Monday, December 11, 2006
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
# posted by Mark @ 3:59 PM 
