Oh damn, still in this dream.

I accumulated many memories; but one of the more important aspects of being in the biz was insider status. And the point of insider status was information; gossip, if you will, but also the access to the mythological hinterland of Rock 'n' Roll. I can't remember the first time, for example, that I heard The Troggs Tapes, but they were as funny to studio hacks as Derek and Clive (also staples in the post-studio wind-down). Nor can I remember exactly when I first saw the Rolling Stone's Cocksucker Blues, but a VHS was brought into the studio by a (nameless) musician who had a copy sometime or other and of course we watched it avidly. So I searched it out on YouTube after reading an article in the Graun about best Rock 'n' Roll movies. And it is there, in all its boring glory; available to one and all - though the picture quality is somewhat less good than I remembered. I find it is taking me a lot of effort to sit through it all for a second time; though the milieu itself is very familiar. I too have woken and reached for a spliff, and/or a bottle of Whisky or a glass of champagne, and/or my bed-partner(s), or a guitar and thought it commonplace.

What personal recall edits is, of course, the colossal boredom of it all. Cocksucker Blues is a boring movie. But it isn't as boring as your average reality television programme because at least the characters it focuses on are among the most brilliant and influential musicians of their time. Still, it drags; as does much of the music and temporal art of that period. Who now could actually listen to a fifteen minute drum solo? Even if performed by John Bonham or Ian Paice or Buddy Rich. Not me. Zeppelin's "Dazed and Confused", apart from the borrowing from Jake Holmes, is a boring, sprawling mess. Most bands couldn't really extemporise for any length of time, and even Miles during that period made difficult music which required a bit more of a musical education to appreciate. And let's be candid, from Bitches Brew onwards Miles explored difficult territory.

Of course, there are exceptions to this. Zep's studio cannon is overlong but nevertheless magisterial. A good producer doing some editing on most of their songs wouldn't have gone amiss. Floyd managed twenty-plus minute pieces of music that still work, both inside and outside cultural context. "Shine on You Crazy Diamond" is still perfect and will last into the century after this, or longer. (If we manage to survive that long as a species and civilisation, that is.) I reckon the Beatles music will last alongside Bach and Mozart and poor, great, deaf Ludwig. Jimi will always be incendiary in any human culture. Stevie Wonder, Bowie, Prince, and Brian Wilson will last. I guess Elvis and Chuck Berry and the folk in at the birth of it will be more than footnotes - but let's face it when it comes to examining the body we have only one conclusion; "It's dead, Jim". Now we archive it and dissect the bones as Rock 'n' Roll has moved from the vanguard to being an historical example of our cultural heritage. It is suitable for academic study, and we can listen to the musical peaks it achieved in the same way that we can listen to Beethoven and Bach; as pure music, culturally decontextualised and presented merely as notes of beauty and meaning intrinsic unto itself; and removed from all other considerations. Sometimes the Stones get there too. But today, in my world... today is a day for Jean Sibelius and George Gershwin, and maybe some Weather Report.

Old people do listen to decontextualised music rather more than young people. Musicians do likewise. Even I am prepared to allow Wagner or Percy Grainger to be decontextualised, though I must admit I agree with Berlioz about Wagner; moments of sublime beauty interspersed with quarters-of-an-hour of turgidity. Grainger is more difficult to pardon, but his opinions don't change his notes. (Or do they? It is a bit of a debate.)

However, speaking of unspeakable musicians, the bastards in the Function Band have put Michael Jackson's "Beat it" back into the set; so I have to dust off the Eddie van solo for public consumption again. And bring yet another guitar to the gig, but this time for one song. It's not like we are making enough money for roadies.

I don't have a pension; ergo, I guess I'll never retire, just potter on for as long as I can; but there ain't a lot of musical work out there for an old bloke, no matter how good. Maybe I'll go back into teaching, but I have to find pupils of the right standard. No more teaching beginners.

in today's Observer: www.theguardian.com/politics/2019/jul/21/boris-johnson-route-to-number-10

(The Observer is linked to the Guardian and is now, to all intents and purposes the Guardian on Sunday. But it has an older history. There is an extensive footnote to be written here, but right now I can't be bothered.)

Now Boris has always been a bit cavalier, according to sources; and that's fine as an amateur, bumbling on, wasting your inheritance on book-collecting while writing monographs on Catullus for the cognoscenti; but not really as an occupant of any of the great offices of state. There is a reason I never went into politics; there are pictures of me inhaling, snorting, jacking-up or whatever. And onstage in women's underwear too, IIRC. And I probably did have sex with that person, with the caveat that I am quite choosy, and they need to be grown up. And I'm cavalier, and am prepared to suspend strict truth for the sake of the narrative. All these led me to recognise that I'm not fit for governing folk, or even legislating for them; I don't think I have quite the moral qualities required to do the job properly - though these days I try hard. But Boris doesn't even try hard. He doesn't read his briefs - even poor old Winston read his briefs, or had someone read them to him; famously IIRC in the bathtub.

Now we need to find some sensible technicians who will work with Boris. But, at a bet, the gig will be up before the end of September and Boris will be among the set of those few unelected PMs with very short tenure. I wonder, will he retire with a PM's pension?

The one thing I have noticed is that the folk on the right of the centre are far more tolerant of appallingly bad behaviour by their leaders than folk on the left appear to be. The folk on the right may rail against homosexuality, abortion, promiscuity, drugs, prostitution, or perversion. But they can tolerate all of that in their politicians as long as the politicians accept their agenda. A remarkable and effective compromise given the nature of human fragility, no doubt. I sometimes wonder if they would accept me as a leader if I told them I'd never had an abortion? I guess that's why so many positions of power for folk on the right are held by men, at least they can be trusted.

But to drop the last sentence's sarcasm, I'm hugely surprised more chaps don't go around desperately trying to remove any stain of "manliness" from themselves. I'm doing my best to dissociate myself from the core patriarchal nonsense that has pervaded our cultures forever, but doing so without being stupidly strident about things is more difficult than it first appears. Poor old Bojo is still playing a C20th game, confined by narrow horizons and locked in past tropes without any of the opportunities of the new world. In this, he perfectly mirrors his constituents.

And, to some extent, this is why we have Brexit. And the criminal neglect of the North helped a little, obvs. But Boris the opportunist looks to have finally inherited the mantle of leadership he wanted on the first step to becoming King of the World. All he needs now is for the Aliens to invade, uncle Vlad to have a heart attack, Macron to fall to the yellow-vests, Mrs Merkel to find herself in hospital, and the Chinese to self-combust, and the world can welcome him as a unifying saviour.

I seem to have fallen into a parallel dimension with a great deal of background surrealism. I am reminded of the musicvid to "Black Hole Sun".




It was the best of times, it was the end of times...

The Kids' nanny, Cara, had her tonsils out last week.

This should give some pertinent information to the sleuth-minded among you - the private schools broke up over a week ago - ergo, I've had the kids for most of the last ten days or so. So I've been on the web on odd occasions: sometimes chatting, sometimes debating, but mostly just trying to keep up.

I took the kids back to Fred at lunchtime today; then she was taking them on to Summer Hols in Swanage. So I got to update my Helix's firmware to V2.80 and have spent the rest of the day smoking weed and shredding like mad over a loop of Lalo Shifrin's "Mission Impossible" theme, which is fun, and in 5/4 time; and gives scales a wonderful basis for running up, down, and sideways. So I've been playing far too many notes; cascades of hemi-demi-semi-quavers from end to end of the fretboard, and the very occasional foray into lyrical melodicism. When even practice can end up narcissistic solipsism you know that there is no escape from self - mainly because self is so very fascinating; especially to the self... until the reflections of self build and overlay and we can present the result to the world. Voila! I am me; and a mean guitarist. Listen to my notes ye worthy, and despair. Oh, and exult in and appreciate them too; but enviously, as is your place.

As is, my hands are getting back into practice properly. I can reach for difficult things again. Mastery is not assumed; you must climb the mountain again, dammit. But I was only maintaining a place close to the summit anyway. Now I'm trying to be the baddest old guy free-styling my way to the top. I admit I have something in the way of ropes and kit; and theory and technique too. But I'm still badass anyway; to use the argot of those across the pond. No doubt tomorrow I will be struck down with cramp. There is always a cost for hubris. Soddit. Omega heard the notes. That will do. And when I feel like this, walking on water is a mere bagatelle.

So I saw the new iteration of King Crimson at the Royal Albert Hall last night.

I was, as the saying is, beside myself with expectation; Crimson having been one of my formative influences in rock and pop music. To put it into context; I first saw Crimson in 1980 or '81, when Fripp rechristened his "Discipline" project King Crimson; which it was, or became. The albums which resonated with me most, though, were Larks Tongues in Aspic, Starless and Bible Black, and Red - but the then reformed group of Fripp, Belew, Levin, and Bruford; which recorded the gamelan/serialism influenced albums "Discipline", "Beat", and the lesser "Three of a Perfect Pair" are still impressive accomplishments, if a little abstracted for most folk's taste.

On to the gig. The stage set-up was much as on the recent video I posted; three drummers at the front. The central drummer, Jeremy Stacey, doubled on keys, and in many ways was the backbone of the ensemble. The reason I'm starting with the drummers is the gig was very drum-heavy. The first set opened with a drum-trio piece of a musical and rhythmic kind, but I am still reminded of an old joke. Gavin Harrison was drummer stage right, and Pat Mastelotto was drummer stage left. Jeremy Stacey, channelling Bonzo - complete with John Bonham-style beard and bowler hat (very Alex and his droogs, oh my brothers) moved from perfectly synchronised battery to Hammond, Mellotron, synths and pianos with ease and facility.

The present line-up is, as you would imagine, tremendously adept. Mastery abounds. Fripp looked chipper, Tony Levin prowled on the spot, moving from bass to Chapman Stick effortlessly. Mel Collins played brilliant sax and flute. Jakko is a great guitarist and singer. King Crimson always needed a full-time keyboard player, or two players doubling the instruments, and now they have horsepower to spare.

Of course there is a but...

There appears to be a focus on the very early albums that almost makes the gig feel like a greatest hits tour. If so, I think the choice of material is slightly off. To be candid I'd have preferred to hear more from LTIA, SABB, and Red rather than anything from COTCK, In the Wake of Poseidon, Lizard or even Islands; but, along with a couple of good numbers from the Discipline era, this is mainly what we got.

Mind you, Jakko did look suitably embarrassed singing some of Pete Sinfield's choicer lyrics.

Anyway, as you can probably guess, I am disappoint, as the new grammar has it. A rewritten "Easy Money" from LTIA, a restructuring of the title track/Part 2 from LTIA, and the second set's closer, "Starless" from Red were the highpoints for me. Also good was the reworked stuff from Discipline and Beat. The first album (In the Court of the Crimson King) has merit, as the Ur-text of prog, but after that, IMO, KC's output is patchy and candidly not that compelling to me until LTIA. I may be alone in thinking this as I guess the early stuff must be popular with someone. For my taste some attention to the emphasis of the set-list would not go amiss. The playing and performing were stellar. The choice of material from the back catalogue needs to do justice to the ensemble.

 ... in Rickmansworth with the Ska/Reggae band at a festival held at the local airfield.

A good time had by all. People bouncing up and down and generally enjoying themselves. Given that the Reggae band is a hybrid of professionals and rank amateurs this counts as a win. Everyone tried hard and the few odd dropped beats (not from the drummer, who is an old pro) didn't detract.

And just like the function band they have decided that I must do a difficult bit of guitar, so rather like the function band making me learn EVH's solo from "Beat it" (which they can't play anymore - every cloud...) the Reggae band has decided to play a Reggae version of Hotel California, much like the Moonrakers' take on it. The problem being, of course, that they change key from B minor to F sharp minor. Which makes the bends in the solo much more difficult, as they are fretted close to the nut, rather than in the middle of the fretboard. Ho-hum. The first-finger bends of the C sharp (2nd fret, 2nd string) are probably the most difficult, despite only being half-tone bends.

Anyway, I played all the right notes in the right order (admittedly with some variation in phrasing) so that was all right. If other folk didn't manage that no-one else noticed as everyone was having a good time.

Onwards and sideways.

A couple of old jazzers shredding...

 www.rootsmusic.ca/2019/03/14/a-brief-history-of-why-artists-are-no-longer-making-a-living-making-music/

First gig of the year.

I'm still running the Helix through the Dickinson. I'll take my number one Strat and the Variax as my guitars. The function band has had to remove all Michael Jackson songs from the set. If I never have to play the "Beat it" solo again it will be no great hardship. Tonight's set will be Motown/Stax orientated stuff. Cool, in-the-pocket rhythm work and a few fills at most. Tonight, Ladies and Gemm'n, I shall be Steve Cropper and Nile Rogers; and any resemblances to post-Schoenberg harmonic theory will only be me playing bum notes because I've forgotten what key we are in.

It's going to be in Covent Garden. And it's a quick get-in and set up, and parking in the West End is such a fag - so there are time-constraints involved and parking difficulties. Who would be a working musician, hey?

So tonight is dedicated to Miladies Terpsichore and Euterpe; and may we get the audience dancing their arses off and having a good time without having the overlay of worry about parking fines. Driving in London is such a fucking pain. And some of us, carting kit around, don't have an option.

So my old chum Aaron got married yesterday. I was best man, deputising for an unfortunately crocked Steve Asher, who is stuck Down Under and under doctor's orders not to travel. Aaron's whole family pitched up: the Hollywood crowd, consisting of his Dad, Laifun, Thomas, and Alexandra, who was there with her Bulgarian Fiancé, as well as Kate and Josh, Aaron's other siblings from Ted's first marriage.

Aaron married a distant cousin of mine so I was on both sides of the aisle, so to speak.
No dramas at the church; a solid C of E service of the traditional kind.
The reception was held at Aaron's house. Which is an 1890's large family house. Two staircases, butler's pantry etc. Marquee on the croquet lawn. The wedding band did the gig, so I was on double duty and didn't get off my feet until 2.30am. Fuck-up over money so Aaron and I had to empty a local cashpoint to pay the band. Bit angry with the boss of the wedding band over that one. Never mind. Apperently Alexandra's upcoming nuptials are big news in Bulgaria. She's a very good-looking lass I suppose, and Ted Kotcheff is quite well known in Bulgaria, having some cultural significance and originally hailing from there. Mr K senior is looking a bit frailer than when I last saw him. Young Thomas is taking care of him adroitly. I like Thomas. Apart from the fact he's an exceptional musician and composer, he's also a nice guy. Mr K senior's second family are as cool as the first. First met Thomas at a UK premier of one of his compositions a few years ago. After the band packed up he played half an hour of flawless and beautiful Debussy in the parlour as antidote to the '60's and '70's soul, disco, and pop music that are the standard fare of the wedding band.

However the real stunner yesterday was Celine, who looked unbelievably beautiful. Good on Aaron, making an honest women out of her even if you had to drag her to the altar kicking and screaming... which you didn't, of course, but it still took you fifteen years and two kids to get around to doing it.