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Saturday, July 04, 2015

Who needs a new album by 71-year-old Boz Scaggs? Me.

I've always seen Boz Scaggs as the guy coming home with the milk, black silk-tie loosened, feet still feeling the last samba, heart slightly regretting the heiress who got away.

I go back to 1971 with Boz. I saw him do one of the nullest shows I've ever witnessed, when he visited here in the wake of "Silk Degrees", and also one of the best about ten years ago at the Jazz Cafe.

He's seventy-one now and has no right to be still making records as good as this one. He reckons he finds it quite easy because he doesn't write the songs. This has tunes associated with Al Green ("Full Of Fire"), Huey Smith ("High Blood Pressure"), The Band ("Whispering Pines"), The Impressions ("I'm So Proud") and Bobby Charles ("Small Town Talk").

I've written about that last masterpiece before. Only sold a few thousand copies but I've met everyone who bought it.

Does anybody need another album of rhythm and blues covers, particularly now that it's never been easier to access the originals? Probably not but he's got his own very special flavour and sometimes a little bit of what you fancy does you all the good in the world.

Thursday, July 02, 2015

If only you could un-see 80s videos like Bruce Springsteen's "I'm On Fire"

"At night I woke up with the sheets soaking wet/And a freight train running through the middle of my head."
I was thinking of that line yesterday, on the hottest July day in London since records began.

It came into my mind the way lots of pop lyrics do. Detached from the song, Bruce Springsteen's "I'm On Fire", which came out thirty years ago this year, ready to mean whatever I wanted it to mean, which is the way I like it.

Keen to hear it, I looked on You Tube and found myself watching the promo video in which Springsteen plays a mechanic flirting with a dame with an expensive car. Like almost all videos, it's kitsch and absurd, demeaning the song by making everything explicit. 

I interviewed him around this time. In those days videos were still novel and you always asked artists about them. I rememember he said that he struggled with them because you either had to illustrate the story of the lyrics, which seemed a bit obvious, or impose an entirely different narrative on that song, which seemed unsatisfactory.

Of course, nobody really minded because they were a way you could reach audiences. They were adverts. Thirty years later I wonder if that's the reason why so much music from the 80s gets no respect. Once you see these videos again, even after a gap of thirty years, you can't un-see them.

Old pop music gains something over time. Old videos just sit there and look ridiculous.

If you must, it's here.

Thursday, June 25, 2015

There's no privacy in the ice cream business, is there?

The other day we were walking along the sea front of a small town on the Northumbrian coast. My brother-in-law, an inveterate taker of photographs, snapped one of an ice cream van. "Did you just take a photograph?" demanded a woman's voice from inside the van. He went over and spoke to her. It turned out that she objected to having her picture taken. "This is my place of work. You wouldn't like it if I came into your place of work and took a photograph of you, would you?" My brother in law walked away, shaking his head.

People are, of course, entitled to a reasonable degree of privacy but every aspect of daily life involves some sort of trade-off between publicity and confidentaility. People in ice cream vans should know this better than most. After all, they occupy an almost unique place in British life. if you carry your produce into a public place in an attractively-painted vehicle covered in slogans describing that product and imploring any passer-by to stop you and try it, and furthermore if you equip said vehicle with electronic chimes to ensure that nobody in the immediate area can remain unaware of your presence, you could fairly be said to be not so much a privacy-seeking citizen as the occupant of an actual advertisement on wheels and you are therefore entitled to the same freedom from public scrutiny as a bloke wandering up and down Oxford Street carrying a placard pointing out that the end of the world is nigh. Or a town crier.  None.

Now give me a ninety-nine. Unless, that is, you don't wish to be disturbed.

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Father's Day

The second of Richard Ford's Rules For Writers is "don't have children". This is interesting since so many of his books turn on the subject of father-son relationships.

I've never written any fiction. If I did I think I'd have difficulty writing about anything but my children. Well, not them in particular so much as the the experience of having them, of watching them turn into adults and realising that nature is an awful lot stronger than nurture.

The thought of what they could write but dare not for fear of being misunderstood by their nearest and dearest must torture the writers of fiction.

Saturday, June 20, 2015

There's nothing new; just old stuff you weren't previously familiar with

Catching up with David Kynaston's history of Britain since the war with Modernity Britain: Opening the Box, 1957-1959I was struck that politicians were just as concerned about the likely impact of TV on the outcome of the 1959 election as today's politicians were about the possible impact of social media on the last one. "Don't let the telly keep you from the poll," said Hugh Gaitskell in a speech immediately before polling day. "Leave the kids at home to watch Rawhide. They can tell you what's happened when you get back."

Re-reading The Leopard, which I first read years ago when on holiday in Italy. We don't get much sun, which tends to make us glorify it. For the Sicilian, on the other hand, it's an everyday curse and here it's described brilliantly.










Can't stop playing "My Foolish Heart" by the Bill Evans Trio, a live recording which is, if anything, enhanced by the fact you can also hear the hum of conversation and the occasional sound of coffee spoon, smokers' cough or swizzle stick from the back bar of the Village Vanguard in 1961. Matter of fact, this very weekend in 1961.

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

The white rhythm and blues star who "self-identified as black" sixty years ago


The story of Rachel Dolezal, who "self-identifies" as black, made me think of the bandleader Johnny Otis.

He did something similar back in the 1950s. This is how it's explained in his biography Midnight at the Barrelhouse: The Johnny Otis Story:
















In those days if a white man was going to play music with black musicians, work in black clubs and stay in "coloured" motels it would be easier to pass himself off as black.

Sometimes it was temporary. When drummer Louie Bellson joined the Duke Ellington band in 1951 he was told "we're going down South so we're making you a Haitian."


Tuesday, June 16, 2015

If only there was a form of media where the advertising was valued as much as the editorial. There is.

Newly-published piece of research from the Tow Centre for Digital Journalism says almost 50% of people are already using ad-blockers while browsing newspaper websites.

The only reason the other 50% haven't done the same thing is they haven't yet realised they can.

The same report says they're not over-keen on banner advertising being replaced by native advertising either.

This is a big problem for the advertising industry.

Now if only there was some form of media where the advertising content was valued as much as the editorial.