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 CoverDiskLabelBack cover of the 12″
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
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.
Hard Pressed 