All Things Must Pass

Recent disruption of domestic infrastructure and routine has been at a level which rather reminds me of a few years ago when I didn't have anywhere to live at all, so nothing much constructive has been achieved. In fact the only vaguely hobby related thing that I can find to write about is that having had my shower entirely removed in an effort to track down the leak I am in danger of smelling like one of those wargames show attendees that we all know and don't love.

I did manage to get to the cinema - sitting well away from other patrons - to see the re-released 'Concert for George', which event I assume is related to the fact that he would have been seventy five this year. I'd never seen it before, thoroughly enjoyed it, and was rather taken aback to see Eric Clapton come across as warm and human for once. It was also poignant to see those themselves no longer with us such as Tom Petty, Billy Preston and Ravi Shankar, although I could probably have coped with less Monty Python.

Here's Uncle Ringo, as George's son endearingly described him:

Brown eyed handsome man

There's only one subject worth writing about today. He might not have been a nice man - indeed I heard Bill Wyman use pretty much those exact words once - but...

That's Albert Lee in the Emmylou Harris video, proving once again that everything is connected to everything else; and yes, that is Elkie Brooks singing backing vocals behind Marc Bolan, Dave Edmunds and, er, Alvin Stardust.

Ready, willing and able

I can assure readers that they are not the only ones who wish that there was more wargaming on here (I exclude the big, bouncy woman from that; I don't think she bothers to read those posts). However, recently the only hobby activity undertaken has been a bit of desultory painting and the scheduling of a smoke barrage for Sidi Rezegh: the Prequel. I think I've put it in the right place, but all I've got to work with is an upside down map and a photo in which my own forces are in focus, but the opposition are not. I appreciate that Rommel - I rolled high and am the Germans - also operated with less than perfect information, but then again he knew what he was doing.

"Vy eez zis map ubside down?"

So instead let me write about Albert Lee, whom I have been to see. The last time I saw him he was in Bill Wyman's backing band and the time before that he was with Hogan's Heroes. Now he is fronting his own small but excellent group, which unexpectedly includes Genghis Khan's more affable twin brother on honky tonk piano and occasional accordion. Lee of course has been influenced more by the country music end of the rock and roll spectrum (he had a decades long musical association with the Everly Brothers) rather than the blues end (although he also played with Clapton). The songs played reflected that, being associated with performers such as Carl Perkins, Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris. It's not news that he is a sensational guitarist, but what amazes me - admittedly as a non-musician myself - is that he does it all unaided. At a time when every wannabe playing in pub bands uses a variety of effects pedals, several guitars, capos, funny tunings etc., Lee makes it all happen on one instrument with only a plectrum and a tremolo arm; most impressive.

My evening was further enhanced by a member of the audience wearing brushed cotton loon pants such as used to be advertised in the back of the NME when I was an undergraduate. And some people call the seventies the decade that fashion forgot; how wrong were they?

How to grow tomatoes

The recent uncalled for appearance in this blog of cats and nudity has prompted a rash of correspondence, almost all of which is related to the latter subject. So much so that I am afraid that I must declare this topic closed. I was going to make an exception for the detailed, albeit unlikely, advice which I received as to how best to achieve a growth spurt from one's tomato plants. However, this blog's motto is seeing is believing and in the absence of photographs - of the tomato plants obviously - I cannot in good conscience post anything. Let's just say that I would be surprised if any of my readers had in their possession the necessary item of clothing.

I saw the rather excellent Adrian Byron Burns last night. He has played with regular blog-featured artists such as Bill Wyman and Albert Lee and been opening act for Neil Young among others. How he then finds himself performing in the Junction Inn, Otley in front of fifty people, only half a dozen of whom are paying any attention, was a mystery I pondered as I watched him repeatedly return to the bar for another whisky. A first rate guitarist with a deep, deep voice, his repertoire ranged from Little Feat and Smokey Robinson covers to songs associated with (though not originally by) Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix and Big Bill Broonzy. Very good, though a little sad. As an aside, of those in the pub who had gone specifically for the music I was the only one who didn't look like Gandalf; my loss I think.

Bring it on home to me

I have been to see the excellent Lisa Mills in concert at the Caroline Street Social Club, which is a proper Phoenix Nights style working mens' club complete with bingo going on in the other bar. It proved however to be a very good venue (except for the lack of alcohol free beer) and was packed.

Ms Mills hails from Mississippi and currently lives in Mobile, Alabama so I'm not entirely sure what she made of Saltaire (indeed her website claims that it's in Wales), although as it's a World Heritage Site I hope that she found time to have a look round. Being typically keen to please as Americans always are, she told the audience that it was as hot and humid in Bradford as it was back home. In the interests of accuracy I must point out that it, er, wasn't.

Still, one doesn't come to see her for meteorological reports, one comes for the voice; and what a voice it is. She has toured with Big Brother and the Holding Company as guest lead vocalist and Janis Joplin is a reasonable starting point for describing the type of singer she is. Mills was happy to take on songs closely associated with artists such as Dusty Springfield, Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone and Sam Cooke and demonstrated the vocal chops to justify that. Her repertoire covered blues, gospel, soul and country and she was equally adept at them all. She has worked with people such as Andy Fairweather Low, who I last saw in Eric Clapton's band, and Albert Lee, who I last saw in Bill Wyman's band.

Anyway, don't believe me, judge for yourself. I chose the first song below, partly for the lyrics (listen carefully Crumb) and partly because the original idea for the song came from the CFO at the company owned by her brother. That's right, it's at the intersection of accountancy and the blues; a bit like your bloggist really.

The second song that I've chosen is a cover of Irma Thomas' "It's Raining", because, as we know, Ms Mills also dabbles in weather reports.

(Si si) Je suis un rock star

This is another music post, which, as the blog has acquired a new reader with expertise in that subject, leaves me rather nervous. It makes one nostalgic for the old days of nothing but a couple of wargamers in their dotage and the trusty Russian spambots. Anyway, be that as it may, I have been to see Bill Wyman’s Rhythm Kings and I need to write about it.

Zank 'eaven....

I hadn’t seen Wyman perform live since Knebworth 1976 at which the Stones notoriously failed to appear until the early hours of the morning. The assumption at the time was of backstage debauchery, of sex and drugs getting in the way of rock’n’roll, but I think these days it’s generally accepted that there was a genuine, boring technical hitch rather than anything more glamorously decadent. The end effect was the same whatever the cause: most people had to watch the set through a haze of tiredness. Not me though. I had been asleep all day, suffering – and I mean suffering – from too many Hosepipes the night before. I briefly came round for 10cc, was OK for Lynryd Skynryd and was fighting fit when the headliners appeared.

So, to the Grand thirty seven years later to find that despite all his excesses Wyman appears to have aged better than me. Certainly musically he was on fine form, as were his band. Unfortunately Georgie Fame was in hospital with pneumonia, but the rest were all excellent. Albert Lee was, almost inevitably, the stand out, but the others – including guest vocalist Maria Muldaur – were no slouches. My personal preference was for the Chicago blues numbers they did (including a belting cover of a Little Walter song the name of which escapes me for the moment), but the version of ‘This is a Man’s World’ sung by Beverly Skeete was also first class. (As a digression, the only time I ever saw James Brown himself that was also the highlight of the set).

I made the point in previous posts that some performers clearly don’t like singing the song with which they are most associated (Elkie Brooks with ‘Pearl’s a Singer’, Ralph McTell with ‘Streets of London’), but Muldaur – someone who hung out with Dylan in New York and appeared regularly with the Grateful Dead – didn’t seem to mind performing ‘Midnight at the Oasis’ at all. It didn’t make it any better though. There weren’t any Stones songs, although there were a few that they had covered such as Irma Thomas’s ‘Time Is On My Side’. Introducing the final encore Wyman announced that he didn’t like the songwriter of the piece they were going to finish with, and I wondered who could have had that effect on the mild-mannered bass player. It turned out to be Chuck Berry and was therefore entirely understandable.

The inventors of the Hosepipe

Upon re-reading this it occurs to me that some of you may not be fully aware of the contents of a Hosepipe. To make one take a pint glass and put in a half of draft Guinness, a bottle of barley wine and a double brandy. It is delicious, with the bitter taste of the stout offset by the sweetness of the barley wine and the warmth of the brandy (you must imagine that description being said in the voice of the man from the Cointreau advert of days gone by), but to avoid the hangover from hell one shouldn’t drink more than the appropriate number. For the avoidance of doubt, the appropriate number is none whatsoever.

But boy, could he play guitar

I went to see Albert Lee last night at the City Varieties. Lee came to rock and roll from the country side rather than the blues of most of his British contemporaries such as Clapton. His style is therefore rather different, but the things that he can do with a guitar are just incredible.

While he and the band - Hogan's Heroes; now there's a name to take one back - played a few more modern, self-penned numbers, the bulk of them were old, slightly obscure stuff from Buddy Holly, Everly Brothers, Ray Charles, Glen Campbell and even the Travelling Wilburys. It's not often that one sees a performer who shares his repertoire with Iggy Pop, Rod Stewart, Rockpile and, er, Cliff Richard.

The band were tight and provided a secure platform for Lee's virtuosity. The bass player managed to look like both Jimmy Carter and Lorne Greene at the same time, which was rather disconcerting.

"OK, Hoss, this is a blues riff in B, watch me for the changes..."

The last number of their set, before the encores anyway, was an extended version of Country Boy which seemed to contain a snatch of every well known riff from Smoke on the Water to Nutrocker. Most entertaining.