Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Here we are in our summer years, living on ice cream and chocolate kisses
You will have to forgive me. I'm a little deaf and horse, my throat is dry and full of second hand smoke and sweat, due to singing shouting and having a great time. Yes I've been to a Billy Bragg gig....
The music of Billy Bragg is one of my continuing passions. I mentioned in one of my previous Billy Bragg (BB) gigs, the infamous one at Manchester Poly, where I got bounced around like a billiard ball. There have been many other great BB nights, and tonight was one of them. It is a tribal gathering, we share a common heritage, language and usually the same (left wing) world view. We have grown old together, although tonight there were a lot of young people (compared to a middle aged man like me). BB was touring to support anti racist activities, as well as to plug his new book, and to have a great time. I have never left a BB gig feeling dissapointed, and tonight was no exception.
Billy Bragg is like Bob Dylan, a fantastically gifted songwriter, with only a fair to middling voice. He is however many many times better as a live performer than Dylan. I have seen Dylan twice and will not see him again. Dylan is variable, the last time he played in my city he sang all of his songs at 150mph as if he wanted the whole evening to be over as fast as possible
BB's audience is a bit obsessive. You find yourself surronded by driven men in NHS glasses who know ALL of the words to all of the songs. There is great cudos in being one step ahead of the gang, and thanks to having a broadband connection and the wonder that is google mail, who trawl the world of webs and blogs for BB related material I picked up mp3's from one of his American concerts.
As for the minutia of set lists, etc, who played what and when, I'll leave that to truly obsessed. Suffice to say he played all of the popular songs, and a few new ones. The title to this blog is a BB quote from a song called Shirley "here we are in our summer years, living on ice cream and chocolate kisses, and would the leaves fall from the trees, if I was your old man, and you were my missus". You've got to love someone who can write a phrase like that!
Which brings me onto my final point. Why do tall guys like to stand at the front at concerts? Its the same at football matches. The guys who consistently stand up at the football (and who are the most vocal and nostalgic about terraces) are usually over 6 feet tall. Answers please to the usual address
The music of Billy Bragg is one of my continuing passions. I mentioned in one of my previous Billy Bragg (BB) gigs, the infamous one at Manchester Poly, where I got bounced around like a billiard ball. There have been many other great BB nights, and tonight was one of them. It is a tribal gathering, we share a common heritage, language and usually the same (left wing) world view. We have grown old together, although tonight there were a lot of young people (compared to a middle aged man like me). BB was touring to support anti racist activities, as well as to plug his new book, and to have a great time. I have never left a BB gig feeling dissapointed, and tonight was no exception.
Billy Bragg is like Bob Dylan, a fantastically gifted songwriter, with only a fair to middling voice. He is however many many times better as a live performer than Dylan. I have seen Dylan twice and will not see him again. Dylan is variable, the last time he played in my city he sang all of his songs at 150mph as if he wanted the whole evening to be over as fast as possible
BB's audience is a bit obsessive. You find yourself surronded by driven men in NHS glasses who know ALL of the words to all of the songs. There is great cudos in being one step ahead of the gang, and thanks to having a broadband connection and the wonder that is google mail, who trawl the world of webs and blogs for BB related material I picked up mp3's from one of his American concerts.
As for the minutia of set lists, etc, who played what and when, I'll leave that to truly obsessed. Suffice to say he played all of the popular songs, and a few new ones. The title to this blog is a BB quote from a song called Shirley "here we are in our summer years, living on ice cream and chocolate kisses, and would the leaves fall from the trees, if I was your old man, and you were my missus". You've got to love someone who can write a phrase like that!
Which brings me onto my final point. Why do tall guys like to stand at the front at concerts? Its the same at football matches. The guys who consistently stand up at the football (and who are the most vocal and nostalgic about terraces) are usually over 6 feet tall. Answers please to the usual address
Labels: Billy Bragg, Middle age, standing gigs
Monday, December 11, 2006
Its been a fun couple of months!
I am pleased to say that I’m feeling better.
if you've been following the last couple of blogs (and if not why not) you might remember that I have been signed off sick since the start of October with stress, and needed medication to help (diazepam for anxiety and temazepam for insomnia for the medics amongst you). I took them for a while as needed, but haven’t needed any for 2 weeks. I am now on holiday, before starting a new job as a school nurse, in a school with children with physical and learning difficulties. This will mean term time only working for me, which is a first. With the whole family off for the summer holidays we might even get to go to New York, before I'm to old feeble and forgetful to go!
I have had two courses of counselling, one funded by my union, and one arranged via work. Both have been valuable, and complimentary, as the two therapists have used different styles of therapy and helping. In the course of two or three sessions I have obtained a lot of insight into myself, my work and other relationships and begun to plan for my future.
One is very client centred (where the therapist lets the client set the agenda and offers little or no advice), and the other has a background in psychotherapy, and is much more interventionist. He will offer advice, opinions and direction. One of the first things he said to me was “don’t have other peoples illnesses for them”. He offered the opinion that the system was sick and the situation I was placed into was intolerable, the surprising thing being not that I had failed to cope, but that I had coped for so long.
With a difficult home situation at present, with three children all going through puberty, exams and having to live with each other. There is a lot of slamming of doors, shouting and loud music. There have been evenings where I have been very tempted to go to the pub to avoid going home for a while!
After 20 years NHS service, without any significant sickness until now I think I am probably due a sabbatical (I certainly won't be using any maternity leave!) As painful as the experiences have been, they have given me the chance to rest, reflect and to take stock of what is going on in my life and to consider the direction that I could go. What is it that makes me smile? What is it that only I can do?
The answers to the above questions will take a lot of thought, prayer, reflection and advice from others. Watch this space!
if you've been following the last couple of blogs (and if not why not) you might remember that I have been signed off sick since the start of October with stress, and needed medication to help (diazepam for anxiety and temazepam for insomnia for the medics amongst you). I took them for a while as needed, but haven’t needed any for 2 weeks. I am now on holiday, before starting a new job as a school nurse, in a school with children with physical and learning difficulties. This will mean term time only working for me, which is a first. With the whole family off for the summer holidays we might even get to go to New York, before I'm to old feeble and forgetful to go!
I have had two courses of counselling, one funded by my union, and one arranged via work. Both have been valuable, and complimentary, as the two therapists have used different styles of therapy and helping. In the course of two or three sessions I have obtained a lot of insight into myself, my work and other relationships and begun to plan for my future.
One is very client centred (where the therapist lets the client set the agenda and offers little or no advice), and the other has a background in psychotherapy, and is much more interventionist. He will offer advice, opinions and direction. One of the first things he said to me was “don’t have other peoples illnesses for them”. He offered the opinion that the system was sick and the situation I was placed into was intolerable, the surprising thing being not that I had failed to cope, but that I had coped for so long.
With a difficult home situation at present, with three children all going through puberty, exams and having to live with each other. There is a lot of slamming of doors, shouting and loud music. There have been evenings where I have been very tempted to go to the pub to avoid going home for a while!
After 20 years NHS service, without any significant sickness until now I think I am probably due a sabbatical (I certainly won't be using any maternity leave!) As painful as the experiences have been, they have given me the chance to rest, reflect and to take stock of what is going on in my life and to consider the direction that I could go. What is it that makes me smile? What is it that only I can do?
The answers to the above questions will take a lot of thought, prayer, reflection and advice from others. Watch this space!
Labels: anxiety, counselling, NHS
Music Then and Now......
The start of November saw a first. When I was a teenager the generation gap was marked. Teenagers and their parents were separated by a dislike of each other’s music. How could a generation raised on Glenn Miller, Count Basie and Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby ever appreciate the Clash, the Jam or the Sex Pistols?
In our house the generation divide was smaller. My brother and I had full access to my parents Dansette radiogram, and my fathers record collection. This was a solid mahogany model, powered by valves; you turned it on with a solid click. There was a hum and the valves would glow, and fill the house with a distinctive smell of warm dust. The radio dial showed exotic stations such as Bremerharven, Luxembourg and Moscow showing a far away world far away. They don’t seem to make anything as solid and heavy these days. It just gave out the aura of reliability and promised the owner years of service.
Which was just as well as my bother and I spent years mistreating it. We spent school holidays finding out how far an Airfix model soldier would fly when placed on a turntable set at 78rpm. The answer was quite far, he would hit the wall opposite with a satisfying thump. We would sometimes fit him with a homemade parachute made from bin bags, rubber bands and string. He would fly up and over the settee before making a daring landing behind enemy territory. My mother never worked out why one her walls was covered in small circular holes. Perhaps she thought there were mice playing tennis?
Another holiday activity was finding out how many singles you could fit onto the automatic changer without it slowing down or stopping (about 6). We did sometimes listen to records on it as well. My dad had a lot of great records, classic Sinatra from his golden period (if you have never heard Songs for Swinging lovers you have missed out on a treat), but the ones that I remember are his comedy records. I only have to hear Alan Sherman, Tom Lehrer or Bob Newhart to be instantly transported back to school summer holidays.
My dad talked about music, but he never sat down and shared what he liked. It was always a case of me stumbling onto what he had. We never went to concerts, or listened to records together. It was one of the many things that you think that you will do tomorrow, but that day never comes. The closest we ever got was him shouting from downstairs to “to turn that **** music down”. He also had the habit of always coming in at the exact moment that the rude words appeared in the lyric of the song.
All of this is a rambling introduction to this week’s blog.
My daughter asked me to go to a concert with her. A friend from church was playing drums in a band, and someone she was at school with played lead guitar and sang, with bass being played by the drummer’s girlfriend. They had managed to get their first professional gig in a city centre pub, next to the Carling Academy, as the opening act of a 3 band bill. It was great value for £4.50. It was even better when my daughter managed to grab a complimentary ticket. They played loud derivative guitar based rock, with few unique touches, and indecipherable lyrics. The lead guitarist is a talented musician (grade 8 violin by age 11 and with a classical album behind him) but is no frontman. A few Pete Townsend inspired leaps and a set full of originals do not a rock band make. A better path might be to use some cover versions of better known songs to convince people that you can play, and to learn how to build a song. However for a first gig it was a great start. I saw U2 much further on their career, but before they were famous and they were rubbish!
I tried out my new mobiles video feature, managing to get on the front row and avoid the army of teenage boys pogoing violently. It took me back to age 19 when I saw Billy Bragg at Manchester Poly. BB was supported by a band called the Redskins and it was a memorable night! I had got there early and got a prime site right under the microphone stand. The Redskins came out and I discovered that I was surrounded by 200 mad keen die hard Redskins fans. With the first power cord they all started jumping up and down and pogoing frantically with me stuck in the middle. Twenty minutes later after a set full of high speed guitar punk rock the band left the stage and the fans went to the bar. I spent the next two weeks finding new bruises and developing a feeling for what life must be like as a subatomic particle.
We stayed for the other two bands, which were not much better. My daughter chatted with her friends and had a soft drink. I stayed in the corner and tried not to be an embarrassing dad. She ended up getting a date, but that’s another story…………
In our house the generation divide was smaller. My brother and I had full access to my parents Dansette radiogram, and my fathers record collection. This was a solid mahogany model, powered by valves; you turned it on with a solid click. There was a hum and the valves would glow, and fill the house with a distinctive smell of warm dust. The radio dial showed exotic stations such as Bremerharven, Luxembourg and Moscow showing a far away world far away. They don’t seem to make anything as solid and heavy these days. It just gave out the aura of reliability and promised the owner years of service.
Which was just as well as my bother and I spent years mistreating it. We spent school holidays finding out how far an Airfix model soldier would fly when placed on a turntable set at 78rpm. The answer was quite far, he would hit the wall opposite with a satisfying thump. We would sometimes fit him with a homemade parachute made from bin bags, rubber bands and string. He would fly up and over the settee before making a daring landing behind enemy territory. My mother never worked out why one her walls was covered in small circular holes. Perhaps she thought there were mice playing tennis?
Another holiday activity was finding out how many singles you could fit onto the automatic changer without it slowing down or stopping (about 6). We did sometimes listen to records on it as well. My dad had a lot of great records, classic Sinatra from his golden period (if you have never heard Songs for Swinging lovers you have missed out on a treat), but the ones that I remember are his comedy records. I only have to hear Alan Sherman, Tom Lehrer or Bob Newhart to be instantly transported back to school summer holidays.
My dad talked about music, but he never sat down and shared what he liked. It was always a case of me stumbling onto what he had. We never went to concerts, or listened to records together. It was one of the many things that you think that you will do tomorrow, but that day never comes. The closest we ever got was him shouting from downstairs to “to turn that **** music down”. He also had the habit of always coming in at the exact moment that the rude words appeared in the lyric of the song.
All of this is a rambling introduction to this week’s blog.
My daughter asked me to go to a concert with her. A friend from church was playing drums in a band, and someone she was at school with played lead guitar and sang, with bass being played by the drummer’s girlfriend. They had managed to get their first professional gig in a city centre pub, next to the Carling Academy, as the opening act of a 3 band bill. It was great value for £4.50. It was even better when my daughter managed to grab a complimentary ticket. They played loud derivative guitar based rock, with few unique touches, and indecipherable lyrics. The lead guitarist is a talented musician (grade 8 violin by age 11 and with a classical album behind him) but is no frontman. A few Pete Townsend inspired leaps and a set full of originals do not a rock band make. A better path might be to use some cover versions of better known songs to convince people that you can play, and to learn how to build a song. However for a first gig it was a great start. I saw U2 much further on their career, but before they were famous and they were rubbish!
I tried out my new mobiles video feature, managing to get on the front row and avoid the army of teenage boys pogoing violently. It took me back to age 19 when I saw Billy Bragg at Manchester Poly. BB was supported by a band called the Redskins and it was a memorable night! I had got there early and got a prime site right under the microphone stand. The Redskins came out and I discovered that I was surrounded by 200 mad keen die hard Redskins fans. With the first power cord they all started jumping up and down and pogoing frantically with me stuck in the middle. Twenty minutes later after a set full of high speed guitar punk rock the band left the stage and the fans went to the bar. I spent the next two weeks finding new bruises and developing a feeling for what life must be like as a subatomic particle.
We stayed for the other two bands, which were not much better. My daughter chatted with her friends and had a soft drink. I stayed in the corner and tried not to be an embarrassing dad. She ended up getting a date, but that’s another story…………
Labels: Billy Bragg, family. live music, music
