The blurb on the inside cover of this 538-page tome shrieks “The Most Eagerly Awaited Music Memoir Of The Century”. Townshend admits it has taken him a long time to write: one imagines the runaway commercial success of Keith Richards’ Life has renewed his enthusiasm for the project. Given Townshend’s legendary self-centredness and pessimistic worldview my expectations were limited and this book has lived down to them. I am a big Who fan: my first gig was Charlton 1976. Enthralled I excavated the bands past, whilst simultaneously following their current activities. I lost faith when Kenny Jones took over on drums but was wooed back by Zak Starkey and I am looking forward to the Townshend / Daltrey Quadrophenia tour. I have enormous respect for Townshend as a performer and songwriter, to the point that Sunrise was played at my wedding.
However at no point have I mistaken Townshend for a ray of sunshine. The best thing about this book is the 462 pages that were edited out and which, according to a Q+A at the Old Truman Brewery last week, will emphatically not be published as Part Two. As a result the narrative skips along and the years fly by.
Even so the second-half of the book is heavy going. Partly this is because everything significant musically has happened by page 250, after which comes the Who’s final disappointing studio albums and Townshend’s subsequent solo career. In addition Townshend becomes even more insular and even more torn, bitter and miserable. Despite his oft publicy-stated desire for self-knowledge he comes over (to use his own words) as “a complete arsehole “. That his key work associates such as Bob Pridden have put up with it for around fifty years suggests he has his good points and pays well. Why his ex-wife Karen put up with Townshend for so long is inexplicable. Her reward is to be ignored in the seven-page section of Acknowledgements, which pointedly thanks everyone else, including his new partners’ seven dogs. What the book needs desparately is some of the self-deprecation and humour shown briefly at the Q+A when Townshend was talking about being snubbed by Bob Dylan (“Where’s Roger?”). For the rest of the time Being Multi-Millionaire Pete Townshend seems rather hard and joyless work.
The most disappointing aspect of the book is that we learn little about Townshend as a musician or a songwriter: books written by Dave Marsh and Ritchie Unterberger both do a better job than this. John Perry’s masterful analysis of Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy dwarfs Townshends own musical musings. So well known are incidents such as Woodstock that, with little new insight on offer, Who I Am comes across as a routine cut-and-paste job. We learn a lot about Townshend’s toys, chiefly home recording studios and yachts, both of which get bigger as the royalties increase. What we don’t get is any sense of where his golden run of hit singles came from. Keith Richards once told Townshend that he thought too much. Lyrics such as The Seeker support this, but also show a rare pop songwriter unafraid of expressing his spirituality. If only Townshend had worked out a way of integrating his spiritual beliefs and his rock’n’roll-ness, in his life and in this book.
Who I Am is Life-less.
Take One – Simon Wright
The fact that this lengthy (two hours) dissertation on America’s best-known unknown band should premiere at the London Film Festival reinforces both the anglophile nature of the bands music and the fact that for a long time their legacy generated more respect in the UK than in their home country.
The narrative stubbornly refuses to conform to the usual pop-bio trajectory: obscurity followed by recognition followed by commercial success followed by artistic decline. Chief Big Star Alex Chilton had sung on a four-million selling hit single by the age of 16 (The Letter by the Boxtops) and every record he released subsequently was less successful in commercial terms than its predecessor.
The film is hampered by only having 20 minutes footage of Big Star to work with. By necessity much of the narrative is carried through talking-head interviews. Alex, whose response to pretty much anything was “I’d rather not”, was not one of them, and Chris Bell (McCartney to his Lennon) died in a car accident in 1977. Distressingly many of the major figures in this tale such as bassplayer Andy Hummell and producer Jim Dickinson died after recording their interviews, leaving drummer Jody Stephens as the only band member still with us. Friends, family, colleagues and acolytes fill in the story as best they can.
Through it all runs Memphis, birthplace of rock’n’roll and a magnet for strange people exhibiting twisted behaviour. The footage used from legendary home-movie Stranded In Canton bears this out to chilling effect. But then Big Star were never just about popsongs: the lightness of their melodies was always balanced by a darker melancholia, which is why they are still revered today rather than other “power-pop” contemporaries such as Dwight Twilley or the Raspberries.
Intriguing themes emerge. Some feel the band had it too easy – taken under the wing of Ardent Studios from the get-go they never had to do the classic struggling band thing of looking for a record deal through live dates. Top of the range gear and unlimited studio time was also part of the deal. However it was a mixed blessing; part of the Ardent deal was that they signed to Stax where the band suffered from record company cluelessness and truly abominable distribution that left them unable to capitalise on a welter of stunning reviews because no-one could find their records in the shops.
But maybe they got as far as they ever would. Bell was unstable, riven by spiritual and sexual conflicts. Chilton’s disillusion with the record industry seemed total before he even joined the group. Under the circumstances a stable long-term career seems unlikely. And if those first two stellar LPs had achieved the sales they deserved we might be heartily sick of Big Star by now, early promise replaced by later mediocrity. Even the protagonists accept that calling your unknown band Big Star smacked of arrogance, even if it was the name of the supermarket across the road from Ardent. It’s hard to imagine a UK band calling themselves Budgens.
As it is they made three stunning and diverse LPs and stopped. The Lafayette recordings on the Big Star box-set reveal the post-Bell trio up as a competent live act. Their reputation is probably at an all-time high. This excellent documentary will undoubtedly bring in a new generation of fans. It also does a good job of telling longterm followers things we don’t know. Particularly strong is the coverage of legendary 1973 Memphis Rock Writers Convention, which single-handedly reignited the bands career after the commercial failure of Number One Record. And John King (Head of Promotion at Ardent should have his own chat show.
Director Drew DeNicola introduced the screening and then took part in a Q&A together with John Fry, as the man who engineered their key recordings. Exuding Southern courtesy and modesty John underplayed his role but he was crucial. The music he helped create is equal in sonic terms to what was achieved by George Martin at Abbey Road or Jimmy Miller at Olympic. It was gratifying to see him get his dues from a well-attended NFT1.
My only quible is the title. Nothing Can Hurt Me is presumably ironic, as pretty much everyone in and around Big Star suffered for it on some level. Maybe You Get What You Deserve would have been more accurate.
Take Two – John Perry
To the BFI Southbank for the premiere of Drew DeNicola’s film ‘Nothing Can Hurt Me’. Nominally a film about Big Star it’s really about Memphis, about recording, and about the cast of locals who rallied round the label in an attempt to continue the legacy of Sun and Stax into the 70’s. Intelligent film, made just in time as a good half of the principals passed away soon after filming.
I have little trouble in seeing why Big Star didn’t rise above cult status in an era dominated by Zeppelin and Alice Cooper. Bad timing assisted by bad distribution. I’m not sure that their records would be as lovable today if they’d been pounded to death on every radio station for the last 40 years. Ardent studio owner John Fry emerges as a gentleman and the label’s promo man is funny describing attempts to plug their records on US radio where most programmers thought he was flogging Argent — “oh yeah, we love that ‘Hold Your Head Up’ song”. The band are well-served by a director who’s bright enough to avoid a linear rise and fall biography and allow the story to tell itself via characters like Dickinson, Eggleston et al. Well worth seeing.
Leicester Square Odeon – London Film Festival
I now understand why celebs turn up at premieres. There is something quite intoxicating about sashaying down the red-carpet, paparazzi trying to work out whether you’re worth a snap, young ladies with clipboards checking to see whether you’re on their list – it’s all great fun. Tonight’s celeb turn-out was strictly Z- list – Anthea Turner and Liam Gallagher. Lauren Laverne was doing the red carpet interviews and a very blonde, fluffy job she made of it.
A pleasant surprise waited us inside, posh water, popcorn and Green & Black’s on our seats plus they were selling booze. And then onstage the stars of the show. First director Brett Morgen and then Jagger, Watts, Wood, Richards and (nice touch) Wyman, although no Mick Taylor who I saw at the end. Jagger and Morgen both made lucid introductions to the film, with Jagger apologising for some of the fashions we were about to see (OK until about 1975 by my estimation, but those lime-green frills were a spectacular fall from grace)
So on with the show. Brett Morgen made it very clear from the outset that the film is his personal statement which makes no attempt at a balanced historical perspective of the bands entire career. Instead the focus is on the crazed amphetamine rush of the Brian Jones and Mick Taylor eras, which by most Stones fans estimation is when they did their best work. This is a brave move, but one that pays off. Already there are complaints that the film ends too abruptly, with only a very cursory canter through the Ronnie Wood / stadium era. I suspect that Morgen feels there is not much to say post ‘74 – got rich, played ever bigger gigs, released a few decent singles. Jagger mentions that Woods presence made the band more fun and less dangerous: for some of us, that is the problem. Ironically when asked about the movie on the red carpet Ronnie said he hoped he would appear before the end. Sorry Ronnie.
Reservations. There is too much Jagger but given he is credited as co-producer and has tended to do the lion share of the Stones media appearances this may have been unavoidable. Ian Stewart only appears assisting young ladies offstage: his lack of credit is unforgiveable. The relentless focus on the main protagonists means that key muses such as Marianne Faithful and Anita Pallenberg plus key musicians such as Bobby Keyes and Nicky Hopkins get no mention. Morgen plays fast and loose with historical accuracy. He needs footage of the band looking glum to accompany a recent interview about the death of Brian Jones. Problem: no-one was filming at Olympic studios the night it happened. Solution: use the Maylses’ footage from Gimme Shelter of Richards, Jagger and Watts. Does it matter? It is Morgen using a lie to tell a greater truth. The contemporary interviews add little. Mick Taylor now claims he left the Stones because of his heroin habit (rather than disputes over songwriting or creative differences). Jagger admits they treated Jones badly and regrets the way they sacked him, albeit with the tone of a politician expressing his disappointment about a policy which hasn’t worked.
Positives. Morgen’s sources are really good. Yes, we have already seen the footage from the TAMI show, Gimme Shelter, The Dick Cavett Show, One Plus One. C*cksuck*r Blues , NME Poll Winners show, Ladies & Gentlemen and Knebworth. However the sound and picture quality here is first rate, plus there are out-takes being used for the first time. On the basis of the teaser footage used here, the re-release of Peter Whitehead’s Charlie Is My Darling will be fabulous. The way the film cuts rapidly between subjects creates a claustrophobic feeling of something out of control, perfectly in keeping with the whirlwind early touring years. However it means there are performance clips I would like to see on their own, all the way through – I hope the DVD release makes this possible. We see most of the voodoo Jumping Jack Flash promo but only tantalising glimpses of Let’s Spend The Night Together (from Sunday Night At The London Palladium? Brian Jones on piano). With 25 x 5 unaccountably unavailable on DVD it is about time all the Stones promo films and TV appearances were brought together, legally and in good quality
Should you see it? If you are even a casual Stones fan, absolutely. If you are Ronnie Wood’s mum or you think they peaked artistically as a stadium band in the 80’s and 90s you’re probably better off waiting ‘til BBC2 shows it next month. I’ll be watching – Crossfire Hurricane is dense movie with lots to see.
Setting The Sails For El Dorado
The Fatal Shore
Moloko+ PLUS 074
“This CD is fondly dedicated to the memory of Bruno Adams” says the booklet, with Bruno and Phil Shoenfelt both contributing guitar and vocals and Chris Hughes providing drums and percussion. The Fatal Shore have released 3 CDs but “Setting The Sails…” predates them all, consisting of covers recorded at the Delta Club in Prague in Spring 1997. With Adams dying recently this CD is his epitaph. The vocal on Wild In The Wind is more convincing than when Bowie crooned it on Station To Station. If You Go Away demonstrates the clarity and precision of the bands under-stated production, and emphasises Phil and Bruno’s contrasting vocals and some vintage ‘50’s clean-cut electric guitar. Fred Neil’s Dolphins gets a respectful treatment but Bird On A Wire suffers from being the fourth song in row taken at the same medium-slow pace. The verses of My Death benefit from a bit more oomph, knocking the overcooked Bowie version into a Belgian waffle. Who’s Bin Talking leads with some vintage Duane Eddy guitar and reminds me of Thunders’ similar Copy Cats (A Very Good Thing). Simple, subtle and never overstaying its welcome, “Setting The Sails…” is both a worthy way to remember Bruno Adams and a good way to greet The Fatal Shore.
I Ate The Knife / Undone
Dim Locator
Cover Recordings
Phil Shoenfelt’s latest venture is Dim Locator, who feature on this vinyl tribute to Rowland S. Howard. It’s a Drum and Bass record: I Ate The Knife is driven by Dave Allen’s slow and intense bass, Undone is a livelier affair featuring Chris Hughes’ cyclical drumming whilst leaving room for Shoenfelt’s vocals, which here have a dark gravity reminiscent of (unsurprisingly) Nick Cave. A promising debut.
Twitter is merely the Smart Ass One Liners from the bottom of the NME letters page circa 1975 , which used to regularly come in at 140 characters or less. ‘Lowell George Knew My Father’ was my favourite.
Provided by http://blog.adinfa.com/adinfablog/?p=224
I know it’s only rock ‘n’ roll but….
A couple of nights ago I enjoyed watching one old rocker in the company of another, an expert in the genre. It was a fun night out – and got me thinking about the PUE of a rock concert!
Imagine the scene: a data centre (the Hammersmith Appollo) with a main machine hall (the stalls + stage) and a half-size mezzanine (the circle). 3600 racks (or seats), quite well spaced, filled and with occasional hot-spots . (One or two of the older models must have been liquid-cooled given how frequently they had to visit the facilities:)). It was cooled to a comfortable temperature, not excessively cold. And it was very much a mixed vendor environment. On stage there was
- a compact, high energy server (Ronnie Wood on lead, perhaps the man who put the “64” into x64)
- an old mid-range, running very smoothly and efficiently on background processes (Bill Wyman on bass)
- some high-reliability Unix machines keeping core applications running, rock solid (Mick Taylor and Hamish Stuart on rhythm, Andy Newmark and Simon Kirke on drums)
- some virtual machines on standby to add extra processing during peak periods (the horn section)
- and some multimedia servers for streaming specialist content (singers Beverley Skeete and Sharleen Spiteri)
- not forgetting the amount of archive storage these machines need access to (looooonnnnng memories)!
Overall, it was a solid performance without too many risks being taken. Perhaps the data centre equivalent of a PUE of 2.
Of course, there is something else a concert review has in common with all too many data centres: it is purely subjective. You cannot rely on canvassing a few audience members after a performance to get a true impression of what it was really like. Similarly, many data centres rely on taking some manual readings at perhaps weekly or monthly intervals (or worse), transfer them to a spreadsheet and then calculate a one-off PUE value. This does not tell you anything very useful about how efficiently you are running your facility. To really understand data centre efficiency you need a DCIM solution centred around automated, detailed monitoring of the infrastructure combined with informative reporting. Perhaps something like InSite, for example.
Through the years Ronnie Wood has provided backup to a wide variety of frontmen including Jeff Beck, Rod Stewart and Mick Jagger. His attempts at taking centre stage have varied from the sublime (New Barbarians) to the ridiculous (Shepherds Bush, 2001). Tonight Ronnie was the centre of attention throughout and he carried it off well, although his onstage announcements were unintelligible.
The opening number was the most interesting. Just Ronnie, a Strat and his personal history of rock’n’roll – Little Red Rooster, Mona, Boogie Chillun’, Smokestack Lightnin’.Then on came the extensive house band to walk a packed Apollo through selected highspots from the Chess catalogue, though sadly not my personal favourite Rescue Me (Fontella Bass).
The dual drummer set-up of Simon Kirke and Andy Newmark worked a treat, and although bass player Bill Wyman sounded a little ploddy his vocal on You Never Can Tell was well received. Ronnie’s lead guitar was fine throughout especially on the Chuck Berry numbers but Mick Taylor was criminally under-used and spent most of the night strumming on a stool (he had apparently hurt his foot). The exception was The Sun Is Shining where he and Ronnie played dual slide and it sounded terrific as did Don’t Lie To Me, both rocking and rolling.
Guest vocalist Sharleen Spiteri wailed effectively on I’d Rather Go Blind, Ali McKenzie from Ronnie’s first band The Birds did well with Walking By Myself and Beverly Skeete followed in some illustrious footsteps with At Last. Why James McCartney was brought on to sing the closing uptempo numbers is a total mystery – maybe his dad was busy. The finale was an ensemble version of I Just Want To Make Love To You followed by an encore of It’s Only Rock’n’Roll, both a bit routine.
The evening did well to encompass the depth of the Chess catalogue and offer a wide variety of music. It would have benefited from Wood and Taylor having space to play off each other and if that meant we lost a guest vocalist or two it would have been a fair swap. Overall good in parts, but slightly underwhelming.
View: Stalls, Row N
Setlist
Introduction (RW solo)
Hi Heel Sneakers
My Babe
300 Pounds Of Joy
Just Your Fool
You Never Can Tell
The Sun Is Shining
Don’t Lie To Me
Walking By Myself
Tell Mama
Mojo Boogie
At Last
Spoonful
Big Town Playboy
Talk To Your Daughter
I’d Rather Go Blind
Johnny Be Goode
Carol
I Just Wanna Make Love To You
Encore:
It’s Only Rock’n’Roll
A rare acoustic gig for Brijitte and on this showing she should go unplugged more often. Although better known as a raunchy rock’n’roller – first with NY Loose and more recently with her own band the desparate hopefuls – tonight’s short set showcased her more thoughtful compositions which worked well in an acoustic format. Brijitte was ably supported by Keith Gibbs on guitar / vocals and Richie Hudson on bass / vocals. The harmonies were impressive but not too slick and worked in a Parsons / Harris way: fittingly the DJ played Do Right Woman, Do Right Man just before the trio took the stage. Brijitte’s professionalism was tested when her borrowed acoustic shed its strap and had to be gaffered back in place by the sound man but she never missed a note. An increasingly vociferous crowd enjoyed Mess Of Myself, Bleeding Heart and Bitter & Twisted. How To Be Good didn’t miss co-singer Jesse Malin and whilst Pretty Suicide and Hey Papito didn’t quite reach these heights a set closer of Broken ensured calls for an encore. With three bands on the bill this was not to be but I’d like to see a longer acoustic set from these guys. Headliners the Peckham Cowboys were everything I’d been expecting and less. The tiny stage could not accomodate the whole band, so bass and piano played on the floor. The Peckham Cowboys are ageing nevermadeits who wear great hats and bring their cat Victor to gigs. They have a Flying V and a song called Rock’n’Roll Star that is totally devoid of irony. They should be supporting someone like Slash at Wembley but instead they rocked the 12 Bar with total conviction. The best £6 I’ve spent in a long time.
Surely the only possible song to start a street party disco is Lazy Sunday and its plaintive opening line “Wouldn’t it be nice to get on with me neighbours?”
Thankfully we all did, and there was lots of bopping, which was lovely to see. There is always a tipping point at events like this, where one song turns tapping toes into outright dancing. For this playlist it was Back In The USSR. Once this point is reached all a DJ has to do is keep the women dancing , as the men will follow. So that’s what I did.
Lazy Sunday – Small Faces
Victoria – Kinks
Stop Your Sobbing – Pretenders
Come Together – Primal Scream
Hello Goodbye – Beatles
Let’s Spend The Night Together – Rolling Stones
Take Me Out – Franz Ferdinand
All The Young Dudes – Mott The Hoople
Handbags and Gladrags – Rod Stewart
(If Paradise Is) Half As Nice – Amen Corner
Go Now! – Moody Blues
Boys and Girls – Blur
London Calling – Clash
God Save The Queen – Sex Pistols
Back In The USSR – Beatles
Jumpin’ Jack Flash – Rolling Stones
Lola – Kinks
John I’m Only Dancing – David Bowie
Virginia Plain – Roxy Music
Get It On – T.Rex
Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll – Ian Dury
Keep On Running – Spencer Davis Group
I Can’t Stand Up For Falling Down – Elvis Costello
Too Much Too Young – Specials
Hi Ho Silver Lining – Jeff Beck
All Right Now (Remix) – Free
Brown Sugar – Rolling Stones
Maggie May – Rod Stewart
I Saw Her Standing There – Beatles
Jilted John – Jilted John
Miss You – Rolling Stonees
“Heroes” – David Bowie
Loaded – Primal Scream
Drive-In Saturday – David Bowie
Water loo Sunset – Kinks
Albatross – Fleetwood Mac
Paint It, Black – Rolling Stones
Layla Part 2 – Derek and the Dominoes
Rebel Rebel – David Bowie
Love Is The Drug – Roxy Music
At one point in this performance veteran Big Star drummer Jody Stephens told a rapt audience “Alex is definitely here – his spirit and the music.” Maybe the music – Alex Chilton wrote it and the whole Big Star Third LP reeks of his twisted vision. The problem was that not enough of Alex’s anarchic spirit survived the transfer to the Barbican’s staid surroundings.
A sturdy band comprising long-term Big Star supporters Mike Mills, Chris Stamey, Ken Stringfellow and Mitch Easter underpinned a rotating cast of guest vocalists. Having a live orchestra to recreate original arranger Carl Marsh’s scores proved to be a mixed blessing. The extended coda to Kanga Roo worked well and a moving Jody vocal on Blue Moon was enhanced by its delicate orchestral backing. Of the uptempo numbers Stroke It Noel worked best, with Norman Blake’s vocal supported by a strong string section. On other numbers such as September Gurls the backing added only distraction. Indeed on Give Me Another Chance I found myself missing the original Mellotron – the replacement strings sounded too authentic.
The guest vocalists were respectful but largely lacked presence. Honourable exceptions were Sharon Van Etten who brought a raucous defiance to You Can’t Have Me and Jon Auer who delivered a peerless I Am The Cosmos. The less said about Sondre Lerches vocal on Femme Fatale the better: Lesa Aldridge would have been unimpressed.
Re-reading Robert Gordon’s book on Memphis reminded me of the extraordinary circumstances under which Third was recorded, with only John Fry and Jim Dickinson holding things together. Radio recordings made by Alex around this time reveal a confrontational artist determined to see how far he could push himself and those around him. The comfortable confines of the Barbican deadened that energy, save right at the end when Ray Davies appeared. Having befriended Alex whilst both were living in New Orleans, Ray was ideally placed to sing Til The End Of The Day, followed by a version of The Letter so convincing that you’d believe it was The Kinks and not the Box Tops who charted with it in ’67.
Overall the evening felt more like a museum exhibit than a vibrant gig, despite the youth of many of the performers and of a surprising number of the audience. I am glad I was there to witness these extraordinary songs finally getting a public performance. But for the real spirit of Alex Chilton you’d need music with more Southern grit (how else can the oyster produce a pearl?)
Only Rock 'n' Roll 