Ready Steady Go Documentary

Fascinating documentary on BBC4 about legendary music programme Ready Steady Go, which aired between 1963 and 1966.  When I first got into music, and all things modernist, it was up there as a key influence.  I liked its catchphrase “the weekend starts here”, announcing a show featuring great music to be watched by a generation of soul stylists before heading for The Scene or The Flamingo.  It was referenced in the clip in Quadrophenia where Jimmy watches the show in his wet “shrink-to-fit” Levis, much to the disdain of his parents.  It was also celebrated by Generation X in their 1977 single “Ready Steady Go”, complete with hookline “because I’m in love with Cathy McGowan”.   

The show was produced by Rediffusion’s Head of Entertainment Elkan Allan, directed and produced by Vicki Wickham and Michael Lindsay Hogg (who also interestingly directed some episodes of Brideshead Revisited) amongst others.  The documentary featured fascinating contributions from Wickham and Hogg, including the reminiscence from the latter that, following a show dedicated a certain legendary singer “James Brown said I have soul”.  I agree with the sentiments he expressed.    That was an accolade to outstrip the majority out there.

The documentary reflected the anarchic edge to Ready Steady Go, some of which was arrived at by accident.  The first studio used was small, so much so that, by necessity, there was no separation between audience and artist.  The result was that the performers used a variety of small stages and the audience mingled freely.  The effect visually was to give the show a unique, authentic quality.  Other shows may have tried to replicate it but the effect was never as natural as on the original. 

The show really was a unique coming together of a small number of visionaries, who appreciated the potential of the times they were living through and made the most of it; the British R&B boom bands, the emergence of Motown and Stax and influences from the west coast.  The ethos of the show was in touch with what was happening on the street, from recruiting archetypal mod Cathy McGowan as presenter to visiting the clubs the young mods visited to pick the show’s dancers. 

The documentary included all sorts of anecdotes, such as the initial Tamla Motown tour of Britain playing to empty houses, and Georgie Fame being added to the bill to increase ticket sales. It’s a shame so much of the footage has been wiped.  I would have loved to have seen clips of Small Faces, The Creation and The Action, to name but three, who were key bands of the period and whose legacy has stood the test of time. 

But there were plenty of great clips in both the documentary itself and the “best of” show that followed.  Dusty Springfield and Chris Farlowe were regulars on the show.  I loved the footage of The Rolling Stones and perhaps the most menacing performance of Paint It Black I’ve seen, where the lights were turned off intermittently.  The idea was Lindsay Hogg’s, as was Pete Townshend putting a camera on the machine head of his guitar, with which he would strike Keith Moon’s cymbals from time to time during Anyway Anyhow Anywhere (the one in the clip in Quadrophenia), giving the effect of the screen shaking.  It worked perfectly.  

All in all, an interesting night’s viewing.  It was a ground breaking show which should have continued past 1966.  Sadly, there were other shows that had come afterwards, that were doing a similar thing, and it couldn’t compete.  But the original’s still the greatest, as this documentary makes clear.  We need a new Ready Steady Go to showcase the underground talent that is out there today.  We really do.

London Calling Exhibition

If you’re in London over the next month or so, you could do far worse than taking a tube to Barbican and heading for the Museum of London, where there’s an exhibition celebrating that classic album of forty years ago, London Calling by The Clash. It’s hard to believe that it’s forty years since it was released, the realisation came as something of a shock to me towards the end of last year. As a musical, lyrical and social statement, it still feels so contemporary.

Approach the museum and there are the posters on the wall, in black, white, pink and green proclaiming “London calling to the far away towns”, “the ice age is coming the sun’s zooming in” and the rest. Head inside and you’re greeted by a display cabinet containing the stage wear the band sported back in the day, caps, strides, battered up brothel creepers and shirts adorned with politically sloganized patches.

The whole event is packed with memorabilia. Pride of place is given to Paul’s smashed bass guitar that features on the cover of the album, encased for posterity. There’s a quote from legendary rock and roll photographer, Pennie Smith, who took the cover photo – “being on the road with the Clash is like a commando raid performed by The Bash Street Kids”. Then there are other guitars used during this period, both in the studio and on the road, along with Topper Headon's drum sticks and pictures of the band and the road crew on tour.

There’s plenty of art work, such as early examples of the London Calling single and Armagideon Time, as well as ideas for the track listing, adorned with doodles of aeroplanes and space ships and original posters proclaiming “two for a fiver on album or cassette”. Then there’s a Vanilla studios cassette tape of early demos and headed paper. The band’s influences are in evidence, such as the copy of the original forty-five of Brand New Cadillac by Vince Taylor on Chiswick records, along with picture of him accompanied by a certain Mr Strummer.

One of my favourite items is the first verse of Lost In The Supermarket, written on the back of a packet of Ernie Ball “made in USA, custom gauge .052” guitar strings. Hand written lyrics to various songs abound, including Death Or Glory, Working For The Clampdown (originally “Working For The Breakdown”) and The Guns Of Brixton and a notebook of lyrics entitled “Ice Age”. There’s also a typewriter owned by Joe, as per the Jack Kerouac On The Road inspired NME front cover of 3 January 1981. Not forgetting ad hoc items that record day-to-day life of the time, such as the note for “football training, meeting Gt Portland Street, Sunday 5th August, 3 o’clock”.

The exhibition acknowledges the key role and vision of the album’s producer, original mod Guy Stevens. There’s a display dedicated to him along with copies of a Montgomery Clift biography, by Patricia Bosworth and The Crack-up, by F Scott Fitzgerald, which he gave to Joe and Mick respectively. There’s also a quote from Clift, handwritten by Stevens in July 1979.

On your way out, there’s a mixing desk, where you can re-mix the title track, with the bass, guitar, drums and vocals separated out. It’s a lot of fun and gives an insight into the different possibilities available when mixing an album. What becomes clear, is the quality of each individual component. Joe, Mick, Paul and Topper were at the top of their game on this record. The Clash were very much a fusion of each of its parts, accentuated for maximum effect.

This is essential for anyone who grew up with the band, whose vision influenced their world-view then, and continues to do so. Get the tube to Barbican. Pretend that forty years haven’t really passed since this record first hit the shelves. And immerse yourself in the world of London Calling. The exhibition runs until 19 April.

Front Pop

Looking for a soundtrack to the Summer? Look no further than this gem of an album. It was released towards the end of last year and quickly found its way into my subconscious.

Front Pop is French Boutik’s debut long player.  From the opening bars of Le Mac, there is a wonderful continental vibe that evokes, in this listener’s mind, thoughts of the French new wave.  Singer Gabriela croons through the record, backed by some classic mid-sixties style guitar, bass and drums, courtesy of Serge, Jean-Marc and Zelda.  On keys is Oliver Popincourt whose album A New Dimension In Modern Love is well worth checking out in its own right.

The band have been making music for a while now, first coming to my attention via their ep Ici Paris back in 2014.  The video for that tune is well worth a look, almost an online guided tour of the French capital.  Another ep – Mieux Comme Ca - later and they were ready to release Front Pop. 

There is so much to love about this record, starting with its title which references the Front Populaire, a key element in France’s political past.  I love the fact that most of these tunes are sung in French, the standouts for me including Le Casse, Le Chemise Dechiree and the magnificent Je Regarde Les Tigres.  The two tunes sung in English – the instant classic Hitch A Ride – one of the best love songs of recent Summers – and The Rent are equally strong.

Not only is the music great.  The vinyl album comes in immaculate packaging, complete with lyrics and a lovely double-sided poster of these sharpest of young Parisiens.  All in all, this record is a Pop Moderniste classic, destined to acquire legendary status and its own unique place in the cultural iconography of all things stylist. 

Put it on the turntable, let its Gallic charm waft across your world and pretend you're a twenty one year old Antoine Doinel in a Truffaut classic.  Front Pop. The perfect soundtrack to this and any Summer.

Apathy For The Devil, A 1970's Memoir - Nick Kent

To music devotees of a certain generation, Nick Kent is a name that has almost legendary status. Each Thursday morning, a crisp new copy of the NME would fall through the letterbox, containing pieces penned by him, accompanied by a picture of the article's subject, taken by Pennie Smith. According to legend - and confirmed here - one such afficionado was the teenage Morrissey, who would correspond with him on a regular basis. As one who also fell under Kent's journalistic spell, it was with some interest that I picked up this book.
Each chapter in the book deals with a separate year of the seventies. These detail Kent's emergence from precocious middle class schoolboy (from London, via Wales and back again) to NME journo and beyond. We're told how he developed his writing style, to be at the forefront of "new rock journalism", under the tutelage of Lester Bangs. The style is inspired by the Hunter S Thompson gonzo technique, the writer emersing himself in the environment around the music, taking in the vibe and sharing the thrills. Along the way he would hang out with the likes of the Stones (who he had met initially at a gig when twelve years old), Iggy Pop and Led Zeppelin, as well as briefly playing guitar in an early incarnation of what was to become the Sex Pistols.
Kent also dated Chrissie Hynde and one of the most memorable passages is an account of how they connected through a mutual love of the Stooges. As Kent correctly states at one part of the book, he was flying the flag for the punk ethic from the early seventies - long before Joe Strummer or Malcolm McLaren had moved in that direction.
But not all in the garden was destined to be rosy. There is much about Kent's drug addiction and how he descended into virtual squalour as the decade progressed. He also became something of punk's whipping boy, most infamously at the 100 Club in 1976 when he was attacked with a chain by Sid Vicious. The impact of that period plays a significant part in this story.
To his credit, Kent writes about his darker days openly, candidly and, at times, with some humour. His world view comes across as a positive one, without overbearing nonchalance or regret. And the anecdotes are legendary. I particulary like the one about Keih Moon, which chimes with a description of a particular incident in Tony Fletcher's biography Dear Boy.
Apathy For The Devil is, in parts tragic, in others uplifting and inspirational. It must have taken a lot of guts to get all this down on paper for the world to read - the result is one of rock's more memorable memoirs. It is recommended for anyone who remembers Nick Kent, was listening to music in the seventies, or who has an interest in the period. The next stage will be to dig out his collected works - The Dark Stuff - which includes his seminal pieces on Nick Drake, Syd Barrett and Brian Wilson. That is what I intend to do imminently.

In Praise Of Labels

It was a ritual we used to go through, in the dim and distant past before the digital world began. When we wanted to purchase a song, we would go into a record shop, approach the counter and ask the shop assistant if they had a copy. A piece of circular black plastic, seven inches wide, with a hole in the middle would be handed over, in a paper sleeve. We would pay for it, examine it closely on the bus home, then put it on the stereo and play it. And then play the b side and play it again.

What might not have been appreciated, because it was so familiar, was the design classic that came along with the record. In the middle, was a label, which gave you the information about the song, the band, the composer, the length, the year and a host more information that now partly determines the value of these historical artifacts. All labels were not the same. They came in different colours. RCA was orange. Polydor was red. Mercury was black. Etcetera etcetera.

But those labels didn't just identify the record company. They effectively identified the band as well. When I started buying records, that orange RCA label was synonymous initially with The Sweet; Chinn/Chapman pop on the a side, with a hard rock b side. It was later usurped by the emergence of a certain Mr David Bowie (the sight of Rebel Rebel on original label still excites). Other bands had their own colours. The Faces were light green Warner Bros, Slade were red Polydor, and, before they adopted the apple, The Beatles were black Parlophone.

I remember going to a friend's house when I was very young and seeing a pile of records, with an empty Who's Next sleeve on the top. What really caught my eye was the record on the turntable, emblazoned with the legend "Track record". That logo was one of the coolest things I had ever seen. I wanted my own record with "Track record" on it. I was to own many later.

There were tribal loyalties associated with a record label. If you were a Jam fan, you were familiar with Polydor (they were the successors to Slade on that label). For The Clash it was CBS. And, if you had an array of records on Tamla Motown or (even cooler) Stax, it marked you out as a sweet soul music connoisseur, along with the Harrington jacket, Fred Perry and pair of sta prest you probably owned as well.

Some bands changed their labels. From the classic Fly of Electric Warrior, T Rex launched their own label, with a red silhouette of Marc Bolan and a blue background, one of the design classics of the era in my view. Similarly Led Zeppelin left Atlantic and launched Swan Song when they released Physical Graffiti. And the Stones left Decca in 1970 to form their own label on WEA and then EMI, giving a generation of second hand record buyers the thrill of finding early records like Satisfaction on blue Decca and the later material on the equally identifiable yellow label of their own imprint. I do love the design on the albums from Sticky Fingers onwards. All on the classic yellow label but with a different logo or typeset to identify the individual album.

But labels were initially experienced as a primarily singles phenomenon (largely because the financial income of the adolescent back then did not stretch to large numbers of albums) especially in the days before punk, when pic sleeves became the norm. In that sense, they were every bit as important as the sleeve design. The tribes that then made up youth culture could in part be defined by the labels on the records they bought. It is not too great an exaggeration to claim that, if your collection consisted mainly of records on Harvest or Chrysalis, you were a different social beast from those who owned primarily Trojan or Buddah. Of course, of you had records on a multitude of those labels, you were one of those rare beasts, a music lover with genuinely eclectic taste.

And the late seventies threw everything into the mix. Chris Blackwell's promotion of roots reggae on Island exposed a generation to new influences, the effect of which was hugely positive. Richard Branson was close behind on Virgin. Everyone should listen to The Front Line which was released in 1976. One if the greatest compilations ever made. From The Mighty Diamonds to The Gladiators and beyond.

Then came the independents, which introduced a new element. The likes of Rough Trade, Stiff and Small Wonder allowed a host of hitherto undiscovered bands to break through. Helped along the way by journalists at the NME and other clued up elements of the music press, along, in no small part, to the work of a certain John Peel.

It all got a bit messed up in the eighties when record companies seemed to want to have a unique design for certain records. And the emergence of cd ended the importance of the label. Perhaps the last label of the old kind in mass circulation was Creation.

There are of course identifiable imprints today. Acid Jazz is a classic example. That logo is as easily recognisable as Track records was and evokes a similar feeling. New labels, such as Heavy Soul, are also emerging.

But the days of owning a multitude of new records on readily identifiable labels have gone. It's a shame. There was a definite identification of the label and the loyalties evoked were tribal.

I love labels. I loved them when I first got into music all those years ago. I love them now, standing round and sorting through boxes in a dusty second hand record shop. I love the different colours, the information that is contained in them, the little bit of handwriting, often the name of the owner, that might have been added. I like to think of the hands they have passed through, from original sixties mods or hippies, to punks or indie kids, the social history that is etched on them. That they are the true artifacts of the age in which we grew up.

I love the feeling when you find something unexpected. Outside View by Eater. Eddie And The Hot Rods Live At The Marquee. A Small Faces French ep. It makes you keep looking for the holy grail. An original Zoot Suit/I Am The Face by The High Numbers. A copy of God Save The Queen on A&M that someone might just happen to have mislaid (some hope). An Ideal For Living by Joy Division. I've never found any of them and I'm never likely to. But it doesn't stop you looking, does it.

You just don't get that with a digital download.

Who

I love the opening line. "I don't care - I know you're gonna hate this song". It so antagonistic, so belligerent, so much like the old Who that we know and love. You might call them grumpy old men now. But when does that person emerge from the angry young man? Who knows, who cares. Whether its about the nature of rock music, online sharing or new bands ripping off their legends - "its not new, its not diverse" - what matters is that the attitude is still alive and kicking after all these years. Doctor Jimmy with a bus pass, if you like.

It arrived towards the end of last year. The first Who album since Endless Wire, the "best since Quadrophenia", according to Roger Daltrey. The first three tunes were released online in advance and they already felt strangely familiar, like they had seamlessly entered the Who canon of classic songs. All This Music Must Fade, Ball And Chain and the sublime I Don't Wanna Get Wise sounded reminiscent of elements of Who Are You, but brought up to date. There are power chords, strong vocals and lyrics that offer commentary on the bands career, put it in a contemporary context with observations on world issues. A live recording of Hero Ground Zero was also trailed online, to favourable comments, and the studio version sounded even better.

A few words on I Don't Wanna Get Wise. It is undoubtedly brilliant. One of Townshend's best tunes of the later era. Lyrically, it sounds ostensibly about Pete and Roger's, and by extension the band's, relationship and how that developed over the decades ("he was drunk, I was blind"...."those snotty young kids were a standing success"... and "we tried to stay young but the high notes were sung"). For Who fans, there are references to incidents that are familiar. But, like so many of Townshend's tunes from I Can't Explain onwards, it says more. In describing the particular, he inevitably encompasses the universal. How many other people could listen to these lyrics and see themselves in there? Everyone looks back. Everyone asks questions Everyone wonders. That's why it sends shivers. That's part of Pete's genius, why he's one of the greatest songwriters rock has ever produced.

Then there's Detour. On early listens, one of the standouts. When it came on the car stereo on my way home on the day of release, there was an irresistible urge to crank it up, let it blast out of the speakers at maximum volume. Its pure rocking, upfront Who, with a Bo Diddley flavour (hints of Magic Bus?), plenty of reverb and a quality bass line. Its a tune that screams to be turned up loud and comes complete with references to I Can't Explain and, in its title, the band's early incarnation. Easily one of my favourites on this record, one that I find I'm returning to often.

They have, of course, always had a softer side. And they're not afraid to slow it down, particularly on side two. I'll Be Back has a laid back jazz feel to it and, like many on the album, just sounds better every time you play it. Sung by Townshend, lyrically, its ostensibly about death. Or is it simply about a relationship returned to? "The time has come for us to see, if you'll take me back once again". Perhaps, like in many great songs, including others on this record, there's an ambiguity, its for the listener to take what they want from it. A similar observation can be made about She Rocked My World, which tells a wistful tale of a visit to the familiar territory of a home town - "old town's the same, but old friends are gone...who was that girl, pressed up against the wall" - and, in incorporating a scenario that is deeply personal, yet of universal experience, it has the short story quality of some of The Who's best work. But what was the narrator's relationship to the girl? Was she a long term lover? A one night stand that regrettably didn't go any further? Or did he love her from afar? Again, it's for the listener to decide.

Rockin' In Rage reflects the viewpoint of the more seasoned within society, the feeling of being increasingly out of touch, whether it be with social attitudes, politics or any other way the world is going. Street Song is a slow builder which opens side two and Break The News is a mid paced tune written by Pete's brother Simon Townshend.

There's a political aspect to some of the songs on this album. There's the aforementioned Ball and Chain and the excellent anti-war Beads On One String (a far cry from the "pretend you're in a war" sentiment of their early days). Then there is This Gun Will Misfire, one of the three bonus tracks on the deluxe version, and the concluding Danny And My Ponies, a touching protest against homelessness, very poignant at this point in history.

One revelation on the deluxe cd version of the album is one of the bonus tracks Got Nothing To Prove. It, is by all accounts, a demo from 1966 that starts with what sounds like a James Bond theme and then moves into a tune that wouldn't have been out of place on A Quick One. Lyrically, it puts me in mind of elements of Pet Sounds. How many more have you got tucked away Mr Townshend?

So, the best since Quadrophenia? That's quite a big claim given that the classic line up released two subsequent albums. You can never tell when an album's released just how great its legacy is going to be. But, having let its treasures settle, its definitely up there in the band's canon. It is undoubtedly the best since Who Are You, and possibly The Who By Numbers. Not bad for two blokes in their mid seventies over forty years later.

Whatever, as the album fades, there's an irresistible urge to start again with the opening of All This Music Must Fade and play it all again. To prove Pete wrong. No, we didn't hate this song, far from it in fact. We love it, like we did I Can't Explain, My Generation, Substitute and all the rest.
Come on, let's play it again.