David Bowie

Posted on by edwardlayland

It’s been ten years since the world lost David Bowie, yet people still talk about him and his work resonates as much now as it ever did – it is like he is still among us somehow. I had quite a lot to say on his passing, so I am re-sharing as it still seems so relevant.

“Don’t believe in yourself
Don’t deceive with belief
Knowledge comes
with death’s release”

January 10th 2016 will forever be remembered as the day the world lost David Bowie. He innovated and created to the very end, having just released his (now) final album, barring the retrospectives, re-issues and studio outtakes that are sure to appear in the future. Thankfully, his inimitable work will resound in the collective conscience for generations to come. Few artists have left such an indelible mark on the world of entertainment and even fewer have been as unique or half as influential.

Bowie was always innovative, constantly updating and renewing, never afraid to move on without looking back; though the temptation to resurrect Ziggy Stardust and other such heroes may have been great during more difficult times. Instead he continued to create, up to his dying days, not only influencing his peers but allowing himself to be influenced by the world around him.

“I still don’t know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets
And every time I thought I’d got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I’ve never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I’m much too fast to take that test.”

John Peel once said:
“Pop is a car-boot sale, a parade of trinkets, junk and handicrafts, most worthless, some capable of giving a few moments of pleasure with a few glorious items made more glorious by their unexpected appearance in this market. Then in an unpredictable double-bluff, the worthless can, within a few years, take on great worth and the glorious become merely laughable.” Bowie’s appearance in said market was always unexpected and mostly glorious, with any apparently worthless work standing the test of time and taking on great worth, or even proving incredibly portentous.

“Written in pain, written in awe
By a puzzled man who questioned
What we were here for.”

It’s incredible that one man has had such a profound effect on the human race and left such a massive cultural footprint behind. To say that I am saddened by his passing is not really the best way to put it. I didn’t have the privilege of knowing him, we were not friends, like most people my relationship with David Bowie is one of fan – artist.

Nevertheless, for me, as I’m sure it is for many, it goes much deeper than that; he has been a part of my life for longer than I can remember, his work has always been there, his influence has spread to other artists whose music I also love. It’s kind of strange because that familiar figure, with all his guises, is not there anymore, they’ll be no more interviews with those mismatched eyes and that broad smile on his face and his self deprecating laughter, no more groundbreaking albums, and no more parts being played.

His music will live forever though, and the memories we have all created that are intertwined with his incomparable body of work cannot be taken away from us. My earliest are of hearing ‘Ashes to Ashes’ on the radio, Major Tom already known to all. Then there’s my Mum’s copies of ‘Aladdin Sane’ and ‘Pin Ups’ with their striking cover art. Then came all those hits from the 80s, ‘Lets Dance’, ‘Absolute Beginners’ and ‘China Girl’ – someone had a copy, I no longer remember who. And of course the collaborations on ‘Dancing in the Street’ with Mick Jagger for Band/Live Aid and the unforgettable ‘Under Pressure’ with Queen. Which also reminds me of the stunning performance of ‘Heroes’ at Live Aid.

But it was as a young adult that I really discovered Bowie, my best friend introducing me to ‘Hunky Dory’, which along with ‘Space Oddity’ (a.k.a ‘David Bowie’) got played to death in the first home I ever owned. I once tried to get tickets for a “secret” gig at a small London venue but it was such an exclusive (comeback) show that not even the touts could get hold of them; I had to resign myself to never seeing him play live and to being content with ‘Live from Santa Monica’ and ‘At the Beeb’.

With his passing it is this evoking of bittersweet memories of how and when his work touched us that forces us to reexamine our own lives and contemplate our own existences. And therein lies the sadness – I’m not sad that David Bowie has died; he led a full and rich life and was one of the most significant artists in the history of humanity, I’m sad for what his death means to me, to everyone he touched and to our society. It moves me deeply to think that where once there was a constant that could be relied upon to challenge and inspire in equal measure, whilst sound tracking our very existence, now there is an empty space.

“I’m stuck with a valuable friend
“I’m happy. Hope you’re happy, too.”
One flash of light
But no smoking pistol…”

Rest in Peace David Robert Jones, you will be sorely missed.

My Ruin – Declaration of Resistance

Posted on by edwardlayland

This year has begun with party goers gleefully filming what would become a fatal blaze killing 40, while the president of the United States has illegally orchestrated an invasion of a smaller, weaker country that happens to have a lot of oil. There is clearly something very wrong with the world. We need people to speak out, we need people to question, we need people to use their platforms to help us wake the fuck up and smell the rancid coffee of the god awful, social media obsessed, post-truth, broligarchical world that we live in.

We need people like Tairrie B and Mick Murphy. We need bands like My Ruin. 

After a ten year hiatus, My Ruin are back, and Tairrie B. Murphy is angrier than ever. And rightfully so. Although My Ruin were on hold, Tairrie’s been busy with politically charged hip hop albums and the joyful rock n roll of SWTEVL with husband Mick. However, it is as My Ruin that their creativity really resonates, bringing together all the elements that are evident in their multiple side projects – it’s metal, it’s punk, it’s hardcore, it’s hip hop, it’s every part of who they are and what they are capable of. And the new album, Declaration of Resistance, does not disappoint, sounding urgent and fresh while rooted in the old school; it makes for an essential listen in the current political climate.

The album kicks off with the first single, Compromised, and right from the word go, the ominous riffing sets out the stall while Tairrie screams salvos like “A hollow oath with immunity; A cult of chaos and vanity; Malignant pig and fascist muse; Definition of waste, fraud and abuse; Persona non grata there is no doubt; About the man who sold America out“, making it clear that they are pulling no punches and giving no fucks. In the current oppressive climate, it’s a brave but much needed move.

The blows keep coming with second single Audacity, which burns a little slower in a controlled, but hard-hitting protest, using Tairrie’s vocal versatility to celebrate the power of female voices in a nod to their own feminist anthem Beauty Fiend.  

The current version of My Ruin has been stripped down to Tairrie and husband Mick, who not only plays everything but also co-produces and engineers the record, and, is absolutely on fire throughout. The guitar playing on this record is simply outstanding, particularly on stand-out track True Allies, the killer collaboration with Jack Osborne, of Call to The Void. The atmospherics, the mixed tempos, the vocal interplay, the heavy hook and blazing solos take it to another level.

Contempt follows in slightly more angular fashion with a more mechanical sound but it is another slap in the face of the evangelical power brokers with searing lines like “Cause there’s no hate like Christian love” – superb. Infinite Connection burns a little slower with its chugging riff and largely spoken lyrics before the punky earworm HHRL (Hitler Hated Red Lipstick) kicks everything up a gear and transforms beauty into a political weapon.

In another highpoint, Tairrie gives her rap tropes their full flow on Fragile Like a Bomb, even dropping a cheeky Ice Cube reference in the opening Goddam. This is rap-rock fusion at its very best with its retro feel and steady groove, underpinned by more stellar work from Mick to rock hard and deliver one of the fiercest blows of the record in an almost understated fashion. The straight up, “immensely cathartic dis track“, Dark Eyes of London, follows with zero subtlety but is equally effective, with Mrs Murphy spitting pure vitriol to an ever-intensifying rifferama.

Spoken word dirge Lady Liberty is cleverly done and demands that we actually listen to what is being said: “I watch as compassion; Withers and dies; Where those we once welcomed; Are scorned and despised“. You have to respect the message here, as even if this isn’t the most immediately accessible track, it really captures some of what Tairrie is trying to say and deserves some extra attention. Muzzle Velocity then uses its firepower to remind us that Democracy is at risk with the current regime if we remain apathetic. There are better tracks on the record, but the final message is one we should all pay attention to:

“It didn’t start with gas chambers & concentration camps; It started with one party controlling the media and the message; One party deciding what is truth & fake news; One party censoring speech and silencing dissent; One party dividing citizens into “us” against “them”; It started with a gradual erosion of democratic principles and human rights; When good people turned a blind eye and let it happen“

The album then closes with a quick-fire double whammy to deliver the knockout blow. First, Truth or Consequences provides a punchy summing up the overall theme of the record before the blistering cover of L7‘s Shitlist provides a fitting finale, it being pretty obvious who has made the shitlist.

All in all, Declaration of Resistance is a mighty fine record deserving of repeated listens. On a simply musical level, it is a great record of hard rocking, cathartic tunes that really hit hard. More importantly, it is a record of the moment and serves as a chilling statement on the pile of shit we are currently drowning in. Tairrie B has a well thought-out vision on the state of the world, which goes far too deep to fully do justice to in a simple album review. But if there is one takeaway, it is that despite the mess that certain people are creating, there are decent people in the world for whom prejudice and hatred is not the way forward.

So, sit down, listen to the record, look at the beautiful artwork that goes with each track, and read the lyrics and the thinking behind each song. The album drops on January 16th and will be available on Bandcamp at https://myruin.bandcamp.com/.

Also check out Tairrie and Mick’s side project SWTEVL: https://swtevl.bandcamp.com/

Lemmy

Posted on by edwardlayland

It’s been 10 years now since Lemmy died. Yet the man was such a legend in the world of rock that it’s almost as if he is still around. There are so many stories people tell, his music is still relevant, and it may also have something to do with his life philosophy. In his own words: “If you’re going to be a fucking rock star, go be one. People don’t want to see the guy next door on stage; they want to see a being from another planet.” He was that being from another planet.

Anyway, here is what I had to say at the time.

On February 18th, 1991, I had the privilege of seeing Motorhead live, at the Portsmouth Guildhall, on the ‘1916’ tour. Back then, at most rock gigs there was a crush against the barrier, a mosh pit, people jumping and then the static part where people just stood, tapped their feet or banged their heads.

But not at Motorhead.

At Motorhead, nobody stood still. There was no room for a mosh pit because the sea of people ebbed and flowed in great surges, moving as one. The crowd reflected Lemmy and his music; all or nothing, relentless, unforgiving – but together. It was an amazing and strangely moving night that I will never forget.

There was always something about Lemmy. From the position of his microphone to the way he wore his hat. Maybe it was the facial hair, or the gravelly voice, or maybe just the way he dressed – there was something cool, yet somehow unrelenting about the man. You could see it when he was on stage; you could see it from brooding looks in the pages of magazines and you could even see it on film with his cameo in ‘Hardware’.

Lemmy commanded respect, end of story.

R.I.P

Women in Uniform

Posted on by edwardlayland

Back in the 1980s when I was a mere wannabe metal head, visits to my Dad would sometimes involve hanging out with Tony O’Rourke. The O’Rourke, as he was known, was a bit of an old hippy. A middle aged guy, married but no kids, his interests were basically going to the pub and messing about with music – buying it, listening to it, cataloguing it, making mix tapes of it – his spare bedroom was any vinyl freak’s dream. He’d turned it into a kind of studio with rows of records and tapes-this was still before CDs had really taken off-and all kinds of equipment. He introduced me to these wonderful WH Smith inlays for mix tapes and the like and even made me a tape introducing me to the Eagles (see below). 

Anyway, O’Rourke loved his music – country rock, Americana, rock ‘n roll, blues etc. He particularly loved Clapton (he looked a bit like 70s Eric), could talk for hours about Van the Man (took me a while longer to work out who that was), and had an encyclopedic knowledge of the world of rock n roll. He was a nice guy and always good for a chat with a music obessessive like myself. So, when a friend of his passed on a box of old seven inch singles that was being thrown out of the ITV television studios in Southampton, he promptly spotted a hidden gem and passed it on to me. 

A mint condition, never-been-played copy of Women In Uniform, the third single by Iron Maiden, complete with Margaret Thatcher dressed as a soldier waiting to exact revenge on Eddie the Head for her killing on the cover of previous single Sanctuary. Or was it jealousy of Eddie’s company? I didn’t even know it existed. Now though, I actually have two versions, as I later stumbled across the 12″, which came with a cracking live version of Phantom of the Opera (Paul Di’Anno on vocals of course). It is nowhere near mint condition but a cool addition to my collection nonetheless.

Women in Uniform is actually a cover version of a song by Australian band Skyhooks that Maiden got sort of duped into doing by producer Tony Platt and Zomba, their publishing company, who wanted a hit single. There were some shenanigans over the mix involving then guitarist Dennis Stratton, and the song even spawned their first music video. However, the band have basically distanced themselves from the track and haven’t even bothered to have it remastered. In fact the whole soap opera surrounding the song left Steve Harris quite bitter, and he vowed to never let anyone on the outside “fuck around with our music again”. Nevertheless, regardless of its merits,  it is certainly a bit of a rarity, especially in such good condition, and worth it for the cover art alone. 

Isn’t it funny how life’s rich tapestry causes paths to cross and chains of events to happen. I’ll always be thankful to Tony O’Rourke for the wonderful gift and great memories. Thanks you “Olde Hipee” – Rest in Peace.

Original 7″
Back Cover
Disk
Label
Back cover of the 12″

Scott Weiland

Posted on by edwardlayland

It’s been ten years since Scott Weiland passed away; here’s what I had to say about it:

Scott Weiland


I used to have a friend called ‘Ewok’, I no longer remember his real name, if I ever actually knew it, but I, and well, pretty much everyone, knew him as such – he really, and I mean really looked like an Ewok! Anyway, I’d dropped round his house one day and he would not shut the fuck up about the new Stone Temple Pilots album, ‘Purple`. I knew about STP but had never given them much love; I’d been into grunge since the ground floor – having seen Alice in Chains back when they supported Megadeth; Pearl Jam‘s first UK appearance; Nirvana at Reading? Yep. I was there. So for me STP were imposters riding the wave, a kinda commercial grunge lite.

Then I heard ‘Purple’.

Damn, what a fine album that was and still is – it stands the test of time, every track a killer. Then I got hold of a twelve inch single of ‘Plush’ one day when I was out hunting vinyl. When I flipped it over to play the b-side – unplugged versions of ‘Plush’ and ‘Sex Type Thing’ – I had one of those beautiful music moments when you uncover a real treasure.

I’d like to say I went on to become a mega Stone Temple Pilots fan and that Velvet Revolver were a dream come true, but I didn’t and they weren’t. I don’t really know why, I guess there was just too much else going on and maybe VR just didn’t have the songs, whatever, it doesn’t really matter.

A man has died. A talented man with rock star charisma and one of the most incredible voices in rock. I cannot and will not pass judgement on the man, just as I won’t put him up as a hero. What I will do is give thanks for the incredible pieces of music that affected me so profoundly all those years ago and that are still a part of my life until today. Now, I guess I’ll go find that MTV Unplugged set in full on YouTube.

R.I.P Scott Weiland

My Ruin: The Audacity

Posted on by edwardlayland

Check out My Ruin‘s The Audacity, the pulsating new single from the upcoming album Declaration of Resistance. Tairrie B and husband Mick Murphy are rocking hard on this “unapologetic call to action for women who refuse to be silenced.” Tairrie combines spoken word with her visceral metal scream to confront the “entrenched ageism, sexism, and the double standards still weaponized against women in music, politics and culture“; while Mick creates a slow burning rhythm (playing all the instruments!) to offset his blazing guitar lines. This is protest music at its finest, resisting the prevalent facist agenda dominating American politics with a defiant, rock hard slap in the face for those with no respect for gender, race or age.

Declaration of Resistance drops in January. In the meantime, check out My Ruin’s Bandcamp page for downloads & streams: https://myruin.bandcamp.com

The Cult – November 24th, 1989

Posted on by edwardlayland

On November 24th, 1989, as a surly sixteen year old, I saw my first “proper” live concert. I’d seen unknown bands on other occasions, like free amusement park shows on holiday in California or holiday camp cabaret at Pontins in the UK, but nothing that really counted. The Cult at Wembley Arena on the Sonic Temple tour was my first gig as a paying customer. I shelled out the princely sum of 10 pounds (today that would be £26.71, but a show at the same venue now actually costs around £70, depending on the band) and got myself to London (don’t remember how) to meet my brother, aunt and uncle to begin what would become a lifelong passion. 

I suppose the first proper band I saw was Claytown Troupe as they were the support band, but I was only there for the Cult…and I was blown away. They burst onto the stage and launched into the underrated New York City and I was immediately in awe of how larger than life it all seemed. This was the Cult in their prime; Sonic Temple had gone top 10 in the US (selling over a million in the process) and top 3 in the UK, the classic line-up was in place and they’d finally rocked up for the UK leg of the tour after a series of US dates supporting Metallica and a a handful of European shows opening for Aerosmith. Basically, they were now primed for big arenas and riding the wave of big-time rock n roll. Anyway, they ran through a set of classics mixed with most of Sonic Temple – which had been out since April, so no debuting new songs – with the album’s filler tracks taking on a whole new dimension in the live arena.  

OK, I’ll admit it, I don’t “remember” just how great it was, but half the songs from the show are on the Sonic Temple 30th anniversary reissue, so that jogged my memory a tad. I do remember how I felt however, which was ecstatic! I was seeing my favourite band, in the flesh, playing all their best songs!!! I headbanged my way through the entire set and went back to my uncle and aunt’s in Selhurst with an aching neck, a ringing in my ears and high on the excitement of the whole thing. The next day I was treated to a vegetarian lasagne (!) and a tour of Croydon’s finest record stores – Beano’s, HR Cloakes, 101 Records – before somehow getting back to Southampton (again, don’t remember how – probably involved a train). 

Anyway, the point here is not to review the show, but to take a look at the memorabilia, as besides still having the original ticket (see above), I also have the absolutely spectacular concert programme. Even back in the 80s the humble programme was generally considered a bit of a ripoff as souvenirs go and has been gradually disappearing ever since…do they even still exist? But, this particular programme was a rarity, as it was much more than the standard array of glossy photos that was par for the course. Here you get features on all the band members with a couple of pages for everyone; a discography with a list of single and album releases; a family tree showing how the band formed and all the connections to other bands (Billy Duffy used to be in a band with Morrissey!); in addition to a fold out band poster in the middle. It’s beautifully packaged, the photography is superb and it’s packed with information; talk about getting your money’s worth. It makes for a fine memento of an important occasion in my life and still looks the business 36 years later. Check it out below. 

Everybody Loves a Ballad

Posted on by edwardlayland

Ok. Hands up, I admit it – I’m a sucker for a big rock ballad. You can’t beat a bluesy riff, some heart-break lyrics, a soaring solo and a massive chorus. Ever since I was a kid I’ve loved a tragic melancholy slice of the break-up blues; my favourite Elvis track growing up was ‘I Just Can’t Help Believing’ and I loved ELO‘s ‘I Can’t Get It Out of My Head’; Doctor Hook‘s ‘Sylvia’s Mother’ was another that drifted up through the floor late at night that I couldn’t resist. Call me a sentimental old fool if you will, but come on, we all love a good ballad really and this updated version of an old listicle brings a few that have stood by me.

Ah yes, I remember it well, one of my first musical epiphanies. Back in the days before the internet, before satellite TV and even before channel 5, entertainment back home in England fell way short of today’s multiplicity – we had four TV channels and a handful of radio stations, yet access to non-pop programming was available for a few precious hours here and there. Besides The Tube (Channel 4), The Old Grey Whistle Test (BBC 2) and of course the legendary John Peel on Radio One, we also had the Friday Rock Show with the gravel voiced Tommy Vance for the rock/metal crowd, of which I was an enthusiastic member. Anyway, there I was one Friday night, in the middle of winter, must’ve been January ’89, headphones plugged into my midi system, when Tommy announced the next song – “Top 40 record? Hmmmm” – followed by the heartbreak riff of ‘How Come It Never Rains’ pulling on the heartstrings of my lovelorn 15 year old self. Damn it, I almost cried! I fucking loved that song, still do, Tyla‘s raspy cracked voice, the hook laden chorus and all those bluesy notes bending out of shape – unbeatable.

How do you end an album almost totally dedicated to shagging? Getting dumped that’s how. ‘What It Takes’ has to be one of the ultimate power ballads – it is Aerosmith at their heart aching best. Lyrically it is nothing short of superb, even with its cheeky references to other tracks*, and musically it’s sublime, the subtle time shifts are pure genius. Throw in an astonishing vocal from Steven Tyler and you have one of their finest crying in your beer tunes ever, something they’ve tried hard to match multiple times since, failing repeatedly every damn time. Yes, even on ‘I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing’ – it was good, but pales in comparison. Pass the tissues.

Although ‘Don’t Know What You Got (til it’s gone)’ is without doubt one of the cheesiest, most cliché glam rock power ballads in the history of hair spray, Cinderella were somewhat unfairly lumped in with the glam bands from LA as they prove on the title track of the very same album. Tom Keifer and co absolutely slay on the superb Zeppelinesque blues lament that is ‘Long Cold Winter‘, with its badass bluesy vocals accompanied by a mean lick of guitar; man, the sky is crying, the guitars are crying, even Tom sounds like he’s crying and it’s gonna be a long cold winter without your love baby.

Jeff Buckley‘s ‘Grace’ is one of the finest albums ever committed to vinyl, bearing not even the vaguest hint of filler. Although ‘Last Goodbye is an absolutely incredible break up song, there is way too much groove to the bass line to call it a ballad; ‘Lover, You Should’ve Come Over’ on the other hand….slow acoustic strum, rainy funeral imagery and tonight you’re on my mind… we get soaring vocals in the hook, brooding Hammond underpinning the melody as the emotions stack up in the lyrical climax:
“It’s never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It’s never over, all my riches for her smiles when i slept so soft against her
It’s never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It’s never over, she’s the tear that hangs inside my soul forever”


Then there’s ‘Forget Her’ which features Jeff at his best, fuck it just listen to it – it’s awesome.

Tesla were so sure they’d written the ultimate love song that they called it ‘Love Song’. Ok, so it’s like mega cheesy but hey, it works. Medieval intro and classic break up lyric to kick off, but the twist here is that this song offers hope that we can all find love again. It’s corny, it’s lighters in the air time and on one level it totally sucks, but on another you can’t argue with it’s delivery, from every soaring guitar lick to the arm waving sing along parts – the extended five man acoustical jam version is unbeatable – it out clichés every glam rock cliché ballad ever – even ‘Every Rose..’.

You don’t get much more heart breaking than the warm bath, open vein agony of ‘Black’ by Pearl Jam. Man, Eddie Vedder was really upset when he wrote those words and if you can’t identify with how the poor fella feels then you are either a cold unfeeling shell or you’ve never been dumped. For me, the definitive version has to be the one from MTV Unplugged where Eddie really belts out that killer final slice of desperate heartache.

One of my all time favourite songs is so obscure you’ll be hard pushed to find it anywhere. On the UK version of Tones of Home by Blind Melon, ‘Wooh G.O.D.’, also known as ‘Whoa Dog’, is either a mispress on the vinyl 12″ or wrongly credited as ‘Soak The Sin’. Whatever the case may be, this melancholy lament by tragic vocalist Shannon Hoon to his dead dog** is just so damn raw…

Notes:
*) “Girl before I met you; I was F.I.N.E fine; but your love made me a prisoner; yeah my heart’s been doing time”
**) “Wooh” was the name of Shannon’s dog. It is spelled Wooh, but pronounced “whoa.” Shannon would always catch it tearing something up or raising hell and he always yelled “whoa!” to try to get him to stop so he named him that. Shannon got him in a pet store and really connected with the dog and felt bad that he was cooped up in a cage. The dog was expensive so Shannon went back to the pet store, slid the glass up on the cage and snuck Wooh out of the store under his coat. He died when he swallowed a pin cushion. He was undergoing surgery and was over-anethstized by the vet. Shannon and Rogers buried Wooh near the big “HOLLYWOOD” sign in California. From http://www.blindmelon.org

Terry, Kurt and the Power of Art

Posted on by edwardlayland

I wrote this piece back in 2015 when one of my favourite writers passed away. It was originally on an obscure, now defunct, Tumblr blog that I had. However, although the people are less current than they were and the movie has long passed into memory, something about this article still seemed relevant, hence the share.

One of my oldest friends has died and, although we never actually met or spoke, I can’t help but feel wistfully sad at his passing.

It brings home to me how powerful art can be; we form a relationship with the purveyor, and I don’t mean the stalky type of relationship where we delude ourselves of reciprocity, he or she is with us during so many moments of our lives that we come to develop that easy familiarity that we have with our very best friends.

Terry Pratchett accompanied me through a large section of my life, over twenty years I guess. He was a constant companion during the rollercoaster of University as I found my way in the real Ankh Morpork (Terry’s capital city in the Discworld books) and whenever we hadn’t been in touch for a while he was always there when I needed him.

In his books Terry created a parallel universe we could all feel at home in, despite its apparent unreality, Comic Fantasy not being the most obvious choice of genre for most readers. Terry managed to captivate, enchant and most importantly include us all in his clever brand of observational humour, providing the kind of insight into human nature we could all relate to. The phrase “complex simplicity” springs to mind as the most appropriate way to describe the genius with which Terry wielded his pen, and probably sword; the use of capital letters to indicate that Death was talking being the most obvious example – kinda simple way to mark the character but genius in the fact that it gave Terry’s Grim Reaper an identity and voice off the pages.

This kind of humour united fans of the books, we were all in on the jokes even if we were at times on the receiving end of some gentle mockery; so far removed from the self righteous nastiness often present in satirical humour. Terry was all about self deprecation. I will miss him. But then again I still have about 25 of the 70 books he wrote, I can revisit them like I might an old friend and there are a whole host of characters and stories that I still don’t know. I loved Terry’s art, I don’t confuse it with the person, but I appreciate the impact this man had on my life and how he had been a friend to me for so long.

It was somewhat coincidental then, that another renowned artist was brought to my conscience on the day of Terry’s death. I happened to see the trailer for Montage of Heck, the upcoming documentary into the life of Kurt Cobain. The trailer features a number of home video scenes of Kurt and his daughter Frances Bean, as well as the much maligned Courtney Love, and is stark contrast to the exposé that is Soaked in Bleach.

I liked Nirvana, I saw them live, I rode the grunge train for a while during my aforementioned University years, but was never sucked into the idolatry of Cobain that the t-shirt tribes still hold on to. Nevertheless, I recognize Kurt’s talent and impact on the music industry; his songs stand up, the formulaic meanderings of In Utero notwithstanding, and I believe that on Unplugged in NYC we can get a sense of whatever it was that set him apart. My “problem” with Kurt was more personal I suppose, in that I have never been sure how I feel about the man behind the art, like, was he that good? Was he that different? Was he really that tortured? Then I saw the trailer.

Oh my.

How human.

I’d forgotten how dehumanizing the media can be, they tend to objectify artists whilst at the same time promoting vampiric interest in their private lives, although writers like Terry tend not to be so celebritised and its their enduring humanness that is the appeal. So when a movie maker gains access to the truly intimate moments of someone so iconic, and not just the paycheck driven words and pictures of the paparazzi, it was enough to stop me in my tracks. I await the movie with relish, not voyeuristically, but with eager anticipation of seeing the child who would become the biggest star in the world so that I can contemplate the tragic humanity of it all.

How far reaching art can be.

Memorabilia

Posted on by edwardlayland

Music became so easily available in the early 2000s, first with file sharing and illegal downloads, then with streaming services and platforms like YouTube, that the recorded product was essentially devalued. With the internet, we no longer had to pay for music and the entire industry shifted towards what we see today – paying through the nose for the concert experience with the best view going to the highest bidder. The release of a single or listening to an entire album lost their importance and the rich experience of actually buying a product by your favourite artist literally faded into history.

While the shift away from the physical product has its advantages, like being able to access whatever we want, whenever we want, the digital experience lacks something. And while I am an avid user of Spotify and love putting playlists together, I find it a little sad that the excitement of waiting for the new album or single from your favourite band to hit the shops in a wide variety of formats has gone. It wasn’t necessarily about the record itself, it was the anticipation of having it in your hands and then, in the case of singles, there was the added excitement of waiting for its chart position on Sunday night (as we did in the UK). If you were lucky, it might then get a performance or a video on Top of the Pops the following Thursday or crop up on the Chart Show on Saturday morning.

For the collectors among us, there was also the unadulterated joy of stumbling across a hidden gem while flicking through the racks of Virgin, Tower, HMV, WH Smith’s or Our Price. Not to mention the second-hand record stores that provided a sensory experience on a whole other level, from the sounds of obscure post punk, through the smells of stale cigarette smoke mixed with incense, to the feel of the records themselves. I enjoyed many such adventures in my teenage years, trading in LPs I’d grown out of for semi-new, cut price offerings at stores like Henry’s or Weasels (LPs) and Ferrets (singles) down near the Joiners Arms in Southampton. Later I was introduced to Sister Ray’s in SoHo and made the pilgrimage to the mecca that was Beano’s in Croydon. Good times.

Although vinyl is making something of a comeback and record fairs are much more common nowadays (is this a backlash against the digital?), the prices are now astronomical and it is more of a collectors market. There are still entire generations that will miss out on slipping a pristine black vinyl from its sleeve, hearing the crackle as the needle drops and listening to the A side, be it a single or an LP (no shuffling no skipping), before flipping the disc over and doing it all again on the B side, all while reading the lyrics on the inner sleeve of the album.

There’s so much of the record owning experience that younger generations will never know: picture discs, gatefold sleeves, numbered limited editions, Parental Advisory stickers, the extended remix on the 12 inch single with the unreleased live tracks on the B side, the radio edit, the poster bag, the double A side, the song that was only available on the flip side of the 7 inch, the occasional 10 inch, box sets, and, of course, the stunning array of album cover art that is so much better in the flesh. And that’s just vinyl! CDs often came as special editions, had extensive liner notes from the band, or hidden tracks. Even cassette singles had their charm.

So, when I made the permanent move to Brazil back in 2002 (I flew on the day of the England v Brazil World Cup quarter final), the one thing I refused to leave behind, bin, or sell was my music collection. As such, I slipped piles of CDs into my luggage and had my record collection and any memorabilia of sentimental value shipped over – do you remember actual concert tickets and concert programmes? A lot of the items remained in storage for a very long time and have only recently seen the light of day – new house, new office etc – but I thought it might be interesting to share some of those items and the stories behind them over the coming weeks in a loving lookback to a time when music as a product had value.