This blog began in 1997 as a single news page called Nucelus. In 2005, during a long wait to move into a new house, I decided to learn some php and MySQL and write my own blogging system, which became inkyBlog and which now powers this, my own Webbledegook blog.
Thank you to my brother, Murray Ewing, for help with some of the more challenging aspects!
At the moment it features the treble and bass clefs, but I'd like to add the alto clef and a key quiz (ie. the sharps and flats from the circle of fifths) at some point.
You can give it a go here.
Discovering Led Zeppelin directed me to other bands, musical brethren and cousins, with Sabbath inevitably being one of those. Paranoid was my first of their albums, probably still my favourite, though I think Vol. 4 is another of their best alongside their 1970 debut, Black Sabbath.
When I started to learn bass guitar, Paranoid was the first song I worked out and learned on the instrument, going on to then learn NIB and Snowblind. We didn't do any Sabbath songs in my first group as some close friends of ours were in a Sabbath covers band, and we didn't want to stray into their territory, though I did return to Paranoid for a much later band. I also recall learning Symptom of the Universe for a pub jam night where I had to detune my bass by a whole tone so the vocalist could comfortably sing it - my E-string was like a rubber band it was so loose!
Obviously Ozzy was a massive part of the Sabbath sound, and they weren't the same when Ronnie Dio came in (as decent as his albums were), and it was more Geezer Butler and Tony Iommi who I really admired. I did have two Ozzy solo albums (1980s Blizzard of Oz, actually bought because I was interested in Lee Kerslake and Bob Daisley's contribution, both members of Uriah Heep, and 1987's Tribute), but neither got a lot of play, I must admit.
Parts of Ozzy's character were very problematic, but it's sad to see anyone decline, as he has, in recent years. How nice he had such a good send-off at the Back to the Beginning concert just a few weeks ago. I'll definitely be getting some of those early Sabbath records out for a spin over the coming days (and I've also been greatly enjoying Brown Sabbath and their cover versions in recent months).
He was a decent age, he was not in good health, but it's an enormous loss all the same - he really was one of the absolute best of the best when it came to songwriting, arranging, producing - all aspects of musical creation. Many words have been written about him, and there will be many more who will say it better than I could now.
I got into the Beach Boys in the mid-80s - I had a double tape set, the 'Very Best Of' (the one with a lady's bikini'd backside on the cover) which I listened to on rotation. In fact it will have been during the summer of '85, just before I went to live in California for a year myself.
I was attracted, at first, by the vocal harmonies, something that has steered me to much of my favourite music (Queen, Uriah Heep, ELO, a lot of classical choral music from Henry Purcell to Gabriel Fauré and more), but soon became enamoured by Brian Wilson and his creative vision in particular. I got hold of every Beach Boys recording I could, including a number of rarities and boxed sets. In 2004 I got to see him live when he performed Smile at the Royal Festival Hall - it didn't disappoint.
Once described as "the man who heard the last chords of God", he had a troubled life, but what an incredible gift to leave us mere mortals. Love and Mercy, Brian.
It's an epic piece of cinema, and with the IMAX format you're right up in there, almost on stage with the band, helping to make it an intimately personal portrait. The sound is incredible, particularly John Paul Jones's fantastic crunchy bass.
The level of research and hard work that went into the project is evident, including wonderful seldom-seen footage and creative use of photo shoot sequences. Vitally, all three surviving members of the band, Robert Plant, Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones, agreed to take part (after a little persuasion), but drummer John Bonham (who died in 1980) also has a voice thanks to a remarkable unearthed Australian interview, making this as complete a telling of Zeppelin's formation as you're likely to get on screen.
Even as a Led Zeppelin fan of 40 years there were a lot of little things I didn't know. There were some great insights into John Paul Jones's vaudeville-working parents, and I particularly loved the scene telling of his and Jimmy Page's session with Shirley Bassey on the recording of Goldfinger. The interviews are really interesting, especially as I think they'd all gone through a long patch of not wanting to discuss Zeppelin, but now talking about it from a more objective distance and with conspicuous fondness.
I didn't know that Robert Plant claimed his mother was a Romany - this stood out as I am descended from Romany families in the Midlands and have been researching and writing on them for a number of years. I had to have a look and see where she might fit in, but, I must say, I looked and found no obvious evidence of a Romany or Gypsy background for his mother within a few generations.
One pleasing aspect of the film is it gives the music plenty of room, not just keeping it to short snippets, so you can really indulge. For many years the only live footage of Zeppelin available was for 1976's The Song Remains the Same at Madison Square Garden, but there's some terrific material here from 1968 and 69. Actually, much of it I had seen - for instance the excellent 1969 Danish TV appearance - I stayed up late to record this on VHS off television when it was shown sometime in the late 80s or early 90s. And I've always enjoyed the French TV appearance with its very bewildered looking audience.
My introduction to Led Zeppelin was through a friend lending me his Led Zeppelin II record. I played it again and again, back to back, until I had to get my own as I was worried about wearing my friend's copy out. I quickly followed that up with the first album - both still provide a thrill as soon as the needle crackles down, and the crown-jewel in my Led Zep collection is a wonderful bootleg on white marble vinyl from June 1969 for the BBC. Obviously I never saw them live, but I did get to see Robert Plant at the Hammersmith Odeon for my birthday on his 1990 Manic Nirvana tour (which included a number of Zeppelin tunes).
If you can get to see Becoming Led Zeppelin at the cinema, especially on IMAX, please do - an inspiring experience.
Queen were the first band I became devoted to, discovering them for myself in about 1982 on a flight from Gatwick to Los Angeles (where my Dad lived) via the on-board British Caledonian radio show. Upon my return I saved up some pocket money and bought the recently-released Greatest Hits, playing it back-to-back for hours on end. Then I had the joy of discovering the albums - sometimes copying a tape from a friend, sometimes being able to buy the proper release for myself. I could barely wait for their next album, the first I bought in the week of release - The Works - and I wasn't disappointed.
Towards the end of 1984 a friend invited me to see Queen at Wembley Arena with his family - but a mixture of timidness and thinking the venue was so big I wouldn't actually get to see anything for the expensive ticket price meant I declined (a regret). I had kind of a hard time of it at school in my last couple of years, and one means of escape was plugging into my headphones and listening to Queen as I fell asleep. It forged an intimate connection that I just don't have with other favourite artists.
I can remember when and where I bought most of their albums, and there's a hell of a lot of nostalgia and bits of my life wrapped up in Queen's catalogue. For a while the band became quite uncool (maybe they still are, I'm not up on such things) and I'd sometimes not mention them if asked for favourite bands as I didn't want to have something so personal criticised or ridiculed. I still have a bit of that feeling now they're so widely popular, perhaps even to the extent of being considered a mainstream cliché ... I don't know.
The Montreal show was filmed in November 1981 just after the band's world tour for The Game had ended. In fact they were a little grumpy at having to get everything back together again for the two Canadian shows just so they could be filmed for Saul Swimmer's new MobileVision format, ironically a less successful rival to IMAX.
But watching the show you wouldn't necessarily know it. Perhaps the tempos are little more racing, and Freddie gets a bit short with the audience a couple of times, but the performance is incredibly professional and tight, with one classic song hot on the heels of another, again and again. With nine albums behind them, they had plenty of material to dip into - though there's nothing from Queen II or their soundtrack to the 1980 Flash Gordon movie (two songs from the latter were played but didn't make it into the film). Under Pressure, their brilliant collaboration with David Bowie, was performed and included - the single released just a few weeks previously and the highlight of 1982's otherwise poorly received Hot Space (though I love it).
Apart from a short documentary at Bradford's National Museum of Film and Television many years ago (the home of Europe's first IMAX screen), I'd never experienced a full IMAX film before. It was an immense event, the picture and sound almost overwhelming the senses, and creating a tremendous live-feel performance. Often Freddie Mercury's head filled the screen, his rather magnificent profile almost 40 feet high (it would have been 65 feet if I'd seen it in London!). You could see in detail how hard the entire band worked - Freddie (with his incredible voice at its height) and Roger in particular were consistently energetic, with Brian May playing his Red Special just like the scientist he is, every note seemingly analysed and presented with mathematical clarity - not at the cost of any feeling, it should be said. John Deacon did his thing - underpinning the entire operation with precision, sometimes melodic, sometimes just plain fat and funky.
Considering two out of the four shows at our cinema had been cancelled due to the heating issue, it was a surprisingly small audience - perhaps about 25 people or so? In the row in front of us were four teenage girls, about 14 years old, and a few rows down were a couple who looked about 80 - so quite the age range.
All in all, a fantastic close to a stormy weekend, and while not quite the same as seeing the band in person - no longer possible, of course - it was an incredible show and a superb way to see a concert that I'd gladly do again (once I've saved enough pocket money!).
Rasputina is really cellist Melora Creager with a changing cast of support players along the way. Her notability was bolstered after serving as cellist for Nirvana on their final European tour in 1994. Rasputina's first album, Thanks for the Ether, came in 1996, followed two years later by the much stronger How We Quit the Forest - both with Columbia. Their next two albums, Cabin Fever and Frustration Plantation, both very good, were released through Instinct.
Oh Perilous World (2007) was the third recording to be released through Creager's own label, Filthy Bonnet, the first being an excellent live album, A Radical Recital (2005). Besides Melora, the line-up included Jonathan TeBeest, on drums and percussion, who had also appeared on Frustration Plantation as well as Creager's first solo album, Perplexions, and Sarah Bowman on backing vocals (she was also second cello live, having been with Rasputina since 2006).
Oh Perilous World is a concept album telling of a world that exists in an alternate dimension, one where the Pitcairn Islands, overseen by Thursday October Christian, are under threat from an over-reaching United States ruled by Queen Mary Todd Lincoln. You get the feeling it could work as an avant-garde musical of some sort, the storytelling narrative is imaginative, clever, and entertaining.
The opening track, 1816, the Year Without a Summer, is a perfect assemblage of music, composition and lyrics - a work of art. Taking as its basis the freak climate events of 1816, it acquaints us with the disastrous crop failures of the late Little Ice Age ("so Mary Shelly had to stay inside and she wrote Frankenstein"), the conspiracy theories of the time ("Benjamin Franklin and his experiments with electricity"), and the later discovery of the real cause of it all - the eruption the previous year of Mount Tambora in the East Indies. No doubt the song has one eye also on the growing climate catastrophe we face today.
Subsequent tracks introduce us to the main narrative, taking us to the Pitcairns with creative use of overdriven cello and zinging dulcimer - the latter a characteristic sound of the record which, I admit, took me a while to acclimatise to. Throughout the album Creager's cello sounds awesome - wonderful woody tones, pizzicato arpeggios, deep drawn bass notes, and distorted riffs - the culmination of years of experience and experimentation all coming together.
Draconian Crackdown, featuring the American Queen in a post-9/11-type frenzy, has the feel of a Led Zeppelin rocker - I can imagine it fitting into Houses of the Holy or Physical Graffiti. Oh Bring Back the Egg Unbroken is a wonderful composition, based on the Rapa Nui tradition of the tangata manu - the race to swim out to a small rocky outcrop and return with the intact egg of the sooty tern.
Vying with 1816 for the best track on the album is In Old Yellowcake, a masterful composition with a nod to the forged Niger uranium documents that boosted the US and UK's case for war on Iraq, and more specifically about the assault on Fallujah. If the album had a single, this might be it, and Creager has hinted in live shows that it may have had the potential to be 'popular' - if they had been that kind of band.
A Retinue of Moons is a double-feature, enjoined to The Infidel In Me, yet another album highlight, particularly the latter piece, though both are wonderfully constructed arrangements, orchestral and dramatic with flowing changes in tempo and melody, epically cinematic in scope. I must also mention Melora's vocals - like her music unique, sublime, and full of character.
Oh Perilous World quickly became one of my very favourite albums, and one of the few for which I occasionally lie down and listen to, eyes closed, (hopefully) no distractions, to bathe in completely. I like every song; it remains highly original, lyrically brilliant, and eternally satisfying. I can certainly imagine this record won't be to everyone's taste, but for me it's a masterpiece.
I can't remember how I discovered The Groundhogs for myself. I was heavily into blues, both American artists such as Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters, Willie Dixon and John Lee Hooker, and the British scene - particularly John Mayall, Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac, Rory Gallagher (yes, Irish), Free and Cream. I spied the double-album Groundhogs Best 1969-72 and it blew me away. Then a friend informed me the band were still going and sometimes played locally. Sure enough, just a few months later I think, The Groundhogs appeared at The Shelley Arms, Nutley, a venue I'd played many times with my own band.
It remains the best gig I've ever been to. The Shelley Arms was not a big venue, and I was stood right at the front, with McPhee standing directly in front of me, raised only a little by the tiny stage. It was almost like a private show and the energy was outstanding. I came away in shock.
I saw them several more times, from Brighton to London and in between. I got a job as a conference porter at a local hotel and was shown the ropes by the outgoing porter, Aaron. One day, as we sat down to lunch he asked me who my favourite bands were. "You've probably never heard of them", I said, "but I really love a band called The Groundhogs". He laughed - "Oh, Tony McPhee? He's my uncle!". And it was true - we went up to London together to see Tony play and I got introduced, a thrill (thanks, Aaron!).
Our band covered two Groundhogs songs - 3744 James Road and BDD, the first from the 1972 album Hogwash , and the latter from 1969's Blues Obituary . Both remain terrific classic albums, but even better are Thank Christ For The Bomb (1970) and the incredible Split (1971). Along with 1972's Who Will Save The World? The Mighty Groundhogs (complete with Neal Adams artwork), these five albums are the pinnacle of Tony's work (in my opinion), but he didn't let up, with many more gems on more albums from 1974 right up to the turn of the century and 1999's Muddy Waters Songbook and beyond - not to mention a rich library of official live recordings and solo projects.
Tony McPhee worked incredibly hard, put out strong, quality material, but undoubtedly did not quite have the wider reputation and recognition he deserved (though Paul Freestone's excellent Eccentric Man - A Biography & Discography of Tony (TS) McPhee is a worthy tribute). Maybe if he'd have joined John Mayall's Bluesbreakers in 1965, when he was asked to replace Eric Clapton, things might have been different, but I suspect not - McPhee was too much of an individual who had to do his own thing to thrive. He did that, and maybe with his sad passing some wider recognition will come. But his wonderful work is available, and if you haven't heard it before, now's the time.
Most of these are perennials - albums that are intertwined with my history, burned into my neural pathways in some way, or chained to particular times or emotions. It's a tough decision, and many favourites have been left behind. I worry there's not enough diversity here - because actually my music collection is very diverse. But from this I was formed, and that's the way it is.
Highlights included the taiko drummers (a form that swept me off my feet at the Japan Expo in L.A in 1985), the vacuum-tube bass sounds provided by Mixed Up (a troupe who bashed kitchen sinks and shopping trolleys), Sur-Taal (sitar, and I love the sound of a drone), and the City of Belfast Youth Orchestra who really stood out. The evening ended with Land of Hope and Glory and flag-waving, not my strong-point, but I joined in, of course.
