter” but did do “September Gurls”, the opening riff getting a big cheer. All very casual and almost throw-away. He made it look easy. The only song I recognised, when I finally heard more Big Star, was a version of “Big, Black Car”. Totally Cool. Made you want to keep it to yourself but at the same time wanting more people to know about this great thing.
Alex died suddenly on St Patrick's Day, 2010 aged 59.
Monday, 8 March 2010
If you live long enough you’ll see most things. I’ve seen John Cale many times, including the Velvet Underground reformation in 1993. But, the whole of ‘1919”? With an orchestra? Dude, I’m there!
In Rock’s twilight years we’ve seen many classic albums played in their entirety: Pet Sounds; Funhouse; SF Sorrow. The songs still work and fans, old and new, get a once-in-a-lifetime thrill. “1919” is Cale’s most complete album – orchestral pop with a weary strain of melancholia. The songs are loosely based around the theme of life after The Great War and Treaty of Versailles. Cale gave the Velvets their avant-garde edge and has always been about more than just 3 chords.
Officially Cale’s 67, though some say he’s 72. Whichever way, he has presence. With a capital P. He makes his entrance with an ‘Hello London, nice to see you”, casual suit, shirt out, hair dyed rust-and-blonde. El Hombre cool. And we’re off, straight into ‘Child’s Christmas in Wales”.
Strings, horns, drums and guitar all blend beautifully. Cale’s rich baritone cuts through it all. I’m Fan Boy and could happily listen to him singing it all a cappella. Mind you, I get teary when I hear Welsh rugby fans singing their national anthem. There’s something about the Welsh heart…
Meanwhile, back in the jungle. “Hanky Panky Nohow” was gorgeous. “The Endless Plain of Fortune” cello-tastic with horns that made hairs stand. “Paris 1919” tailor made for the event. “Andalucia” aching. “Graham Green” jaunty. “Half Past France” made my eyes prickle. The songs, familiar to me over decades, were reborn. The ballast of the orchestra gave them a full, warm, analogue glow. “Macbeth” romped us home. Ovation and a visibly touched Cale patted his heart.
I could have gone home happy then but, seeing as the original album was only 30 minutes long, there was more to come. The orchestra went off, leaving Cale with the band. “Amsterdam” from his first album was a complete surprise and special treat. “Femme Fatale” was radically reworked and tipped a nod to his history. “Heartbreak Hotel” was the usual demented tale of woe. “Fear” is still scary whilst making you laugh. The band are great. Axe work that flowed, every note fitting. The drummer man – a joy to watch; loose but nailing it.
The orchestra return for “Do Not Go Gentle” which builds and builds. Dylan Thomas set to orchestra with pounding piano clusters. “Hedda Gabler” is another obscure cut, which swells and unfurls beyond its original vinyl recording. It’s big. Things end with an even older curiosity; ‘Dirty Ass Rock n Roll”. Not an obvious choice but a jolly way to wind things up.
I was there. Tidy. “Music For a New Society” next, perhaps?
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
Rolling Stones Shepherds Bush Empire June 1999
Rushed down to Tower Records, Piccadilly Circus, with Rod Webster on the Monday morning. We were supposed to be editing but we bunked off – um vee. Well, why not, it’s not like it happens everyday? Queued for an hour, handed over £10 cash money (bargain!) and got a ticket and wrist band.
The Stones always liked to do a small club date in London, famously playing the 100 club, Brixton Academy and The Astoria on different tours. Although huge all over the planet, London is still their home town and they always needed to put on a good show in front of the home crowd. 1999 saw all sorts of unique gigs as the Twentieth Century drew to a close and I think people getting in a tizzy over YK2 (remember that?!) was a red herring, a distraction from a sense of loss, End of The Millennium Psychosis Blues, literally the end of an era. Part of this naval-gazing saw Macca play the Cavern Club in Liverpool, doing old rock’n’roll numbers. It made world news.
So, whither goest the The Rolling Stones in The Twentieth Century? Can they still pull it off? Does it matter? Is Rock Dead? That kinda thing. Having seen the Stones the year before at a routine Enormodome gig (and been underwhelmed) the chance to see them in such a small venue was novel.
Gig was good, but…. it got a wee bit dull it has to be said. They didn’t do the really big set-piece songs (no Sympathy?!). Bits of it were, frankly, pub-rock. Keith, perched on a stool, did “Memory Motel” or some other coked-up nonsense from Black & Blue (a nasty soulless piece of vinyl). They did “Cherry O Baby” and it was horrible. The rest descended into Chuck Berry jamming. It wasn’t all bad but after the initial rush of “kinnel, it’s Them!” you were left with just watching a band and it didn’t seem to gel. I don’t wish to sound ungrateful of course. It was great but it didn’t change my life. Special, if only for the chance to see them in such a small venue (about 2,000). Weirdly, I saw them again on the Saturday at Wembley Stadium and they were amazing. Go figure.
Tuesday, 2 February 2010
Battersea Park. July 29th. 1985
A gig to celebrate the 150th Anniversary of the Tolpuddle Martyrs. Can you imagine that happening now?! Another day of music. Free in a London Park!
Wandered off to see Jimmy Page playing on a small stage with Roy Harper. THE Jimmy Page. THE Roy Harper. Roy had sung “Have a Cigar” for Pink Floyd. Led Zeppelin wrote “Hats Off To Roy” about him. The songs were OK but I didn’t quite get it. Usual feeling of “big brother music”. Now, though, I think albums like “Stormcock” are amazing. Sigh, youth. Roy looked a bit untogether on stage. I’d seen them recently interviewed on the Old Grey Whistle Test, halfway up a mountain in Wales. Roy was a bit shot in those days and they came over as very defensive. Was he mad? I’ve got video of Roy playing Stonehenge Festival that same year, which says a lot about him. No rock star he, living in a rock star pad.
John Sebastian. He was at Woodstock and his whole act and performance was the same, pretty much. He’s ripped to the tits in Woodstock but if you see footage from other festivals of the time he acts the same way. All tie-die and goofy. “ Do You Believe in Magic?” and “Daydream”. I didn’t mind but it seemed, well, a bit sad. What do you do after something like Woodstock? Still, you didn’t see Woodstock legends every day of the week and at least we knew the words!
Christy Moore was amazing. He was the Guv’nor of folk in the 80s. Big powerful voice, beautiful guitar playing. He did one song about all the young Irish men who’ve come to London over the decades for gold and end up drinking on the streets of Camden and can’t go home to Ireland. Lost souls. I saw the London Irish in a different light after that song. Proper folk music.
Paul Butterfield Blues band were sixties Rock Legends. Like an American John Mayall’s Blues Breakers. The hub of serious white blues. His guitar was dirty and loud. It had a presence that the British pub rock I’d heard didn’t have. Maybe it was Civil Rights or the Draft and Vietnam or the assassinations of King and the Kennedys, but American Sixties guitar was an altogether angrier beast. The Stooges and MC5 couldn’t have come from Chipping Sodbury.
Alan Price did the one about Simon’s amazing, dancing bear. He was in the Animals and gets all the royalties from their biggest hit, “House of The Rising Sun”, much to his bandmates’ chagrin.
A nice day out. Once the GLC was scrapped these gigs stopped.
Battersea Park. July 7th 1985
Third day in a row of live music after having seen Jonathan Richman and Broooce. Another GLC Jobs For a Change Festival. Big event. Usual stalls and collecting buckets. This was about the time of Red Wedge where people like Paul Weller did a UK tour drumming up support amongst young voters to go and vote Labour and kick the Tories out. Labour MPs actually spoke at these gigs. Mobilise the Yoof. ‘Cept they didn’t really. People did genuinely have conversations about the overthrow of Capitalism and the righteousness of Socialism though. South Africa was the other big grievance. Apart from a bit of Glastonbury you don’t see such activism attached to music festivals now. Or anything really. Have we really won the war? iTwats.
We stayed by one of the 4 stages for most of the day. The Beat Farmers were jokey RnB. The Men They Couldn’t Hang were nu-country. Wreckless Eric seemed very bitter. He did a song about AIDS, which was the big News story of the day. Government adverts with collapsing tomb stones warning of the perils of unprotected sex. It was still seen mainly as a gay plague. The gist of Eric’s song was that he wished someone he knew would get AIDS and die. Nasty. He looked a bit pissed too. Bit of Boot Hill Foot-Tappers and Hank Wangford, which was pleasant enough. I wouldn’t cross the road to hear them now. Saw some of The Pogues moighty craic thing but it seemed lost in an open space. You have to be in the mood as well.
By this time we were knackered. 3 days in a row. I ended up walking to Waterloo with sister Leah and her friend Louise to get the last train back to Andover. We missed it and sat on a milk-train for hours before it set off. Didn’t get any sleep and got a cold. I rang in sick the next day. That week’s NME covered all the gigs I’d been to, on one page.
Bruce Springsteen. Wembley Stadium. 1985
The day after seeing Jonathan Richman we all trudged up to Wembley to see Broooce. Met at the Glass Blowers Arms in Soho. Dunno why but I remember it. Chris was there with his sister Cath and I think brother Mike. We didn’t have tickets but we thought we’d get them at the door, or cheap off a tout, because it was the third consecutive night so, we reasoned, most people would already have seen him.
It was Bruce’s turn to be Mega that year. Bowie had done it in 1983, Dylan the year before. Live Aid that year revived some careers and people like Simple Minds, U2 and INXS did their stadium shows in the late 80s/early 90s. Product, man. Still we liked Bruce and even yer parents had heard of him. “Born In The USA” had done big box office and yet he was a known anti-Reaganite. It was an irony even then that Born In The USA, the song, was taken up by gung-ho America. “Dude, the chorus. It’s fuckin America, buddy!”
Lines about young men being sent off to fight the yellow man didn’t seem to register. Despite the bombast, Bruce knew which side he was on. And compared to, say, the Stones or Bowie or Dylan he was Karl Marx.
It was a beautiful day and the walk up the Wembley Way was great, thousands of fans smiling, the twin towers getting ever closer. Wembley was as big as it got in those days.
Tried in vain to get tickets. Non on sale and the touts were charging double. We sat on the grass at the back of the stadium. Bruce was doing 3 to 4 hour sets so we listened to the first bit which was all solo acoustic. Then, kinnel, the doors at the back were opening and people were running in! Huge wave of people surging forward, fast. I grabbed Leah’s hand and dragged her along with me. Saw a girl get knocked to the floor, people leaping over her to get into the stadium. Scary.
Suddenly we were in running, laughing onto the terraces at the back of the stadium. Way at the back. If you’ve been to Wembley you’ll know that’s far. The stands were still the concrete steps of old, before Heysel and Hillsborough and seating. There were two TV sets either side of the stage. Well, Jumbo screens but looked like little tellies from where we were. Sound was loud and clear except the place was so big there was a sound delay of a full second. Bruce would be mouthing “huh” or “ergh” or “yeah” into the mic, then snap his head back and then you’d hear “huh” or “ergh” or “yeah” rumbling out of the PA.
Some of it was magic. “Born To Run”. “Thunder Road”. Cliches, but still good air-guitaring anthems. 70,000 pairs of hands clapping. Bellowed choruses. But it was Broooce, after all, so there were loads of tedious work-outs. Clarence with his sax. Nils Lofgren shredding axe. Boss running from side to side. Every last ounce of pure, honest, rock’n’roll sweat pouring out of him. He was the People’s Rocker. His head’s too big for his stocky little body by the way. By the fourth hour I’d done Bruce it has to be said. Still, a modern Rock Legend, a good show and it was free! Result.
Wilko Johnson. Bull & Gate, London June 1985.
If you ever get the chance to see him, go. Demented. He’s a snapshot from a sweaty pub somewhere in 1974. Slack-jawed, machine-gunning, gum-chewing, duck-walking, leg-kicking axe man. He looks exactly the same as he does in old footage of Dr. Feelgood. When bands like Yes were releasing triple albums with Roger Dean sleeve covers (“Tales from Topographic Oceans”, the Platonic Conception of the Ultimate Bloated Excess Prog Album) Dr. Feelgood were sharp, 2-minute stabs of amphetamine R’n’B. All the Punks of ’76 – Pistols, Clash, Damned – saw them and enjoyed the speediness of it. Loud, fuck-off Rock music. They are the missing link between the New York Dolls and the Clash. Attitude in a riff.
Their “Stupity” live album hit Number One in age of ELO, Elton John and The Eagles. Unheard of. The Kidz were mobilising against the Forces of Blandness.
Bull & Gate is next door to The Forum and has been a bedrock of the north London music scene for generations. My flat-mates Nick and Howie played there. A typical Tuesday night with 4 bands on the bill, usually outsiders playing their first London gig, and each band has brought along 30 friends and family so the Pub’s happy selling beer on a Tuesday night. And for this rare privilege each band paid £50 to cover “costs”. Pay-to-Play. A monopoly that has been broken, thankfully. Still, it was a lovely old Victorian boozer and almost a rite of passage for any band.
Wilko was fanatastic. A genuine performer. He plays guitar like Hendrix in that he uses his thumb and fingers to press down on strings to form chords and with his other hand plays lead and rhytmn. The secret’s in the thumb as it makes a barre shape leaving the fingers free to shred axe. He machine guns the audience with his battered Fender Telecaster. Tight 3-button black suit, done up, and white shirt. Simple, striped down, basic. “I’m a Hog For You Baby” was glorious. One little piggy went to Hong Kong. Cue Chinese melody as Blues riff. On the beat. Tighter than a nun’s chuff. Body and tune in sync. The Form indivisible from the Content.
Wilko. A normal bloke who plays the Idiot Savant but who probably is one for real. A holy goof like Neal Cassady. Unique. He’ll make you smile.
Jonathan Richman. Jackson Lane Community Centre. June 1985
Summer 1984 I shared a flat in Putney with Chris who got me a job at SunMed for the holiday. Craig and Andrea were down from Scotland to go to Glastonbury with us later that month..
Lovely old Victorian building used as performance space, crèche, restaurant, theatre, meeting space. Proper Community Arts centre. Jonathan had a new album out and was back again to push it. And he had a new band which had Asa Brebner from the Live album and Andy Paley on drums. Cool. I’d been given a camera for my 21st birthday the previous year and I discovered a love of taking pictures. I’m not tech-y in anyway but I love seeing the fruits of my labours back from the developers. Haven’t got the hang of digital yet. It’s no the same, ken? Anyway, I took some photos that night. The band was great. Much tighter and Jonathan did much more improv and dancing. Good srummin’. Crowd really enthusiastic. Laughter. That’s what you get at a Jonathan gig. In truth, I’ve never heard such laughter at any other gig. Weirdly, as a parent now, I see him as a bit Wiggles. No “Road Runner” though.
Jonathan Richman. Dingwalls.1984
The original Dingwalls. A long room with a raised section along the back wall with a bar. All open plan with a tiny stage at the other end with iron poles holding the ceiling up. Camden hadn’t been Starbucked then. The market was titchy and home-made. Dingwalls was a name gig for any band despite the grubbiness. Well, almost. It was small and intimate. Which meant that it got very squashed. We saw Jonathan by Camden Lock before going in and said hello, which was nice. We didn’t have tickets and they said it was sold out. Just then Ellie the singer walked in and we asked if she could get us in. And she did! She also opened her handbag for something and I saw a vibrator just lying there. Not very chivalrous of me to mention it but it was quite a surprise, having never seen one before.
Cries of “Road Runner” went unheeded. Don’t remember this gig as well as the first one, mainly because the view of the stage was restricted and the sound was quiet. Still, those Dingwalls ads were part of growing up. The tickets were like old-style cinema tickets coming off a big roll. No band names written on them or anything hi-falutin like that.
Bob Dylan. Wembley, 1984.
Bob had done a few Christian albums after 1978 that weren’t really up to much. “God Gave Names To All The Animals” from “Slow Train Coming” was appalling. He was still Bob though and it was his turn to play the world’s big stadiums that year. Uncle Greg had never seen Bob, I’d never been to Wembley Stadium, so we went along on spec. Bought tickets off a tout for 10 quid each and went in.
Wember-lee! We entered into the arena. It’s big! There’s the twin towers! Place is packed. Smell of turf, rubber, sweat, beer, smoke. Got to the half way point of the pitch, to the right of the mixing desk. Caught the end of Santana which was all head-back, eyes-closed, axe noodling. No video screen so they were diddy little images in the distance. 4 heavy looking miners stared at us. Greg’s 6’5” and has one of those faces. We supported the Miners in principle but when you met a real one there was a huge divide. We had some hash oil which, like Red Leb and Afghan Black, is a very rare thing these days. Skunk hadn’t become the norm yet. We were very relaxed after the initial wave of Miners paranoia.
And then, BOB! Ecstatic reception. Bob in long leather coat, shades and battered top hat. The Joker Man hisself. He did all the biggies but hard and fast. Some tunes were only recognizable after about 2 verses. A girl was sitting on a mate’s shoulders ahead, blocking the view. “Sit down, girlie!” we yelled in our best Glasgow. That got a cheer from those around us. Another girl stood in front of me and started grinding her bum into my crotch. I started fondling her boobs under her T-shirt. Weird. Nice, but weird.
It was a good show. Loud and the mix was good. You could hear Bob’s rasp clearly. Mick Taylor, ex-Stones, was on guitar and it was very rock-y. “Maggie’s Farm” got a huge cheer with its line about not working on it no more. “Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat”. ”Mr Tambourine Man”. “It’s All Over Now Baby Blue.” “Blowing In The Wind”. “Tangled Up In Blue”. “All Along The Watchtower.” “Like a Rolling Stone”. He wrote that! Van Morrison and Eric Clapton came on for the encores. Finished with “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door”. 72,000 happy punters and a much better gig than Blackbush 6 years earlier. Well, by this time I knew the songs, which helps. By the end of the decade Bob had started his Never Ending Tour and now regularly plays 3,000 capacity venues. The days of enormo gigs behind him.
Trudging out we got paranoid about the security cameras and secretly popped the rest of the oil into the back of a random guy’s ruck-sack. He looked the sort.
Jonathan Richman. Hammersmith Palais. June 1984
I remember “Road Runner” in the summer of ’76, working for a fruit & veg Man, delivering produce around hotels and shops in the Trossachs. Great riff and cool lyrics, tooling about in beautiful scenary. Come 1983 and I’ve just started a degree in Stirling. Met Craig and Andrea and we shared a flat. They’ve been together 25 years now and have 2 lovely kids, my Godson Jack and Alice.
Anyway, one day we were looking at second-hand vinyl and came across “The Modern Lovers Live”. Andrea’s brother had been at the actual Hammy Odeon gig where the album was made. So we bought it. I loved it. It made me laugh. It was dumb but had cool tunes. After that first album I bought the back catalogue, scouring record shops and jumble sales. The original ”Modern Lovers” album recorded in 1972, with John Cale producing, but not released until 1976, is the missing link between the Velvets and punk. No lie.
Then “Jonathan Sings” came out on Rough Trade in 1984. We loved it. He had a ragged-y little band with girl vocalists and he played his squonking sax on some songs. Funny,happy little songs. I was always amazed thatJonathan had followed the Velvet Underground as a teenager. His first album from the early 70s is still a cracker. Dark but poignant. And some great riffs. It’s up there with “Marquee Moon” and “Horses”. After that he sounded mello. There was a song on the new album about how he’d gone to Bermuda after that period and learnt to chill-out. I was a fan and that summer in London he was due to play his first UK gig in about 5 years! Craig & Andrea came down from Stirling.
Orange Juice had asked him to support on their big end-of-tour London gig for them. They were fans too, led by Edwyn Collins and on Postcard Records - the Sound of Young Scotland. Their first album had some lovely tunes with wry lyrics about wearing their “fringe like Roger McGuinn”. Scots have always been good at recognising a cool tune, absorbing influences and coming up with something different: Rezillos; Jesus & Mary Chain; Aztec Camera; Hue & Cry; Teenage Fan Club etc. Orange Juice were probably just as thrilled as the audience to see Jonathan play. It was a glorious double-bill on paper.
The Hammersmith Palais was the venue. As in “White Man in…”. While writing this the Palais is due to be knocked down after 90 years. For more offices and Starbucks. Hooray. If it was a West End theatre it would have listed status but it’s been deemed “architecturally unimportant” and, anyway, it was always a bit, well, common. You know, pop music and such like.
It was/is a great venue. Not as opulent as the Hammy Odeon (or the Labatt’s Carling Hammersmith Apollo as it was renamed – tossers!) but it had a wraparound balcony and an enormous wooden dance floor.
Jonathan got an ecstatic reception that even took him by surprise. The drummer had a bongo with a splash cymbal strapped to it. An upright double bass. Ellie on backing vocals. And Jonathan. It was staggering. New songs, old songs. “I’m a Little Dinosaur” “Stop This Car” “Summer Feeling” “Hospital”. He acted out the songs, stepping back from the mic to dance, like a little kid. The voice like someone with a cold, but the words were so funny. And heartfelt.
During “Affection”, a quiet song about the need for affection, (none of this stuff was rocket science), I went “aah” in an exaggerated way. “That’s right, Pal! I’m serious.” I felt myself flush. My cool in-on-the-joke utterance had back-fired. He’d really pulled me up on it. He WAS serious! I felt shamed.
He only got 45 minutes and didn’t do “Roadrunner”. The crowd were stamping and screaming for more. Eventually Jonathan had to come out to quieten the crowd explaining they were running late and Orange Juice had to get on. Boos. Orange Juice came on and half the audience left. I’ve never seen anything like it since. And of those who stayed, half shouted for Jonathan during the gig. It was a real shame for Orange Juice who bravely plowed on. There was a definite dip of energy in the room.
We managed to get backstage to say hello to Jonathan. The band were buzzing at the reaction. We got a free beer. There’s Jonathan! By then the excitement was too much and I went bounding up to him. I was aware that I probably looked totally wired, all hot and sweaty and smelly. “That was amazing! I don’t know if you’re a genius or madman!”. I remember blurting that out. Can’t remember his response. He gave me a badge and didn’t seem displeased. In fact the overall impression was of a really nice person. Honest.
I wrote him a letter later saying how the gig had touched me. It was real, it wasn’t fashion, how he represented something good and honest and tapped into the joy of life etc. He actually wrote back saying he didn’t mind people laughing but he didn’t like the “cool” laugh… “they’re dead inside. Too many video-games. When they can really laugh, then they can really cry”. I was chuffed! I lost count after 20 gigs by Jonathan over the years. There was something that pulled me in, tho’ the magic dimmed over the years. I still play the “Rock’n’Roll With The Modern Lovers” to Hugo. What a great title. Years later I saw Orange Juice’s set from that night on TV. It looked like an amazing show with an adoring audience, but I knew different…