Little Britain's grotesque characters are ready to shock and entertain us live on stage, says JAMES WIGNEY. via The Advertiser
After reading an article reviewing the lastest stage show of the UK export, Little Britain, I found myself fascinated on another country's take on our British humour. We have known for decades how if we ever wanted to get in the U.S's good books, we just send them a dozen copies of Benny Hill shows or even a knotted hankie to remind them of the days when the Americans could not get enough of Monty Python, so when I read how the cast of LB were going down under in Oz, I was quite surprised to find that the country who gave us surfer dudes, heavenly bodies and Neighbours, actually are easily shocked by over weight men dressed up as women.
Perhaps they never looked at Dame Edna Everage in the same light, she was, notably a Queen in her country: fully dressed, made up and beautifully cutting with her remarks to our home grown Michael Parkinson when in conversation, yet LB has probably taken the reality of transvestites a little too far. I personally don't like the show, but then again, I grew up on a steady diet of Blackadder and was inspired to write for a living after being exposed to such cleverly crafted wit and historic wisdom.
It is this sort of upbringing in middle class suburbia which takes a horrible hold and refuses the patient to ever see past Stella Street ever again. Despite the audience roughly having the same chance of being hauled up on stage as you would expect at a Derren Brown show, at least you are not going to be exposed to giant licks on the forehead by the UK's biggest trickster. However, we can imagine that since the big wigs of the Beeb won't travel any further than Tolworth Roundabout on location, we can safely say that anything goes when on stage with Matt Lucas and David Walliams.
The further they are from censorship, the more vile they become. This new style of rock and roll is booming; meaning that the unlikely pair are selling out over there as well as a year over here. They have shocked a few million with their bare buttocks and overly theatrical script which first appeared on Radio Two six years ago. The concept of these grotesque figures actually representing the United Kingdom is something we should revolt over on a national scale, yet we find ourselves embracing these darkly macabre characters as if they have moved in next door. We are shifting the comedy to the unimaginable, yet as a country, no matter what we dish out, we will always lead the world with a chuckle...
"...Monty Python star John Cleese is set to play Chief Inspector Dreyfus in the sequel to the remake of Pink Panther...." via ContactMusic.com
I wonder what you will make of this. Forget the genius of Sellers - the sullen face, the unmovable moustache, the trench rain coat which only Colombo has been able to pull off since and now picture the Ministry of Silly Walks and put Cleese in the place of a lead figure in the never ending story of the Pink Panther.
Does anything sound vaguely wrong or at least a tad bonkers to you? Yes, I thought so. There will never be another Sellers, yet don’t be me wrong. Before you think I’m off on one of my daunting trips down the valley of the lost souls of stardom, I have actually read the article clearly and it is not Cleese doing the injustice of Sellers, but the equally unjustified and criminal act of the other failed character post-Sellers….Chief Inspector Dreyfus.
Those chaps at MGM just don’t know when to give up do they? I guess if Sellers was smiling down right now (and to be honest, I would think he would have better things to do - getting drunk with Milligan and wearing toilet seats around their necks springs to mind) It practically makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end when I hear the word “franchise.” It’s an Americanism - and as much as I am in love with the word “cheeseburger,” the former is one I can never feel at home with. Manic legend Steve Martin is set to play the aging Clouseau, but never as good as the original.
I guess to a equally aging Seller’s fan myself, it would be like a Ford Mondeo posing as a Ferrari. Quite the ends of the scale. Don’t get me wrong (for the second time) but this whole bumbling throw together of a major point in comic film history is rather like getting Brad Pitt and Hugh Grant to do a hash remake of Some Like It Hot - there are some things not to be tampered with - ever and the Pinkness of the Panther is one of them. We have until 2009 before we are subjected to this awfulness of general lack of imagination.
Until then - we can always look forward to a few more Pirates Of The Caribbean movies. I guess in a few decades time, they will want to get their money grabbing hands on Depp too… And guess who else is in it, I bet you can never guess... Pink of course - why the name was made for the Panther screen. The critics are already on their backs on this one - we shall wait and see yet it would not be the first time that the powers that be have got it all wrong.
The bookies will have their day when the box office sellings go through the roof....
The birth of this band from the wee darkest depths of Glasgow happened purely by accident in around 1980. Scruffy school mates by the strangest names of Tich, Tinny, Johnny and Caesar were struggling to get away from the school dances and town halls, getting paid peanuts to sweaty, drunken crowds of kids whose ears were just about as in tune to the music as the band were.
It was only when the older brother of Johnny, by the name of Gerry decided that his girlfriend at the time's little sister Clare, had a fairly pretty singing voice and that a girl fronting the band might give the guys a bit of a boost. It is these life changing moments that one only hears about in the music industry (like the timely meeting of Lennon and McCartney at a village fete) that bring fame and success all rolled into one. Fate, as we call it seems to strike at the strangest times. These split second occasions don't happen anymore, or at least, the industry doesn't allow for them to happen any more due to 'bands' and music being mass produced, like a conveyor belt. This is an album review on one of the last bands not to have been produced in this historical and fatalistic way. Some kids got together quite naturally and the rest was history.....
This album is not just another 'hits' album. Its extensive in the fact that we are also introduced to some newer tracks. What does happen here is that we are taken on a journey around the career of Altered Images. Since Miss Grogan has gone on to what a lot of us would call, better things on Sky Channel, VH-1, she hasn’t needed to fall back on any royalties from her songs. However, I understand that she couldn’t resist temptation and had a solo single out this year called 'Love Bomb.'
In the early eighties they only released three albums. 81' Happy Birthday. 82' Pinky Blue and 83' Bite. In this time they only released eight singles. The highest position and perhaps their most famous single, 'Happy Birthday.' This one reached number 2 in September of 1981. (It was kept off the top slot would you believe by 'Green Door' by Shakin Stevens.) 'Happy Birthday', and other hits are featured on this album. An album that, in my opinion is worth scrapping the rest for and just reaching for this one off the shelf instead.
The album starts with a short 'intro' not unlike Cyndi Lauper's album, 'A Night To Remember' when all that can be heard is a scratchy record also at the end of the album and we think that our stereo is on the blink. This intro for Altered Images is a simple glockenspiel (and yes, I did have to look that word up) with Clare repeating 'Happy Birthday' in the distinctive tune. We are immediately struck by the clearness of her voice. She is pitch perfect and her voice echoes like tiny bells. Actually, listened to it carefully, it sounds as if this has been recorded again for the release of this very album. Her voice is still spot on, yet sounds a little older. The same intro was used on their first album 'Happy Birthday' and also used again to close the album.
We are then lead into there first hit, and not a memorable one, but this album has been produced as a tour through the bands chart history. 'Dead Popstars' has a title that would sound at home on a Smiths album, and at only the highest position of sixty seven, spending only a fortnight in the charts, we are not holding too much hope out on this being a stormer of a track to listen to. Even so, this band did, eventually take the world by the balls and became one of the greatest British bands to find fame in less that two years. This is track 2 on our album here, and it starts with a rather dull and depressing riff in flat. Their heaviest influences at the time when they were finding their feet was Siouxie and the Banshees. Little surprising really as this is the band that we think we are actually hearing. This influence has a strong presence within this track. It also paints the picture of the time. Released in March 1981, it was towards the end of the mass punk era and the picture is clear. Clare uses her untamed voice to curl up at the end of every note like a childlike impression of Toyah Wilcox. It also has distinguishing themes of Depeche Mode. It shows all the markings of a new band trying a sound that reflects those of their contemporaries at the time. The lyrics are dull and interesting, and possibly not the best way to open album, but I guess Altered Images are well established enough to throw an awful early single in the knowledge that the listeners aren't going to turn it off immediately.
Track three is the very intriguing 'Insects' and we feel that Clare really has turned into one by the way she uses her voice to enhance her lyrics. We are starting to hear the Altered Images we know and love come peeping through. The band aren't creating so much noise in this track. We can distinguish instruments. We can hear the beginning riff more clearly. The band now feel that they are working together rather than competing against each other in the previous track. Its also a better stab at the chart. We are surprised to learn that this wasn't released. It appeared on their first album 'Happy Birthday' released in September 1981. This was supposed to be their finest album, but that was debatable. Their best work was yet to come. Still 'Insects' is a humorous tune especially the hissing Clare tails off the track. You can imagine her bending low down to the crowd enhancing her voice as she twists herself.
Track four is the better known 'Love and Kisses'. We are hearing true Altered Images. This was also featured on their first album. The drum effect throughout the track puts the listener in mind of and early Adam and the Ants track. This tribal usage of drums were popular with most bands in the early eighties. It is well rounded theme to the era of the time. We had left the punk era behind now, and with all music at the time, it reflected that. Perhaps the one track that could be the answer to the question of their immediate success was ‘Happy Birthday,’ and was here that they entered commercial stardom. The band create a pop style now by breaking away from their punk roots, to simply make money. Clare was famed for bouncing and jumping her tiny frame around the stage. For this track she simply couldn't keep still. The lyrics are catchy and its a tune that has been played over and over again for millions once a year, every year. The single stayed a massive seventeen weeks in the chart. The album, released in the same month, was only given its extensive credit simply on the strength of this record being so popular. Chosen as one of the most perfect party records of the decade with its jingling guitar riffs and rolling quick drum beats, regardless whether its anyone's birthday or not....
Incidentally, the album was produced by Steve Severin, also the producer of Siouxie Sioux. So we can understand the doom filled desperation sound of the forgettable ‘A Days Wait..‘ The lyrics are not of now what we see as Altered Images style, and the tune is rather tuneless. It was released in 1981, but thankfully, didn't do anything. Perhaps we were relieved with songs like 'Small Without Me.' By the sound and usage of synthesiser, we can gather that it is a recent track, although I have not record of this track at all. All I can decide is that its one of those tracks thrown into a 'hits' album to startle the listener. It starts with a tambourine fuelled riff that sounds rather like Lenny Kravitz. The mono radio effect is used on Clare's voice like and this is also used with her as she also sings backing vocals and its a taste of Altered Images could still cut the grade if they were still releasing singles today. Her voice sounds fuller, more mature and the slightly 21st century indie sound suits the whole band.
‘I Could Be Happy,’ is simply a mirror of 'Happy Birthday' in its style, beat and not far away from the same melody but perhaps slightly flatter. We also hear a choir effect to wrap the track in something that doesn't sound so enclosed. One gets the feeling with some of their tracks that its rather like standing in a life with the band and Clare performing in between floors. Released in December 1981, and even uses some chime bars to make the track sound seasonal, it did reach number seven in the UK charts, hanging around for twelve weeks in total. Not surprising that in 'See Those Eyes' and we back to commercial hits making time. Now we are hearing the definite sound that was unmistakeable Altered Images. Clare's vocal is an octave lower which allows her lyrics to come over clearer. The problem with their tracks to this date is that Clare's voice had been stretched to its limit therefore understanding her lyrics was difficult. Featured on the 1982 album, 'Pinky Blue' it was also a fairly successful hit released in March of the same year and attained the position of number eleven. It wasn't of the same calibre of 'I Could Be Happy', it had something missing from the usual releases. Perhaps, it was after this single, the band came to a decision to change the format and the style of their records. A sort of, move with the times, if you like. It was hits after this time that took on a whole new sound.
Also with the titled track of the same album, 'Pinky Blue,‘ it does at first, sound a little too bubblegum and leg warmers to the listener and we panic at the thought of Altered Images turning into Barbie. It open with a futuristic sound of lazar guns. In all honesty, if Altered Images hadn't done this track, then Transvision Vamp would have snapped it up in quick time. Clare Grogan is certainly bubblegum but more fishnets in need of some repair rather than leg warmers. She waters down her impression of Toyah but sounds more Tracy Ullman. It didn't do much for the increasing fast repertoire for Altered Images, only achieving a poor number thirty five.
Track eleven is the titled 'Forgotten', and this first opening beats sound half nicked from New Order's 'Blue Monday' In fact, if they had hired a female vocal, this is what they would have come up with. Clare, like many female fronting leads of the time actually couldn't sing. It was a time when an actual voice was not required. It wasn't long before we heard 'West End Girls' completely talked through, although brilliantly by The Pet Shop Boys. Was this the style they were now toying with? No, the next track spelled a new beginning, although a short one, but also opened them up to a whole new audience, and in my mind, had finally landed them fair and square on the map of famous British pop.
'Don't Talk To Me About Love' threw a number seven at them, but should have done better. Within this track we hear a tune, Clare singing and good backing vocals, and a cute guitar riff that could be whistled if fast enough. Released on the 19th of March 1983, it really couldn't have got any higher. Its release was purely bad timing. Unfortunately, they were forced to remain at number seven due to 'Total Eclipse Of The Heart' by Bonnie Tyler being at number one, one month, then 'Lets Dance' by David Bowie the next. The pressure to release anything better than that was far to high for the student band from Glasgow. These were old pros sitting at the top, and there was no room for Altered Images. But, on the other hand, what did the chart matter when you had best selling albums and one of your greatest fans was John Peel, who followed them overtly. He once said '...say what you like about Altered Images, they could rip the s**t, both on record and no stage, out of a lot of bands of that period.' It was true, Altered Images did and yet laid the path straight for future bands like, The Primitives, Garbage and Transvison Vamp. Grogan had made jumping around and acting girlie alright. It wasn't cool anymore to be old and mysterious all heavily made up. It was 'in' to be acting like its your twelfth birthday, wearing rolled up baggy trousers and brightly coloured beads around your neck. She, above all represented other kids walking down the street. So in the next song, ‘Love To Stay, which is slightly Human League in their latter day theme, is cured from all the bouncing and throwing oneself around the room knocking the coffee table over. Its thoroughly produced on a keyboard, and we hear no U2 guitar take offs. Clare is strangely at home with this melodic enchanting track. It sooths and irons out the creases formed by new romantic punk.
'Change Of Heart' is where we are introduced to pretty awful sounding synthesisers sounding like an end of pier dance organ. With lots of arrs and ooos, its a little sixties sounding, somewhat retro, not unlike the style that Diana Ross tried to produce with 'Chain Reaction'. Again, we can hear that they were prime influences to Transvision Vamp. We now start to see that pop history is just a chain of events and sounds. Moving on to 'Bring Me Closer' is, and I must say, a very well worked disco track. Lots of clapping and not short of a roller disco classic. Its Sister Sledge if you like. Madonna could have pinched this for 'Confessions On A Dance floor.' It contains cool sax breaks and swaying violins, fresh off Love Boat. Its a little on the cheesy side, but as I said, works, but please, Altered Images, don't do another one! 'Las Vegas Lullaby' is a shock to the system. Its simple and sweet but not sickly with its tinkle tinkle bells and slide guitar. Its Clare being rather serious for a moment. After all, she has matured in years as well as voice. Unfortunately, this is the first we've heard it.
The album finishes with the statutory awful, time filler mix of some hit we've already heard on the album. This time its 'I Could Be Happy' that they've ruined by putting some funky beats to it. Its too heavy on the 'Blue Monday' feel. If I wanted to hear that, I would have reviewed 'Substance 1987'. The intro goes on for far too long, then jut when you think you actually might be hearing the track for real, it goes back into a loop of hefty intro again. So please, don't make Clare sound like Jive Bunny. I couldn't take anymore.....
In short, this album makes you stop and think. Should we just cast the CD to one side and perhaps play it again when there nothing else better to do? We've just cast aside someone's life there! These youngsters dedicated their lives to making music. With pop so soulless and cold today, it can make you one minute into an overnight sensation, then drop you like yesterdays fish in the morning. At least Altered Images lasted a smidge longer than that…
Tracks included;
Happy Birthday intro Dead Popstars Love And Kisses Happy Birthday A Days Wait Small Without Me I Could Be Happy See Those Eyes Pinky Blue Forgotten Don’t Talk To Me About Love Love To Stay Change Of Heart Bring Me Closer Las Vegas Lullaby I Could Be Happy (MR mix) Happy Birthday outro.
Catherine Bush recorded her first demo under the financial guidance of Dave Gilmour from Pink Floyd. Presenting it with shaky hands to giants EMI, they signed her and she quickly issued her fist single. The self penned ‘Wuthering Heights’ went straight to number making her the very first British female solo artist to accomplish this feat. Followed only a month later by her release of her first album, ‘The Kick Inside,’ went almost achieved equal success by placing itself at number three in the album chart. An album written totally by her, she had already been well experienced in singing and writing. Forming her first band titled KT Bush with her brother, Paddy at the tender age of sixteen, she had already been composing on her piano since she was eleven. A pure child prodigy, she was destined to become the strangest, most curious of all female artists to tread the musical ground.
Boldly walking the very male path of art rock, she was self assured and focused to the very last penned note. Studying music, dance and mime, she incorporated these art forms into her every movement both musically and visually. The latter, perhaps fitting her operatic voice, she used visual dress to accentuate her music leaving the viewer mesmerised at such a performance of dance as well as voice. Her creativeness was originally inspired by her love of all that was the occult and the supernatural. Collaborating with her passion for classic literature, she chose to use classical heroines for the themes of her earlier songs. Theatrical epics were what she actually produced, probably wasted on the general buying public at the time, she managed to touch a chord and drew into her a still and very attentive audience.
Casting a drifting shadow of mystery around her being, she was shy, thoughtful and deeply sensitive when being interviewed, a situation she was far from comfortable with. Touring very little, she, over the years became introverted and felt awkward as though her place in the world had been and gone. Building a fortress around herself, she apparently, although briefly, changed her name to Kathy from Wuthering Heights. (Yet it does not take too much thought to work out that this name was a shortening of her own name anyway..) Feeling disillusioned with the world and the music industry she felt that her music did not have a place and she curled herself up in a little ball to the world and ‘disappeared’ for over a decade. Eventually coming to the surface by the nagging voices of surrounding influences, she conducted herself into writing suddenly, a new album, ‘Aerial,’ again, a mythical character but this time, her recognition was for her composing and her ability to surprise with the most extraordinary prose and music to fit. Not so much now gawped at for her striking beauty as a young woman. Now she was older, stronger and more a legend with starry eyes looking now up at her, rather than those early years where it had very much been the other way round.
Self designing her own studio at her home, she spent hour after hour perfecting sounds and effects for her records. She craved for the ability to create a visual effect through music to plant an idea into the listener’s head. She accomplished this by using her knowledge on classic literature. Having that imaginative brain herself, she found it easy to use descriptions of not just scenes in her music but recreating feelings and emotions of those characters who were devised so many years before her time. Catherine Bush from Bexleyheath in Kent had written her own first album from start to finish marking the start of a career that made her into the most influential British female artist of the twentieth century and beyond…
Moving on to this featured album, it includes the number one ‘Wuthering Heights,’ from February 1978 and ‘The Man With The Child In His Eyes,’ which reached number 6 in June the same year. Both songs featuring the fantastical lyrics that she was quickly becoming famous for, and also her voice swooping up and down like a fun fair ride made her vocals more often than not difficult to follow. May it be then a blessed relief to us to find the lyrics written down on the back cover. It is advisable to read these words through thoroughly before attempting to understand the album through playing it. Once fully educated, we can proceed with the album in hand…
The first track is titled ‘Moving,’ and it promptly introduces us to the sounds of whales, are we surprised? No, this is a Kate Bush album after all and we should be prepared for anything. What we do hear throughout the album is a prominent piano by her fair hand as well as a vast array of instruments all cunningly conceived on intelligent keyboards. Whilst focusing on inspiration from Celtic and Eastern sounds, we find this theme amongst the tracks. Even the front cover shows our heroine dangling from a kite with a red dragon fiercely portrayed on it and to the left, we see a giant eyeball, although, who’s it is, remains a mystery. With Mr Gilmour at her side, she boldly stepped in the public eye with this album which was recognised more as a personal diary of all her accomplishments in composing to date. Never afraid to experiment with styles and textures of music, she was the first female artist to walk into a predominately man’s prog rock territory. This first track is fundamentally flat in chord and solemn in lyric. What we are immediately struck with is the clarity of her translucent voice. What we can’t understand is the words. I actually found that this feat was just as difficult listening through headphones! Her voice has a natural four octave range so to keep up with what she is actually singing about is difficult beyond belief. This track is soothing when perhaps the opening track to an album should require some more energy. A strong drum backing together with electronic keyboards surround the song with drifting and winding depths of feeling. Again, we have to remember that this is an album for Kate Bush, damn what the public think…ah, those whales again….
‘The Saxophone Song,’ opens with out us actually realising. Sounding like the continuation of the previous track, its feature is that Pink Floyd sound. What we do discover is that her voice sounds like that of a twelve year old, primitive and faint, but yet handling its work well. Produced by the firm hand of out hero Dave Gilmour, a song about saxophones probably isn’t out or the ordinary for a man whose band is obsessed with the instrument. I do believe Pink Floyd’s ‘Wish You Were Here’, designed the entire album around what appeared to be just a saxophone. Again, what we find to be residential PF is the endless rolling theme of a bizarre instrumental breaks towards the end of the track. Rather meaningless and perhaps unfitting on a Kate Bush album, but yet peacefully at home on a concept Pink Floyd EP.
‘Strange Phenomena’ appears to be on the same theme as the previous two tracks. Her vocals are however, on a catty theme and we await for the slightest mieow! Perhaps the backing vocals weren’t Kate at all, but a small litter of kittens allowed to roam freely around the studio. The rain drop effect of the piano is entrancing however, since up until now her voice has been soothing and transparent, she extends now into a theatrical trance using her voice as an acting tool, rather like that of a musical piece featured in an Andrew Lloyd Webber show. The theme takes on different shapes and styles in the same vein and the music shifts and changes tempos which we still find easy to keep up with. Yet, this strange mysterious piece unfolds in our ears then without warning, whole track fades out as quickly as it faded in.
Perhaps ‘Kite’ and the previous track should had swapped titles as this is basically a blind mixing of a Specials backing, Barbara Dickson and a little Stevie Wonder as a side order. The alley cat vocals of Kate whine and whinge throughout the track and leaves a bitter taste in one’s mouth. The opening lines are of somewhat a disordered understanding, ‘…Beelzebub is aching in my belly-o, my feet are heavy and I’m rooted in my wellios…’ We wonder who the devil she got herself together to compose the next two tracks. An extreme effect of the previous track, we imagine her curling her body around the microphone stand, twisting and turning in a Gothic dance. This theme is generally a grunge reggae effect. These tracks we find, as the album rolls on, become more experimental as if she is dipping her toes in our ears to see what she can get away with before we find it too diverse to cope with.
‘The Man With The Child In His Eyes,’ is a stripped down idea of what Kate Bush would sound like if she ditched the floaty scarves, makeup and thigh length boots and stood alone with microphone in jeans and scruffy trainers. This track practically slams us in the face after the gradual climb into insanity from the previous songs. Like a blank canvas, she suddenly presents us her in her naked form vocally. Simple we can feel her song and her words seep over us like syrup. This is how Kate Bush should be heard. Without the poise of the fancy backings, she expresses herself most deeply in this type of song, simply because there is no scope to be anything else to us.
‘Wuthering Heights,’ is not just a song about a slightly abnormal girl called Kathy and some dopey bloke called Heathcliff who was more interested in looking moody and shouting a lot than he was in Kathy. Personally I don’t know why she bothered with him, and the idea of a pop song written about a classic, depressing, full of consumption novel seemed, at the time to be rather extreme and incomprehensible. However, Miss Bush pulled it off. We now want to run across the foggy open hills across the damp sodden ground with flounced skirts and scratched bare legs from all that heather. It is time to fantasise and dream deep and heavy and launch ourselves into all that is unreal. This track was pure musical escapism. We detested the staginess of her usual vocals whereas, this track, although in character of a fictional tragic love story, we delight in her performance as Kathy. The super intelligent keyboards along with its player being Duncan Mackay and hugging percussion and Celeste, gives the impression of a forty two piece orchestra with all the trimmings. The presence of Mike Oldfield is strongly felt in the instrumental break fading out the track after a long performance centre stage. This track was the very key of the door that was the gateway to the massive career of Kate Bush. We will all be remembered for one thing and this was it for her. Self penned and all her own work, she got her number one in Feb 1978 only a month before this album was released to present a fairly reasonable number 3. It appeared again some years later as a vocal B side to a track called ‘Experiment IV’ in November 1986.
The next track takes on a rock theme which rather takes us by the curlies. ‘James And The Cold Gun,’ for some incredibly sad reason doesn’t actually suit her. It is almost like asking the very young Aled Jones to sing a Suzie Quattro song. Kate’s voice is far to prissy and doesn’t carry the balls for this song. We wonder what it is actually doing here. Hey, what’s this? Has Rick Wakeman just walked in with a keyboard under his arm? Bless her, she did put as much of herself into this track by flicking each lyric up at the ends and her favourite paw licking feature in her lyrics, but perhaps this might have been a good time to either take a walk round the block, sit under a parked car or scrounge a saucer of milk…. Just as she stops singing, we actually get to here a pretty good backing track. I felt sorry for the poor musicians who would have done a better job if this track had been purely instrumental. Poor Kate, she was never meant to be a rock chick, so we forgive her just this once, just please Kate, don’t do it again…
‘Feel It’ is much suited to her cat like approach to her songs. Dreamy and solely accompanied by piano, she can dance a waltz around the room with this instrument. I do believe she was probably born sitting at a piano and singing a love song…this was the only style that ever actually suited her. Such classic lines reflect the type of person she was and probably still is,’…a little nervous laughter, locking the door, my stockings fall onto the floor…’ such timeless lyrics that never fail to sink into one’s conscience. I begin to feel that this heavy presence of Pink Floyd didn’t do much for her at all in this album and it is brief episodes like this track, that we hear Bush for the singer that she really is..
On the same theme but a little on a lighter note, the next track, ‘Oh To Be In Love,’ is about the right borderline for Miss Kate. She really shouldn’t delve any deeper into the rocky anthems that are best left to a singer like Pat Benetar. Having said that, this and the following track were firm live favourites. Let’s hope the arrangements for these songs were better on stage. Kate’s voice was always far too delicate for anything to harsh. What we don’t find in these final tracks is the same rawness and energy as in the first opening track from this album. She, admittedly resolves to entertain us by using her dreamy, fantasy style which she does best. Her brother’s mandolin gives the track a Spanish theme although probably not fitting but it somehow does give the track a fuller sound. What we find is little touches that no other female artists used. We’re no, however sure about the ‘ho, ho’s’ that appear as backing tracks for the chorus, but they do compliment her extraordinary vocal range that even young choir boys can only dream about…
‘L’amour Looks Something Like You,’ is fairly self explanatory and needs not further description on the subject front. What we are looking for is something other than what we’ve endured on the last previous tracks. Kate quickly resorts to stretching her vocal chords to an extreme extent but very little else happens. Don’t get me wrong, there was nothing dull and momentous about Miss Bush, but one found that an entire album of her and her music only was pretty heavy going and one had to be in the right frame of mind to withstand such torture on a vocal scale. At first her wonderful, trill vocals are a novelty, however, after several ballads all sounding the same as the last but on a different arrangement, then it does become similar to pulling teeth…With this particular song, I will leave it with one thought for you as a line from the song..’..all the time I find I’m living in that evening, with that feeling of sticky love inside…’ That, was anyone’s guess…
‘Them Heavy People’ is perhaps just a track with bad grammar, but its doesn’t sound too bad on initial hearing. Again, we can hear the slight rustle of something on a Jamaican front that, it has to be said again, doesn’t suit. She was, I feel a female version of Bryan Ferry. He could grasp the style and the feeling of a ballad instantly and give it such depth of emotion that his ballads were really quite incredible, but give him something on a lighter, rockier note, and he sounded as though he was being dipped up and down in a hot barrel of tar. For this on a female hand, we find Kate in the same bucket of the black stuff they put on roads….
‘Room For Life,’ opens and we are almost gagging for room to breathe from this album, however, actually this song is about being pregnant. Bought, as many millions of copies were, on the assumption that all the tracks were just going to be off shoots of the soaring highs and lows of ‘Wuthering Heights,’ we are disappointed particularly when someone has received a set of bongos as a birthday present and brought them into the studio and has a little play in the background while the others are recording. It rambles on without a thought for its listener and we feel perhaps that it was about time this little cat went out for a walk around the block…this calypso theme really does nothing for the litter of kittens she has as backing vocalists.. Perhaps there were no parked cars outside the studio that afternoon to go and hide under waiting for an engine to start before making a bolt of safety…
‘The Kick Inside,’ opens and we feel the urge to hum an INXS track and can’t think why…A song, I believe is about a poor young girl who has become pregnant by her brother, a strong subject for a singer to cover, especially when reminding ourselves of this being of the seventies. The thing that strikes me at the end of this album apart from utter joy, is the lack of lyrics on each track according to the lyrics on the back sleeve. I guess we should feel that we have been spoilt with over powering instrumentals. If only that had been the case, I feel no need to feel overly struck by any instruments, perhaps a hit over the head with a collection of percussion items might have had a more powerful impact. Suddenly the track finishes….
Do you think she heard us…?
Idiosyncratic art rock is probably, as you can gather is not my scene and will all fairness Kate Bush, her work towards the mid to late eighties was strong, powerful and transporting to levels of effects and layers of sounds so beyond our dreams and sometimes, nightmares… if we can get passed these strange, prima Donna ballerina days then everything would be justified. I guess, in conclusion, what we find the most hard to believe that this young woman who gave us this far less than average album, also gave us the entrancing and demon filled , ‘Running Up That Hill’…
Sadly, for sometime after the glitz of the seventies stardom she had received, she became ridiculed and laughed at for her eccentricities. Wanting to be taken seriously as an artist, her come back about a year or so ago ignited more public praise and recognition that she could ever have hoped for. After fading out like an old has been star, she gingerly blew the dust off her shoulders and set out to make a name for herself once more. Not as strikingly beautiful, she appears today like a reflection of your younger child’s pre school teacher, or perhaps that nice woman who lives across the road who’s husband goes out to work every day in his clean Mondeo…..Time has not worn well on our Kate, but she was, the one and only songstress of her time whether we liked it or not. For those infancy years, I feel that the very tragedy of Kate Bush was the fact that ‘her time’ was several hundred years ago…
With that decade of solitary confinement behind her, she can only hope to equal her popularity today. An achievement that I feel is beyond those dizzy, ‘Wuthering Heights‘……
Kate Bush; Vocals/Keyboards Paddy Bush; Mandolin Del Palmer; Bass Ian Bairnson; guitar Duncan Mackay; Keyboards with Andrew Powell Stuart Elliott; drums David Paton; bass Morris Pert; percussion Brian Bath; guitar.
Recorded at AIR London Studios; July/August 1975 and 1977 Picture above appears thanks to wikipedia.com
Thrown forward as one of the greatest self made singer/songwriters of the twentieth century, Elton John was, to most, that geeky, yet overly flamboyant looking guy in ’larger than life’ sized spectacles jumping wildly at a piano. Forever set in ebony and ivory along side the likes of Billy Joel and Stevie Wonder, these men were the innovators of the legendary MOR, or as we lesser mortals know it, ‘middle-of-the-road’ music.
After tripping over the writer, Bernie Taupin in 1967, the two were soon to become almost as household as the Lennon and McCartney machine. Shelling out bluesy rock, to prog, to slow, wrist slashing ballads was easy for the song writing duo and the uncontrollable mixture of the 1973 album, ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,’ was no exception.
By the time of it’s release in October that year, Elton John had already enjoyed the splendour of having achieved one previous number one album, the undisputedly exceptional ’Don’t Shoot Me I’m Only The Piano Player,’ in February 1973 and five top ten singles. ’Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,’ was just another number one album it would have seemed, both over her and ’over there,’ where, in the U.S, it held the number one slot for an impressive eight weeks.
Presenting to us a Lowry tinged illustration on the front cover, Ian Beck provides, in my mind, the perfect setting for the musical content within. Showing us young ‘Elt’ stepping through a torn poster to another world, not unlike Dick Van Dyke in ‘Mary Poppins,’ it features a dazzling pair or red platform boots and a small wind up piano. Faded, deliberately, this album showed, even on first release, all the makings of what a classic album should look like. It is, a known thing that all the greatest albums ever recorded had such uniquely presented album covers. I can’t think of an album where this has not been the case.
This colourful album, in more ways than one, certainly can justify it’s proud place as being one of those great albums of all time. Lavish in it’s content, it glides through every possible genre worth trying. It proves to us that his music, only actually found in those early years, could be just as outrageous as his growing wardrobe. Mismatched and inconsistent it may be to the expertly trained ear, yet these little epics of genius observations over ride this potentially disastrous point and allow the album to stand a distinguished place in any diverse record collection.
However, on the flat side, it is dated and this is always a tough concept for a classic album to shake off. Many a listener under the age of thirty will happily dismiss this perfectly formed album as one of those records best left to Dad’s reflective moments, but even still, there is a lot to be learned from this dangerously arrogant legend in his young, free spirited youth. Let us not forget either, that this was Elton in his expressive, ‘couldn’t-give-a-monkeys’ era and long, long before the dreaded cartoon sound tracks…. Anything pre that first fateful collaboration with Sir Tim Rice, is worth listening to.
The first double album to have been produced by the artist, and agonisingly, not the last opens with the depressingly titled, ‘Funeral For A Friend.’ Introducing us to the very depressing bells, wind noises and organs that one would expect at a truly sad occasion, what we eventually hear is something, somewhat along the lines of Rick ‘The Rock Wizard’ Wakeman. It is Elton’s attempt at prog rock, ‘Yes’ style. Entwining swirls of screeching synths and whining guitars, it is a classic example of prog rock at it’s probable worst. Not everyone’s cup of tea, yet if The Alan Parsons Project lurks unintentionally within your record collection, then you should be pleasantly surprised.
‘Love Lies Bleeding,’ opens up the show which we will familiarise as the glam rock’ spirit of John in the glitter boot seventies. Other tracks on this same tinsel wrapped theme will present themselves as ‘Grey Seal,’ the tongue in cheek lesbian themed, ‘All The Young Girls Love Alice,’ the uncomfortably fast ‘Your Sister Can’t Twist,’ and the ever impressive, ‘Saturday’s Alright For Fighting.’ Yes, but not in those platforms, you don’t….
The reflective bug, that not just waves over Father’s across the world, also gave Elton John a quick slap on the back when we hear a strong throw back to the mellow, melodic 1972 album ‘Honky Chateau,’ in the tracks titled ‘Harmony,’ ‘Social Disease,’ and the biographical Monroe theme, ‘Candle In The Wind.’ These tunes, laced heavily with piano backing and lazy lyrics are probably the best of Elton John’s ballad work. Somehow, in those early years, he could create a soothing, yet dangerously meaningful song with very little around him. The only difference here, in the album as opposed to ‘Honky Chateau,’ is the featured element of strings. Given to these ballads in ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,’ they result in a fullness and polished sound, thus pounding out the future path for famous John ballads and we came to love and hate. I personally enjoyed the slightly raw approach to the songs from ‘Honky Chateau,’ but it is, down to personal preference.
Reggae (I can see you cringing!) also makes a guest appearance on this eclectic album, although we are relieved when Elton decided not to take up the calypso way of life permanently. Strangled beyond recognition, the reggae, as we would know it, is trying it’s best to break out of the John piano mould. Intended as a pun about a certain incident whilst recording the album from a Jamaican studio refusing to co operate, the track doesn’t work for me. Having said that, we must appreciate that this was as experimental that this songwriter was ever going to get after this moment, so we forgive him, just this once. ‘Jamaican Jerk Off,’ being the title, perhaps says it all about the general feeling of hardship being stuck in a hotel room writing, instead of being in a studio that simply would not play ball.
We can enjoy this musical roller coaster ride with great enthusiasm when noting it’s time and it’s artist. Surprisingly un commercial, it was complete breathing space for the artist at the most creative time of his life. Swamped in his later years by too much money and a regimental industry, artists over a certain age are simply not allowed to be free thinkers, well, not today anyway. Perhaps what we have here in this album is a big, oozing slice of music history. When we also remember who was around at the time with exceptional albums; Mike Oldfield, Genesis and the irrepressible Pink Floyd, it is then that we can slot ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road’ with placid ease.
It marks a certain point in experimental time. It’s just a shame that the music world today cowers at the sight of such expressiveness for there is no room for it anymore. Money and the proven fast making of the green stuff has pushed out the talent once and for all.
For this album, don a Caftan, light a joss stick and if you are a certain age, enjoy the trip back to a time when music was actually….well… music.
Music by Elton John and words by Bernie Taupin. Elton John - piano Davey Jonstone - Electric guitar/acoustic and backing vocals Dee Murray - Bass and backing vocals Nigel Olsen - drums and congas DJM records 1973. Recorded (eventually) at Strawberry Studios somewhere in France. Bought on vinyl for four pounds, record collectors fair, South Coast.
"Steve Coogan's online sitcom allows viewers to write the script. Our writer joins in the fun - or tries to Stephen Armstrong I am trying to get my first joke on air...." via Times Online
It makes one wonder what sort of world the entertainment business has been drawn into. Would it have acceptable to the young Peter Sellers if he had stumbled across a website (what’s a website Eccles?) where upon he saw thousands of people sitting in their humble households banging out amazingly witty and funny scripts for the very first interactive sitcom?
I guess he would have scratched his head and wondered if Michael Bentine had been behind it, yet this is exactly how the world seems to be writing it’s next ground breaking hit. We don’t leave it up to the masters of A League of Gentlemen or just about anyone who every stepped accidentally into Cambridge Footlights, no, we sit in out comfortable armchairs, whilst waiting for the kettle to boil and jot down a scene which would make even Victoria Wood bang her head repeatedly against the nearest piano and say “Why didn’t I think of that??” As a writer I wonder if this whole “come one everyone, anyone can do this” scheme of things is generally a good idea. I am of the old school who engages in a delightful mode when I recall the plights of some of the best loved writers of my proud generation - Stephen Fry, Ben Elton and “Knight-me-now-why-don’t-you" Richard Curtis didn’t suddenly see the Pearly Gates fly open and St Peter stand with beaming smile and a laptop in his arms, inviting you to have a go.
It all sounds a little too easy. As a harmless writer and mediocre comic, I have grafted over several minutes (or even a couple of hours, you know) to find the nearest sweetie at the Beeb who just might take pity on me and a few scraps of meaningless script I may have to offer. So with a similar tone to a long distance runner, who on his last mile, has been offered a lift from a bus driver, perhaps I should be grateful.
I shall, no doubt itch the scratch I have now formed irritatingly and get off to type my next revolutionary dialogue on this genius diversion thought up by Mr Coogan. It is tempting, so if there is a choice between the steady churn of rejection emails from the Beeb and a night of a thousand stars on the Steve Coogan Show, then I know where I’ll be going....http, anyone..?
"....Stalking hesitantly into his quaint local pub, a little late and a lot hungry, Stephen Merchant cuts a disarming figure....." via The Independent
We have seen them come and go, all the Clara Lane's of this world - the continuous roll of comedies from Perry and Croft, yet in this, 2007 we see a lifetime achievement award go to Richard Curtis (which is about ten years over due) and at the same time we find ourselves bowing very low to the ground in front of a geeky guy with floppy hair and NHS specs.
It could be none other than Mr Merchant. Perhaps the time had come for Ricky Gervias to stand aside from his nervously, quake making David Brent and let his side kick take a stand. Through 'Extra's' we have seen a shift in the way we deal with celebrities.
It has occured to me that we may never need to see another Ant and Dec fiasco in an Ozzie jungle again to let us believe that celebs are real people. Stephen Merchant is real, or at least we think he his. His brand of comic talent is the kind we only catch ourselves thinking briefly about in our most private moments, only to snatch ourselves away from the shameful thoughts we have just experienced. Merchant brings forth these embarrassing dreams and shoves them straight into our faces leaving us to cringe slowly leaving a permanent dent in the undentable sofa. Yet if we saw him in the street, we would rather think of him as an assistant manager for the deli counter at Safeway's and not the remarkable, award winning, son of a so and so he actually is.
We can only squerm uncomfortably at him having a play with himself under the desk in his office in one 'Extras' episode. So real was that piece, we could imagine he was probably doing that for real. That's how inspiring his comedy really is. We don't find ourselves laughed at him - we are actually laughing at ourselves...
Probably the most unlikely successful heavy metal band ever to come out of an unassuming Birmingham was the unbeatable, unstoppable Judas Priest. Named, surprisingly after an early Bob Dylan track (and it is here where the connect between Judas Priest and folk music starts and stops,) this motley bunch of guys looking like scaffold workers in 1980, appeared to us, as rather what Def Leppard would have looked like if they hadn’t discovered setting lotion seven years later.
By 1980, they were already causing madness and complete mayhem across the airwaves since their humble beginnings way back in 1969. In famous rock band style, they went through the usual mixture of line up changes practically every day of the week. Through their haze of sweaty gigs, a new dirty haired miserable face would appear in front of a drunken teenage sea of metal victims. It became common place for the spine of any rock band to under go abrupt ‘surgery’ every once in a while and Judas Priest were certainly no exception.
‘British Steel,’ released in 1980, is still regarded today as JP’s highest acclaimed album. Perfectly polished and beautifully cleaned, despite it’s raw, gritty content, this album still stands firm in the rock album hall of fame twenty six years after it’s release. With five albums already under their hard leather belts, (the first two, were released but didn’t chart) they, unwittingly embarked on the peak of the band’s career. It was to be ‘British Steel,’ that gave the band their yard stick. Notably, due to the charisma of this extraordinary album, it quickly became the same yard stick for every one else…
Perhaps it had been the unmistakeable line up of this band at the time of recording the album that was the key to it’s incredible success. Rob Halford lead the vocals throughout the set with Glenn Tipton on lead guitar, Dave Holland (who left in 1988) on drums, all recruited by the ‘masters of metal,’ the creators, K.K Downing (guitar) and Ian Hill (bass.) This line up lasted another eight years, that’s some record in the hard, cruel world of heavy metal.
Collaborating with Hill and Downing on all the tracks, the mighty, mop haired, studded Halford seemed to give the band it’s urging driving force that was so desperately needed to put the finishing touches to the powerful album. Presenting us with only nine tracks (the usual set of a vinyl L.P in those days) it still only just enough to make us, the listeners, want more. Like a intimidating angry dog, this album shows off quite a bite and to an old rocker like me, it was still just as captivating and exciting to listen to it again. Even the pain of all those head banging headaches seem to fill my head once again.
We can sufficiently lose ourselves in this ocean of thunderous, thrusting rock without feeling threatened by a beast that is unfamiliar. For those of us who perhaps didn’t take Judas Priest into our hearts until the end of the bands’ career, this early mastered album is still appealing to the numbers amongst us who hung up the leather a long time ago. Even the teeny boppers who sit surrounding us will still blush at the shock of actually recognising the odd track here and there within this album. The fast, Motorhead themed, ‘Breaking The Law,’ was used as ‘the’ Beavis and Butthead track and could forget the steadiness of ‘Living After Midnight,’ which always reminds me of The Eagles in forceful mode, will trigger off some foot tapping if not the odd spark of air guitar among us. Even the union moving ‘United,’ will have us standing with pride in an Arthur Scargill kind of way….
‘The Rage,’ perhaps will not appeal to the masses on a reflective note. This dirty, hill climbing track is dipped generously in molten lava with such metal grace that one can almost smell the band from here. Yet if we sit back and let the maturity of this band flow over us, we will no doubt stand at the end of ‘Steeler,’ and sing whole heartedly, ‘God Save The Queen.’ If only those hyper paced drum solos could be tinned, then we would not ever feel an empty feeling ‘metal starvation’ ever again. It is embarking on one of these rock journey’s that I find myself aching, longingly for the music industry toady, to run incredibly hard into a brick wall. There must be a corner to turn eventually, surely we cannot go on churning out such spirit crushing, conveyer belt rubbish for all eternity? This is why I think it is important as well as inspiring to dig up such gems as Judas Priest and give them a damn good airing, whether they want us to or not.
We are so spoilt in this album to be allowed to witness a hard working, beer swigging band create a piece of British rock history. The first track, ‘Rapid Fire,’ virtually says it all, if this isn’t rock’s interpretation of a dozen machine guns firing then I don’t know what is. The speed of this band really is quite worrying. The pace is unimaginable, and I also don’t agree that it is a good idea to visualize the band playing this track, you’ll only make yourself sick. Complete with it’s grinding factory like sound effects like an advert for ‘Terminator,’ the second track, ’Metal Gods,’ is a title that you couldn’t possibly argue with. It was tracks like these that put JP high up on the pedestal of British rock. The only other true fore runner of the sound they pigeon holed between punk and progressive rock, was Iron Maiden. Both bands, it was true had us hypnotised by their leads, high pitched wails, unlike rivals, AC/DC who, had yet to hand over the microphone to an equally high creaming Young. Places like Donnington would not have ever been the same without them…
So, if the album title and the cover (picturing a razor blade, an example of British steel) wasn’t enough to stir up any patriotic thoughts in your head, then perhaps never mind. There are not enough things in this country today that make you proud to be British. What we do have is too many things that make us ashamed rather than proud.
Things were a great deal different in those days. Particularly for bands like Judas Priest. The hard rock members of this outfit, today are fast approaching their sixties. If there is one thing that this album will do and that’s stir up emotion in any Union Jack hugging Brit. There is something very patriotic about this album and about the feeling of it. It’s steady, forth right and dependable like a faithful pet, it will never let you down, and it will always be there in a crisis.
For old rockers, new ones and even those who have never dared to taste the delights of British rock, this album should NOT be in a record collection by any means….
It should be sitting on the mantle piece….
Tracks include; Rapid Fire Metal Gods Breaking The Law Grinder United You Don’t Have To Be Old To Be Wise Living After Midnight The Rage Steeler
I recently acquired a copy of the new autobiography from Jerry Lewis co written by James Kaplan simply titled "Dean & Me."
Told in that familiar all American southern droll, Lewis takes us to a place on a street corner in Manhattan, March 1945 where he was to be introduced to one of the most charismatic singers and certain icons of a generation, Dino Crocetti, or better known as Dean Martin. The Monkey met the straight man - singer versus the slapstick.
Envisage a chance meeting - not unlike the church fete where John Lennon was introduced to Paul McCartney or the throwing together of public school student namely Peter Cook and working class London boy, Dudley Moore - it would seem that such legendary characters simply don't fall into each other's laps any more, not by pure chance anyway, yet in this book, the chance was completely fatal - in it's not so final sense - Lewis crossed the street with a pal and hands shook. History was made.
What followed was to be the most popular, successful and highest paid comedy duos in entertainment history, not just in the 20th Century but for probably this one as well. Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin's reign over the airwaves, concert halls, night clubs including the renown Copacabana, sliver screen and television lasted for ten years, not to mention the decades which followed when even now, a newer generation of Lewis and Martin fans are coming into the world. Watch how a bunch of five years olds go potty over re-runs of The Colgate Comedy Hour.
Their humour was timeless, effortless and still just as exciting today as it was in rigid, tight lipped, post war America. They were to the States what The Goons were to Britain - new and uncharted ground.
What has also contributed to their allure is their tragedy - with ever comic line there comes the darker side - sadness and with Lewis and Martin, their ten year friendship/partnership ended with a three show stint at the Copa in July 1956, after which, they shook hands and went their separate ways. What actually happened after would happen on the very same street where they both lived - a few doors away, but not a word spoken for twenty years. The Rat Pack followed for Martin - and a life and act either drunk or pretending to be. For Lewis, he went on to be one of the greatest solo comic geniuses on film for decade after decade, although critics scorned him for simply making films as "therapy" either focusing on the highs of Lewis or the downfalls of Martin, "The Nutty Professor" (1963) being the most criticised...
The pair did share a brief and happier time in reconciliation in the late eighties, but it was not enough to repair any professional troubles they had parted over thirty years before.
Dean Martin died in 1995.
The book is a, to coin a cliche, a masterpiece, yet the true shock of it is, it is not a story of a comic duo who came and went, but a bond which never broke between them - it is the ultimate love story.....
As the more elder of us would agree, there were some people we grew up with on the silver screen, as it were, who made the world of the cinema more magical and enigmatic than it ever could have been. The golden age of the movies saw not just the greatest scripts ever written, not to mention the best, most quoted lines ("Frankly my dear, I couldn't give a damn...") amongst others but the most alluring faces we could ever wish to conjure up in our own wild imaginations.
Yesterday, we said a tearful farewell to one of our own kind in England - like many other famous future movie stars, like the vacant Bob Hope, we saw Deborah Kerr leave the English shores for a far more glittering career than British films could ever give her, and it was yesterday, we said another farewell to her, but this time, forever.
After reading probably one of the most heartfelt and warming obituaries in The Daily Telegraph yesterday, I felt, (and it is not often I do this...) to print a handful of lines which were written about her and her extraordinary Englishness which appeared in the paper.
To Miss Deborah Kerr - we will miss you....
(Featured in The Daily Telegraph - http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2007/10/18/db1804.xml )
"Kerr was the unfadingly ladylike and prototypical English rose whose red-haired, angular beauty and self-possessed femininity distinguished more than 50 films in four decades of cinema.
Kerr: "prototypical English rose"
She made serenity dramatic; and though her poise might be ruffled at critical moments in scenes of passion (most famously exemplified by her encounter on the beach with Burt Lancaster in From Here to Eternity in 1953), her well-bred airs and social graces made her a model of British womanhood in Hollywood.
Her best-known film was probably The King and I, in which she played a haughty governess opposite Yul Brynner's Siamese monarch; and her principal problem as an accomplished actress was to convince Hollywood of her sensual potential. Although she herself was a more spirited, relaxed and informal person than her image on the screen suggested, producers were reluctant to cast her in passionate roles.
Nevertheless, when they came her way - as they did after From Here to Eternity - her type of refined sensuality proved refreshingly attractive, since it hinted at hidden desires and forbidden feelings, giving her acting an extra edge and interest."
Sit back and enjoy now the original theatre trailer of the film we will remember her for the most, The King And I......
The award-winning, BBC MUZZY program is the most respected children's language course in the world. via Baby Center
There have been some diverse and somewhat disturbing children’s characters along the way ever since Eric Idle thought it would be rather amusing to conjure up a heart-warming tiny tots programme. That, moment of black and white Sixties wonderment worked - but only because Idle and Palin used their natural wit, charm and were A Class rated for eternal smiley faces, but Muzzy? I’m not so sure.
At least the brilliant cast of Do Not Adjust Your Set, amongst other children’s archive celebrities weren’t trying to send subliminal messages to kids to make them chant a different language in their sleep, yet there is something certainly sinister about the over fluffed, slightly stoned Muzzy which to me, as a parent, leads me into reoccurring nightmares of Teddy Rucksbin. I rather get the feeling that Muzzy could well be the type of toy that should never be left at home with a child, alone. There might be, at any given moment when, by pure accident, the head of the French speaking rag doll swivels 360 degrees and tells the child to go and kill mummy and daddy. Perhaps I actually have nothing personally against the character - I just don‘t like the way we are now being told to educate our children.
We should, as parents be reading to our kids, teaching them to rights and wrongs and even, if we are feeling a trifle daring, teach them another language, but to leave it down to a green, furry faced, dazed and a tad too patronising fluff ball, strikes me as being just that little bit too lazy. A bright kid can be irritating at the best of times, particularly a six year old who can speak fluent French. As a self confessed grumpy old git and avid follower of the goddess of grumps, Ms Jenny Éclair, I find such child prodigies at little too hard to take in.
It would seem to me that we should now subject ourselves and our children to a series of intellectual past times to either justify our abilities to rear super kids or simply just to annoy other parents at the school gates. Either way, I have found that the BBC have the ingenious knack of jumping on the parental bandwagon and feel obliged to panda to our every weakness. It is the devil dressed rather charismatically as the Devil, and it works - every time….
The crew of Monty Python's Flying Circus. Photograph: BBC/PA Monty Python's Flying Circus has been voted by UK Gold viewers the most influential comedy series ever - not just the best, but the most influential.
As I trundle my way through the religion which has become anything to do with the very essence of British comedy, particularly over the last forty years, I find myself quite pink with something along side “peeve ness” when discovering an article here on the good old BB of C about how Monty Python was actually not as influential as we all would like to think it was.
I read on, only to find myself, a devotee of MP, actually agreeing with it’s content… According to UK Gold viewers (and they do know a thing or two about good programmes from the glory days, you know) the most inspiring and influential of all British creations, comedy wise, was indeed Monty Python’s Flying Circus. A sentence which in my mind, does not need to be followed up by an explanation. Yet at the same time, I cannot help but feel that this article is indeed right - it was regrettably uninfluencial - we learned as writers a great many ways to explore a joke and yes, the word “spam” will never have such a comical outlook, but only now stand as that very word to describe unwanted emails.
MP was, as we like to say, a void - all on its own, with no means of setting up a bridge or even a fairly reliable train link to it’s shores - a masterful island which sits happily, surviving all that new writers throw at it, displaying all the greatest points of youth and what a jolly good public school education will get you if your parents had enough money. They were for the poor of us - yet a product of very much, the middle class education system. A dying breed. So therefore, I pose the question - what was exactly influential about them? As individuals, I could sit with legs entwined around a Chesterfield all night long, delighting my taste buds around a selection of the highest wit and childlike play of Palin and Idle or I can sit stern faced and morose and discuss like a University 1977 paper on the levels of intellectual silliness of Cleese and Chapman, but what would be the point, I here you say - none - they were, as a group out on their own, never to be repeated and never to be forgotten.
Perhaps, in hindsight, they were the very pinnacle where everyone since has wanted to reach but can’t - the very article when other writers thought to themselves, “damn - that’s exactly what I was trying to do and now some other bugger has come and done it!” One can also imagine many saying the same about The Goons - as much as they were brilliant, silly and downright funny - they never meant to be anything else - influential? No, just innovative, mind-bending and original. Unique beyond copying. As MP were and are - never copied. Just a giant trunk from which everything else grew….
In tribute to yet another genius we have lost to the Americans, this is a smallish taste of that mascara wearing, fish net legged, basque strutting comic delight we call Eddie Izzard....
Clutching at a semi decent rock straws is one of those things that this country has been fairly good at over the years. Only perhaps do we have the likes of Def Leppard and Iron Maiden still in our sights, or at least in the back of our minds at one point or another, but if we were to delve deeper into the historic vaults of rock music then we would find, still, on giant golden thrones in the middle of a pile of guitars and babes, there would be AC/DC.
In perhaps the greatest epitome of British hard rock was the cluster of dirty, miserable, hairy truck driver looking guys from Glasgow who, after a short time on Scottish turf descended upon an unsuspecting Australia to make their fame and fortune. Luckily for the metal starved English youth, it wasn’t long before the came back again. Half Oz and half Scot, we still claimed them as our own. (The Bee Gees went and we got AC/DC back, to me, that was a fair swap.)
Rearing their unwashed heads through the punk sodden crowds in London was a brave feat to achieve in 1976. Since Oz had given them their free rocking, grit eating, humorous attitude, London and it’s suburbs hadn’t got a clue what was about to hit them. Up until then, the public had been pampered by rock and prog rock bands whose names came in threes, usually surnames, strung together to sound sturdy and a force to be reckoned with. With AC/DC, suddenly beer, a front man in school boy uniform, filthy hands and saucy lyrics were dished out to the man in the street on a mammoth sliver platter…
Unfortunately, most would comment that take away the dirt and the lyrics and your left with The Krankees….Somehow the idea of little ‘Jimmy Krankee’ releasing an album such as ‘For Those About To Rock,’ leaves a taste in the mouth not dissimilar to lemon curd…
Spitting in the face of up tight, white collared commercialism, this album’s initial release in November 1981 was taken with a pinch of salt by the press and adored by the growing AC/DC fan base. Seen today as the typical rock anthemed album (whatever that’s supposed to mean) it captures a mood amongst the younger metal plated generation rather like Spinal Tap cloaked the business of failing old rocker comebacks. Settled into life without Bon Scott after the blacker than black rock tribute of July 1980’s ‘Back In Black,’ they were finding their feet at last ,and the scuffed trainers of traditional metal bands fitted them comfortably.
Shortening the track lie up down to ten tracks, this album certainly pointed the rest of the following bands in the right direction. Produced again by the master, John ‘Mutt’ Lange who eventually gave us Def Leppard, this album was perfectly tighter than a Gnat’s arse. Hitting only the number 3 spot in the album charts in the same year (‘Back In Black’ had been number 1) it was proving to the band that the buying public were not just interested in reading between the lyrics of a band missing one member to a drunken binge.
To sum up any AC/DC album, one normally only has to focus on one track per album. Like a lot of rock bands around at that time, the emphasis was always on one particular track to ‘sell’ an LP. Obviously, the title of the first track and album, ‘For Those About To Rock,’ doesn’t need much of an imagination work out for the listener to conger up some idea as to what the album is all about. With opening short, yet mind burning guitar riffs and the lines, ‘..stand up and be counted for what you are about to receive..’ along with just the wail of that strangled vocal will be enough to set a steady bang of the head moving. Yet the pinnacle of this track is the cannon effects ignited with Johnson’s screams of ‘Fire,’ leaves one thing left to be said about this track; if we ever have to stand, as a country, civilians and all, face to face with an enemy again, I want AC/DC to be standing in front of me, amps connected and clad in Harley Davidson tee shirts with mic’s in hand. Then, I’d feel safe.
After the militaries of the opening track and it’s ‘off to war’ approach that this band create so well, we are lead into an album complete with ‘Hells Bells’ styled humour and dare I say it, ‘danceable’ rock. ‘I Put The Finger On You,’ is AC/DC at their up tempo best, although forget to try and compete with Johnson’s vocals that, are similar to a cockerel being savagely murdered in the middle of night after a 60-a-day habit. One is for sure, you will find throughout this album that as usual, AC/DC never end a track half heartedly. Each is given the full crescendo works in true rock style. Even with the bluesy ‘Inject The Venom,’ Johnson gives a unique performance of unaccompanied rolls up and down the scales with ease with lines like ‘..no mercy for the bad is they want it…’ (I won’t argue with that) It proved and still does, that even though they were a metal, hard rock band, they were not shy of turning their hands to other genres and turning them into their own creations. It will by the titles of these tracks that will make you smile. They were, it must be said, were the only band that got away with writing titles such as ‘Let’s Get It Up.‘ They just don’t write stuff like this anymore…
Perhaps the trashiest track on the album is ‘Snowballed,’ and let’s face it, if there are any devotees to their music out there, you will not have to reminded that AC/DC could work wonders with any title cantered around the word, ‘balls.’ Throwing up and around the metronome, they were never suckers for keeping the same rhythm throughout at track. Forever leaving the listener dangling from the great height of a riff, they were inclined to drop you from that great height, not waiting a moment for you to get up off the floor. So at least when tracks like ‘Evil Walks,’ rolls around, you feel for a moment that your soul has been saved. Perhaps not the most eventful card of the pack, this track will no doubt have you reaching for the kettle, although the momentum is taken down a notch them guided back up again to make sure you’re still breathing, this track shouldn’t be cast off into the ‘mediocre box.’ It will just give you a minute to flick through the live shots in the inner sleeve, but be careful, the pictures are so ‘live’ the sweat may even catch you in the eye; photos that you could even smell from here…
‘C.O.D’ and ‘Breaking The Rules,’ will no doubt give you all you need to know about the sturdiness of the juggernaught we loving know as AC/DC. Just remember to turn the bass down on your system unless you have likeminded neighbours. It is these tracks minted with bluesy breaks and tightly knitted backing vocals and back breaking drums, you could almost believe that they are using the back of a 16 wheeler as a bass drum. Rock music doesn’t get much powerful than this.
On the close of this extreme voltage album, the last two tracks hardly wind down the theme at all, but when would you expect a rock album to? The misbeated, thunderous ‘Night Of The Long Knives’ and the finger clicking, thoughtful ‘Spellbound’ takes us on a haunting journey back to the days of Bon Scott. That rambling, truck driver feel is echoed particularly through this last track, it is almost a brief, yet subtle tribute to the missing member.
Although they, unlike Def Leppard, hardly ever had a ‘hit’ they still have left huge dents in out minds over the last thirty or so years. Now the old men of metal, they still have an engaging appeal, only know their faces actually do look that miserable and twisted naturally. However, there is still something to be said that each album has appeared back on our record shop shelves re mastered, re packaged and just as enticing. Since it’s release in 1981, this album was sent back, in 2003, brushed up and polished to the shops to take pride of place in the ‘metal/rock’ section yet again.
It all sounds just as good as it did then.
For Those About To Rock,’ 1981
Tracks include;
For Those About To Rock I Put The Finger On You Let’s Get It Up Inject The Venom Snowballed Evil Walks C.O.D Breaking The Rules Night Of The Long Knives Spellbound
Brian Johnson - vocals Angus Young - guitar Malcolm Young - guitar Mark Evans - bass Phil Rudd - drums
Whilst the great British public were settling back in comfortable armchairs to witness the anecdotes of David Croft and Jimmy Perry once a week, a new breed of comedy writers were climbing, ever so quietly up the ranks..
John Esmonde and Bob Larbey may not have names that are easy to roll off one’s tongue and perhaps aren’t as well known to the average brain as their counterparts, Croft and Perry, yet I will wager you that you know of at least one of their credible comedy moments. After finding their feet through the airwaves writing quick fire sketches for the BBC’s Home Service programme, ‘I’m Sorry I’ll Read That Again,’ from 1964, it was to feature budding stars as pre Python, John Cleese and future Goodies; Brooke-Taylor, Garden and Oddie. They decided that their writing partnership could take on better scope in the world of television. Writing the class shifting comedy, ‘Please Sir!,’ in 1968, their next big success was to in be 1975 when they wrote, practically side by side, the Air Force cadet comedy, ‘Get Some In,’ starring Robert Lindsay, but the more memorable of the two, was the middle class, suburban story, ‘The Good Life.’
Charting the highs and lows of a childless couple in middle class Surbiton, pushing away from the comfortable, corporate world of nine to five, it seemed the perfect idea to produce a comedy through social acceptance and class barriers. Sounding more like a Sociology lesson, this show set out to prove, if anything, the world of money and status wrong. Esmonde and Larbey had already tackled the boundaries of the class system in a class atmosphere (if you pardon the pun) in ‘Please Sir!,’ when bumbling, well educated John Alderton finds himself being taught rather than being teacher to a class full of working class South London school. If you could possibly take your eyes away from the fact that the average age of the actors playing the parts of the kids was around thirty, the show seemed much less harmless than originally thought. Thus, the writing duo became known within the walls of the BBC, to write gentle, easy going comedies which didn’t ask in return for depth of thought from it’s viewers.
It’s four key characters were names who were not known the trained television eye. The head of the team, the enthusiastic, Richard Briers, presented us with the idealist, Tom Good. Briers had played minor roles in television since the mid Sixties and trained at RADA. Finding an edge for theatre, he would spent most of his career successfully finding his way to tread the boards. Setting Tom up with an equally enthusiastic wife first came in the shape of serious supporting actress, Hannah Gordon. Turning the job down, next in line was unknown Felicity Kendal, still waiting for her break into television. Chirpy, pretty and young enough to be Barbara Good, she got the part - a role which was to be her most noted through her entire career.
Next came the job of casting the social climbing neighbours. Originally scripted to be only minor supporting roles, it appeared to Esmonde and Larbey that the relationship between the Goods and the Leadbetters, (Margo and Jerry next door) was just as significant as the actual plot line. The elegant housewife with no sense of humour, Margo went to experienced actress in TV and stage, Penelope Keith and long suffering, middle management employee went to repertory trained, Paul Eddington.
Dusting off his suit for the last time, Tom Good hangs up his nine to five image on his 40th birthday, leaving behind all the comforts that his money had given him. Keeping hold of the beautiful house in Surbiton (the show was not actually filmed in Surbiton at all,) he decides on a life of self sufficiency with his wife, Barbara. Selling the car and buying a pig and a goat, they set about growing crops in their semi detached back garden much to the disgust of their neighbours. Whilst Jerry feels it a capital idea and praises Tom in various occasions, his wife, Margo is appalled and makes no quibble in saying so. A social animal, Margo fills her days at home with the Women’s Institute and local amateur dramatics, for which she is keen, to act herself. The general joke is on Margo most of the time, where upon, she finds herself fin situations of mud and muck out of the goodness of her helping heart. She finds comfort in her friendship with pig tailed, Barbara who behaves ten years Tom’s junior at times, and often cries on Barbara’s shoulder. Though it is apparent that Jerry fancies the young, mucky faced Barbara in her dungarees and wellies, he only admires her from afar. At the same time, it is humorously apparent that Tom finds the upper class, hockey club girl, Margo just as attractive in her flowing Seventies dresses and bouffant hair. A subtle under current in the show, these attractions only come to the surface in an episode where the four taste Tom’s home made wine.
Not so much a show featuring self contained plots, the gags are minor and run gently through the entire series like a steady stream. The laughter is brought upon through the relationships between the couples, both experiencing the same neighbourhood, yet worlds apart in their lifestyles. As Tom, on occasions is almost persuaded to return to his mediocre office employment by the well meaning, Jerry, he never buckles. Very rarely showing strain from his new found life change, he still holds a certain arrogance at the supposedly automatic appraisal from his suffering wife. Trying her hand at everything including making their clothes, Barbara is a character who has found herself in a situation she would have preferred not to embark on. Missing her little luxuries, she puts these feels aside for the adoration she has for her husband - a relationship that is full of giggles and physical attraction. As opposed to Margo and Jerry, for ever proving that money doesn’t give you everything - their marriage is based on his job whilst trying to find some comfort through their flatly uninteresting hobbies…
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‘The Good Life,’ appeared to be of the same inoffensive quality which gave it’s audience the ability to laugh at a system rather than themselves. Mixing the audiences on a physical scale, it’s appeal was felt by both sides of the pay packet. This was a barrier uncrossed through British comedy in previous years. Since the only shows that may have come close before, used the cunning disguise of the generation gap to hide the social point being made. ‘The Good Life,’ thus, found itself on the map of social good nature.
Larbey and Esmonde also found the key to good humour where perhaps the afore mentioned, Croft and Perry had failed. ‘The Good Life,’ like the rest of the Larbey and Esmonde list, only ran for short runs. ‘The Good Life,’ in itself, only ran for four series‘. Since Croft and Perry had, had their share of criticism for letting a show run for two years longer than it should, the smaller writers, won fairer hearts through shorter shows. Hence, ‘The Good Life,’ ceased after only 30 episodes.
The genuine appeal to the show was the good natured approach to snobbery on one side of the fence and muck and penniless pride on the other. Although the Good’s slum into poverty is totally through choice, it appears to be acceptable. We do still wonder, how on Earth the Good’s still manage to pay their mortgage when Tom sees no qualms with bartering with the local Gas board with some home grown potatoes to pay a bill. Yet to this couple who have still managed to keep their social novelty, their class rank is still very much in tact. Perhaps giving the rest of society’s self building sufficiency a clean break from stereotypical mockery, ‘The Good Life,’ provided a warm, peace offering to such people and handed back their dignity. If Tom and Barbara can achieve it in middle class Surrey, then it’s okay to wash clothes in the sink and eat everything from the garden.
However sensational the idea may have been, I can almost guarantee there is no one living such a lifestyle in Surbiton today. That may have something to do with the fact that you have got to be earning in excess of forty grand a year to live their in the first place (my brother does), yet this idealism leaves a warm feeling in the soul and tragically, it is now that we find this show dated. It was on it’s time and although it wasn’t truly historic like most shows created by Croft and Perry, it still gives the viewer the realisation that a life style such as this could only have been remotely possible in Surbiton, some thirty years ago. It is the general cost of living today that makes the epitome of ‘The Good Life,’ so inexcusable. So there, it is left in the decade when it could have been possible…
A special episode was performed in front of Her Majesty, The Queen and The Duke Of Edinburgh. Noted as being one of her favourite shows, the Duke may have only liked it for Felicity Kendal in wellies and bunches…
Out to dominate the world with my own brand of healthy communication, making sure no one on the planet is being conned or taken for a ride in any possible way
