Raves Archive 2005
A Hundred Reasons...
Yes, chums, it's that time again. Time for me to go through the
collection and pick out a hundred of the best, just so that you can see
how interesting and varied my musical tastes are (or, alternatively,
just sit there murmuring, "What a sad bastard this man is!").
There are a few new entries this time, somewhat biased towards the
stuff I've bought in the last few months. So, Kate Bush gets no fewer
than six entries in the chart. Not just because there are three
tracks from "Aerial" included, but because I went back and
listened to all the previous albums as well.
What all this also means is that some veterans of the list have
been 'rested' this time around, some for the first time since I started
doing this for my own amusement about seven years ago.
I've got a fair bit of stuff on hard drive waiting to be burned on
to CD-R (much of it TV-related, as it happens), so next June's list is
likely to be even more eccentric.
Oh, by the way, the list is here.
Sweet Sounds From The Bush
Kate Bush -
"Aerial" (EMI 0946 3 43960 2 8)
I admit before I go any further that I'm a big fan of Kate Bush. I
was fifteen when "Wuthering Heights" became a hit, and seeing a
girl scarcely much older than myself dervishing about on "Top Of
The Pops" in a diaphanous long white dress had a profound effect on
me, not necessarily in the way she may have intended...
...So it was with some anticipation and anxiety that I slotted her
new album "Aerial" into my CD player. Anticipation because this
is her first album since 1993's "The Red Shoes"; anxiety
because I couldn't help wondering whether it would truly be worth the
wait.
As with her classic "Hounds Of Love" from twenty years ago,
this album is subdivided into two sections. Unlike that previous
effort, however, which was restricted by the vinyl format, she now has
the room to stretch out each part to fill one disc each. This could, of
course, be a recipe for trouble: nothing has quite undermined the
reputation of so many artists in recent years than the apparent belief
they have that, if a format allows you seventy minutes plus on a
'side', you are somehow obliged to fill it all.
Kate Bush nobly declines the temptation here. The first section, "A
Sea Of Honey" doesn't reach forty minutes. It comprises seven
songs, each of which stands alone in its own right. The single "King
Of The Mountain" kicks it off with her doing a passable Elvis
impression to a cod-reggae backing, complete with lyrics wondering
about the nature of fame itself (something from which Bush has always
tried to distance herself). "Pi" is a fine mover of a track,
and goes some way to proving a cliché: she isn't singing the
telephone book, but she can make a string of digits sound lyrical. The
third song, "Bertie", is a tribute to her young son. This could
have been dreadfully icky (indeed, some critics have claimed as much),
but it is saved from falling into the boiling crater of that volcano
known as Mt. Twee by virtue of a beguiling post-mediaeval arrangement
and Kate's own absolute sincerity.
The domesticity which has been the heart of her life in recent
years continues into "Mrs Bartolozzi". This is a track which
could easily have appeared on one of her early albums, featuring
largely just Bush and her piano. The lyrics, too, would have fitted
comfortably into her late-seventies output. Outwardly, they're about a
woman doing her washing: beneath that, however, there is a tale
of...what, exactly? Loss? Bereavement? There's certainly an element of
an erotic sub-text in the way she describes her own clothes and those
of her husband intertwining in the wash. Some unkind souls have sniffed
at the little "slooshy sloshy" jingle towards the end, but I
can't see Kate Bush worrying about that too much.
How she might be seen by others (particularly the more obsessive of
her followers) is the subject of "How To Be Invisible". Here
she displays a waspishness in her lyrics which has rarely been
witnessed before. A recent interview she gave the BBC indicates that
she cannot understand the modern cult of celebrity, and rather than be
part of it she has defiantly kept her distance.
Having covered down the years such notables as Brontë,
Gurdjieff, Wilhelm Reich and Hitler, it may only have been a matter of
time before Bush came to the subject of one of the most notable and
determined women of history. "Joanni" is, in its style and
arrangement remarkably like late-period Genesis, and the number moves
along beautifully.
Disc one concludes with the almost dreamlike "A Coral Room",
where the image of a city underwater intermingles with memories of
Kate's mother, who died around about the time of her last album. It
concludes the side on a poignant note.
In the dreaded days of yore, the 'concept album' was de rigeur
for all artists desperate to be taken seriously by people who couldn't
possibly be taken seriously. We can be truly grateful that the compact
disc hadn't been invented in time for the heyday of prog rock, as one
can only imagine to what extremes the likes of Yes or ELP might have
gone if they were able to put out a double album of nearly two and a
half hours - only imagine, that is, in a cheese-induced nightmare.
Disc two is, I suppose, a 'concept album' in itself. The theme of "A
Sky Of Honey" is the passage of time from an afternoon through to
the dawn of the next day. "Prelude" starts with birdsong and
young Bertie himself (and how one dearly hopes he won't regret his
contributions to this album when he reaches adolescence), before moving
forward into the afternoon, watching a street painter (played by the
estimable Rolf Harris) at his work, before moving into the evening. "Sunset"
is a pleasant, jazz-orientated song, which leads us into the brief
interlude of "Aerial Tal", in which Kate Bush imitates the
melody of the song of a blackbird (one of the sweetest sounds in nature
to these ears).
Some commentators have suggested that, because of the long gap
since her last album and because of her way of working in isolation,
Kate Bush has missed the mainstream trends in terms of sound and style
on this album. If such things matter (she has always been an artist who
has followed her own bent - this is one of the most attractive things
about her music), then the next two tracks should dispel such daft
notions. "Somewhere In Between" would not sound out of place on
the better class of pop radio show today (assuming such shows exist),
and its beguiling groove would be a perfect chill-out track. It leads
in to "Nocturn", the strongest part of this song cycle, and
possibly the standout track of the whole album. A song ostensibly about
lovers diving into the sea at night, there is (as one would expect) a
far greater depth to its meaning than that. It is backed by music which
has a driving momentum which recalls "Running Up That Hill" in
terms of its power.
Unfortunately, for obvious thematic reasons, this momentum is lost
in the closing (title) track which although a good one, sounds plodding
and somewhat uninspired by comparison with the song before it. It also
includes some rather hysterical laughing from Kate which I, for one,
found quite disturbing. The whole album finishes on birdsong yet again
- in our end is our beginning.
As a concept, "A Sky Of Honey" is far more coherent an
entity than "The Ninth Wave" of 1985, and marks possibly Kate
Bush's most complete and fulfilled creation. The production is simpler
and less dense than before, and there is an overwhelming feeling of
space and, yes, air. The album itself has been well worth the wait and,
one hopes, worth the frustrations and difficulties Kate had in making
it.
"Hello, Technical Support!"
As I've remarked before, there is some glorious talent out there on
the Net.
Check out Weakend
Productions and see what I mean. The first 'Jeb's Jobs'
animation really hits home for me, as someone who does that job. And it
was about time that bloody frog got it....
Every Picture Tells...
(No, it's not another desperate attempt at promoting the Gallery).
It's quite rare for your friendly neighbourhood Judge to laugh out
loud at anything. It gets you stared at, for one thing.
But last night, I stumbled upon a website which had me roaring
merrily away with glee for a good hour or so.
It's called Something Awful. Amongst its
many strange delights is a huge section of images created by gloriously
warped minds from around the web (click on the Photoshop Phriday
link in the top bar when you get there).
I particularly recommend the Signs Of Our Times, Rejected
Software and the various movie poster reworkings, but there should
be something for everyone, especially if you're weird anyway.
What The Cluck...?
Sometimes life is kind. Today it has dropped into my lap a story
which brings two of my bêtes noirs into the gunsights so
that they can be felled with a single shot.
Firstly, I freely admit to a deep antipathy for anything concerning
Liverpool - as a place, as a concept and as a breeding-ground for the
thieves, pushers and no-marks who have infested much of north Wales
over the past twenty-five years. On top of which, don't they like to
think that they're s-o-o-o-o special? Every Scouser thinks he's
a comedian, a wit, the very model of the chummy super-Scally.
Ken Dodd and Eddie Braben apart, however, real comic talent is not to
be found there.
Once, at the age of twelve, I went on a coach trip to Southport. We
stopped off in Bootle for the driver to have a slash, and parked near
an entire estate of demolished terraced houses. I remember thinking at
the time that it might be a good idea to adopt the same scheme right
across the city.
And, of course, it was the people of Liverpool who got in the
immaculately-kempt hair of Boris Johnson a little while back, bringing
on an attack which cost the Permanently-Stunned-Looking One one of his
jobs, when he criticised them for their maudlin sentimentality. Which
brings me on to...
...what I call Spencer-Windsor Syndrome. This is my name for the
virulent psychiatric disease which causes otherwise supposedly sane
people to go rushing to place flowers, teddy bears and goodness knows
what else at the scene of a tragedy, be it accidental or homicidal. You
simply can't see footage of such a story on television without being
confronted with the sight of bouquets, bunches and Barney The Dinosaur
tied to railings or propped up against walls. Leaving aside the point
that it probably gets badly in the way of the Police's investigations
and is littering by other means, what the hell is the point of this? Do
we live in a society which is so mentally disordered that people feel
that they have to flash their grief (real or, more frequently,
appliquéd) to everyone? If they want to display their dismay,
then they should do so quietly and discreetly, and stop doing something
which is merely attention-seeking, bringing no real benefit to anyone
other than Interflora and the soft-toy industry.
In the light of all this, you can perhaps understand my delight in
coming across this
story.
A Kick Up The Arts
Let the Woolamaloo
Gazette guide you through the front-runners in this year's premier
modern art prize.
Tune Up, Turn On, Folk Out!
(This is by way of being my desperate method of letting you know
that the programme for first half of the new season at the Wrexham Folk & Acoustic Music Club is
now available).
Forever (Mr & Mrs) Young
I seldom get invited to weddings. Well, OK, I seldom get invited anywhere
(perhaps I should seek help). But yesterday was our family's Day Of The
Year, as my niece Andrea married her fiancé Aidan Young.
The ceremony was held at the Holt Lodge Hotel just outside of
Wrexham. It's a great idea to have the wedding in a hotel: it means you
don't have to go anywhere else for the rest of the day.
The weather wasn't too promising: in fact, there were a few spots
of rain as we arrived at about 12.45. But we went inside and watched
the growing frenzy of the groom, the best man, the usher and the
bride's parents as showtime approached.
Finally, at 2.00 pm, we made our way through to the Orchard Room
for the ceremony. There are some people who still insist that a wedding
isn't really a wedding without religious rigmarole, but I
totally disagree. While the ceremony yesterday was far less formal than
you'd find in a church, it was no less meaningful for that. It was
uncomplicated, true, and it lacked the rhetorical flourishes which are
the stock-in-trade of the priestly classes. But there was a sincerity
to it, and a joy which has been absent from all the church weddings
I've ever attended. Those officiating were businesslike without being
bossy, and informal without any loss of solemnity of purpose.
Well, I'm showing my bias again, but it really was beautifully
done. The happy couple (there have to be clichés, you know) had
asked me to give a reading, with the stipulations that it couldn't be
a) religious (which they wouldn't have got from me anyway), or b) mucky
(which spoiled things just a tad). So, after the exchanging of rings, I
was called forward to read a piece I'd found on line. It's usually
referred to as the Apache
Blessing, but I suspect it of having been written in somewhere
like Pittsburgh in about 1972. I honestly didn't expect the round of
applause which followed it. Relief, possibly. I know it was for me.
The ceremony concluded with the signing, and then photographic hell
broke loose. Having not taken any pictures during the ceremony (partly
because I was too tense, but partly out of a lingering sense of
decorum), I managed to snap a few. Here's one:
(After the signing. Back row: Jodie (bridesmaid), Andy (best
man), Corinne (bridesmaid). Sitting on the table: the flower girls,
Caitlin and Morgan)
Afterwards, we made our way out to the bar area, to greet Mr &
Mrs Young. Of course, their son Ethan Alexander was present:
We then found our way to the garden for the photographs. This
seemed to take an age, but the rain had gone, so it wasn't too bad. The
'official' photographers were guarding their 'exclusive' quite
zealously, but we bumbling amateurs still managed to get a few:
After all this palaver, we went back inside for the reception. The
food was good, and there was a goodly amount of it. This was followed
by the speeches, and the toasting of the newlyweds.
Sometime after 5.00, we were gently turfed out for the hotel staff
to make the room ready for the night 'do'. I took a stroll around the
grounds. The weather by this time was very pleasant indeed (this is
when I took the photo of the hotel at the top of this piece). After a
while, I needed recharging, so I went into the Lounge to, well lounge,
actually. The speakers were playing a pleasant mix of light jazz, which
I found very relaxing as I tried to doze in a deep sofa.
Then, at 7.00, we all went back in to the banqueting room for the
evening event. There was a disco. I love music, but not at great
volume, so I dodged out into the garden again at regular intervals.
This didn't prevent me from catching a few moments:
The bride & groom take the floor.
"Help! I'm with two pissed women!"
"'Ere! This spring roll's empty!"
Caitlin boogies on down.
As night fell, I stood in the garden looking at the sky
and pondering that, for all the pain in the world, there is still a
preponderance of people, things and events which are truly good. Or, as
Steve Tilston's
song says, "Some Times In This Life Are Beautiful.
(This, of course, was before I uploaded my pictures to my PC and
found that everyone photographed indoors had been given such a bad case
of 'red eye' that it looked like I'd attended the union of two tribes
of zombies. I'm clearly still learning how to work this camera. Thank
goodness for Paint Shop Pro, I say).
Making Tracks
It's that time again. Every six months I put myself through agonies
of aesthetic dilemmas to bring you My Hundred Best Tunes.
This one has been a proper bugger, I don't mind telling
you. Having gone through the 7000+ tracks in my collection, I was left
with 15 absolute certainties and 46 which were highly probable
inclusions. This then left me to find 39 tracks out of a short (?) list
of nearly 80.
It took me longer to do that than to write the web page that it
appears on, links and all.
You can find the fruits of my endeavours here, along with half a dozen new sound clips.
As ever, enjoy!
Caveman Off His Trolley?
I always like to see the pompous and sniffy brought low, especially
if it's done with wit.
That's why I find this
deeply amusing.
Can Bliar Beat The Rap?
I've long known that there are some prodigious talents out there in
cyberspace.
There's one excellent example at www.gbjab.com.
(It's a Flash animation, but be patient - I think it's worth it).
Brought To Book
Some of you may have seen this piece on the
Rants page a few weeks back.
I'm glad to report that Joe Gordon won his case against dismissal,
as Joe himself reports.
Yes, you can now all go shopping at Waterstone's, HMV and Amazon
again. Well, I can...
For Folk's Sake!
(Yeah, I know, I'm running out of corny puns...)
The line-up for the remainder of the 2004/05 season at the Wrexham
Folk & Acoustic Music Club is now available here.
