About A Girl

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is Bono.

The tax-dodging crooner recently commented that music has become too "girly", proving once again that no amount of philanthropy can offset being a cunt.

Not only does this comment seem strange coming from a man whose own music is so bland, I also think Bono is harking back to a time that never really existed. I'm going to use words like "girly" and "manly" not because I think they mean anything but in order to address this topic using Bono's terminology. Or Bonology.

As long as there's been rock music, there's been "girly" rock music. And that's pretty much what's made it good. The Rolling Stones were one of the first great rock bands, but were they particularly "manly"? Mick Jagger was a slinky dancer with maracas. Keith Richards was wearing his girlfriends' clothes. I'm not saying this undermines their masculinity in any way, I'm saying the idea that rock music was ever macho is a myth. They were popular because they appealed to everybody.

Maybe he means hard rock. But Kiss wear ridiculous make-up and Led Zeppelin songs are all about Lord of the Rings. After racking my brains for a manly rock band all I can come up with is Steppenwolf, and that's just because I only know the one song and it's about motorbikes.

The band Bono uses to illustrate his point is Pearl Jam, as though long hair, plaid shirts and singing about emotions is the height of testosterone. If you can't see the femininity in grunge then you might consider removing your fucking sunglasses.

Kurt Cobain was a poetry-writing kid who became seriously depressed when his music gained popularity among the kind of jocks who used to beat him up because he didn't meat their standards of masculinity.

I think this is why I find Bono's comment so offensive. It's indicative of a small-minded attitude, a kind of dogma that seems antithetical to a genre that I love for its inclusiveness. But I'm not sure Bono understands rock music. Which explains why he's so shit at it.

Beware the Ides of March

As you know, I love everything in the world, with the exception of three things. One of those things that I love is the Grateful Dead.

Looking back on this day in history, 15 March is a significant date for a number of reasons. For starters, it's the Ides of March, which was the day in 44 BC when Julius Caesar was stabbed in the base of the Curia - ouch! More recently, it's also the birthday of two of my favourite people: Grateful Dead bassist Phil Lesh and genius filmmaker David Cronenberg. Long live the new Lesh! Plus, the movie The Godfather was first released on this day in 1972, directed by Deadhead Francis Ford Coppola - after seeing a Grateful Dead show in 1979, he was inspired by the rolling thunder effect of the two drummers, and enlisted them to play on the Apocalypse Now soundtrack. Which brings me to the point: on this day in Dead history, the band made one of their more bizarre appearances back in 1969.



Picture the scene: you're invited to The Black & White Ball at the San Francisco Hilton, a fundraiser for the San Francisco Symphony. A group of hippies shamble onto the stage, plug in their instruments and unleash a cacophony of baroque psychedelia and a song about trying to sleep with a 17-year-old girl. 

They were never invited back.

The complete setlist is uncertain, but what exists is this electrifying recording, taped by countercultural icon Owsley "Bear" Stanley - more on him another time. The tape begins with a fairly shambolic version of Otis Redding's Hard to Handle, which they'd never played live before, and by the sounds of it, never practised much either. Things pick up with Good Morning Little Schoolgirl, a perfectly acceptable subject to sing about in the '60s, before the boys launch into their typical 1969 run of Dark Star -> St. Stephen -> The Eleven -> Lovelight. And it's glorious - particularly The Eleven, a song I've written about before. Despite a cut in the recording at the start of the track, this is up there with the best they ever played it - an electric dose of colourful improvisation in 11/8 time. Just imagine going to a black tie event 28 years ago today, and being confronted with that.

3 To 1

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is people making the same tedious observation about 2016 being a bit rubbish.

Speaking of things no one cares about, here (in no particular order) are my top 3 albums of 2016.

The Mountain Will Fall - DJ Shadow

This year I got to see one of my musical heroes play live, and DJ Shadow did not disappoint. In fact he was one of the best live acts I've ever seen, with incredible visuals surrounding him. I even shook his hand, so if anyone wants to touch my hand in turn please do let me know. Shadow's new album The Mountain Will Fall sees the trip-hop pioneer continue to push himself into new realms of electronic music, with hip-hop, jazz and euphoria vying for space on the record. The album also gave us one of the best music videos of the year:

Gore - Deftones

In 2016 I finally got to see Deftones, and they also turned out to be one of the best live acts I've ever experienced. Their music is bludgeoning, beautiful and completely transcendent, all illusatrated on their new album Gore. Not only is the opening cut Prayers/Triangles an amazing way to start an album, the track Doomed User is one of the best songs they've ever recorded. I still don't have a clue what Chino Moreno is singing about most of the time, but I can highly recommend running while listening to Deftones; it's like being chased by wraiths.

Three - Blue Man Group

It was always my dream to become a Blue Man (like my other hero, Tobias Fünke) or one of their neon-clad drummers. They're best known for their internationally phenomenal live shows that combine music, comedy and technology to explore a variety of ideas, including otherness as represented by these blue-skinned outsiders. But they also produce highly innovative studio records using many musical instruments of their own invention, often involving hitting PVC pipes to create a strange, melodic, percussive sound. Three is so-called because it's their third album and the Blue Men always appear in threes, and it features more of the same rhythmic alien rock. Enjoy!

The Eleven

"Nobody likes jazz that much... even the guy playing it had to take drugs!"

As you know, I love everything in the world, with the exception of three things. One of those things that I love is songs in 11/8 (or 11/4).

Where would we be without the number 11? Danny Ocean would be bereft of a crew. Spinal Tap's amps would have nowhere to go. [Insert football player - do not forget to come back to this] would have to run around with a different number on his football jersey. But most of all, we'd be without these 5 groovy songs written in the time signature 11/8 (or 11/4) just to be difficult.

Eleven Four - The Dave Brubeck Quartet (1962)

With the possible exception of Stephen Hawking, nobody knows time like Dave Brubeck. The cool-jazz pioneer seemed allergic to straightforward time signatures, resulting in classics like Take Five (which is a pun) and saxophonist Paul Desmond's Eleven Four (which is not).

Eleven - Primus (1991)

This typically disonant track by bass-driven avant-garde rock band Primus showcases Les Claypool's muscular bass riffs, Tim "Herb" Alexander's rolling drum beats and Larry LaLonde's screaming guitar work, with non-conformist lyrics and time signatures.

I Say a Little Prayer - Aretha Franklin (1968)

Although originally recorded by Dionne Warwick, it's Aretha Franklin's version that reigns supreme thanks to soulful vocals and melodic arrangements. The chorus uses an 11-count, proving that it's not just for pretentious jazz and druggy metal.

Whipping Post - The Allman Brothers Band (1971)

I think this blog is really about my music taste being all over the place. In any case, Gregg Allman's blistering Whipping Post riff is written in 11/4 and is well worth a listen if you have 23 minutes to spare. No? Fair enough.

The Eleven - Grateful Dead (1969)

Because I'm incapable of writing a blog or holding a conversation without mentioning the Grateful Dead, check out the scorching beauty of this psychedelic masterpiece and its trippy lyrics. I'm not entirely sure what a "jingle bell rainbow" is, but I'd very much like to find out. 

An honourable mention goes to Hey Ya! by OutKast (2003), for being (presumably) the only number 1 single with an 11-count. The Mario Kart 64 (1996) results screen music also demonstrates the versatility of my favourite time signature. 

A better blogger would have listed 11 examples. Or at least published this blog on the 8th November. Or even just explained what 11/8 actually means. But ironically, I don't have time.

   

Our Shadows Taller Than Arseholes

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and here are three more of them... music edition!

1. The cunts suing Led Zeppelin for supposedly plagiarising Stairway to Heaven. All songs are based on other songs, and whatever Led Zeppelin took, they turned it into something new and set a new fucking standard in rock music. In any case, the people suing are the Spirit guitarist's family, so they had no creative involvement whatsoever. Trying to rinse money from a song that's brought so much joy to the world is just greedy, but doing so when you have literally nothing to do with it is pathetic. Mind you, I remember the Olympics when Jimmy Page was on that London bus with Leona Lewis, so I feel I'm owed some compensation too.

2. Jukebox musicals. It's a hack observation, but the idea of creating a show based entirely around someone else's songs strikes me as the height of laziness. I have no interest in seeing the songs of The Kinks sung by people who aren't The Kinks, strung together with a vague nod towards a story. I say this as someone who's sat through both The Commitments and Mamma Mia! During the latter, I preempted every song by saying "ooh, ABBA" in mock surprise. It was really funny. And then it wasn't. And then it was again. 

3. People who insist that music was best when they were young. What, you think it's just a massive coincidence that the best period of music happened to coincide with the time that your tastes were forming, or you were listening to the radio and watching Top of the Pops, or regularly buying the NME? It seems small-minded and arrogant to ignore the enormous history of music and buy into such an unlikely coincidence. Especially as the people in question generally grew up in the '90s. 

Album(s) of the Year

Headline of the year

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is 2015.

Everyone lying about not voting Conservative, the return of Coldplay, Terminator Genisys... but at least we've had some good music. Here, in no particular order, are my top 3 albums of 2015:

Sol Invictus - Faith No More

Faith No More's first album in 18 years did not disappoint. 10 great tracks showcasing the band's gloomy heavy riffs, odd time signatures and Mike Patton's incredible voice, which has lost none of it power - while his brilliant lyrics cover topics ranging from leprechauns to motherfuckers.

To Pimp a Butterfly - Kendrick Lamar

An album that's sure to top many people's lists, To Pimp a Butterfly is a game-changing hip-hop record - politically potent and musically challenging. Obama called the track How Much a Dollar Cost? his favourite song of the year. Too bad he also features on the new Coldplay album.

Division of Spoils - The Flatliners 

This one isn't really an album, it's a collection of b-sides and rarities - but it's my blog so fuck off. Get your own blog. Stretching from their ska/punk beginnings to their contemporary punk sound, the record compiles 23 superb tracks from Canada's finest export since William Shatner.

Our Swift Impending Fall

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and here are three more of them. 

3. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans:

For me, these represent J. K. Rowling's inability to think through an idea. Why would wizards eat jelly beans that taste like vomit? Because they're magic? We muggles do have the technology to make sweets that taste like bogeys. Ask anyone who's had the pick 'n' mix at an Odeon. I believe the Harry Potter studio store even sells Every Flavour Beans, for a mere £35 per bean. We can make earwax flavour confectionary if we so choose. But we don't. Because that would be stupid. Mind you, Revels are inexplicably popular, so what do I know?

2. This sort of thing:

I've spent a lot of time wondering why my Facebook friends voluntarily "like" the most evil corporations. Masochism? Brainwashing? Demonic possession? But I think I've finally solved it: my Facebook friends are a bunch of cunts.

1. Taylor Swift:

It's not the music that bothers me (it is), it's the constant complaining about not getting paid enough. It's true that as the way we consume music changes, we need to make sure lesser-known musicians are getting their fair share. But when multi-millionaire popstrel Taylor Swift insists that "music should not be free", I can't help but feel it harming that cause. Meanwhile, bands like Radiohead are happy to give music away for free, because they know that it's both financially viable and artistically rewarding. Why is it that the only musicians moaning about money are the least creative musically? It's almost as though they only really care about money. Maybe that's unfair. Money and fame.

Thanks for reading, here's Would You Be Impressed by Streetlight Manifesto, quoted as saying (of their latest album): "Feel free to steal the shit out of it."

In The Pit

As you know, I love everything in the world, with the exception of three things. One of those things that I love is live ska/punk albums.

Here, in no particular order, are my top five:

5. Mad Caddies - Live From Toronto: Songs in the Key of Eh

Not only is it a brilliant name for an album, Songs in the Key of Eh showcases the Mad Caddies' mad mix of swing, ska and sea shanties. There's no filler in this 2004 performance, released by Fat Wreck Chords - the independent punk label founded by NOFX frontman Fat Mike. The Californian seven-piece tear their way through punk, polka and pirate music. Why are the Caddies so good? Because they arrrrr.

4. The Mighty Mighty Bosstones - Live from the Middle East

Talking of great names for albums, Live from the Middle East was actually recorded at the Middle East club in Boston - home of the Bosstones, and therefore of skacore. It was the Mighty Mighty Bosstones who first fused Madness-style ska with the hardcore genre, and this 1998 live album plays out like a greatest-hits-so-far. The setlist is perfect, the energy extraordinary and Dicky Barrett sounds like a giant cigarette that's formed a ska band.

3. Reel Big Fish - Our Live Album Is Better Than Your Live Album

Another fantastic name, Our Live Album Is Better Than Your Live Album sees Reel Big Fish kick everyone's asses. Recorded in 2006, this double-album is really the ultimate expression of the ska/punk stalwarts' lunacy. The music is as tight and energetic as we've come to expect from these gatekeepers of third-wave ska, who really took the Bosstones' plaid sound and ran with it like headless chickens. It's also hilarious from start to finish - more schtick than you can shake a stick at!

2. Incontrolable - Ska-P

Like Reel Big Fish, Ska-P are a band with a zany image but incredibly skilful arrangements. But on top of that, the Spanish ska/punkers have a political edge, which surfaces throughout this relentlessly impressive live album. Recorded across Europe in 2004, Incontrolable exhibits the band's powerful brass-driven hard rock, their wonderful sense of humour and their anti-establishment social stance. Plus there's a cat driving a bus on the cover - what's not to love?

1. Sublime - Stand By Your Van

Another band crucial in popularising third-wave ska, Sublime's raw energy and musical ingenuity are sublimely represented on Stand By Your Van - a retrospective live album recorded between 1994 and 1996, when Bradley Nowell died of a heroin overdose. It may lack the ingenious production and sampling displayed on their albums, but for Sublime, a bass, guitar and drums are All You Need. Oh, and a dog. 

There's Mosquitos on the River

As you know, I love everything in the world, with the exception of three things. One of those things that I love is the Grateful Dead.

The only reason I'm still writing this blog is an obsessive need to keep posting once a month, so I might as well do the inevitable and turn it into a Grateful Dead appreciation blog - after all, on this day in 1977, the Dead played one of my favourite shows.

https://archive.org/details/gd1977-04-23.mtx.seamons.97596.sbeok.flac16

23 April 1977 was a rainy day in Massachusetts - I wasn't there (or born), but I have been to Massachusetts and I've experienced rain, so close enough. The Grateful Dead walked on stage (again, this is all speculation) at the Springfield Civic Center Arena, now called the MassMutual Center - named after an insurance company, like all good rock venues.

The band kick off with a beautiful Sugaree, and the Matrix recording (above) strikes the perfect balance between crystal-clear music and excited crowd sounds. Straight away, the audience are having the time of their lives, and I hate them for that. Then it's time for a stunning Cassidy - say what you like about Donna Jean Godchaux (and Deadheads often do), but her harmonies with Bob Weir are gorgeous.

The next song is arguably the highlight of the show - the best version of Loser I've ever heard. The painfully slow tempo, that desperately low groove, Jerry Garcia's electrifying solo... perfection. When it comes to evoking the Old West, the Dead are up there with Sergio Leone - you can almost feel the dust on your skin. 

I won't mention every song, though I easily could. Let's skip to the phenomenal Scarlet Begonias, whose ka-ka-ka intro is one of the best ways to start any song (see also The Joker by the Steve Miller Band). The segue from the upbeat party sound of Scarlet Begonias into the spaced-out majesty of Fire On The Mountain is a thing of beauty.

After a break (and a round of America's favourite game, "Take a Step Back"), Keith Godchaux rolls his fingers down the keyboard into a transcendent Estimated Prophet, whose deep bass and unusual time signature envelop us entirely. 

Bertha is at once dancey and laid-back, a seemingly incongruous combination that characterises the Dead's unique style. This continues in the disco-inflected vibes of The Music Never Stopped - though no disco song ever started with the lyric "there's mosquitos on the river."

Then comes the centrepiece of this second set - Help On The Way > Slipknot! > Franklin's Tower. The rhythm section drives this mini musical journey, from the locomotive effect of Bill Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart's drumming, to Phil Lesh's basslines winding all over the place but somehow holding the whole thing together.

The show rocks to a close, ending with One More Saturday Night as an encore (it was a Saturday - stop me if I'm getting too technical here). It's a song that shows the Dead's ability to cease their psychedelic jamming and a deliver punchy rock 'n' roll number. 

1977 is generally considered the peak of the Dead's powers, moving so effortlessly between psyched-out jazz, cowboy songs and sometimes even rock music. Whatever it is, they make it look easy - and on more drugs than Rob Ford at a disco. Most people that high would struggle to even find their guitars, but the Grateful Dead played the roof off theatres every night.

Festival Time Part II: Kanye Believe It?

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is Glastonbury. Again.

Last year, I wrote a blog on the Glastonbury telecoms festival, and how furious everyone was about Metallica headlining. Well, they'll be pleased by the announcement that this year, the headliner is none other than God's Vessel himself, Kanye West. So everyone's happy. What's that? They're not?

Oh, apparently there's another petition, this time to stop Kanye West - ordinarily something I'd gladly get behind. But I'm baffled by the illogic of buying (very expensive) tickets for an unknown lineup, and then complaining when it's announced. You might as well get angry about a tombola prize. "Radox?! Fuck off."

I'll shut up now, because I'm boring myself. The point is - and this may come as a shock - you don't have to go to Glastonbury. And you certainly don't get to pick the lineup. If you can't accept that, then maybe a festival isn't for you. What you want is a Mumford & Sons gig.

Everybody's Got A Thing

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is advert music.

Believe it or not, the worst thing about adverts isn't the nauseating sentimentality. Nor is it banks pretending to be our friends. It isn't even the exploitation of human tragedy for corporate gain. The worst thing about adverts, it turns out, is the music. Here are three examples:

1. 

This VW ad embodies everything that's wrong with adverts; it's twee, it makes no sense (Woofwagen??) and it features the worst song ever written. Never before have I felt such a strong urge to beat a singing man to death with his own guitar. Me and you, just bleeding from the brain / me and you in agonising pain.

2. 

Here's my impression of a lazy advertising person: "Let's just use another soulless cover of a recognisable song *snort*." Speaking of cocaine, it's hard to miss the point of Kiss. Smirnoff, however, have managed to do so in spectacular fashion, with this hopelessly drippy cover of Crazy Crazy Crazy Crazy Crazy Crazy Crazy Crazy Nights; a song essentially about having crazy nights. Apparently advertising people's idea of a crazy night is sunsets and confetti. A crazy night with Kiss is more a case of: "How am I going to get home?"

3.

Using the most commercial rock band in the world to sell alcohol (or ALCOHAAAWWWWLLL as Paul Stanley would say) is one thing; exploiting '70s funk is another matter entirely. Funkadelic's I Got a Thing, You Got a Thing,  Everybody's Got a Thing is about overcoming our differences to help one another; Levi's version is about selling jeans made in sweatshops. Everybody's got a thing, and my thing is a burning desire to kill those responsible for this ad-rock cover of a song I love.

Drum-A-Mania

As you know, I love everything in the world, with the exception of three things. One of those things that I love is drum solos (of the 1950s).

Foolishly extending my trilogy of blogs about drumming into a trilogy of four, here (in chronological order) are my top 5 drum solos of the 1950s.

1. Drum Boogie - Gene Krupa 1952

Gene Krupa was really the first super-star drummer, who brought the drums from their traditional time-keeping role and into the limelight as a solo instrument. This solo at the end of Drum Boogie, from 1952's Drum Battle at JATP, captures his extraordinary energy. It's his poor old snare I feel sorry for. 

2. Buddy's Blues - Buddy Rich 1955

Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa would famously play drum battles, but they were ultimately pointless because it was impossible to work out who had won. Together, they recorded the album Krupa & Rich in 1955, featuring this unbelievably fast solo from Rich. Buddy's Blues sounds like the work of a drummer with way more than 4 limbs.

3. Oscalypso - Art Blakey 1957

From his 1957 album Drum Suite, Art Blakey's Oscalypso is an irresistibly elusive piece of music. Exotic rhythms combine with twanging guitars to create a strange and immersive atmosphere. The recording was originally intended as a run-through, but Blakey ended up using it on the record. And you can see why.

4. Drum-A-Mania - Jack Costanzo 1958

The great bongo player Jack Costanzo, AKA Mr. Bongo, is now 95 years old and cooler than anyone you know, young or old. He closes his 1958 album Latin Fever with Drum-A-Mania, a blistering two-minute bongo solo. And by blistering, I mean seriously, get that man some Savlon.

5. Take Five - The Dave Brubeck Quartet (Joe Morello) 1959

Take Five, from Dave Brubeck's 1959 album Time Out, is known for its fantastic 5/4 time signature, catchy piano hook and cool sax melody. Not only is it one of the greatest jazz pieces ever written, it features an unpredictably choppy drum solo from Joe Morello. I don't have a joke to end on. It's just a great song.

Funky Drummer (Parts 1 & 2)

As you know, I love everything in the world, with the exception of three things. One of those things that I love is bands with (at least) two drummers.

To close my trilogy of totally ignored drumming blogs, I'm going to explain why all bands should have a minimum of two drummers, using 5 examples:

1. Rock n' Roll Stew - Traffic (Jim Capaldi, Roger Hawkins and Rebop Kwaku Baah) January 1973

Traffic tear the roof off the Winterland Arena by stirring three percussionists into Rock n' Roll Stew. That's three more drummers than The White Stripes.

2. Pretzel Logic - Steely Dan (Jeff Porcaro and Jim Hodder) May 1974

I included a Steely Dan performance from this London show on my top 5 drum solos of the 1970s, and this version of Pretzel Logic is so good it prompts Donald Fagen to admit: "I thought that was pretty well done myself."

3. Not Fade Away - Grateful Dead (Bill Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart) September 1975

This Grateful Dead show at Lindley Meadows is notorious because the entire band was particularly high. And this is the Dead we're talking about. To make matters more surreal, a woman in the audience was having a baby. Now that's a show to remember. Hopefully.

4. Use the Force - Jamiroquai (Derrick McKenzie and Sola Akingbola) September 1996

The infectious combination of Derrick McKenzie on drums and Sola Akingbola on percussion drives Jamiroquai's groovy Use the Force, which ought to be the theme tune to the upcoming Star Wars movie.

5. 4th Movement of the Odyssey - Incubus (José Pasillas II and Brandon Boyd) November 2004

Talking of Star Wars, the soundtrack to the game Halo 2 features a 4-part odyssey from Incubus, which would be annoyingly pretentious were it not so amazing. Part 4 builds from its exotic percussive opening into Mike Einziger's storming guitar work. It's the perfect soundtrack to fighting aliens in space.

Hopefully that's a convincing list. If I ever see a band with any fewer than two drummers, there'll be hell to pay. In memory of the great Jack Bruce, who died on Saturday, I'll leave you with Cream's phenomenal 16-minute Spoonful. Cream only had one drummer, but it was Ginger Baker, which is like having hundreds.