king crimson - earthbound

In the wake of Tuesday's masterful gig at the Hackney Empire I dug out Earthbound. This was recorded live in early 1972, and was the last tour that Mel Collins had done as a member of King Crimson, before now.

 

First off - what a bloody awful racket. Recorded onto cassettes at the mixing desk, this is rather lo-fi Crimson. Now, poor recording quality doesn't necessarily mean a poor album, if the music's good. 

 

But, mostly, it isn't.

 

The title track of the album kind of sums up what's wrong - all the band, bar Fripp, attempt a bluesy jam. Fripp sits on his stool and attempts to drag them back to gnarly angular rock by playing horrid noises on his guitar. Bassist Boz, saxophonist Mel Collins and drummer Ian Wallace defiantly ignore these attempts until Mr Grumpy just shuts up. The tension in the group is clear for everyone to hear.

 

There are some good points - arguably the heaviest "21st Century Schizoid Man" I’ve ever heard flattens everything in it's path, with Mel providing some genuinely frightening sax playing. The guitar parts are ferocious too, Fripp's anger and unhappiness clearly channeled into the monstrous riffs. 

 

The incomplete version of "The Sailor's Tale" is half impressive - Ian Wallace's drumming is superb - but half disappointing - the savage slashing guitar solo of the original is abandoned in favour of a far less successful approach. And then we have "Groon" - whilst sloshing the VCS3 synth over the drum solo might have seemed avant garde (maybe) back in 1972, now it's wearisome and irritating. Something that might have made for a fun diversion in a concert setting comes across as noisily unmusical and headache inducing on record. The distortion caused by the poor recording quality doesn't help either.

 

As the more recent DGM releases of other concerts by this band have shown, they could, and frequently did, perform some cracking gigs. So quite why Fripp issued Earthbound at all is rather baffling. He clearly didn’t like jazzy, bluesy freeform jams he put within the album's none-more-black sleeve. Perhaps the Unhappy Gigster wanted to somehow document the audible break up of the band. Though why he then had to inflict it on his bespectacled, hirsute and very earnest record buying audience is something of a mystery.

Mel, Ian and Boz remained in the USA at the end of this tour and together they backed bluesman extraordinaire Alexis Korner for some time afterwards. Light years from the complexities of Crimson.

 

Fripp returned to the UK, downheartedly considering his position as a musician. But then he recorded “The Heavenly Music Corporation” with Eno and felt inspired again. Music that only King Crimson could play came flying by his ears so he set about forming the Larks’ Tongues quintet – and that’s another story entirely. 

 

 

king crimson - hackney empire 08 september 2015

King Crimson has been around, in some form or another, on and off, since 1969.

But never quite like this.

The new, seven man, line-up of Crimson is fronted by three drummers. And I mean fronted. Right across the stage, with the remaining four musicians ranged across a riser behind the formidable percussion sets. Robert Fripp, the guitarist who claims not to be the leader of King Crimson (the band is still, it seems, merely 'a way of doing things') is nonetheless the only musician to have been a member of every Crim formation.

The rest of the current band is:

Mel Collins on saxophones and flutes (previously a member of King Crimson between 1970 and 1972).

Tony Levin on basses, stick and vocals (previously a member of King Crimson at various times since 1981).

Jakko Jakszyk on guitar and vocals (and occasional flute). Never been in Crimson before but has worked extensively with Robert Fripp and fronted the 21st Century Schizoid Band which was made up of King Crimson alumni (including Mel Collins) and which played much of the KC 1969-74 repertoire when the actual Crimson was not doing so.

Pat Mastelotto, Bill Rieflin and Gavin Harrison on drums and percussion. Pat has been a member of KC since 1994, Gavin since 2008 and Bill (who also plays digital mellotron) has worked extensively with Fripp for many years.

Introductions out of the way. What about the performance?

In a word - magnificent.

But I can't just leave it at that. I just can't. 

The show began, promptly, just after 7.30. Lights down, the various Crims took to the stage after an amusing 'please don't take photos' announcement, and the lengthy percussion intro to "Lark's Tongues In Aspic (part one)" started, almost imperceptibly. Gradually the tinkling noises got louder, the insistent rhythm of the piece more urgent, and the whole thing got louder. Much louder. In the ornate and historic Hackney Empire King Crimson seemed determined to shake the foundations loose. But although the gig was loud, the sound was brilliantly mixed. You'd think that the frontline of drums would utterly overpower the rest of the music. I can't speak for the front row of the stalls, but up on the front row of the balcony the sound was superb and somehow the drums were, impressively, an integral but not dominant part of the mix.

The songs simply flew by. Mixing relatively recent Crimson pieces like "The ConstruKction Of Light" (a complex guitar duet over baffling rhythms) with tracks like "Epitaph" (absolutely spellbindingly beautiful, drenched in mellotron strings, a soaring vocal from Jakko, and not performed live since 1969) this truly was a career spanning set. Virtually all previous Crimson line-ups have all but ignored preceding incarnations - not any more. The Adrian Belew era songs seem to have been dropped (Fripp has indicated that he's more than happy for Belew to carry on performing these with his Power Trio or with the Crimson ProjeKct, a sort of modern Crim offshoot / tribute band with Belew, Levin, Mastelotto and Markus Reuter), but instrumentals from that period remain, and Mel Collins plays saxophone where Belew's vocal lines would have been on "The ConstruKction Of Light".

But mainly it's the 1969 - 74 repertoire that has been re-invigorated by this new band. Songs like "Easy Money" and "The Letter" simultaneously remain scrupulously faithful to their 1970s studio versions, whilst also sounding totally fresh new and extremely modern. I'm not entirely sure how this is possible, but somehow that's what happens. Instrumentals such as "The Talking Drum" are frighteningly fearsome, the sheer power of the band pushing the intensity of the piece to new levels. "The Sailor's Tale" remains a live highpoint - just as it was in 1971/72 when it was last performed. The mix of threatening guitars and percussion giving way to Fripp's astonishing slashing solo before the 'tron fires up again for the home straight. It's a bit of a shame that an actual mellotron doesn't grace the stage, but I imagine that Rieflin's digital version is about a billion times more reliable than the notoriously temperamental real thing.

In amongst the oldies were a number of brand new pieces, the first new Crimson material in over a decade. And, gratifyingly, all these pieces held their own when slotted in next to a propulsive "VROOOM" or epic "Epitaph". Some of the new tracks were percussion workouts, but a couple had vocals - "Meltdown" and "Suitable Grounds For The Blues" - and were grinding, werning tracks, perfectly Crimson.  

For me though, the concert really blew the roof off towards the end. "21st Century Schizoid Man" was always going to be a monster, but this version was incendiary, complete with a frantic Gavin Harrison solo - how does he manage to hit so many things, so quickly and with such astonishing precision? It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, I was captivated by the maelstrom of music blasting from that stage. I genuinely thought that nothing could top this, but then King Crimson played "Starless".

"Starless" is an acknowledged classic, arguably the greatest song in the Crim repertoire, but until last week it had never ever been played live in the UK. Beginning gently, beautifully, with a lovely vocal over a calming mellotron / guitar duet, the song deceptively draws you in. Fripp's pure guitar tones are just magical. After the initial sung part the song dissolves into an complex guitar motif over Levin's superb bass - Jakko began this, before somehow Fripp took it over without anyone noticing... This part ratcheted up the tension to almost unbearable levels, before the band seemingly explodes all over the place, Mel's sax going nuts, Fripp, sitting calmly as ever, but playing some incredibly powerful slashing chords. The percussionists were again quite stunning. The initial melody eventually reasserts itself but this time full of such power and fury. It's an awesome track, and this was probably the best I've ever heard it (and I've heard, literally, dozens of versions of "Starless" thanks to Fripp's meticulous issuing of the Crimson archives). This was simply amazing. I've never experienced music quite like it.

After that the encores could only be a slight anti-climax - but only very slightly as the encore was the storming 1 2 of "The Talking Drum" into "Larks Tongues In Aspic (part two)" followed by a majestic "Court Of The Crimson King". This seemed like such a perfect song to end on that it's a surprise that tonight was the first time it actually closed the show.  

All in all, it was an 11/10 gig, surpassing my expectations by quite some margin. I'd read lots of good things about this new version of King Crimson, and I'd seen the set lists so far performed, but I still wasn't prepared for the sonic experience. There was no banter, no Hello London, not even a thank you, actually. The band simply let the music do the talking. The sound was superb, extremely clear, loud, powerful with loads of dynamics and space - this must have taken some doing considering the sheer amount of music that was actually being played. Just balancing the percussionists must have been a nightmare, but the sound was excellent. I especially liked the way the three drummers complemented each other - one would begin, another would continue and the third would complete the run, as if it was all one six handed drummer. The precision and attention to detail was amazing. The sheer amount of things they had to hit was mind boggling. 

From the balcony we had a wonderful view of everything that was happening on the stage. The lighting was simple, just clear white lights on the band for the whole gig, except for a moody deep red that descended over the musicians during "Starless". But we didn't need a lightshow, it would only have distracted from the skillful musicianship on show - there was so much of that to see anyway. 

Enough rambling. I hope that this isn't the last time I get to see the King, but I suspect it might be. Revisiting all periods of Crimson is so uncharacteristically crowd pleasing of the contrary old goat that is Robert Fripp that I can't help thinking it's perhaps the last hurrah for this band. If it is, what a way to bow out. If it isn't, and I really hope it isn't, then I'm definitely on for the next time! 

giles , giles and fripp

I'm off to see the new(ish) seven man King Crimson next Tuesday, and very excited I am too.

 

So today's music takes me right back to where it all began. Nope, not In The Court Of The Crimson King, but to the year before that landmark album, when a peculiar little record was released. It was called The Cheerful Insanity Of Giles, Giles and Fripp.

Drummer Michael Giles and his bassist brother Peter Giles had been members of a number of Bournemouth area bands for some years and in the summer of 1967 decided to form their own group. They advertised locally for a singer who could also play keyboards. For reasons now lost in the mists of time Robert Fripp was hired - a non-singing guitarist. Undaunted by this, the group moved to London to seek their fortune. Renting a house in Brondesbury Road they recorded a huge number of excellent quality demos in their front room (thanks to the Giles brothers having a Revox that had been modified to allow complex overdubbing). Peter Giles reluctantly sang, but his very English delivery rather suits the very English subject matter of the humorous vignettes that GGF was writing. In early 1968 Deram Records signed the band and the album The Cheerful Insanity of Giles, Giles And Fripp was swiftly recorded.

 

It's delightfully bonkers, surely the very definition of English whimsy. And terrifically good fun. It's all very dated now; in fact it was probably rather dated back in 1968 to be honest, but there's a peculiarly appealing quality about the whole album. Some of the songs are actually very good - "Thursday Morning" and "One In A Million" are quite Pepper-ish with a very McCartney-esque music hall feel and both were issued as singles. Some of the instrumental work is fiendishly complex - Fripp's guitar runs are incredible and his "Suite" even has some passages that would be re-used in "The Song Of The Gulls" on Crimson's Islands. 

 

And then there's the two narrative pieces - Peter Giles' "Just George" is merely silly wordplay, but Fripp's "Saga Of Rodney Toady" displays a Milligan-esque humour in both the writing and delivery. Fripp adds lots of odd pauses and stutters such as 'Rodney was so… ffffat and ugly'. I love the way Fripp tells of how girls would all run away when Rodney stepped onto the dancefloor, making him look 'even more foolish than Nature had intended…' 

 

Sadly, the singles extracted from the album proved to be smash flops, and the album sold poorly. However GGF forged on, adding a keyboard playing saxophonist / flautist - Ian Macdonald - who contributed to further home demos, as did his girlfriend, folk singer Judy Dyble. In 2001 some of these 1968 demos were issued as The Brondesbury Tapes.  There's a gorgeous version of "I Talk To The Wind" with Judy's lovely clear vocals, amongst many other very pretty tunes such as "Under The Sky". What's interesting to Crimson fans is that some of these demos were later adapted and expanded into King Crimson tracks - for example parts of "Passages Of Time" became the various "Peace" tracks on In The Wake Of Poseidon.

Judy Dyble soon dropped out but Ian's friend Peter Sinfield began helping out with the words. Then, at the end of 1968, Peter Giles decided to get a 'proper' job. Sinfield called in his friend Greg Lake, who could both sing and play bass. But with Lake in place it soon became clear to the remaining Giles and Fripp that the band had now morphed into something altogether different, and very different music was swiftly emerging. The whimsical wordplay of GGF had fallen by the wayside, in favour of something much heavier. Together the musicians came up with a new band name to reflect the new sound - King Crimson…

 

king crimson - live at the orpheum

King Crimson released their new album recently. And that's not a sentence I ever expected to writing in 2015. 

Live At The Orpheum was recorded in Los Angeles at the aforementioned theatre at the start of October last year. It's what Fripp would term a Calling Card from this new line-up of the Crims, being only a snapshot of the King Crimson's latest set list at a snappy 45 minutes long.

But what a cracking 45 minutes they are.

After a brief intro which concludes with the coda of the orchestra tuning up from the Islands album and Fripp's voice intoning 1 2 3, 2 2 3 the band viciously slam into "One More Red Nightmare", never played live until last year's tour. The three drummers run with Bill Bruford's original percussion lines and embellish and expand. The stereo placement sticks Pat Mastelotto on the left, Bill Reiflin in the centre and Gavin Harrison on the right, just as they were on stage, and much fun can be had hearing this on headphones as the drummers trade beats.

"OMRN" is terrific, perhaps not quite as thrashy as the original, but this is not a young man's band anymore and a little restraint is to be expected. To put things in perspective, both Fripp and Tony Levin will be 69 in a few months, Mel Collins will be 68 shortly and Jakko, Pat Mastellotto and Bill Reiflin are all in their late 50s. Gavin Harrison - the youngest member of the band - is a mere 52. As I said, not a young man's band, not at all…

There's only one new track on this disc - a short percussion piece which doesn't really do anything. It's nice enough, but unremarkable.

"The ConstruKction Of Light" follows, all interlocking guitars and clever bass with Mel Collins basically subbing for Belew's now missing vocals. It's one of those songs that really impresses the listener with how horrendously difficult it must be to play. 

Then two from Islands - "The Letters" which is solid, but never a favourite of mine, and "The Sailor's Tale" which is absolutely wonderful. Probably the highlight of this album, it has a power and intensity which is, frankly, rather surprisingly as powerful and as intense as the original. Fripp recreates his famous solo with glee and the digital mellotron (played by drummer Reiflin) is just as menacing as the old creaky 1971 analogue version. And Mel Collins is an absolute star on this one. 

The album ends with "Starless". I've played this a few times now and I'm still not sure what to make of it. The opening part is lovely, as always, Fripp's pure guitar sound is gorgeous. The middle section, all tension and that fiercely repetitive building and building is handled brilliantly, and the explosive closing section is all present and correct. But there's something lacking I feel. Not entirely sure what it is, but perhaps the climactic conclusion isn't quite climactic enough. I can't really explain it, but I don't think it quite has the emotional intensity of all those 1974 live versions that I have heard in the Starless and Road To Red box sets. 

Anyway, full concerts from this tour are likely to be made available shortly, which will be great as this album is missing loads of superb performances - "Larks' Tongues I" and "II", "Schizoid Man", "Red" with added saxophone and loads more.

Looking forward to the UK dates in September enormously. Another sentence that I never thought I'd write in 2015 - new King Crimson concerts. Wonders never cease!!

rambling thoughts - weird music

When I was 15 / 16 I had quite a collection of albums that were, for want of a better word, really weird.

How about Fripp and Eno's (No Pussyfooting)? Two long pieces of guitar drones and synth noises. I loved it.

 

I recently dug out another Eno related album - After The Heat, the second album he recorded with the German duo Cluster, and the one with three of Eno’s best (and oddest) songs.

As good as the instrumentals are, and they are all very lovely indeed (tracks like “The Shade” or the very pretty “Old Land” are truly excellent), it’s the three songs that dominate this record.

“The Belldog” is as lush and as rounded as an Eno song ever was. The delightfully burbling synths really compliment Eno’s excellent vocals and the ever so pretty descending piano lines are wonderful.

On the other hand, “Broken Head” is weird and dark and foreboding, and is equally as good as “The Belldog” but just in an entirely different way. In a way it almost prefigures the dark and squelchy sound of records like Nerve Net.

Then we have the sheer oddness of “Tzima N’Arki” – adding all those backwards lines from “Kings Lead Hat” to an extremely jerky rhythm track (with the King of German weirdoes Holger Czukay on bass) and the end result is one of the strangest tracks to close an album ever.

But it’s all rather marvelous - totally unlike anything else. I first heard this record in my mid teens and although it partly baffled me, it intrigued and fascinated me too. It would be nice to think that other 16 year olds might discover this album, but these days I wonder if many would listen to something so leftfield…

the wine of silence

Back in 2003 the Metropol Orkest performed a concert of soundscapes - orchestrated versions of Robert Fripp's guitar improvisations. 

On the face of it this doesn't sound like a very enticing proposition as much of the power of Fripp's original pieces comes from the element of chance or hazard that surrounds the music. Much of Fripp's soundscaping is unutterably beautiful and deeply emotional at a spiritual level and I wasn't sure how an orchestra could recreate such personal music. But they did. 

Andrew Keeling and Bert Lams painstakingly transcribed and orchestrated a number of original improv pieces. The original performance was broadcast on Dutch radio back in the day and has existed 'out there' in trading circles for the past nine years. And it was wonderful. Mixed with the lengthy soundscapes the Orkest played three King Crimson numbers, which perhaps didn't fit with the prevailing mood terribly well, but did nonetheless illustrate how cinematic and orchestral in scope much of Crimson's music actually was. 

Over the past couple of years long time Fripp associate and producer David Singleton has been working with the 2003 recordings. The recently released result is The Wine Of Silence, an album of such breathtaking beauty that it's very to hard to describe. With the Crimson pieces now absent the album seems more complete, a suite of sometimes hazy, sometimes crystal clear beauty. Touchstones might be Gorecki, or Tavener or Arvo Part, but although there is a reverent, almost religious aspect to The Wine Of Silence there's a calming, stunning stillness at the heart of the soundscapes, one which absolutely transfixes me and prevents me from doing virtually anything else. In Fripp speak - Music leans over and take me under it's wing. It envelops the listener so completely that the outside world becomes as nothing. It is quite simply a totally transcendent experience. 

Ok, so this may all sound way over the top, but I've quite simply never heard music like it. Singleton has taken the raw tapes and mixed, folded, overlapped and expanded the sound so it sounds like a thousand orchestras are playing with a hundred different choirs. Whilst the two versions of "Pie Jesu" and "Midnight Blue" are stunning enough in their unadorned orchestral beauty, it's perhaps the two pieces augmented by a choir that are at the heart of this suite. The sheer emotional power of “Requiescat” and “Miserere Mei” is almost overwhelming. “Midnight Blue” reminds me in many ways of the three tracks on side two of Eno's Discreet Music. The hazy dreamlike qualities of that record's “Fullness Of Wind” et al are echoed here, but magnified into something that is so enveloping and entrancing that it’s hard to believe. 

Much as I would love to hear / see / experience Fripp continue his guitar soundscaping, I would, even more, love to hear / see / experience a full orchestra playing this stuff. 

But in the meantime I can’t recommend this recording highly enough. It is nothing short of perfection. If you don't have The Wine Of Silence then I suggest you get hold of it immediately. Your life will be immeasurably richer for it. Really. 

Only ten pounds at the Burning Shed... what are you waiting for?? 

https://www.burningshed.com/store/kingcrimson/product/341/3700/

the album I've played more than any other

I have probably played Scary Monsters And Super Creeps by David Bowie more than any other album; I know every part of every track inside out. But it’s a measure of how good this record is that I still don’t get bored of it, never skip any tracks, and get a huge amount of pleasure from it, every time I hear it.

The basic tracks for Scary Monsters were recorded in a two week period in New York in the early part of 1980, then DB took a break to work on the lyrics. By April 1980 he was in London overdubbing and recording the vocals. In between early gigs with the League Of Gentlemen Robert Fripp would travel to Tony Visconti’s Good Earth studio to lay down what he later described as 'burning guitar'. It was released in September just after “Ashes To Ashes” had become Bowie’s second ever number one. Promoted by the most New Romantic of New Romantic videos (and featuring Steve Strange and other weirdly attired denizens of Strange’s Blitz Club) this was a truly magical marriage of sound and vision, and it was seeing this video on Top Of The Pops that really converted me to David Bowie. I bought Scary Monsters on cassette as I didn’t have a record player at that time. From Woolworths as I remember, at the very end of 1980, using some of my Christmas money. And I loved every track straight away - never has an album had such a huge and immediate impact on me. I have, quite obviously, never looked back… Buying that cassette is surely one of the pivotal moments of my life.

The first track features tons of tape hiss, a mad Japanese woman shouting angrily, some seriously odd singing from Bowie, Fripp’s anguished guitar and an ending that involves Fripp playing an atonal circular pattern until someone screams out 'Shut Up!' - I had no idea what was happening but I knew right away that it was, somehow, quite brilliant.

After the torment of "It's No Game" we get the lopsided chant of "Up The Hill Backwards" where DB is buried in the mass of vocals and after just two oblique verses and no obvious chorus the song dissolves into more Frippian noise. The title track follows, with Bowie's mockney voice back on show, though with a sinister, theatening edge. There is also an eerie electronic sibilence present on the sss sounds, just enough to make you shiver slightly. A propulsively catchy song, though it was no more chart friendly than "Up The Hill..." - that didn't stop RCA milking the album for all it was worth and issuing both as singles in early 1981.

The fourth track is the magnificent "Ashes To Ashes", a follow up to Bowie's first big hit, "Space Oddity". A vaguely reggaeish beat, cool synths, mysteriously obscure lyrics - the was the blueprint for all subsequent New Romantic songs. The video just capped it all beautifully. 

"Fashion" follows next, one of the sleekest and catchiest dance tracks Bowie has ever recorded. It's impossible to sit still while this song plays. Yet amongst the hard New York funk there's still space for some savage guitar from Fripp. 

Over on side two things seem a little calmer to begin with. "Teenage Wildlife" comes on like an update of the "Heroes" sound, not least in the mid paced tempo and Fripp's laser beam lead lines. There's a stunning fatalistic quality to the whole song and the the lyrics and especially the vocals themselves take it to another place altogether. As Bowie reflects on his life he finds himself being asked for advice by the new wave... although he rather sadly sees them as 'the same old thing, in brand new drag...'. One of them asks him directly, 'David what shall I do, they wait for me in the hallways?' to which he replies, rather wonderfully, 'Don't ask me, I don't know any hallways'. It's rare that Bowie ever refers to himself directly in song, and on this occasion he's deliberately distancing himself from the next wave of musicians and artists, setting himself apart once again. At just 33 he doesn't like the way he's being set up as an elder statesman to the next generation.

"Scream Like A Baby" follows, and we are back in one of David's nightmare future worlds. As with "Diamond Dogs" or "Sons Of The Silent Age" an unnamed State is persecuting anyone with individuality. It's a chilling song but presented in a remarkably cheery tune.

Tom Verlaine's "Kingdom Come" is the only cover on the record but both the sound of the recording and the lyrics themselves fit perfectly with the mood of side two - a resigned acceptance of whatever fate throws at us. Bowie's acrobatic vocals are arguably some of his finest ever. 

"Because You're Young" is desperately sad. Ostensibly addressed to his son, it becomes a lament to lost opportunities as it touches on the pain of his broken marriage. For someone who usually hides genuine emotion behind characters and play-acting the line 'She took back everything she said, and left him nearly out of his mind' is about as raw a line as Bowie has ever written, and it's hard not to cry at the conclusion as he really sings his heart out - 'a million dreams, a million scars'.

After that the second version of "It's No Game" comes as something of relief. Shorn of the manic Japanese vocals, and with Fripp reigning it in, this version restates the themes of tolerance and acceptance whilst at the same time condemning fascism and extremists. A few seconds after the song has ended we hear the sound of the tape running off the spool and flicking round and round.

There is the sense that much of Scary Monsters is concerned with tying up the loose ends of the 1970s. "It's No Game" was first demoed in 1970 and the revised lyrics put to bed the ghosts of Bowie's Thin White Duke phase when he was falsely accused of flirting with fascist iconography. "Fashion" was developed from a 1975 song called "Jamaica"; "Scream Like A Baby" takes the tune from "I Am A Laser", a 1973 song from the unfinished Astronettes project. Add to this the way that "Ashes To Ashes" brings down the blinds on the Major Tom saga and "Because You're Young" brushes away the ashes of his marriage and it is clear that Bowie wanted to start the 1980s with a clean slate.

So strong is Scary Monsters that it has become the benchmark by which every subsequent Bowie album is marked. So many Bowie album reviews in the last 30 years have included the words 'perhaps Bowie's best since Scary Monsters...'

For me it is one of the greatest albums ever made, and certainly Bowie's greatest achievement, a collection of 10 songs linked by a mood, a vague theme of regret and remembrance balanced by an urgency and desire to move forwards. There are moments on this album that are among my very favourite musical moments ever - for example, the spine-tingling synth solo at the end of "Ashes To Ashes" is something I wish could go on for ever. It doesn't but that doesn't matter; Scary Monsters has been with me for 31 years now, and I know it will be with me for another 31 and for ever.

classic concert moments

I recently read an online piece in which the author described some magical moments he'd experienced at concerts.

I knew what he meant - I've been to loads of gigs, most of them pretty good, but a handful have had moments that absolutely floored me. Moments where my hair has stood on end, moments where I've been reduced to tears, moments where I literally held my breath.

The very first gig I saw was David Bowie at Milton Keynes Bowl, July 3rd 1983 marked the last show of the Serious Moonlight European tour, and was also exactly the tenth anniversary of the last ever Ziggy Stardust gig. The crowd was buzzing with rumours that loads of Ziggy songs would be played. In fact only one song from that album made the set list that night, one of the least remembered too - "Star". But the rest of the gig was wonderful anyway. Oddly however it was the full on blast of "White Light / White Heat" a song that I was only slightly familiar with, that really blew me away that night. The combination of Earl Slick's superb guitar and the power of the horn section was astounding.

One of the most amazing moments came at the David Sylvian concert in 1988. The show began with two lengthy instrumentals. Sylvian shuffled on stage with the band, his hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing baggy trousers and what looked like someone else's cardigan. It was a long way from the heavily made up, sharp suited Japan days. The instrumentals were great mood setters, but then the opening chords of the beautiful "Orpheus" began and real shivers were sent down my spine. I can't explain it, but the whole song left me tingling and I was unaware of anything else but the music - an almost out of body experience.

That sort of moment is extremely rare but has occasionally happened since.

It happened again the next time I saw Sylvian. He played the Royal Albert Hall with Robert Fripp. The whole gig was brilliant as they played lots from the new, and very noisy, album The First Day. Then they played "Damage", haunting and quiet. Just Sylvian at the keyboard, Fripp playing some fragile and delicate soundscapes, and Trey Gunn on occasional bass. The vocals were achingly sad, and Sylvian sang them with such passion. It was an amazingly beautiful brand new song that no-one had heard before, yet the whole place listened in hushed silence, which was quite something. This performance can be found on the live album Damage, and it's just as moving on the record. Any time I play it I still feel the same emotion that I felt in my seat at the Albert Hall.

In 1989 I was near the front at the Town and Country Club for my first Dead Can Dance concert. After an acappella song of stunning power from Lisa Gerrard, the band then launched into "The Host Of Seraphim". This track is amazing on record, emotional, powerful, and devastatingly gorgeous - on record it seems like Lisa's soaring voice has been multi tracked and layered, but to my astonishment she sang it just the same in concert. It was utterly spellbinding, the audience was transfixed, completely silent in awe and amazement at the music that poured forth.

The next year and I was only a few rows from the front for the Bowie greatest hits show at Milton Keynes again. He'd been telling everyone that this Sound + Vision tour would be the last time he'd feel obliged to play the obvious hits, so every track promised to be special - possibly the last time we'd hear them live. I was so familiar with all of Bowie's songs and I had seen an earlier show on this tour so I was expecting simply to have a great time. Unexpectedly, the opening chords of "Space Oddity" nearly had me in tears; I can't explain why as I'm not even an especially big fan of this song, but there was a majesty and beauty about the start of the song that affected me deeply.

The last Bowie show I ever saw (and most likely it will be the last Bowie show I will ever see, as he shows no signs of breaking his retirement) was at Wembley Arena. A terrible barn of a venue, but I had good seats along the side, raised up above the floor. At a couple of points - the mass sing along with "Starman" was one, the sound of the crowd as one, with DB belting out the song - the atmosphere was something I'd never experienced before. Such a gloriously happy feeling tangibly spreading across 10,000 people. And looking out across the crowd as it swayed and sang along to "Life On Mars?" brought tears to my eyes again. It was amazing to think that all these songs that had meant so much to me for 25 years or more were being performed so brilliantly, right there. All these songs that were really an important part of my life that I never thought I'd hear in concert. And everyone else obviously felt the same. Fantastic.

A few years earlier watching Roxy Music at Hammersmith in 2001 I had the same sort of feeling. Waves of sheer happiness and goosebumps as Andy Mackay played that glorious saxophone solo on "A Song For Europe". The power of the music was simply magical.

There are loads of other top concert moments -
In the front row at the Manchester Iggy Pop gig in 1988 - he fell on me more than once, it made my night!
Kraftwerk motionless behind their podiums yet keeping the absolute attention of every member of the audience at the Festival Hall in 2004;
Tin Machine - both nights at Brixton in 1991. So great to see Bowie in a smallish venue, up close and having fun. And he had total control of the crowd. Incredible performer;
Television at the Town and Country Club in 1992, a band I never thought I'd see live, but have seen them numerous times since and every show has been thrilling;
Daniel Lanois at his first ever UK show in 1990 (where we sat behind Brian Eno and had better seats than Peter Gabriel) and in 2011 with his new band Black Dub;
James in 1997 - one of my favourite bands and a mesmerising performance;
King Crimson in 1996, playing loads of favourites and a very rare outing for "21st Century Schizoid Man" which really caught us all out - the roar from the crowd was enormous;
The Rolling Stones at Wembley (twice) in 1990 - there's a band who know how to put on a stadium show;
Iggy at Brixton in 1991 - possibly the loudest gig ever although the Stooges at Hammersmith in 2007 and 2010 might come close, but what a consummate performer, so much energy;
Peter Murphy's recent brilliant shows are both hilarious and totally engaging. He's a tremendously warm performer, involving everyone in the crowd.

There are loads more, but the ones above are just a few of those that really affected me; when, at the risk of sounding terribly pseudy and pretentious, I felt a real connection with the music. Or to slightly misquote Robert Fripp - 'Music leaned over and took me into her confidence'.

And yes, that does sound pretentious... but you know what, I don't care!

collecting stuff

I once wrote a small piece for a Zappa fanzine (the late lamented "T'Mershi Duween" named after one of Frank's more esoteric tracks...), in which commented on how most Zappa fans seem to be a certain type of man. I put forth a groundbreaking and possibly earth-shattering reason for this - everybody is different...

Most people, and virtually all women, don't, on the whole, collect stuff. Yes, some women buy clothes and have more pairs of shoes than is often reasonably explicable but they don't go in for the minutiae of collecting.

This is may be a huge generalisation, but men, in general, like details. Very few women follow football with the same attention to detail that many men exhibit. How many women train spotters are there? How many women have collecting hobbies? Whilst I'm hastily trying, but probably failing, to distance myself from these slightly odd pastimes, I have been known to memorize, without even trying, the track times of various songs I like. Pointless, and possibly a poor use of brain space, but men seem to have these spaces in their brains for precisely these lists of facts. Why can I tell you which actors played which characters in Doctor Who? I've no idea. I have loads of books that can tell me this sort of stuff if I really need to know, or the internet can provide this information at the click of a mouse - but I can remember these things, so I do. 

Zappa music is hard work. It requires what Robert Fripp calls ‘active listening’. You can't really have Zappa in the background; it's complex stuff that gives me a great deal of pleasure, if you put in the effort. Many people, probably sensibly, have better things to do with their time. 

Most people enjoy music passively. They just want to hear it, but not get too involved with it. They like pop stuff noodling along in the background because it's nicely funky and there are some catchy tunes. Pop music is precisely that - Popular, hence the name. Most people have no real interest in who played the music, or the name of the recording studio. This is of course the first thing I look at on a new album! I was fascinated when the Phil Manzanera website published the recording dates of the first Roxy Music album. It took only a week or so to record, plus mixing, and I now know which songs were taped on which days. This adds precisely nothing to the actual enjoyment of the music as such, but it added hugely to my overall enjoyment of Roxy as a whole. Inexplicable, but I like this stuff.

It's a strange fact that I can remember all the lyrics, every single one, to songs like Brian Eno's “Miss Shapiro” (verse three runs thus - Dalai llama llama puss puss, stella maris missa nobis, miss a dinner Miss Shapiro, shampoos pot pot pinkies pampered, movements hampered like at Christmas, ha ha isn't life a circus, round in circles like The Archers, always stiff and always starchy, yes it's happening and it's fattening and all that we can get into the show...) yet I can't remember my car number plate.

How many times do I really need to hear a live recording of “Heroes“? I've no idea, but the fact is that I do enjoy hearing different versions of the same songs. Likewise listening to rehearsals and demos gives me enormous pleasure. The fact that some are unfinished / never heard before makes most people quite rightly question the value of hearing the stuff. Why not listen to the 'proper version'? It’s a good question, with no sensible answer.

Why are aborted takes of songs so interesting? To me, they just are. I have the Stooges box set - all the recordings from the Funhouse sessions. There are 28 takes of “Loose”, one after the other - and I can listen to this quite happily. I especially like the fact that the take they used on the record was number 24, yet they continued for another 4 takes trying to better it. Why does this interest me? It is, I'm sure, some sort of genetic thing.

Sad, maybe - obsessive, certainly - fascinating and enthralling, oh yes!