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Sunday
30th November
Annoyingly,
Crystal Palace failed to break down stubborn resistance from
QP Ha-Ha-Ha at Selhurst Park. There were few clear chances in
yesterday’s 0-0 stalemate but the Eagles had the edge,
especially in the last 15 minutes when substitute Shefki Kuqi
came on to throw around his not inconsiderable weight. Afterwards
I drowned my sorrows with a few fellow CPFC diehards. At least
Clowntown Pathetic also failed to win. Indeed, unanimous agreement
greeted my friend Kev Denman’s amusing observation that
the current season could finish right now, so long as the Clowns
were beneath us – and we were fourth from bottom of the
Championship.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Saturday
29th November
Last
night it was back to the Astoria for a gig from Airbourne and
Stone Gods. The headliners are, of course, the hottest name
of the lips of most rock fans right now. The fact that they
were playing the Borderline back in February and can now headline
two sold-out Astoria shows says it all. Special guests Stone
Gods, or as my friend Dave Craig calls them, “The Darkness
without the c**t”, really got the place moving to win
over a significant proportion of the Friday night revellers.
I thoroughly enjoyed Airbourne, whose powerhouse 60-minute stint
vindicated their growing reputation, though a mild criticism
I made of the Borderline show – Joel O’Keeffe’s
reticence as a frontman – remains valid. Save for primal
howls guitarist O’Keeffe says very little between the
songs, and what he **does** offer is virtually incoherent. Then
again, did that ever restrain Ted Nugent in his Wildman, gonzoid
prime? Not really. Musically, these guys don’t have an
original bone in their body but, Christ, do they squeeze out
every last drop of entertainment value or what??!! Being the
tour’s last night, Airbourne called Stone Gods’
Dan Hawkins back onstage for a ramshackle run-through of the
classic ‘Whole Lotta Rosie’ – a nice touch.
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Thursday
27th November
At
that this time of year Classic Rock works on two issues pretty
much simultaneously. Consequently I’ve not really grown
into Satyricon’s latest – and ninth – album,
‘The Age Of Nero’, as much as it deserves. This
embarrassing state of affairs didn’t prevent me from attending
last night’s excellent gig at the University Of London
Union (ULU, for short), during which the band played four of
their new babies (‘The Wolfpack’, ‘Black Crow
On A Tombstone’, ‘Commando’ and ‘Die
By My Hand’). 18 months in the making, some of that time
spent in a remote log cabin in the Norwegian mountains, ‘…Nero’
is the astonishing culmination of a five-album growth spurt
that began with ‘Nemesis Divina’ in 1996. Since
then the duo of frontman Satyr Wongraven and drummer Frost has
gradually torn up the black metal rule book, adapting the genre’s
key elements for their own dramatic ends. In 2008, nobody else
sounds like Satyricon. Their corrosive guitar sound is entirely
singular. Likewise, while other more generic black metal bands
attempt to bludgeon the listener with overblown riffery, Satyricon
tend to base their material upon shorter, sharper rhythmic strokes,
creating a dense blur of sound that’s almost industrial
in its sense of singleminded purpose. Additionally powered by
Frost’s mountain of drums, the result is both senses-pummeling
and deliciously hypnotic. Perhaps it says everything that the
wearing of corpse paint is now optional, not mandatory. Here’s
the set-list: ‘Angstridden’, ‘The Wolfpack’,
‘Now, Diabolical’, ‘Havoc Vulture’,
‘Black Crow On A Tombstone’, ‘Forhekset’,
‘Commando’, ‘The Darkness Shall Be Eternal’,
‘Repined Bastard Nation’, ‘Die By My Hand’,
‘The Pentagram Burns’, ‘K.I.N.G.’, ‘Fuel
For Hatred’ and ‘Mother North’.
_
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Wednesday
26th November
Celebrating
Mrs L’s birthday, last night we all went for a nice family
meal. This meant getting back to Ling Towers slightly late for
the kick-off of Palace’s away game with Norwich. Worrying
whether there had been any early goals, I was on tenterhooks
in the car. Suddenly a text arrived; assuming something dramatic
had happened at Carrow Road I quickly opened it, only to find
Toby Jepson conveying news of the death of his former Little
Angels band-mate Michael Lee. Talk about coming down to earth
with a bump. Lee, who went on to play with Page & Plant,
Thin Lizzy, Ian Gillan, Lenny Kravitz, The Quireboys and The
Cult, was only 39 years old. Arriving home, I raised several
glasses in the percussionist’s honour after discovering
the Eagles had raced into a two-goal lead, then allowed the
home side to pull one back in the usual nail-biting conclusion.
However nervously obtained, the three points leave CPFC just
one more win behind the play-off zone. Superb!
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Tuesday
25th November
Last
night was spent watching a mammoth gig from Nektar, a British
band whose psychedelic-prog has always been more appreciated
overseas – so much so that co-founding guitarist/singer
Roye Albrighton and drummer Ron Howden are now accompanied by
a couple of German musicians; bassist Peter Pichl and keyboard
wizard Klaus Henatsch. Although the intimacy of the Borderline
ruled out the contribution of their now possibly departed fifth
member Mick Brockett (who always used to be responsible for
their amazing liquid light show), the 275-capacity basement
was a great place to witness the band, who played for two and
a half hours. I won’t attempt a set-list as Albrighton,
whose fingers proved as nimble and inventive as ever, lead Nektar
through a convoluted display of medleys, old favourites, obscurities
and couple of tunes from last year’s ‘Book Of Days’
album (namely ‘Doctor Kool’ and ‘King Of The
Deep’). ‘King Of Twilight’, the song covered
by superfan Steve Harris with Iron Maiden, was featured early
on (linked to ‘Crying In The Dark’), ‘Tab
In The Ocean’ getting things off to a sensational start.
Annoyingly, Part One of ‘Remember The Future’ was
overlooked in favour of Part Two, but let’s not split
hairs… this was quite a show.
_
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Monday
24th November
Yesterday’s
weather was grim in the extreme; ferocious wind, driving rain
and the kind of icy cold that chills the bones. And with my
rail link to central London being affected by ‘essential’
repairs, I was only too happy to accept the offer of a lift
to Uriah Heep’s gig at the Astoria from my pal Steve Way
(no relation) and his better half Jan. Despite the aforementioned
circumstances the venue was full to the rafters. With a ten-year
lapse between albums, nobody could blame Heep for wanting to
play their well-received newie, ‘Wake The Sleeper’,
in its entirety. The ploy worked better than I thought it might.
Three new songs, followed by three more oldies; a pair of ‘…Sleeper’
tunes, then more well-chosen back catalogue gems. Rather than
merely tolerating the new songs, perhaps sick of watching the
band ploughing through material from their previous 20 discs
as they’ve done on past several tours, the crowd positively
lapped them up. And why not? ‘Wake The Sleeper’
was nominated for Album Of The Year at the Classic Rock Awards
(unfairly losing out to Whitesnake’s Good To Be Bad, in
my book). New skinsman Russell Gilbrook fits the group like
a glove and, as ever, sound mixer Charlotte made them sound
bloody awesome. Towards the show’s end Bernie Shaw’s
voice began to flag due to a bad cold and when, following a
standing ovation, Heep returned for a well-deserved encore the
Astoria took the initiative for the final song, ‘Lady
In Black’. Truly a night of triumph. Here’s the
set-list: ‘Wake The Sleeper’, ‘Overload’,
‘Tears Of The World’, ‘Stealin’’,
‘Sunrise’, ‘Heaven’s Rain’, ‘Book
Of Lies’, ‘Light Of A Thousand Stars’, ‘Gypsy’,
‘Look At Yourself’, ‘What Kind Of God’,
‘Ghost Of The Ocean’, ‘War Child’, ‘Shadow’,
‘Angels Walk With You’, ‘July Morning’,
‘Easy Livin'’ and ‘Lady In Black’.
_
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Sunday
23rd November
Motörhead
have a song (and album) called ‘Another Perfect Day’,
which is a pretty good description of my last 24 hours. During
the afternoon I enduring freezing conditions to watch Palace
wallop Bristol Shitty, the club that turned us over the last
year’s play-offs, by four goals to two, laughing my socks
off at news that Clowntown Pathetic had sunk into the relegation
zone, losing 5-2 at home to Sheffield United.
Grabbed
a bottle of cider and zoomed across to Hammersmith where Lemmy
and the boys were playing with special guests Saxon and opening
act Danko Jones. Sadly, I didn’t get there in time for
Danko and would’ve missed the start of Saxon had fellow
Classic Rock scribe Peter Makowski not let me join him in the
guest list queue (thanks fella). In the foyer I met Metal Hammer’s
Dom Lawson, who was peeved at not being given a standing ticket,
so willingly swapped him my stalls stub for a third row balcony
seat. Nice doing business with you, sir!
Hats
off to Saxon, whose blistering set was crammed with killer songs.
“We’re gonna slow things down a bit; we’re
not as young as we used to be,” teased Biff Byford sarcastically
before the band previewed a brand new dizbuster of a tune, ‘Hellcat’,
and Toby Jepson strolled on to join them for a singalong version
of ‘747 (Strangers In The Night)’. Here’s
what the band played in full: ‘Motorcycle Man’,
‘Let Me Feel Your Power’, ‘And The Bands Played
On’, ‘Live To Rock’, ‘Heavy Metal Thunder’,
‘Wheels Of Steel’, ‘Attila The Hun’,
Medley: ‘Denim & Leather’/‘Ashes To Ashes’,
‘Hellcat’, ‘747 (Strangers In The Night)’
and ‘Princess Of The Night’.
News
came through during the interval that the Clowns had parted
company with Alan Pardew – or as we call him at Selhurst
Park, Agent P – in the wake of the Sheff Utd mauling.
Once my hysterics subsided sadness intervened… after the
heroics performed by Agent D (as in Dowie), Godammit…
our so-called ‘rivals’ may even give the job to
somebody with a bit of a clue. Can I humbly suggest they move
the CV of Agent T (Peter Taylor) towards the top of the pile?
Maybe even as player-manager.
Motörhead,
as ever, took no prisoners. As so often remarked at this page,
I cannot abide the idiots that use concerts as a place to hold
inane conversations. Thankfully, Lemmy and chums render this
act of rudeness impossible. Playing at such magnificent volume,
people around me were forced to write things down on their phones.
And how marvellous it was so see them rejoined once again by
former axeman Würzel The Bastard during an encore romp
through ‘Bomber’. This truly was an alliance of
two of the greatest bands the hard rock genre has ever seen.
The Motör-show ran as follows: ‘Iron Fist’,
‘Stay Clean’, ‘Be My Baby’, ‘Rock
Out’, ‘Metropolis’, ‘Over The Top’,
‘One Night Stand’, ‘I Got Mine’, Guitar
Solo/‘The Thousand Names Of God’, ‘God Save
The Queen’, ‘Another Perfect Day’, ‘In
The Name Of Tragedy’ (including Drum Solo), ‘Just
’Cos You Got The Power’, ‘Going To Brazil’,
‘Killed By Death’, ‘Bomber’ and encores
of ‘Whorehouse Blues’, ‘Ace Of Spades’
and the timeless ‘Overkill’.
_
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Friday
21st November
As I’m becoming increasingly tired of writing and talking
about – I’m sure people consider me a zealot or,
worse still, boorish – Opeth’s ‘Watershed’
was my choice as the best new album of 2008. And given that
last night the Swedes were playing my favourite London venue,
Shepherd’s Bush Empire, with the reunited Cynic as their
special guests… well, I thought I’d give it a miss
and go to Mecca Bingo instead. What do you fucking think??!!
Considering the weight of expectancy for both Opeth and Cynic,
opening act The Ocean must’ve felt a bit like an unwanted
wedding guest and, sadly, their 30-minute set turned out bland
in the extreme. One of the finest progressive/technical death
metal groups ever to draw breath, Cynic were also restricted
to half an hour but used their time wisely, plugging some excellent-sounding
tunes (including ‘Evolutionary Sleeper’ and ‘Adam's
Murmur’) from a new album called ‘Traced In Air’,
though playing the songs that the fans wanted to hear (‘Veil
Of Maya’ and ‘How Could I’) from a debut album
that’s now… ulp… 15 years old.
Barring a slight annoyance regarding the staid nature of the
set-list – I really wanted to hear far more than two songs
from ‘Watershed’ – Opeth ruled. From my seat
up in the balcony the sound and view were truly amazing, the
back-projections enhancing the storytelling qualities of the
quartet’s music; a sumptuous mixture of metal, prog-rock
and psychedelia. As ever, band leader Mikael Åkerfeldt
lightens the mood with his bizarre song introductions. Before
playing ‘Hope Leaves’, a fragile ballad from 2003’s
Steven Wilson-helmed ‘Damnation’ album, he deadpanned:
“I’m gonna try and sing this with 300 per cent feeling,
just like Bon Jovi.” Later on, whilst naming the musicians
around him, Åkerfeldt grinned: “And on the keyboards...
We all cut off our pubes and taped them to his face; it’s
Per Wiberg!” But seriously, Opeth really need to make
some changes to a set-list that’s sailing close to stagnation.
Last night it ran as follows: ‘Heir Apparent’, ‘The
Grand Conjuration’, ‘Godhead’s Lament’,
‘The Lotus Eater’, ‘Bleak’, ‘Hope
Leaves’, ‘Deliverance’, ‘Demon Of The
Fall’ and an encore of ‘The Drapery Falls’.
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Thursday
20th November
The
first can of cider was cracked open well in advance of last
night’s so-called ‘friendly’ international
with Germany (c’mon, could there be such a thing?). One
suspects that watching such a game is a bit like playing it
in it: If you don’t limber up properly, you can seriously
damage yourself over the course of 90 strenuous minutes. An
injury-ravaged England dominated the first half and scored first
but, with shots raining in on the German goalmouth, gave away
what looked like being a stupid equaliser. So I was thrilled
(and relieved) when, with five minutes left, John Terry steered
a looping header into the far corner. Rudolf Schenker, Goetz
Kuehnemund, Karl-Heinz Rummenigge, Tom Angelripper, Bert Trautmann,
Angela Gossow… your boys took one hell of a beating (again).
There’s
good and bad news from the word of melodic rock. In a ‘glass
half full’ sense, the organisers of Firefest have announced
that the festival is set to continue, for at least one more
year. Amen to that. And, conversely, I was saddened to take
a call from FM drummer Pete Jupp informing me that guitarist
Andy Barnett, who is in the process of relocating abroad, has
left the band. Work on the group’s comeback disc will
continue as a four-piece (with Steve Overland filling in on
lead guitar). I, for one, having shared many a sherbert and
a laugh with Barnett through the years, will miss him.
_
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Wednesday
19th November
So… Diego Maradona, the cheating, drug-taking, paternity-denying
egomaniac that knocked England out of the World Cup with a deliberate
handball in 1986, is back on British soil. This time Maradona
has the effrontery to masquerade as an individual of professional
repute, namely the manager of the Argentinean national side
(who tonight play Scotland). I hope that somebody shoots the
bastard. It was 22 years ago, but I haven’t forgotten.
Received an email from Bernie Tormé, denying my recent
Diary allegation that his band GMT still include ‘Smoke
On The Water’ in their live set. “Your honour, we’ve
been framed,” he says. “We did listen to you!”
(Apparently, I ranted on the subject to Bernie and John McCoy
at last year’s Hard Rock Hell). “You were right!
Please sir, no more detention!” In the interest of declaration
Bernie admits that the band **did** include ‘SOTW’
as a third encore in Grimsby, but only because it was Fin from
Waysted’s birthday, “and he jumped, no crawled really,
up on stage and tried to sing ‘around and around’
over it, between cursing in Glaswegian and calling me and everyone
else in the band and audience ‘Jimmy’.”
So
there you have it. And if GMT ever do play ‘Smoke On The
Water’ in your town, please let me know. I’ll dock
Mr Tormé’s pocket money.
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Tuesday 18th November
Last
night, being my fourth of consecutive gig-going (including two
all-dayers), took its toll. Felt absolutely knackered by the
end of a three-band bill at the Islington Academy – two
of them signed to Swedish label The Unit Music Company –
but with a couple of days off (and an England international)
on the horizon, there was light at the end of the tunnel. Although
their brand of trash-punk was a little too light and fizzy for
my own taste Essex’s Zen Motel played their hearts out
for the half-dozen or so folks that witnessed their early turn
(including the bar staff).
Specialising
in groovy, 70s-influenced stoner-doom, Sweden’s Stonewall
Noise Orchestra were far more up my alley. They certainly have
a powerful, enjoyable sound but after a while their material
sounded a little too samey. The band I had **really** ventured
out for was headliners Hate Gallery, a four-piece that has cunningly
re-named itself following a low-key launch under the different
name of White Subway. Going further back, their bassist/frontman
Janne Jarvis was a member of the splendid Radiator. Short-tempered
at the disappointing turnout, sometime Warrior Soul member Jarvis
is both the star of Hate Gallery and a captivatingly grouchy
frontman. “Sort the fucking sound out, for fuck’s
sake,” he growls at the bloke behind the desk, later turning
his bile upon the audience. “A nice, lively London crowd
as usual,” he drawls, dripping sarcasm at the between-song
silences, before modestly plugging ‘Compassion Fatigue’,
the band’s debut. “You won’t buy a better
album this year, but you probably all got in on the guest list
anyway, so fuck you… it’s a great record.”
Jarvis speaks the truth about the fat-free, melodic vitriol
of ‘Compassion Fatigue’ but the equipment and sound
problems exert a dampener on a display that only really erupts
into life with the last two songs, ‘The Idiot’ and
‘You Don’t Know’. Methinks this was a case
of great band, but wrong venue and wrong space in time.
_
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Monday
17th November
Emerging
from a Ruskin Arms-inspired hangover, last nite I witnessed
the best gig I’ve seen from Chariot
since the Londoners reunited back in 2004. The show at Camden’s
Purple Turtle was my tenth such encounter with the band. Paul
Lane, who plays guitar with a flashier style than predecessor
Scott Biaggi, has bedded in nicely and Pete Franklin continues
to defy the years with his Cockney barrow-boy banter and laugh-a-minute
antics, which included jumping down into the crowd to pose with
a wireless guitar… then being unable to get back up again.
I also enjoyed the tracks they played from a soon-to-be-recorded
fourth album, including ‘Creature’ and ‘To
The Extreme’. Can’t wait to see Chariot again at
Hard Rock Hell, which is now – ULP! – less than
three weeks away.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Sunday
16th November
Well,
save for Palace losing 2-1 in Cardiff (the home side’s
penalty being highly contentious) and having to take two nightbuses
across London following first of two Clive Aid gigs, my weekend
has gone well. Ex-Maiden drummer Clive Burr attended both shows,
of course, and it was moving to note the affection with which
the fans still regard him. Whenever he was pushed into the main
hall to watch a band, the crowd parted like the Red Sea for
his wheelchair.
Friday
night’s gig got off to a low-key start. Competent and
enthusiastic, Tequila Rockingbird were better – marginally
– than their cringesome name, and the violin, saxophone
and didgeridoo-enhanced “hillbilly heavy metal”
of the next group, Conspirators, was memorable only for a guest
appearance from their producer, Bernie Tormé. So I spent
some time in the bar with ex-Kerrang! designer Steve ‘Krusher’
Joule, who was there to introduce some of the artists. As we
debated how sanitised and sterile magazine journalism has become,
Krusher told me how back in the “good old days”
he and a K! colleague (who shall remain nameless, should the
tale now embarrass them) routinely took a taxi to the off licence
en route to the office, buying a bottle of Mescal and a bottle
of mineral water and switching their contents, complete with
worm. The cab would then drop them off right outside Kerrang!’s
local boozer just as its doors opened at 11am, where the landlady
greeted them with two specially prepared drinks. Krusher gulped
down the first, proclaiming “Rock!”, his colleague
following suit with a cry of “Roll!” and the day
was ready to begin. How times have changed.
Apart
from a gratuitous cover of Rainbow’s ‘Long Live
Rock ‘N’ Roll’, Tokyo Blade – well,
guitarist Andy Boulton and hired hands – were amazing,
closing a positively rampant set with two of the weekend’s
finest tunes, ‘If Heaven Is Hell’ and ‘Night
Of The Blade’. I can’t remember when I last saw
Elixir, one of the true NWOBHM survivors, but it didn’t
take long to realise that I liked their present tense status
more in principle than reality. When you’ve been accused
of being Iron Maiden imitators for your whole career, likewise
if your singer ain’t too great, the very last thing you
should do is play a cover of ‘Children Of The Damned’.
The crowd seemed to enjoy Elixir, but not me…
Given
the excellence of their latest disc ‘Razorhead’,
I’d been looking forward to seeing Marshall Law again
for the first time since… well, so long ago now that they
all slept on my living room floor and used up all my conditioner
the next day. Bachelor days, obviously. The Brummies kept the
riffs pumping but with singer Andy Pyke suffering from a cold
outstayed their welcome a little, including two Maiden covers
(‘Sanctuary’ and ‘Wrathchild’) in a
draining 90-minute blitzkrieg.
Onto
Day Two and given the Ninian Park result, the last thing I needed
was contact with anything from Wales. Thrashers Brabazon had
some decent trashy ideas, but woaaah, do they need a second
guitarist?! With the aggressive, bluesy hard rock of Isolysis
unremarkable, it was down to Hanging Doll, a female-fronted
band from Brum, to show their Gothic mettle. I’ve been
playing their debut album ‘Reason & Madness’
a lot since arriving home, and they’ve got potential aplenty.
The polar opposite is true of Nemhain, whose ranks might well
include celebrated drummer Adrian Erlandsson (At The Gates/The
Haunted/Cradle Of Filth) and former Area 54 guitarist Lakis
Kyriacou, but are let down badly by the wretched, alleged ‘vocals’
of fetish model Morrigan Hell. The mildly boogiefied, thunderously
delivered hard rock of the next band, Hammerhead, was pleasant
enough, but Cloven Hoof stole the day’s honours with frightening
ease. His once waist-length barnet now sadly trimmed, Russ North
still has an incredible, soaring power metal voice. With my
umpteenth pint of snakebite and black in hand (the Ruskin’s
white wine is… sorry, that’s **was**... undrinkable)
I nodded away with growing enthusiasm as the band, rallied as
ever by indefatigable bassist Lee ‘Air’ Payne, ran
through the following set-list: ‘Inquisitor’, ‘Nova
Battlestar’, ‘Astral Rider’, ‘Gates
Of Gehenna’, ‘Reach For The Sky’, ‘Road
Of Eagles’ and an irresistibly singalong finale of ‘Laying
Down The Law’. No, I’m not writing this to stem
the hail of Payne’s pulpit-like ‘Why does everyone
in England hate us?’ emails; they really were excellent.
A bit like the Ruskin itself. The place’ll be missed.
_
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Friday
14th November
Clarification
at last. The project that Jimmy Page, John Paul Jones and Jason
Bonham are concocting will **not** be going on the road masquerading
as something more glamorous. “Whatever this is, it is
not Led Zeppelin,” say Page’s management company
in a statement. “Not without the involvement of Robert
Plant.” Common sense has prevailed. I, for one, will still
want to see it, though… Just a bit…
Most
of yesterday afternoon was spent spinning ‘Evil Twin’,
the superb second album from Robin Guy and the ex-Gillan pair
of John McCoy and Bernie Tormé – better and more
succinctly known as GMT.
Complete with a guest appearance from Dee fuckin’ Snider
of Twisted Sister, it’s the most incendiary, squalling
and filthy slab of garage rock I’ve heard since…
ooh, since the trio’s debut album, ‘Bitter And Twisted’.
Nice work, fellas. Now drop ‘Smoke On The bleeding Water’
from the set and I’ll be completely content.
Mention
of John McCoy, who produced the first Samson album, reminds
me to plug a deserving cause. Tonight and tomorrow, a special
Clive Aid gig takes place at the Ruskin Arms. The Ruskin was,
of course, the East End scene of many of Iron Maiden’s
earliest triumphs (I saw them there as a wide-eyed kid in December
1981, with a newly appointed Bruce Dickinson on vocals…
also caught Quo rocking the same stage on their tour of the
nation’s pubs in 1999). Now, sadly, the venue is about
to close its doors for the final time. Inspired by ex-Samson/Maiden/Desperado/Elixir
sticksman Clive Burr, Clive
Aid raises awareness and funds for cancer and Multiple Sclerosis
charities. That and various rumoured special guest appearances
should be reason enough get y’self down to East Ham if
you’re able.
P.S. An email from EMI Records reveals that the Michael Schenker
Group re-issues for which I recently wrote sleeve essays are
due on January 19. The jewel in the crown of the first batch
of three is 1980’s self-titled debut, produced by Roger
Glover, which now adds demo tracks recorded in London by the
very first MSG line-up, completed by singer Gary Barden, former
Talas/future Mr Big bassist Billy Sheehan and ex-Montrose drummer
Denny Carmassi.
_
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Thursday
13th November
Oh
dear, another music icon bites the dust. At around 10pm last
night I received a text from Rock Radio’s Paul Anthony,
wondering whether I’d heard a rumour that Mitch Mitchell,
the last remaining member of the Jimi Hendrix Experience, was
dead. Sadly, it turned out to be true. Drummer Mitchell, a Londoner
whose jazz-based style can be heard on the Experience’s
Holy Trinity – ‘Are You Experienced’ and ‘Axis:
Bold As Love’ (both 1967) and ‘Electric Ladyland’
(’68), – passed away from ‘natural causes’
in a hotel room in Portland, Oregon. He was either 61 or 62,
depending upon which reports you read. I had the honour of meeting
Mitch at a press reception in 2002, and he seemed like an
interesting guy, as you’d rightly expect. RIP, Mr Mitchell.
_
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Wednesday
12th November
Captain
Sensible never fails to make me laugh. With a 32-year career
behind him, The Damned’s ever-quotable guitarist is a
journalist’s dream – once you get hold of him, that
is. I’d spent the previous couple of days failing to make
contact by phone in various airport lounges and foreign locations.
“I’ve just come back from Rome, where I plied my
dubious disco nonsense on the poor old Italians,” he tells
me with a carefree laugh. “I feel such a fraud. They put
me up in a sumptuous hotel, and I went on this TV show and performed
an abbreviated version of ‘Wot!’, the disco classic
that I invented rap music with [in 1982]. I’m to blame
for that, too. I was on the screen for one minute and fifty
seconds, and I got paid as well!”
Sensible,
who also had another 1982 hit with ‘Happy Talk’,
doesn’t attempt to hide his dual identity. “One
minute I’m making a loud noise with The Damned, the next
all this solo rubbish – I don’t know which one I
enjoy most,” he chirrups. “It’s not bad for
an ex-toilet cleaner from Croydon, is it?”
I’m
finding it hard to stop playing ‘The Old Road’,
a sensational album by ex-IQ/Jadis keyboard wizard Martin Orford.
Under normal circumstances, mention of Orford’s name would
merit a link to his site… only Martin doesn’t have
one, and more to the point **doesn’t want one**. His dislike
of the internet and its culture of ‘here’s my work,
feel free to steal it’ is such that ‘The Old Road’
– which features cameos from Asia’s John Wetton,
John Mitchell of It Bites, Nick D’Virgillio and Dave Meros
of Spock’s Beard and, incredibly, Dave Oberlé of
70s proggers Gryphon (later Kerrang!’s advertisement manager)
– marks what the press release calls a “complete
withdrawal from the music industry”. Or as Orford put
it in a recent email: “Unashamedly retro and proud of
it, this is rather like my ‘bugger the internet, I’m
off to live in the 1950s’ album”. If you love old-school
prog, you’re advised to go out and give Orford one final
payday by buying (and not downloading) ‘The Old Road’
– it’s bloody great.
_
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Tuesday
11th November
Slightly later than usual, this month’s Playlist
and YouTube have just been posted.
And speaking of recommended discs, Classic Rock contributors
have just been asked to submit their ‘Best Albums of 2008’
lists. As CR doesn’t usually run them writer-by-writer
as most magazines do, opting instead to calculate one communally-pooled
chart, let me illuminate you with the hallowed results of the
Catford jury…
1) OPETH – Watershed – Roadrunner
2) IT BITES – The Tall Ships – Inside Out
3) AC/DC – Black Ice – Columbia
4) URIAH HEEP – Wake The Sleeper – Noise
5) JOURNEY – Revelation – Frontiers
6) ALICE COOPER – Along Came A Spider – SPV
7) DEF LEPPARD – Songs From The Sparkle Lounge –
Mercury
8) TESLA – Forever More – Frontiers
9) TESTAMENT – The Formation Of Damnation – Nuclear
Blast
10) BLACK STONE CHERRY – Folklore And Superstition –
Roadrunner
11) STONE GODS – Silver Spoons & Broken Bones –
PIAS
12) DEMIANS – Building An Empire – Inside Out
13) MÖTLEY CRÜE – Saints Of Los Angeles –
Eleven Seven Music
14) WHITESNAKE – Good To Be Bad – SPV
15) DRAGONFORCE – Ultra Beatdown – Roadrunner
16) AVANTASIA – The Scarecrow – Nuclear Blast
17) H.E.A.T. – H.E.A.T. – Stormvox
18) METALLICA – Death Magnetic – Vertigo
19) IHSAHN – AngL – Candelight
20) ROSE HILL DRIVE – Moon Is The New Earth – Megaforce
_
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Monday
10th November
How
disappointing that Blind Melon have split with Travis Warren,
the frontman that seemed to be doing such a great job of replacing
the late, great Shannon Hoon in London two months ago. Judging
by the group’s explanation – “God dropped
a Stradivarius down Travis’s throat, but he treats it
like a broken pawnshop fiddle” – and the singer’s
own protestations of being “underpaid and overworked”,
it all ended messily. And I had such high hopes…
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Sunday 9th November
Ouch,
my aching head. My first glass of cider hit the back of the
neck very shortly after news broke that Clint Hill had stabbed
Crystal Palace into the lead at Coventry Shitty’s Ricoh
Arena. The game finished 2-0; kinda wished I could’ve
been present to witness the club’s first victory in five
games but I had tix for last night’s Alter Bridge gig
at the Brixton Academy. My friend Steve Way and I supped a few
cold ’uns before the show, simultaneously toasting Palace’s
victory and as preparation for a potentially fascinating concert.
I’ve
seen Alter Bridge on four previous occasions (pretty much every
time they’ve played London, except for the first gig at
ULU) from 2004 onwards. This time, though, with lead singer
Myles Kennedy being linked to a tour with Jimmy Page, John Paul
Jones and Jason Bonham, I found myself watching and listening
through a quite different set of eyes and ears. No doubt about
it… Kennedy is among the very best young(-ish… is
38 young?!) up ‘n’ coming classic rock frontmen
out there – bar none. As proven by a solo acoustic version
of ‘Watch Over You’ that really kicked the band’s
90-minute set into gear, Myles commands attention and has a
set of pipes to die for. But is he the individual to front a
– quote, unquote – Led Zeppelin tour? It depends
upon your expectations. For all its soaring, uplifting qualities,
the Kennedy larynx doesn’t sound remotely like Percy Plant.
Then again, maybe that’s what Jimmy and company are after;
some young gun to come in and propel them into a fresh direction,
not merely to re-heat past glories? Alter Bridge’s management
offered a terse “no comment” to Classic Rock’s
official enquiry regarding the rumours; the fact that the band
included Robert Johnston’s ‘Travelling Riverside
Blues’ (from whence Zep borrowed the immortal “Squeeze
my lemon…” line) seems to imply the deal has already
been done. And, so long as it was temporary, why the heck not?
The other three members of Alter Bridge have nothing to lose
and everything to gain in taking a year off. After attaining
the level of Brixton Academy headliners, and performed so convincingly
to generate a hysterical reaction – just wait till you
see the DVD they recorded!! – the Zep connection would
only enhance what is a justifiably escalating reputation.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Saturday
8th November
I’ve
been a fan of Dan
Reed since the Portland-born frontman broke through with
the first, eponymously-titled Dan Reed Network album in 1988.
Back then I was working for RAW magazine, and I don’t
mind admitting that Reed’s arrival caused heated arguments
during our editorial meetings. The dilemma was this: Reed had
the requisite attitude and long hair (at the time, anyway),
but after furore of Kerrang! putting Prince on their front cover,
would our readers embrace his sexy, mesmerising brand of funky
guitar rock – performed by a multi-national backing group?
The answer was, emphatically, in the affirmative and Reed went
on to cross over into the hearts of rock fans everywhere, gigging
alongside Bon Jovi, the Rolling Stones and many more. Indeed,
after I filed a less than positive review of Reed’s slot
with the Stones in Manchester, such was his modesty that he
actually telephoned to agree with several of my points. Over
the course of several interviews I got to know Dan pretty well,
even flying to Los Angeles to see him filming the video for
‘Mix It Up’, where he memorably proclaimed: “Instead
of rock stars getting fan letters, we need to write fan letters
to the garbage man, the 24-hour pizza man; those who stay up
to make our lives pleasurable”. Sadly, apart from mysterious
reports of meetings with the Dalai Lama and the release of various
collections and live discs, Reed dropped off the map after the
Network’s third album, 1991’s The Heat’.
So
it was great to see him onstage again in the UK, after 15 long
years away. Last night’s gig at the tiny Borderline attracted
many of the scene’s ‘old faces’, including
former Wimbledon tennis champ Pat Cash, who’d brought
along his wife and two sons. Dan was performing acoustically,
with no backing band, previewing compositions from a new solo
record called ‘Coming Up For Air’ that drops next
year. So, clearly, the funk factor would be absent. But the
songs? Ah well… no problems there, squire. Like the rest
of the crowd, which listened attentively to the quieter moments
and sang along vociferously to the tracks they knew, I was extremely
impressed by the new tunes ‘Losing My Fear’, ‘The
Promised Land’ and ‘Brave New World’. Older
gems included ‘Long Way To Go’, ‘Rainbow Child’,
‘I’m So Sorry’, ‘Let It Go’, ‘Lover’,
‘Ritual’, ‘The Salt Of Joy’ and one
of the finest love ditties ever penned, ‘Stronger Than
Steel’. Between the music, Dan revealed how he lived in
Jerusalem for the past three years, before that in India as
he mused upon becoming a monk or returning to music. He will
be back in April, apparently, though whether that’s with
an electric band or on his lonesome once more I’ve no
idea… but you’re advised not to miss it.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Friday
7th November
Well,
the weekend’s almost here and this evening I’m off
to see Dan Reed play an intimate one-man club date. Can’t
wait for that. This afternoon I’ve been playing Jeff Scott
Soto’s excellent new album, ‘Beautiful Mess’,
a real masterclass of radio-friendly slickness and funky groove,
interspersed by blasts from the deluxe edition of ‘The
Age Of Nero’, Satyricon’s latest. Hahaha, not too
many folks will have had **those** two records on rotation,
I’ll wager!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Thursday
6th November
For
the past few days I’ve been transcribing a series of special
interviews with Bill Ward, Bernie Tormé, Ron Nevison,
Pete Way, Vince Neil, John Sinclair, Glenn Hughes, Don Airey,
Penelope Spheeris and Phil Soussan, all of whom have one thing
– or to be more accurate, one person – in common.
No prizes for guessing. Listening to their recollections has
been huge fun. I particularly enjoyed conversing with Spheeris
who, of course, was responsible for one of the greatest music
films ever made, namely The Decline of Western Civilization:
Part II, The Metal Years. I still recall attending a press preview
of that film with my friend Mick White (then vocalist of Samson)
in 1987, alternating been roars of laughter and sinking back
in our seats as the home-truths of the industry we loved so
much slapped us around the face. Penelope, who even claims to
read this diary, is currently working on a cinematic biography
of Sex Pistol-turned-cheese fancier Johnny Rotten, and a hair
metal-themed movie called Love Above The Strip. The latter especially
sounds like great fun.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Wednesday
5th November
Well,
the internet is ablaze with Cream vs Led Zeppelin, Page vs Clapton
flame wars. Indeed, a Classic Rock Radio Station in Detroit
called Jack at his London home to verify what he told me on
Monday night at the Classic Rock Awards. Jack didn’t play
the ‘I’ve been misquoted’ card, insisting
that his dry-as-a-bone Glaswegian humour had simply been misinterpreted.
And he did have the bottle to stand by his opinion, admitting:
“Obviously [there is] a little bit of jealousy on my part”.
However, he also reiterated: “Let’s face it, Jimmy
Page ain’t no Eric Clapton, no matter what anybody thinks”
and poured gasoline onto the bonfire by joking (I hope!): “The
only decent guy… the one good guy in that band is dead”.
The speed with which music stories appear on the internet still
never fails to amaze me. Rolling news sites like Blabbermouth
are updated for each major occurrence, right around the clock.
So, knowing their love for a soundbite I’m mildly surprised
that Blabbermouth didn’t pick up on two of my interviews
which were recently posted on the Classic Rock website; Yngwie
Malmsteen proclaiming: “I
love being an exhibitionist: It’s excellent”,
and Ross The Boss declaring that his new, self-titled band is
“all
about one-upping Manowar”.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Tuesday
4th November
Last
night was the fourth annual Classic Rock Awards, which took
place at the swanky Park Lane Hotel. Once again I was conducting
the post-presentation interviews for the magazine’s coverage
– a great, if stressful, job. Basically, you sit around
doing virtually nothing for five hours except shaking hands
and guiding musos into photographer Ross Halfin’s secluded
fairy grotto, guarded by vicious pitbulls on crack (well, CR
art editor Brad Merrett, anyway). At one point I looked on agog
as Jeff Beck, Ronnie Wood, Ozzy Osbourne and Slash goofed around
for the lens. Utterly bemused (and amused) by my love of Crystal
Palace FC, Halfin
is an extremely odd fish. He’s happy to welcome Rod Argent
and Colin Blunstone of The Zombies into his enclave, likewise
Martin Turner (Wishbone Ash were apparently the first live band
he saw, back in 12BC). “Okay,” I thought, “he’s
not just after the biggest celebs”. And yet, when I suggested
it might be good to get a shot of Opeth’s Mikael Åkerfeldt,
whose ‘Watershed’ was up for Album Of The Year,
Ross gazed blankly and sighed: “Look, do me a favour.
No Dave Ling bands, okay?”
Then,
quite suddenly, the ceremony began. It was like removing a cork
from a bottle. In principle there’s supposed to be an
even flow; from the podium, into Halfin’s lair, out to
the assorted agency photographers and journalists, and then
the artists return to their tables. Of course, it doesn’t
work like that. With due respect to Mike Fraser, who collects
a DVD award for AC/DC, and Flemming Rasmussen, who’s there
on behalf of Metallica to receive Re-Issue Of The Year for the
vinyl editions of the band’s first three albums (but won’t
answer any questions on ‘Death Magnetic’), the media
scrum has its sights set firmly on the likes of David Coverdale,
who **want** to be photographed and interviewed; indeed they
positively play to the gallery, shaking hands, flashing teeth
and offering generous soundbites. And at the other end of the
spectrum, Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne have a minder who at first
politely informs you their charges are “not doing any
interviews”, then – when she learns you’re
from Classic Rock – generously grants you “four
quick questions”. Meanwhile, while you await a spot with
Gary Moore and Peter Green, they are being overtaken in the
queue by Todd Rundgren and Syd Barrett’s sister Rosemary
Breen. The press area becomes as congested as Piccadilly Circus
in the rush hour. See what I mean about the stress factor?
So
it feels great when an absolute pearl comes along. Enter Jack
Bruce, the legendary Cream bassist/vocalist who disses Led Zeppelin
for “tuning down” at their “lame” O2
reunion gig and then launches into an astonishing rant: “Fuck
off, Led Zeppelin, you’re crap. You’ve always been
crap and you’ll never be anything else. Cream is ten times
the band that Led Zeppelin is.” I try not hinder his flow
by letting my astonishment show. It works. “You’re
gonna compare Eric Clapton with that fucking Jimmy Page?”
he continues. “Well, to be fair, they’re different
kinds of player, aren’t they?” I reply, rocking
on my heels. “No! Eric’s good and Jimmy’s
crap. And with that I rest my case,” seethes Bruce, wandering
outside to face the flashbulbs and hollering: “LED ZEPPELIN
ARE CRAP!” Since the story broke on
the web I’ve been asked many times whether Bruce was
drunk. Though another member of the CR team (who shall go nameless)
believes that he was, Jack didn’t seem inebriated at all.
He certainly wasn’t slurring his words.
And
before we knew it, the ceremony was over. With quotes from just
about everyone on the magazine’s hit-list safely secured,
the sense of relief was palpable. Having stayed off the booze
I didn’t fancy the after show party. I decided that if
I dashed off I might **just** catch my last train from Charing
Cross Station, only to bump into Thunder singer Danny Bowes,
another Sarf London boy who was driving my way and offered a
lift right to the end of my road. A fortuitous end to a quite
magnificent night.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Monday
3rd November
I
returned from the Living Colour interview, put down my bag and
made a quick cuppa, then nipped out the door again to Shepherd’s
Bush Empire where a decent-sized crowd had gathered for the
last night of the immodestly titled ‘Classic Legends Of
Rock’ tour. Tony ‘TS’ McPhee and his Groundhogs
opened the bill. McPhee plays the guitar murderously, and without
a plectrum, which really makes a big noise. Having recently
re-purchased the band’s classic album ‘Thank Christ
For The Bomb’ on CD for the first time I really enjoyed
them, though others expressed a witheringly contradictory opinion
(hello Barry!).
Having
feared that they might be a little ‘pub-rock’, or
worse still ‘chicken-in-a-basket’, Martin Turner’s
Wishbone Ash pleasantly surprised me. His band can really play,
and bassist/singer Turner, sporting a fringed jacket and throwing
shapes, remains a great entertainer. In a recent Classic Rock
interview Martin criticised Andy Powell, who of course has kept
the Ash flag flying without him (“He’s an excellent
guitar player, but as a vocalist I sometimes think he struggles”),
also slighting Powell’s ‘official’ Wishbone
Ash line-up (“Whenever I go to see [them] I always end
up in the bar”), and with his incarnation having re-recorded
the classic ‘Argus’ album (under the title of ‘Argus
Through The Looking Glass’ – complete with guest
appearances from John Wetton and Geoffrey Downes) this story
looks set to run and run. Incidentally, Turner’s men played
‘The King Will Come’, ‘Warrior’, ‘Throw
Down The Sword’, ‘Blowin’ Free’, a terrific
‘Phoenix’, a version of ‘Living Proof’
that displayed perhaps just a little too much swagger, before
ending with ‘Jailbait’.
Still
fronted by the madcap genius of keyboard player/flautist and
yodeller Thijs van Leer, who looks more like racing pundit John
McCrirrick than ever, headliners Focus were equally enjoyable.
Now 60 years old, the Dutch master is lovably eccentric, skit-skatting
and la-la-laing over the band’s musical ebb and flow,
donning an owl mask and generally running the show, even coming
to the lip of the stage to blow into what looked like an alpine
flugelhorn. Current guitarist Neils van der Steenhoven does
a manful job of replacing Jan Akkerman and I’d like to
see them again another time, hopefully for more than just 70
minutes.
_
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Sunday
2nd November
I’ve
just dashed back home from a lunchtime rendezvous with Living
Colour’s Vernon Reid. Makes such a nice change to interview
such a likable, intelligent guy. Understandably after so many
years of being misunderstood, the guitarist was annoyed to learn
that the press blurb for Living Colour’s upcoming live
DVD refers to them as “one the very few groups —
if not the first and only — that can be coined as authentic
sons of Jimi Hendrix”… As a matter of fact, our
chat was timely, as I’m currently absorbed in Charles
Shaar Murray’s excellent Crosstown Traffic: Jimi Hendrix
And Post-War Pop, throughout which Vernon is generously quoted.
The book, which examines flower-power culture, really does take
us back to the days when no-one batted an eyelid if black people
were referred to as “spades”. There’s a cringe-inducing
part in which Pete Townshend of The Who approaches Jimi at the
airport after a disagreement over the honour of headlining the
Monterrey Pop Festival in 1967. Townsend tells Jimi, “Listen,
no hard feelings, I’d love to get a bit of that guitar
you smashed”, to which Hendrix icily retorts: “Oh,
yeah? I’ll autograph it for you, honkie.” Very different
times indeed…
Otherwise
it’s been a rubbish weekend. Despite having vowed not
to on the grounds that it threw cricket into disrepute, I ended
up watching England being utterly humiliated by a West Indian
All-Star XI side in a Twenty20 game with an unbelievable winner-takes-all
$20million purse. A crap sporting spectacle that sets a worrying
precedent. And yesterday afternoon at a soaking wet Selhurst,
Palace drew with Sheffield Wednesday – that’s just
two points from a possible 12. Relegation form in anyone’s
language, though in fairness the second half performance was
a little more acceptable.
_
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Saturday
1st November
In an ideal world, this evening I would be zipping up to
the Islington Academy following Palace's game against Sheff
Wednesday. Ex-It Bites guitarist/singer Francis Dunnery is playing
a show based around his excellent 'Tall Blond Helicopter' album.
However, it's been a hectic week and the lads want to set off
some fireworks in the back garden, eat a few hotdogs, etc. So
that's what we'll do.
Very shortly I will be heading off into Croydon for a final,
pre-game, mooch around Beanos Records, a much-loved emporium
that's about to close its doors once and for all after 32 years
of trading. Owner David Lashmar has done his best to stay the
executioner's axe, but is finally bowing to the inevitable and
Beanos now follows London's legendary Shades Records and Manchester's
bargain-tastic Power Cuts into fondly remembered immortality.
Awfully sad, if you ask me.
After a run of very poor results - two defeats and a draw in
the last three matches - I'm hoping that Palace will see off
today's visitors, two places above the Eagles in the Championship
table but so badly off in a financial sense that the players
have been asked to pay their own rail fares to London for today's
game at Selhurst. Incredible. The Premier League has a lot to
answer for.
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