But if you play that for an hour you will continually hear new things …

Well, I’ve had another unnervingly good weekend, how was yours?

If last weekend yielded the headiest of double-headers (Pigs x7 and a Gloucester/Northampton clash), this weekend has been just as good, possibly better. And now I think of it, the pattern of blessings laid down then was pretty much how it’s unfolded this weekend too. Again, a famously thrilling recovery and win for Gloucester – its’ the Big One, some of the people I stand with consider their season made or destroyed by this game… (but again I’m sure you’ve watched and re-watched the highlights enough times, and like me you’re basking in the afterglow of the Cherry & Whites being once again The Best Team in the Land).

Anyway, eschewing the siren charms of the Fountain, the Cross Keys or the Pelican, a mere forty minutes later I could be found me hurtling (footling, maybe) down the M5 for a charming evening spent in the distinguished company of Terry Riley.

Terry Riley, St George’s

I’m definitely no expert on Terry Riley. My introduction to his works has been startlingly late – I think I was quite literally unaware of him a year ago – my curiosity was only really piqued watching the “Tones, Drones and Arpeggios” series of programmes on BBC4 last Autumn. I loved his idea of notes shifting and changing in relation to each other, and the way that his compositions change and can be performed with different rules for different occasions.

Fascinating stuff, all of it, but Riley comes in at about 20 minutes.

But aside from this (and a growing love of A Rainbow in Curved Air), I had not much idea of what to expect from the evening as I ambled in through the fine (new?) entrance of St George’s.

If Lee Perry was a scarcely believable 82 years old, I should perhaps point out that Riley would have been a full two years ahead of him at High School (now I think of it, I’m very much attracted to the idea of a High School that could house both men – one, a crazy maverick who would spend days on end in a darkened studio, creating new musical worlds with tape machine and reefer, the other, Lee “Scratch” Perry).

And, to be fair, wrinkly eyed and silver bearded, he did look every bit the octogenarian as he crept uncertainly onstage with son Giyan by his side. Clearly life continues to sparkle and glow in his mind and nimble fingers, however, as he spent the next two hours skipping and twirling through a series of enchanting compositions, mostly on keyboard (although there were a couple of appearances from a magnificently reedy melodica) and imaginatively accompanied by son on guitar.

If I hadn’t quite known what to expect before the performance started, I was at least imagining that the evening might be a bit challenging, a bit modernist. There was certainly one lengthy piece that was Kluster-esque in its awkwardness, played by fingertip on something that looked like a set of electronic steel drums (but almost certainly wasn’t). There’s a clip of it, here, (I think) on YouTube:

 

But a lot of the evening was made up of playful improvisations, led by the probing insistence of Riley’s keyboard and coloured enthusiastically by surreal guitar fills from Giyan Riley, with occasional vocal interventions in a Native American style. Sometimes, the compositions meandered, sometimes they coursed forward with purpose and direction. All of it was performed with relish and a sense of joy. I don’t think he addressed his audience once (there was one apologetic aside from Gyan) but I never felt he was aloof, It was a giddy, friendly, captivating and occasionally jazzy feast.

I’ve got some quite nice recordings of the evening, although I have absolutely no idea of names – I’ve tried to disguise this lack of knowledge by taking the post-modernistic approach of numbering rather than naming them. Of course, if anyone knows better…

No 2

No 4

I mean, what else? You can’t eat music.

Amongst the empty absinthe bottles, Pringles tubes and pistachio shells, strewn about the house, something’s wrong. Having dutifully watched hours upon hours of Talking Pictures TV, and absolutely, categorically had enough of Oliver Reed’s camp thuggery, I still have a niggling feeling… Gone to enough school and office parties to take me safely through until next year, but I’ve definitely forgotten something.

True, there’s still half a chocolate orange (saved. Obviously you need something to see the New Year in with); having checked and double-checked the Radio Times, I can find no screening of Escape to Victory (and if Die Hard can be a Christmas movie…), so that’s not it. But there’s something else…

Ah! Bugger.

End of Year lists.

I knew there was something.

Seven Tinsel-decked Tings from 2018

Truth be told, 2018 has been a desperately grim year, with all sorts of indefensible shithousery going on from the people we’ve recklessly entrusted our futures to. I don’t remember a year when I’ve watched the news more obsessively, and sworn more rancorously at the TV (unless you count 2017, of course. Also 2016…). 2019 isn’t looking like it’s going to get much better either.

I don’t think the two things are linked but 2018 is a year when I’ve bought less brand new music and been to less gigs than for a long a time. No new records spring to my lacklustre mind for this year, and a glance at the more established End of Year lists hasn’t really altered my thoughts on this. I’ve seen a couple of really good live sets (Here Lies Man and Damo are the ones I’m thinking of), but not a great haul.

Having said this, my jammy grandfather clause with eMusic has meant that there’s still been a whole bunch of “new” music floating in and around the estate this year. So I’ve decided to go for seven treats from the PP music year, trying particularly to think about things I don’t think I’ve written about previously (so no Here Lies Man, Sweet Baboo or Damo Suzuki, I’m afraid) but which have been tiny candles amongst the gloom…

Spanish Warbling: Josephine Foster – “Dame Esa Flora”

I’ve managed to step up my efforts to improve my Spanish this year and am hoping to go again with this in the New Year. And one of the things that I’ve done is listen to more Spanish music. Now I’ve written before about warbly-voiced female singers in less than complimentary terms, and Josephine Foster is certainly ones of these. But hey, if she’s warbling in Spanish, it’s different, right? She has a few records out but two in particular stand out which were recorded with the Herrero Brothers. The first was a collection of songs by Lorca and a second album, Perlas, was made up of other traditional songs from various regions of Spain, including this one about Cadiz. We went to Cadiz this year and were again taken by it, so this feels right; and once you’ve warmed to Foster’s voice and are settling into the beautiful mandolin (?) breaks you realise that this is, after all, damn fine:

 

Somali Dance: Dur Dur Band

A quick look through my music of this year confirmed a couple of things: firstly, that, yes, I got very few records from this year; and secondly that I acquired an alarming amount of African music from the seventies – Zamrock, the Ethiopiques series, a lot of Somali music, and pretty much all of it from the seventies and eighties. I did already post about some of this and plugged the Likembe website back in the Summer. But one of the bands covered there, Dur Dur Band from Mogadishu, was also the subject of a new collection from Analog Africa which is just excellent.

This track which doesn’t seem to be on the new compilation or the other LP I have, rollocks along like a train (a funk train), powered by hand drums and an impossibly tight rhythm guitar. The brass is cut-throat and there’s some great twisted lead guitar work. Ah, the days when bands still wrote their name on the bass drum…

 

Japanese Clatter: Bo Ningen – “Koroshitai Kimochi”

I did also write about this bunch of androgynous oddballs after I saw them supporting Damo Suzuki at Sea Change, so I won’t go on. But every time I see clips of this, it gets more and more white-knuckle. It’s utterly out to lunch – deafening, nutty, double-jointed – all of these in a good way. What a racket.

I need a snakeskin-effect poncho…

 

The Cosmos: Terry Riley – “Shri Camel” album

OK, so this is an hour long video, so get a drink or something, but do commit yourself. The first part is an interview with the man which is complex but disarmingly low on bullshit and generally really interesting. I believe everything he says.

There was a really excellent series of shows on BBC4 earlier this year covering experimental music which introduced me to the idea of Terry Riley. I’m not going to pretend I understand everything about what he does, but the one idea that stuck me from the programs was the idea of single pairs of notes moving in and out of sync with each other and then returning to their relative positions like planets in a solar system.

This is grown up music…

 

English Folk Music: Lal Waterson – “Fine Horseman” / Sandy Denny – “Who Knows Where the Time Goes”

I seemed to spend a lot of time this year reading about folk music – Nick Drake and Sandy Denny biogs, Rob Young’s Electric Eden, the Incredible String Band book I posted about in the summer – all of it fascinating (I’ve also got a Peggy Seeger biog in the pile by my bed…). And on that theme, these two songs are remarkable:

I bought the reissue of the Waterson’s Bright Phoebus this year, which is a great record but the stand out moments all involved the monochrome tones of Lal Waterson, a singer I am ashamed to know I knew nothing about before this. It’s an eerie song that feels like it’s been passed from lip to ear for generations – misunderstood, reinterpreted, weirdly distorted – but is actually a genuinely strange original.

 

The Sandy Denny song is another thing of splendour, crafted carefully and possessing of the most achingly poignant single line choruses. Denny’s life is sad enough and beautifully captured in Mick Houghton’s book, but really you only have to hear this song…

 

Italian Horror: Goblin – “theme from Profondo Rosso”

This was the year I finally got around to watching The Exorcist and a whole bunch of Hammer and folk horror stuff. And there’s some cracking music to accompany some of these films. I’m yet to see Profondo Rosso but I like the Goblin sound track.

 

Oh go on, while we’re at it, Goblin’s theme tune to another horror movie – Suspiria.

And a new album! The Surfing Magazines “New Day”

I didn’t actually see the Surfing Magazines at Sea Change but I heard them from the warmth and safety of the beer tent. I did pop out for a couple of songs and they struck me as having a similar live act as Woods – a basic understanding of the sixties rule book and a willingness to wig out at any given moment. They were fun.

Made up of members of the Wave Pictures and Slow Club, I’m very much hoping this isn’t just a cheery side-project and that there’s more to come.

 

So there we have it, 2018. Some highlights and not too many grumbles. Here’s to the next one, God help us all…