In prospecting around for classic albums then you mustn’t be a snob about things and so I picked this. Anna recently returned home from her voluntary shopkeeper stint at the local Red Cross brandishing the vinyl. It was a crisp nearly unblemished copy that made the speakers jump and made me recall how much we all love the songs.
If you type ‘rumours’ into your Search field on the Internet then think of all the things it might return? In fact mine came back with “Rumours (album) – Wikipedia’. I think we’re talking gigantic here. In fact 40m copies sold. It probably was in some ways the peak of popular Rock music. I heard someone postulate that there is no new Rock music today. Frankly judging by the touring and popularity of 1970’s acts then this is credible.
I’m still surprised that Brits Mick Fleetwood (drums) and the John McVie (bass), who gave the band its name, had such a Blues past. McVie plucked the strings for John Mayall and Howlin’ Wolf. Fleetwood, the only famous musician born in Cornwall that I know, hit the skins for John Mayall before forming Fleetwood Mac and their various incarnations including guitarists Jeremy Spencer, Peter Green, Danny Kirwin and Bob Welch. The third, long time member, Christine McVie cut her teeth with Stan Webb of Chicken Shack fame as Miss Perfect. However, their fortunes went stellar after hiring Americans Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks to bring their respective vocal, guitar and song writing skills. The rest as they say is….
The folk lore goes that the album was recorded in a febrile and toxic climate of broken relationships, substance misuse and hate but heaven help me it certainly is a fine piece of music.
“Second Hand News”, a Buckingham composition. Recorded in LA gives the track that West Coast, bouncy, sunshine, feel good vibe driven at a pace. “Dreams” arrives with a thundering bass line and Nicks, who wrote this, shimmers a saccharine sweet vocal whilst Buckingham fills and Fleetwood keeps an immaculate yet insistent beat. It is the melody that haunts.
“Don’t Stop” surprisingly made its way onto Bill Clinton’s albeit successful 1992 Presidential campaign. You can vote how you like but it always remains a mystery to me why artists put their music irrevocably at a point in time with an association that they never intended and have no subsequent control of. However, Christine’s composition is a song of redemption and optimism:
“Don’t stop, thinking about tomorrow
Don’t stop, it’ll soon be here
It’ll be, better than before
Yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone”
If you had any doubts that McVie and Fleetwood were making up the numbers and fortuitously counting their enormous wad behind the tent then think again. With a remorseless muscular energy they drove this album into every 1978 disco and party’s front room.
Side Two starts with one of the Classic Rock tracks of all time: after Buckingham’s plucked steel guitar introduction we get the harmonies. “The Chain” then receives the turbo kick in the back with that bass and drum before Buckingham owns the space again. The song builds to fill the room and then we sweep away pretence at pretty melodies and McVie thumps a mean rhythm, Fleetwood makes his usual brutal statement and Buckingham lights up the song with his guitar.
“You Make Loving Fun’ was about Christine’s, now newly divorced from John, affair with the band’s lighting director. To keep the peace, although the ex’s didn’t talk socially, she told McVie it was about a dog. (If he’s this stupid then you can see why they split up).
The band finish with “Gold Dust Woman”, a Nicks composition and vocal. Classic Nicks mystic and illusionary words spin a web of layered atmosphere whilst Buckingham embellishes proceedings on acoustic and electric guitar. All this belies the fact that apparently this was eventually recorded at 4 am in the morning.
Eventually we got to see the band on their enormous 2014 world tour at Leeds Arena. It was the original line up and it was pitch and word perfect. Buckingham came across as a strange example of human life and Nicks as a bit of a bag lady with her attire and scarves but the legacy is undeniable and its place toward the top of the stack is well earned.
The Hollering Pines second album, Mansion Of Heartbreak, is a traditional Country joy. Hailing from Utah, not the most obvious home for Country music, this five piece band, complemented by guest musicians, have written twelve beautiful songs dripping with melodies, hooks and Emmylou Harris style sweet and joyful harmonies. As they say ‘what’s not to like’.
Despite their profile, which belies their talent and potential, then they have been together for some years and have toured supporting major artists. Individually they have their own projects but collectively they deserve some wider recognition and this is a great place to start your catch up if they’re new to you.
“Memory Of A Wild Heart” recounts the story of a marriage on the rocks and the desire to rekindle a wild heart – a place where it all started. Sisters Marie Bradshaw (acoustic guitar) and Kiki Jane Sieger (bass) take the vocals with Marie leading throughout. This track has brass gently in the background giving it a real swing.
So a great start but “These Walls” is an album highlight with an exquisite tune, harmony vocals and pedal steel. Strings provide a lush bed on which the ladies advise of their doubts over a long-term love. In fact you’d be searching your pockets for loose change to play this again on the honky tonk’s jukebox. Sublime.
“Mansion Of Heartbreak” takes us again down the ‘tortured souls’ route of Classic Country. Against a folk acoustic backing the girls weave their magic whilst M Horton Smith steps up with some attractive mandolin. Yet ominously electric guitar invents dark patterns in the background to give this title track the anchoring emotion the girls sing of.
Dylan Shore strikes a bluesy pose with a dirty electric guitar sound on “Blacktop Dusty Blues” and the girls jettison some sweetness for a little sass. However this is no genre switch: this is simply the best of Country Blues.
Bradshaw and Sieger’s beautiful dovetailing voices start “Tell Me You’re Leaving” acapella. Eventually the band starts up and leads a Country hoedown of a tune with Billy Contreras’ fiddle joining the band’s rockabilly.
The PR trills that The Hollering Pines are ‘singing songs of long nights, short lives and spilled chances’. I think you will agree.
If you’ve invested in Amanda Anne Platt & The Honeycutters then this has a similar feel and direction. In my opinion there is no higher praise
In terms of record collecting then one of the few, if only, benefits of having little money are that you listen to what you buy and absorb any and every nuance. In 1971 my record buying activity was limited but no doubt buoyed by an epic album review in Melody Maker I bought this record. It was a wonderful experience and still is. A record where there are new discoveries and pleasures on every rendition.
The Who had migrated from being an important and creative singles band, as were all acts in the 1960’s, to become a phenomenal vehicle of Pete Townsend’s brilliant writing. The previous studio album Tommy itself was an ambitious Rock opera that spawned ‘Pinball Wizard’. The lyrical story led to translation onto the West End stage after a successful film/movie. However 1971’s Who’s Next was a harder Rock album that came from the opera workings of a project called Lifehouse.
Album opener ‘Baba O’Riley’ has an introduction that is incomparable as an exciting yet arresting repeated electric harpsichord sounding sequence. Eventually the piano arrives hitting loud chords and then Keith Moon arrives with large demanding blows. John Entwistle has by this stage started to anchor the rhythm with his bass whilst Townsend’s guitar plays chords. However as this delight is unfolding Roger Daltrey’s clear, but muscular, voice starts to deliver the vocal. Beyond compare, peerless. There is probably no superior 5 minutes worth of Rock music anywhere to improve on this.
The scene is set and the album crashes on. I say crash because the sound is so full and exciting. Many cite Moon as the ultimate Rock drummer. This album is a testament to his wondrous gift – but forget rhythm and ‘holding it all together’. Throughout he solos, fills and steps up to make bold and brash statements whilst guitar or keyboards just hover beneath his master class. ‘Bargain’ says it all and I can only hear the drums rather than any other instruments throughout.
‘My Wife’ sees Entwistle’s contribution, the only song not written by Townsend. Entwistle competently sings the lead and the horn arrangement adds some competition to Moon’s drums. ‘Song Is Over’ takes it down to start with and so the vocal comes up! Townsend picks around Daltrey’s vocal and Nicky Hopkins’ piano provides the rhythm. Eventually Entwistle and Moon join proceedings. Again listen to those drums! Daltrey tells us about a love being over and how as part of the process he has to ‘sing out’. It works for me Roger. Epic
‘Getting In Tune’ starts Side Two with piano and a bass line that provides an introduction for Daltrey to deliver the wistful melody about how he feels on his intuitive relationship with his lover. His voice is a unique instrument that is able to swoop, rage and caress with beautiful control. ‘Behind Blue Eyes’ is again Daltrey and a melody over an acoustic guitar with chorus harmonies. However it builds and gives way to a Townsend solo and the rumble of the bass and drums arrive.
For ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again’ the synthesiser hits a hypnotic sequence before a guitar riff accompanies the beat and in good time the vocal arrives and a loping rhythm emerges:
We’ll be fighting in the streets
With our children at our feet
And the morals that they worship will be gone
And the men who spurred us on
Sit in judgement of all wrong
They decide and the shotgun sings the song
I think you can see that something anthemic, bold and revolutionary is on the cards. Of all the tracks then this is one where Townsend imposes his scything guitar and takes the opportunity for exquisite flourishes. By this stage of the album Moon is beyond control and is doing what he likes.
As the band jam the synthesiser then reappears and the band depart. We wait for this hypnotic set of chords to play out before a flurry of drums and then the most amazing vocal moment of my life… Daltry unleashes a blood curdling scream. Oh, my teenage heart.
If you haven’t got this then you should be ashamed of yourself.
Eilen Jewell is one of those hard working troubadours who regularly tours all over the world and, for me, comes under the category of ‘I think I vaguely know her’. In fact in my iTunes library I found a few tracks of hers (but as I have nearly 22,000 tracks in there then I have most people).
She defies a number of pigeon holes as regards genre and floats beautifully between several. You’ll always be guaranteed to enjoy her effortless, easy paced seductive vocals, superb arrangements and the stellar guitar playing of Jerry Miller.
Her latest release of 12 tracks recorded over two days is the realisation of a dream. Inspired by her father’s blues record collection she now dips back into the catalogue of roots music and selects classics from Memphis Minnie, Willie Dixon, Lonnie Johnson and Bessie Smith amongst others. It would be fair to say that she has been this way before but never with an album devoted just to the blues.
These interpretations seldom depart from the pace and feel of the originals but they all have a contemporary feel. One of the more recent covers is of Betty James’ “I’m A Little Mixed Up”. Not least we start to understand that there is something of a Country swing about the album and that if Jewell enjoyed compiling this homage then not half as much as Jimmy Miller. She really is lucky to have his services and he has full rein to pick, strum and bend strings in the most delightful way throughout.
“Down Hearted Blues” swaps Bessie Smith’s original’s piano accompaniment for acoustic guitar and upright bass (Shawn Supra). Somehow her lilting and more optimistic tones sit very differently from Bessie’s interpretation. If you have read any of my web site then you’ll know that I once cycled to the site of the hospital where Bessie died after a car crash in Mississippi. I’m touchy about anyone covering this legend’s work. That aside then the more that Bessie gets her legacy published then the happier I will be.
In fact Jewell has acknowledged the importance of American roots artists before, not least with her Loretta Lynn, 2011, tribute album, Butcher Holler. On Down Hearted Blues then half the tracks are originally by female artists and she invites you to hear how exceptional they were in a very male dominated industry.
Through out her husband and drummer, Jason Beek, sets a danceable swinging rhythm on many tracks and not least on Willie Dixon’s “You’ll Be Mine”. Another Willie Dixon composition, “Crazy Mixed Up World” has all that dance allure with the addition of Miller’s guitar picking.
“Poor Girl’s Story” includes violin and the band gently keep the rhythm behind the pair of them as this tale of rambling the USA comes as an album closer and welcome addition to the various styles before.
This is hugely enjoyable and I’m secretly returning to this album, as it is a real grower.
Martin Appleyard was this tour’s victim and frankly he should have known better.
As an old friend and colleague he’d been saturated and subjected to steep hills on a 2008 cycle adventure between York and Edinburgh and in a further deep loss of reason he’d signed up and had more of the same on a 2010 bike ride from Toulouse over the Pyrenees into Spain and back again by the coast. It appears that after a further seven years he’d forgotten the misery. On mature reflection he must have known that 2017 wouldn’t be a better experience. In fact this tour rolled all the biggest challenges of previous expeditions into one and even I was frightened at one point that I’d pushed my luck too far as regards safety.
Sometime after the ride finished; I’m still feeling sorry for doing this to him. Read on.
A long train ride brought me from York to Swansea and Martin from Abingdon. On one of those trains that stop everywhere I’d noted the development of light rain into something less pleasing as we penetrated into deepest South Wales. Meeting at the station exit we pedalled the short and wet distance to our first hotel, Ibis, to discuss the maps, wind and hills.
(Along the cycle path we came across a prostrate cyclist being attended to by an ambulance. He’d hit a lamppost at speed! Not a good omen for what lay ahead).
I’ve cycled in lots of places in the UK and spent time in South and North Wales but I’d never been to the west coast or seen the interior. Martin had mentioned about fancying a cycle tour in a random conversation a couple of months earlier and so I’d scoped a journey from south to north.
We were evenly matched as regards fitness and so after packing a selection of kit to cope with heat or cold then what could possibly go wrong?
Leaving Swansea was on Sustrans National Route 4. This is a cycle route which broadly follows the south coast, to start, and is signposted (most of the time). It is serviced by maps that miss out the distressing details such as distances or hill gradients: after all why would you want such detail to ruin your bike ride?
As a marker for how things would continue we pedalled out in heavy rain noting the choppy sea on our left and rush hour traffic on our right. Not all bad however as we proceeded down the cycle path broadly ‘sealed’ from the rain with our clothing whilst other commuters, on push bikes, came into view not wearing any waterproofs and with one student still brandishing their heavy, now sodden, headphones around their neck.
This ride out was nearly the flattest of the trip and when eventually the sun came out it was a sensational ride. Note the smiles and posing in the photos! On the route we came across joggers, dog walkers, hikers but no other cyclists. Maybe they knew something we didn’t? I love history and the plaque to Amelia Earhart was interesting. Can you imagine that long, cold, lonely and dangerous flight in an aircraft with the reliability of an Austin Allegro?
Llanelli was very wet and windy. We cycled past the impressive new rugby stadium. The Welsh love their Rugby Union and for a small nation then you have to acknowledge their talent. Our ride passed many pitches and clubs. On the Saturday you could hear the spectators bellowing as they huddled on the touchline.
The rest of the town looked old and a little past its best and sadly as heavy industry declined it took away much of the prosperity. It was telling in a chat with one waitress later in the day, that when we mentioned the local economy she identified the large supermarkets as major employers. And so it was with Llanelli, which boasted a large Asda in its centre.
If there was any reason to be glum about the increasing wind then, thinking on the bright side, we’d be entering Pembroke Dock long after the BBC’s forecast of thunder and lightning there!
Eventually as we got further west the road suddenly went skywards. It was my fault! I suspected Route 4 was taking us on a long detour and opted to take the B road from Kidwelly to Ferryside. Wow, what a hill! For half a mile we edge closer to the firmament and around each corner we discovered another additional climb and never the summit. It would be fair to say that I was the first to decide that what remained of my knees was best served by dismounting and pushing up this 12% incline. Yes, to coin a phrase, weak and increasingly wobbly.
From here we plummeted into Ferryside and after re-grouping I promised Martin to stop for lunch in Carmarthen. This was quite an easy ride but the sun was gone and rain was falling. No problem then with lunch in sight?
Martin got a puncture! This was made worse by elderly tires and one of which, when inspected by turning inside out, decided to refuse to return to its original shape. So Plan B was agreed to push the bikes the next 2 miles into Carmarthen where we’d find a bike shop and a new tyre.
Half a mile later, probably in response to Martin’s silent praying, a McDonalds came into view. This would be our second visit of the day! However, an apparition greater than any religious icon also appeared through some trees… Halfords. I disappeared to MaccieDee’s to dry out and devour deeply unhealthy fried and processed food (yum) and Martin went to the store to invest in new tyres and mudguards (who tours in the UK without mudguards?)
Well despite the pleasure at finding Halfords then the bike fixing took some time. From getting the puncture to getting back on the route took 3 hours to complete. Martin after having created a useful time gap to hold the Yellow Jersey was soundly disqualified and put on notice by the commissionaire (me) that any other delays would be reported in my subsequent blog. Always a man of my word (not) then I decided that this would appear in a blog in any case!
Well from here Martin led me along the horrifically busy A40 before we returned to Route 4 and a hoped for gentle amble to Saundersfoot. Sadly the road went up and up. There was no difficulty in the ascent but the cycling was slow and time was passing quickly. At this time of year the light starts to fall off after 7pm and it is no fun to ride in darkness even with lights.
Apparently the Welsh also have another use for sheep, but as my Favourite Eldest Daughter remarked – ‘how can you tell who’s won?’
Along this coast some delightful places came into view. Not least Amroth where along the sea wall a couple of ladies were perched looking out to sea on a warm sunny evening clutching some champagne flutes and polishing off a bottle of something delicious and fizzy. However, we had to push on and after a lovely run down a cliff path we got to Saundersfoot. This seemed a lively and attractive place with diners and drinkers perambulating along the front.
Despite time passing for us we rang the hotel and confirmed that we were coming but not until maybe well past 7pm. At least we now had a guaranteed room for the night.
Agreement was reached to abandon Route 4 and its evil and wickedly hilly ways for a quick dash down the A477 to Pembroke Dock. This we did and bowled into The Dolphin Hotel, just before another deluge. The hotel was a pub with rooms above. The staff seemed nice and the room basic but adequate. A considerable downside was the buoyant and noisy bar beneath our room. I can cope with loud music but for heaven’s sake, Coldplay?
Before retiring we scoured the streets for a restaurant and as we were pushing 9pm and the fact that our part of town was away from any shops etc. we settled for an Indian. It was the second worst Indian I have ever had in my life. Yet again my fault. I’d chosen the town and accommodation. I’d like to think that it was in some ways fitting retribution for the puncture delays and I was proud to even the score with Martin.
Our breakfast was a cooked one and the first in a succession of depleting the eggs and bacon reserves in Wales. The food was served in the pub where at 8am one of the locals was on a bar stool cradling a glass of cider. Sadly that was my lasting impression of Pembroke Dock. A town that probably had a thriving dock and workforce maybe 60 years ago but was now looking steadily abandoned and tatty.
The plan was a brisk ride to Haverfordwest. This was on the route and looked a large settlement that might produce carbohydrate options to go with the cholesterol special back in Pembroke Dock. Cycling does allow you to consume a ridiculous amount of food but you do need to eat food that is fuel and if you try and cycle for seven plus hours on an inadequate diet then your endurance and condition will fail you.
Haverfordwest was unsurprisingly built on a hill and at the top of the steep climb was the Tesco cafeteria. Martin was now starting to understand that fine dining would be a hallmark of his short adventure in the Principality. Porridge was consumed and a few extra gel bars bought.
So Broad Haven next, on the coast. Quite a nice small settlement on a cove. Up above it the rows of static caravans were stationed looking out onto a very rough sea. Middle aged couples, in garish anoraks, with wind swept hounds at the end of leads battled against the gale on the beach. We had little reason to stay and headed north. This led us along narrow roads with 3m high hedges and face offs with occasional pick up trucks driven by impatient farmers. The route would drop you down to beaches along the coast but that fearful dread on the descent would consume you, as eventually you knew that a bill had to be settled by a 15% gradient climb to escape the beach. The sun shone but the wind blew.
Newgale (a clue in the name) was the end of this northerly coastal ride before we headed west to St Davids. The wind at the resort and resulting climb up out of it were demanding. Not as much as the westerly wind that prevented our easy progress to St Davids. Solva looked idyllic and was a foretaste of how superb St Davids was with its cathedral. The building in the photograph is mainly a 19th century construction but this site has housed a cathedral and abbey from the 6th century.
Here Scandinavian and French tourist voices could be heard milling about in the sheltered sunshine. In fact such was the international ambience that we fell into conversation with two ladies from Vancouver in a cafe over a panini. I usually forget the detail of my travel but having only just been in western Canada two weeks ago I could compare their experiences and also got to berate them for pronouncing aluminium as ‘aloominum’. A simple pleasure I know.
With a tailwind we set off for Fishguard with a mere 40 miles (!) to go before our night’s stop. Fishguard was reached quite easily but there was a major hill climbing project to get in and then out of it. It was here that Martin suffered from ‘kind motorist syndrome’ as he ascended from the harbour.
‘KMS’ is where somebody doesn’t overtake you and therefore doesn’t leaves you in peace and solitude but hovers behind you for about a lifetime. They think they are kind, as you move up a hill at the pace of a glacier. The reality is that you feel under pressure and have to expend precious energy riding as quickly as you can steering a straight line up a horrid hill. Another unpleasant side effect is a long queue of less tolerant motorists behind who when liberated from this slow moving traffic jam nearly graze your hip to make up for the 3 minute delay they have suffered.
To add to this incident Martin then witnessed a motorbike surge past a car so closely that it clipped and destroyed its wing mirror. The unlucky car had been giving Martin space as he resolved a slipped chain at the side of the road. The motorcyclist was in a hurry. Further up the road I then saw the chase as both went past me at Mach 5. The motorist was no doubt anxious to discuss the damage and the motorcyclist less so. Oh these crazy Welsh folk, how we laughed.
The road to Cardigan was very up and down. If the road was not necessarily brutal then the rain was. Hell, it chucked it down. Proper cold and vertical stuff. We weren’t just damp but completely sodden. Cirgerran was eventually reached but our lodgings were hard to find. I only had a post code and the house we sought wasn’t visible.
So down a street as I’m walking around looking for a property called ‘Y Allt Rheini’ Martin befriended a dog owner to ask where we were and where our accommodation might be. She was not a lot of help until we dialled the establishment’s number, handed her the mobile and requested that she liaise with the proprietor to get directions. I shall always treasure the immortal words that she uttered to let the proprietor know where we were as she spoke “we’re on the street off the main road. You know, opposite Dog Food Dave’s”.
With some ropey directions we eventually went down a long slippy track to find the mansion and dripping wet we were shown to a lovely room that quickly became a steamy laundry as various layers were peeled off to dry either with or without washing. Then back onto the bikes and back into Cirgerran for a pub dinner.
DAY 2 – 71.6 miles, 7 hours and 4 minutes cycling & 1,758m climbed
Martin dry and rested seemed chipper at breakfast.
After yesterday’s arduous ride I suggested that today would be easier. This was a despicable lie because today was a similar amount of climbing and distance, as Martin pointed out (cough).
Nevertheless, we set forth and on a sleepy Sunday and wended our way to Lampeter. This was really back roads riding with lots of small farming settlements and sheep!
It was difficult to quickly cycle the 30 miles to lunch but there were a few interesting discoveries on the way. I love the 1960’s era of British cars and this was a complete treasure trove with other cars under tarpaulins here hidden in the forest at Pencader.
Lunch turned out to be epic and winner of ‘The Tony Ives Meal Of The Tour Award’. Sunday lunch at Granny’s Kitchen in Lampeter. The photo reveals the artist’s joy at the roast beef and Yorkshire Pudding etc. (The expression may suggest doping was involved).
Next three unhappy events came to pass. The first was biblical rain.
The second was a text from a very good friend, Robert, advising that his mother had passed away after a long illness. I had known the lady since I was a very small child and whilst she had been unwell for a considerable time it was a sad day and in the scheme of things then I would want to attend the funeral.
The last event was the failure of my iPhone to receive any consistent reception. Over the last couple of days the texts were delayed and telephone calls nigh on impossible as the signal was so weak that it read ‘No Service’ or calls were cut off. This issue had led to my not receiving the message of the death promptly.
With only 45 miles to go (!) we enjoyed an initially flat run before we got into the real hill farming countryside and ground away endlessly on granny gears that silenced the banter as the weariness kicked in. We were heading for Llanidloes in mid Wales.
So you haven’t mentioned the Welsh language yet Tony? True, I was about to come to that… Being a recidivist Englishmen then I am bemused at a language that can best be described as sounding like a heavy cold with a surplus of phlegm and spelling that would win any game of Scrabble. Also every person in the Principality speaks English.
However, there are two other revelations that I can share – one is that every other settlement starts ‘Llan’ What does this mean? I don’t know but then endless typing of destinations into my Sat Nav of new towns or villages to head for started with this. The second revelation is that people actually speak it!
This is taught in school and so maybe all the duplication of language on road and public building signage isn’t a waste of money. One thing they could teach the children of Wales is that after getting into a car it is not mandatory to buy a sweet fizzy drink in a plastic bottle, to consume it and then with scant concern to lob it from your car window into the beautiful countryside. Plastic waste is killing wildlife in the oceans and there is a focus on reducing it. I think the Welsh Government could well use some dosh to educate people to use a bin, preferably a recycling one. Seriously the countryside is being used as a waste tip. Shame on you Taffy, not ‘tidy’, as you are oft prone to say.
In our usually sopping state we reached a very nice hotel in the centre of the town, showered and found a pub for dinner and a pint.
DAY 3 – 79.9 miles, 7 hours and 33 minutes & 1,914 m climbed
Well of course rain fell as we watched the hotel proprietor’s partner use a blower to move the petals that were on the pavement in front of the hotel. These had fallen from the hotel’s hanging basket in the rain. He blew ‘his’ petals to be in front of next door’s pub! Neighbours eh?
Overnight I had spoken to Robert and established that the funeral was the day after next. This was a day when we were still touring. If matters were a little challenging given that we were in deepest Wales with poor transport links then abandoning Martin to the next day with its mountain climbing and weather was not kindly. What was I to do? Should I ride with him until the worst of the climbing was completed? I have no doubt Martin would have coped but read on.
We abandoned National Route 82 to stay on the main road to Machynlleth, oh what an error! The road was vertical in places and as we ascended to over 500m the weather became horrific. A steady fall of cold rain took the temperature down to just over 8° C and the wind picked up. In fact it nearly picked both of us ‘up’ as we crawled along at an average speed of 6mph. The descents were possible squeezing the brakes every inch of the way down to maintain control. The ascents, against buffeting wind and through a stream of water (coming down the road) were dangerous and pushing the steed became the order of the day. A few cars and trucks passed by to make our passage more difficult as they came around sharp turns quickly. I wondered what the drivers were thinking about these two fools battling the elements.
It has to be said that even the sheep and cattle took shelter by copses or walls as this hell rained down on them. I literally shuddered to imagine being up on these hills exposed at lower temperatures. At Staylittle Martin dived into a pannier to find extra clothing. I was so cold and wet through that standing there was numbing and I pedalled on slowly just to keep the blood flowing. Reunited we ascended to 600m and now the hillsides were exposed with no wind breaks. Occasionally slippery cattle grids had to be negotiated and then the descent began.
I was now shivering uncontrollably and hurtling downhill holding onto the brakes was not easy. The wheel rims were so wet that grip took some time to happen leading to entering some corners too fast. The bike juddered beneath me as I shivered, it shook.
Eventually the winds fell (and the rain continued to) but the temperature might have only just edged upwards when we entered Machynlleth. First I found a supermarket to dive into to warm up but then about 100m down the road we found a cafe for a hot drink. I peeled off the sopping layers and clutched the cup tight to warm up. The thaw began.
In the cafe was Ben, a third year student at Falmouth University studying Marine Biology. He was cycling to Cornwall via Llanidloes. The mountain run that we’d endured was his next two hours bike ride. He’d ridden up from Barmouth and wanted to know about the route ahead. “Stick to the Sustrans route and wear all available clothing” was my advice. I couldn’t think of a more hellish two hours to complete. Poor Ben.
We left puddles in the cafe and set off for Barmouth. It was a bit up and down and the selection of an A road meant a few trucks and the odd toot on the horn from an impatient and irrational motorist. However it was a lot easier and we rolled into Barmouth at around 3pm.
I planned to get a train back to York that night and was dashed in my ambition to check with the ticket office about connections etc. It was shut being refurbished and a note said buy a ticket on the ‘Arriva App’. To show how customer unfriendly that was then an old gentleman suddenly appeared over my shoulder as I’m looking at the timetable on the wall and asked me to confirm a train time. He said his eyesight wasn’t good enough to read the listing. Clearly the chance of him having a smart phone to use an App seemed very unlikely.
Anyway with no ticket but a plan we adjourned to have our third portion of fish and chips in four days and say our goodbyes. At this point I’d like to think that I had improved Martin’s life forever. Not by the bike ride but by teaching him how to transfer photos between iPhones using AirDrop.
Martin armed with the map was keeping to the plan to continue up the coast to Harlech. Here I’d booked a room. From here he would, the next day, cycle into Bangor and catch a train south. By all accounts this he did but not without the odd hill and another 60 miles riding.
I got the train at around 5pm to Machynlleth (yes back there). Changed platforms and proceeded to Shrewsbury. I had a bit of a wait before catching a train to Manchester before my last connection to York. Here I unloaded the bike, mounted it and rode onto my driveway at 11.30pm. Quite a day.
DAY 4 – 50.1 miles, 5 hours 21 minutes and 995m climbed.
So Wales is beautiful and hilly. Has an often spectacular coastline and is definitely tourist friendly. The weather was atrocious on balance with mixed days of some calm and sunshine but demoralising rain and wind usually on long very steep parts of the day. Martin may never forgive me but the next ride can’t be as awful can it? Can’t wait.
It seems quaint to recall but for my 18th birthday I received a number of record tokens. I was just starting to devote my life to vinyl and predictably had a long list of potential acquisitions to spend it on. On the list was the current Yes album, Close To The Edge, released the preceding year in September 1972.
So armed with said ‘Voucher of Joy’ I found my way to The Sound Of Music in Harrogate and did a swap. I have to say that my attachment to this album has now been complete for a very long time. In fact it wasn’t until 2015 before I saw them live – at Newcastle City Hall. An iconic 1970’s rock venue if there every was one. The line up wasn’t as per the album but they did play the whole album. However Steve Howe was on guitar and Chris Squire was on bass and it was these guys who drove the album for me. (Sadly, Chris Squire has since passed).
There are only three tracks – welcome to Prog rock – and the words were generally Jon Anderson compiled gibberish. In any case the vocals were like a musical instrument and made a sound to complement the instruments. On this basis Anderson could have worked his way through the local Chinese takeaway menu for me rather than the recollections of a dream he later claimed drove the title track.
The album and its complexity seems bewildering for an age that luxuriated in 12 bar blues and songs about girls in red dresses. We start with a building yet intense cacophony of birdsong giving way to a complimentary guitar echoing the high pitched frenetic sound. All the time the fabulous jazz loping and compelling drums of Bill Bruford provide the foundation before Jon Anderson unleashes his harmonics. You start to notice the bass lines underpinning the rhythm with a fat spelshing thump of a sound.
We wait for over 11 minutes before Rick Wakeman makes a grand appearance on organ by now we have several distinctly different tunes welded together separately in the studio by Eddie Offord. (He was originally their live sound engineer but went onto become a producer of choice for many rock bands).
Over 14 minutes of captivating rock, an imposing track.
“Down at the end, round by the corner
Close to the edge, just by the river
Seasons will pass you by
I get up, I get down…”
And You And I begins with acoustic guitar and an echoing organ chord way back in the mix. It is altogether lighter in tone and instrumentation. The melody weaves it’s magic throughout with the chorister clarity delivery of Anderson. Wakeman can dominate anything with his ability to create a symphony with a handful of keyboards in front of him this he does as the song and rises into a wall of sound before the folk song resumes.
Siberian Khatru ends side two with Squire’s bass thumping away whilst harmony vocals recall some nonsense. Of course Howe carries the melody with Wakeman ever present, not least, on an occasional harpsichord. (Anderson had no idea what Khatru meant at the time of composition…)
An endlessly satisfying 38 minutes with its selection of melodies, remarkable musicianship, jazz like complexity, mind boggling creativity and simply a bench mark for any Prog rock act to try and emulate for the following 45 years.
Courtney Marie Andrews came into my life thanks to Vinyl Eddie’s in York. I was swapping notes with a bloke about Americana. He was there thumbing through the new releases. He was acquiring the latest Steve Earle LP, something I had first hand experience of thanks to reviewing it for the Americana Music Show. He recommended this album and I dutifully invested. What a beautiful 36 minutes and 39 seconds Honest Life is.
Recommendations are the finest way to discover music and this is a gift. Ten tracks that might fall into a number of genres including ‘Singer Songwriter’, ‘Folk’ and ‘Americana’. Her distinctive voice and delivery is reminiscent of Joni Mitchell and Joan Baez. However that comparison is a a heavy load to bear and she is her own voice. You are drawn in to the delivery and expression as well as the words. A comment on Joni was that if you were her lover then you would end up sometime later in a raw and emotional lyric, I can’t help but wonder how many beaus are nervously playing this album.
The instrumentation is always simple and delivered by a gentle rock band – drums, piano/ organ, bass, guitar and harmony vocals but they seldom intrude on a vocal performance that commands the centre stage. Equipped with a mellifluous tone and killer tunes each track is captivating. She wrote all the songs and has the talent to find a wonderful tune and lyrics that are life stories mainly about her tribulations in love. Clearly at the tender age of 26 she is serving her apprenticeship in matters of the heart.
“Only In My Mind” starts with Joni’s Blue era piano and the vocal recounts a failed love story as luscious strings accompany her through her delusions. “Not The End” introduces pedal steel, clearly this is one of the greatest pieces of machinery known to mankind, and again our heroine reflects on the lover she adores and seeks reassurance that she is not about to pass into his past. “Table For One” brings the lonely life of a touring musician into sharp relief. Homesick, eating and drinking alone, straddling the immense distances of the US and missing her lover: we enjoy the lilting acoustic track underpinned by pedal steel bringing sweetness to the bitterest of stories.
Irene has a soaring vocal and concerns itself with advice to a friend who lacks confidence in the direction her life is taking her. She doubts she has control over the choices available. Organ and guitar have their tasteful moments as the rhythm finds your hips.
If this doesn’t grab your attention then you don’t have any handles and this will be on my ‘end of year’ list.
I was taken by surprise of what a trip down memory lane the destination would be. I seldom go anywhere in the city of my birth, Leeds, nowadays. The venue for the concert – Seven Arts in Chapel Allerton is nearly next door to the first Primary School I attended over 55 years ago – Chapel Allerton Primary School. Memories flooded back such as making a clockwork bear walk through puddles in the playground: not the best thing for a primitive mechanical device to do. Also I spent a couple of undergraduate summers working at a stores depot for Leeds City Council just around the corner from here. However nostalgia apart I made my way to the venue quietly thrilled that one of the best Americana acts of 2016/17 were playing on my proverbial patch.
This was Amanda Anne Platt & The Honeycutters first ever UK tour and Seven Arts, in Leeds, was privileged to be their second stop. With a four piece band to back her Platt took to the stage in this small but packed venue and launched into “Birthday Song”. This was the first of several songs off her latest critically claimed eponymous titled album. The album has gained traction in Americana circles in the US but it is clear, as she ran through songs off this and the preceding two albums, that she’s been producing exquisite Country Americana for some years now.
The UK seems to be an adventure and Facebook posts recording the delights of discovering steel rather than plastic teaspoons in her hotel room and the possible pleasure of eating fish and chips and finding a real British pub suggests that this adventure may spawn a song or two but it is certain that Platt will garner some new fans in the Old World.
Whilst her vocals and observational lyrics are the focus throughout then she is blessed by a band that sympathetically and expertly fit around her. As Platt strutted her stuff up front then the band shared ‘off camera’ grins and nods as they took their solos. This is a bunch of pals on tour with an easy dynamic.
Matt Smith switched regularly between electric guitar and pedal steel. To the delight of the audience this came to the fore during “Texas ‘81” where its tones were as much a siren as her beautiful voice. Evan Martin underpins the sound with keys/organ throughout especially on “Diamond In The Rough”. Platt played 22 songs over two sets and highlights were frequent and many but “What We’ve Got’ reached a certain intensity that lit up the crowd and “Me Oh My” was truly rousing.
The audience enjoyed the vistas of Texas, Carolina, Indiana and places a long way west of Yorkshire but they also enjoyed the banter about her anxiety of eyebrows on a video shoot or the preponderance of deformed villains in Warren Beatty’s Dick Tracey movie!
For a couple of numbers the band left the stage whilst she sang a couple of songs alone with an acoustic guitar – “Learning How To Love Him” and “Angeline”. This stripped down sound was a joy along with the acoustic final number “The Road” with Rick Cooper (bass) and Josh Milligan (drums) providing harmonies on the chorus. She has a way of expressing the emotions and troubles of every day folk and to have her close her eyes and tell you with her head tilted to one side and the lights dimmed was like receiving a private audience with a sage.
I read somewhere that Rock was dead. As useless as that sounds then when you note that U2 are touring an album they made 20 years ago, The Who have a residency in Vegas and your inability to name the last great Rock album released since 2010 then it might be true.
With this rattling around my head then I checked to see what was one of the last Rock albums that I bought and that I still revere today and came up with one by Dawes. Never heard of them? Read on…
This troupe come from Los Angeles and have five releases to their name and in 2013 released Stories Don’t End. What a great album in the mould of Steely Dan meets Jackson Browne and Paul Simon. I’m always drawn to a tune and this band never fail to find a melody that is often delivered with a harmony vocal. The arrangements rely on guitar, bass, keyboards and drums but always delivered tastefully as if the practitioners are so accomplished that the sound serves the album rather than needing any grandstanding.
Guitarist and lead vocalist Taylor Goldsmith writes all but one of the tracks and his observational lyrics are perceptive about the ordinary lives we live. He has the gift for creating a situation that is common but unusual; from here you slip seamlessly into his world. “From A Window Seat (Rivers and Freeways)” tells the story of having that window seat on a flight and wondering about the lives and reasons for travel of his fellow passengers and the dream he has whilst he dozes. This stream of consciousness is paired with a superb upbeat rock track redolent with lead electric guitar flourishes.
“Someone Wil”l is an unrequited love song about a man who falls for a girl he imagines telling of his affections but has to concede that if he doesn’t tell her of her desirability then someone will. Again Goldsmith’s mellifluous tones come to the fore against a Graceland era Paul Simonesque tune with a prominent bass line from Wylie Gelber.
The riff/guitar signature of 2013 is unleashed on your ears on “Most People”. Again more lyrics about someone having views that she alone thinks she holds but frankly… most people do. The pace and sparsity of the sound of the band behind allows Goldsmith to deliver his heartfelt analysis whilst the bass anchors the song, and then comes the killer riff.
From The Right Angle has the opening stanza:
“You have found me on the other side
Of a loser’s winning streak
Where my thoughts all wander further than they should”
You know you’re onto a winning track especially when we put it with a great tune.
Throughout we have a very perceptive observer who’s never quite sure of his worth but certainly able to assess the worth of others telling you about the things that seem plain in front of him. You will listen.
I’m not sure how these guys have not made greater strides towards world domination but at least now you know what you’re missing.
Purgatory by Tyler Childers will be another candidate for those crowded end of year lists. Whilst Americana will claim him then this is proper Country before auto tune, rehab, radio and the major labels sanitised it. It is saturated with violins, guitars, banjo and tunes to die for. There is a lot of music out there to catch your ear but Childers, helped no end by the production of Sturgill Simpson and sound engineer, par excellence, David Ferguson, has been helped to release a fabulous record that show cases his talent brilliantly and hopefully this will put it above the rest on people’s play lists.
Sturgill Simpson is the latest Americana bright light after having won awards for his last album A Sailor’s Guide To The Earth and his association is quite an affirmation of Childers potential. Not only does his experience and talent come to the fore behind the desk but he brings along his band to play.
Childer’s has paid his dues and these songs drip with life’s experiences and make for heartfelt stories that tell you about his early rebellious and often dissolute lifestyle. Like Simpson he hails from east Kentucky, a land of densely wooded hillsides, semi-trailer trucks hauling coal on narrow roads and no little deprivation. His picture of life comes against this backdrop and makes for a compelling listen.
He started singing “Feathered Indians” in 2014 as he made his living playing small venues but in 2017 it makes it onto disc. This lilting acoustic guitar melody, complimented by violin, is an awkward love song, possibly reminding you of Jason Isbell, Ray LaMontagne or James McMurtry, of a man who starts to emerge from wayward ways to see that something is worth reforming for:
“Looking over West Virginia smoking spirits on the roof
She asked ‘ain’t anybody told you that them things are bad for you?’
I said ‘many folks have warned me, there’s been several people try
But up until now there ain’t been nothing that I couldn’t leave behind”
The voice is his passport to stardom – demanding, tuneful, expressive and with a smidgeon of loud ‘Outlaw’ edge. “Honky Tonk Flame’, a straight down the line traditional Country song, pulls all this together and we have the troubadour drifting from bar to bar and suddenly finding ‘the love of a woman was all that he needs’; with this anchor then he’s more complete but:
“Still on the road ‘cause I ain’t good for nothing
Except writing the songs that I sing
Beating them strings like their owing me money
And chasing that honky tonk flame”
“Whitehouse Road” has that Steve Earle country rock chug and yet more talk of ‘running these roads’ with moonshine along the back roads of Kentucky. A belter of a track that really benefits from Simpson’s band behind him.
Like so many of these artists he is out on the road and even makes it to London in July playing some minor venue there. There is no easy way to fame but I’ve slowly pedalled up the rolling hills of east Kentucky, looking for predatory dogs (!), and seen the economic challenges and the schools proclaiming they are ‘drug free zones’. Not a place that has an easy future ahead. It may suggests that this is a new arduous route worth taking.
Purgatory, I feel, is the closing of a chapter. He sees his youthful path as full of missteps forming him but out of the darkness comes the hope. Childers and this album deserve a big future.
How could I go a year without a Beatles album amongst the selection? The challenge was to decide which one. Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Abbey Road or the Double White Album? I could pick any of them but the Double White (The Beatles) sticks in my mind as the one that had the most diverse selection of styles and genres and so provided an introduction to different music to my then young ears. Such is the mental imprint this gave that I can visualise the radiogram and room where I used to dig this out of its sleeve and play it.
The Beatles were able to move between genres with no critical comment or censure and I would say that this blessing meant that I embraced many sounds. I could run through each track of this 1968 record with affection as somewhere there is a brilliant riff, wonderful tune, experimental or surprising arrangements and freaked out lyrics that appealed to me. So lets talk about a few tracks.
Side One kicks off with “Back In The USSR”, clearly an anachronism in 2017 with BOAC and the Soviet Union long gone but at the height of the Cold War this intoxicating mix of Rock ‘n Roll, transatlantic air travel and the portrayal of Russians as humans was quite a thing for this 14 year old to absorb. Paul McCartney composed this as a supposed Beach Boys parody. However, the Chuck Berry influence dominates. Intriguingly Ringo Starr didn’t play drums as he quit the band briefly during their recording.
George Harrison composes “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” with the magnificent Eric Clapton helping on Harrison’s Gibson Les Paul guitar. This was a coming of age for Harrison, he started to compose more, rather than just play, and this might be seen as the best track on the album. The lyrics are certainly influenced by George’s reading Chinese philosophy at the time albeit at his mother’s house in Warrington! This was a typical Rock song paraded on both sides of the Atlantic over the next decade.
Paul McCartney’s “Martha My Dear” has Music Hall styled piano, I just loved it. McCartney has never been constrained by being hip and this along with ‘Honey Pie’ bears no resemblance to Rock music. This inclusion legitimised my parent’s record collection as a catalogue of enjoyment and made me adopt the position that there are only two types of music – ‘good and bad’.
We have the acoustic beauty that McCartney became synonymous with in “Blackbird”. This is such a soothing and healing song with it’s metronomic beat, what lyrics:
“Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise”
If this is a memorable set of words then the story that “Rocky Racoon”, a British folk style tune, recounts is of a Dakota gun fight over a woman between two love rivals with wry humour.
Even Ringo gets to write on the album, his first solo Beatles composition “Don’t Pass Me By”. Ringo tracks were something you never looked for but usually his talented mates were often able to elevate anything he wrote to something tolerable. On this then there is a violin/fiddle solo. Which British acts were using this instrument in its US guise on their albums in 1968?
My wonder and education continued with “Yer Blues”, a John Lennon composition with a faithful blues treatment that inevitably brings George Harrison to the fore and he nails it throughout. In between passages of fluidity he makes it wail and screech. Delicious.
Even artists of this stature wouldn’t be allowed to sprawl on so many styles and indulgences over four sides of vinyl today. “Revolution 9” is a cacophony of sound and voice clips as they play with the capability of the recording equipment. This was not something that my record collection went near: until now.
After this musical journey we come to rest at the end of Side Four with “Good Night”, a song written by Lennon for his young son and sung by Starr. Lush strings turn this into a perfect lullaby and somehow is the beautiful and reflective ending the album deserves.
The Beatles are still revered around the world and not least in the USA. I have stories of asking Americans, on my bike travels, to identify three famous Britons only to have these guys regularly be named. We’re fiercely proud of them, a true gift to mankind.
(This was the last Beatles album to be mixed in mono and stereo. I have a mono version on vinyl. This was only originally sold in the UK. It shifted over 300,000 copies in the UK and so is ‘relatively scarce’. A quick look at Discogs sees my edition selling comfortably between £90 to £200. However, I’m not in a hurry to dispose of it anytime soon).
Zephaniah O’Hora and The 18 Wheelers – This Highway
One of the delights of rummaging around for old vinyl is that you can find music, for a proverbial song, that you wouldn’t normally find and if you’re lucky then the original owner didn’t play it and so it is mint! I captured a Buck Owens Live at Carnegie Hall Concert gem recently and felt it was a real piece of luck as I was transported back to 1966. The same experience came to pass with this delightful release by the improbably named Zephaniah O’Hara with the 18 Wheelers.
With his producer and guitarist, Jim Campilongo, O’Hara recreates the sound of 1960’s Bakersfield and Nashville with an authenticity that would enable you to stick any of the tracks off this record on a Rock-Ola in a 1960’s Honky Tonk and not worry that someone might pick up that 50 years that have elapsed since the machine was loaded with Ernest Tubbs, Loretta Lynn, Red Simpson or Merle Haggard. To emphasis the point the album sleeve is also wonderfully retro.
Originally from that hot bed of Country & Western music (not), New Hampshire, O’Hara plies his trade nowadays in Brooklyn, NY. With his band then you can imagine them occupying a small corner of small bar as folk two-step in front of them.
The sound has that gentle Country & Western feel with pedal steel, from Jon Graboff, providing a beautiful embellishment and the band never pushes but backs the measured tenor of O’Hara. “I Believe I’ve had Enough” hits its stride and we hear O’Hara’s plan to take it easy whilst the guitar picks around him with a gentle honky tonk piano filling the gaps. The pace can vary and “This Highway” takes things down and O’Hara croons his best Jim Reeves. “High Class Girl From The Country” sees Campilongo switch to acoustic whilst the pedal steel takes the melody. O’Hara tells us of her ‘chasing down those dreams and the years show on your face’. The full nine yards of 1960’s Country pathos. “I Can’t Let Go (Even Though I Set You Free)” is a lyrical gem, so dark against a bright and cheerful tune:
The roses I bought are on the floor
You tried to walk out the door,
This gun will keep you here with me,
I can’t let you go, even though I set you free
Needless to say we go on to talk about graves and the presiding judge. A three minute 32 second classic.
Apart from the unnecessary cover of the Sinatras’ “Somethin’ Stupid” with Dori Freeman duetting then these all appear to be original compositions and confirm that O’Hara and Campilongo love this era and sound such, that at a stroke, they could compile this collection. I love it and kudos to Round-Up Records for letting this see the light of day. Tell a friend who likes the old stuff: they will never be able to thank you enough.
Finishing off our breakfast at The Delaunay in Holborn Tim turned to a story about resuscitating his car, which wouldn’t start. He’d ask a ‘man who can’ to inspect and resolve the elderly Jag’s problem and eventually telephoned him to get the prognosis. As Tim said then the last thing you want to hear is “Tim, actually it’s a fascinating problem…”
His man went onto tell him that it was all to do with the “brains of the car, Tim”. Again Tim felt more anxiety and mystification. The ‘brains’ in this case was the ECU. Anyway £300 got the old girl to cough back into life.
That was a happier event but the week contained the burying of an old friend. I wrote about Jason and the final chapter saw us bury him in a beautiful little churchyard in Barnston, Essex. A very tearful and draining event made more difficult, for me, by the fact that in line with Sod’s Law it was also the date of another funeral 150 miles away (Steve) which I had to miss.
That weather behaved in Essex but it tipped down during the week as I headed up north to talk to the Easingwold Yorkshire Country Womens Association about my bike ride across America. It is still a pleasure to recount mountain ranges, churches, Kentucky dogs and the kindness of strangers. It seems that they are up for some music next year in my talk about cycling down the USA in search of the centres of American popular music.
I’ve been submitting record reviews to The Americana Music Show for some months and enjoying the experience of writing. Just as pleasing was to see my efforts on the shelves of W H Smith via the monthly magazine Country Music People. People comment that I’m able to do this stuff but it still seems that a bloke who spent his working career shuffling through Board papers and concerning himself with all things to do with kitchen cabinets wouldn’t now be writing about Americana and Country music for circulation in the UK and USA. Maybe I’m getting this retirement project sorted.
It doesn’t seem to be possible to fail to mention the General Election. No pre-result doubts about the result, no potential ‘nip and tuck’ and no doubt that it would be the inevitable confirmation of what you expected to happen. It was the 10pm Exit Poll forecast of a Hung Parliament that nobody expected. If my social media feed and news headlines are to be believed then the winner lost and the losers won. Whichever way then it isn’t to be business as usual and we’ll limp on for some time, at least, to see if it all works.
Lastly a picture of some cars! Anna and her friend Zelma arranged a drive up to The Sportsmans Arms in Wath-in-Nidderdale for a bite to eat and by way of reward the men got to drive their toys including a 1965 Triumph TR4 and an early 1970’s Triumph TR6. Great fun.
I was watching a video of a chap cycling in Norway, in the sitting room, thinking that he had a very fine soundtrack accompanying his ride when Harry, my daughter’s boyfriend, appeared around the door and asked if I liked Kaleo? Kaleo were the Icelandic band playing electric blues rock on the video. Never heard of them!
Iceland has produced some fine popular music of late including Sigur Rós and Bjork. Granted, both are acquired tastes but nevertheless remarkable. Kaleo may shortly be seen as important. So who are these frozen Blues practitioners?
Starting in the west of Iceland in 2012. This four piece hangs off the singing and song writing of Jökull Júlíusson – a voice that is drenched in blues and can hold a melody beautifully with Sam Smith-esque falsetto and no little nod to Rag ‘n’ Bone Man. You may have heard them on adverts for Boots and Netflix and their relocation to Texas in 2015, as a base, meant that this album was recorded in Nashville, LA, Austin as well as sessions in London and Reykjarvik.
Released in 2016 we slide between authentic Delta blues to their more popular version of driving blues rock (“Hot Blood”, “Glass House”). However their signature sound comes with ‘No Good’ and the muscular Paul Rodgers style vocal fronts a wicked rumbling lead guitar and thumping drum. What a way to start the album! The electric lead guitar of Rubin Pollock is certainly a blues force and gives all the songs quite a soulful yet, on occasion, jagged edge.
“Broken Bones” begins with a 1930’s Alan Lomax inspired Press Gang chant. As the song develops again with that thumping bass drum accompaniment, it tells the story of a prisoner in chains looking to the Devil to set him free. “Way Down We Go” is more of the same, which is fine by me.
To add some variety they can mix it and the bright acoustic “Automobile” is a road song with mentions of San Diego, San Francisco and Mexico. Similarly the album closer, “I Can’t Go On Without You”, takes us out in a reflective mood and the beautiful love song showcases a terrific vocal.
It can be no coincidence that the polish and dynamics of an often multi layered sound comes from much of the production duties falling to Jacquire King. His cv includes Buddy Guy, Tom Waits, Kings Of Leon & The Editors. He has the feel and knows where to place the guitar in the mix for sure. Also it helps to be signed to the Warner owned Elektra label – an organisation with resources and clout to promote.
As a total package it is a triumph and note that it’ll eventually appear in the hippest of record collections.
Trundling through the Yorkshire countryside on my bike yesterday I was miraculously transported back to Florida thanks to the presenter, Calvin Powers, on the Americana Music Show podcast. He made reference to the Suwannee Roots Revival Music Festival in October and talked through the acts about to appear.
Usually it is hard to remember a day in your life in enormous detail but I well recollect passing through Suwannee County on a hot day in late August 2015 on my bike. After cycling down the USA and taking in its magical musical history I had got to New Orleans, duly worshipped, and was heading east to the coast to meet the family. In fairness another 700 mile bike ride from NOLA isn’t inconsequential but after the earlier adventure it would be a flat run to the coast and the hell, that is, Orlando.
To my surprise I enjoyed the ride more than I ever thought. This part of Florida bears no relation to its angry, busy and prosperous eastern ‘pan handle’. It was relatively flat, very wooded, lots of African Americans and not too wealthy at all but in an unexploited and rural way. In places though it was very quiet and had that Southern combination of lethargy and debilitating heat.
On such a potential day I left Tallahassee early in squally rain (they had said there would be implications from Hurricane Erika, gosh those crazy Americans worry about anything) and headed east into a dry afternoon of heat and emptiness. As the 76 miles for the day ground by then I found myself on the ‘Ray Charles Memorial Highway’. Here in the middle of nowhere I quickly discounted it was the great man’s asphalt but slowly as I got nearer to Greenville then it became apparent this is where the African American Rhythm & Blues legend had spent his early years, his mother’s home town.
So I ‘collected’ another musical institution – saw the monument and took the photos and continued east to a State Park where I hoped to camp. The camp was in Suwannee State Park. Again in my heat dazed brain then Al Jolson came to mind with ‘Swannee’, his first large commercial hit written by George Gershwin in 1919. This became a world wide famous song. Digging around finds that Stephen Foster first adapted the Suwannee river to ‘Swannee Ribber’ in his song ‘Old Folks at Home’. From here with the river in circulation George took the name for his song.
So with all this musical history amassed I argued with the Park Ranger about charging me the same price as an RV to pitch a miniature tent (without a hook up) in this parched forest ($24) for a night. It was good to be detained and argue because the air conditioning was delicious and I noted in a tank, within the Ranger’s office, was an imprisoned Corn snake. It lived off frozen mice and as I wandered out of the office, defeated, but consoling myself that I had just cycled past a nearby gas station that sold beer and also that my exorbitant fee would keep the snake in chilled rodents for some time to come.
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