Yes, after a period of laziness and well, just not listening to anything remotely suitable for the slot, Song of the Week is back.
Back with a 60s Southport take on a Latin jazz tune by Cal Tjader. If you listen to the music and ignore the photo above, you won’t be surprised to know that Timebox had a residency at the Whisky A Go-Go in 1965 and were an trendy mod group for five seconds. They supported The Small Faces and even almost had a hit with their version of Beggin’.
If there’s one thing that miserable old me likes even less than people going on holidays for charity, it’s pop stars recording songs for charity. So you’ll imagine that I was delighted to hear that national saviour Simon Cowell has gathered together all of our very favourite musicians (Rod Stewart, Susan Boyle, someone from Westlife) for an over-emotive mangling of REM’s classic ‘Everybody Hurts’ for the people of Haiti.
Great. Lucky them.
Why are charity songs so lazy and so bad? Increasing the profile of a cause is almost always welcome, as is raising money, and I’d like to think that the motivation behind the charity single is largely genuine (and I dare say it was once upon time – in 1984). Somehow I suspect though that the opportunity to generate some column inches in a non spouse-cheating/my-drug-hell/help-I’m-having-nervous-breakdown kind of way is the real selling point for ‘the artists’ involved these days.
Honorable intentions or not though, doesn’t it make more sense to choose a decent song in the first place? Being associated with dirge like ‘Rocking around the Christmas Tree’, hideous sap like ‘Earth Song’ or point-missing remakes of ‘Perfect Day’ might raise some much-needed cash, but it’s hardly helping the long-term credibility of either party is it?
The original versions of ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas Time?’ and ‘We are the World’ worked not just because raising money to alleviate famine in Ethiopia is a good thing, but because the actual songs weren’t cynically chucked together in five seconds flat à la Band Aid 20 and everything ever featuring the X Factor finalists.
So who buys these crap charity singles? Who is encouraging their recording? Is it you, dear reader? Have you ever bought a charity record? Come on, be honest now.
I strongly suspect that several regular readers will already own this piece of ‘fuzzy felt folk’, but it seems to fit the icy weather and the glacial mood that I am in.
And shock discovery for the day: did you know that Orriel Smith now uses her exquisite soprano to record albums of er, operatic chicken impersonations?
I love this world.
‘Tiffany Glass’, Orriel Smith from ‘Now we are Ten’, Trunk Records, 2006 but originally released as a single in 1968.
Kay Martin and Her Body Guards The Horizontal Twist
Yes, it’s time for my yearlyconcession to Christmas. May this er, sleazy little number by Kay Martin (who is apparently not featured on the cover of the album from which the track is from) put a festive spring in your stride. And if that’s not enough, you can just re-listen to last year’s selection.
Merry Christmas everyone and see you on the other side.
I’ve been tagged for this meme by I Should Be Working (who I’m secretly pleased isn’t working as she wouldn’t have time to write such a top blog otherwise). Anyway, the drill is to select a song which always makes me smile and to then tag others with the same request, adding a comment about their blogs which should be smile-inducing.
I’ve spent the weekend pondering over which song to choose because well, quite frankly every song I bung on this blog makes me happy – so what makes this selection different from any other?
To make this ’special’, I’ve decided to be (kind of) radical. I’m throwing away cool and embracing honesty. This tune has probably never been written about in the pages of the NME, The Word or The Wire. My DJ heroes like Giles Peterson, Norman Jay and Stuart Maconie would probably prefer to die than play it. And if you actually listen to the words, you will soon discover that they are so naff that Morrissey’s larynx would probably choose petrol gargling and sword swallowing over singing them.
No right minded music snob should like this song. Come to think of it, no right minded feminist should like a song from a musical whose key message is that domestic abuse is fine and dandy if you love someone.
But hey, we all have failings and this is mine. Rogers and Hammerstein make me happy, and this song says happiness best. Even in November.
Now to spread the joy, I’d like to tag Mr Hoops Hooley over at Horse Overboard. Although we share a common love of Teenage Fanclub, classic pop and tuneful softrock, his ever-enthusiastic musings about his recent musical discoveries always remind me that there is more out there. He is also one of the few people in the world who actually makes me think that I really should get out more and see some live music.
So after dining with June Brown/Dot Cotton we went over to the Royal Festival Hall for a dose of hypnotic, shimmering and mind bending genius from composer/musician Steve Reich with Bang on a Can and the London Sinfonietta.
Considering that Steve Reich was responsible for one of the best gigs I have ever been to in my life at the Barbican a few years back, I approached with some trepidation – would he deliver? Could he possibly be as good as last time? Could he heck. The man is a legend.
The centrepiece of the gig was the 58 minute long ‘Music for 18 Musicians’, a pulsating experiment in phasing and rhythm. Fortunately for you, I don’t have 58 minutes of web space so I’m sharing instead one of my favourite shorter pieces by Steve Reich, ‘Electric Counterpoint’.
Steve Reich originally composed this piece for Pat Metheny in 1987 and the track is made up of 11 layered guitar parts and 2 bass (beat that 10cc). Guitarist Mark Stewart played ‘Electric Counterpoint’ on Saturday night and I cannot tell you just how good one man and 12 tracks on a hard drive can sound live.
I suspect that some readers may be put off by the thought of ‘contemporary classical’ but if you are in any way a fan of Brian Eno, Mike Oldfield, The Orb or any other ambient chancers, then you need to listen to this.
This track is from a compilation of Stephen Duffy tunes from that decidedly odd period in his career where he insisted on being known as ‘Tin Tin’.
The self-penned liner notes tell the sorry tale of young Stephen: 19 year old manages to leave soon to be mega-famous band (Duran Duran) at precisely the wrong moment, but writes catchy song in bedroom (’Kiss Me’), it’s good and gets him attention and Madonna likes it too, it goes to the top of the charts and he goes on Top of the Pops, he’s the next bright young thing and great things are expected with that brand spanking new three album deal (for Virgin/10), they’re wanting some more chart topping synth-pop gold and er, he comes up with this. Needless to say, the record company don’t like it. And neither do the record-buying public. In fact, they don’t seem to like anything he does. Stephen describes these early pre-Lilac Time efforts as ‘the years I tried to forget’.
And he’s right, we probably should forget most of it – except this strange little number, because it’s actually a great pop tune in a perverse kind of way.
You all probably know this lovely tune written by Denny Laine, but I’d completely forgotten its existence till I heard it one disturbingly early morning on the radio recently. Let me tell you, Colin Blunstone’s distinctive, wistful voice combined with those fantastic string arrangements create a melancholy mood which is perfect for chilly, pre-dawn still autumn mornings. Not that I recommend that you test that out for yourself obviously.
