Mahogony Frog DO 5

Going against the grain…
DO 5
Mahogany Frog
Moonjune Records
Coming across like Gentle Giant on steroids at times, Canadian quartet, Mahagony Frog seem determined to use every single vintage instrument weapon in their analogue-synth arsenal.

Akin to taking a high-speed tour through the high and low points of 70s prog, the effect can be both exhilarating one minute and overdone the next. There are occasional surprises such as at the climax of their eleven minute opus "T-Tigers & Toasters," which lurches into startling Jesu-like feedback-driven drones. Such impact is immediately set aside by the Spaghetti Western-style intro to "Last Stand At Fisher Farm" which follows. Such conflicting judgements seem the result of a collective polyglot mind gone mad.

Frenetic throughout, there are some genuinely interesting ideas such as the stately brass figures on "Loveset," quietly simmering beneath and between the overbearing bombast that embodies much of what Mahogany Frog are attempting.

Sometimes though, the clever thing is what you leave out as opposed to how much you pack in.

Bargain Hunt

A trip out today with Bernard and Lesley up to Thomas Miller's auction rooms. The firm used to be based up in Newcastle's Gallowgate and many moons ago (ie sometime in the 1980s) I used to pop in and occasionally buy an item or two. In recent times they've moved out of Newcastle and headed east to Byker and now occupy the old Ringtons Tea Factory.

It's good to see this piece of 1920s modernism in use. If you check the Ringtons website and scroll along the time line to 1926 you can see the building in its heyday. It would have been an intensely cutting-edge construction in Byker at the time (along with the nearby Odeon) given that the bulk of Byker was made from Tyneside flats that had gone in the 19th Century. A dodgy battery on the camera meant I only got these two snaps as we approached the entrance but inside there are lots of period features which, if you like that kind of thing, are rather nice.

In the UK there are so many daytime TV programmes based around things going to auction right now I imagine auctioneers are having something of a boom. Certainly judging by the amount of punters perusing anything from CDs to sideboards that would seem to be the case. There were a couple of lots I was interested in but not being able to attend the actual auction next week had to make do with leaving a written bid with a member of the staff.

Satisfaction

First time on CD for Brass Rock might-have-beens
Satisfaction
Satisfaction
Esoteric

Refugees from a failing UK R&B scene, the six-piece Satisfaction hooked up with producer David Hitchcock to try their hand at the progressive movement in1971. Failing to make any impact they duly went their separate ways. However, the vaguely jazzy undertow makes this album worth revisiting.

Though the writing is sometimes awkward there’s nevertheless some top-notch soloing to enjoy. This unevenness is epitomised by "Just Lay Back and Enjoy It." What begins as a funky but clunky mix-up between the Doobies and Chicago gives way to an introspective flute-orientated interlude which seems at odds with the innuendo-laden lyric. Patience pays dividends as Mike Cotton’s following flugelhorn punches through the charts.

Best of all is the spooky and edgy, "Sharing", recently featured on the Decca retrospective, Strange Pleasures. It’s a great example of where they get the feel just right rather than picking up some of the more ill-fitting threads of the period. Rounded off with some non-descript bonus singles you can hear why Satisfaction were consigned to oblivion. Yet for all its many limitations they're a classy act whose bell-like brass cadences and incisive arrangements deliver the goods more times than not.

Street Life CXXXIII

Nominations For God LVI

Sandy Denny

Candlelit Dinner

That evening in Bernardstrasse...

DFA 4th

No pale imitation…
4th
DFA
Moonjune Records

If you heard this album without being told who it was, even the most cursory knowledge of the Canterbury scene would lead you to conclude that you were being treated to some long-lost or previously unheard project by National Health or Gilgamesh.

So close to the feel and instrumentation of that genre as to be virtually indistinguishable from the originals, DFA’s drummer and principal composer, Alberto de Grandis clearly revels in the complex and time-shifting writing usually associated with Dave Stewart, Alan Gowen et al.

Lacking the self-deprecating charm that was a hallmark of those earlier Canterbury bands, the slightly po-faced prog-fusion aspect tends to dominate but happily without overpowering the more delicate and nuanced material.

The enticingly ornate “La Ballata De S’isposa ‘E Mannorri” is augmented by a trio of singers (their very own Northettes!) and a small string section, adding a passionate counterpoint to a track that incorporates traditional folk-like motifs and classical cadences.

Providing you can get past the sense of stylistic déjà vu that permeates the album, there are many surprisingly rewarding moments of great power and no small beauty.

Memorabilia

Chris T called over today. Back in the 70s we used to sit around in his front room or my bedroom listening to the latest spins of the day. All of this was done in the sepulchral glow of the red lightbulb laced with the smoke of joss sticks. I think everyone we knew had a red lightbulb - it was our token throwback to psychedelic times and a way of letting one's alternative / counter-culture allegiances, ahem, shine forth.

We'd been talking about this stuff on the blower recently and when Chris said he still had the original light bulb in a draw I told him to bring it over for a photocall. It still works as well even after all this time. Though I was tempted to insert it into my desk lamp and grab a shot of its pokey glow I was worried I would turn it on and phttt! So here's the red lightbulb of our shared adolensce bubblewrapped for posterity.

Dusk Energies

On my way to the airport to meet a returning Debra...

At this time,
at this place
distance means nothing
in the high speed chase
of one love to another

Random Penguin XXXV

1969
The cover shows a drawing of Vasko Popa by Mario Mascarelli, Belgrade

Testing For Buzz LXVIII 1968 And All That XIX

Martin Sharp's explosive rendition of Jimi Hendrix epitomised the vibrancy that was in the air at the time. I first came across this as an A3 poster with one of my sister's magazines that was in the house.

Sadly, I can't recall which one - possibly FAB 208? - but the dynamics contained in this work knocked me sideways. Actually it still does. I look at this and I want to hear some Hendrix.

Although I knew who Hendrix was (once again entirely thanks to my sister's superb musical tastes) the image represented something larger than a single person. It was a scene, a movement, a point of connection or stirring of kinship to something that was outside and alien but utterly exotic and attractive.

Fleet Foxes

It’s Déjà Vu Again…
Fleet Foxes
Bella Union

The much-lauded arrival of Fleet Foxes and their brand of upbeat, swooning harmony-driven songs suggest mass musical appetites are more than ready for a return to the laid-back Laurel Canyon idylls of 40 years ago. Led by Robin Pecknold, and hailing from Seattle, their debut album has attracted favourable comparisons to old-timers such as Crosby, Stills, and Nash and perhaps inevitably Brian Wilson.

There are some irresistible moments on this record. Listening to the implacable pop backbeat of “Quiet Houses,” brimming with Byrds-like guitar trills, it’s impossible not to join in with the joyous chorus with a mile-wide grin like some newbie Evangelical. And it’s not just trademark American harmonies which suffuse the record. “Sun It Rises” quickly erupts into a folk-rock stomp that would not be out of place on an early Steeleye Span or Fairport Convention album.

The problem is that although the harmonies might well be soaring, sun-kissed and glorious (and they really are), for the most part the songs that make up the majority of the album don’t quite match up to the aural set-dressing, lacking the hair-raising intensity of their lovingly-referenced seminal musical forebears.

Still, anything that gives a new generation of punters permission explore those back-catalogue canyons can’t be all bad.

Nirvana Local Anaesthetic

In search of a concept...
Local Anaesthetic
Nirvana
Repertoire

Nirvana’s Story of Simon Simopath (1967) is widely regarded as the first concept album in pop and rock proper, that is a fully developed and thematically inter-linked song cycle. Thus pedant pop-pickers, Sgt Pepper’s doesn’t count! Patrick Campbell-Lyons and Alex Spyropoulos were ahead of the trend, beating the growing competition by several months. However by 1971 Campbell-Lyons was alone and though Local Anaesthetic is credited to Nirvana, it’s really a solo album in a band’s clothing.

So what’s it all about? Campbell-Lyons’ prosaic liner notes give little away but the deranged cry at the start of the 16 minute "Modus Operandi" suggests a mind teetering on the brink. Along with the 19 minute long Home, the album leaps from rock, boogie, baroque pop, folk, jazz, sub-"Hey Jude" style extemporisation, atonal caterwauling, ersatz ethnic rhythms like a demented grasshopper.

Essentially a sequence of disparate snippets whose unifying factor is their presentation as side-long pieces, this is a sprawling, hammy and often messy, tour though a maverick pop mind.

Hailing from a time when album covers were often just as evocative as their contents, the startling eerie gatefold designed by Keef is one of the best, and once again top marks go to Repertoire for their effective reproduction.

Nominations For God LV

Eric Morecombe

Three In A Row VII: Weather Report

I Sing The Body Electric
1972

Sweetnighter
1973

Mysterious Traveller
1974

Home And Away

Last night Debbie woke up and found me in the corner of the room feeling at the wall. She thought I was sleep walking but I'd woken up needing to get to the toilet and had thought I was still in my hotel room in New York and was looking for the door to the bathroom. Thank God that in my befuddled state I hadn't got out of bed, opened the cupboard door and let nature take its course!

The happiness at being at my being back home today was overshadowed today as it was Debbie's turn to leave town. She left to go down to Devon to meet up with our dear friends, Neil and Halina. Having been away from home for so long I didn't feel able to accompany her on this occasion. My sister Lesley swung by to whisk us all to Newcastle airport where I gave Debbie a big hug and said goodbye once again.

Today I listened again to King Crimson at Chicago's Park West on prior to making it available on DGMLive. Phenomenal stuff. I cranked up the sub-woofer on the surround sound to get that thump in the chest feel during the cymbal chokes of "Level Five." Hard to think that it's not quite two weeks since the band were playing this music in front of a jam-packed crowd.

Home

It doesn't matter that my life flashed before me as the taxi driver on the way to JFK fell asleep at the wheel. It doesn't matter that I had to wait for nearly three hours at check-in and had to agitate my way to the front of the queue in order to get me and my luggage on the flight. It doesn't matter that the flight to the UK was turblent as hell or that Flybe charged me £45 for my "heavy" bag to accompany me from Gatwick to Newcastle. It doesn't matter that the taxi driver from Newcastle airport was a foul racist. It doesn't matter that I'm jet-lagged to buggery and my body doesn't know what the hell just happened back there. It doesn't matter because I'm home and here with Debra, the love of my life, and in the bosom of my family.

Random Penguin XXXIV

1985
Cover illustration by Kathy Wyatt

Nominations For God LIV

Sir Mortimer Wheeler

New York Day Two: Big Apple Juiced

I opt to miss the get-in at the Nokia in order to catch up on the build-up of work and to talk with Debbie and the children on the blower. Consequently, my spirits are considerably lifted as I leave the hotel for the short walk to the venue. The sheer whump of New York that threatens to knock me off my feet. When walking along Broadway and into Times Square I begin to truly appreciate the achievement of Adrian Belew's lyrics to "Neurotica."

Of course it’s not the KC first song to have dealt with the Big Apple. Peter Sinfield wrote the words to “Pictures Of A City” about New York back in 1969 whilst on the band’s first visit to America. Whilst it offers a stark series of brutally effective jump cuts, “Neurotica” has a more finessed film maker’s eye to it, capturing the whirligig human zoo in all of its full surging fury and flight.

At the venue I find Bill, Biff and Ian hard at work.




There were gremlins in the sound system today with Ian, Biff and Bill, problem-solving and stripping out cables and connections until the punters started coming in.

I nestle down in the cramped but serviceable production office just behind the stage and rev things up on the laptop for an hour or so before heading back to the hotel to meet Robert. I don’t whether he’s early or I’m late but just as I arrive at the entrance the Fripp legs are “snapping like whip cords” as he might say.

As we walk he tells me that the very hotel we are in was the one that KC first stayed in on their first visit in 1969. Back then it was called Lowes (not sure about the spelling of that) and Robert chuckles about it not being quite up to the standards of today. He also tells me about the area’s notorious past as a nexus for narcotics and prostitution. Ah, happy days.

Back at the theatre the sound check is a fraught affair with monitoring problems and Tony’s rig plagued by intermittent spikes of unwanted hum. Yet in concert despite such obvious difficulties the music appeared more decisive than the first night in Philadelphia where it seemed assailed and blown off course by the technical shortcomings.

What makes for a good Crimson set? Is it an absence of cock-ups and clams or even their appearance? Is it volume? Is it the crowd? Is it whether or not you’ve had a particularly nice time with your friends or family prior to the gig? There are so many variables when it comes to assessing a performance. The nearest thing I can put it down to is presence; an ineffable, subjective, ephemeral state where things lock, mesh and join together, and in doing so create something larger and more far—reaching than the band itself. The first night in Chicago had that element in spades for me but not tonight.

A bonus for me tonight is meeting up with Chris Jones. Although we've chatted via email for a couple of years now this was the first time we'd actually met in person. Chris had flown across from London especially for the gig. He'd bought a ticket but I organised an aftershow pass for him where we managed to natter for a short while. Having arrived earlier that afternoon he was holding up far better under the jet-lag than I managed to.

I'm so juiced up I don't think I'm ever going to get to sleep.

Three In A Row VI: Frank Zappa

Waka Jawaka
1972

Grand Wazoo
1972

Over-Nite Sensation
1973

New York Day One: Arrive In Neurotica

Bags at the ready...



Lobby Call 2.00. There's packing to be done...


...and Ian Bond can fit just about anything into the boot...

including drummers...
We set off and eventually pick up the New Jersey turnpike. Even just saying "New Jersey turnpike" is to give voice to a mythological America that has been instilled in song in me since I was a kid. It's impossible not to mix-up the functional rather dull strip of motorway with some romantic odyssey. The same applies to that famous skyline.
Coming out of the Lincoln Tunnel we hit our desired spot on 8th Avenue. After a major panic in which I thought I'd lost my Amex card (but hadn't of course) whilst checking in, I decamp to my home for the next few days...



Meanwhile, outside...

Bill, Biff, Ian and myself go for a wander and end up in Times Square...

Later that evening...

Philadelphia Day Four: Second Night At The Keswick

Everywhere we go in the States we see the flag flying. Coming from a country where flag-waving is seen as the preserve of football hooligans or the far right, this is an unsettling experience. Out here in Glenside there are just as many star-spangled banners draped about the place although they are smaller in size than those that hang in the cities.

In the airport I saw lots of service men and women moving going to meet loved ones. On the flight from Chicago to Philadelphia the pilot announced that he was proud to be flying two members of the military to their destination. The entire cabin erupted into spontaneous applause. As we go about our business it’s easy to forget that this is a country at war. Whilst feeling nothing but admiration for those men and women who put themselves in harms way when ordered to do so by their commanders, it’s difficult to support a war whose aims are so ill-defined and whose prosecution has been so haphazard, chaotic and inept. Lions led by donkeys indeed.


As he has done on previous occasions, during a break in the soundcheck Robert asks me to use his camera to photograph any gathering members of the audience for use on his diary. So far whenever I ask people if it’s OK to take their picture nobody has ever refused. Whether or not they’ll feel so eager once they see what might happen to their happy smiling faces if it turns up on Robert’s diary-cum-comic book remains to be seen.

Whilst doing that I’ve bumped into a several folk including last night Robin Slick. She and I have been in touch off and on for a couple of years. Mother of Julie and Eric Slick of Adrian Belew’s trio, she’s just as witty and as engaging in real life as she is in her blog. Sadly we don’t get an opportunity to talk because she’s meeting people and I get side-tracked into interviewing other folks (which is why I’m here) and indeed meeting other folks with whom I’ve had occasional correspondence but have never met before.



Tonight one person who falls into that category is Lee who insists he wants to buy me a beer. I don’t drink before shows but I could murder a root beer and so I accompany him to a pub across the road from the venue. Inside I take a few snaps for Robert and chat to Lee (and a couple of brothers up from New York). There’s a real air of anticipation and I realise that probably every person in the tiny bar will be heading over to show.




With the disappointment of last night’s lacklustre performance still ringing in my ears I wonder how things will be tonight. It doesn’t get off to a good start. As I stand at the back I see a young kid shooting footage with his camera. When challenged he is haughty and dismissive, shouting above the music “here, take the freakin’ phone.” Outside in the foyer with Zeke, one of the staff at the venue,his attitude crumples somewhat as the band launch into Red. His hands are visibly shaking as he is asked to dial up the footage. There was something in the frame but it could easily have been exclusive shots of the theatre’s ghost having a bad ectoplasm day.

As he pleaded to be let back in to the gig, claiming not to have seen the signs or heard the pre-show announcement or the barking of the venue staff as folks entered the building, Crimson sounded like they were finding their feet. Zeke, who was as tall as he was wide, was having none of it. “How come” Zeke wanted to know afterwards “these kids are deaf and blind when they come into a show? They never see or hear anything we tell them about not recording the show. But ain’t it a miracle when the band start to play. Then they can see and hear everythin’!”

Onstage things are hotting up but it never achieves the rolling boil they acquired in Chicago. Adrian is clearly having problems with his in-ear monitoring as he enters “One Time” behind the beat which puts him seriously adrift from his colleagues with no means of hiding the pain. Fripp is unseated several times and Tony’s fingers slide into dangerous semi-tones that they’d rather not. This isn’t a bad show in any way but it feels they’re having trouble staying on the back of this fast-moving tiger.

I’m behind the safety curtain when they finish the set. The applause from the theatre is deafening. They’re clearly elated, lots of laughter and playfully pointing out the highs and lows they’d encountered during the course of the last hour. Eventually Fripp gets them together, they all raise their fists in a kind of superhero affirmation that good deeds were about to be done and took to the boards once more.

Random Penguin XXXIII

1976
Line treatment on front cover photograph by Enzo Ragazzini

Philadelphia Day Three: First Night At The Keswick

Yesterday I spent most of the day in the hotel working on video and also a little writing. Changing from one gear to the other often felt a little creaky and I don't think I really did either pieces of work much justice.

A welcome break was found in Bill Munyon's room where he was recording a voice-over to be played prior to the band going on stage. You know that bloke with the deep, deep voice who does all the movie trailers? Whenever we've been together as a team we've all been doing that trailer voice "In a world of silence, one man dared to scream" kind of thing. Bill, however, is the king of the trailer voice. We're planning on running the voice-over as part of the pre-show announcements at the Keswick.

It was a stormy day here but of course after the rain there came the sunshine and after the sunshine there came this rainbow...

Just after I'd snapped this, Tony pulled up in his car. He'd driven over from Chicago and was hungry. Adrian was also out admiring the rainbow and he was hungry as well. Me? I'm always hungry! So we hopped into Tony's car and drove a shortish distance to an Italian restaurant. Out in the parking lot, the rainbow continued to beguile...

...and there was a gorgeous smell in the air (not pictured)...


Adrian had come down to this place last night and all of us ended up ordering what he'd had before as it sounded so good. Despite having eaten all the pies (as the saying goes) and being a fat bastard, the size of the portions of food you get in American restaurants continues to amaze me.

I couldn't eat for a day after being at Barone's in Lisle when we were in Chicago the other day and sure enough I had to manfully struggle with this dish. No wonder doggy-bags are a necessary adjunct to the American restaurant experience.

Tony and Ade are natural story tellers and I was entertained by their tales of questing for authentic food whilst on tour with KC. Good Italian restaurants in the USA are few and far between they assure me.

Lobby call today 10.30 and an opportunity for sombre reflection on what needs to be done today

Biff Uranus Blumfumgagne always knows what needs to be done - knob gags, that's what!


The Keswick is situated outside of Philadelphia in a place called Glenside. I quite liked the feel of the place.





Inside the theatre the work of putting the show together begins...






Meanwhile back stage is a hive of industry...




Back outside in the glorious daylight, I join Barry and Susan Stock for a chinwag

Barry and I have been emailing each other off and on for several years now and this is the first time we've met. The power of blogging and technology is that it makes you feel like you know a person through reading about their daily lives.

I know this because throughout the tour several folks have come up to me and told me they're regular visitors to the Yellow Room. Barry's blog is one of my daily visits and I love his cloud and weather photographs he posts there.

In fact it was seeing Barry's Lumix that persuaded me to get one. As we sat on the terrace restaurant, Barry gave me a quick bit of tuition about the bells and whistles that I have no idea about on the Lumix.

They've come all the from Florida to catch the show and have brought with them Henry and Adele. Earplugs have been provided so I'm told!

And now, it's showtime...
Strange energies were at work in the Keswick tonight. It was a full six numbers into the set before a good portion of the audience had managed to take their seats. It was as though the band were playing in a corridor surrounded by an ebb and flow of punters in search of seats, in search of the toilets, and in search of popcorn.

After the compact space of the last few gigs which has had the effect of concentrating attention, the Keswick was diffuse and never quite provided the focus or definition in the way the other venues had. None of this seemed to affect the band too much who gave an admirable performance but one which never quite flew for me.

I was heading back to the hotel with Adrian H and Andrea but at the last minute opted to ride with Bill and Biff to a bar called Double Visions, where we were told by the local house crew, they had the best exotic dancers in town and, this was the deal-clincher, no cover charge. After driving around for what seemed like an age we pulled up outside a broken-down roadside diner-type building that had clearly seen better days.

Inside, the place was packed with truck driver stereotypes swigging Bud and DJ played it loud n’ proud with a four to the floor as the girl danced on a rostrum behind the bar. Starting off in a bikini, she quickly lost her top as she shimmied about, strutting and generally grappling with one of the two poles that sat at either end of her stage. As she did this, a bar maid took orders and served drinks seemingly oblivious to the gyrating act going on behind her. Then another girl took to the stage as the previous dancer walked around the punters leaning on the bar and ask for tips. She'd stretch aside her bared breasts out as though she was opening a raincoat, you'd place your dollar in the crevice provided and watch it disappear into silicone valley. We had one beer, parted with three bucks apiece in tips and left.

As we were walking out I spied the room where the private dancing took place. Inside an almost derelict looking space with a single chair and some dank lighting, the place looked more akin to an interrogation room than anything else. We drove back to the hotel laughing all the way and curiously despite trying to talk it up (especially when Bill was telling his wife about the place on the blower) it was one of the most profoundly non-sexual experiences I’ve ever had.

Philadelphia Day Two: A Party In Philadelphia

The flight over from Nashville was as smooth as smooth could be. After getting into our respective rental vehicles we arrived safe and sound in our Philadelphia domicile. It's not strictly in the city. It's not actually anywhere near the city. It's not even near anywhere else. However, we were told there was a mall next to where we are staying and thus rampant consumerism and any other purchasing we may be inclined toward was ours for the taking. Not on your nelly it wasn't. At least not by our SatNav which took us every which way but where we wanted to be.

I dumped the bags in my room...


...had Robert's guitar sent to his room for his arrival, and went right back out the door in search of goodies and food.

Six hours later, in a highly frazzled, but at least fed and watered, state I got back into the room to catch up on the day's work. Frazzled because I'd anticipated getting ahead of the game but now was struggling to even leave the starting blocks.

Then my internet connection wouldn't work and so I was forced to go and do what little work I could in the lobby, alongside a wedding party and what looked like a children's massed choir or sports teams (i.e lots of them) coming in after a particularly successful gig/track event. Oh, and a huge widescreen TV set to stun and shred mode. This was not a great space to be trying to work.

This morning I went down to breakfast and essentially everyone who was in the lobby when I last left it at midnight, was there at 7.00 a.m.

The very helpful man at the desk who worked so hard last night to connect my internet put me in a new room this morning, in which connectivity is double plusgood, and I am a happy camper.



Debbie rang and I was able to catch up with her news and then talk to Joe who tells me that unless I come back with the new Slipknot album I'd better not bother coming back at all! I was scheduled to talk with Tom but I screwed with the phone and cut him off. We'll talk in full in a couple of days time.

And so to work!

Chicago Day Six: Philly Bound

The last few days in Chicago have been wonderful. A combination of the climate, the venue, the hotel, the crew, the people at the shows,the band, the local hospitality that we've been privileged to receive have made this stay very enjoyable indeed.

On the downside I never got to see anything more than a couple of blocks outside of the hotel or the venue, but seriously, no complaints at all.

Today is a travel day so that means packing up this surrogate Yellow Room and making a lobby call for 8.30 a.m. Biff has me on point duty today hence the geetar!

Chicago Day Five: Third Night At Park West

Chicago must have thousands of cafes to choose from but since I’ve been here I’ve trod the same path every morning to the Corner Bakery. This is part convenience for sure but mostly it’s a testament to my lack of adventure. I notice that somewhere in my head I like pretending that this place is my local, which is to say, I like pretending to be a “regular” rather than the lazy tourist I am. This strange little mind game probably says something very profound about my psyche but it’s an aspect I’m unwilling (or unable) to explore.


Not only are Britain and America two countries divided by a common language but also how they make their cups of tea. On my first morning here in the Corner Bakery I had to ask them to put the water in the cup after the tea bag had gone in. The member of staff just couldn’t get it (or maybe couldn’t understand my accent) and his supervisor intervened. This morning they put the Earl Grey teabag in the cup first without me having to ask. The tea tasted so much better and was accompanied by a rather smug feeling that maybe I was a regular after all.

I take a stroll about rather than return directly to my room and took in some of the skyscrapers that towered and glowered above me.



I've seen this corn-on-the-cob-lookalike tower in a film before (The French Connection ?) where a car crashes out through the parking bay and into the river below.


Thankfully no such drama today.

Opting not join the lobby call for the lift to the venue but carry on working in my room. I’m not entirely sure why I ever thought I could have a crack at this rockumentary malarkey but having ended up doing it, I’m enjoying myself immensely. The only difficulty with having to trawl through so much stuff, log it and file it away for potential use is that it takes so much time. In this respect it's identical to interviewing folks on the blower. After the questions comes the hard work of transcribing the tape – the part of the writing process I hate.

I cab it over to the venue and remember to pick up my laundry. It costs $10 which was hunky dory. In the venue I interview Alex Mundy about his work at DGM. It’s been strange meeting up with people I normally only ever talk to via email. On the first night at Park West I was filming the line and bumped into Eric Anderson who actually does all the tricky stuff that makes DGMLive work so reliably.

He lives out in Oregon but had travelled across to see the gig and was in the line with his parents. It’s moments like this which make you realise the extent to which technology has utterly changed the world. Alex, Eric and I work together to deliver a specific service yet never meet each other in person. Despite only ever contacting each other via email it nevertheless feels like we all have a relationship that somehow transcends the digital streams that carries our words to each other. It’s interesting how camaraderie can be found in such circumstances.

The band continue to work on both the broad brush strokes and fine detail. The set-list is addressed and it too is fine tuned. Last night's set was felt to be a better balance of things but they move a couple of tunes around.



Prior to the gig Robert sits nearby my perch in the lighting booth. The little bleep of his metronome is remorseless and I can hear the clatter of the plectrum on his unamplified strings as hurtles through the fast sections of "Fracture."

The concert tonight feels better than last night, the band sounding more at ease much earlier in the set than previously. There are lots of points where it comes unstuck and this is interesting to see what derails or betrays them. When things coalesce the band suddenly takes off and you experience such a surge of emotion. I guess that locking point – the magical bit where it all comes together – is different for everyone present. At one point I stood by an exit near the stage and instead of looking at the band I gazed out at the audience.

As the music roared behind me I could see individual strands of varying degrees of attention and distraction; competing, supportive, cancelling each other out, turned on, turned off, rapt, dismissive, expressive, passive, bored, demonstrative, ecstatic, and angry. The music navigates its way through this forest of emotion and energy and the sense that something very powerful is happening is tangible.

Little wonder that back at the hotel it’s several hours before I can calm down sufficiently enough to go to sleep.

Nominations For God LIII

Tony Williams

Chicago Day Four: Second Night At Park West

I bumped into Tom Redmond in the Corner Bakery this morning. He was meant to be with the tour in Nashville but bad weather had prevented him from joining us until yesterday. Tom and I met ten years ago in Seattle where I was inaugurated as an honorary Hell Boy for a day. He gave me a valuable lesson about seeking out abundance - or seeing how the glass is half-full rather than smashed to smithereens back then, and his specific words to me when I went freelance were a confidence booster to say the least.

Tom has business to do so we sit on separate tables which gives me a chance to think about where I am and what I need to be doing this evening. I try putting my thoughts into some order, exploring the contradictions between the new sound and old material; greatest hits or a launch pad for something new? The answer to the question as to why they are doing this after five years break is obvious after encountering the energy in the venue last night.

I cab it over to the venue and bring with me a bag of laundry. One of the shops opposite the venue cleans clothes and so I leave them a choice selection of T-shirts that are soon to go an interesting shade of green if they're not attended to sharpish.

I bump into Alex and Tom who are chatting away...


Alex and I work together almost every other day of the week but only via email. It seems absurd that we are socialising and working three thousand miles away from home.

By the time I join the soundcheck proper in the afternoon Crimso are working on "The ConstruKction of Light" in which there were several cock-ups the night before. But when the band punches at that stuff they really shake the place up.

Out on the line there are familiar faces from the gigs in Nashville (Bryan and Sarah) ...



...and yet more people from all over the world here. With the Belcourt gigs being much smaller and selling out so quickly, a significant number of overseas visitors have opted for Chicago.

The show itself lacked the bite of the first night for me and they didn’t really start to burn it up until the set was well underway. During the early part of the gig I was distracted by a couple of folks who were attempting to take photographs and record the performance. One guy accepted his fate (being thrown out with a shrug. The other started screaming and shouting that he only wanted to record a number or two to play to his sick friend. Where was the harm? He was Crimson’s biggest fan after all.

Then when he realised he too was going to be going out to take the fresh air for the rest of the night he began bellowing that Fripp was a douche-bag and he shouldn’t piss on his fans this way. As the head of security wiped the recording and he was tossed outside, he continued to scream and shout about how unfair it was and that he had been badly treated by the band. He would no longer be their biggest fan. He had done nothing wrong. Nothing really wrong. A few moments of music that was all. Fuck you Robert Fripp and fuck you King Crimson.

Afterwards, Robert asks how the show went. I told him that for me last night was better, had more energy. He tells me that during Larks Tongues' he was almost in tears at the power moving within the music.

Later, Bill and I join Biff, Ian and Pat M at his cousin's house - a stones throw away from the venue. On a roof terrace garden we can see the neon-lit skyline of Chicago. The air is warm and a guy whose name I don't catch talk about the jazz giants we've seen and some of those we never did manage but would have loved to. It's way after midnight but I'm buzzing with excitement still. Directly above us stars peek out between the clouds. I could get used to this lifestyle.

Three In A Row V: Miles Davis

E.S.P
1965

Miles Smiles
1966

Sorcerer
1967

Chicago Day Three: The Beast Arrives

When Mayor Daley was running Chicago back in 1968, and heads were being busted at the Democratic National Convention, King Crimson wasn’t even a glimmer in the eyes of Giles, Giles & Fripp. 40 years on, the son of Mayor Daley is now running the place and happily the only thing getting broken, at least around Park West, are assertions that this merely a King Crimson greatest hits tour.

Whilst the names on the set list will be familiar to long term fans, the way in which this material is being reinvented is seriously invigorating.

Talking to so many fans on the line both before and after the show, I was struck by how many of them had never seen Crimson before. We assume it’s only the die-hards who turn out to these shows but based on my own experience I’d have to say a statistically significant number of those attending are newcomers.

To those ears this material will be brand spanking new. To these ears, and perhaps many others who’ve been around the block when it comes to KC, it’s astonishing how Crimson are able to hold the sense of historical positioning with the music but bring something totally new to it.

Park West has often been hailed by Fripp and others as being one of their favourite venues. Having spent a night in the place I can understand why. Even numbers which you think you wouldn't mind if you'd never heard again come off being fresh and vital. There were mistakes from all of the frontline players but nothing that punctured the moment or setback the forward momentum of the set.

Belew's playing on its own is enough to get the adrenaline rushing, so by the time you add the others into that mix, something explosive really happens. The crowd at Park West are onto it in a second; several of the the team - including band members remarked upong the crackling energy both on stage and coming off the crowd.

I thought the Belcourt gigs had been good but in Chicago things went up to another level entirely.

Park West...

Mister Stormy and myself on the line...

The line itself...
and around the block...
Inside Park West...
When Adrian prepares it's a stark constrast to the gregarious showman we see on stage. He's quiet, methodical, and appears to be conserving all his energy for the show.

Chicago Day Two: A Day Off

On Adrian Holmes' recommendation I take a walk around to the Corner Bakery and have breakfast - bacon and eggs with Earl Grey.

Despite being tempted to go for a wander in search of Miles Davis' Plugged Nickel, there's lots of video editing to be done and though I'm getting to grips with the software, Bill Munyon is more than a few pages ahead of me when it comes to these things. Later in the day, Bill stops by and gives me a helping hand.


During the session Bill takes a call from his wife. I'd also taken a call from Debbie earlier in the day. The difference hearing the voice of a loved one when your these kinds of distances really makes a difference. When Bill leaves, I crack on with editing for another few hours. When I next check the clock it's late in the evening. Feeling hungry I take a walk out. Everywhere around the hotel is closed and I don't feel inclined to go too far.

A few blocks away I find and settle for a Subway. We have one in Whitley Bay but I've never been swept along by the urge to go inside. Here though, after ten in the evening, I'll make an exception. The woman serving me sussed me straight away as a Subway virgin and was extremely helpful when it came to getting my rather picky order fulfilled.

Back to the hotel and after scoffing the sandwich yet more editing and cutting continues until well after midnight.

Random Penguin XXXII

1967
The cover shows a detail of the Franks Caskets, in the British Museum

Chicago Day One: Stormy Monday For Sure

Today is a travel day: leaving Nashville for Chicago.

Despite being dead-dog tired last night ( I didn't get to bed until nearly two in the morning - having risen at 5.20 a.m.) I packed my bags before sleeping which resulted in a very orderly checking out and lobby call for 9.00 a.m. All I had to do was get up close down the office and vamoose! The wonders of technology meant that after clearing security in the airport I was able to do a couple of hours work and get ahead of the game.

I had hoped to do some more on the flight to Chicago but the extreme turbulence put paid to that. Even the frequent flyers amongst our party reckoned that this was a seriously bumpy flight. Perhaps the relief at being on the ground accounted for the hi-jinks once we got into Chicago itself. I suspect more farting cartoons on Robert's diary can't be too far away...



On the drive into Chicago we saw some of the clouds that had given us so much trouble...


Although the heat here isn't half as bad as in Nashville, it was nevertheless good to check and get settled in and kick back for an hour.

My small but perfectly formed substitute Yellow Room for the next few days...



A posse from the Crim Crew took a quick sortie out onto the streets to admire the urban sprawl of it all, and get a bite to eat.



We wanted a snack but ended up having a major meal despite the fact that we were off out tonight. At the lobby call at 6.00 p.m. we had a new arrival join us here at our Chicago base. None other than Alex "Stormy" Mundy, all the way from DGMHQ, jet-lagged but not at all slack. And what a stormy monday it turned out to be!

Tonight the road crew were guests of one of Pat's friends who runs a restaurant in a place called Lisle. We got picked up in a stretch limo and driven to the spot in question.
Everything was going so well but on the way there, the heavens opened up in a way that made our jaws drop. Given the problems we had in the plane it was no suprise later to learn that Chicago was experiencing one of the worst storms in recent years.

As drove along the highway, traffic slowed to a crawl and the interior kept lighting up as though a strobe light was mounted on the windows pointing inside at us.

Very weird but then the whole thing was weird: in a stretch limo being whisked off to have dinner with people we didn't know, the most mighty of storms and lightning bolts zapping around our immediate environment.

With all the chaos on the road, it took us quite a while to arrive, and when we did the tornado sirens were wailing. We assumed that it happened every time their was a storm. Our hosts, Joe and Stacy, assured that this was not the case: this storm was a real bad-ass storm and the worst they'd seen in 40 years.

As we sat in the deserted restaurant (which had been closed for us apparently) we could hear the boom of the thunder roaring somewhere in the distance. The rain clattered so loudly there were times when it was louder than our conversation.

This was the only picture I managed to get but it utterly fails to give you any sense of the violence that was swirling about in the sky last night...

These items from Youtube do a better job but even then they don't quite get it...



On this second clip you can hear the sirens wailing away like there might not be any tomorrow...


By the time we left the restuarant the weather had cleared and the drive back was easy, and we left the extremely odd stretch limo/end of the world combination behind.

Biff simulates the terror...
Bill gives us the seasoned pilot's drawl of "there's no need to be alarmed" routine from up in the cabin...
and Pat gives us his very best Papparazzi-pleaser when we got back to base...

In my room I turned on the TV and caught up with the air of real crisis. One member of staff in the hotel I talked to said that they'd had a bad storm in August last year but nothing on this scale at all.

Nashville Day Four: Second Night At The Belcourt

A lovely bright Sunday morning here in the dining area of a nice hotel in Nashville. I was awake up and at ‘em by six am which is probably about my regular time. I've just enjoyed a light breakfast of Cheerios, muffins, biscuits, eggs and gritts Danish, porridge, bran flakes and donuts. Well, not really but it was all there if the notion took me.

Nashville is incredibly hot though I'm told Chicago will be hotter! The news this morning comments that it’s the 20th day in a row that the temperature has been in the 90s.Most of yesterday, was spent in my room working on the site and prepping articles but my seat is adjacent to the air con so it's kind of perfect for me.

In the cab over to the gig last night the driver asked me how I liked Nashville. Of course I haven't seen anything of the place because of having to work a full day and more. So it's weird feeling being here. You have the sense of being on holiday because you're in a different place which is sunny and suitably exotic, but you're here to work and address things which need to be processed and delivered.

In my inbox this morning was confirmation that I’ll be interviewing Dave Cousins of Strawbs when I get back to the UK. The wonders of laptops and mobile / wifi technology never fails to amaze me. One very strange surreal moment yesterday was talking to Alys in real time via Facebook. Amongst other pleasantries (including spit roasting Ginger Bob at the BBQ she was hosting at home), she told me we the insurance company paid out on some of the stuff we got nicked in Tenerife.

Of course it doesn’t cover the cost of everything we lost but hey - result all the same! Al told me she's going to put some pix up on her sight from their time in Wales. I was also exchanging a few quips with Sean H via facebook as well. OK I admit it that I didn’t realise you could type your fb pals until the other day - the world is so much smaller than it used to be!

Lobby call in the afternoon and Bill Munyon drives us to the venue.



I got some material for the next lot of updates and then stepped out into the heat to take some shots of the line that is forming to see the band.

The heat whumps into you like a big fat wave almost knocking you back. Fortunately, for me The Mighty Vargan bumps into me and we take refuge in a cafe for iced tea. TMV probably knows more about individual KC performances than anyone else I know. We've had some correspodance over the years but only met for the first time the previous evening at the gig. It's nice to eventually meet people you know through the web.

After working the line a little bit more I take a walk and bump into Tony and Gavin. We order food in a place not far from the venue. Stupidly, I order chips with garlic dipping sauce (thinking they were sliced and deep fried potatoes). Only after placing the order did I remember that chips means something else in the States. Happily for me our waitress figured out that I really meant to order french fries and that's what arrived.

This prompted us to talk about the whole French fries / Freedom fries debacle following 9/11, and general riffing on the nature of patriotism. The bottom line is that we probably all love our respective countries but that draping ourselves in the flag has undertones and associations that none of us are comfortable with.

Crimson hit the spot tonight. Whereas the previous evening's set had lacked definition, tonight they were there in sharp relief, bring more details and less broad brush stuff. There were still several rough spots and some errors in places you would have thought would have been easy for them to negotiate. Sound man Ian had added an extra notch on the bass end and that helped clarify things enormously. Adrian is a remarkable performer, soaking up the audiences attention and throwing back some spectacular results. His solo on Level Five was spine-tingling. Pat and Gavin continue to astound.

I covered the load out for DGMLiveTV. These guys are real heroes. I mean, real heroes. Back breaking work and without them, the show would most definitely would not go on.

Nashville Day Three: First Night At The Belcourt

Just a couple of blocks from my room I can see a Borders. Normally I would be over there like a shot. In this heat I pass lest I pass out.

The heat here is astonishing. Just moving from the lobby of the hotel to the car means being dissolved to a puddle of bodily juices. Astonishingly, when we get to the Belcourt, there are people waiting in the line and in some cases they've been there since early morning in order to secure their seats inside. Despite the sweltering weight of the temperature, the atmosphere here is highly charged and the spirits of those having to endure this inferno show no signs of flagging whatsoever.

After stashing my stuff in the projection booth (the place is also a two-theatre cinema) I head out onto the line and start asking folks where they're from and other questions about their relationship with the band. The main thing that strikes right off the bat is how many women and young people there are, and the distances they've covered in order to be here. There's a real sense of commitment here.

Crimson played their first gig proper tonight and despite several moments where there was possible a bit more hazard than they’d like, they did very well. For me the show was like a long stretch, trying to smooth out the sore and creaking muscles that have gone flabby after a long period of disuse. Once those kinks have been ironed out I’m guessing Crim will get up to speed. That said, the atmosphere in the Belcourt was astonishing. I watched a portion of the show from my spot up in the projection room but mostly I was at the back beside Ian who was working the desk. When Crimson came back for an encore I made a point of walking down the aisle to be near the front. The wave of energy that was released when KC came back on stage had a physical impact.

Talking to people in the line before the gig and after the show, I was impressed by the love and admiration that people have for the 80s line-up. I’m used to hearing people waxing lyrical about the 60s line-up or the 70s version (me included) but it was interesting that for a lot of the folks I talked to (the majority?), Crimson really starts in the 80s. I don’t think I’ve really appreciated the impact of this until now.

Whilst tonight's show would count as being 100% better than last night's dress rehearsal they still don't quite arrive. Of course this is still high octane stuff even though it's still a way off full power. It's exciting though hearing them clatter through various shunts and bumps in the set. These come exclusively from the guitarists. As far as I can tell the drummers don't put a stick out of place all night. Pat and Gavin's habit of woodshedding ahead of everyone else arriving for rehearsals has clearly paid off.

Nominations For God LII

Sid James

Nashville Day Two: Dress Rehearsal

Despite only a few hours in bed I made the lobby call for 7.00 a.m. I came over to give Adrian and Andrea a hand with sorting out the merch for the gigs.

And Boy was there a lot of merch...





..as well as this little personalised beauty as well...

A pity it's just too damned hot to wear the thing!

Robert arrived in the afternoon and we touched base on things. He seems very chipper and raring to go. Once the band started playing it felt easier to work outside of the room, but working in the lounge area meant being overwhelmed by the lack of air conditioning. During a break, Pat found me a neat office in which I immersed myself in the air con's cold halo.

Around 6.30 the band played before a small audience of around 20 or so people.

Gavin and Pat are HUGE and they way their playing meshes, contrasts and compliments each other is visceral and exciting. The other three guys ain't too bad either! The set needs a bit of polishing but it should be ready for tomorrow night.