SNIPER GLUE ISSUE 11
�Worry kills more people than work because more people tackle it� Elbert Hubbard
when he worked on the railways
he would often spend afternoons
in disused carriages,
drinking from a half bottle of whiskey,
looking out over the graveyard of trains.
or he would feel the warm sun
on his face as he walked along the tracks.
older now, he sits in the darkness
of an afternoon pub,
wondering where those hours and
days and years all went.
older now, he sits and talks about
last night's football results.
he doesn't work on the railways anymore.
A lot of people who know me think I�m obsessed with books and films either written by alcoholics or about alcoholics (or both) and I suppose they�re probably right in many ways. It�s a subject I�ve found endlessly fascinating ever since my first taste of booze. That heady rush, the feelings of euphoria, the complete change in perspective I got from alcohol that first time was probably enough to hook me for life. Of course, it doesn�t always feel that good and there are plenty of times I�ve regretted being such a complete idiot when it comes to drinking. I just can�t seem to get it out of my system. I guess it is an addiction. I�ve felt cravings for drink plenty of times. It�s an all-consuming feeling and not very nice, especially in the few months in the mid-90s when I was trying to give up booze completely. For the past couple of months, I�ve actually been in quite a good period, meaning that I can quite happily go for 3 or 4 days without any drink whatsoever. But I know that this is just a phase and I�ll revert back to type at some stage in the near future. As for reading about alcoholics, I�m currently reading �Reach for the Ground�, the memoirs of infamous Soho soak Jeffrey Bernard. Found it in Waterstones the other day, while on my way to a 2pm meeting in the Horseshoe bar with some pals. It had been out-of-print for a while so I was delighted to see it poking out at me from the shelf (I wasn�t even looking for it!) and bought it immediately. Bernard�s one of my long list of drunken heroes. I used to enjoy his columns in local rags whenever I visited London in the early 90s and his biography by Graham Lord is a wonderfully entertaining book which I�ve so far read twice. Bernard wrote a hell of a lot about alcohol and what it does to people, including of course, himself; and he was never afraid of telling stories which showed himself in a bad light nor did he blame his addiction for any of the troubles in his life. For example, after the riotous success of Keith Waterhouse�s play based on his life, Bernard had a leg amputated and described it merely as �one of God�s custard pies�. But what I really wanted to express here is that I�ve recently realised that, a lot of the time, I find drunk people boring and scary. It�s all very well reading all these �low life� writers and reveling in their tales of drunken debauchery but, a lot of the time, I want to be sober and just watch some shit on TV and maybe have a nice pizza and get to bed early. I never thought I would be writing this, but it�s how I�ve been feeling a lot of the time in recent weeks. I usually stay sober at weekends because, apart from anything else, weekend drinkers bore and scare me more than any other kind. This is because they�re not used to it and over-do it, which is why so many people end up getting stabbed at weekends. Also, pubs on Fridays and Saturdays are just too damn busy for my liking. My favourite drinking day has long been Monday. This is because so many pubs have drink deals to pull in the punters on Monday (a �quiet day�) and all the lightweight weekend drinkers are safely back at work. The place I go these days on a Monday has pints of lager for �1.20 and that is really cheap. Big chain pubs like JD Wetherspoon are great for cheap drinks too, and they�re even cheaper on Mondays. But, what I�ve been finding more and more is that, on the days when I�m not drinking, I can get frighteningly moralistic about it. For example, I often see this drunk old guy on the bus and he�s always falling over and making a general nuisance of himself. I do everything I can to avoid his gaze and just generally try my best to ignore him. It�s not the fact that he�s pissed that bugs me so much, though, it�s the fact that he acts like such a clich� of the town drunk. While I wouldn�t say that I�ve never acted like that, I certainly don�t make a habit out of it and I pride myself on the fact that I can act more or less totally sober even when pissed out my head. Well, sometimes. Maybe this is just an example of the selfish double standards characteristic of alcoholics, I don�t know. I�ve begun to wonder if I can ever write another song or piece of prose about the downtrodden and drunk again without feeling like a total hypocrite. But it seems like, when I�m in a drinking mood, I want to live it and, when I�m not, I want to read or write about it but I don�t actually want to see it for real.
Diary Of Recent Tour Debacles 2000-03 (part 4)
by L. Eugene Methe
October 2002 ARNOUX Midwest/East Coast Tour with HUMAN ABSTRACT and NOISEBOAT
This is the longest tour I've been on (though still only around 20 shows) I was ever so glad when it was
finished. My good friends from Human Abstract arrived in Omaha a few days before the tour began and I admit to being a pretty bleak tour guide, for it has been a rather hectic weekend. My roomates David and Marcus had a kegger that was for some reason entirely populated by high school girls. At a house show the next night a nice young lady broke a large, wooden crucifix over my back. Of course I fell in love with
her...
Iowa City, Iowa @ Gabe's Oasis
First show of the tour, yet we still managed to arrive very late. There is just enough time to slam down a
vodka. In what would become an every nite ordeal no one wanted to be the first to go. I have fond memories of Gabe's (seeing some good shows there, especially Yo La Tengo in 1997) but this show was very, very lame. This still stands as the absolute worst load-in experience ever: one massive flight of rickety, warping iron stairs. 25 Suaves from Detroit happened to be in Iowa City the same night. They are nice enough people, but i've never much enjoyed their stuff. Really, except for a few of the more eccentric
artists, I don't really buy into much of the Michigan scene. It seems overly staged. Iowa City's amazing Ed
Gray was kind enough to sit in with me and Dylan this night, but our set was pretty horrible. For some
reason I attempted to do a skit about Bacchus, while Dylan played the banjo and Ed did some cymbal bowing. It bombed...the first of a handful of nights met with blank faces. I received $20 for my share of the door and spent most of it at the bar downstairs. We arrived back at Ed's house and I immediately passed out from fatigue. Good thing there's only three more weeks to go...
Cedar Rapids, Iowa @ the Reverb
Okay, taking three avant-garde bands to Cedar Rapids, Iowa of all places on a Tuesday was going to be a
debacle...but I was intrigued. Sure enough, when we arrived at the club, we found "Battle of the Bands"
listed on the marquee instead of our names. At the town laundromat, a bat came after me. We also found a notecard tacked on the bulletin board from a woman named Edna, who wanted to "trade videos with people after midnight...or play checkers." James called her. She sounded both very old, and very drunk. He told her about the show, but I don't think she came. The Reverb had a special that night: two cans of Red, White, & Blue Beer for two bucks. They also had heavily peppered hamburgers for a buck. The night progressed and only a handful of people were in attendance. I killed time by watching game one of the Angels/Giants world Series on tv. We decided to combine our efforts instead of playing seperate sets. After our room clearing performance, someone slashed three of the Human Abstract van's tires (the one with California plates). Alex at least talked the owner into giving us a meager $10. It can only get
better... Goodbye Iowa.
Chicago, Illinois @ 3030 Gallery
We played at St. Louis University the night before to a good crowd and made a nice bit of much needed money, so things were looking up. I had been told that the 3030 was a hard joint to book, and we should feel lucky...but only a few people managed to show. The space, stage, and acoustics were great however...likely the best of the tour. A former Nebraskan, Matt Silcock (MCMS, etc) sat in with us for
what turned out to be basicly an hour long recording session. Afterwards, he took us on a driving tour of
Chicago, as I swilled beers in the backseat. Maybe it was my spinning head, but after walking around awhile, Chicago seemed even more alive than New York. It turned out to be a night when the bleak turnout didn't dismay us. Oh, on the drive to Detroit the following afternoon we saw the Goodyear blimp high in the sky, which must have been there for a Notre Dame football game.
Columbus, Ohio @ Wherehouse Gallery
I had always heard that Columbus was one of the ugliest cities in the U.S., but really it is somewhat
beautiful. There was a big bill on tap and a great turnout. The first band worked that Providence/Lightning Bolt angle which is so tiresome to me, and the locals rawked out. Everyone there dressed like a jackass. Gen Y often lacks both style and substance. Someone in the room stank really bad...and it turned out to be a fellow from the band Noumena who's wearing his high school wrestling uniform. It was a good night though, and to my delight we stayed with a household of girls. One tall lass got the nickname Big Red. I declared my love to _____, but at that point I was pretty toxic. So, I started confessing my deepest, darkest regrets and fears to her. (It has been known to happen)...there might have been a kiss of pity. It was an odd night as I recall it: rolling around in a puddle of wine in an attempt to woo someone...at least my clothes were wine stained from top to bottom the next morning. I woke up feeling very, very rough and tried to persuade the girls to have a few drinks with us before their first classes, but they declined.
We spent some time at a laudromat and the library. I was pretty much a ghost. By this point, I was not
enjoying performing very much (until the late night hours when life itself becomes a stage) and the
afternoons were becoming very bleak.
Pittsburgh, Pa @ Platters
This show was slated to take place at the University of Pittsburgh, but ended up in the banquet hall of a
kosher restraunt. Ernesto Diaz-Infante, Chris Forsythe, and Annette Krebs from Berlin are the headliners, so I was actually looking forward to this one. The show was a tense one, with a very pushy promoter, and I played without a drop of liquid. The night afterwards was a blast though. I really loved Pittsburgh. The last thing I recall is rolling around in someone's spice garden, relishing the smell of fresh mint and parsley in the brisk October air. The next day we briefly checked out an installation at the Mattress Factory museum, and I was sad to leave town (for Buffalo).
New York, NY @ House Show
At last, back in NYC! Arnoux is collaborating with Philadelphia's Newton for this show in ____'s loft
apartment, where the entire bathroom is wallpapered with photos of Madonna. Show wise, there was a really decent turnout with a number of familiar faces. Les Hodgkins (City of Habits) even came in to play with Human Abstract. Of all the shows I have ever done, I doubt I have ever mixed and matched so many various drinks...just an unholy combination. Whomever went shopping (Dylan, I think) really stocked up. Arnoux (me, Dylan, and James) and Newton decided to play in the kitchen (which would be the start of a pattern). I hate to admit it, but it may have been out of need to be near the fridge... On a few occasions, like this night, I would sit in with Human Abstract too (which was a real pleasure). I don't remember a whole lot after the music...me and Russ cracked open some bottles of champagne (perfect for topping off over a dozen various cocktails and beers). I actually ran into an old friend of my ex-wife whom I had completely forgotten about. She moved from Omaha to NYC in order to be a singer I guess. I may have professed my love. She went up to roof with a number of other people. Having had a mild panic attack on the ladder, I stayed inside and rambled to strangers (one of my favourite hobbies). The next morning Dylan told me I had passed out mid-sentence (or perhaps mid-cackle) and they had to carry me to a bed. And it turned out to be our host's bottle of champagne which we opened. She was pretty sore about it, since there were meant for a more special occasion. I felt guilty, but couldn't bear to fess up just then. Everyone went out into the city for the afternoon, but I was too wrecked, and spent the entire afternoon on the couch in a funk. We were supposed to play in Philadelphia, but there was no way I could handle being in the car...so we were forced to cancel. Instead we stayed another night in Brooklyn and hit some bars with Brian and Jess. After a few drinks I started to feel much better and remember listening to Chills' LPs.
Baltimore, Md @ Organ Donor House
I had a decent night's sleep at Brian's, so around noon we each had a few Presidente beers, and went up
to roof for one last good look at the skyline. Everything was golden as we started the drive to Baltimore. It should be noted that this was right in the middle of the D.C. sniper terror of 2002. We would be spending the next four days on the interstate they inhabited. Traffic was backed-up, and you could sense the panic at gas stations and rest area. Less than an hour into the drive, I started to feel that those empty stomach beers were a bad idea. After eating I felt a little better, but it should be said that from this point on tour, I started to feel a bit like a junkie. The show itself was pretty silly. At least Pengo (from Florida) was actually in town for this weekend of shows. (We were supposed to play with them the previous night in Philly). Newton was there too. Otherwise, I have never been to a house show where the kids weren't drinking. I managed to score a Corona from someone, but that did nothing to settle my now-raging social (or just general?) anxiety. Me, Dylan, and Newton played in the kitchen again: an umamplified set of improv bluegrass. Afterwards, we watched two guys pretend to be absolutely blasted off of one shared cocktail. I didn't buy it. Me and Dylan actually played Nintendo we were so bored....
Chapel Hill, NC @ Skylight Exchange
Here I am again at the Skylight Exchange (this time via a new promoter). We arrive and (sure enough) it is open mic night. Seems there was a miscommunication between the promoter and the establishment. We play anyway. Me and Dylan do our acoustic violin/banjo duet, and I think it was our best of the tour (though I have never heard the recording). Human Abstract had one of their better sets too, a real emotional performance. The 3 groups were followed up by a harpist/singer/songwriter. I went to the bar next door with our host Isaac to have a few pints. They were playing that Shaggy CD that I used to like. The house we stayed at was the biggest pigsty I have ever been in, and absolutely reeked of wet dog. We were woken up early the next morning by a policeman at the door. It appears the house dog had bit someone. Notwithstanding the show, Isaac was a nice fellow and North Carolina is beautiful. Walking around the UNC campus, I even regreted dropping out of college.
Portions of this tour appear on the cassette Detroit, Anti Rock City (White-Rose); the CD Newton and Arnoux The Kitchen Sessions (Breathmint); and the CD Boardman, Davis, Methe, Shearer, and Soderberg Indecent Liberties (White-Rose)
The final part of these diaries will appear next issue
CD REVIEWS
ELLIOTT SMITH � FROM A BASEMENT ON THE HILL (DOMINO)
I�ve read about a zillion reviews of this (OK, a slight exaggeration, but a fair few anyway) and everyone�s gone on about how it�s �an extended suicide note� etc, which you might think is fair enough considering Elliott Smith killed himself a year ago, but Sniper Glue isn�t gonna subject you, dear reader, to any of THAT crap clap-trap.. FUCK the media ghouls looking for their next suicide poster boy (if only more music journos killed themselves, the world would be a better place.) In fact, let�s start by being TOTALLY irreverent and say that, if you put the track �Ostrich and Chirping� on repeat, you too would soon want to follow Elliott Smith into the afterlife, �cos that particular track is 33 seconds of annoying-as-fuck fake bird noises. Not even REAL bird noises, I tell thee! And, ooh, if I were an NME reviewer, I could draw a spooky parallel here �cos JESUS was 33 when he died! Does this mean Elliott Smith was the 2nd coming?! Er, no it doesn�t, actually. OK, there ARE some disturbing lyrics here � like on the dark tale of addiction �King�s Crossing� � but they�ve been a staple of Smith�s songs since his days in early �90s band Heatmiser. The lovely songs here abound� although it IS hard to listen to �The Last Hour�, �Let�s Get Lost� and the poignant George Harrison-esque �A Fond Farewell� without thinking of Elliott�s sad fate. This CD almost seems like a summary of the albums which preceded it � with it�s scuzzy, grungy Heatmiser-like tracks and it�s stark acoustic numbers. All that�s missing is the multi-instrumentation experiments of his previous 2 albums, which is neither a good OR bad thing �cos, whatever form his songs take, they WORK as they�re the product of a true master songwriter. It IS a real shame that such a great talent as Elliott Smith is gone while worthless fuckers like U2 go on for ever and ever but, y�know, I�d rather have a handful of releases by a true genius than a 30 year career of safe dullness ANY day. It doesn�t make me sad listening to this CD. I�m just glad Elliott Smith existed at all.
SELFISH CUNT � NO WICKED HEART SHALL PROSPER (HORSEGLUE) reviewed by Gary Simmons
At fucking last! Maybe, and that�s a BIG �maybe�, the waiting is over. Barging their way onto the �scene� with a dreck-awful naff and crap name that has patently been designed to get THEM noticed and the moniker C*NS*R*D (my first encounter was on the Teletext gig guide, asterisks akimbo!) Selfish Cunt, without doubt, have taken a blow torch to the bland and pathetic magnolia wood-chip bodged-job music �entertainment business� of our abysmally banal millennium age and have redecorated the gaff, making fine use of thee enemy�s liquidised and oh-so colourful head meat.
Gigs? I have never seen �em.
Reviews? I read one a couple of months back but can�t recall much except that it was messy and confrontational.
Records? All I�ve got is a mate�s tape of the CD.
Sleeve? No idea what it looks like.
Info? Only what my close friend and confidant put in his letter that accompanied the tape; that on this release Selfish Cunt are a two-piece but their names aren�t mentioned in the CD booklet, that now they have a �real� drummer and that the track �My Prerogative� is a cover of a Bobby Brown song and�well, you don�t wanna know which tracks were recorded where, NYC. or London, DO you? Nah, not really.
What you DO need to know about this release is that �it�s� all on here; Here in the vocalists strains which sound like some amalgamation of Adam Ant, Mick Jagger, the Fall�s Mark E Smith and, I�ll push for it, the Lemon Kitten�s avant-garde warbling courtesy of Karl Blake. And �it�s� here in the song titles themselves; the assault of �Corporate Slut�, the ironies of �Fuck the Poor� and �Pro Patriotic�, the plain unadulterated truth of �Britain is Shit�, even in the insane, experimental and, dare I say it, �difficult�, screechings of �Crackney Browns� (Hackney Downs! Just got that one as I was typing this up!!) It�s in the shattered and fragmented Fall/Big Black/Public Image Limited/weird-metal drum machine music and in the lyrics themselves; �You�re a sell-out lady, without an ounce of shame, you�re a corporate slut, for somebody else�s gain��/�Pro Patriotic, gay bashing, football watching, anti-Semitic��/�The girls, they spread their legs, while the boys they, threw their beer, c�mon!!�/�We will kill and kill and kill until we have restored law and order�/�Mister officer, I�m on my knees, Mister officer, forgive me please�/�You �avin� fun? When war is on? Put your kettle on� and the cuddly �Britain is SHIT, total SHIT�.
You see, this isn�t just ANOTHER 12th-rate Crass social commentary wannabe ultra-stereotypical �punk� band. Is there a single out yet? Wouldn�t it be luuuverleeey if that was to get to number one (or �2�!) in the national chart and then the TV and radio stations were prevented from broadcasting the band�s name?! Oh, but don�t worry, it�s not yer mum and dad we�re trying to offend THIS time round. It�s the gormless and omnipresent baseball capped twats we�re aiming for, this side of the year 2000, the imbecilic Nike, Gap, Adidas and Umbro clothed CUNTS of today! Buy this record, hijack a 747 and fly it into a government establishment or football stadium of your choice whilst playing Selfish Cunt cranked up to ten in the fancy-pants glass cockpit. What a way t�fuckin� go!! It�s the only way to affect any social or political change here in the utopian space-age year of 2004. What�s that? VOTE?? Hah, you must be fucking joking, CUNT!!
And, before they drag me orf to camp fucking x-ray without charge, here�s my thought for the day: �What the fucking hell IS it that�s so terribly wrong with this cunt-ry that we need bands like Selfish Cunt in the same way we needed, and by all accounts still DO need, the Sex Pistols and their ilk more than a selfish cunting quarter of a century ago?!?!� Answers on a postcard, please!!
GARE RAMA � WALKING WITH PIXIES www.garerama.com
A self-released CDR by an old pal of mine, Gary Pearson from the fine city of Edinburgh. We met at an American Music Club gig 10 years ago. I was drunk and with my friend Susan, who is good at talking to strangers. I hardly ever do and, to this day, Gary and the 2 mates he was with that night are the only people I�ve ever met at a gig and kept in some form of contact with. This CD is in a similar vein/vane to the superb tape Gary put out on the internationally laughed-at Kaw label some years ago, but it�s nice to have some of his songs on shiny disc at long last. Nice colour cover too with a photo of some trees on the front. I don�t know if the title is a reference to newly reformed alt rock gods Pixies. If it is, you can�t really tell from the songs themselves as they are, in the main, plaintive and thoughtful and mellow and nice. Like a late night confession session over a couple of bottles of red wine, Gary whispers the truths of life in your undeserving ear and all you have to do is sit back and marvel at it all.
RYAN DOYLE � THE CROWD� TRAIN TAKES THE FORM (MONOTONE) www.hhbtm.com/monotone
OK, it�s late and I�m drunk and I wasn�t expecting much from this CDR, but it�s GREAT! Ryan�s voice and acoustic strums are just the thing to ease you into an easy death.. lovely, peaceful, perfect. It�s almost TOO good to be true � I bet he rapes puppies in his spare time or something. No, this is genius beyond the puny grasp of your puny graspness. His voice sounds like ________ (fill in a name of your choice � it really doesn�t matter and no one reads these things anyway, so this is a great time for me to say KILL GEORGE BUSH � and don�t ya think it was a coincidence that 9/11 happened just after he was first elected AND Bin Laden�s video was released JUST before his recent re-election? Is it just me, or does anyone else think he�s in cahoots with this cunt?) OK, back to this CD and it�s not so good when Ryan�s trying to be funny, like on track 6 (which is called �Autopilot�, HILARIOUSLY enough). Note: You CAN�T be funny in a song unless you�re Loudon Wainwright, so don�t even TRY! But the piano-led �But Ours is to Love� is beautiful as this whole CD thing is in general, so get it. Got it? Good! (PS: If anyone can tell me what that cryptic Mark E Smith-esque title means (and that apostrophe after the word �crowd� wasn�t a typing error) PUR-LEASE let me know).
CASSETTE REVIEW
LETTUCE PREY � EARLY YEARS (MONOTONE) www.hhbtm.com/monotone
This lot have been �at it� for years. I know this �cos I�ve seen their name many, many times and many, many times have I remarked to myself �What a shit name�. �Funny� names are NEVER funny! How many times do I have to say it, kids? Anyway, I was rather pleasantly surprised when I slipped this cute little cassette into the machine, on this wet and sober Sunday afternoon with only an ancient episode of �Columbo� and Paula-fucking-useless-Radcliffe�s attempt at NOT dropping out of the New York marathon halfway through and bawling like a baby on telly. So, to drown out the crazy Christian twats who are currently �preaching� through a loud speaker somewhere in the distance and only getting rained upon for their trouble, Lettuce Prey (urgh, sorry, that name is FUCKING TERRIBLE) soothe my ears with their whispery Anglicised vocalisations and slightly Eastern backwards meanderings. You can tell these lads are into a bit of the old wacky baccy, what with the psychedelic cover and song titles like �Starkissed Fish Sailor�, �Sky Queen� and �Rabbit Drive Chief�. Nothing wrong with THAT, of course, except that they hail from Los Angeles in Caliphonia and so such recreational pursuits will probably earn them a 10 stretch in some Hellhole jail if governor Arnie has anything to do with it. Uncle Jello was right � California ?ber Alles! I like this tape a lot when it�s tuney and songy like on �Les Mis� and �Weave� but the extended instrumental freak-outs (�Tel� being the prime example/culprit) do less for me. A mist is descending now and I must go and make some dinner. No lettuce will be involved.
NEW OLD STUFF
The good thing about your cousin and her music-obsessed boyfriend moving house is being able to sift through all their old vinyl to see what�s worth keeping, what�s destined for the charity shop and what�s gonna sell for zillions on the net. Here�s some of the stuff I kept:
LOUDON WAINWRIGHT III � MORE LOVE SONGS (DEMON)
I first became aware of this geezer on the, recently dead and much missed, John Peel late-night Radio 1 show, and it was a track from this LP called �I Eat Out�. I never did get round to actually buying the album at the time (it being 1986, I was probably too busy spending my pocket money on all the Smiths merchandise I could find), so it�s a pleasure to be cosying up to it all these years later. Loudon�s one of the very few songwriters who does �funny� songs really well but if he was just a joker, I wouldn�t have much time for him. He manages to mix humour with some real soul-searching stuff. Songs about growing up, love, family; things we can all relate to. Opening track �Hard Day on the Planet� is amazingly spot on lyrically and still completely relevant today, speaking as it does of plane hijackings, Presidential candidates (I�m writing this the day before the US election) and general life-is-shit-ness. �Your Mother and I� is a lovely song addressed to a child about it�s parent�s marriage breaking up. Bear in mind, this child has now turned into the camp piano icon Rufus Wainwright.. Now THAT�S some deep perspective which only the passage of time can bring! �I Eat Out� is a surprisingly light dish (ha!) considering it was the song which introduced me to Loudon�s songwriting prowess. It�s OK; funny and stuff, y�know. Maybe if I�d had a few beers I�d be laughing but it�s not even noon yet and I�ve been sober for 3 whole days. Boring as fuck, I know, but I plan on changing all that later today. �No� suffers slightly from some of that crappy mid-80s production which the other songs seem to have mercifully escaped. Side one closer �The Home Stretch� tells of a faded songwriter �too old to die young� and you wonder if Loudon�s singing about himself. �At least you�ve been a has-been and not just a never-was�. Powerful stuff. Turning the dusty vinyl over and here comes �Unhappy Anniversary�. This is the first song so far where you can REALLY hear the presence of Richard Thompson (who plays on the whole record along with legendary bassist Danny Thompson), �cos the music sounds like an out-take from his classic �I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight� album. �Man�s World� gives feminists (or, it sounds like, one feminist in particular) a right good slagging. I�d love to know who it�s about. �Vampire Blues� is NOT the Neil Young song of the same name, but a rather lame one-joke song with, you guessed it, jokes about sucking, etc. Although the lyrics �I was born in Transylvania but now I got a flat in London town/That drafty castle full of Armadillos used to really bring me down� DOES raise a bit of a chuckle (as does the line �I like you baby when you�re ripe and ready on the rag� � ho ho!) Next track, �Overseas Call� thankfully swings the mood back to heartfelt melancholy, where the lyrics are more poignant than clever. �Expatriot� sees Loudon doing his solo acoustic guitar thing which is how he rocks at his live shows. This is another funny story-song with the laugh-out-loud Spoonerism �Smokin� a beard, growin� a pipe�. Or maybe it�s just me?! Finally, we have �The Back Nine� which despite being that rare beast, a song about golf (!), manages to be very evocative and rather moving. And how apt that the last line is �I got to drink me a few when we get to that club house bar�, �cos I�m thinking much the same thing myself. It�s a shame I�ve lived nearly 20 years without this album.
JIM CROCE � YOU DON�T MESS AROUND WITH JIM (VERTIGO)
Every charity shop in the land seems to have a dog-eared copy of Jim Croce�s �Time in a Bottle� and I have NEVER heard any of his stuff. That is why I�m sitting here on this overcast November morning listening to this LP, with it�s cover photos of Mr Croce trying to look hard-as-fuck with his cigar and his flares (VERY 1971, which is when this album came out). First track (the title track) is a bit too bombastic for someone I thought was meant to be a folk singer, with the female backing vocals oohing and aahing all over the shop. Not a good start. �Tomorrow�s Gonna Be a Brighter Day� is better. Sounds a bit like James Taylor, in fact, which is no bad thing. �New York�s Not My Home� (hey, what a coincidence � it�s not mine either!) is another nice folky ditty with strings adding some gravitas to a tale of big city loneliness. A theme that NEVER gets old, babies. And the James Taylor style vocals are present and correct on this track too. Maybe I HAVE heard this guy before and I just thought �Oh, I�ve not heard THAT James Taylor song before�! One never knows. �Hard Time Losin� Man� is a C & W shuffle dealing in some fine, fine self-pity and dodgy drug references. Nice! �A Long Time Ago� gets back to the plaintive folky core and has some nice finger-picked acoustic guitar action, reminding me of a song from Big Star�s �#1 Record�, for some reason. �Walkin� Back to Georgia� rounds off side one in a similar vein. �Operator (That�s Not the Way it Feels)� is the story of some bitch who�s ran away with Jim�s �best old ex-friend Ray� over a nice, breezy acoustic backdrop. Next up is the legendary �Time in a Bottle�.. the song whose title I�ve been familiar with for YEARS.. and here he ditches the Taylor-made vocals and gives us a sort of faux-Elisabethian thing. Most odd but not bad. Inevitably, it�s nowhere near as good as I THOUGHT it would be. Shame. �Rapid Roy (the Stock Car Boy)� is another story song, vaguely reminiscent of Billy Joel. Oh, the horror! Now I�m longing for this record to end, but there are three more tracks to go. At least they�re all short. �Box No.10� is another pleasant folky ramble. Maybe if I heard this a few more times I�d really like it but I don�t play much vinyl anymore �cos both my turntables are pretty fucked and CDs are MUCH smaller and nicer and cleaner, aren't they? �Photographs and Memories� is as pretty and sad as the title suggests. I could probably listen to this late one drunken night and weep buckets. Final track �Hey Tomorrow� is another one that reminds me of Big Star (or, more specifically, a Chris Bell song). I like it a lot. I wonder what ever happened to Jim Croce..
SHIT ABOUT BOOTLEGS
Since the mid 1980s, I�ve been a fan of trading music bootlegs � those sexy and elusive live and demo recordings made even more sexy because they�re SO damn elusive. You can�t get these little gems in the shops, you have to hunt them down like rare treasure, and they�re all the more special for that. In my case, it all started off with tapes of the Smiths and was fun and exciting. A safe little hobby and a welcome addition to the masses of official releases that I bought.
In these days of the internet and instant gratification, however, my safe little hobby has turned into an all-consuming addiction. It�s frighteningly easy to browse through other people�s lists of treasures from all over the world in the comfort of your own room and I have often spent hours doing so. I sit in my chair and salivate, emailing the owners of the objects of my desire with view to a possible trade for some of my OWN rare shit. It�s getting plain silly now � as anyone who cares to look at my online bootleg list will see. It�s impossible to get EVERY single thing that�s out there, especially as more and more people are into taping live gigs and the technology for doing so is becoming cheaper and of better quallity. I often have to drag myself away from the computer screen, as I become more and more obsessed with attaining yet another bootleg which, to be honest, I don�t really NEED.
The main band I�ve been trading stuff of since the mid 1990s has been American Music Club. When I first joined their email list in 2000, I had a lot of interest regarding trades. Many people who got in touch told me that they didn�t usually trade some of their rarest shows but would make an exception because I was one of the few people who had copies of the AMC demos. I briefly knew a guy in �94 who worked for Alias Records in LA and who was friends with Mark Eitzel from AMC, so that�s how I got a lot of my early bootlegs and how I managed to get a lot of good trades for them.
Nowadays, it seems that most people in the super-cool world of the net don�t want to trade with me anymore �cos I don�t have the facilities to copy CDs. The chasm between CDs and cassettes is such a recent thing. People have become snobbish about cassettes almost overnight and it really bugs me. I still run a small cassette label, putting out my own, and other people�s, music and I�m one of only a few left in the world. So many have closed down or have stopped doing cassettes altogether because the demand simply isn�t there. I�m not saying I prefer cassettes to CDs in general because I don�t but it was always the cheapest possible format to put stuff onto and, for that reason, it was the medium I chose to do my music on. Because, unlike a lot of people, I didn�t and don�t have much choice due to lack of cash. I still only have a crappy old PC which doesn�t even have a soundcard on it, so I can�t copy CDs, so people don�t want to trade stuff with me. It�s not that I wouldn�t LIKE to be able to copy CDs, it�s just not possible at the moment �cos I�m on the dole. A lot of people don�t realise this, or they just don�t care. Not that I expect or want them to care. If you have no money it�s easy for people to piss on you and there are many ways they can do it.
I think, for all the talk about people on the AMC email list being really cool and nice, a lot of them are just as much up their own arses as people in general. There are exceptions, of course but a lot of these folk with a zillion bootlegs probably don�t even listen to them much. They�re like people who collect stamps or rare coins and like to be elitist about it.
The Night of Her Life
This could be the night of her life
Dancing with a smile beneath the coloured lights
Drinking till she cannot feel the scars
That blight her days and weigh heavy on her heart
This could be the dream she dared not dream
In case it turned her sigh into a scream
Working all the hours God cares to send
And still she never seems to make a dent
So many angels - all so gentle, sweet and kind
They will save us from the places which no map could help you find
They�re cold and lonely, sorry and sad
They�ll run you in circles, they�ll drive you mad
But the angels will sing of the joy to be had
This could be the night of her life
Ask her if she�s happy � well, please tell me what it�s like
The movement of the streets like a ballet
Music with no words because there�s nothing new to say
�Gone but not forgotten� is the legend etched in gold
Can she remember every drink she ever bought and sold
Can she remember waking to a sun that barely shone
Or last night�s empty promises she fell asleep upon
So many good things � doused in love and alcohol
They come at you so fast, that�s if they ever come at all
They feed your heart, they feed your soul
They pour into the big black hole
They�ll show sweet mercy and control