A lot to love here, but my favourite thing is the inherent paradox in the vision this ad is putting forward.

Because we all know that, according to the pre-existing rules of '70s Rock Utopia, if Spooky Tooth really are a top-flight rock band taking the world by storm on their big tour, surely they will be striding through hotels and concert venues in which their needs are already fully catered for..?

This assumption sits uncomfortably with an alternative image of the ‘boys’ lying depressed and exhausted in a cramped motel room as their over-bearing, Phil Silvers-esque manager cooks up endless pans of frozen vegetables on a portable hotplate. (“What’s the matter son? You don’t know free food when you see it? They gave us a whole trailer fulla this stuff! C’mon, dig in!”)

Labels: ads, funnies, Spooky Tooth

As far as content on this increasingly death-fixated blog goes, one obit I’ve had more time to think about than usual (not that it’s been called into service quite yet, thankfully) is that of Wilko Johnson, who, as you may have heard, was diagnosed with terminal cancer in December, and played what will most likely be his final live performances back in March.

Last weekend, Radio 6 broadcast a one hour interview with him, interspersed with some tunes, and I just thought I’d do a quick post to point readers in the direction of the programme’s seven day tenure on the BBC iPlayer.

Sounds potentially heavy-going, but trust me – it’s worth making time for. Partly because Wilko is, as ever, a funny, erudite and hugely likeable fellow, and partly because every song he chooses is fucking brilliant. But mostly it’s worth listening to for the final section, in which he discusses his illness. Let’s just say that if any of us can approach our own mortality with a spirit half as level-headed and positive as this guy, we’ll be doing bloody well, and that if you can get to the end of this programme without welling up for a good cry, you’ve got a harder heart than I.

Labels: bad news, BBC, Dr Feelgood, radio, Wilko Johnson

Dear Stereo Sanctity reader -

Hello, I hope things are good with you! Sorry for not writing earlier, but the weather here has got nice finally, and there have been so many things to do! Where to start.... well, what seems like a long, long time ago, we went to see Endless Boogie, and that was great, I had a lovely time, although I felt kinda bad for my friend who came with me, because two hours of Endless Boogie is probably quite a lot of endless boogie for those who are not necessarily that thrilled by the concept of endless boogie. Their lead guy is really something else though – he was funny, and made me laugh. He looks like a mountain troll that just ate Johnny Ramone and took on his characteristics. You’d have loved it. I liked the rhythm guy even better though. He sticks in the background, but he’s the one gunning the engine. I bet the other guys don’t fuck with him. Some folks who are at least partially in Bo Ningen supported that night, with a side project thing I don’t remember the name of, and that was really good too. They did it as improv, but I think they knew pretty well where they were heading– Can and Harmonia and Silver Apples and High Rise and everything, all thoroughly digested and making its way back into the food chain.

Sometime after that we saw a whole weekend of stuff that mainly sounded like the ‘90s, but sometimes the ‘80s, and many faces and guitars passed before my eyes. It was nice, but the one I liked the most was The Black Tambourines, perhaps because I was drunk when they played. They have a silly name that made me think they’d be a bad fake psych band and wear sunglasses, but actually they were ok. They sounded like late ‘90s British-wanting-to-be-American indie-rock that has been left to curdle for a long, long time and got all oily and surly and stopped washing its hair. Mm-mm.

Then we went to see King Tuff two times! What fun! The first time, he was headlining, but he played in a crappy place, where the sound was muddy and the atmosphere grim and it was hard to see. He played good, did lots of hits off “Was Dead” and a few new ones that sounded better than the bulk of the self-titled, but in stark contrast to the big fun show he did at the Shacklewell Arms last year, crowd was d-e-a-d. They finished up ready to do the whole encore routine, and everybody just stood there muttering for about five minutes before someone got the notion to clap and make sound. Bloody people, I dunno. Tell you what, tomorrow night, why don’t I charge you all £8 and herd you into a big dark hole where you can shuffle about in a confined space to yr heart’s content, without a rock band getting in the way.

Sorry! Went off the point a little there! Where were we…. oh yes – have you heard about The Dome in Tufnell Park? You should definitely pay it a visit if you’re ever over here, it’s really nice. We saw King Tuff there again the next night, and things were a lot more fun, even if it was only half past eight. Before him, these young men called Jacco Gardner or something played, and they were alright too, even if one of them did insist on wearing a really unfortunate hat (one of those “if you’re not Lee Van Cleef, don’t even think about it” jobs). They sounded a lot like the ‘60s, maybe lurking halfway between SF and LA, and made me feel like I was at a big old hippy ballroom concert. They didn’t have an electric guitar, which also strikes me as poor decision-making, but I think maybe that was just because the other groups on the bill stole all the guitars and wouldn’t give them back. Boy, there sure were a lot of guitars! For instance, this guy Mikal Cronin and his band were banging away on a total of 28 strings, making this sort of ok-ish afternoon festival rock. I couldn’t really find much in the way of tunes – I fear Mr. Cronin might be a bit of a mumblin’ Kurt Vile-esque time-waster, to be frank - but listening to all the guitars was nice, and they put some effort in, nudging the bar up to ‘good’ for their last few numbers. I gave them some big applause, which I think they earned. Hard work, boys & girls, that’s the key.

White Fence had a lot of guitars too, but oh my days, they were HATEFUL. What a bummer. I mean, maybe you heard some of their records and thought they sounded ok, but don’t be fooled! The man orchestrating this collective looks like a prune-faced, scowling ghost who escaped from Noel Gallagher’s sock drawer, and his dream of perfect music seems to consist of grinding, joyless sheets of ear-hurting guitar treble set to lolloping, sub-Brian Jonestown Massacre type ‘grooves’, playing out in indistinguishable five minute chunks for about fourteen hours. I hear they may be heading your way, so beware. Some beardy nerd guys in the crowd had an actual, nose-bloodying fight whilst they played, that’s how bad the vibes were getting. Come back Jocco Gardner or whatever, I’m sorry I laughed at your hat, please save us from this.

By the time all that was over with, a lot of people had gone off to catch their trains and stuff, which was sad, because Purling Hiss were headlining, and you’ll remember how much I like them! Cos let’s face it, White Fence could have a hundred of their stupid chimy little guitars and they wouldn’t have as much guitar as Mike Pollize is packing just in his own little hands. Everybody was tired, including him probably, but boy did they go for it! Played about the whole of the new record, and just about everything in his earlier discography that could pass for a ‘pop song’, and a wild rip through about six or seven minutes of ‘Almost Washed My Hair’ too, and gee whiz, you shoulda heard him go! The dude was wanking away so shamelessly, I almost felt embarrassed watching it with other people present – total slobbering, face-pulling guitar nonsense, hopping about on his pedals like fucking Riverdance, and I loved every minute of it.

And after all that throbbing masculinity, it was good to chill out by going to see Bleached, whom you might have read about in the free newspapers. They are actual girls, y’see, and two of them were in Mika Miko. They do a chimy, airhead summer guitar-pop thing, but with a big Wipers-y rhythmic undercurrent that knocks Best Coast on their ass, and, whilst I was worried I might find them a bit too cutesy and vacant for my liking, I gotta admit that, live at least, they were bloody great. Simple, fun, satisfying pop/rock music, and if they’re not exactly writing any sequels to ‘Double Nickels on the Dime’, well, so what. Neither are you. Thank god.

In between all that, somehow we found time to go and see Discharge, and The Melvins, which was a laugh. I think. It’s not been out-and-about time all the time though, and at home I’ve been having a nice time listening to Peaking Lights and Quiet Evenings and Black Devil Disco Club and James Brown and Otis Redding and Cheap Trick and Black Mamba Beat and The Undertones and Nancy & Lee. I bought a copy of Neil Young’s ‘Journey Through The Past’, which is a strange one, because side 4 is stuck on the back of side 1, and the second disc has sides 2 and 3, so when the second side I played opened with some hippie guy rambling, then went into a lengthy recording of Handel’s ‘Messiah’ followed by an instrumental Beach Boys song, I was even more confused than I would have been if I’d realised it was side 4. Oh Neil, will we ever fathom your mysteries. The other three sides are pretty good, if you’re keeping score.

I’ve also had a real nice time spinning The Young Fresh Fellows' 1985 album ‘Topsy Turvy’, which I wish I could find on CD or mp3, because some of the songs on it are real crackers, and I’d like to share them with you. ‘The New John Agar’ is a particular favourite of mine, and I’d love to do a cover, if only I was smart enough to transcribe piano songs by ear (as opposed to no songs by nothing).

And that’s about it I think, but oh! How could I forget! Last week we went to Brighton to see Jeffrey Lewis and Peter Stampfel, and it was one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to ever. I mean, it was at least as good as that one I went to a few months back where Brilliant Colors and LaLa Vasquez and Good Throb played on a boat, or – no, actually it was better. They are wonderful guys who play great and funny songs together with much gusto, and it really makes me happy. I think they’d already done a full and satisfying set of their own fine material by the time Jeff busted out ‘Don’t Be Upset’, which I still find really sweet, and then they played Daniel Johnston’s ‘True Love Will Find You In the End’, followed by Hawkwind’s ‘Orgone Accumulator’, and then segued ‘Surfin’ Bird’ into ‘Freebird’, and then Peter came back on and played fucking ‘Goldfinger’ on the banjo! Take note fucking White Fence and whoever, that’s the way to do business, if you want to convey some joy, express some spirit and generally show the folks a good time. Such a great show, I damn near cried.

And so that’s that. I’m sorry to write you such an obscenely long postcard, but there was so much to tell! (I hope you kept the magnifying glass and decoder ring I sent you last time.) I trust that everything’s going well in your music-brain – I know you’ve got that big suspension bridge job to finish, and your dog’s not well, and you’re scared of train stations and only listen to pre-war jazz, but if you ever feel like visiting, we’d all love to see you. Will write soon.

Love & hugs,

That guy who writes the Stereo Sanctity weblog.

Labels: Bleached, Bo Ningen, Endless Boogie, Jacco Gardner, Jeffrey Lewis, King Tuff, Mikal Cronin, Neil Young, Peter Stampfel, Purling Hiss, The Black Tambourines, The Young Fresh Fellows, White Fence