In the “Fears & The Funk” post Albahooky asked about the Punk Funk revival at the turn of the last millenium so here’s my any-excuse-for-a hastily-thrown-together-playlist playlist. I was still young enough then to be out & about with dancing shoes on, and this stuff was getting caned at the indie joints (as was I). It seems it was called Dance Punk in the states and of course even the name Punk Funk is entirely misleading. Disco beat with noisy guitars and shouty (mainly) men, some cowbell, post punk rhythms, anything to do with DFA records, New York, !!! asking the Glasgow crowd for pills before they started playing, hanging out with Carlos from Interpol on the LES, The ‘Yes New York’ compilation, late period Clash, the kids throwing out their guitars and buying turntables.
This is a version of something I originally intended to post on Facebook. Constant re-editing has resulted in it growing into an article of sorts. It’s by way of a belated goodbye to an old friend. My apologies for its personal nature and my lack of writing ability when it comes to this kind of personal stuff. Musical dates and anecdotes will stand in for emotional sharing throughout. Any chronological errors are due to my faulty memory. I’ve included a couple of links to more reliable witnesses. It’s just a story I wanted to tell in my own way. Continue reading
Last week I had a research paper/book chapter thing to write, so I took the week off work, set up a desk by the window in the warmest room in the house overlooking the garden, and settled down to work. For someone like me who spends most of the day out of the house, has a young family and a partner not terribly au fait with the concept of compromise (not to mention taste in music on the slightly noisy side) this opportunity to be by myself and listen to whatever the hell I wanted to all day for a week was a very rare and precious thing indeed.
Over the course of the week I listened to about 50 of my own records and despite the mental taxations of the task in hand had one of the most enjoyable weeks in a long long time.
Finding even more time to myself to put it all together to make a podcast was pretty impossible, so I enlisted Panthercub as my official selector and made a fun game of it on a rainy afternoon. It ended up completely different to what I had in mind (I was thinking more noise and less electronica), but there you go, it was out of my hands!
ALL NEW PODCAST – Enjoy!
I was going to do a different introduction to Sunday but following the recent bad news the main thing I will remember the day for is the last time I saw Colin fronting Runnin’ Riot. I’m pretty sure this was the best crowd and reaction I’d seen them get at Rebellion, and Colin was obviously enjoying himself. With a new record deal and a tour with the Old Firm Casuals, the band seemed to be taking a step forward after all these years. Colin’s sudden passing away a few days later will always overshadow the weekend for me.
Imagine the scene. The Who are playing a tiny venue (less than 100 capacity) near where I live. The Sex Pistols are supporting. This will clearly be the best gig ever. I go straight from work and as it’s empty I help John Lydon shift amps. Only 17 people turn up to the gig, but I don’t care, I just drink,and drink…and wake up on the floor of the venue the next morning unable to remember anything about either band’s set….then I wake up again and find the whole thing was just a dream. Phew.
This dream that I had several years ago starts to haunt me. The reason is that I wake up at 6am ish in my B & B , fully dressed, sprawled on the wrong bed (nothing I can’t explain, I’ve been put in a double room even though I’m on my own) and I’ve got a headache. Today is the most important day of the weekend, and this doesn’t bode well. With the help of painkillers I sleep it off, still get up for breakfast, and don’t feel too bad. But the dream acts as a warning from my subconscious…I need to pace myself. There’s a lot of bands, and a big headliner.
“Don’t ever ask me for Hi Ho Silver Lining again!”
I’m feeling much better after the attack of random Dickies allergy last night , not something I normally suffer from. I check with someone that I didn’t miss anything unusual, but I’m told that all the gags, ad-libs and songs were exactly the same as usual. Annoying though.
Breakfast at my B & B turns out to be a hotbed of punk rock gossip, lots of stories I unfortunately can’t share on a public forum. My favourite story of the weekend involves one of my fellow guests losing out in a dodgy deal over some paving slabs to someone who later unexpectedly turns out to have been a member of a famous band known for their outspoken opposition to commercial exploitation, and their determination not to rip off their fans. I should also mention here that the situation was later resolved amicably, but never meet your heroes, especially if they’ve been forced to get a day job in a dodgy garden centre.
“Watch out on the main stage!”
A month or two ago the Metro (free paper you can pick up on the bus to anyone from outside the UK or who has an irrational fear of public transport) featured the results of a survey on what age people should give things up, and very enlightening it was. I know that it is now 11 years too late for me to start getting tattoos. It also informed me that I should have stopped going to music festivals when I was 41. That’s unfortunate as at the ripe old age of 44 I already have my coach ticket to Blackpool, my B & B booked and my ticket for Rebellion. The assumption of the article is that if you do this when you’re past the appropriate age it’s in fact a sad and desperate attempt to recapture your youth. This is news to me as my youth didn’t generally involve going to see punk bands, but did involve me gazing out of windows listening to Echo & The Bunnymen, and writing very bad poetry. I may still play Porcupine now and again but otherwise why would I want to recapture that? Perhaps some of us go to festivals because we ENJOY MUSIC! It’s just possible.
Yes it’s my annual punk rock holiday. As usual, rather than boring Mrs wyngatecarpenter this is my annual write-up of the weekend, the good, the bad, the “would have been a bit better if they’d turned the vocals up”, the absurd.