Sunday 19 July 2015

Totally Shuffled extract-Miles Davis


 


August 26th

Miles Davis-So What-Kind of Blue     



Now this is a strange connection, having only mentioned a couple of days ago about my guilt regarding not playing the countless Miles Davis CDs I’ve got. I’ve just counted them up-they are neatly filed in chronological order and mostly not listened to as yet-and there are 117 albums in total. (One hundred and seventeen! I never realised that I had so many-and it’ll be a mammoth task just to scratch the surface). I can say which ones that I’ve listened to more than once and know quite well, probably in the space of a few lines- “Kind Of Blue”, “Sketches of Spain”, “Bitches Brew”, “The Birth of the Cool”, “Filles De Kilimanjaro” and “On the Corner”. Not even two lines.

Why these six albums rather than any of the others?

It could be seen as something purely at random; and I very well may have picked them at random for all that I know about Miles Davis. But there was some rationale behind my choices, albeit very limited. 
A long time ago- a very long time ago now, it seems-when I was only knee high to a grasshopper (sort of)-actually I must have been 19 or so-one of my best friends got heavily into jazz. I distinctly recall speaking with him and saying that “I can’t get into jazz, it is just too dangerous.” Not that I had any aversion to trumpets or saxes, this conversation was along the lines of possible damage to my very slim bank account. I just knew that if I dipped my toes, however tentatively, into the massive and seemingly endless genre that was jazz that the consequences could be severe. It was akin to someone telling me that there was a fantastic new drug out there that would make all the others seem tame in comparison. 

So, (being a bit of a coward), I wimped out from the chance to be an Impetus, Blue Note or Verve obsessive and stuck firmly with my post-punk trajectory. 

I did peer over the edge of the precipice though, and asked my friend if there was one, single jazz record that I should own. After much head scratching and chin-stroking (a trait of jazz buffs, even those in their early twenties), he plumped for Miles’ “Sketches of Spain” as an utterly indispensible album. As “Sketches of Spain” had been released for ages and was readily available at a low price on vinyl then it wasn’t actually too much of a risk.

For a long time this was the only jazz album that I ever had; in fact, I think that it was the only jazz album that I ever bought on vinyl. There isn’t too much to say about it that hasn’t already been said before- I listened to it an awful lot though, usually at clichéd times when I was tired of any other sort of music and just wanted something to, (for the want of a better word) chill out to. This was the limit of my involvement regarding jazz for a long time-just something to chill out to. 

I hadn’t been dragged down into the dark abyss of jazzdom by buying one Miles Davis album. 

What went wrong? 

How did I end up with 117 Miles Davis albums, let alone countless John Coltrane, Monk and Charlie Parker ones? 

I think it was a combination of a) getting older and changing tastes, b) hearing jazz influences everywhere, c) the ever-increasing availability of music, and d) just realising that it would be daft to close myself off from a whole genre of music for ever. 

The only reason that I’ve listened to the six albums above is that I’ve kept seeing references to how influential they were in the context of popular culture at the time-especially “Bitches Brew” being compared to Bob Dylans’ switch from folk in 1965. 

Nowadays I don’t always play jazz just to chill out, but I can’t really call myself informed about jazz in any way. 

Maybe if I start listening to those dusty CDs I’ll get part of the way there.        



This is an extract from "Totally Shuffled-A Year of Listening to Music on a Broken iPod"
        


  and what "Totally Shuffled" is all about:



One track per day for 366 days on a broken iPod. 
366 tracks out of a possible 9553. 
From the obvious (The Rolling Stones), to the obscure (Karen Cooper Complex). 
From the sublime (The Flaming Lips) to the risible (Muse).   
From field recordings of Haitian Voodoo music to The Monkees. 
From Heavy Metal to Rap by way of 1930’s blues, jazz, classical, punk, and every possible genre of music in between. 
This is what I listened to and wrote about for a whole year, to the point of never wanting to hear any more music again. Some songs I listened to I loved, and some I hated. Some artists ended up getting praised to the skies and others received a bit of critical kicking. 
There’s memories of spending too many hours in record shops, prevaricating over the next big thing and surprising myself over tracks that I’d completely forgotten about. 
But with 40 years of listening to music, I realised that I’ll never get sick of it.  I may have fallen out of love with some of the songs in this book, but I’ll never fall out of love with music.     



Get/read Totally Shuffled here

Kindle:
          

Friday 3 July 2015

Womble 4; An Early Extract!

Because I've just got back from Glastonbury 2015 and I'm in the midst of of the post-Glasto comedown, I thought I'd post a brief extract from the start of my new (and yet untitled)  book.

It's early days yet and there's a lot more to write, but fingers crossed, it should be finished and out in the big wide world before the end of this year.

This is unedited and in draft for now. so it may be culled in the end; but for now-enjoy! 



It’s just because since the first time I went, at the ripe old age of 48, in 2010, I can’t imagine sitting at home in June, without a ticket, watching it all happen on the BBC. I have to recognise that somewhere along the way, at some point in the future, then that’s bound to happen. There will be a year when I can’t go, either because of sheer circumstance, or events beyond my control or simply because I’m unlucky and don’t end up with a ticket. 

It might even be next year. 

Without becing overly morbid, I have to face the prospect that each year might be the last ever time that I go to Glastonbury. And because of that every second, every minute, every hour at Glasto is something to be remembered and treasured. 

Not every single moment  at Glasto can be special-it is frankly ridiculous to expect it to be so- but it’s important to remember the mundane and even the boring moments (which of course there are.) Because, as in life, what makes the special moments “special”, are the boring and mundane bits in between.

And those special moments happen more at Glastonbury than anywhere else. I suppose it’s all different for everybody who goes, but for me, there’s been hundreds of them. They are all simple things, yet the simple things are usually the most beautiful. 

Walking through the gates on the first day and realising that you’re back. 

The feeling of a sort of homecoming. 

Grass underfoot as you walk.   

Waking up in a tent after the first night, not really aware of where you are for a few brief seconds and then remembering. 

Seas of smiling faces. 

A cup of tea in a proper mug and a piece of toast. 

Sitting under clear blue, crystal blue, blazing hot skies with Amy and seeing The National for the first time. 

Talking to people. Just chatting. 

Watching Thomas’ reaction when we stood at the top of the hill by the campsite and seeing how truly staggered at the sheer size of it all. 

Fireworks exploding in the night sky. 

Stevie Wonder. 

Sitting in my fold-up chair and gently dropping off on a Sunday afternoon after working for four days in 2011; shift over, mud drying up and the sun shining very brightly. 

So many memories.



My previous three books about Glasto are all available here either as Kindle e books or in paperback;



Thursday 2 July 2015

Spiritualized-Totally Shuffled extract



March 2nd

Spiritualized-All of My Thoughts-Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space 

“Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space”- the ultimate break up-album of all time. There may be others of course, probably country records from the 50’s or 60’s or some singer songwriter stuff from the 70’s, but this must be up there. The track titles alone give it away; “I think I’m in Love,” “Stay with Me”, “Broken Heart”. If you can call music sad, or resigned, or world weary-just the music, not the lyrics or the vocal style, then this is it. Add into this the saddest, loneliest words sung by Jason Pierce, with the most tired, fed-up voice since Neil Young on “Tonight’s the Night”. 

This gives us the best break-up record of all time.

It’s also the best drug record of all time. 

Are drugs necessary for good music? 

Personally, I think that using drugs is the biggest waste of time and quite frankly, ridiculous and naff. 

It’s beyond all the clichés of evil and stupid-which we all know to be true anyway-it’s just crap and daft. 
Having said that, and this is where I’m conflicted so much-some great records have been made on drugs-Miles Davis’ entire output for example. 

This is not only an album probably made on drugs, but one blatantly about drugs as well -when Jason Pierce sings about “there’s a hole in my arm where all the money goes”, he’s not pulling any punches or being obscure. 

To allay any possible confusion, the album originally came packaged as a blister pack pill, with the same generic typeface as prescription medicine. The track listing and inner sleeve was made like the information leaflet you get in a packet of pills and to cap it all, they affixed a label to the sleeve, sized and typed exactly the same as you get on a bottle of pills i.e. take one daily, avoid alcohol, may cause drowsiness, if affected do not drive.           

It’s also the best Spiritualized album and I think, the most successful. It’s my favourite one anyway. 

They did release a good live album after this, recorded at the Royal Albert Hall, but the best tracks on that were from “Ladies and Gentlemen...” so maybe it doesn’t count as a different album in itself. 

Their previous two albums were the sound of a band finding their feet, and after “Ladies & Gentlemen…” I had the feeling that they’d said all they really could in one record, and were sort of grasping and struggling to say something different. 

They’d done all they could with one record-sometimes that’s enough and when it’s time to stop, it’s time to stop.
 
I think I’ve previously written that some records are only suitable for a certain time of the year, or certain weather-I think it was about Sigur Ros and winter. 

Well, this is a hot, hazy summer record. The ideal place is the middle of a park, lying on the grass with an orange mivvi, staring heavenwards and making shapes out of the clouds in a blue sky.  


This is an extract from "Totally Shuffled-A Year of Listening to Music on a Broken iPod"
        


  and what "Totally Shuffled" is all about:



One track per day for 366 days on a broken iPod. 
366 tracks out of a possible 9553. 
From the obvious (The Rolling Stones), to the obscure (Karen Cooper Complex). 
From the sublime (The Flaming Lips) to the risible (Muse).   
From field recordings of Haitian Voodoo music to The Monkees. 
From Heavy Metal to Rap by way of 1930’s blues, jazz, classical, punk, and every possible genre of music in between. 
This is what I listened to and wrote about for a whole year, to the point of never wanting to hear any more music again. Some songs I listened to I loved, and some I hated. Some artists ended up getting praised to the skies and others received a bit of critical kicking. 
There’s memories of spending too many hours in record shops, prevaricating over the next big thing and surprising myself over tracks that I’d completely forgotten about. 
But with 40 years of listening to music, I realised that I’ll never get sick of it.  I may have fallen out of love with some of the songs in this book, but I’ll never fall out of love with music.     



Get/read Totally Shuffled here

Kindle: