So 50 great albums, eh? Not - obviously - the 50 greatest, since that's a value judgment of massive proportions, possibly requiring a metric which is beyond me. Not even My 50 Favourite Albums, since there'll be a band I've never hear dof along any minute now with an album which requires me to listen to it fifteen times a day for the next two months and which would spend those entire 80 weeks in my Top Ten. Just 50 albums which, on the day in question, I happen to think are great, for one reason or other (I might mention the reason, I might not - depends if it has anything to do with Doing It, I suspect - it could go all 50 Shades of Grey in here quick as fuck, you know. Or not. Annnyyyyway....)
This was the first album I ever actually asked someone to buy me. It was December 1982 - and wait, stop there. That's actually quite odd, since I've always thought that the first albums I ever owned were Now That's What I call Music and Ziggy Stardust: The Motion Picture, but I got them from my dad at Christmas 1983, and this predates that by a year (I definitely got it for the Xmas it came out because Scott got it too, and we wouldn't both have got an old record for a present.) There you go - JNT was right, memory cheats.
Madness were Scott and my favourite band by the length of Princes Street, even though we could only really hear them on the radio (and also possibly via the Greatest Hits' LP, Complete Madness - which came out even earlier, and which I listened to compulsively, thus confusing my personal Timeline of Music Ownership even further!) and this album had already been called Madness' best by the Edinburgh Evening News!
It didn't disappoint, for all that it was a long way from the pop ska of their singles. Though I didn't realise it at the time, Madness presents The Rise and Fall to give it its full title, started off life as a concept album, revolving round memories of childhood. The concept quickly got dropped though you can still catch glimpses of it in songs like 'Our House' and 'Rise and Fall' itself. Instead, the LP is a fantastic fusion of all sorts of unexpected bits and bobs - Indian influences, olde-time music hall, foot-stomping ska, political commentary - even a bit of jazz. It's been described as the 80s version of the Kinks' excellent 'The Village Green Preservation Society', and they're both albums about Englishness (much like Blur's 'Parklife' in the 90s and PJ Harvey's 'Let England Shake' in the last decade) but I think it's better than the Kinks' release, because there's a huge amount of energy and positivity amongst the pop nostalgia and underlying strands of melancholy.
Cody Quijano-Schell and I are delighted to announce a new ongoing ebook series! Available right now, The Periodic Adventures of Senor 105 will appear monthly and feature the exploits of scientist, explorer and semi-retired masked Mexican wrestler: Senor 105.
Senor 105 has been with Obverse Books from its very first release three years ago, but this is something very different and has prompted the creation of a new sister e-book imprint, Manleigh Books. The series is designed to appeal to people who like getting a monthly jolt of storytelling in the form of low-priced, short novellas.
The first book is available for download now. “The Gulf”, written by the character’s creator Cody Quijano-Schell, is a good starting place for anyone new to the character. A lot of details get nailed down for the first time in this book, including the origin of the villainous Terrible Kings and their leader, a shadowy figure from Mexico’s future. There is an exploration into the contents of the Chicxulub Crater that has always been in the background of 105’s stories. And a new recurring character is introduced in the form of Lori, the Royal Canadian Mounted Policewoman.
"The Gulf" also contains hints about the origin of the crater and strange goings-ons in the solar system, on the Moon and Earth’s lost twin. This will lead into future stories such as Blair Bidmead’s novella, which takes place on Venus and features the Venusians as originally seen in Paul Leonard’s “Venusian Lullaby”, a Doctor Who Missing Adventures novel.
Some authors who have never written for 105 have been brought aboard; including Richard Wright whose “The God of Many Masks” will be released in September. Later novellas will follow from Lawrence Burton and Blair Bidmead (both former 105 and Faction Paradox authors) followed with Stuart Douglas taking us into a special Christmas story and a first 105 story from Selina Lock. So it’s an exciting first 6 months!
There will be ongoing arcs resolved over time, but the novellas are designed to be self-contained. The long-term reader will be rewarded, but newcomers won’t be punished with heaps of continuity. But if you have been curious about 105’s jukebox, Sheila’s family, the history of 105’s “Golden Age” mentors, Tierra, Viento y Fuego, then you’ll be pleased to know they’ll all be explored in time.
There will be times when open submissions are accepted, watch for announcements on the website and on this forum.
I've been away on holiday you know. In company of my learned colleague and all round good egg (rolled on a barber shop floor) Scott. Cruising round the Mediterranean, he taking photos of things, me typing furiously away at the Great Novel on Notes on an iPad (that teaches you to have nerves of steel - push the wrong button and 'whoosh!' - due to the lack of an Undo facility everything you wrote disappears beyond hope of rescue - like writing using pee in snow and hoping it doesn't turn cold any time soon*).
Anyway, obviously I did a bit of reading too, in the gaps between tramping round Cadiz's narrow streets with Julie and Cam and taking the wee train to the beach in Corsicaand whizzing down Lisbon's steep hills on a tra which cost a pound as opposed to Edinburgh's 3/4 of a billion.
Spcifically, I read Susan Wittig Albert's 'The Tale of Hill Top Farm' and finished it with a great desire to read not only the
rest of the books in the author's series of Beatrix Potter stories but
also the various biographies of Potter listed in the acknowledgements
and even the likes of The Tale of Mrs Tiggy-Winkle.
For one thing, it's a great idea. Unlike the often dull trend for
having A N Historical Figure solving crimes for no apparent reason other
than implausible authorial caprice - the Jane Austen Investigates
school of fiction - this is a sweetly heart-felt fictional biography of a
certain period in Potter's life, complete with small village crimes and
misdemeanours, mischief not murder, misuderstanding not mayhem. Two pounds is misplaced, a
church registry goes missing and - most criminally of all - a small
painting disappears. That's the extent of the nefarious activity in
this book. Instead of criminal masterminds, the author gives the reader
an array of lovingly sketched village characters (think of Mrs
Gaskell's Cranford, and you wouldn't be far wrong) and, brilliantly, the
thoughts of both Beatrix's pets and the village animals. I
particularly liked the way that the human characters react to the speech
of the cats and dogs - hearing only squeaking and mewing as the animals
discuss the events around them.
Had the animals remained as
just that - animals who can speak amongst themselves - then I'd have
been delighted, but Ms Albert inserts an extra layer of non-human
characters which jarred for me (though I know it worked for other readers). An owl professor with a telescope in
his tree suffers from obvious comparisons with the very similar friend
of Pooh Bear, but he, Fritz the Ferret and the various rats, all of whom
wear cutdown human clothing, feel out of place - creatures from an
entirely different sort of story. Obviously that entirely different
sort of story is one of Miss Potter's own, which feels like something of a
mis-step to me. On a similar note, it seems reasonable that a cat might
learn to read by listening to her mistress reading out loud, but silly
that the same cat would think to write a note for the humans to read.
Still, after reading this first installment, I immediately bought the rest of the series for my Kindle - and you can't say fairer than that, considering I had the on-ship delights of Berni Flint in Concert and Paul Daniels' laddie doing magic tricks as an alternative source of amusement.
* Actually, that's a rubbish comparison, but I just got cleaning chemicals in my eye and it hurts a lot, so I can possibly be forgiven.
Ian and Barbara are gone! They selfishly shot off at the end of The Chase leaving the Doctor covering his hurt with bad temper and new girl Vicki spouting platitudes about it being all right in the end. Shut up! What do you know, you Joaney-come-lately? Ian and Barbara have been there since the beginning, arguing, bickering and fighting, laughing and loving and shagging, getting on with things in a very British manner and emerging triumphant alongside the Doctor, Susan and the viewer. I love them both.
They were shagging, incidentally, for those who care to debate. I reckon they were at it even before they joined the TARDIS. She's all together too comfy in his classroom when she pops into discuss Susan, and he too willing to bundle her in his car and drive alone with her in the fog. Hoping to find nothing to investigate no doubt, then back to his bedsit for spam fritters on a plate balanced on their knees and a swift bit of nookie on the fold down bed in the other room. Then drive Babs home as she fixes herself up in the car mirror, and hope her mum doesn't notice that her hair's askew and her face a bit flushed, still.
Still don't believe me? How about that bit in The Romans when the Doctor and Vicki are still on their way from Rome. If that's not a post-coital Ian sending Babs to make him a drink, then crashing waves on rocks in black and white movies aren't symbols of coitus either. Only a couple could bicker like they do in the corridors of The Space Museum, only a boyfriend would be allowed to slip his hand inside a lady's waistband as Ian does with Barbara on the ledge of the Mechanoid City, and only prospective life partners would run through Regents Park hand in hand as they do at the very end.
I supect they'll end up a slightly odd elderly couple. No kids, but an absolute fascination with each other. A love of one another's company to the exclusion of everybody else's, and a reserve which is difficult to pentetrate even a little and impossible to penetrate fully. And all the while the two of them looking at the stars, wondering if they'll ever get another visit.
Not for the moment, they won't - after battling deadly Daleks, evil Administrators, vicious plant life and giant bastards they've flitted back to the sixties in the Daleks' ludicrously named DARDIS. I console myself that at least it's 1965, not 1963 - that'll teach that selfish pair to leave the Doctor and me!
Lots of Obverse Books coming out soon, so most of my reading has been on a Kindle with a pencil and paper to hand, the better to write down things like 'Surely the hero is a Count - you've missed a letter out there!'
In the past few weeks, therefore, I've proof-read Philip Puser-Hallard and friends excellent 'Tales of the City' (which set a new record for fewest typoes), fiddled with gorgeous images by Bret Herholz in Paul Magrs' The Ninnies (which set a record for best review comparison- reminiscent of Roald Dahl and Stephen King!) and created ebooks of various things. I've also been writing a story for a collection not by Obverse (shock!) which involves me finding out about train timetables in days of yore and completed another article for an online friend's new imprint (with a flowchart and everything!).
After I finish the secret short story, it's onto the equally secret novella for a new series of linked e-novellas (my effort is due oout at Christmas and is currently called 'The Secret Santa') and reading and editing the next book in the second year of the Obverse Quarterly, the Iris Wildthyme collection, 'Lady Stardust'. Oh, and I said I'd typeset a book of Mary Danby's short stories for Noose and Gibbet supremo, Johnny Mains - plus I have hopes of submitting a novel to someone or other at some point this year.
I always liked the idea that Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars was supposed to include the Chuck Berry number 'Round and Round' as an example of the sound of the 'real' Ziggy and the Spiders. And one natural progression from that is that Ziggy and the Spiders ended up as a fifties and sixties covers band, and this album is a compilation of their live favourites.
That approach certainly fits with the quality on offer here. I wouldn't go as far as some fans who have described the album as weak and individual tracks as 'failure[s] by any reading' but neither would I go with Iggy Pop's appraisal of it as 'tight as a bitch from the bottom up on every cut'. It's undeniable, I think, that some of the tracks on Pin Ups add very little to the original versions, which is the aim of a cover, to my mind (though, again, I wouldn't go as far as the Rolling Stone reviewer who, ungramatically, claimed that 'none stands up to the originals'). It's also an album where Bowie is very obviously trying out new vocal styles and voices, which some people see as a weakness. That said, Bowie apparently looked on the LP as a way of shaking the dust of Ziggy off his shoes, which it certainly does, so from his point of view (and whose else really matters?), it was a successful release.
Part of the problem for people who are not David Bowie is an obvious one. If these are all songs Bowie loves from the period, then he's bound to approach with a degree of respect which prevents a really experimental approach. So he either has Mick Ronson outplay the original guitarist, camps things up a bit or simply copies the original almost as is.
One thing which is immediately evident is that the originals are largely far more trebly than the remakes, with the result that listening to the original then the cover lends a murkiness to the Bowie versions. On the first track, The Pretty Things 'Rosalyn', this has the added effect of drowning the great bassline of the source single, which is particuarly unfortunate.
Track two, Them's 'Here Comes the Night', is more successful for exactly opposite reasons. Where 'Rosalyn' loses a key component as Bowie adds layers to his version, the Pin Ups version of 'Here Comes the Night' is infinitely preferable to Van Morrison's pretty weedy vocal and his band's dated, country-style guitar work. From Mick Ronson's first screeching guitar note (my phone ringtone for long enough!) Bowie's version is beefier musically and if the vocal is typically mannered, I far prefer DB's emotional exaggeration to Morrison's dry intonation. To be honest though, the version by Lulu is the best of the three, veering from resigned drawl to a near stacatto spit of anger and ending like an impersonaiton of Roy Orbison's 'Running Scared' (listen out for the weird backing vocals towards the end though).
'I Wish You Would' by the Yardbirds is virtually the definition of a UK garage band track - simple, circular guitar progression, harmonica in counterpoint, very basic lyric and the entire thing sounds like it was recorded by dropping a mic into a metal cow churn. Bowie tidies things up a bit and Ronson tries to do something interesting with the guitar line, but it's all a bit by numbers, even when Bowie attempts a bad boy growl.
Whereas Bowie's 'See Emily Play' manages to sound awesome even when compared to the brilliant original. The best song recorded by Syd Barrett's version of Pink Floyd, 'See Emily Play' sounds like a child's song in Floyd's hands, with carnival organ sounds breaking the song in two, and lyrics which recount a small girl playing dress up, failing to understand the adults around her and getting lost in the woods. Bowie's version, on the other hand, makes the line 'You'll lose your mind and play' the centre of the song, and as a consequence produced a more perverse song entirely, in which the adult Emily is insane, double and treble layered vocals shout at her like monsters, and the guitar is an assault on her health not a comfort. Mike Garson hammers a single key on his piano as the song approaches its end, then starts interposing little runs as violin, guitar and drums create a dischord around the suddently silent singer. The only genuine triumph on the album, but worth the cost of the whole just for this one track.
The next track up, 'Everything's Alright' by the Mojos is a rotten original, and a pretty bog standard cover which at least manages to make the song listenable. That's more words than the track really deserves.
I'm starting to flag a bit now, so let's do both Who covers at once. Both of David's versions of 'Anytime, Anwhere, Anyhow' and 'I Can't Explain' appear to get a bad press from fans of both Bowie and the Who but I don't see what's so wrong with them myself. Which version you prefer largely boils down to a single question - Pete Townsend or Mick Ronson, and it'll always be Ronson for me. I've seen 'I Can't Explain' described as 'an act of vandalism' but that, if you ask me, is due to a hagiographic attitude to the faintly unpleasant Townsend rather than any inherent weakness in either song as covered by Bowie.
For the rest, 'Friday on my Mind' is competent and no more, while Don't Bring Me Down' has a subtle reworking of the song's opening line so that Bowie has 'nowhere to roam' rather than 'just want to roam' and a peculiar bur effective near-spoken line towards the end where Bowie puts on his best drawling American accent to good effect. Nicholas Pegg isn't wrong, too, when he says nowhere are Bowie's most basic influences more obviously on show than here. 'Shape of Things' and 'Where have all the Good Times Gone', om the othe rhand, are pretty decent originals given nothing extra by Bowie and his band.
Which leaves 'Sorrow'. I love this song, but even I'd have to admit that Bowie's version doesn't really add all that much to The Merseys version (even if David Buckley described it as the album's highlight). What it is though is MILES better than the Status Quo version below...
Great Lost Track
There's not one really, as evidenced by the way that Rykodisc padded out the 90s reissue with two covers not from the Pin Ups sessions - a note perfect cover of Springsteen's 'Growin Up' and the brilliant but utterly unlike Pin Ups cover of Jacques Brel's 'Amsterdam', at one point planned for Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars.
I suppose the best we can do is this - the instrumentation for a cover of the Velvet Underground's 'White Light/White Heat' was recorded but not used by Bowie, eventually ending up on Ronson's second album Play Don't Worry.
Compare and Contrast
And finally, have a listen yourself - a Spotify playlist with every Bowie song on Pin Ups alongside the original version...
Bowie swaggers on stage with an orange quiff and DA, wearing what appears to be a brown Balero jacket, and dances like a rubber legged spastic attack throughout 1984, like a drunk man bouncing off hedges as he staggers down the road only just in control of his limbs. The voice is still fine and he exudes confidence, but close ups on his sweaty, skull like face and his half forced shut eyes tell a different story - any brash self-confidence is obviously based on false, coke fuelled self belief, the thinnest layer of ice over the deepest, coldest lake. How the fuck he didn't end up dead is quite miraculous based on this and the interview that follows, which is filled with Bowie misunderstanding and avoiding questions, laughing at the wrong point, wittering about black noise and even getting words wrong, all the while sniffing constantly. Cher wouldn't have touched him with a stick...
Skip forward a year or so to late 1975, and Bowie dueting with mine host on the Cher Show.
They appear, one after the other, head shots floating in clouds of
gender specific colour and croak their way through their opening lines.
Cher, in Una Stubbs' stolen hair (possibly literally) and wearing what -
in the fuzz of a fiftieth generation tape - appears to be a black
kimono, serenades Bowie in grey slacks and blue blazer; he dressed like
the secretary of his local bowling club, she like the Oriental trophy
bride of some fifties US executive, as they torch at one another in a
studio filled with orange smoke.
But above the collar is
the all that matters with Bowie, and above his light blue shirt there's
the head of a full on degenerate, drops of pale sweat and slicked back
dyed blond hair like straw, Draco Malfoy all fucked up but having the
time of his life.Bowie has never looked so close to Nosferatu as this.
If Cher, in her Good Life frock and Charlie's Angels bob, values her
life she best not get too close, frankly.
Usually
the song itself wouldn't matter at all - see the medley with Cher later
on in the show for sheer fun where the song is immaterial - but in this
case the song is the perfect complement to the murky, dirty visuals;
it's that rarest of things, a genuinely sensual performance.
Even in '75 Bowie's still messed up and you doubt he could even see the corner he needs to turn, but rest assured, Berlin's just over there...
