Easy listening

Are you a singer with lots of exciting new music that you ache to share with the world? An up and coming band, with a press release announcing your ‘jangly guitar sound’ and your ‘breathtaking Beach Boy-esque harmonies’?

Well keep it down will you? I’m listening to side two of Abbey Road, again.

I’ve reached it. The tipping point between the proactive search for new music and the realisation that my brain has just run out of musical space.

I’ve worked out the numbers. My parents encouraged me to listen to music from the day I arrived (in Chiswick – still no plaque! I know! A scandal!). Last week, I ‘celebrated’ my fifty-fifth birthday. Let’s be conservative; two hours of music every day – that’s 20,075 days, so 40,150 hours listening to music so far, in my time on your planet. That’s 1,672 full days, just listening to music (most of them Beatle filled, I suspect).

And, I’ve given myself the day off for every February 29th.

Any sensible and considerate musician would recognise that there is only a limited arrangement of notes and chords available, and give up on the grounds that all the good ones have been taken; but no, new music appears every day. No – every hour, every minute.

I don’t want to hear it. Take it away. Leave me here with my Joni, Todd, Laura, and McCartney albums.

London Calling, Pet Sounds, Tapestry. That’ll do. No more ‘new’. Thanks.

We’ve never been in this position before. We baby boomers are the casualties of the easy availability of musical instruments, and low cost recording.

There was a time when the anticipation of a new Beatles single, Todd Rundgren or Elvis Costello album, would give me butterflies. Now I don’t want any of them to record anything new, ever again. I just want ‘old’.

I don’t listen to music radio. I rarely go to gigs, other than to relive the ghosts of my life, the heritage acts if you will.

Those CDs that come with the magazine subscription? Unplayed.

My mind is full to stretching point with tunes, sounds, voices, from over five decades. Unless Steve Jobs or Bill Gates devise a USB memory stick for the human brain, I’m at my limit.

So don’t send me a link to your MySpace page; keep your promotional CD, and I don’t want to see your YouTube clip.

Mind you... that Band Of Horses album is rather good; I enjoyed seeing the Wutars earlier this year, and what’s this? Prince is giving away his new album this weekend?

Dammit! In fact, Double Damn! I can’t let go.

Terence Dackombe, July 2010

Boys Keep Swinging

David Bowie is not gay. He may have given bi-sexuality the nod when it was fashionable but let's face it, he's been married twice (both times to ladies) and has sired a couple of little heroes, so all things considered, he's heterosexual.

And yet, and yet - despite this very straight fact - he wrote the most incisive, witty and empowering gay pop song in music history. It's called 'Boys Keep Swinging'.

Before Mr. Jones slipped into his slippers and late 80's decline he delivered two albums of astonishing creativity: Scary Monsters and Supercreeps and Lodger. The host of riches across these two works would shame the entire output of all but a few other artists and SMASC's 'Ashes To Ashes' is rightly seen as a timelessly brilliant single, but jump back to Lodger, find 'Boys Keep Swinging' and hear a track with swagger, poise and an awful lot to say.

This song is extraordinary because Bowie is celebrating a sexuality that simply isn't his own. But not with stereotypes, his character is in no way fey. No, this is strident, stomping queerness - no Brideshead, all Cabaret. And there is no mention of sex here, because it just isn't necessary. The song goes beyond the admiration of the physical male form and errupts into a celebration of young manhood.

Camp? The track is certainly that, but it's marching not mincing, exalting not screaming.

'Heaven loves ya / The clouds part for ya / Nothing stands in your way / When you're a boy'

Phew! You get all that simply for being lucky enough to own a wing-wang! If the Village People were gay men making disco records for hetero parties and clubs, then here was Bowie as a straight man going to the heart of male gay pride and emotion.

Musically, the recording is also a tour-de-force. From the opening thumping snare, we are roused and ready, through the verse insistent machinery rolls us forward, chiming and unfolding into a masterful Adrian Belew backward, howling solo (a trademark sound for both the albums mentioned here). It seems Bowie didn't really embrace punk in the same way he later absorbed and led the new romantics, but on this form he was surely widening the minds and eyes of the new wave stalwarts. I say 'eyes' because it's 'Boys Keep Swinging's video which paints the nail varnish on the nails of this unique song.

We see DB in a sharp suit giving a spirited but straightforward performance. But hang on - what's this? When the camera cuts to his backing singers, we glimpse a fading, aging Bette Davis, a beehived vamp and a flaming, sexy redhead. Each of them is, of course, Bowie - and now the fellas are really confused. This is about the glory of boys, right?

Only Bowie could do this and make it compelling and mysterious rather than silly and irksome. He looks great in drag, Freddie never did. At this point (1979) who else could deploy such subterfuge and provocation with such panache - while creating not only a stream of amazing images, ideas and possibilities but a rock record to leave his contemporaries weeping with frustration? It is really one of Bowie's finest moments.

Magnus Shaw, 2010

Visions of the future

As so much of the media is intent on reminding us of the best, worst, tepid, lukewarm, & mediocre of the decade, indulge me for a moment and travel with me, back to the late 1980s.

Sitting on (not ‘at’, there was a chair shortage) a desk that housed the entire Weekending team at Radio Four (next to In Touch’s desk), I noticed that all staffers were heading off to a presentation, and so, with nothing better to do, I tagged along. A slightly scary lady told us all about the future of technology. Accompanied by a computer that dominated the room, yet that housed a screen that must have been about 9 inches square, she demonstrated that in future we would all work in paper-less offices.

She explained that within a couple of years, we would no longer be using paper to communicate. We would instead be copying all of our important work on to ‘floppy discs’ and posting them, via the kind services of Royal Mail. Then, the recipient would simply have to insert the disc in their own computer, to read our document. How easy it would be for them to reply, by completing the same sequence of events, and then post the disc back to us. The white heat of technology was sizzling in that room, as the lady with the determined and steely air of authority, gave us a glimpse into tomorrow’s world. The obvious point being, we can never be sure what is round the corner, and whilst we pay dutiful attention to those that believe they have tomorrow’s secrets, in reality they have as much chance of being on the money, as you, me, or Dannii Minogue.

Aren’t you supposed to be writing about music? Ok, I’m getting there. You see it’s all about change, and not knowing life has changed until the newness embeds itself into your life, and equally as important, the lives of those around you. A generation or so ago, there was an enormous cultural gap, a gulf, between parents and their children. We can examine this by picturing a family watching Top Of The Pops in the 1970s. ‘Grown-ups’ were old at forty. Father would tut, from behind his newspaper, at Free (long haired layabouts) and the Sex Pistols (short haired layabouts). “Turn that bloody noise down” would be shouted up the stairs as the rebellious teenager played ‘Love Cats’ at maximum volume.

Now, those grown-ups are old no longer. On Saturday mornings, mothers and daughters go shopping together at New Look. Fathers know as much about Lady Gaga as their teenage children. Parents update Twitter with their comments on Cheryl Cole’s dress, as their children post “OMG! CHERYL! WHAT YOU WEARING? LOL!” on Facebook. We could never have foreseen the day, when pop music was no longer considered an outpost, an outsider, of mainstream media. A day when tabloid newspapers feature the best selling artists of the day on their front pages, and when those artists are seen by all generations as part of their lives. This week, it is just as likely that a seventy year old grandmother will pop into HMV to pick up the Joe McElderry CD, as her teenage grand-daughter is downloading it from iTunes.

For some, it has become enormous fun to blame Simon Cowell for the death of music. Yet perhaps, he has brought generations together, or more likely, tuned into the social changes that have swept away the divide between ‘old and ‘young’ and found the formula that unites rather than differentiates. In fact, some twists and turns seem to have taken the ‘turn that noise down’ scenario round in a circle. When Speech Debelle won the Mercury Music Prize earlier this year, I asked a couple of 16 year olds what they thought about Speech’s album. They had heard neither of Ms Debelle nor the Mercury Prize. I played a few snippets to them and they responded with immediate negativity. “That’s terrible – turn it off!”

We don’t know what is around the corner, either in the great tapestry of life, or the loose threads of music. Maybe by this time next year, Spotify will be only a memory, as music is sent, wirelessly, direct to our brains, via new Orwellify software. Maybe we’ll vote for next year’s Susan Boyle or Stacey Solomon by tapping our temples at the right moment. Maybe... perhaps... who can say? That’s the beauty of life. We just don’t know.

Whether you are on your own, or with friends or family, I hope you have a peaceful Christmas time.

Terence Dackombe, December 2009

Ten albums every songwriter should hear.

Two motivations for this post:

1. Hearing Ashlee Simpson’s single Outta My Head today. It’s quite possibly the worst song ever made. It was written by SIX!!! people. As a comparison, ‘Yesterday’, the most covered song in history, was written by Paul McCartney, one man, in his sleep.

So what’s gone wrong in the last 40 years, that we’ve gone from Yesterday to “Ay ya ya ya ya”?

Well, McCartney was a songwriting genius, right? Well maybe, but that genius didn’t spring out of thin air. He’d done his homework, and was steeped in rock’n’roll and blues, folk, ragtime, musicals, Tin Pan Alley standards, church hymns and classical music – all influences working on him when he composed. The writers of ‘Outta My Head’ are influenced by market forces and the few hit records of the last 18 months, all of which eschew melody for the novelty of the studio and the tyranny of whatever rhythm is moving the clubfloors at this particular moment.

As a balance to this argument, let’s remember that McCartney and his contemporaries have produced a fair amount of rubbish in their time. And the leading lights of pop/r’n’b between about 1999 and 2002 (Aaliyah, Kelis, Destiny’s Child, the Neptunes) let loose a wave of truly future-facing, heart-stopping records.

But for the last 3 years it’s been a downward spiral; with popular music across genres deteriorating massively as writers and performers completely misplace the melody.

2. What can you do about it? Well, let’s get one thing straight. You’ve bought a guitar or a keyboard or a kazoo, and learned to play some chords. You’ve watched some videos of, I dunno, James Morrison, or the Enemy, or Justin Timberlake, or whatever, and thought, “Hey I could do this, doesn’t seem too hard”, and started strumming away.

Well stop. You don’t know shit. These are not the people you should be listening to.

“Yeah,” says indie hipster boy, who’s put a few 7 inches out and played the Monarch a couple times. “Go get Forever Changes and Revolver and Astral Weeks, you losers.”

Fuck you too. You don’t know shit either. You think those records came out of nowhere? You think that music began with ‘Love Me Do’? You’re an idiot, and it’s people like you, just as much as the guileless naifs with their acoustic piffle and the capitalist r’n’b overlords, that are fucking up music for the rest of us.

So stop now, go out and buy these records, and start again.

1. Buddy Holly’s Greatest Hits

Buddy Holly only wrote 40 songs, but most of them are perfect pop confections. If all music was destroyed except for this album, it’s possible that we’d be ok. More importantly, we could start again, because everything you need to know about song writing on this record.

Don’t even bother if you’re not at least going to try and write a song as good as: Everyday

2. Sam Cooke: Portrait of a Legend 1951-1964

Sam Cooke is renowned for his voice, but as a songwriter he had no equal in the early ‘60s. Simple melodies conveying complex emotions: that’s what it’s all about.

Don’t even bother if you’re not at least going to try and write a song as good as: You Send Me

3. In The Wee Small Hours

If you want to know what people mean when they talk about The Great American Songbook, here’s the place to start. This album contains the pinnacle of sophisticated romantic songwriting from the most important melodic craftsmen of all time. Cole Porter’s the name everyone knows, but Harold Arlen had the edge. Check the credits and go buy everything you can by these composers.

Don’t even bother if you’re not at least going to try and write a song as good as: Can’t We Be Friends

4. West Side Story

Musicals, especially from the golden age of the ‘40s and ‘50s, were a huge influence on the key ‘60s pop songwriters – but let’s face it, they’re pretty embarrassing to listen to these days. Bernstein made the genre wholly modern in one fell swoop with West Side Story. He absorbed a ton of influences – jazz, pop, Latin American music - to create little worlds contained in 4 minutes of melody.

Don’t even bother if you’re not at least going to try and write a song as good as: Tonight

5. The Anthology of American Folk Music

Without this music there’d be no Bob Dylan, a man who wrote more classic songs by the time he was 24, than most people working in music today will ever produce in a lifetime. It’s all about communication: got nothing new or compelling to communicate? Then give up now.

Don’t even bother if you’re not at least going to try and write a song as good as: Down On Penny's Farm

6. Bach: Violin Concertos

No I’m not joking. Want to know about melody? Bach was a non-stop hitmaker. And he influenced countless Beatles tunes, from Penny Lane to Blackbird.

Don’t even bother if you’re not at least going to try and write a song as good as: Double Violin Concerto in D Minor

7. Infiniment: 40 Chansons

Jacques Brel literally wrestled with melody, twisting and contorting it, taking it in completely outlandish directions, and ended up with a songbook that’s quite frankly unequalled in modern culture – nobody else writes like him, and that originality of voice is something to aspire to.

Don’t even bother if you’re not at least going to try and write a song as good as: La Chanson De Jacky

8. The Songmaker's Collection: Music from the Brill Building

There is no great Goffin & King collection – although Dusty Springfield’s Songbooks, which takes in Bacharach & David as well, is obviously an essential purchase if you want to hear the best of their mid-‘60s work. This collection of Brill Building classics includes ‘It’s Too Late’, ‘Up On The Roof’ and others, and also handily compiles the top tunes from the Brill Building’s other key songwriters, all of whom were crammed in tiny rooms day after day in the early ‘60s churning out pop hits to order. Incredible songs that prove how working under pressure is good for your musical creativity.

Don’t even bother if you’re not at least going to try and write a song as good as: It’s Too Late

9. The Best Of The Goon Show

Looks like an odd choice. And certainly it’s not here because of any songs they wrote or recorded (although The Ying Tong Song and I’m Walking Back For Christmas are worth hearing). But The Goons were an important influence on the key British songwriters of the ‘60s, especially Lennon and Syd Barrett. In a sense, they helped invent psychedelia. Spike Milligan, with his manic wordplay, the odd connections he made, his utterly skewed approach to any subject, helped give birth to ‘I Am The Walrus’ – and he can still be a powerful influence on anyone writing today, proving what can be done when form and content are stretched to absurd limits.

Don’t even bother if you’re not at least going to try and write a song as good as: The Ying Tong Song

10. Chuck Berry Is On Top

He could be here for his melodies, but actually I’m singling him out for his lyrics. Of all the people on this list, Berry can lay closest claim to having invented the language of pop and rock. There are greater technical lyricists at work on In The Wee Small Hours, but they’re essentially writing poetry. Berry is doing something different, mashing slang, pop culture references, and a mythologized take on the towns and highways of America, and bringing a new rhythm to the song lyric. The greatest lyricist of the ‘60s (if not ever), Bob Dylan, started here and look where he ended up.

Don’t even bother if you’re not at least going to try and write a song as good as: Sweet Little Sixteen

Christian Ward, July 2010