Wednesday
30th July
In
order to attend last night’s testimonial for Dougie Freedman,
careful negotiations took place with Mrs L. It was my wedding
anniversary, after all. But I wouldn’t have missed the
chance of paying tribute to Crystal Palace’s veteran striker
Freedman. In these increasingly mercenary days, almost nobody
offers ten years of service to a particular club. Freedman has
done all this and more, his 87th minute solo goal in an away
game at Stockport County on the last day of the 2000/2001 season
preventing the Eagles from sliding into the old third division
(also providing my most piss-your-pants thrilling moment in
all my years of football). Though Dougie displays skill, loyalty,
modesty and decency in equal amounts, time waits for no man
and the 34-year-old seems unlikely to play for CPFC in another
competitive game. Someday I hope Freedman becomes a Palace manager,
though fingers crossed he won’t sacrifice his immortality
by making a complete fist of it like Peter Taylor did.
Not
that the result really mattered, the game finished 0-0 and was
pretty uneventful. Backed by a smattering of tongue-tied fans
in the Arthur Wait Stand, Fulham’s Club XI side was utterly
uninspiring. After witnessing the rag-bag of reserve and youth
players (till I realised his surname was ‘Cumber’,
from a distance I though one of their substitutes was actually
called Lewis Cucumber) despatched across London for Freedman’s
big night, I hope that this year, after last season’s
narrow escape, they get relegated back to where they belong.
With us!!
At
half-time, a lengthy procession of former players (including
Andrew Johnson, Aki Riihilahti, Geoff Thomas, Mark Bright, Neil
Shipperley, Dean Gordon, Jim Cannon, Ray Houghton, Dean Austin,
Marc Edworthy and even George Ndah), managers and even the antichrist
– former chairman Ron Noades, boldly facing up to the
boo-boys – bestrode the Selhurst turf to congratulate
Dougie on his achievement. As two banners in the crowd rightly
pointed out: “Players Come And Go” and “Legends
Are Forever”.
_
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Tuesday
29th July
Yesterday
I fielded a couple of horrid calls; the type that seems to be
more and more common. One was to inform me that Graeme Crallan,
the former drummer of White Spirit and Tank, had passed away.
‘Crash’, as he was fondly nicknamed, had taken a
tumble and been left on a life support machine. With the doctors
ruling out chances of recovery, it was switched off on Sunday
night. Crallan had very recently turned 50. I bumped into him
quite a lot during his days with Tank, once even got him to
sign the sleeve of my vinyl edition of the ‘White Spirit’
album… he was always the life and soul of the party.
An
hour or two later the phone rang again. It was my old mate Dave
Craig prefacing things with “sorry to be the bearer of
bad news”. This time, however, news of a different fatality
was at hand. Martin Ball, a former deejay at London’s
Marquee Club, most recently hired to spin discs and introduce
the bands across town at the Royal Standard in Walthamstow,
had suffered a massive stroke. Though seemingly in great health,
53-year-old Ball hadn’t taken a day off work in decades,
the two of us had even chatted before White Lion’s gig
back in May. Makes ya think, doesn’t it? RIP to both of
these fine folks…
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Monday
28th July
Whew…
yesterday’s weather was sweltering. So I spent a little
while in the garden flicking through the current issue of Classic
Rock. I laughed aloud at Mörat’s live review of a
Ted Nugent gig that took place at the House Of Blues in Los
Angeles. I would disagree with the writer’s statement
that Ted’s music is “long-winded”, “inconsequential”
and “redundant”. But persona-wise, he hits the nail
on the head. I quote: “Ted Nugent is everything that is
wrong with America; bigoted, bombastic and ultimately the cause
of its own downfall”. Mörat scorns the “utterly
repugnant” Uncle Ted for making jokes about the Rodney
King beating in a venue where many of the security were black,
also making the accusation (and I have no idea whether or not
it is true) that for all of his bigging-up of the military,
Nugent allegedly “dodged the Vietnam draft” in his
youth. Strong words indeed.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Sunday
27th July
I’m
realising that in my younger days I wrongly wrote off a lot
of great music. When I was employed by RAW magazine, for instance,
I took great delight in chastising my fellow writer Paul Rees
not only for a scary resemblance to failed popstar Chesney Hawkes
but also for his love of bands like Hüsker Dü and
The Replacements. So imagine my surprise (and mild annoyance)
when yesterday I found myself purchasing several albums that
Mr Rees, these days Editor of Q magazine, would have cherished.
Among them were the first two independent releases from Soul
Asylum (both produced by Hüsker Dü’s Bob Mould),
a 1991 elpee by Nova Mob (fronted by HD’s Grant Hart)
and, worse of all, a CD by Canada’s kings of clever-clever
blandola, The Tragically Hip. As David Lee Roth was sometimes
known to proclaim, Somebody get me a doctor!
In
the evening, as I happened to be in Croydon, I dropped by Heaven’s
Basement’s gig at The Brief. Formerly known as both Hurricane
Party and Roadstar, these fellas are rapidly getting their act
together. The guys would be the first to admit that they’re
not yet the absolute finished ticket, but their repertoire of
tunes (notably ‘Tear Your Heart Out’, ‘I’ll
Never Write A Love Song’, ‘Reign On My Parade’
and, the best of the lot, the rabble-rousing set-closer ‘Executioner’s
Day’) is improving all the while as they burn up the miles
on a seemingly never-sending run of dates, formidably voiced
by Richie Hevanz, who simply has to be one of the best young
names on the circuit.
_
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Saturday
26th July
Because
I spend so much time beavering away in my concrete bunker of
an office at the end of the garden, where the temperature is
pretty consistent all year round, it sometimes feels as though
the seasons pass by seamlessly. However, there’s no mistaking
the fact that I type this on a perfect mid-summer day. I’ve
a little work to get done, but (thankfully) not excessively
so. Dan Reed Network’s ‘Mixin’ It Up –
Greatest Hits’ is blaring out, and before too long I will
head to Selhurst Park to pick up tickets for Dougie Freedman’s
testimonial match, then into Croydon town centre for a root
around the record stores, followed by a drink or three at a
gig from Heaven’s Basement. It feels good to be alive.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Friday
25th July
Jeez,
my boys are growing up fast. Last night as I left the house
for the ExCeL Arena, my youngest – who is nine –
looked me up and down and casually remarked he was glad he wasn’t
coming with me to see Alice Cooper because my pink New York
Dolls T-shirt made me look “very gay”.
Much
as I’m a huge Cooper fan, also somebody who rates his
most recent releases very highly, I had become a little bored
of going to his shows. The set-lists were too similar and I
swear that on two consecutive tours he even used some of the
same raps between the songs. So I opted for a ‘cooling
off’ period, interrupted last night when Metal Hammer
asked me to cover the aforementioned ExCeL gig. Relating the
grisly tale of a serial killer that cuts the legs off his female
victims and leaves them covered in silk cocoons, Coop’s
new album, ‘Along Came A Spider’, is terrific. But
because it doesn’t hit the racks till July 28, he decided
not to play anything from it. Apparently, Alice’s plan
is to base a whole tour upon the whole darned thing –
that’s something to savour.
Truth
told, I wasn’t too enamoured of the venue; a temporary,
open-air courtyard-style structure in ExCeL’s car park
(the Motor Show was taking place inside the main hall), with
planes from London City Airport dipping to land behind the stage
and what felt like a gale blowing between the seated enclosure.
Alice’s visually-inclined ‘greatest hits’
performance was great… if you hadn’t seen it before.
This time he met his demise not with the guillotine but by being
hung from the gallows, returning from the dead to sing a triumphant
‘School’s Out’ in a white top hat and tails.
Here’s the full set-list: ‘It’s Hot Tonight’/‘No
More Mr Nice Guy’, ‘Under My Wheels’, ‘I’m
Eighteen’, ‘Is It My Body?’, ‘Woman
Of Mass Distraction’, ‘Lost In America’, ‘Feed
My Frankenstein’, ‘Be My Lover’, ‘Dirty
Diamonds’, ‘Muscle Of Love’, Guitar Solo/‘Desperado’,
‘Halo Of Flies’ (including Drum Solo), ‘Welcome
To My Nightmare’, ‘Cold Ethyl’, ‘Only
Women Bleed’, ‘Steven’, ‘Dead Babies’,
‘Ballad Of Dwight Fry’, ‘Devil’s Food’,
‘Killer’, ‘I Love The Dead’ and School’s
Out’, with encores of ‘Billion Dollar Babies’,
‘Poison’ and ‘Elected’.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Thursday
24th July
Yesterday
was a scorcher in London town. At lunchtime, a ceremony took
place to announce the nominations for this year’s Classic
Rock Awards. An intimate basement just off Charing Cross Road,
the Borderline might’ve been a claustrophobic location
for such a media gathering, but there was free beer and the
presence of a living legend – Alice Cooper – to
break the all-important news, so nobody complained (in fact,
knowing I had a 5pm phone interview to do when I got home, I
stuck to iced water). Stone Gods stoked the fire with an excellent,
rollickin’ three-song live set (‘Burn The Witch’,
‘You Brought A Knife To A Gunfight’ and ‘Don’t
Drink The Water’) before The Coop entered the fray. I
was pleased to learn that alongside more obvious choices like
Def Leppard, the Crowes and Whitesnake, the new releases from
Opeth, Journey and Uriah Heep are all up for consideration for
Album Of The Year, while the Ling-approved Airbourne, Stone
Gods, Big Linda and Stonerider are set to duke it out for Best
New Band (better still, I’ve just discovered that Stone
Gods will be opening for Airbourne on the former’s upcoming
UK tour… what a titanic double-bill). Meanwhile, only
an imbecile would bet against Zeppelin’s O2 reunion gig
scooping Event Of The Year. You can vote in these categories
and all the rest by visiting: www.classicrockmagazine.com.
Oh, and this year’s Living Legend is Crocks virgin Ozzy
Osbourne, who quips: “I couldn’t be happier to know
that Classic Rock haven’t yet written me off.”
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Wednesday
23rd July
Budgie
are a band that rarely disappoints, and yet last night’s
gig at the Underworld was… er, how can I put this? ‘Well
beneath their usual high standards’ would be putting it
politely. Equipment gremlins were largely to blame, though despite
having rehearsed for the current strong of dates and played
an Australian tour together, at times it seemed Craig Goldy
had only just met mainstays Burke Shelley and Steve Williams.
On loan from Dio, Goldy (who also currently plays with Hydrogyn
and Purple Rainbow) has a more economical style than predecessor
Simon Lees, favouring a whole different tone. He used some kind
of phasing effect on ‘Panzer Division Destroyed’
and ‘Turn To Stone’, which was pretty interesting.
However, after a handful of numbers he began to look sullen
and fretful, even exiting the stage. The guitar almost completely
dropped out of the mix during ‘Justice’ and it seemed
that only the encouragement of the audience carried Budgie through
one of their finest songs, ‘Parents’. Loudly and
emphatically implored by the audience to “TURN UP THE
FUCKING GUITAR!!!!”, Goldy did just that for ‘In
For The Kill’ – and it worked. The damage was done,
however. It was a shame, as a song like ‘Napoleon Bona-Parts
One And Two’ was an enticing suggestion of what the two
parties might be capable of achieving together.
_
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Tuesday
22nd July
Last
night I dipped my toe into the world of jazz-fusion. I’d
long been a fan of both guitarist Al Di Meola and bassist Stanley
Clarke (check out 1975’s ‘School Days’ album,
which features Jeff Beck), but had never seen either of the
pair onstage. So the chance to witness them both together, as
part of the reunited Return To Forever, was just too good to
miss – especially as their show was taking place at the
IndigO2, a fine venue that I’m rapidly falling in love
with. RTF hadn’t played together for 25 years, so it felt
a little like a case of, ‘See this now, or miss out for
good’. Bumped into Andy Scott from The Sweet outside the
hall, who seemed just as excited as myself about the prospect
of what we were about to experience. Then, just to make things
better still, the box office handed me a pair of tickets in
the second row, very slightly on Di Meola’s side of the
stage. Result!!
Lasting
for two and a half hours, the show was excellent. I preferred
the first half, during which the band – completed, of
course, by keyboard player/leader Chick Corea and drummer Lenny
White – stuck to songs as opposed to lengthy solo spots
and bursts of improvisation. Tough I’m no expert, after
the interval it seemed as though they performed just two tracks
(‘No Mystery’ and ‘Romantic Warrior’)
in more than an hour, which without vocals at times got a little
wearisome. However, when in full musical flow Return To Forever
were truly monstrous. No wonder Dream Theater’s John Petrucci
worships the ground that Di Meola walks on; I seem to recall
Arch Enemy’s Michael Amott telling me that he too is a
fan. The only thing that ruined it for me was when Di Meola,
who was celebrating his 54th birthday, strode onstage for the
encore wearing an Arsenal shirt, complete with his name on the
back – had absolutely no idea that Al is a filthy Gooner!
_
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Sunday
20th July
Despite
the fact that Palace didn’t qualify for the grand final,
my boy Eddie and I had a great time at last night’s London
Masters. I’d been keeping an eye on the competition’s
website for the previous few days, wanting to know which old
favourites would reappear in the club’s squad. When you
consider some of the quality names that have represented the
Eagles through the years, it was a little galling – though
perhaps not surprising – to see lesser names such as Tony
Witter, David Tuttle, Ricky Newman, Grant Watts and Paul Williams
listed. At one point it seemed as though Vince Hillaire, now
48, was going to get a game! In the end, Palace’s contribution
threatened to be as shambolic as I feared. Deservedly stuffed
4-1 by West ‘Am in the opening game, we looked old, disorganised
and unmotivated. I later learned that one of the squad turned
up late having been “stuck in traffic" – how
embarrassing. However, in game two everything came good. After
going behind to past champions Chelsea, defender-cum-striker
Dean Gordon inspired a giant-killing performance to be proud
of. In fact, Palace would’ve made the final had Gordon,
who always used to pack a fiery shot, not missed an open goal
to make it 4-1. The competition was played in the right spirit,
to a large and noisy crowd. Eddie and I would definitely go
again next year if Palace are invited to return. And thank God
that ‘Arry’s ‘Ammers progressed to the grand
final instead of Twatford, who I was dismayed to see had vile,
porcine turncoat Kevin Miller, procured from his job at the
kebab shop, between the sticks.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Friday
18th July
Sweet Jesus on a Harley, what on earth do Mötley Crüe
look like in the booklet of their new CD, 'Saints Of Los Angeles'?
Nikki Sixx is still pretty cool, but Tommy Lee resembles a disheveled,
big-nosed, street bum - so dreadful I almost spat out my first
cuppa of the day. I'd heard some disparaging reports about the
music contained within but my initial response was pretty good;
I've the suspicion that 'SOLA' will be a bit of a grower.
Lyrically, songs like 'Down At The Whisky' are full of misty-eyed
backwards glances to the band's renegade past ("We never
made a dime/But God we had a good time"), spending the
cash of their groupie girlfriends on "tattoos and cigarettes",
while the brilliantly titled ode to checkbook romance 'Chicks
= Trouble' addresses the fiscal issues that tend to come along
once the first flushes of youth have subsided. Or maybe it's
just me feeling especially wistful today? Blame it on my eldest
son, Eddie, coming home for the final time from Junior School
yesterday, his shirt signed by fellow student departees and
long-suffering teachers. Where on earth do the years go?
Aside from Da Crüe, what else has been rocking my world
this week? Well, the new albums from Rick Springfield ('Venus
In Overdrive', Angelmilk), DragonForce ('Ultra Beatdown', Roadrunner),
Black Stone Cherry ('Folklore And Superstition', Roadrunner),
From The Inside ('Visions', Frontiers'), Starbreaker ('Love's
Dying Wish', Frontiers), Bumblefoot of Guns N' Roses ('Abnormal',
Bald Freak) and Biloxi ('III: In The Wake Of The Storm', self-financed)
for starters.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Thursday 17th July
Better late than never, the Playlist, Quotes and YouTube sections have all been updated.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Wednesday
16th July
Oh dear. Palace supremo Simon Jordan has had enough
of football and wants to sell the club. Jordan, who rescued
the Eagles from administration in 2000, has made no secret of
the fact that he has wanted out for a while but the last straw,
it seems, was Tottenham's bargain basement raid for the boy
wonder Johnny 'The Judas' Bostock. Simon has "pumped millions
of pounds" into the Academy, he states, "and Bostock
was one of the best players [that it] produced in the last ten
years. Now he has been sold for a packet of crisps." If
Jordan lives up to his pledge to unload within the next year,
wonder where that'll leave current manager Neil Warnock, whose
friendship was a selling factor in accepting the position? Despite
his pledge to find a "responsible buyer", the latest
potential change of ownership re-opens a worrying scenario.
Who else but a loony, super-rich fan would want to take on a
club that loses money each year? Worse still, one that doesn't
even own its own ground anymore?
P.S. The Mirror online has just run its Top Ten all-time Simon
Jordan quotes. Mine will always be number seven: "In retrospect,
of course I regret calling [Charlton fans] morons. Imbeciles
would have been more appropriate."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Tuesday
15th July
My, wasn't Ted Nugent's London gig a bucketload of fun?!
As some Classic Rock readers may be aware, I've had my moments
with Uncle Ted. In fact, after we fell out over a controversial
cover story I wrote on him for #31 (September 2001), Nugent
said that he wanted to track me down and gut me. Ouch. However,
with hindsight Ted was never going to appreciate the story I
brought home from three hours of conversation and two shows
in Texas and Louisiana. He wanted to talk about hunting, the
abuse of drink and drugs, law and order issues and the right
to bear arms; my interest was rock 'n' roll, pure 'n' simple.
My first question on that trip - an innocent enquiry about how
the tour was proceeding - elicited a 22-minute answer. Considering
that he freely admitted vowing not to hug men, and his "advice
for faggots" ("Quit sharing needles and butt-fucking"),
Ted and I were never likely to see eye-to-eye on anything. As
a human being I think he's a prize asshole. But as a musician...
well, that's where we connect. The six studio albums he released
between 1975 and 1980, 'Ted Nugent' through 'Scream Dream',
are among the finest the genre has to offer. So last night I
took my life in my hands and headed for the IndigO2, where the
Loudman guided his extremely tight band - bassist/occasional
lead singer Greg Smith and Dokken Mick Brown - through a marvellous
two-hour performance. I did have one or two reservations, though.
Near-perpetual use of the N-word, along with the rhetoric about
Bo Diddley being his dad, quickly got boring. Nugent really
does seem to believe that he's been reborn as a negro. In which
case, I wondered why he bottled the rapped section of his second
song, 'Wango Tango', segueing into a version of The Kinks' 'You
Really Got Me' instead?
At first I found Nugent's between-song banter amusing. "I
wanna thank y'all for the invasion of Normandy. We appreciated
your help on the Normandy shit. It's D-Day all over again, baby,"
he announced, to the venue's delight. But I had no idea whether
to laugh or cry when he came out with the following: "I
understand that London has a knife problem. That's because you
took everybody's guns away. If you had a fucking gun you could
shoot the motherfuckers with the knife. Do you need me to explain
that to you dumb Limey motherfuckers? It Detroit, we don't have
a knife problem. The knife motherfuckers got a Ted problem.
You wonder why we win all the vegetable growing contests? Because
we fertilise or gardens with dead motherfucking assholes. 'Oooh,
he's got a knife, I'll pretend I'm from England'. [Imitates
firing a gun]. Take that motherfucker. [Then pretends to call
911]: 'You might wanna bring a dustpan and broom because there's
a big puddle of shit on the sidewalk'. That's what you call
a deterrent. That motherfucker ain't gonna knife no-one ever
again."
And when, during a preamble for 'Klstrphnky', he stated: "Get
used to it, we're all niggers up on this stage", followed
by, "...only I've got a job", I felt he overstepped
the line. Which was exactly his goal, of course.
Ted loves to be provocative. I, on the other hand, preferred
him when he didn't force his Redneck bile down the throats of
his audience. Anyway, here's the set-list: 'Snakeskin Cowboys',
'Wango Tango'/'You Really Got Me', 'Free For All', 'Stormtroopin'',
'Dog Eat Dog', 'Klstrphnky', 'Rawdogs & Warhogs', 'Need
You Bad', 'Weekend Warriors', Medley: 'Wang Dang Sweet Poontang'/'Hey
Bo Diddley'/'Johnny B Goode', 'Love Grenade', 'Baby Please Don't
Go'/'Geronimo & Me', Sam & Dave's 'Soul Man', 'Hey Baby',
'Cat Scratch Fever, 'Stranglehold' and 'Great White Buffalo'.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Monday
14th July
How
much am I enjoying those UFO re-issues? A whole lot!! Not only
does the new version of 'Strangers In The Night' restore the
show's original running order - how odd it is to hear the album
begin with 'Hot 'N' Ready' and 'Cherry' - but Phil Mogg's stage
banter has also been rescued from the cutting room floor. I
giggled loudly at his silly admission of "we're getting
a bit confused up here; it's your licensing laws" before
'Natural Thing', also the kind offer to the crowd to "take
a speaker home" at the end of the show. Paul 'Gooner' Elliott's
sleeve essay also includes an interview with super-fan Steve
Harris, who explains why Iron Maiden take to the stage to 'Doctor
Doctor' each night, proudly exclaiming: "All of my kids
love UFO and support West Ham, it's proof that I've brought
them up properly..." Steady on, 'Arry; one out of two ain't
bad...
_
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Sunday
13th July
Yesterday afternoon was spent with eldest son Eddie at Crystal
Palace's pre-season friendly with Bromley. The Eagles started
the game with an almost full-strength XI and finished it with
a side comprised largely of academy kids, so 1-1 was a pretty
fair result. At least, unlike Clowntown Pathetic a few nights
earlier, we didn't end up losing to the plucky non-league minnows,
who were surprisingly well-drilled by their current manager,
ex-Palace chairman Mark Goldberg. Warnock's new signings looked
decent enough and it was good to see Dougie Freedman back in
the club's colours after his loan spell with Leeds, though we'll
need more of a cutting edge to make an impression when the new
campaign kicks off on August 9.
Arrived home to find the second batch of expanded UFO re-issues
- 'Lights Out', 'Obsession' and the double-live 'Strangers In
The Night' - lying enticingly on the doormat. Stuck in interview
transcript mode I haven't yet found time to play them, and thus
can't comment on the re-mastering job, but their packaging is
immaculate. 'SITN's original running order has also been reinstated,
and those bonus tracks of 'Hot 'N' Ready' and 'Cherry' have
got me lickin' my lips!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Saturday
12th July
Last night's Yngwie Malmsteen gig was short but sweet. I'd
been told that he would be onstage at 8.30pm. So you could probably
imagine my annoyance upon arriving at Empire at around just
after eight and deducing from the sound within that the show
was already underway. Taking my seat in the balcony I quickly
noted the better than average sound (for an Yngwie gig anyway...),
also the way that Malmsteen's vast wall of Marshall stack backline
filled two-thirds of the stage, forcing the drummer, bassist
and keyboard player into an area the size of a billiard table.
For the limited time he was visible, Tim 'Ripper' Owens sang
marvellously and seemed in high spirits.
"Later on I'll play you a little guitar myself," he
announced with tongue firmly in cheek, "I'm like a wizard
on that thing. But until then Yngwie's pretty good himself."
Of course, Malmsteen poured searing hot solos into every available
cranny of the performance, high-kicking plectrums into the front
rows and posing his little Swedish heart out. The part in which
he fell to his knees and threw the guitar over his shoulder,
to be caught by a faithful roadie, was so ludicrous that I laughed
aloud. With Malmsteen shredding unbelievably and Owens proving
that he can impersonate Ronnie James Dio almost as accurately
as Rob Halford, a mid-set version of the Rainbow classic 'Gates
Of Babylon' was worth the admission price on its own. However,
you could've knocked me down with a feather when the show was
done and dusted by 9.40pm. Why on earth start the bloody thing
so early?
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Friday
11th July
Just
got home from an interview with Yngwie Malmsteeen ahead of tonight's
gig at Shepherds Bush Empire. At lunchtime we hooked up for
a chat at his hotel. I had asked to hear a few songs from his
forthcoming album, due out in September in Europe via his own
label Rising Force Records. Yngwie declined to tell me the record's
title at this stage, but pulled out his laptop and previewed
the songs 'Death Dealer' and 'Red Devil' - both of which were
written about the guitar hero's beloved fire-red Ferrari. "I
have three of those," he told me grandly. In introducing
the next track, 'The Eleventh Hour', he told me with a completely
straight face, "you'll like this one, it's 'Stargazer'
[by Rainbow] for 2008". In fairness, what I heard of the
new material sounded very good indeed (other selections being
the Clive Barker-inspired 'Damnation Game' and 'Priest Of The
Unholy'), though at first it felt pretty odd to hear the voice
of ex-Judas Priest/Iced Earth frontman Tim 'Ripper' Owens dovetailed
into Malmsteen's ever-relentless cacophony of riffs and solos.
I will shortly heading back across London to Shepherds Bush
for the gig. Right now I'm still fuming about something I saw
in the evening paper. It's hard to verbalise my utter contempt
for Cri***ano Ro***do's claims of being treated like a "slave".
The prima donna cocksucker is paid £120,000 a week by
his current ManUre employers but has thrown his toys from the
pram for not being allowed to change clubs on a whim. Welcome
to the real world. You signed the contract, you useless Kunte
Kinte (how's **that** for a real slavery connection?), now fricking
well live with it. Grrrrrrrr.
_
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Wednesday
9th July
Crystal Palace's pre-season preparations haven't exactly
gone smoothly. The club has splashed out on defenders and midfielders,
even a goalie (unexpected, given Julian Speroni's exceptional
form last term), but no-one to do the business at the other
end of the field. Having cancelled the offer of a new contract
for Clinton Morrison, who has notched more than 100 goals for
the club, I'm praying that head honcho Neil Warnock has an ace
or two up his sleeve. I certainly concur with owner Simon Jordan's
rage that Tottenham have been told by an FA tribunal to pay
an initial fee of just £700,000 for Eagles kid John Bostock.
"We had a £900,000 offer from Chelsea when he was
14 which we turned down," claims Jordan of the England
Under-17 captain, discovered and nurtured in SE25 for the past
nine years. "It makes me question why I bother with football."
The fee will potentially rise to £1.25 million... still
derisory. And don't even start me on Ashley-John Robinson, another
of the club's starlets, who this week announced ambitions to
join a Prem League club via his Facebook page with the message:
"Ashley-Paul is goin Fulham on Monday. If I pull dis of
im on dis ting". Like Robinson himself, words fail me.
Good riddance to the disloyal, ungrateful chav.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Monday
7th July
Just returned home from Central London and an enjoyable
and frank interview with Motörhead leader Lemmy Kilmister.
Upon walking into the reception of our rendez-vous, the first
person I saw was none other than Jimmy Page. Fuck me! And how
proud I am to say that Jimmy remembered me from our chat at
the Classic Rock Awards... we are not worthy!
Lemmy was proud of the band's latest album 'Motörizer'
(available via SPV on September 1st), insisting on whipping
out a CD player to blast the five of its 11 songs that the label
hadn't been previewed the journalists with, mouthing the words
and playing air guitar and drums whilst sipping from a bottle
of JD that sat on a nearby table. I've a feeling that it might
take as long to absolve his hotel room smoke from my lungs as
it will for the likes of 'Rock Out' and 'When The Eagle Screams'
to depart my memory banks.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Sunday
6th July
Well,
yesterday's day out at Twickenham with Iron Maiden was a first-rate
experience. After a pissy start the sun actually began to shine
brightly as my friend Harj and I travelled on the train from
Waterloo. We bowled up at the stadium in time for a swiftie
or three before Lauren Harris kicked off the show, generating
mild applause for her efforts. Maiden's audiences are notoriously
partisan with opening acts, but Avenged Sevenfold seemed to
fare a lot better than expected. Alas, I got embroiled in a
discussion about the meaning of life (or something) in the backstage
bar whilst Within Temptation were onstage, missing them completely.
Maiden's set-list was a dream come true, and watching them purr
through it before the biggest crowd they've ever headlined to
in their homeland outside of the Monsters Of Rock festival -
60,000 fans is what I was informed - made a fan from 'the old
daze' (the Marquee, the Reading Festival in 1980, the Ruskin
Arms) very proud indeed. The back-to-back renditions of 'Rime
Of The Ancient Mariner' and 'Powerslave' will forever figure
among the definitive moments of this writer's lengthy concert-attending
career.
"What an amazing gig, what an amazing place, this is one
of the best gigs I've done in my life," an emotionally
drained Bruce Dickinson told the crowd as they serenaded the
group with English rugby anthem 'Swing Low Sweet Chariot' at
encore time (doubtless sending band manager and rugger nut Rod
Smallwood into his own private ecstasy). Here are the songs
that sent Twickers home with a huge, shit-eating grin: 'Aces
High', '2 Minutes To Midnight', 'Revelations', 'The Trooper',
'Wasted Years', 'The Number Of The Beast', 'Can I Play With
Madness?', 'Rime Of The Ancient Mariner', 'Powerslave', 'Heaven
Can Wait', 'Run To The Hills', 'Fear Of The Dark', 'Iron Maiden'
and encores of 'Moonchild', 'The Clairvoyant' and 'Hallowed
Be Thy Name'.
_
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Saturday
5th July
The day I've been waiting for is finally here. Iron Maiden's
'Somewhere Back In Time' world tour rolls into Twickenham Stadium.
As I type, at 9.02am, the London sky is overcast and gloomy.
Showers are predicted. It could snow for all I care; I've got
my tickets and what looks worryingly (for my liver, at least)
like a hospitality pass. Weather gods, do your worst!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Friday
4th July
Brain-cells slowly realigning themselves after my birthday
piss-up, the last thing I felt like doing was going to a gig.
But as a big fan of the band Frost, who were opening for Spock's
Beard at the Islington Academy, biting the bullet was the only
serious option. Frost's debut album 'Milliontown' resonated
so much here at Ling Towers, the prospect of this show almost
felt like a double-header. The mess that followed should teach
me for building up my expectations. Bursting with witty banter
and a gifted writer in several different genres, Frost mainman
Jem Godfrey is a prodigiously talented fella, but for the second
UK date of a national tour his band's performance was unacceptably
shambolic. A few interesting tracks from songs from the band's
forthcoming second disc 'Experiments In Mass Appeal' were aired,
but cues were missed, bum notes were sung and a song even had
to be interrupted as somebody - Godfrey of all people - lost
their way. They can only get tighter from here.
Clearly pleased to be somewhere other than the Mean Fiddler/LA2,
the Beard and their fans had packed the place out. Unfortunately,
I found myself standing in front of two selfish assholes who
thought it was okay to stand and chatter throughout the two-hour
show. The band played beautifully and drummer-turned-frontman
Nick D'Virgillio sang so well that the days spent with Neal
Morse seemed like a distant memory. 'The Great Nothing', an
almost half-hour epic from 2000's 'V' album was a great way
to end the set proper, but the unwanted contribution of that
pair of bozos tainted my enjoyment of the evening. Here's the
set-list: 'On A Perfect Day', 'On The Edge', 'Cakewalk on Easy
Street', 'Surfing Down the Avalanche', 'She Is Everything',
'Thoughts (Part Two)', Drum Duel, 'Skeletons At the Feast',
'The Bottom Line', 'June', Keyboard Solo and 'The Great Nothing',
with encores of 'Onomatopoeia' and 'Go The Way You Go'.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Thursday
3rd July
Quite aside from the fact that it happened to be my birthday
(yes, 32 again...), yesterday was pretty eventful. I logged
on to find an email from my friend Caroline, who used to be
married to ex-Trapeze/Whitesnake guitarist Mel Galley. She was
relaying the awful news that Mel, who had been given weeks to
live back in February due to cancer of the oesophagus, had died
peacefully in his sleep. I was a big fan of his playing but
only ever met Galley on a handful of occasions. All the same,
confirmation of his death, however inevitable, really upset
me. I sat and played Trapeze's 1972 album 'You Are The Music...
We're Just The Band' and Christ, what a solo he plays on the
song 'Coast To Coast', perfectly offsetting Glenn Hughes' spine-tingling
vocal.
In the afternoon I got the call from Classic Rock; would I write
an obituary that could be posted online right away? With perfect
timing, I mailed Glenn Hughes for a quote. His day in California
was just beginning. Like myself, Glenn was struck by the "grace
and dignity" with which Galley
had accepted his fate. "Mel was my hero growing up as a
kid in Cannock," he told me. "He was four years older
than me. He taught me music, and more importantly, how to live.
After Cream, Trapeze were the greatest English rock trio."
You know what? Hughes' latter claim is probably true.
In the evening I went up to Central London, my originally doubly-intentioned
excursion - to do an interview with Guy Griffin and Paul Guerin
of The Quireboys, and sink a few birthday bevvies - having grown
another head... namely to raise a glass or two in honour of
Melville Galley (as Glenn has so memorably referred to him).
Griff and Paul are great company; rock 'n' roll war stories
were exchanged, vast quantities of liquid imbibed and the wrongs
of the world addressed. As you'll imagine, I feel pretty rough
whilst typing this. But such a great evening was worth the hangover.
RIP, Mel.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Tuesday
1st July
I've finally had the time to wade through a little
of the latest Southern Rock-themed edition of Classic Rock.
Spread over ten pages, the cover story on Lynyrd Skynyrd was
a good, thorough read. I tip my metaphorical Stetson to its
author, Jaan Uhelski, who really seemed to know his subject.
Alas, however, the Blackfoot feature was a real missed opportunity.
Ken McIntyre failed to convey the sheer euphoric joy that was
derived from seeing this most energetic and rabble-rousing of
groups in its prime; I can only assume he failed to do so? More
damning still, McIntyre's text didn't even mention Bobby Barth,
the Axe guitarist/vocalist who has stepped into Rickey Medlock's
giant-sized shoes in order to facilitate the band's current
reunion. Sloppy. |
