1.Contusions (Summer 1966 Session) 1.I Should've Known (Recorded in UK 1967) 1.Clarence In Wonderland (BBC Recording 12-5-67) 1.We Know What You Mean (BBC Recording 12-5-67) 1.Why Are We Sleeping (From Mono Single Released Early 1969) 1.Hope For Happiness Great song by the Soft Machine on the Dutch TV Show 'Hoeply' from 1967, with a nice bonus at the end. Soft Machine, UFO Club, London, 2nd June 1967. 'Poem for Hoppy' by Daevid Allen. Flim & Lightshow Projections: Mark Boyle & Joan Hills. P&C Boyle Family Archive. (Embedding disabled by request) Aka "Why Am I So Short?", as it was released on The Soft Machine, Vol. 1 The Soft Machine en su segunda formacion, con Kevin Ayers en Guitarra/Voz, Mike Ratledge en Teclados y Robert Wyatt en Bateria/Voz, interpretando una de las dos canciones que tocaron en vivo en el programa de tv Hoepla, el 22/9/1967: We Know What You Mean (mas conocida como Soon, Soon, Soon). A rare example of the liquid lightshow projections created in 1967 by Mark boyle & Joan hills...this was the wallpaper at the legendary ufo club in tottenham court road. 1967 single by The Soft Machine,one of the Canterbury groups. A song by Soft Machine, Album "Volumes One & Two ( Vol. One )" 1968 Soft Machine 1967 Daevid Allen, Robert Wyatt, Kevin Ayers, Mike Ratledge. SOFT MACHINE:THE EARLY YEARS-CANTERBURY ANTHOLOGY-VOLUME 2
2.Another Lover Has Gone (Summer 1966 Session)
3.Fred The Fish (from 1967 45'')
4.Feelin' Reelin' Squeelin (from 1967 45'')SOFT MACHINE:THE EARLY YEARS-CANTERBURY ANTHOLOGY-VOLUME 2
(PART 2)
2.I'm So Low (Recorded in UK 1967)SOFT MACHINE:THE EARLY YEARS-CANTERBURY ANTHOLOGY-VOLUME 2
(PART 3)
2.Certain Kind (BBC Recording 12-5-67)
3.Hope For Happiness (oops version of the 1968 released tracks)SOFT MACHINE:THE EARLY YEARS-CANTERBURY ANTHOLOGY-VOLUME 2
(PART 4)
2.She's Gone (from 1967 45'')
3.Lullabye Letter (oops version of the 1968 released tracks)SOFT MACHINE:THE EARLY YEARS-CANTERBURY ANTHOLOGY-VOLUME 2
(PART 5)
2.Save Yourself (oops version of the 1968 released tracks)
3.Joy Of A Toy (From Mono Single Released Early 1969)Soft Machine - Dim Dam Dom, Oct.1967
2.Improvisation MusicaleFrench TV, Great Quality!Soft Machine on Hoepla 1967
Soft Machine - UFO Club, 2 June 1967
Early Soft Machine live
Soft Machine - I Should Have Known
The Soft Machine - 1967 - Soon, Soon, Soon
Cancion compuesta por Kevin Ayers; inedita en The Soft Machine, luego editada oficialmente en la carrera solista de Ayers. Tambien se puede encontrar una version de este tema por The Soft Machine en "BBC Sessions '67-'71" (bootleg), a mi gusto, mucho mejor que esta.PSYCHEDELIC LIGHT SHOW UFO 1967: Soft Machine
Love Makes Sweet Music - Soft Machine
The Soft Machine - We did it Again
Canterbury Scene
Kevin AyersSoft Machine - Save Yourself, Memories, You don't Remember.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Lotsa Early Softies w/Kevin Ayers, Robert Wyatt, Mike Ratledge & (sometimes) Daevid Allen
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
The Troggs: "Black Bottom" cartoon video
The Troggs: "Black Bottom" cartoon video
A cheapo Windows Movie Maker visualisation of The Troggs 1981 30s gangster-themed single "Black Bottom", taken from the album of the same name. Almost certainly the best 80s LP made by a 60s British Invasion act, surpassing most of their 60s work IMO. Great stripped down production, and loads of great immediate and entertaining songs like this one.
Read more at www.youtube.com
Friday, November 19, 2010
sydbarrett:psychedelicfreakout
SYD BARRETT - DEMOS, ACETATES AND MIXES
Click on the panels for a better view or to download artwork.
SYD BARRETT
Psychedelic Freak Out [The Godfatherecords GR 483, 1CD]
Demos, acetates and mixes. Very good soundboard.
Reviewing the disc at collectorsmusicreviews.com, Stuart wrote:
“I don’t think I’m easy to talk about. I’ve got a very irregular head. And I’m not anything that you think I am anyway.” So said Syd Barret. Founding father of the Pink Floyd & enfant terrible of avant garde rock.
This release from Godfather draws a hard, dark line under the above quote, showcasing a mish mash of some of the best of Syd’s various demos and studio out takes. The main bulk of this release spans Syd’s solo releases with a dash of Pink Floyd on the side to exemplify his work within that group. Presumably lifted from the epic 17 Internet tree’d CD set “Have You Got It Yet”, this makes a far more interesting listening experience than the bigger set. For anyone who wants to pick through the murky depths of his back catalogue without trawling through various different takes, outfakes, out-of-print tracks or interviews then it’s a great way to start. The Godfather has created this CD chronologically too so we can hear how Syd’s sound evolved or devolved through out his short recording career.
Click here for more.
The Syd Barrett legacy lives on… Just as the Psychedelic Freak Out disc is being shared, the Syd Barrett Have You Got It Yet? Version 2.0 Volume 4 has just surfaced.
The fascination with Syd Barrett might lie in a game of what if… what if Syd Barrett had never left Pink Floyd? For fans of early Pink Floyd, that’s as pertinent a question as any. Listening to Psychedelic Freak Out, which is a good primer on Barrett, one doesn’t get the impression that the guitarist was masterful (as compared to Hendrix) but then again, he was out there that one never knew what he would come up with - speeded up Chipmunk-like vocals against a psychedelic backdrop on Scream Thy Last Scream, for instance. But that’s the crux of the problem. As long as he was out there, he would be conjuring music but out there also meant an instability which would have short-circuited the machine that Pink Floyd would become.
And for Syd Barrett, it will always be “Shine on, you crazy diamond.”
Thanks to didnelps for sharing the tracks on Dime.
Click on the highlighted tracks to download the MP3s (these are high quality MP3s - sample rate of 224 kbps).
Due to the size of some of the files, please be patient when downloading the tracks. It could be that the server was very busy. Please try again later. Kindly email us at mybigo@bigozine.com if you encounter persistent problems downloading the files.
Track notes by Stuart of collectorsmusicreviews.com.
Track 01. Interstellar Overdrive 14:56 October 31, 1965 - Demo (24.4MB - visit the html page to download the track)
This piece was recorded on Halloween at the Thompson Private Recording Studios for the short film “San Francisco” by filmmaker Anthony Stern And is certainly nightmarish compared to its commercial sister recording. It should be noted that this track also lasts a few seconds shorter than the track that was released on the “Have You Got It Yet” internet treed CD.
Track 02. See Emily Play 02:52 May 21, 1967 - Acetate With Alternate Ending (4.5MB)
The alternate ending would seem to suggest that the sitars are abbreviated slightly on the acetate.
Track 03. Scream Thy Last Scream 04:40 August 7, 1967 - Malcom Jones Mix 1987 (7.4MB)
The unreleased follow up to See Emily Play and one of two tracks (including Vegetable Man) that were pulled from the 1988 rarities album Opel.
Track 04. Vegetable Man 02:37 October 1967 - Malcom Jones Mix 1987 (4.1MB)
Track 05. Vegetable Man 02:47 1967 Mix From Mason Interview, March 1969 (4.4MB)
Recorded from a reel to reel tape that Nick Mason brought with him to an interview with a nameless collage student in March 1969.
Track 06. Silas Lang 02:47 May 6, 1968 - Backing Track (4.4MB)
Noted as being “Silas Lang, this is RM 1 from four track, take 1″ by the recording engineer. It’s just a shame that the track was never actually finished but, seems to be reported as being a work out to the beginning of the track, Swan Lee.
Track 07. Lanky 01:36 May 14, 1968 Part Two (2.5MB)
It’s obviously a simple riff that Barrett was toying with but one that was never finished.
08. Golden Hair 01:56 May 28, 1969 Instrumental - Gareth Cousins Mix 1988 - Omitted*
Track 09. Swan Lee 02:43 June 20, 1968 - Backing Track (4.3MB)
10. Clowns & Jugglers 02:45 July 20, 1968 Take 1 - Alternate Mix With Studio Chat - Omitted*
Track 11. Love You 01:17 April 11, 1969 (2.0MB)
This version is free of the out of tune bar room piano and is wildly underproduced.
Track 12. Clowns & Jugglers 01:34 May 3, 1969 Take 2 - Keyboard Mix (2.5MB)
Track 13. Long Gone 01:45 July 26, 1969 (2.8MB)
Sounding like an early, stripped back demo version.
Track 14. Dark Globe 02:58 July 27, 1969 Choral Version - Peter Jenner 1987 Echo Mix (4.7MB)
Track 15. Dark Globe 02:57 July 27, 1969 Choral Version - Malcolm Jones 1987 Clean Mix (4.7MB)
16. Maisie 02:51 February 26, 1970 - Alternate Mix With Extra Vocals - Omitted*
Track 17. Slow Boggie 02:58 August 12, 1974 (4.7MB)
Tracks 17 and 18 are from the much fabled 1974 sessions when Peter Jenner managed to get Syd back in to the studio for a rough four days of ‘work’.
Track 18. John Lee Hooker Inspired 03:52 August 12, 1974 (6.2MB)
Track 19. In The Beachwoods 04:49 1967 - Backing Track (7.7MB)
Another track from the Mason interview tape that never was.
Bonus
Track 20. Interstellar Overdrive 14:55 (24.4MB - visit the html page to download the track)
Pink Floyd Live Supporting Jeff Back Group, Shrine Exposition Hall, Los Angeles, CA, July 27, 1968. By all accounts this was the form of the track at the time and fans of this era Floyd or students of underground forms will find something to listen to here.
*Track 08 - released on Crazy Diamond triple-CD boxed set and Opel (album)
Track 10 - released on Opel (album)
Track 16 - released on Crazy Diamond triple-CD boxed set
Click on the link to order Syd Barrett
albums.
Read more at bigozine2.com
The bonus track Interstellar Overdrive does not feature Syd Barret as he was out of the band by 26th January 1968.
By wkdn on Nov 12, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Kevin Ayers - Caribbean Moon / Take Me To Tahiti
SO MANY RECORDS, SO LITTLE TIME
Kevin Ayers
In summer ‘73, you could hear ‘Caribbean Moon’ incessantly on BBC Radio 1. I know, I spent most days lying in Regent’s Park with a transistor clamped to my ear. Occasionally a policeman would wander by instructing me to turn it off. Radios were not allowed in the Queen’s Parks.
By late afternoon, I’d start my rounds of the used record stands in Soho market, before going to meet my girlfriend Claire as she got off work at the Scotch House on Regent Street. Over to The Ship on Wardour we’d go, to have some beers and maybe a sandwich if money permitted; then onto the Marquee for work.
Yes, my job consisted solely of collecting empty pint glasses for the kitchen. I was not the washing up fellow, so felt a bit of seniority on my side. The obvious perk, in addition to free beers for us both, was seeing the bands. And guess what, this was simply a daily routine for months. I had a job which paid £1 a night, lived in the west end of London and had access to the latest 7″ promo singles daily. It’s seldom been better.
Glued to Radio 1 daily meant getting to hear a lot of great records, many of which somehow never charted (The Kinks ‘Sitting In The Midday Sun’, Blue ‘Little Jody’, Writing On The Wall ‘Man Of Renown’, Frampton’s Camel ‘All Night Long’). This Kevin Ayers single unfortunately, was one as well.
I guess it wasn’t only me that thought it should have been a smash, as Harvest reissued it at least twice more within the next few years.
There were a few resident dj’s at The Marquee. I want to say Ian Fleming and Jerry Floyd – well Jerry someone, maybe Lloyd. Both guys were pretty cool, and we had a bit of a rivalry going on as to who could get the latest releases first. I did love when I flanked them – after all, they were being serviced by the labels whereas I was slogging around the stalls picking singles up for 10p, maybe even a few they had handed off. All in good fun though.
I recall excitedly getting in one night, with this latest Kevin Ayers release. Radio 1 were already playing ‘Caribbean Moon’, but we were all jonsing to hear it’s B side ‘Take Me To Tahiti’. Everyone I knew was insatiable for Kevin Ayers that summer. Oh Lord did it sound spectacular playing through The Marquee’s sound system. Yes, this very single you see pictured above was the one that got spun at The Marquee that July night (click on schedule above to enlarge, just to have a look at who was playing that month).
I’d always hinted to Jack Barrie, the club’s manager, that I should be the dj, but it never did happen.
Tags: BBC Radio 1, Blue, Frampton's Camel, Harvest, Ian Fleming, Jack Barrie, Jerry Floyd, Kevin Ayers, Marquee, Sire, The Kinks, Writing On The Wall
Listen: Caribbean Moon / Kevin Ayers
Listen: Take Me To Tahiti / Kevin Ayers
Read more at www.somanyrecordssolittletime.com
Oh No!!! I Can't Control Myself...
Troggs I can't control myself Diamoci del Tu Rai 1966
Buzzcocks i can't control myself(times up album)
rare bootleg fro buzzcocks times up-song i can't control myself.The Troggs - I Can't Control Myself (1967)
Buzzcocks - I Can't Control Myself
Lesser Free Trade Hall, Manchester. July 21, 1978.
The Troggs - I Can't Control Myself (1968)
the ramones i can't control myself
Troggs - I Can't Control Myself
Music video for I Can't Control Myself enjoyR.E.M. I can't control myself (live)
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
No Chips Alone: The Soft Boys Saga By Robyn Hitchcock
No Chips Alone: The Soft Boys Saga By Robyn Hitchcock
The Quietus
, November 1st, 2010 08:00
The Soft Boys will reissue their cult albums A Can Of Bees and Underwater Moonlight on November 15 on Yep Roc. Here, Robyn Hitchcock pens us some words on the band's formation and demise...
The Soft Boys came into my head in Cambridge, in the hot, dry summer of 1976 while punk was being conjured up by a small group of artists and villains in London. My idea was to concoct a tribe of translucent, bloodless man-things that had awesome powers but were largely invisible: stalkers of the hypothalamus, erotic guerrillas that would transform people's thoughts in a different way from the bludgeoning M.O. of UK punk. The front man would be a robot, for good measure; being the songwriter and lead guitarist I would supply the material and direct the music, while he, Golem-like, would be the cyber-darling of the crowds. I saw The Soft Boys as upmarket versions of Morlocks from HG Wells' Time Machine crossed with William Burroughs' slithery boys on bikes. At my table in the Portland Arms, where at the folk club each Saturday I tormented the local bluegrass community with my three-song floor-spot (the MC Nick Barraclough once introduced me as "Cambridge's answer to music"), I hunched over my Guinness and sketched out my plans.
When it came to the actual birth of the band, the reality was a little different. My friend James 'The Great One' Smith had pointed out to me some of the great local players who were already on the ladder to professionalism. On his advice, I met Morris Windsor in his dark eyrie, where he gave me some coffee and we leafed through copies of Creem magazine together, not saying much. Then I found Kimberley Rew, appearing through a trapdoor with shoulder-length hair and an ironic (or was it?) grin; he seemed amused that I was me and he was him. Could it have been the other way 'round? From my performance-art perspective, living for my weekly spots at folk clubs, these guys were like Ringo Starr and Eric Clapton, as yet unused. Matthew Seligman smiled charmingly at me across an empty plate in another medieval chamber, and Andy Metcalfe loomed out of the shadows to play bluegrass mandolin at the Portland Arms occasionally.
I could see these people but I couldn't get at them. The true Soft Boy is almost invisible, only appearing at twilight. But courtesy of Rob Lamb (half-brother of Charlie Gillett, DJ and man of great taste, who sadly died earlier this year) I eventually recruited them all at different points into the band. The early Soft Boys featured Alan 'Wang Bo' Davies on guitar and was light in touch; we were crystalline guitars over a nimble rhythm section. Our first EP Give It to The Soft Boys (1977) shows us trying out whatever we thought would work, and on that record it did. When Kimberley Rew replaced Wang Bo, our sound mutated into a ferocious kind of folk-metal, not the easiest of wares to peddle to a UK audience in 1978, which had only the year before been brutally shaved of whiskers and bell-bottoms and converted to punk.
What did we play back then? Bowie's 'Station to Station,' Lennon's 'Cold Turkey,' Cream's 'Sunshine of Your Love,' and Rob Lamb's ace, the John Cale arrangement of 'Heartbreak Hotel'. There was always a hard rock element to the SB's, but we were innocent of marketing at that point. We played what we felt like playing. Gradually my own songs developed: 'Give It To The Soft Boys,' 'The Face Of Death,' 'Where Are The Prawns?' and 'The Pigworker'. We spent a month arranging a group composition called 'Hear My Brane' which was always a favourite. Morris and Andy inclined to The Beach Boys and Steely Dan; Andy, Kimberley and I were big into Fairport, Richard Thompson, and The Albion Band; while I was magnetized by Syd Barrett and Captain Beefheart, but we all loved the Beatles, which marked us out, irrevocably, from the permitted heroes of punk. As we learned to play electric music, we festooned it with harmonies and booby-trapped it with odd time signatures. Meanwhile, Sham 69 were singing "If The Kids Are United, They Will Never Be Divided".
Wang Bo gave way to Kimberley and The Soft Boys spread in a very light film across Britain. Outside of Cambridge where we had incubated, and London where we had first crawled after hatching out, we found ourselves in a bleak and alien land. Huddled at the foot of a slag heap in Grantham (birthplace of Margaret Thatcher) in the drizzle, then watching Kimberley pad through Scarborough in his striped blazer, I wondered how long we could go without being beaten up. Would we be mugged for our cucumber sandwiches and thermoses? After a gig in Sheffield one person clapped and one person told us to fuck off. We finally got an encore in Yorkshire in late 1980.
As we sharpened the guitar sound we started delving back into Steeleye Span and Fairport Convention, whilst picking up the odd droppings from Pere Ubu, whom we supported in autumn 1978. This further polarized listeners; most couldn't stand it, but the occasional fellow (it was mostly fellows) would become apoplectic with joy and go into spasm. Having spent months and thousands of pounds trying to record 'Sandra's Having Her Brain Out' and other songs of mine from that era, our record company dropped us before the deal was even signed. No one rushed to take their place, so A Can of Bees was released on our own label in spring 1979. Whilst it was a hit with neither the press (apolitical, impenetrable and 3-part harmonies to boot - sorry, lads) nor many of our listeners, it was the best approximation yet of what we were playing at the time, and it did make its way to a swathe of US record shops where young musicians working there behind the counter would listen to it in amazement, sometimes putting it on to clear the shop at closing time. I've worked with a few of them since. The Can of Bees tour was a demoralizing experience: long silences in the van punctuated by Kimberley sighing, "Looks like rain."
At this point, Andy Metcalfe left to be replaced by Matthew Seligman, who had played in the band in autumn 1976 for a few weeks. Matthew had a breezy pop funk approach and was folk-proof. The proto-jigs and 9/8 monoliths that I had created for us to play receded into the compost, and I began to work on the more pop end of my notebook. Now I felt like I was writing songs as opposed to just words and tunes that needed making over. The band still arranged the songs, brightening them with harmonies and garnishing them with hooks, but now I was bringing them in whole, line-caught. Whether the others remember it that way is a moot point, but the new songs like 'Queen of Eyes,' 'Kingdom Of Love' and 'Underwater Moonlight' were straight ahead and of a kind with each other, so we finally developed a sonic identity. These were the first songs of ours in two years that people seemed to enjoy.
We were lucky enough to run into Pat Collier, the former Vibrators' bass player who had just opened a 4-track studio under the railway arches of Waterloo East. Pat shared our feelings about 1960's pop and loved recording the way the Beatles had: bouncing the bass and drums onto one track, the vocals onto another, and then re-bouncing multi-tracked harmonies as they were recorded so that the mix was essentially done as the recording progressed. Add some spring reverb, plate echo and compression and - voilà! - we had Underwater Moonlight.
Richard Bishop formed the now highly collectable Armageddon label just so he could release our next record. Out of the eye of the mainstream music business, we were developing our own 'niche market' and the clubs began to fill up again. Richard's enthusiasm got us to New York, even. We played Maxwell's in Hoboken twice in 10 days and at hipster perches like Danceteria and The Mudd Club, with its stage front that rolled up like a garage door. Another foundation stone was laid for the future; I've since met more people claiming to have attended those first Soft Boys' US shows than could possibly have seen us - the audiences weren't that big.
Armageddon released Underwater Moonlight in June 1980, and it has been released many times since. It was A Can of Bees' attractive younger sister; the dissatisfaction that many felt with our first album was melted away by the new arrival. Following our US visit we had the busiest UK calendar ever, a spot at the nascent Goth festival Futurama, and a slew of London shows. John Peel hadn't previously been a fan but he played a lot off Underwater Moonlight. The Soft Boys were more there than we'd ever been.
But it was never in our nature to be very there. Just as every season contains the seeds of the one that replaces it, so many things were calling 'time' on the Soft Boys. For one, Kimberley had been amassing songs since his old band, the Waves, foundered in late 1977: he joined the Soft Boys on the understanding that I was the singer-songwriter, but his frustration was palpable, nonetheless, at having no outlet for them. For another, I hadn't seen myself as a Soft Boy for a long time and my frontman's ego was rising to the fore: when Richard offered me a chance to make a solo album I knew that was the way I wanted to go. Matthew too was being courted by other acts, the Thompson Twins among them.
So in February 1981, with Spandau Ballet in the ascension and John Lennon two months dead, the Soft Boys dissolved.
We all had more 'success' outside of the walls of fortress Soft Boy.
Kimberley rejoined the Waves, added Katrina, and scored an eternal number one with 'Walking On Sunshine'. He has also done very well with songs supplied to The Bangles and more recently, Celine Dion.
Matthew joined the Thompson Twins and then Thomas Dolby, whom he had long championed, for Thomas's pop era. He has played sessions for many from Donovan to Morrissey.
In the mid-1980's I regrouped with Morris, Andy and others as Robyn Hitchcock and The Egyptians. A decade later I reverted to being a 'psychedelic troubadour' (thank you Mark Ellen), with a floating cast of accomplices, often including old Soft Boys.
All of us toured America and got our noses in the rock'n'roll trough in a way that had seemed impossible for the Soft Boys. There have been reunions, even a new record, but the Soft Boys remains, for me, what it always was - a chimera: like a breeze, felt but never seen, from a time long gone.
Read more at thequietus.com
Monday, November 15, 2010
SMRSLT: DR. FEELGOOD
http://www.somanyrecordssolittletime.com/?p=8570
Listen: Another Man / Dr. Feelgood There’s a load of theories about where punk started. I suppose you can slice and dice it back to anywhere you want, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins or The Pretty Things, or endless garage bands from the mid 60’s. Most self appointed, gatekeeping journalists will flatter each other with either The Stooges or The New York Dolls. My vote goes to Suicide in the US and the Canvey Island bands in the UK, of which Dr. Feelgood were the first superstars. Their live show stoked Eddie & The Hot Rods and together they lit up London fast and raw. It was indeed the speed of sound and the sound of speed all at once. New bands that clutched to the past and stood in their way were mowed down flat. Hustler and Nutz for example. It was a fun time for house cleaning. Labels like Chrysalis had their rosters fossilized overnight. Seemed like the world turned from black and white to color. Every single released was a new high. Dr. Feelgood: Lee Brilleaux had a vocal style and stage presense not unlike Roger Chapman, and Wilko Johnson religiously perfected Mick Green’s jagged guitar style into his own. Their second album, MALPRACTICE, is a clean, articulate blueprint of the band’s attack and technique. But when Dr. Feelggod unleashed live, it was unstoppable. Seeing them between late ‘75 through mid ‘77 really was life changing. If you did, you’ll know how hearing their records now will still sound different to us, as opposed to those who weren’t as lucky. Over three decades later, that hasn’t changed. Not one for European pressings, I tell you honestly, my collection has less than a hundred. I make exception for singles like this, when not one but two 7″ worthy songs are issued on a 45. Both ‘Going Back Home’ and ‘Another Man’ (like ‘I Can Tell’, all from MALPRACTICE) were never released as singles in the UK or US. This Dutch pressing being the only exception to my knowledge. In fact, ‘I Can Tell’ has never come out on 7″ anywhere. How did the otherwise faultless Andrew Lauder mess this one up? Wait. Come to think of it, there were a few numbers from Brinsley Schwarz NERVOUS ON THE ROAD that deserved single status. Andrew Lauder you have some answering to do. Being an archivist and collector can also mean you’re a pack-rat, depending upon whom you listen to. Ask Corinne for instance and she’ll pick door number three. Fine, I’m all of them and glad of it, having saved pretty much everything I’ve ever owned, starting with a rock that flew into my hand off my tricycle’s front wheel at about five years old. That’s how extreme, and far back, I can claim the obsession. Good thing, because the records began at age seven. Damn, if only I started at birth. In the case of this flyer, saving every last item allowed me to pinpoint the exact date and hour when a whole new musical world was revealed behind that invisible curtain. There had been a few jolting revelations before and several after, but that moment when rock as it had been known and loved immediately became the past occured on February 29, 1976. Dr. Feelgood were a blistering no holds barred introduction to pub and punk. Gone was the polish and self indulgence, the bloat and tired outfits. What the music world changed into we all know. It was a fantastic time to be young and insatiable. And here’s the flyer to stake that very date in my life. Corinne and I, with our dearest friend Karen Kasiner, braved a winter storm to see Dr. Feelgood. I wouldn’t trade that night for anything. Tags: Andrew Lauder, Brinsley Schwarz, Chrysalis, Columbia,Dr. Feelgood, Eddie And The Hot Rods, Hustler, Karen Kasiner, Lee Brilleaux, Mick Green, Nutz, Roger Chapman,Screamin' Jay Hawkins, Suicide, The New York Dolls, The Pretty Things, The Stooges, United Artists, Wilko JohnsonSO MANY RECORDS, SO LITTLE TIME
DR. FEELGOOD
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Jon Savage On Black Hole & Why The Brits Don't Own Punk
Jon Savage On Black Hole & Why The Brits Don't Own Punk
Jamie Thomson
, November 9th, 2010 07:57
Jamie Thomson talks to Jon Savage about his new punk compilation on Domino and opening up music
With England's Dreaming, Jon Savage gave us the authoritative, benchmark account of the rise of the Sex Pistols and British punk in general – no mean feat given the vast amount of column inches and talking heads that have sought to define that era. Now, with the curation of the Black Hole: Californian Punk 1977-1980 comp, he has moved his focus to a punk explosion that by comparison, received no coverage whatsoever – particularly in the short-sighted UK music press of the time. From Crime to the Weirdos to The Germs, this was a scene no less intense than their forebears in New York or rivals across the Atlantic, but –shielded from the kind of tabloid sensationalism that followed the Pistols – arguably purer in their aesthetic and musical vision. Some, such as Black Randy and The Middle Class, would remain the preserve of bootleggers and record nerds. The Germs, however, would receive the kind of after-the-event cult adulation that saw them become the subject of a Hollywood biopic, 2008's What We Do Is Secret. Their guitarist Pat Smear would of course go on to work with Nirvana, who, according to Savage, were the band that brought US punk into the mainstream, thus bringing the whole cycle to a neat conclusion. The Quietus spoke with Savage last week in the run-up to the release of Black Hole.
What was the idea behind compilation?
Jon Savage: The whole point of doing compilations is: "Hey, I really like this stuff – maybe you will." But I first heard it all back in the day because I was a punk rock journalist working for Sounds. And I also developed connections with two magazines on the west coast, which were Search and Destroy, out of Los Angeles run by V Vale, and Slash out of Los Angeles, which was run Claude Bessy. I thought they were fabulous magazines. I was very against the idea that the Brits owned punk, and always thought that punk was an international phenomenon, and I sought to encourage that. So I got in touch with those guys, and did work for them. They didn't pay me money but they sent me local singles. I was probably one of the very few people in the UK who got these records when they came out because they weren't very well distributed. Places like Rough Trade didn't really carry them. And I never thought they got the attention they deserved, because I thought they were terrific.
Aside from the lack of distribution, why do you think they never received that acknowledgment?
JS: Well, I went to LA in 1978 and it was completely fascinating. It was my first visit to the States anyway, but with LA, you couldn't get further from Europe, and so it's really fucking weird - you feel like you're on a completely different planet. I landed there and the first thing I saw was a replicant punk looking exactly like something you'd see on the Kings Road, except she had a suntan. So that was pretty weird. And so I hung out with a few of these groups. I was like a visiting dignitary because I came from England. But I hung out with the Screamers, the Weirdos, the Dils and the Avengers, and saw some of them play and I thought they were great.
Some idiot's reviewed the album and said that I say that California bands are better then English ones. But I'd never say that, because you can't rank punk like that. It's just – is it good or not? I wasn't interested in one scene being better than the other, because that's the kind of crap that people in England were coming out with. "Oh they're just copyists!" Well, who's copying who? People still think of it all in a very cliched way. But I liked these groups because they had a swing that a lot of English groups didn't. And by the time I went there, which was late summer of 78, British punk was boring, except for very few acts, like Crass. Punk had burned itself out in the UK by then. But in LA it was like going back 18 months, and it was great. The groups were very energetic. They all had something individual to offer. They weren't complete clones – and they rocked. And opposed to British groups they had a swing — they weren't stiff. It was quite physical music; it made you want to move around rather than just jump up and down.
I always found that American punk had an intensity that wasn't equalled by the British groups.
JS: Well, I'd never say that. Obviously in the history of punk rock there's a lot of tit for tat. "Oh the Brits copied it all from New York." I've had all these arguments with Legs McNeill, who I really like by the way. And it's just not interesting to me. I was just interested in what was good. And it was just that this was different – it was Los Angeles. It was a world away from the UK – and New York! It was amusing that there was a lot of hostility to New York. 'Let's Get Rid Of New York' by The Randoms, for example. And the Yes LA compilation, which was done as an answer to the No New York record. Then the Bags recorded 'We Don't Need the English' so there was a lot of healthy backbiting going on.
And in a way they challenge the orthodoxy that the Sex Pistols were the Year Zero of punk.
JS: Well, they were the Year Zero of British punk, but the first time I heard the sound that would become known as punk was the Ramones, and I thought that first album was just incredible. The Pistols were pretty much the only band that in the UK that weren't influenced by the Ramones, and the rest were. But the interesting thing here is that the one British group that had the biggest influence on the LA scene was The Damned. Because they were the first proper English punk group to go and play there. People forget how good The Damned were – they were great for about six or nine months. And they played in LA in April 77, and there's interviews with people saying, "We went to see The Damned, and everyone went home and sped up their songs", which is the effect the Ramones had on the UK.
So this dismissal of California punk – was this just among journalists, or was it among the bands and fans as well?
JS: I don't think it was even on the radar of most Brits, apart from the journalists. The journalists who could have exposed it didn't. A lot of journalists aren't very good, or weren't very good. As a writer it's my job to open things up – and I think journalists can be divided into those who want to open things up, and those who want to close things down. And there were a lot of people in 78 who wanted to close things down.
Even under the auspices of punk?
JS: Sure – big style. And that's why I like Paul Morley, because he always tried to open things up. But then you've got people like Ian Penman, who are always trying to close things down.
On the subject of opening things up, or closing things down, I think its interesting that the compilation ends in 1980...
JS: [Laughs] Well, yeah — I don't like hardcore. It's too 'boy' for me. I was into the idea of punk being made for and by outsiders. And that meant outsiders of every hue, and that meant weird boys, hopeless boys, strong women, and gay men and women. As soon as it starts to get a machismo, and this happened in UK punk, too – I'm out of there.
At the end of the Arena documentary Punk and the Pistols, Siouxsie Sioux says something very similar. And presumably she's talking about Oi! – are you saying there's a parallel?
JS: No. I have to be very careful what I say here. There are fascist overtones to Oi, whether or not they were actually fascist or not! I don't think there were many dodgy overtones to hardcore. It's just very simple – I'd been hearing that sound since April 76. And I was tired of it, and I wanted to hear something new. That's what I liked about the LA bands, but within about two or three years, it had changed, and became hardcore, and it just didn't interest me.
It strikes me though, for those people who weren't able to be swept along by that first wave of punk, it's dismissive of something that's no less interesting to them, or they are no less passionate about.
JS: Yeah, I know – but it's pop music, come on! [Laughs] I don't mind being dismissive. I'm not saying it's shit; I'm just saying I don't like it. I've had this discussion a lot. I've had it with Steven Wells, who said: "You've completely ignored British punk since 1978, but it was great." And I said: "Fine – go and write your own book." My attitude is not: "This is it." I don't own punk. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't care. For somebody looking at the history of punk, this is a good start. If they want to go onto hardcore, they can do it. I don't see a problem. Part of the great thing about music is having the discussion about what's shit and what's not, because in the end nobody's right. But I always say, I'm sorry I was around in 76 liking punk. If I came to punk in 1980 I would have liked that ... yeah, right.
I had a feeling that might be the case due to The Middle Class tracks you chose, because for me the title track from their EP is the pick of the bunch, but that doesn't appear.
JS: Which one is that?
'Out of Vogue' – it's basically the blueprint for hardcore.
JS: Oh, I could have used any of them. I love that record, and 'Out Of Vogue' is a great song. And it wasn't hardcore when it came out. It was just part of a great record.
Well that's my conspiracy theory dashed.
JS: Noooooo. There's no conspiracy. I'd admit it if there was. But I saw The Middle Class play — I mean, there's not many bands with two songs on the comp, but they're one of them, and the Sleepers, because I think they're fabulous, too.
And The Germs, of course.
And The Germs, who were also fabulous.
I did raise my eyebrows that you chose 'Forming' as the opening track – if I was making a mix tape for someone, I don't know if that's the track I'd choose to try and lure them in.
JS: Ha. Start as you mean to go on — with abrasive noise. But Forming was the first LA punk record I heard, and historically it was one of the first to be made. And I really love it. When I went to see Claude Bessy in Barcelona just before he died in 1999. I really liked Claude and I visited him because I knew he was dying. So he put on 'Forming' by The Germs very loud and we just sat there headbanging like Beavis and Butthead. Then at the end he said: "Well, you still like the same old shit." I love that song, I won't hear anything against it. It's just perfect.
Have you seen The Germs movie?
JS: No. I would like to. I read the Lexicon Devil book, which I thought was really good [Lexicon Devil: The Fast Times And Short Life of Darby Crash And The Germs]. But it's a fascinating sad story, and from my point of view as a gay man, it's very interesting to read about the fact that [The Germs singer] Darby Crash was gay, but everyone was very closeted about it. It's not something you talked about back in the day. I hung out with The Screamers, two of whom were gay, but we never spoke about it, which is kind of weird in retrospect. But that's the way things were then.
And it could very well have contributed to how Darby went out the way he did. [Crash committed suicide by a drug overdose in December, 1980.]
JS: Well, if you're completely unhappy about yourself and see no way about being true and honest about yourself, and if you're in that kind of public position, then it's pretty bad. And there were a lot of the dark aesthetics in punk rock, and all that 'live fast die young' bullshit, so it was very easy to get sucked into that, and then you factor heroin into the equation, then you've really got problems. But punk went into the dark side with a certain amount of recklessness, so it's hardly surprising that people got hurt and died.
There's a certain amount of irony that Darby is one of the great punk icons, but he couldn't express himself the way he wanted.
JS: Well, no he couldn't; I couldn't; The Screamers couldn't. I think about it a lot now, but when I spent that day with The Screamers, we were just horrible to each other. Of course, I didn't mind. I was used to people being horrible to me in that period. People were horrible to each other in punk; it was part of the thing. But The Screamers were horrible, and I was so horrible back that we actually ended up getting on quite well.
In terms of the cultural background of the LA scene, did you see any similarities with UK punk?
JS: In an even more extreme way than in the UK, they really were shut out. They really were outcast, and that gave them a certain freedom in that none of them had record companies telling them what to do. No record company was interested. It was a real outsider culture; a real folk culture, and that was very exciting. I remember interviewing The Dils – they were sharp and funny and interesting, and they had the political thing right down. Then I started asking them: "Well, what are you going to do when you get a record contract? What about when you appear on TV?", and they just looked at me blankly, and I thought: "Oh, they're not going to get on telly. It's not like the UK." And in the end, the only group that got a major-label contract of any substance was X, which is pretty amazing when a lot of the Brit groups were on Top of the Pops as soon as they got a single out.
It seems that the main difference between America and Britain is that in the US if you're an outsider, you're off the chart completely, whereas it doesn't take much for underground culture to bleed through to the mainstream in the UK.
JS: Well, yes. At the time, I was writing for Sounds which had a circulation of 150,000 a week. and the NME sold more, and they were read by up to five or six kids each, so you had the capacity to reach up to a million kids a week, which is incredible. So it was very easy for bands to get attention and record contracts, which they all did, But that meant the cycle burned itself out quicker.
They also had a ringleader in a certain Mr McLaren, and there was probably no equivalent to him in the US.
JS: Malcolm was right, in that he was a true impresario, and he realised that punk needed a big stage. And if British punk hadn't had a big stage, it would have been very different. For all everyone moans about Malcolm – and he did have some unpleasant sides to his character – if you had to point to one person that was the architect of it all, it was Malcolm. That's not to denigrate any of the musicians, and I'm very glad that the Pistols have been able to present themselves as British archetypes, and make good money from touring in recent years, because its the musicians that always get ripped off.
Like you say, punk burned out more quickly here than in the US. Is that a consequence of it being so tied in with fashion in the UK?
JS: Yes, absolutely. And of course, as everyone understands, punk didn't go mainstream in the US until Nirvana, who I also adored, and that's what so exciting about them. I don't think any rock band has been as powerful as Nirvana since.
Do you see a scenario where bands will make that sort of impact again?
JS: All I can say is I hope so. I'm not a teenager anymore – I'm 57. I don't listen to, or need, rock music in the same way as I did when I was in my 20s. Rock music is all about generational identification, and I'm simply too old for that now. I don't need that to construct my identity around, and neither do I like heritage rock – it's dreary. I like historical archetypes, but that's different.
In terms of the compilation – and historical archetypes in general – who do you want to hear this music?
JS: Probably to my detriment, I don't think in marketing terms. I just think: "This shit's good. People should get the chance to hear The Germs doing 'Forming'." It's as simple as that, really. But I'm always pleased when people respond and when young people respond. That's the idea. Punk was very inspirational to me when I was young, and when you're young it's very important to get inspiration. It's so exciting.
I don't want to get too fogeyish here, but I find difficult to see where young folk would draw their inspiration from these days.
JS: It seems to me that, it's not that kids these days don't have problems, as some of them have quite severe problems. But punk was a product of scarcity and focus. There's so much material available on the internet, there's so much stuff out there, so how do you make it mean more than a few people writing something on a blog? How do you concentrate it? How do you bring people together? How do you create scene or something greater than just a few groups or whatever?
And it seems that the download culture has largely devalued music and made it utterly disposable.
JS: Well yes, it is a huge problem. Pop music has become a victim of its own success. When I started writing about pop music, it wasn't really seen as a very good thing to do. My parents were appalled. But now its a viable career option. When I worked at Sounds, pop was very much in the margins, and we could do whatever we wanted, and we threw together a magazine that nobody upstairs really cared about as long as we made money, and that's what was great about it. But now everything is niche marketed and strategised. And that's what I like about the records on the comp. It's not like a stylist has told the Weirdos what to wear. They're putting something together. They've got things to say, and they're saying it in a very powerful, concentrated form. And that's part of what music's about, certainly if you're talking about punk rock. State your point clearly; make a big bad noise and fuck off.
Read more at thequietus.com