Rockhunter, Issue 8, November 2003
“The weight of the one is the weight of the whole” — Gene Clark
More New Brighton Stuff
Out on Cormorant later this month, I recommend you sell your shoes, or your mums jewellery, or both, and get these two discs from Borderline immediately:
The Shades of Meaning, “Back In The Day” b/w “When You Know Youre Going To Be Alright”
The Creeping Past, “The Creeping Past” b/w Threshold People, “No Place”
The Shades of Meaning are a strange proposition indeed. The A sounds like The Outsiders, or Wings, tackling a Choir-style melodic folker. It’s a little bit predictable — but all the better for it, say I!! The flip is a bizarre, but superior, cheerful-yet-moody Meek-style rocker, with a pounding beat, strident bass-line and a chorus not a million miles away from The Jams “Something’s Gone”. (No, I do not mean Wellers wankers!! See Pebbles 9 for enlightenment. — Ed.)
The 2nd Cormorant 45 is a split single (havent seen one of these rare beasts for a while — Ed.) featuring two groups trying to outdo each other in the last-garage-band Derby.
The eponymous “The Creeping Past” is a Lovecraftian monstrosity with so many hooks you could go line-fishing for endangered piscine species and still catch a dozen innocent dolphins!!! The words are a hoot, too. Imagine an underwater village off the shore of Hove, where an Elder Groop lurks waiting to attack unbelieving land-lubber bands every 30 years or so. Woo-oo-oooo!! Truly unsettlingly weird stuff!!
“No Place” by the Threshold People is somewhat more traditional. Its a pretty standard folk-rocker with a hook reminiscent of The One-Way Streets’ “Peanut Butter” (Reminiscent?! It’s the goddam same!! — Ed.) and a middle-eight straight outta the beery wastes of Fratland.
The main thing that gets this side a mention in dispatches is that it’s a message song about how poor old Brightons being sold, like Jack’s cow at market, or a premier division footballers arse. The only thing is, there’s not even any magic beans on offer in return — and no way to kill the evil giant!! So fuck the council for their conjuring/marketing tricks. (BHC! BHC! Youre full of shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!! — Ed., with apologies to Menace.) And thanks a bunch to the Threshold People for getting me riled up. I’ll now have to spend at least two hours shouting at the box before trudging up the wooden hill to my special technicolour dreams — bah!!!
Readers Wires
I’ve been getting some far-out e-mails!! In fact, some of the stuff I’ve been sent is so out-there it’s gone round and come back in for tea before going out to play for a couple of hours before bedtime!!
Here’s one I really like — it’s an excerpt from Jurgen Maass recent interview with the legendary fiddler and rock sessioneer Clem “Oakie” Doakes.
Clem: “Okay, well, back in 1965 me and Bobby Underwood [banjoist — better known for his picking for Good n Sweet] had a little bluegrass band called the Greensboro Bluegrass Pickers.”
“We played every week at Ralph’s. [The Suntime Bowling Alley, Greensboro, owned and run by Ralph Trimmer]. Things were pretty good, but sometimes we complained that no one could hear us over the noise of the balls and the pins. See, in those days bowling alleys didn’t have real good sound. But that’s a money gig and no other place would let two guys sit and pick a sessionexcept in the car park.”
“Things were steady enough for us to put out a couple of 45s over the years. [The best are arguably “Pickin’ a Tune” b/w “Hells Teeth”, Tall Tree, TT2212, 1967 and the slightly controversial “Dance on the Red Man” b/w “Our Land, Our Land”. Both releases are archived on Vanguard’s fine tribute LP, Bowling Alley Folk, VAN2643].”
“We were held back by an initial lack of success, but then hard rock came down the pike. We knew those guys were comin down to check us out most times we played. One night someone told us that Ted Nugent was bowling in aisle 19 — giving him a birds eye view of my fretting hand. So I flipped him the bird! I guess it was time for us to move on.”
And move on he did. Clem’s searing fiddle licks and explosive vamping technique adapted well to psych-rock guitar, as heard on tracks like the exceptional “Pale in the Morning” by Greensboro also-rans the Lost Dawgs [check out the download on www.totallyunheardof.com].
When the 70s really got underway around 1974, Clem’s unusual musical pedigree and ability to play 16 notes per second placed him in high demand with the hard rock — and later the heavy metal — fraternity.
“It was one foot in the barnyard and one in the stadium for goin on 15 years!”, Clem reminisces. “I played with everyoneWarrant, Ratt, you name it. There’s a lot between bluegrass and hard rock — the speed and attitude.”
These days Clem’s traded the widdle back for the fiddle and currently fronts tribute band Ban-Jovi. He gets the last word — which is the way he likes it.
“I can’t say I’m their biggest fan, but once I thought of the name I couldn’t think of nothing else. It’s a good show. We do a traditional gospel version of “Living on a Prayer” as the closer. We even play back in the bowling alley — though it’s a goddam corporate franchise now. But at least they got a PA.”
Jurgen’s website, Totallyunheardof.com, is currently under construction.
OK, bluegrass isn’t exactly my bag — although the sinister Uncle Dave Macon is ace and I would give my prize Wimple Winch 45s for a time machine ride to see Clarence White do his amazing bendy thing. But I was stunned to see a mention of Lost Dawgs!! (And by the way, if anyone knows what a widdle is, please mail me!! — Ed.)
For the uninitiated, the Lost Dawgs make Quicksilver sound like The Smiths — and I love ‘em!! Their sole 45, “Pale in The Morning” b/w “Where DYou Get Your Whiskey?” was released in 1968. You ain’t likely to have heard it, folks, so don’t write tellin’ me how much you dig it!!
The A is amazing — a howlin’, wailin’ trip!! What can I say? I’ve gotta do a piece on these guys sometime. The flip is based on an old-time bluegrass number, “I Get My Whiskey From Rockingham”. Like Quicksilver, the Dawgs take the blues for a good ole Louisiana hay-ridedragging it through town behind a pony, before coshing it, stealing its dinner money, rolling it in a rug and pushing it out of a moving vehicle outside its own front door!!!
Edit: Then, some time later, Hayseed Dixie come along and fulfill the promise of Jurgen’s moist dream. Well I never.
Dirty Burds, Sabotage Club, Brighton, October I’ve got to admit I went along to see this lot under false pretences — but mine, not theirs, I hasten to add!! I remembered an all-girl outfit from way back in the 90s called The Budget Girls and, from the description of the Burds, I thought it was them and went by mistake! My old memory certainly ain’t what it was!!
Anyway, back to the matter in hand. So what if the Dirty Burds are not exactly spring chickens?! (In fact, a little bird — who may or may not be dirty — tells me they’re well past spring and already into late summer!! — Ed.) As long as bands are ready and willing to bring back the boogie and ditch the lifestyle bollocks, I shall always be there to raise a glass and tip my hat to ‘em — male or female.
The Burds ditch the stoopid attitude posturing and get down to chooglin’ along with their own brand of meat-and-two-veg hard rockin boogie!! And they do a spiffing cover version of the Real Kids’ “Do The Boob” to boot!! Go see ‘em soon, you ‘orrible lot!!
Yoiks!! Girls who know about Real Kids LP tracks??! Where do they hang out? I guess I’ve wasted my life. Maybe I should stay away from record fairs and blokes who are more interested in Misfits or VU bootlegs than scoring with super-looking ladies!? (Watch out, boys!! It could happen to you too!! — Ed.).
More Words From The Past
As well as getting showered with abuse (see below), I’ve also received some genuine queries about what I’m doing here. A lot of people have asked what happened to the first three issues.
Rockhunter the magazine started back in June 1992 when issue No.1 was thrust rudely in the face of the general public. March 1994 saw the unleashing of No.2, and No.3 limped off the press in June 1996.
For the uninitiated, these were glossy 20-30 page mags with pics. They were pretty expensive to do. And basically, Ive got none left and no money to re-print, even if I wanted too. So, as Jimmy Cliff said, thats the way life goesbut tomorrow never knows.
It might be worth checking out the usual London shops, because they may get some in second-hand very occasionally. But it was mainly a Brighton thing — and Brighton may as well have been the moon in the dark days before New Labour, chilling out in public and the place-to-fucking-be (Gah!! — Ed.)
Even Slim Chance, the legendary promoter at the St Johns Tavern, Archway, had his work cut out getting his hip London and Home Counties regulars to make it down to the BN area for 60s-scene gigs and rekkid hops in the early to mid-90s.
Of course, it’s all changed now. These days you can’t move for urban mods, greasy clods, arseholes, down-sizers and shape-shifters, asymmetric stary girlsand general hair dontsninnies, twerps, twits, twats, and feebs and berks of the first water.
I’ve put out an APB on common sense! — calling all cars!!calling all cars!! — fetch me another bottle of Talisker — mummy!! — aaaaaarrrrrrgggggh!!!
Rory McGrath Is An Absolute Cunt
In addition to getting loads of e-mails from assorted nutters and ne’er-do-wells, I’ve also had the usual rash of nasty buggers. The worse I’ve seen in the past two months has described me as — and I quote — doing for rock n roll what Rory McGrath has done for cable TV and popular culture in general.
What can I say? I’m cut to the quick to be compared to that filthy, unfunny sack of shit. Only last week I was agog to see the dickhead on BBC2s Grumpy Old Men, complaining about how crappy and vacuous everything is these days, especially the popular media.
Now, I’ve invested a considerable amount of time in checking out the moral abyss of the popular media (daytime telly branch), and I have to say that this is pretty rich coming from the man who once hosted a morning show on a local cable TV channel in Cambridge devoted — as far as I could see — to him getting drunk on cocktails and embarrassing the unpaid unfortunates around him, especially the young women. The cunt.
Love
The Editor XXXXX
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