Wikipedia tells me this is Richard Dawson's 7th album - which means I may need to go to Spotify and do a bit of catching up.
On the other side of this, it means I have no pre-conceived conceptions about this offering - and if the back catalogue is as good as this, then I'll be a happy bunny.
Phew! This is some special thing - a right old mash up of folk-esque story telling, indie grungeiness, a bit of prog-ish-ness - the introduction to "Black Triangle" could be straight out of the ELP songbook - , all bolted to a sometime Trumpton-ish tune coupled with some seriously hummable melodies. The voice veers between Northumbrian brogue, measured baritone and pained falsetto (with a couple of Ronnie James Dio-like screechy moments).
The songs themselves are basically sung in a spoken word like narrative - there is no attempt at a poetic turn of phrase or a levering in of a rhyming couplet. The instrumentation is relatively stripped back and simple, but can (and often does) explode into louder moments.
Dawson is addressing the minutae, and sometimes absurdity, of everyday life - "we're hurrying home from Sheffield, having received a phone call" begins one song ("The Queens Head") - and using the words that best convey the story he is trying to tell, and paints a vivid picture into the bargain
Imagine a meeting between Neil Hannon, Captain Beefheart and Ken Loach - that's a pretty close comparison of the experience.
And like those artists, the more time you invest you suddenly get an "Ah, that's what it's all about" moment (OK, The Divine Comedy is bit more direct, and Captain Beefheart it might take a little longer)
There are a couple of moments when the songs sound like a descent into madness - notably on "Civil Servant" and "Fulfillment Centre", and considering the drudgery of the song subject it just fits the story.
The song construct, singing narrative, and subject matter just seem to "fit" - and then the detail and/or explanation of the mundane in the lyrics just provides another focus.
There is a certain comfort in some of the lyrical references that makes the stories told seem more real. And because of that certain familiarity, you almost walk away thinking that Richard Dawson's world is not such a skewed view on the world
Did Quadrophenia spark a Mod Revival in 1979, or was it already happening?
Well, it didn't to it any harm did it.
Despite Punk's believed ethos of (seemingly) destroying all that had come before it, it did actually open up and several bands looked backwards for inspiration. A possibly simplistic statement of Punk Rock is "sped up Chuck Berry riffs", and that's probably not too far from the truth.
As Punk died and splintered into Post-Punk, Goth, Art-Rock, and whatever other titles bestowed by the music press, one band stuck to their original stance.
The Jam, in truth, were never a Punk band - but in a case of "right place, right time" their adrenaline-fuelled stage show, backed up with the Mod look and Union Jacks a-plenty caught the attention.
As 1977 turned into 1978, The Jam upped the Mod quotient - their album 'All Mod Cons' was released in late 1978 - and the beginnings of a new "scene" started to appear.
As with most things musical, the Mod Revival started as a London-centric thing - with the Bridge House in Canning Town and The Wellington in Waterloo being two particular hot-beds.
After the tribalism of Punk, Working Class youth were looking/waiting for the next "thing" - and why not the look back to "Clean Living In Difficult Circumstances" ethos of Mod.
The new bands found support and a home in the music press with Garry Bushell (in Sounds) regularly featuring his new enthusiasms (when not bigging up the Oi scene).
Whatever anyone thinks of Garry Bushell (personally, I think him a bit of a smug pillock), he did seem to have his ear to the ground, and knew a real "Sound From The Street" when he heard one. He called it a "Renewal" rather than a "Revival".
One of the first records of this burgeoning movement was the Mods Mayday compilation, recorded (unsurprisingly) on May Day 1979 at the Bridge House, Canning Town. The album featured the bands Squire, Merton Parkas, Small Hours, Beggar, and Secret Affair.
Secret Affair's "Time For Action" (released August 1979) was perhaps the clarion call of the movement - despite Secret Affair (sort of) eschewing the Mod Revival, and setting themselves up as "The Glory Boys" (which was the same sort of thing really, but was a "new" thing rather than a revival).
Secret Affair were not the first to release their wares, but they were one of the earliest to make an impression on the charts, radio and mass media.
And that timing also coincided with the release of Quadrophenia which brought further focus to the Mod look, style, ethos and culture. And it didn't do it any harm - bands popped up everywhere as record companies (burned by Punk) jumped on another bandwagon.
Secret Affair, The Chords and The Purple Hearts were perhaps the Big 3.
But others made their presence known including The Lambrettas, Back To Zero, Nine Below Zero, The Jolt, The Teenbeats, Small Hours and others - all managing a couple of singles, and maybe an album. Not always to large scale success, but enough to sate their dreams and ensure a legacy.
But the Mod Revival (or Renewal?) was not to last - by 1982, Paul Weller announced his intention to split The Jam, and the Mod world seemed to split with it.
Early Style Council (notably "Speak Like A Child" and "A Solid Bond In Your Heart" had echoes of the 1978-82 period), but they were moving to a more soulful area - the Revival bands who combined the 60s RnB and added Punk/New Wave into the mix were no longer in vogue. Bands like The Truth and Nine Below Zero enjoyed minor success. A brief (second) revival headed by The Prisoners came and went in the mid-80s, and then Mod-isms became appropriated by Britpop bands, notably with Blur's second album 'Modern Life Is Rubbish' re-claiming Britishness coupled a Mod-look, and the appearance of Phil Daniels "Parklife". Ocean Colour Scene appeared to take it one stage further, and almost created Mod Revival Revival.
Cherry Red Records know about this sort of stuff, and have released a 4CD Box Set ('Millions Like Us - The Story Of The Mod Revival 1977-1989') pulling together the key bands and tracks of the period. And a real treat it is too.
But if you haven't got time for 100 tracks, then luxuriate in these 3:
When a new album bearing the name "Gallagher" arrives, there are usually 4 stock questions:
Does it sound like it always sounds?
Are the lyrics peppered with bad or contrived rhymes?
Is it derivative / a slight knock-off of other peoples work?
Does it break any new ground, or in anyway a departure from the expected?
And the answers, unsurprisingly, are: Yes, Yes, Yes and No
The full title of this album could/should be: 'Why Me? Why Not? What More Did You Expect?'
But this is not a bad thing - it is comfortable, easy to access, and rewards quite quickly. The only fear is that the "reward" may not last and this will soon be consigned to the "might play again if I stumble across it" pile.
There are many people in this world who perceive Liam Gallagher as "that insufferable knob that used to sing in Oasis". And, to be honest, his latest advert on Amazon hardly helps his case.
But I maintain he has one of the greatest rock voices of the past few years (well, 25 since the release of Oasis's 'Definitely Maybe').
Just the right combination of sneer, strain, over-diction and emotion - combined together, in my ears, that gives a level of honesty and believability about his performances. You get the feeling he still can't believe the position he is in, and wants to make each performance, and every syllable, count.
Unfortunately, I think his voice was ill served by his previous sols album (2017s 'As You Were') with only "For What It's Worth" really showcasing his vocal abilities (yes, I think he does have some vocal ability). The rest of that album seemed to be a sanitised version of what it could've been, and seemed to be attempting to send him towards the edgier end of Radio 2 listening - and why not, Warners obviously wanted a return on their investment.
'Why Me? Why Not?' is his second solo album, and is a step up from the previous 2 Beady albums (which just seemed to be treading water with the odd highlight moment) and the first solo album.
The trademark voice is more apparent, the band sound is fuller and less produced, and the songs feel better written and arranged
(there are moments when (devillishly) you would say they're almost Noel-esque).
The album opens in fine stompng style with the Glam Rock/Slade-esque "Shockwave", and the 70s stomp, udeated obviously for current days, pervadses much of the album's 11 tracks.
He even gets a bit reflective, almost offering an olive branch of acceptance to his older sibling on "One of Us" - the prime "Liam voice" track here, and "Once" continues the reflection. almost to a sign-off of finally putting the rumours of Oasis reunions off the agenda.
So a strong start, and whilst the rest of the album does not perhaps hit these same heights, there is nothing with a whiff of filler, and nothing that is sub-standard.
Liam's Lennon-fixation remains, but on a couple of tracks (perhaps most notably "Alright Now", and also on the psychedelic-y "The Meadow") there's a bit of Paul McCartney melody creeping in, with a touch of a George Harrison guitar soloing to cap it off.
And another influence turned real for this album is The Stone Roses, most noticeable on the bonus track "Invisible Sun" (which surely is a contender for the real album (rather than a bonus) possibly replacing "Halo" (which is probably the weakest track here).
Despite the minor quibble of track choices (and I'm not going to argue with Liam - would you?), this album has enough to want to repeatedly listen.
Job's a good 'un - top stuff our kid!
In the mid 80s, Record Companies were trying to squeeze as much out their back catalogues as possible. This was before the advent of the CD when new technology did that for them.
But before the CD revolution (or "people re-buying the stuff they've already bought"), a few record companies launched their budget or more correctly "mid price" labels.
CBS had their Nice Price stream, Virgin launched Virgin Mid-Price (all with and OVED# catalogue number) and EMI had their Fame label.
Basically, old stuff was re-released on these labels - and punters either re-bought their old worn out albums, or younger fans discovered new music at a bargain price (I was one of the latter - £3.99 for a bona fide classic album? Yes please).
Each of these labels included a catalogue (of sorts) which was basically just a list (complete with catalogue numbers, potential stockists, and peppered with the odd picture).
A (sort of) revolution in music buying was born - you could now sit at home an read up on what you might be on your next visit to a record shop, rather than just aimlessly mooch in the hope of inspiration (I still preferred the latter method, and could quite happily lose 3 hours in a record shop).
There was also the Mail Order route, with Record Shops advertising their wares in the back of Smash Hits, Kerrang, Record Collector, or any other magazine where they could afford the advertising space. And into this Mail Order maelstrom, and advertising space in national newspapers strode The Britannia Music Club.
The premis was simple:
choose x records or tapes (or later CDs), and pay for x-1(Postage and Packing applies)
Whichever way you look at it, this meant you were getting one recording completely gratis (except the P+P costs ate up most of that saving).
It also meant you were now a club member, and each month you could peruse their magazine and choose, from the comfort of your house, which newly released albums you might want to get. Again, these would be offered at a cheaper price than the high street (and again, the Postage and Packing costs would negate any saving).
As a club member, you were required to purchase 6 albums at full price in your first year of membership. After that you could make as many (or as few) purchases as you liked, and if you bought 6 further albums you were entitled to a Free album (Postage and Packing applies).
You also got a (supposedly hand-picked) Monthly Recommendation - basically, the offer of whatever album they had the biggest pile of in the warehouse.
But you have to remember to send the reply card back before the due date or you could end up with an album you don't really want. OK, you've met part of your obligation by buying a full price album, but equally you could now have a Five Star album on your shelf that you're never going to listen to.
But there were other short-comings to the seemingly Utopian music buying experience.
Britannia was partly (or wholly?) owned by PolyGram, meaning they had quite a deep catalogue but only from PolyGram artists - so there was nothing from EMI, Virgin, CBS, or any of the Indie labels.(Universal Music)
New releases only hit the magazine about 1 month after they are available elsewhere (plus another 2 weeks before they arrive through your letterbox)
Payment was by cheque or Postal Order (they would get really annoyed if you sent cash, or tried to make up the difference in postage stamps)
They had a fairly aggressive marketing stance - constantly sending junk mail bulletins about new releases, upcoming films or concerts in the USA (which you had no chance of getting to)
Their Customer Service was (at best) woeful (and (at worst) non-existent)
It sold itself as a "Club" and stated you had the freedom to leave whenever you wanted. In truth, it was more difficult to get out of than a High Security Prison.
But they were the Biggest Bugger in the Playground, and could basically do what they liked, because where else were you going to go? They even ended up sponsoring the Brit Awards for a period (the time when it became a corporate sham with predictable results and winners announced long before the ceremony). This also gave them the opportunity to send even more junk mail (usually telling you what you already knew because it was already printed in the club magazine)
Britannia were eventually driven out by the Internet - and notably Amazon - where you could browse at home, make a selection, order it and be listening to it without ever having to set foot in a nasty, smelly record shop with borderline rude staff (I like record shops like that)
The difference was Amazon (and the others like play.com, cd-wow *, even hmv) were much more efficient, had a deeper range of product, decently priced, and did not threaten to "send the boys round" if you forgot to correctly tick the "No Thanks" box
* cd-wow - the cheapest place on the (early) internet for CDs. Basically, because most of their stock was made up of Japanese and Russian Bootlegs
So the mid-80s record companies budget labels were correct - there is a market for people to sit at home and make their selections. And Britannia Music Club exploited this. Convenient (and possibly lazy)? Yes. But what was missing was the choice and delivery network so you didn't have to wait a fortnight to get your hands on your new purchases.
(And as a recent new member of Amazon Prime, I can vouch for the speed of delivery)
Still can't beat a good morning's mooch around a nasty,smelly record shop - that's my weekend sorted.
This T.Rex album from 1971 marks the point when hippie-dom was banished (almost) and the Rock God was born.
After 4 relatively low selling albums with (the first couple with elongated titles ('My People Were Fair and Had Sky in Their Hair... But Now They're Content to Wear Stars on Their Brows' and 'Prophets, Seers & Sages: The Angels of the Ages'), the Tyrannosaurus Rex name was abbreviated, and the guitars plugged in.
The single "Ride A White Swan" hit number 2 and late 1970, and stardom beckoned (which, if truth be known, Marc Bolan had always hankered for).
His first number 1 single arrived the following year ("Hot Love") and was followed by "Get It On" in the summer.
The formula was becoming clear - ditch the sub-Tolkien Hippie nonsense, and jack up the Chuck Berry riffs.
In the late 60s and 70s, "Pop Music" was all about the 7" single, but (with the obvious exceptions (ie The Beatles, The Stones etc)), singles artists didn't always make the transition to albums.
Well T.Rex managed it in September 1971 with the release of 'Electric Warrior'.
'Electric Warrior' still got an air of mysticism (certainly in some of the titles and lyrics - "Mambo Sun", "Cosmic Dancer"), continues the acoustic musings "Girl", but also rocks like a bugger ("Jeepster", "Get It On", "Rip Off"). It even gets a bit philosophical with "Life's A Gas"
(somewhere on YouTube is a performance of said song with Cilla Black).
The two winning parts for this album are Bolan's songs (albeit with potentially crass lyrics in search of a rhyme),and the production work and arrangement of Tony Visconti.
There is a (slightly obtuse) argument that the production Team on this album influenced the next 10 years of popular music.
Producer: Tony Visconti (with Bowie, Iggy Pop, Thin Lizzy, Boomtown Rats, Hazel O'Connor, and a reputation that continues to this day)
Engineer: Roy Thomas Baker (worked with a little known faux-Prog band from Kensington, and then produced 'Bohemain Rhapsody)
Tape Operator: Martin Rushent (producer of Buzzcocks, Stranglers and Generation X. And then produced the pinnacle of Synth-Pop records with Human League's 'Dare')
Frankly, no T.Rex album has surpassed this 11 track collection. Some are "close" but never quite get there.
From Mid-1971 to the end of 1972, Marc Bolan was at the very peak of his powers and adulation - a pedestal that would soon be filled by old friend and sparring partner David Bowie (who would also be aided by Tony Visconti), as Bolan entered a world of extreme self-belief (self delusion?), aspirations to vary his music (although he never achieved the chameleonic prowess of his old mate Dave), and generally chopping and changing his styles, band members, and production team as suited his whims (if not his musical output).
The last single released in 1971 was "Jeepster" - this continued an unfortunate run as it was kept from Number 1 by Benny Hills 'Ernie (The Fastest Milkman In The West)' - 1970s "Ride A White Swan" was denied top spot by Clive Dunn's "Grandad", and 1972s "Solid Gold Easy Action" stalled behind Little Jimmy Osmond's "Long Haired Lover From Liverpool". Marc Bolan's collection of 4 Number 1 Singles could easily have been 7 but for the spectre of the Novelty Single.
1983 - and we as a family have got our first VHS video player.
A great hulking piece of kit that weighs half a ton and when sat on the shelf next to the TV, you can almost see the shelf bowing.
This acquisition coincided with (it appears to me) an upturn in the family "fortune" (ie my parents now had a bit more disposable income than previously, we were not dirt poor but not exactly well off either, but now it seemed more expensive holidays and consumer goods were attainable)
The other shift in the world was me moving into my teenage years, and suddenly trust was betowed on me. Basically, my parents could now go out at weekends and not have to drag us snotty kids along with them.
And the Video player seemed to be an embodiment of this trust.
Saturday mornings were spent in the local Video shop choosing what to rent for the weekend, and Saturday nights we were left to fend for ourselves with nothing bu a microwave curry and a Viennetta for company.
And one of the earliest video rentals was Monty Python's And Now For Something Completely Different.
This was basically a re-recording of several sketches from the first two series, linked together in the Python-standard "stream of conscienceless" with failing sketches, recurring characters and Terry Gilliam animations.
"How Not To Be Seen", "Self Defence Against Fresh Fruit", "Nudge Nudge", "The Funniest Joke In The World", "Upper Class Twit Of The Year", "Conrad Poohs and His Dancing Teeth". And of course two of the finest, most recognisable Python sketches (also recognised by many non-Python fans).
A lot like a Greatest Hits of Best Of compilation allows one entry to a band, this film changed my view of what "comedy" is.
Oh yes, there were many bits of that film that stuck, but I was not yet a fully-fledged Python follower.
That came over the next few months as the TV series was rented (BBC video for some reason only had 3 episodes per tape, so it was a long task).
And then there was more ... the films and records were found, devoured, learnt word-for-word and repeated amongst like minded weirdos (as we were called) at school.
Arriving in the world of work, I soon discovered there were other Python-infused minds around me, and friendships were formed based on the ability to recite "The Spanish Inquisition" or answering questions in a kind of silly high-pitched whine (as the Minister for Home Affairs once did).
Much like (the later trend) of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, we posited the theory that "All Roads Lead To Python", and you were never more than 6 (or maybe 8 if we didn't want to take too big a leap of logic) steps away from a Python-ism.
We even had T-Shirts printed up bearing the legend, and have been known to wander along Bournemouth sea-front shouting "Albatross!"
The TV shows ran for 4 series between 1969 and 1974, and was given the late night (10:30 on BBC2) slot on Sunday evenings - a televisual dead zone, but slowly (through word of mouth) it began to pick up an audience. Series 3 made the transfer to BBC1, but by Series 4 it was returned to BBC2 (popular opinion (or the BBCs opinion) was that the show was a niche interest, and therefore had no place in prime time)
John Cleese left before Series 4 and went to do a little known sitcom called Flay Otters, or Flowery Twats, or Farty Towels, or something like that - no idea what happened to that show. It seems to have been lost in the mists of time (presumably wiped by the BBC as I don't think I've ever seen it)
But he did return for the films. The first of these (Holy Grail) was part funded by Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd (and wherever else the Pythons could find the money).
The budget constraints were obvious when you see the knights of the round table embarking on their quest not on horseback, but by banging two coconut shells together (a combination of both a great joke and necessity).
For their next film, funding was put in place by EMI. Sets were built in Tunisia, Production crews engaged, scripts and actors finalised, and filming was to commence within days. And then someone at EMI decided to read the script, and the funding was withdrawn.
The Pythons convinced a close friend of theirs to provide Finance through his (not yet formed) Film Company. George Harrison re-motgaged his home in Henley (Friar Park), formed Handmade Films and stepped in as Financier and Executive Producer of the film. When asked why he had gone to such great lengths to help, he answered: "I wanted to see the Film". This is therefore the most expensive Cinema Ticket ever purchased.
The final film - The Meaning Of Life - nearly works, but sort of runs out of steam, and just doesn't appear as "whole" as the other films, or indeed the TV series. There are many great bits in it, including some of the best songs they've done ("Galaxy Song" and "Every Sperm Is Sacred"), but just feels laboured, almost like they're trying too hard to make it work.
The last time the remaining Pythons were on stage together was July 2014s O2 shows Monty Python Live (Mostly). Originally intended to be a one-off, it ended up running for 10 nights due to demand for tickets (and I never managed to get one, I tried but never manged to get logged onto the website, and the (foolishly) gave up))
50 years on and their legacy remains -in the TV shows, the Films, the books, the records, and their influence can still be seen, heard and felt.
Not bad for a BBC favour to Barry Took to put six untried comedians on the TV.
"Is this the right room for an Argument?"
Parrott Sketch (Secret Policemans Ball) (John Cleese at his most unhinged, and Michael Palin desperately trying not to crack up)
Parrott Sketch - Updated (Amnesty International Benefit, 1989)
Frank's wikipedia entry describes him as "a punk and folk singer-songwriter".
On his latest album, he continues to strip back the Punk affectations and the emphasis is on the folky singer-songwriter.
Not that that is a "bad" thing, but the Punky bit was the one thing that gave his records a bit of excitement, an air of urgency, anthemic-ness, and a bit of a hook.
'No Mans Land' is a concept album (of sorts) - a collection of 13 songs celebrating women through history and their stories.
Mr Turner describes it thus: "an album dedicated to telling the fascinating stories of women whose incredible lives have all too often been overlooked by dint of their gender."
And he goes one stage further by engaging a female producer and a plethora of female musicians.
A concept and delivery that cannot be denigrated, but I do have the feeling of "trying too hard" about it. There is nothing wrong with a group of songs focussing on worthy people, or indeed employing female musicians as your backing band.
It's only when you make a point of highlighting this fact does it become less about the content and more about the conceit.
Am I supposed to listen to these songs in a different way? Am I supposed to take some education or thought from them? By highlighting and celebrating a perceived minority, are you not re-enforcing that minority status?
But I quibble - this (his eighth album) is a good album housing 13 well written, well played tunes. None of which jar on first listen, and each holding enough to warrant repeated listening.
Indeed, the second listen was more rewarding than the first
And then it hit me - my error on first listen was expecting a Frank Turner album.
Yes, it's his name on the cover, he does the songwriting and singing, but it is more of a Frank Turner "project" than a Frank Turner "album"
Suspending my expectations, I can report that this album is (nearly) "All killer, no filler" - maybe not "All killer", but there are no whiffs of filler about it.
Sometimes his (possibly affected) Street Busker accent takes over, but generally the songs do the job they intended to of telling a story against a musical back-drop. And that backdrop is not one dimensional radio friendly pop-folk (or whatever genre Frank is now ploughing?), there's a bit of Country & Western ("The Death Of Dora Hand"), a jazz diversion complete with saxophone ("Nica"), and almost a bit of Tudor Minstrel going on peppered throughout (notable on opener "Jinny Binghams Ghost"). And there are just a couple of tunes that sound vaguely recognisable, but are not wholesale nicks from elsewhere.
Having said that, the album does contain a re-record of "Silent Key" (from 2015s 'Positive Songs for Negative People'). For me, that song didn't sit comfortably on that album, but works in this setting.
If nothing else, it has got me searching wikipedia for more information about the songs subjects.
So maybe I was supposed to take some education from this "project".
