M1-31 Sweetest Love...
OK, it wasn't really pouring (poetic license), just drizzling in the gloomy way English rain is prone to do in the Kent countryside where Ralph's noble mansion is situated. It seems he still lives and works there, judging by the trailer for "For No Good Reason" - the new film about Ralph featuring his pal Johnny Depp.I can't remember how I was able to get in contact with Ralph. Even in those primitive pre-internet days it is surprising what one could do and who one could meet if one put one's mind to it. I was a bit of a sneaky bugger, offering him a release of his (AFAIK) first-ever music recording, before daring to ask for an album cover too. All for free, due to the total lack of a budget. Ralph, being a gentleman as well as a lovable rebel, accepted my wretched pitch whole-heartedly, with majestic generosity. Well - he did say, "I suppose you want that for free, too?" When I pleaded that I was near-boracic (true) he agreed at once. Yet another fine example of a deeply talented artist rallying to the Miniatures cause, for which I am eternally grateful!Frankly, I would have been more than delighted with the slightest doodle from Ralph, dashed off in a second on a napkin or beer coaster. Such is the power of his individuality that it is vividly identifiable even in a single stroke of his vicious pen. I'd already had more than one letter from him, often with a little sketch added to his signature:
Imagine my surprise, then, when he unveiled, on the floor of the grand entrance hall of his mansion, the rich and complex cover you see on the Miniatures album - and in its original form, about three feet square, far bigger than needed. I was so gobsmacked that Iain McNay, Cherry Red Records boss, who had accompanied me on the visit, had to nudge me and say "Well aren't you going to say something?" I murmured a bumbling but heartfelt appreciation and asked how he had put his meisterwerk together.It was done on such a large scale because Ralph had decided to kick-start the design by climbing the grand staircase of his imposing entrance hall and dropping the contents of a bottle of blood-red ink onto the paper some 20 feet below. You can't just sit in front of an easel and meticulously paint explosive energy like that. It was more like the clanging opening chord of "A Hard Day's Night" - and I imagine it was quickly followed by a flurry of activity, pens flying through the air, and Ralph rifling through his undoubtedly huge, chaotic archive of newspaper cuttings, old photos, books, newspapers, etc., to come up with the amazing collage on the right, a marvellous visual equivalent of the cornucopia of musical styles to be found on this album (I wonder what you think of that, Peter Blake?).There's even a Kurt Schwitters-style dadaist poem in the middle of the collage (and a real Schwitters poem on the album - which Ralph didn't yet know about - by the great George Melly). I think Ralph may have this written himself (Google didn't bring up any other source, even though MERZ was a label Kurt often used to categorise his visual works). This is a poem obviously meant to be read out loud, and I mean LOUD:"...ant a lollypopt is dead MERZ i want a poppylol art is dead MERZ i want a popidoll art is dead MERZ i want a dollypop art is DEAD MERZ i want a dollilol art is DEAD MERZ i want a loll art is DEAD MERZ i DEAD MERZ DEAD MERZ DADA DAD AAD DEAD A MERZ MERZ DA DEAD A DADA (etc., etc., ) John Sharkey - "The last few lines have been "crossed out" in bright red ink, a brilliant move, making a connection with the livid red of the huge ear on the left. And the red had to be just right - proofs were sent to Ralph for his approval. (Note - Miniatures will be reissued later this year as an LP, so proofs will be flying Ralph's way again). And I love the way the horizontal lines on the left place the head in a deep surrealist mindscape, receding into the far distance - like images I had long wondered at in in Dali or Yellow Submarine.Back to the music... Ralph, as described on the original LP cover, started out by accompanying himself on an acoustic guitar, very nicely too, I was impressed to discover. "Sorry the birds are a bit noisy today," he said after the first run-through. "No problem," says I, "why don't we open the window so we can hear them even better?" I thought it might add a nice drop of verité to the recording (you can hear how gung-ho the birds were, in the closing seconds of the song). Ralph at once doffs his guitar, heads to the window (which is probably some hundreds of years old) and opens it, however it doesn't stay open. The aging sash cord gives way and the heavy wood-framed window crashes down on his finger, almost breaking off a nail. This would, of course, have be a finger on his left hand, which he uses to fret the guitar. If it had been on his right, he could probably have used another finger or thumb and we'd still have guitar on this track.Off he goes to the bathroom, and returns with a large plaster (band aid) on the injured digit. "Right, let's have another go," says he, staunchly. But after getting halfway through the song, the amount of blood on the guitar (and the occasional groan from Ralph) indicates that perhaps it's time to stop. Spotting a nice antique harmonium in the corner, I offer to accompany him on that. Ralph agrees, and in the interests of the "audio verité" that had already shed blood (red seems to be an ongoing theme in this blog post) we drag the harmonium into the garden and record the song there, under the light but refreshing Maidstone rain. Job done! Iain and I drive back to London delighted with the visit and leave Ralph to nurse his poor fretting finger.The only time I met Ralph after that was soon after, in a pub in Covent Garden, to finalise the cover and enjoy a beer or three. When we reconnected by email several years ago, his reply started "Morgan, Morgan, Morgan!!!" so I guessed he was in fine fettle as usual, adding fizz to the email similar to the way he used to sign letters with a pen in the days before the internet - with gentlemanly grace, generosity and a wild flair that is unique to this treasure among great British artists. An honour to have worked with you, sir - and THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for this brilliant, classic album cover! It does not belong in the paltry confines of a CD, so I am thrilled about the forthcoming LP re-issue (more on that later).Many more album covers have been graced with the slashing hand of Ralph. I am delighted that Miniatures has a place in this gallery along with the likes of F.Zappa, L. Driscoll, J. Arlott, The Who and V. Stanshall! Even Slash himself owns a fabulous guitar graced by the slashing hand of Ralph!Ralph's musical career has of course blossomed since that early first (AFAIK) attempt. In 1998 EMI Records released an album he called "I Like It" which contains 13 tracks by his favourite artists from Spike Jones to Haydn. A 14th track is himself singing the same song as the above Miniatures track (a full-length re-recording, I am guessing). A 15th and far more feisty track called "Weird and Twisted Nights" he sang and co-wrote with his compadre Hunter S. Thomson - it was later included in the film "Gonzo - the life and work of Hunter S Thompson." In 2006 he sang the closing song on a fine album of sea shanties (accompanied by Robyn Hitchcock, Kate St. John and Andy Newmark and others - also on the album were the likes of Nick Cave, Bono, Richard Thompson, Bill Frisell, Lou Reed and Van Dyke Parks). If anyone knows of more Ralph recordings, please post a comment! I will detain you no longer, for Ralph has his own lavishly-illustrated biography for you to enjoy online, right 'ere (even though the Miniatures cover boasts a left ear).Next up: Sanity, Madness and the Piano...Read/Leave Comment
M1-30 Simon Desorgher
M1-30 Tetrad
The delightfully curvaceous flute image that Simon provided for the Miniatures poster impressed me greatly at the time, as I presume it must have been hand-drawn, rather than distorted instantly with a flick of a (PhotoShop) wrist, as one could so easily do now. This is where the early days of pioneering techniques - in music as well as graphics - are for me so endearing, as they involved no little sweat, time, intelligence and sheer effort. Simon literally put his breath into creating advanced playing techniques and brave new soundworlds (I've always been a little envious of wind players, because all keyboard players have to do, like computer operators, is basically sit and push keys and buttons). After Quentin Crisp's request to basically Stop All Music, this track seemed the ideal one to follow, as with it's looooong fade-in, it seems to tiptoe slowly in through the back door, masquerading as the cries of some exotic birds. Maybe Quentin would not realise it was music, and then the door would once again be open so we could carry on and finish the album.Sampling has come into the picture now - a far more flexible system than the old days of playing over backing tapes. In this 2009 live video, Simon (looking virtually the same as he did when we met some 35 years ago) not only samples and loops his live playing, but controls the results by bird-like movements of his arms, to which sensors are attached. All very high-tech and digital, but at the same time organic, a fine balance indeed. Like Robert Fripp's thin liquid guitar sound, Simon's flute is an ideal source for building up multilayered soundscapes without little risk of them getting too heavy and sonically unwieldy.Like any creative musician, Simon has a fine eye for colour, too. In recent years (actually since 1970) he has been involved, as both player and creative director, with Colourscape - remarkable immersive environments for children of all ages, in the form of brightly-coloured inflatable domes, tubes and other interconnected shapes one can walk through (and of course, play in). As the other slides viewable via the previous link show, he has also played his flute while hanging inside a large inflatable sphere floating along the River Thames. Here he is at it again in Finland. Not for Simon the cozy enclaves of the average concert hall!By 2011 (says Wiki) there were six Colourscapes in existence, doing the rounds of schools, fairs, art festivals and so on. Rather in the spirit of Cirque du Soleil (before their descent into commerciality and big business) and also akin to the sadly unfulfilled dream that Ronnie Lane of the Faces had, of a travelling rock'n'roll circus, which he called "The Passing Show." Inevitably the Colourscape concept has attracted the attention of other fine musicians, particularly those into the art of free improvising. A few years ago Simon, along with sound processing whizz Lawrence Casserley, his creative partner since the early days in London, released "Music from ColourDome" - a CD of some of the music they performed live inside those multi-hued womblike inflatables. Their very special guests include Evan Parker (soprano sax), David Stevens (computer processing) and Phillipp Wachsmann (violin - presumably watching very carefully where he pokes his bow).Watch this last link for news of Colourscape rolling into your town!Next up: Sweetest song from our esteemed cover artiste...Read/Leave Comment
M1-29 Quentin Crisp
M1-29 Stop the Music for a Minute
Mr. Denis Charles Pratt, later to festoon himself with the glorious name by which he is notorious, was dragged into the world on 25 December 1908 – so the timing of his birthday is very good for this blog post - but very bad for anyone who (like me, born Jan. 1) would prefer to receive separate Christmas and birthday presents. The gruesome annual ritual of witnessing the inanely grinning face of an allegedly kindly aunt or uncle bearing down on one, saying, "Merry Christmas young man - here is your Christmas AND birthday present" is one which could cause an infantile trauma severe enough to last a lifetime - or at least catapult one into the entertainment biz, where we both seem to have ended up. Children are NOT capable of mentally combining the two celebrations into one. It should be TWO presents. Always, and for everyone.Quentin Crisp's Wiki entry describes him as "an English writer and raconteur" - a description which may be the truth but is a major understatement. The man was an oracle, continuously dispensing a river of wisdom, compassion and humour, known by some as Crisperanto. Those who love Oscar Wilde will understand. For all of us who are struggling to maintain our dignity and individuality in a cold, uncaring world, all his books are worth reading, his CD (including my extended interview with him) worth listening to, and most of the films about or featuring him well worth watching. Sting was a fan too, and had him appear in the video for the song which he wrote about him, "An Englishman in New York".Old school courtesy was Quentin's way of holding the heartless world at arm's length, and he carried it off better than anyone I have ever met. Everyone was Mr, Miss or Mrs Someone - even Mr God. Neil Hornick of the Phantom Captain theatre group (also on Miniatures, see earlier blog) kindly gave me his address. As with all the Miniatures artists, I sent QC a 1-minute reel of blank tape along with his invitation to join the project. A completely unnecessary gesture but - like this blog - unnecessary gestures are part, sometimes a big part, of a creative life, right? Here is how he replied - my first contact with the legend, type-written in penury on a small scrap of paper and signed with a flourish (click to enlarge):
He needed little persuasion to join the project, especially when promised that his hatred of music would be the focus. During my visit to his dusty digs in a tattier part of Chelsea, I took these photographs of him, a spry yet sphinx-like 71-years-young , utterly confident professional poser (click to enlarge):
And now at this Christmas time, dear friends, neutrals and sworn enemies, I link you to Quentin's wise words on how to avoid the insincere scramble that is the modern Yuletide mêlée. He passed away quietly, alone in a bedroom at night, in the little suburb of Chorlton-cum-Hardy in Manchester, scant weeks before having to endure the horror of his 91st Christmas. To sum up how this man of a thousand memorable quotes spent his life, I love to repeat a tale he tells of riding in a New York taxi. The typically chatty driver looked at this marvellous, dyed, made-up wraith and asked, "So, what's your line of business?" to which QC proudly answered, "I... am in the profession of Being."...to which the cabbie replied, "I do a bit of that in my spare time."To end, here are my sleeve notes from 2007, detailing my visit to Mr. Crisp's residence in order to magnetically immortalise his dulcet tones of distaste for music, for the aforementioned CD, "An Evening With - The Naked Civil Servant - Quentin Crisp." Merry Crispmas!!!
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June 6th, 1980 was an ordinary summer day in London, except that it wasn’t, for I had made an afternoon appointment to visit the Chelsea flat of a person who would be called, in my current home country of Japan, a “Living National Treasure”. Such a distinguished (and financially supported) category of person does not, to my knowledge, exist in England. No matter - Mr. Quentin Crisp had already, in his colourful autobiography “The Naked Civil Servant”, proudly declared: “I am one of the stately homos of England”.It was with anticipation mixed with apprehension that I approached his front door (seedy yet stylish, as is the way in Chelsea), for I knew this to be a flat whose tenant claimed that he had never cleaned in the forty years he had been residing there. The purpose of my visit was to record Mr. Crisp reciting one of his witty commentaries for an album I was producing, which was to include 51 pieces of (mostly) music, each no longer than a minute. We had agreed (with not a little glee) that it would be ideal for him to read a piece in which he described his loathing of all music - “Stop the Music for a Minute”.Mr. Crisp, immaculately dressed as always, opened the door with a hearty “Good afternoon!” and courteously motioned me to follow him up the stairs. The light grew dimmer and dimmer, and eventually I found myself in a small parlour with a few ramshackle chairs, the odd rickety table and fraying lamp shade, and books piled up everywhere. Mr. Crisp arranged a moth-eaten woollen shawl over one armchair, saying, “Do sit down - would you care for something to drink?” As he busied himself in the kitchen preparing orange juice and digestive biscuits, I realised that my fears had been unfounded and that, far from being the pungent place I had been expecting, the flat was a tranquil, homely environment where the sounds of our voices were muted by the antique, odourless dust rising in waves towards the corners of the room - an ideal room, in fact, in which to make a recording.After expertly reciting his piece twice (a little faster the second time, so as to finish it within the time limit of one minute - exactly, as it turned out) I settled down to my juice and biscuits, and we eased into the (for me) eye-opening conversation which you can now hear on this CD. As luck would have it, I enjoyed the biscuits so much that I completely forgot to turn off the tape recorder...Not being (as far as he was aware) on public display, Mr. Crisp was not in “smiling and waving” mode, dispensing those well-known witticisms which we all know and love. Instead, he was in a nonchalant, at-home mood, sparkling with perceptive comments and delightful anecdotes. The surprise phone call that interrupted our chat led him off on a hilarious tangent, where he revealed his (quite understandable) feelings about those slightly misguided folk who saw him as their personal guru, on call round the clock for advice and emotional rescue. Perhaps of special interest (particularly for listeners in the USA) will be his closing comments on his possibly imminent move to New York: this conversation ends optimistically with Mr. Crisp teetering on the brink of the Atlantic.As this recording was made prior to the digital era, there are some slight but unavoidable deficiencies in the sound. However, as a documentary of a gentleman uniquely at peace with himself and a sometimes harsh world, I think the odd coughs, chair scrapes and traffic noises are nicely evocative. On hearing this conversation decades after that quiet sunny afternoon in Chelsea, I was touched by the wisdom and insight he so generously and spontaneously offered to a complete stranger. It was an honour and a delight to have been there, and I am very grateful to be able, with the kind support of Cherry Red Records, to share this with you.
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Next up: Desorgher-ly use of a flute...Read/Leave Comment
M1-28 Alejandro Viñao
M1-28 An Imaginary Orchestrina
That electroacoustic music concert in a church (somewhere in North London in 1979) was amazingly well-attended; as well as Ron Geesin and of course Alejandro being there, two other stars in the electronic music firmament were present and sparkling. One was a very smart young guy from the Fairlight company (probably Kim Ryrie, one of the two Australian founders), makers of one of the first, and most expensive samplers. He always carried a cool red attaché case such as you might buy now in Shibuya's amazing Tokyu Hands, so I could spot him a mile off. The other luminary was a man destined to become a Miniatures 2 artist - John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin. I was impressed to see this rock legend showing so much interest in the cutting-edge technology and music that was on display at this event. Of course Mr. Jones continues his interest to this day, with his recent use of the ultimate software synth/audio processor, the extraordinary Kyma system.Like several other artists on Miniatures, this was Alejandro's first publicly released work, in spite of the fact that he had already reached a very high level in composition and sound design. Since then, his biography indicates his ongoing progression to higher and higher levels, with various awards such as a Guggenheim Fellowship and numerous composition prizes. With his technical prowess I can imagine that he took to the IRCAM electronic music studio like a duck to water. Quite different to the less-electronic-minded John Cage, who felt intimidated by the amount of equipment in the studio, and dealt with his anxiety by simply taking a sheet of paper and a pencil, and drawing a picture of it. This forbidding high-tech installation then became a toy, something to play with. I tried this drawing approach myself once after installing my first home studio in Tokyo - it really works.Alejandro's sound world has Argentinian warmth and passion, with its strong use of vocal elements, breath sounds, wind instruments, and resonant percussion sounds such as marimba, often transformed organically by the most sophisticated electronic means available. On that day back in 1979 I could hear the expansive, epic quality of his work, as well as the humanity and approachability of it. He did not breath the icy, elite air that blows around the tops of the ivory towers of such as Boulez, Xenakis, Stockhausen. There always seems to be an inviting, incantatory quality at the core of his works. It never feels cluttered; I think this clarity comes from the time when he created such music by cutting and splicing innumerable pieces of audio tape, in the process of which he actually got to hold each individual sound in his hand. Now, with software and hardware synths, it is so easy to press a few buttons and create complex layers of sound, then layer them even further through multi-tracking, with the risk of filling every little gap in the soundscape. In Alejandro's music, however, there is space and clarity - somewhat like a Venetian blind or lattice with warm sunlight beaming through it (I came up with this image before knowing that Alejandro has just such an image on his website).For the poster included with the Miniatures LP, I needed a graphic designer who could put together a fairly complex design featuring artworks supplied by all the 51 artists, including Alejandro's Rorschach-style image. (These days I could do it myself in no time, with Photoshop, but in those days it required real skills at layout, and real paste for pasting!) Alejandro said he had a friend who could do the job. A few days later Horacio Monteverde, a friendly bearded chap wearing full motorbike gear, climbed the stairs to my studio, and right away came up with a simple, effective idea. The poster would be laid out like a chess board, 8x8, with an artwork in each square. It worked just fine, and the empty squares formed part of its classy black background. The other side of the poster was a Sniffin' Glue (punk magazine) style mess thrown together by yours truly from letters and other material I'd received from the artists. You can download the poster here.In recent years Alejandro has been writing frequently for tuned percussion, where his long experience of creating electronic music has certainly influenced the cyclic quality of the melodies, the sudden dynamic changes and fluid phrasing. A sensuous and always attractive, entrancing world of sound. See this page for many more samples of his gorgeous work!Next up: the profession of Being.Read/Leave Comment
M1-27 Ron Geesin
M1-27 Enterbrain Exit
Gone Reason - that's what we used to call Ron Geesin, me and my pals in Mott (especially Overend Watts), mad as we were for Spoonerisms (the Wiki page on this subject will have you laughing out loud as you read it - if you value your computer's screen, do not drink anything while doing so!). Life on the road *does* drive you crazy - those long boring journeys in vans, taxis, buses, and planes, between the massive highs of great gigs, bring out the unique zany humour of most bands. So in Mott, we would go Shawn Popping, avoid women if they were Blither Woke, or share our homemade recordings even if they were Denly an Omo, or Tame Hopes. And in a kind of double Spoonerism, when making an album we would studiously listen to the Winwood Brians (= Muff Rixes).Ron's reason isn't really Gone, but he has a wonderfully original way of looking at the world. In a solo show I saw him perform in a room above a pub in North London in about 1980, he spent the first five minutes standing on a chair trying to rub the shadow of a chandelier off the flock wallpaper on the back wall of the stage. Then into a dazzling, lunatic show with explosive playing on banjo, on piano, and on any object he fancied, interspersed with jokes, poems, anecdotes, delivered in his rapid-fire Scots brogue. Marvellous. Ron describes people's views of the world as (and I paraphrase) - like a vast 3D matrix of boiled eggs cut through at different angles. You see different amounts of yolk, or none at all (yes, some people just don't get the yolk - Ed.).Always a fringe genius, ploughing his own left field in the general scheme of things, Ron's lateral musical thinking brought new textures to as major a band as Pink Floyd, who were fans of his (as they were of Ivor Cutler, another Miniatures artist - whose lounge at home, by the way, contained a number of pieces of ivory cutlery, intended as a pun on his name). He not only transformed "Atom Heart Mother" dramatically with his extraordinary brass and choir arrangements (in similar fashion to the way George Martin did with, say, "Strawberry Fields Forever"), he also added his truly manic Scottish raving (actually he didn't - see Ron's comment - Ed.) to their "Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving with a Pict" (his presumably off-the-cuff lyrics of this rant are online, inexplicably ending with a quote from one of Jimi Hendrix's most beautiful singles). Then there was "The Body" (1971), a proper collaboration this time, with Floyd's Roger Waters, creating the soundtrack for a remarkable film, the music ranging from the expected eccentricity and whacky sound design to tranquil ballads and modern-classical etudes. I guess it was the first time I had seen group nudity of a non-sexual kind in a film, in the extraordinarily moving sequence that slowly tracks from a newly-born babe all through the ages ending at a very, very old man. I freely give the youtube link to the full film as it is, disgracefully, still not out on DVD. Fortunately, the soundtrack is out on CD.Then there was Bridget. Bridget St. John's album "Songs for the Gentle Man" has some of the loveliest arrangements I have ever heard on a singer-songwriter's album (another was James Taylor's debut album). It was a magic time when delicate, colourful chamber music arrangements were filling the air (at least in my bedroom), from records by The Beatles, Donovan, and so on. Ron, without a lot of formal training, but a great ear and a sheer love of sonic beauty, as an arranger is up there with the best of them. Now, with that Bridget link, we have finally entered Ron's website, a treasure trove of creativity. "Composer, performer, sound architect, interactive designer, broadcaster, writer and lecturer" it says. He missed out poet, comedian, arranger, and expert collector of numerous adjustable wrenches.Ron's latest album is "Roncycle1: The Journey of a Melody." 25 (!) years in the making, it is a powerful, dense, sometimes dark musical experience that as well as Floyd lovers, might appeal to those enamoured of Scott Walker's recent output (but with less of the relentless gloom). In all likelihood Ron, a Scot rather than a Scott, has had a family life that has been a great support to him, and with that in mind he has named his house and studio in the country - Headrest. His son Joe is a noted music journalist, and his other two sons Dan and Fraser are fine musicians and have produced an album deftly titled "Music by Post."As the opening track of side 2 of the original Miniatures LP, Ron's "Enterbrain Exit" was magnificent, perfect. People ask me if it was a hellish task trying to sort out the running order of 51 tracks. Well, it took about 3 hours and 51 little bits of paper with titles on them, moved around on my bedsit carpet. The task was made a lot easier by tracks like Ron's that fairly leapt off the carpet at me saying "I need to go HERE!" Ron's music and words summed up what this whole mad album was about. Here's what Ron recites in his musical diptych:(first half, over rousingly powerful modern synth chords)WE ARE INTERESTED, STIMULATED, ENTERTAINED AND AMUSEDBY SEEING HOW NEW PATTERNS ARE CREATEDBOTH RHYTHMICA-CA-CA-CA-CALLYAND COUNTER-TER-TER-TER-TERPOINTEDLYBY PLACING NEW MATTER OVER OLDALSO...(second half, a rapturous kind of 1920's circus banjo orchestra)It feels delightfully appropriate to upload this blog post on the day that President Obama got re-elected, and hope and positivity is in the air. Ron is a true original, a shining human, a restless, quivering roving mind combined with real craftsmanship. I have sung his praises today - now I rest my case. And my head. And wonder with bated breath what his next extraordinary piece of music/writing/art/adjustable wrench will be...*Late Addition* - here's a rare and wonderful 1962 film of one of Ron's first bands - the Original Downtown Syncopators, travelling the land in their custom van (complete with kitchen) and doing a hot gig for some cool beatniks.Next up: IRCAM's something to knock your socks off.Read/Leave Comment
M1-26 Phantom Captain
M1-26 Breather
Collaborations. I was kind of hoping that lots of them might happen after the release of Miniatures as the participating artists discovered that they mutually admired each others' work. Well, the only one I can be sure that really did happen was - The Penguin Cafe Orchestra with the Phantom Captain theatre group (how very PC!). It was in a record shop in Oxford Street - probably HMV (which 30 years on is the shooting location for hundreds of shockingly bad videos of pop stars doing promo gigs). Unfortunately I was not able to watch it but remember dropping by the soundcheck to wish them a good show. PCO leader Simon Jeffes adored the Phantom Captain track - or maybe it was just their initials? PCO plus PC? Anyway, I can see their quiet, classy British kind of anarchy working very well together.Neil Hornick, the PC leader, is a committed, almost obsessive theatre-goer, actor, performance artist, archivist, literary consultant, and pacifist writer. Actually I was not sure exactly what he did, or does, but kind of felt good that he was doing something, and provided him with a very small soap box on which to do it. So small that he only had room to stand on one foot and would doubtless, like all the others, fall off within a minute or so. Anyway, more than anyone I knew, he, for sure, knew the pleasures of the Interval, an integral part of the theatre-goers' life. That short moment in time when one is in a kind of limbo, much as on an international flight, suspended somewhere between the fantasy being enacted on stage and the grim reality of the world outside. And one is only granted just about the amount of time you need to: frantically make for the bar/along with the seething hordes/bleatingly attempt to order a restorer/and if successful/gulp it down in one/while snottily critiquing the first act/then immediately join the queue/at the loo/to avoid having to make an embarrassing exit/during Act 2/phew! We agreed that this sometimes hysterically enervating experience would form the basis of his Miniature and that it would be strategically placed, of course, at the end of side A of the LP.Myself and the benign owner of Cherry Red Records, Iain McNay, regularly gathered at a local wine bar in Notting Hill during the long process of making Miniatures. Almost always, and with much relish, our conversation eventually focussed on a plan, or maybe just a dream, Iain had of creating a kind of alternative restaurant. In the restaurant (which I suggested be called The Red Pipe, from Cherry Red Records plus Pipe Records - the sublabel I had created in order to release Miniatures - oh, and the eatery must have a Magritte-ish pipe as a logo), strange goings on would happen to humorously shift people's view of "reality." Guest maitre d's (such as John Cleese or Miniatures artist Ken Ellis) would cause chaos by cleverly messing with customers' minds; velvet-lined niches in the wall would display, not art or precious objects, but rusting, fetid trash; and all the waiters and waitresses would be performance artists who would spontaneously burst into song or dance, but also add to the quiet mayhem and mindbending by repeatedly doing simple but possibly infuriating things such as placing your fork on the table with the tines pointing towards you. Sadly, although Iain, as always, followed through on his dream, and located a venue for this grand plan, the chef he had found (very talented - we insisted on the best gourmet organic food) suddenly gave up the idea and headed to an ashram in India. A suitable replacement could not be found and so the project floundered and sank without trace.I mention all this because in this description of a 1978 film made about Phantom Captain is a work titled "Waiter Service" which shows affinities to the gentle havoc hinted at in the previous paragraph. The Phantoms would have been an ideal "act" to infiltrate into the Red Pipe as staff. They certainly looked the part, when they showed up at the Miniatures launch party and, for the first time, met Simon Jeffes (standing left) [click to enlarge]:
Golders Green, in North London, is renowned for a healthy proportion of Jewish folk, a famous crematorium where numerous celebrities were bid farewell, and the Hippodrome theatre, where in 1969 I played with my band Love Affair on a kids' television show called Crackerjack, while genial co-host Whally Whyton dealt with his drearily repetitive TV role by sucking on a spliff in the wings. Neil Hornick and his wife lived - and still live in - an apartment close to the 'Drome. I spent several entertaining evenings there with much good food and wine and talk, and somehow felt I was in some Eastern European city where the hospitality was of a warmer, more robust nature than one generally finds in England. Theatre folk sometimes give that impression - Neill certainly did - and jolly nice it was too. Neil's partner in crime, a fellow captain if you like, had a very different, but equally endearing personality.Joel Cutrara, a very American man, had a craggy gangsterish face plus a rich low narrator-ish voice that indicated he could do well in movies. A few years after Miniatures he did indeed get some plum, if small roles. Starting off as "Policeman #11" in "Ragtime" (1985, starring James Cagney) he continued with an insignificant part in "Insignificance," Nicolas Roeg's still astonishing film where a Marilyn Monroe lookalike explains the Theory of Relativity to an Einstein lookalike. Joel found himself playing the role of "bar drunk" with, sat on the next bar stool, none other than Tony Curtis, with whom he exchanged a few depressing words I often wonder how it is to be in a movie for just a few seconds, next to some Hollywood legend. Rubbing shoulders briefly with greatness, then back to your sad little bedsit. Rather as if I went into a studio to add a single piano note to an epic by, say, The Who. Actually I almost did that - around the time of Tommy I went to The Who's Ramport studio and was impressed by their massive Bösendorfer piano which had nine extra bass keys, painted black - I touched one. Ken Russell was in the studio and was equally impressed. (I am now even more impressed, because these days they make grand pianos that record). I liked Joel and invited him to write and read a surreal Christmas monologue on my art-punk Christmas album, "Claws," released the same year as Miniatures.Latest sighting of the Captain is Neil's participation (here seen opening the door) in Anna Chen's steampunk extravaganza at the Greenwich National Maritime Museum in February 2012. I was chuffed to notice supremo rock journalist Charles Shaar Murray (who was often sighted at Mott gigs) riffing in the background. More info on Chen here - but be warned, the text is so dark, as is the background, that it cannot be read unless you highlight it. Sort of sums up the PC's approach to revealing the quirkier underlying layers of the human condition...Oh alright, here's Neil and his steampunk monologue on a nice yellow background.We are now half way through Miniatures 1. Time for a quick one....Next up: gone reasonRead/Leave Comment
M1-25 Andy Partridge (XTC)
M1-25 The History of Rock'n'Roll
It was in the Marquee Club toilet that I first saw it, in May 1977, having just played a steaming gig at this legendary club with Wayne County and the Electric Chairs (during the first song of which I sacrificed a rather nice Dutch cigar, lit, by hurling it at a bunch of punks who were gobbing at me; it worked). It was the pithiest self-promotion graffiti I've ever seen. Just seven letters was all it took to write the identity of the band, followed by two "words" that nicely summed up their attitude. Almost overnight, they would make a name for themselves and be wowing people all over the country, live, on radio, and on TV. At that pungent moment, however, it was just a weird, enigmatic scrawl amid the pornographic doodlings and pitifully hopeful band names all over that toilet wall (admittedly, not quite as high on the gross meter as CBGB's toilet). As I drove home to Acton that night, those seven letters danced in my head and I resolved to find out who the hell they referred to:XTC RNRGA quick walk round to the Rough Trade record shop and the bloke behind the counter told me of this little band from Swindon who were getting a bit of a rep. And no, they weren't called Ecstasy, they really were called XTC, and already had a reputation for high energy combined, unlike most punk-era bands, with fine musicianship. Within a few months I would get to see their first gig at the Marquee. Of course what grabbed me most about them was - they had an organist! Since the punk rock scene had exploded one long, noise-filled year before, and I had been frequenting various dives such as the Roxy (where the odd Zeppelin member could be seen skulking in a dark corner, checking out the opposition), I hadn't seen a single keyboard player. Ah, no wonder the punks had gobbed on me when I played with Wayne. Keyboard player = old fart!Not this keyboard player. Barry Andrews was as skinny as a rake and so was the sound of his stripped-down Yamaha YC-20 organ, which cut through the guitar/bass/drum wall like a dentists drill. What was even cooler was that within a couple of years he skipped XTC to join Robert Fripp's band, The League of Gentlemen (see previous blog).XTC's first single, "Statue of Liberty" was (laughably) banned by BBC Radio because of one line: "in my fantasy I sail beneath your skirt" which some bod at the Beeb thought was too rude to be broadcast. Hopefully this ban was well-publicised in the music press, resulting in more sales to those intrigued as to why it was banned, the said idiotic ban thus having, as usual, the reverse effect.Pithily-titled albums followed in quick succession: "White Music," "Go 2," and "Drums and Wires," all with arty, minimal covers, none of them exactly crashing into the charts, but selling respectably enough for the band to keep going. Their sound became less dentist-drillish and more rock, with the addition of new keyboardist/guitarist Dave Gregory and producer Steve Lillywhite, CBE (later of U2/Stones/Beady Eye fame).A fascinating tangential release was "Take Away/The Lure of Salvage" (1980) by one "Mr. Partridge." It consisted of dub-style deconstructions of various XTC tracks, and I was encouraged by this discovery that white guys can do dub too (having been marvelling at the black dub I often heard between sets by punk bands at the Roxy and elsewhere). I felt confident that Andy would come up with a fine creative miniature, and duly posted him an invitation."Come to the Townhouse" came the reply, not long after. XTC were at this brand new, state-of-the-art studio in West London, working on their new album. Andy studied me through his owlish spectacles as I listened to the track for the first time and reacted with the words, "now that really is a miniature!" - for he had made almost the shortest track (a hair under 20 seconds - only beaten by Joseph Racaille's 14-second epic). Pithy was still the rule, it seemed, and Andy had reviewed the first 40 years of Rock'n'Roll, taken the pith out of it (pun intended) and presented it as this little bonsai of a lecture.The artwork he later sent in for the Miniatures poster epitomised his "Lure of Salvage" approach. It was the back of a cereal packet, with a cutout head of a hippo on it (collect the set! Lion, tiger, zebra, giraffe, elephant, buffalo…). Andy probably did, and perhaps they are now lined up on top of the console in his home studio - like REM's Peter Buck and the dinosaur collection he sets up onstage at every gig - the kind of quirk that indicate a finely-tuned mind and a nicely childlike approach to life and music). The tidy handwriting on the packet indicates "the first 40 years". Will 2020 be the time to summarise the next 40?He certainly nailed it with his potted history of R'n'R: a slap-echo Elvis groan for the 50's, noodling fuzz guitar for the 60's, stadium rock guitar chords for the 70's, and an in-your-face analog synth for the 80's. One wonders what he would have come up with for the 90's, 00's and now the 10's? (feel free to enter your suggestions in the Comments section!)I've only ever had serious stage fright once; it was crippling, terrifying, to feel that, minutes before a show, my mind was a complete blank - I had no idea how I'd remember what to play. I literally went white and trembled as if I was standing precipitously at the very edge of Beachy Head. Somehow I gritted my teeth and got out there and it all came back. I still don't know why it happened. It's not uncommon - for example it ruined the performing career of Paul Ryan. The pressure of fame was too much so he stayed at home and instead, wrote brilliant, massive hits for his brother Barry. With Andy Partridge, one night in 1982 he had an attack of nerves before a show at the Hollywood Palladium, cancelled the performance, and has never set foot on stage since (except for one show shortly after). Apparently it was due to his wife having thrown away his supply of Valium. According to the band's biography, he had been dependent on the drug for 13 years, since the time he was 16 and his parents went through a divorce. (Please forgive me if there are any inaccuracies in this account).How sad that music on its own may not have been enough to nourish him, as it was for me. My parents also divorced when I was 16. However, I wasn't prescribed Valium until 1977 after 9 straight years of the over-indulgent rock'n'roll life had resulted in some depression, insomnia, lethargy. I floated around on the little yellow pills for three months then thought, this is ridiculous, and an abrupt lifestyle change to include acupuncture, meditation and organic veggie food (regular delicious visits to Cranks) had me, within weeks, feeling better than I ever had since I turned pro. I sincerely hope Andy is no longer dependent on anything except cutting out animal's heads from cereal packets. Even without performing live, he certainly has maintained a brilliantly inventive career, expanding into acting, talk shows and book writing. Artists he has worked with as collaborator, producer, composer include Robyn Hitchcock, Harold Budd, The Residents, Blur... He even wrote four songs for a Disney film (business difficulties stiffed the project) and was approached for a possible collaboration with Brian Wilson - another introverted genius. Lately he has has been courageously dealing with the problem of tinnitus (I feel very fortunate that I don't have it, just some loss in the high frequencies - surely Mott were at least as loud as XTC?). I am sure much more music is to come from the versatile Mr. Partridge.
And I'd be fascinated to hear what musical one-liners he'd come up with to symbolise the three decades that have elapsed since his miniature - he still has 40 seconds free on the slate.Next up: time for a quick one.Read/Leave Comment
M1-24 Robert Fripp
M1-24 Miniature
"Fripp!!!" (which is how Robert has been known to answer the telephone) stands out in the music world as an utterly unique player and thinker - that much was obvious right from the opening riff of the first album by King Crimson. That album - a fucking stunning debut - exploded out of nowhere in 1969 (well actually, out of the rather twee efforts of Giles, Giles and Fripp) and contained some of the most violent, and serene, music I'd ever heard. Currently, Robert documents his daily life and career in meticulous (one could say interminable - I think he is doing it for his own discipline, but who really wants to read all that?) detail at DGM Live. Writer Eric Tamm has also written extensively about him for all to read online. I think for this blog, I will simply list the instances I can remember where I met him or was affected by him and his work.First KC live show I saw: Marquee Club, summer of 1969, when they were playing there every week. The famed Marquee in London's Wardour Street was actually a modest-sized club, dark, dank, hot and sweaty, but seeing KC perform, with a few rudimentary lighting gimmicks (simulated flames, and a strobe) and Ian McDonald ecstatically playing his Mellotron, transformed it into a vast temple of music which left me utterly gobsmacked. Prog rock beckoned to me - but not the prog of difficult time-signatures and cosmic lyrics - the prog of symphonic glory, of divine inspiration - but not pompous. There was always that edge to KC (they inspired the likes of Public Image Ltd.), and some ethereally beautiful moments too. The lyrics got a bit airy-fairy on occasion - sometimes I thought Fripp doesn't give a fig for the lyrics, as long as there's someone around to do the job. That someone, Pete Sinfield, eventually had to leave the KC fold, and went on to write for Celine Dion, Cliff Richard and Bucks Fizz. Life's funny that way.They were playing football in a car park behind a London theatre where they were to play that evening, the next time I saw KC. Naively I thought this was out of character for prog-rockers of great virtuosity. It was 1971, and they were into their second line-up, so among the rowdy, laughing soccer players was their bassist/singer Boz Burrell. I would meet Boz about 3 years later under vastly different (and for him, vastly preferable) circumstances, when he formed Bad Company with my then flatmate and (soon to be ex-Mott the Hoople) bandmate Mick Ralphs. Boz didn't really get on with KC's world of music ("Fripp can't even play a blues - no soul" he once complained to me) - but on the other hand, Fripp had taught Boz to play bass almost overnight; he had joined KC mainly as a singer when suddenly the the bass chair also became vacant.But back to the car park: I was coming to the end of my first band, the pop/soul Love Affair, and prog was beckoning to me temptingly. Love Affair's manager Sid Bacon, a kind man but very conventional looking - shiny blue business suit ("got it made in 24 hours in Hong Kong!"), tie, plump, bald - was with me, and embarrassed me slightly by managing to collar Fripp in the car park and introduce me to him, telling him of my plans to form a prog band. Robert, I remember, smiled a lot and seemed to show great interest. It eventually lead to my auditioning Ian McDonald, who soon left KC - but that didn't work out. Finally I put together my band and within a year we had released our first album.Arthur Brown was the opening act, with his Crazy World Of band, next time I saw KC, in some northern university (still the Mark II version of the band). It was delightful talking to wild man Arthur (off stage, a charming and mild man) in the dressing room, chatting about mundane matters and drinking cups of tea, even while he was still dressed as half-man-half-woman with his hair worn long and a wedding dress on one side, and half a beard and half a tuxedo on the other. Dedication! One thing that was new about KC at this gig was that occasionally they ran Boz's voice through a VCS3 synthesizer's ring modulator, making it sound robotic, as on their Beatles-breakup song "Happy Family."Fripp's big break preceded my next viewing of him. After forming the more improvisatory KC Mark III he folded the band and went on a three-year sabbatical, immersing himself in the spiritual work of J.G. Bennett and others. Fripp prefers not to discuss this period in public, so I will respect his privacy and not dwell on it it further here (the Eric Tamm link at the beginning of this blog goes into some detail). Certainly a haircut was involved.The League of Gentlemen, live, May, 1980 at the Marquee. Fripp was touring with his "second-division touring new wave instrumental dance band." Oddly named, considering their bassist was a gentlewoman. It was there that I invited Fripp to do his miniature. He immediately offered to send a tape of Queen Elizabeth's voice, saying that when slowed down it sounded exactly like Prince Philip. In the end what came through the post was the above primitive exercise in polyrhythms (on organ, not guitar), which I believe may have been in preparation for the new music he was about to unleash on the world with the 1981 "Discipline" album. From here on, Fripp was into mathematical, precise rhythms and polyrhythms, which impressed me hugely at first but have gradually lost their appeal for me as the years have rolled by (in the same way as Steve Reich and Philip Glass).Some say that he invented Frippertronics - a technique of using tape recorders to create long delays, echoes and loops, allowing a single player to build up thick layers of sound, live on stage. In fact, the system had evolved from experiments by electronic music composers in the 60's - especially Stockhausen, who created a complex version of it for his piece "Solo" (1966). Anyway, Fripp streamlined the system for on-the-road use, and I saw him Frippertronning at the ICA in London in 1980 (strangely, this concert is not listed in his very meticulous list of tour dates). Fripp was generous in praising the Miniatures project to his numerous friends who had gathered - a bright, sophisticated group of people who I guessed may also have been involved in the J.G. Bennett work.Danielle Dax, the sexy punkish diva was on Fripp's arm the next time we met in 1980. It was in a black-hole-style club under the Westway in London. I was there to see a concert by Metabolist and decide if I should invite them to participate in Miniatures. I did, with pleasure, on hearing their angular distorted motorik sounds.We met for the 4th time that year, at the Miniatures release party at a friend's huge sculpture studio in London. Danielle was there, many of the Miniatures artists came, and a great time was had by all, with comedy and puppet shows, afternoon tea and homemade ginger cake. Three photos follow:
In 1985 Fripp, out of the blue, wrote me a letter saying how delighted he was to have just been asked to run the American Society for Continuous Education at Claymont Court in West Virginia, where J.G. Bennett had established his school shortly before he died. I was surprised by this and didn't really know how to answer, so I filed it away. Perhaps it was a subtle invitation to join him at the school, or at least get involved in that line of study (which would eventually lead to his Guitar Craft workshops). I had already an interest in Bennett and Gurdjieff (I particularly loved the Gurdjieff music and included an example of it on Miniatures 2). However, I was not ready to commit to any extended period of study, and instead read various books and did research at my own pace.Huntington Beach, California, October 1990. I had literally just got off a plane from Tokyo to LAX, rented a car, and drove speedily down Pacific Coast Highway just in time to make the show, in a surprisingly small club, almost a disco. This time it was Fripp plus the League of Crafty Guitarists - about nine players who had been studying with him. All played acoustic guitars (possibly all the same model, probably using Fripp's New Standard Tuning: CGDAEG, which can be remembered by the phrase "California Guitarists Drop Acid Every Gig"). It was brittle, occasionally lyrical, sometimes even amusing, as when Fripp instigated a human echo machine, where he would play a short phrase and in strict tempo a second or so later it would be repeated by each guitarist in turn. (Mantovani apparently used a similar technique to achieve his "Cathedral Effect" in the days before echo boxes - an effect that transfixed me every time I heard it in the intervals between films at the local fleapit in the 50's). The last words I said to Fripp that night were, "your hard work seems to have softened your face." He smiled, like a friendly vicar.Tokyo, with David Sylvian, was our next contact, in October 1993. Fripp had played on Sylvian's "Gone to Earth" album (which featured a brief sample of J.G. Bennett's voice) and was now on tour with him. I hadn't seen Fripp in a band since 1980 and amplification had improved/increased so much since then that the sound of Pat Mastelotto's bass drum hammered hard on my rib cage throughout most of the show. I mentioned to Fripp afterwards that I had moved towards the back of the hall to try and lessen the impact, without much success, and that what finally lessened it - turned it into a blessing in fact - was when I was able to take it to heart, i.e., change my mental attitude towards it and accept it as a sonic gift of sound and not as an attack. Fripp seemed to approve of my comment. In fact I had always felt that even with his (and KC's) loudest songs, there was never the harsh, brutal quality of say Metallica or AC/DC, just as there never is with thunder.The last time we met, in August 1994, Sylvian and Fripp returned to Tokyo to create "Redemption - Approaching Silence," an installation in a zen Temple organised by a remarkable arts company called P3. It was dark and rather hellish, with skulls. This time Fripp took care of the words, Sylvian the music. Sylvian's wife, Paisley Park singer Ingrid Chavez was there, with their adorable coffee-coloured baby. Around the happy trio a strangely out of place domestic bliss reigned. I supped the free wine, and searched for a can of Japanese tea for Fripp. (sidenote: earlier this year P3 curated my light paintings for a show in Yokohama.)Fripp had already made his track for Miniatures 2 in 1994, quick on the draw as he was only the second artist to contribute to that project. This time I was very pleased that he played guitar, and extremely powerfully too, together with bass virtuoso Trey Gunn. Due to the international complexities involved in creating this second volume (vastly more than the take-a-Revox-to-their-house approach of Miniatures 1) the album was not released until 2000.Years later, in 2006, Robyn Hitchcock was performing in Tokyo and invited me to play with his band which included Peter Buck from REM and their additional guitarist Scott McCaughey and drummer Bill Rieflin. Bill mentioned that he had an ongoing ambient improv project with Fripp called "Slow Music" - a nice coincidence in that I had, in 1980, made an album with Lol Coxhill which had the same title. So, at second hand, that was my last fleeting connection with this inimitably pioneering musician, Mr. Robert Fripp of Wimborne Minster, Dorset.To end, an off-the-cuff handful of my favourite Fripp musical moments:CAT FOOD - the best ever combination of a rock band with a free jazz musician - the extraordinary Keith Tippett on piano.PRINCE RUPERT AWAKES - well prog, well Tolkien, but some serious edgy discords and tasty reverse guitar. Guest vocal by Jon Anderson. And a nice cheerful minor/major tune. Sorry about the visuals by Roger Dean...DARYL HALL: WITHOUT TEARS - Fripp, now KC-less in 1977, finally gets to work with a real singer. Hall had just quit Oates and made this for his debut solo album. "Not commercial enough" said RCA, and didn't release it for three years.BOWIE: SCARY MONSTERS (AND SUPER CREEPS) - powerful Cockney comeback by DB with Fripp nailing it mostly in the first take for the whole album. Bastard!A BLESSING OF TEARS - Frippertronics evolved to symphonic dimensions in this heartfelt tribute from Fripp to his mother who had just passed away in 1993.A scary teacher, a brother in adventure, a muse, a comedian, a stern taskmaster, a man who loves his mum - all this and more I continue to feel about Robert. I thank him from my heart.Next up: a nanohistory of r'n'r.Read/Leave Comment
M1-23 George Melly
M1-23 Sounds That Saved My Life
I am sitting here devastated, tears running down my face, having just watched the harrowingly beautiful documentary, "George Melly's Last Stand." So pitifully few people have watched it, I suggest you go there immediately and drink in the glory of this man, his final super-courageous days, and his angelically brave wife Diana. And please leave comments - Diana may well read them. The vast, high-tech internet can get deeply personal at times.Phew! OK, on with the blog.With respect to all 106 Miniatures artists - this is my absolute favourite Miniature. Perhaps the fact that it has no words and no melody has allowed it to retain its freshness since the day 33 years ago when I lugged a Revox round to George's Ladbroke Grove house and encouraged him to kneel and bellow into his piano. We even went into his garden to find a brick to hold down the sustain pedal so the strings would resonate under the impact of his rich, pickled voice. George was extremely polite and relaxed that day. Very quiet (till the recording started), respectful and professional. Or perhaps he was just really hungover. Anyway, apart from the minute when he roared out the Ur-Sonate (from what I do not doubt was an original printed edition received personally from the author, or his son) he was genial hospitality all the way. He didn't even try to seduce me while I was occupied taking these photos of him:
This performance for me is definitive, and shits all over that recorded by the author of the Ur-Sonate, Dada artist Kurt Schwitters. George knew Kurt's son, photographer Ernst, and in a letter to me described him as "an awful little shit." (click to enlarge this partially-concealed insult):
Other versions include:Kurt Schwitter's versionJaap Blonk's version, with real-time typographyAt the Music Biennale of Venice in 2011An echoed, surround-sound versionA computer, speaking the textSee what I mean? George shits all over them. Definitive. You know when someone has really nailed a number. Like this morning, I was out shopping in Tokyo and heard one of my favourite daft jazz songs in a store - "The Flat Foot Floogie (with a Floy-Floy)." It was a really grooveless, crap version of the song - I mean, why did they bother? As compensation, all I could hear in my head after that was - for me - the definitive version of this song, by Ray Ellington, who I'd heard performing on the Goon Show in the late 50's. (Aside: in 1979 I chanced upon Ray at my acupuncturist's and stuttered out my admiration of him). I hastened home and ordered Ray's album, "That's Nice!" and managed to at least hear a short preview of his version to erase once and for ever the utterly drab version I'd heard earlier today. By the way, the title means "A flat-footed floozie or whore (with venereal disease)." That's nice, eh? The original from Slim Gaillard is maybe even more definitive - but when you've grown up with another version since you were a kid, well you know how it is. (The wonderful Slim, who invented "Vout" the ultimate jazz language, chatted with a very amused and appreciative George years later in this program).Much more than a jazz singer, as this ultra-short intro suggests (and as this idiotic 1959 interviewer seems to deny), George impinged upon my life first via his books. "Owning Up" (1965 - later released expanded to a page-turning trilogy) - a jaw-droppingly wild and frank account of his early years as a trad jazz singer - gave this (at that time) teenager some vicarious thrills as well as insight into what made the British jazz and art scene go round. Of course by that time, being over 20 years younger than George, I was already getting into rock rather than jazz. George's next book "Revolt Into Style" (1971 - the title later used as a song title by Bill Nelson) was an erudite, but not too academic, analysis of the artistic, musical and cultural changes that had occurred in the 60's, with particular emphasis on the careers of stars such as The Beatles. George was a Liverpudlian, so he had a special insight into their massive significance as pop icons. The book was brilliant for feeding my head in the way the Beatles and many others (Who, Hendrix, Zappa, etc., etc.) had been feeding my heart and soul marvellously for most of the previous decade. How rare and special to find a book that brimmed with the same kind of raw passion and fiery intelligence as the LP's I treasured. George also turned his hand to film criticism, and even film script writing.He was at the centre of the mod swinging London scene and this informed his first film "Smashing Time" (1967) with iconic British girls Rita Tushingham and Lynn Redgrave. Three years later he wrote the screenplay for "Take A Girl Like You," a book by Kingsley Amis which became a feature film directed by Jonathan Miller (give yourself an hour or so to watch this link, it is extraordinary) and starring more British icons, Hayley Mills and Oliver Reed. But these were light pieces of trendy fluff (I imagine George would have agreed) which doubtless justified their existence by helping him to maintain a joyfully boozy, randy lifestyle. 1967 also saw George reading kids' stories by Beatrix Potter, on the long-running (31 years) TV program "Jackanory." As it says on another website, "Everyone who was anyone had a go," and in lieu of a clip of George (none could be found) here's a charming but brief clip to explain the program.Dabbling in acting didn't get George very far - perhaps his most entertaining, if hammy, moment was as a hack movie director in Dusan Makavejev's extraordinary, anarchic "comedy" "Sweet Movie" (1974). Over the years there was the odd bit part, but little of any interest compared to the invariably engaging way he introduced, was interviewed in, sang in, or narrated TV programs. A fine example of the latter is "The Secret Life of Edward James", a 1978 TV biography of a little-known surrealist art collector. Another is this clip from Film Club where he talks about his favourite director, Luis Bunuel.With production help from the Beatles' publicist, Derek Taylor, George engineered his musical comeback in 1972 with his album "Nuts." George was no cissy when it came to double-entendre album titles. For my sins, I only saw him play once, at the National Jazz, Blues and Rock Festival in Reading in 1974. This marvellously eclectic bill included the dreary, hairy Barclay James Harvest, the punk-before-punk Winkies and the acerbic but heartfelt Kevin Coyne (later to become another Miniatures artiste). I took along an 8mm camera and tried (with little success) to shoot George and others in the fast-fading light. He was a dandy, as usual, striding, glass in hand through the happily stoned longhairs, sharply kitted out in a striped double-breasted suit and this fetching coyboy, sorry, cowboy, hat:
During "Frankie and Johnny" he proceeded to remove his cowboy boots and place them on his shoulders, faking a soixante-neuf (as at 1:30 in this vid). All done with such fun, vigour, verve and aplomb that sleaze didn't enter into it - it was just George being George, and we all laughed uproariously.Punk rock? No problem. George breezed into that world with ease (as did I, a wonderful epoch - the last I spent in England). He both commented on and sang with The Stranglers, who wrote the song specially for him.All through these years George maintained his love for, and deep knowledge of, surrealist art, getting to personally know Magritte and surrealist art dealer E.L.T. Mesens among others, and helping to sell (as well as buy) works by the likes of Picasso. These stood him in good stead in later years when he could sell off an artwork or two and afford to buy a country house with its own stretch of river where he could fish. Luckily for me the handpainted Magritte tailor's dummy - a gift from the artist - was still in his home the day I recorded him.[UPDATE June 6, 2020: via Facebook and a conversation with noted sculptor Lana Locke I learned that this dummy was not painted by Magritte but actually by Miniatures artist and longtime friend of Melly, Neil Innes! A few months before his death, George asked his friend Michael Woods to curate an exhibition of George's remaining art collection (which must have been a lively, surreal event!). He gave the dummy to Michael, who later passed it on to their mutual friend Lana, who had made a bust of George. The Magritte attribution had been just a rumour, although a popular one.]George's colourful life ended as he had lived it. With flair, fun, and love. When he began to slow down, due to lung cancer and other nasty illnesses, he refused medicine, carried on with the liquor, and wrote a book about it. Finally, at his funeral, accompanied (naturally) by a raucous jazz band, he was carried in a cardboard coffin gaily painted by his family and bearing a love poem he wrote to his wife, Diana. In one of the many obituaries, she was quoted saying "I wanted to kill him." It was no idle remark - she actually meant it and almost did it. He was no joke to live with - well not all the time - as her book "Take a Girl Like Me" explains in painful yet forgiving detail.For those who want to "sing" along with George's miniature - here are the "lyrics" (as prepared for a lecture on avant-garde music I recently gave at a museum in Japan):
And to end, this very Georgian story from a noted music journalist friend: George was at a party, standing next to Mick Jagger. George comments that in old age Mick's face has acquired a great number of wrinkles. Jagger replies dismissively, "Oh them - they're just laugh lines." Comes the retort, "Mick - nothing can be that funny."Bugger it - here's an encore!Next up: a prelude to discipline?Read/Leave Comment
M1-22 Patrick Portella
M1-22 Serrons Nous les Coudes
Well, as you can tell from the original sleeve note above, I didn't know too much about Patrick Portella's origins, experiences, goals and successes. 32 years on, I'm afraid I still didn't know a lot more until I found his web site in French (easily translated into English via Google). He seems to be very active, creating rich musical soundscapes for theatre, radio, cultural festivals, and so on. The links at the top of the page allow you to access numerous lengthy soundfiles of his work, encompassing a variety of sound collage, world music,ambient music, etc. I found this project particularly interesting as it apparently includes the voices of Einstein and Rabindranath Tagore, and was performed in France and on tour in India.The handsome photo on Patrick's website shows a man with a Gurdjieffian type vision, who seems to be looking deeply both outwards and inwards at the same time. No surprise then to discover that his projects now feature Asian, spiritually-oriented music with the emphasis on chant and percussion. I really recommend exploring the links on his site, it is not often one can get to hear so many extended works of this kind for free.Chanson is also part of the picture. This radio work of Patrick's has the French title "Que reste-t-il de nos amours?" and includes some very old popular French recordings. Charles Trenet was the man who wrote and recorded the song bearing this title, and due to his being a wartime favourite in England, my parents had several of his 78's, which I played often as a child, marvelling at the exotic yet tender voice and sparkling arrangements that emerged scratchily from the grooves.Patrick was one of the Miniatures artists that came and went in a swift but pleasant passing (by the way, the title of his cheerful track means "Shake Our Elbows") and our paths never crossed again. I sometimes look back and wonder if, had I stayed in England, Miniatures would have been the door to many fine musical collaborations. Quite possibly it could have been, but life took me on a different journey, so my experience with many of the artists, as here, was a quick hello and goodbye - in fact with some (especially on Miniatures 2) there was no face-to-face meeting, simply a letter or two, or a few emails. Which of course makes me even more grateful for their participation as they may not have known me from Adam.Which brings us to eden. To be more precise, eden ahbez (he preferred not having his name capitalised). At the 17" point in Patrick's track is a phrase that reminds me strongly of the song "Nature Boy," first recorded by Nat King Cole in 1947 and a remarkably prescient example of spiritual/new age related music. The story of the song and the man who wrote it (eden, a long-haired bearded robe-and-sandals wearing reclusive but free spirit) is fascinating and of course the song is beautiful and timeless. Kudos to Nat for recording it (8 weeks at #1 in the US!).Patrick's song is beautiful, too, and reminds me of two things. One - a sampler - because it being many tracks played on the same instrument, could now be easily played in real time on a MIDI keyboard using clarinet samples (though of course with less subtle articulations than this all-natural version). Two - the sound to me resembles a calliope or fairground organ, an instrument I have always wanted to own. They are still being made, and if well-built can be heard up to half a mile away!I leave you with two short snippets of Patrick's work: the first, from a theatre spectacle presented in France last year: "L'Ombelle du Trépassé."And a charming duet with fellow Miniaturist Joseph Racaille on piano and vocals, from around the time Miniatures was being made: "Chacun de son Côte."Bon appetit - et merci, Monsieur P.P.!Next up: my heart belongs to dada!!!Read/Leave Comment