Birthday Boy. . . . .

Happy Birthday Angus Young, AC/DC livewire, 55 years young today!

The Verve Urban Hymns - An Inspired 90's Classic

I was about to begin by labelling this album a modern classic. That was before realising it is over thirteen years since it was released! How time gets away. Regardless, this is a record that will forever stand the test of time. It is one of the last albums to revolve around four big single releases, and has been met with unanimous critical praise ever since. It was awarded the Brit Award for Best Album Of The Year in 1998, was the first ever inductee into the Q Classic Album Hall Of Fame, and was voted the 16th Greatest Album Of All Time by Q Magazine. It is a career defining moment for songwriter Richard Ashcroft, who reunited the band in 2008 to headline Glastonbury. When you're short of a record that you know everybody will like, Urban Hymns is always a great choice - triumphant and upstanding in any company. A landmark in 90's Popular Culture that, in my opinion, shits all over Oasis. A genuine British masterpiece.

Bitter Sweet Symphony - to this day The Verve's most successful single - is an instant classic if ever I've heard one. Performed by the Andrew Loog Oldham Orchestra, and written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, the score to this track stood alone untouched for years before Richard Ashcroft got his creative mitts on it and wrote a lyric. The finished product is definitely a contender for single of the 90's. If that wasn't enough of a ass-kicking opening, the album rolls into Sonnet, another of the four big singles, and one of the outstanding examples of Ashcroft's songwriting on Urban Hymns. The Rolling People is Zeppy in many ways, perhaps with an element of U2 ala the Achtung Baby era. If that isn't enough of a comparison to wet the lips, I suggest you take up crown green bowls. The Drugs Don't Work is a somewhat melancholy, moralistic rant from former junkie Ashcroft, but an endearing message cannot fail to creep through. Four songs in and you know you've definitely got some record on your hands.

Catching The Butterfly is, again, reminiscent of the industrial sounds used on U2's Achtung Baby, Neon Wilderness an immersing, spacial jam written by guitarist Nick McCabe, and Space And Time an atmospheric, wistful ballad centered on Ashcroft's superb vocal. Weeping Willow is a deep and emotive, Radiohead-esque groove that leads brilliantly into the album highlight, Lucky Man. I was fifteen years old when I became obsessed with this amazing single - I vividly remember being immersed in some History Coursework on Native Indians when I first heard it, and it opened up another dimension in my mind. A magical achievement, both from a songwriting and recording perspective. I have performed this song hundreds, if not thousands of times for live audiences, and it never fails to be one of the best received of all live tracks - simply because of its stature. A song that, long after The Verve are forgotten, will still be an enduring part of the woodwork.

Just when you're wondering where this record can possibly go after a stormer like Lucky Man, this band pull out another piece of musical treasure. One Day, a sublime, experimental ballad shows the delicacy and poetics involved in Ashcroft's songwriting: "One day baby we will dance again under fiery skies/One day maybe you will love again, love that never dies." Immense depth of feeling from such a young musician. This Time is a bare but intriguing funk, Velvet Morning an acoustic/slide guitar led lament, and Come On a crashing, Led Zep inspired thumper to close one of Popular Music's most important and ground-breaking albums.

I'm not a admirer of Richard Ashcroft and his 'Liam Gallagher attitude'. He is an extremely arrogant and egotistical, self-celebrating idiot a lot of the time. However, his contribution to this record in particular (since his solo career came nowhere near reaching these dizzy heights) is memorable and everlasting. It is also worth mentioning that the rest of the band were equally as essential to this creation: Simon Jones (bass), Peter Salisbury (drums), Nick McCabe (lead guitar), and Simon Tong (guitar/keyboards). I hope that Urban Hymns sits snugly on every music lovers' shelf, and is dusted off occasionally as a reminder that there was something worth caring about in the 1990's. It was, of course, Liam that snarled: "Is it my imagination or have we finally found something worth living for?" The answer, back in 1997, was yes: Urban Hymns.

JJ Cale Shades and The Tulsa Sound

Earlier this month I posted a blog advertising Quicksilver Music - a new independent record shop in Southport. It was in there that I happened to wander one day shortly after Christmas when Shades by JJ Cale was playing over the speakers. I knew instantly that I had to have it. It just had something about it. Made the record shop seem cooler than ever. The owner, Dave, who I have mentioned before, often spots me coming and puts something on that he thinks I'll like. Then he leaves the case on the counter - bait, so to speak, for the vulnerable record collector. This one got swallowed whole.

All of a sudden I could hear where Mark Knopfler got his inspiration, particularly for Dire Straits. I could hear why Clapton champions this man more than most. I could see why JJ Cale - a hider from the limelight and conscious avoider of Rock star 'celebrity' - is such a cult hero. Heralded as the 'creator' of the Tulsa Sound, Cale has single-handedly pioneered a genre that fuses Country, Blues, Rockabilly and Jazz. Clapton is chiefly responsible for Cale's cult status, having made two of Cale's songs - Cocaine and After Midnight - huge hits for himself in the 70's. Admirers also include Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Brian Ferry. His laid back sound is very compelling, and I feel there is no better example than this stunning album, Shades.

So, to the highlights. If I'm honest there are no low lights. This is a remarkably consistent record. It opens with the groovy Carry On, demonstrating Cale's insistence on understated vocals and shuffle rhythm. It is a killer hook, leading into the equally hypnotising Deep Dark Dungeon, another characteristically short but captivating novella of a song. Wish I Had Not Said That is a lighter shuffle with a particularly stripped back sound, Pack My Jack a stereotypical, smoky-bar, post-midnight blues instrumental, and If You Leave Her a somewhat funky, wah-wah infused jaunt. Mama Don't is an infectious, clever lyric riding over a jilted twelve-bar blues: "Mama don't allow no guitar playin' round here/No Mama don't allow no guitar playin' round here/I don't care what Mama don't allow/Gonna play my guitar anyhow/No Mama don't allow no guitar playin' in here." Cale runs through his band list of instruments throughout the song, building up to an intense finale.

Runaround is Cale's Jazz soaked Blues in which his lyrics, about a woman giving him the 'runaround', hark back to the blues men of old. What Do You Expect is lively, Love Has Been Gone a nod to Cale's Country influences, and the album's final track, Cloudy Day, a moody but adorable, Albatross style instrumental in which guitar and saxophone duel beautifully. A staggering end to a great record. In 2005 JJ Cale released a DVD called To Tulsa And Back - a career spanning documentary that gives a great insight into this reclusive legend and his wonderful musical achievements. He is a must-discover artist for any music fan, and there is no better way to do it than with this album, Shades.

Van Morrison Moondance, Live Disaster / Recording Master

In unusual fashion I'm going to begin by slagging Van Morrison off. Big Time. He is one selfish mother-fucker. FACT. And now I've got you wondering. Well, let me take you back to 1999. I was sixteen years old, heavily into music, and about to venture into booking my first ever gig. There was an advert in my local paper claiming that Van Morrison was coming to town - the genius songwriter who had penned the likes of Brown Eyed Girl, Moondance, and Gloria. I called my friend Sarah, we agreed to go, and I booked the tickets. He came on stage for forty minutes, played none of the above - in fact, played only one recognisable song in the whole gig (Have I Told You Lately That I Love You) - and strutted off without returning for an encore. At the time, of course, I had no idea that this was unusual practice. Only later did I realise how arrogant and selfish this had been. The highlight of the gig had, in fact, been the support act, Lonnie Donnegan. He was brilliant, and I got to meet him afterwards where he signed an album for me. I had no idea at the time how important in the whole scheme of things this man was. He put a smile on my face that night though - that's how I remember him.

So, wind the clock forward a few years. 2002 to be precise. I decided to give Van Morrison another chance - the venue: Sheffield City Hall. Yet again a horrendously selfish set of obscure, inconsiderate crap. He had his own audience looking round in bemusement. For the first half an hour he hung in the shadows playing saxophone instrumentals. Nobody was there to see that. And, yet again, he kept his hits under lock and key. The man plays what he wants, when he wants, and how he wants with no consideration for his fans. The man is a self-centered, egotistical prick who will never receive another penny of mine in the live arena. And, by the way, that's a shame.

It was essential that I got that off my chest. Nevertheless, the bigger picture is this: the man is an awesome talent. That is demonstrated in no better form than his third solo album, and subsequent Grammy Hall Of Fame inductee, Moondance. Astral Weeks, the prequel to Moondance, is often cited as Morrison's masterpiece. I have bought and returned that album three times in an attempt to see what the fuss is all about. In my opinion it doesn't touch Moondance, an absolute triumph from beginning to end. And It Stoned Me - the singer's true recollection of an afternoon in his childhood - is a heartfelt, rural epic. The title track, Moondance, is one of those timeless, undying classics, with inspired lyrics: "Well it's a marvellous night for a moondance/With the stars up above in your eyes."

Crazy Love, the album highlight, is a sensual, intimate love song that bleeds warmth. Some sort of divine inspiration is surely needed to write a song like this. Caravan is the beginning of Morrison's fascination with Gypsies - a theme that still runs through his work today. The ethereal Into The Mystic is Morrison's songwriting working within new dimensions, musically and lyrically. The same beauty filters into the happiness of Come Running, These Dreams Of You is a Dylan-esque wander through random thoughts and feelings, Brand New Day a lovely, optimistic song, and Everyone a message of hope in a time of unrest (1969 had seen civil war break out in Belfast). Throughout the record Van Morrison's vocal is impeccable, and projected from the soul. A wonder to behold. The album closes with the horn-soaked Glad Tidings, another tune infused with love and optimism.

This is a wonderful, wonderful record. The sort of record you can put on when the sun is beaming down and the world will seem such a good place to be. Also, a very soothing record in times of trouble or pain. Very much an artistic album, it deserves its place amongst the definitive records ever made. The man might be an arsehole, but his music stands up. At the end of the day, he is a musician, so the product of his labour is what really counts.

Jonny Lang Lie To Me - The Best Contemporary Blues Album Around

There are some brilliant contemporary blues musicians around at the moment continuing the traditions of the original bluesmen, of which only BB King and Buddy Guy are left. They include, most notably, the likes of Joe Bonamassa and John Meyer - and also, in my opinion, the remarkable Jonny Lang. This album, Lie To Me, is outstanding for many different reasons - none more so for the fact that it was released just one day before Lang's sixteenth birthday. All considered, this is as mature a sound as you'll ever hear; polished production, immense vocals by the boy wonder, and great guitar playing too. It's quite unbelievable to think that somebody so young could have been part of a record like this, never mind fronted it.

Jonny Lang got his break after going to watch The Bad Medicine Blues Band, whose guitarist, Ted Larson, took it upon himself to nurture the young Lang and teach him how to play. Lang was quite clearly an enigma, and within six months was fronting this very band, renamed Kid Jonny Lang & The Big Bang. A&M Records picked him up in 1996, and Lie To Me was his first big label release a year later. In over ten years of touring Jonny Lang has undertaken support spots for The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, BB King, Buddy Guy, Jeff Beck and Sting. He was also invited by Eric Clapton to feature at his Crossroads benefit concert in 2004. He is held in very high esteem amongst Rock'n'Roll royalty, and this album is a prime example why.

The album opens with the thumping, electrifying title track Lie To Me. Lang's vocal is absolutely scintillating; his guitar playing piercing, the backing vocals searing, and the 3-dimensional sound amazing. Instantly the receptors are tuned into this fresh and vibrant sound. Darker side is a fantastic mid-tempo blues, once again magnetised by Lang's passionate vocal. Good Morning Little Schoolgirl is a quirky foot-tapper, though at first rather unsettling as a lyric: "Good morning little schoolgirl/Can I come home with you?" Then you realise that Lang was just fifteen when he sang it! All is fair in love and war, so they say. Still Wonder is a cool, smoky bar blues ideal for Lang's char-grilled vocal, Matchbox a foot-tapping twelve bar blues originally written by Ike Turner, Back For A Taste Of Your Love a Clapton-esque, funky-rocker, and A Quitter Never Wins a slow and intense ballad. Hit The Ground Running is rousing, and somewhat reminiscent of a James Brown classic, Rack 'Em Up a laid back swinger, When I Come To You another stunning ballad echoing Clapton's Bad Love era, and There's Gotta Be A Change a grooving guitar work out. The record ends with the softer, thought-provoking Missing Your Love, closing a brilliant 50:15 minutes of modern day blues magic from an outstanding young artist with his best years ahead of him.

This is one of those albums that is seemingly impossible to dislike. Wherever I have put it on I've had people asking about it, enjoying it, and more often than not, enquiring where they can buy it. Whatever genre of music you lean towards, I think Lie To Me holds universal appeal. An absolute winner in any collection.

Faithful Friend

Fleet Foxes (Self-Titled), and the Acoustic, Close-Harmony Revival

What an absolute breath of fresh air! I remember reading an interview in Uncut Magazine with Paul Weller about new bands that he had his eye on, and he talked about how, when he was touring in the U.S, he came across this band, The Fleet Foxes. Several months later, when their name started to crop up all over the place, I began to take even more notice. Before I knew it, myself and all my mates had a copy and were loving every minute of it. Here was a band that was reviving a dying breed; the classic acoustic songwriting tune-smith. They look like hippies, play like hippies, and write like hippies. A brand new band stepping straight out of Woodstock. On first listen this could well have been a Crosby Stills & Nash record. The harmonies stand out as utterly exceptional. The songs are beautifully crafted. The execution, for musicians so young, is outstanding. All in all this debut record is one to savour.

The sound of this record is somewhat pastoral, and yet unequivocally enduring. To hear a record like this is so refreshing since it means the glorious close-harmony sounds of the 60's and 70's (CSN, The Eagles, America et al) are cool again. Gone are the days of Punk, Grunge or Indie as the only outlet for subversive groups of youngsters. This album was actually awarded maximum stars in no less than seven major international publications (The Guardian, The Observer, Rolling Stone Magazine, Allmusic, Entertainment Weekly, Spin, and The Times), and came in the top three albums in the following publications for Best Album of 2008: Mojo (#1), No Ripcord (#1), Under The Radar (#1), Billboard.com (#1), Pitchfork Media (#1), The Times (#1), WERS Boston (#3), Amazon.com (#3), and Q Magazine (#2). Robin Pecknold - the singer/songwriter responsible for these songs - cited the expected influences upon his work after growing up listening to his parents' music collection - The Beach Boys, The Beatles, Neil Young, Crosby Stills & Nash etc. I guess to those musos with my own inclination the record would be sold already. I assure you, it's a very safe bet.

Highlights on the album include the beautiful White Winter Hymnal, which is almost gospel in its delivery. He Doesn't Know Why is a brilliantly crafted, mid-tempo acoustic number, Your Protector is moody but atmospheric, Quiet Houses a jovial, finger-picked jaunt, and Ragged Wood an exercise in sublime close-harmony. Blue Ridge Mountains is, again, reminiscent of gospel standards infused with contemporary acoustic craftsmanship, Oliver James a gorgeous, airy ditty, and Meadowlarks an early Neil Young style, melancholy wandering. The standout track, however, is the fabulous Tiger Mountain Peasant Song, in which Pecknold's extraordinary songwriting ability is most evident: "I don't know what I have done/I'm turning myself into a demon."

I saw this remarkable band support Neil Young in London's Hyde Park last year, and they were as mesmerising live as they are on record. They are a revival band; their sound harks back, but their vision points forward. A terrific debut record - one of the finest of all time. I'm very excited to hear a follow up.

The Clash London Calling, Punk At Its Best!

The notion on 'Punk' has never really sat that well with me. I can't be doing with The Sex Pistols. Nor The Ramones. It's just not for me. However, two bands that were born out of the Punk era were The Jam (who, of course, I like very much), and The Clash, who in 1979 released the critically acclaimed London Calling - their third studio album. The difference for me is this: by the time The Clash released this seminal album they were more than just a Punk band. They were far more mature than that. This is an album that ventures into Ska, Pop, Soul, Rockabilly, Reggae and Jazz. This is an album that deals with issues such as drug abuse, racial conflict, the passage into and responsibilities of adulthood, and unemployment. This is an album that Rolling Stone Magazine deemed so important and significant that it made #8 in their 500 Greatest Albums Of All Time poll. London Calling has also been inducted into the Grammy Hall Of Fame, and received maximum star reviews from the following music industry sources: Rolling Stone Magazine, Mojo, Paste, Punknews.org, Blender, Pitchfork, Allmusic, Robert Christgau and PopMatters. Even the cover has become iconic.

The album bursts into life immediately with the raw and punchy title track London Calling - a Clash classic forevermore. It is apocalyptic in its vision, but full of energy: "The ice-age is coming/The sun is zooming in/Engines stop running and the wheat is growing thin/Nuclear error but I have no fear/London is drowning, I live by the river." Strummer's sneer is so real. Other highlights include the white-man reggae, The Guns Of Brixton, written by bassist Paul Simonon, the horn-soaked Rudie Can't Fail, the Mick Jones led I'm Not Down, and the infectious Train In Vain. Death Or Glory is another crashing highlight on this magic record - a record that is so full of energy, so full of life, and still so enormously relevant that it is a pleasure to put on the stereo. I found London Calling in my college years; over a decade later it is still one of my favourite albums, and most certainly my favourite 'Punk' record ever.

Before his untimely death at the age of just fifty, I saw Joe Strummer perform many times. The first time was in The Liverpool Royal Court Theatre - me and a group of mates had been on a trip to Liverpool with the college that morning, and had had our maiden drinking session in the pubs of Liverpool through-out the remainder of the day. When we entered the venue I remember feeling extremely uncomfortable; the place was full of the hardest looking men I'd ever seen in my life. It was like we'd just walked onto a wing of a maximum security jail. We anchored ourselves onto the front row, which was lucky since everyone in the middle was engaged in violent exchanges and rough shoving matches. It was both thrilling and terrifying. The angst in the music - much of which was Clash classics - only intensified the atmosphere. I was living the Clash vibe twenty years after London Calling first emerged. The other times I saw Strummer he was in support roles for Paul Weller and The Who, and both times delivered a thumping performance with all the passion that he must have poured into these timeless songs. So many sources don't quote London Calling by accident - it's a must own essential.

Fleetwood Mac Rumours, and How Turmoil Breeds Brilliance

What an incredible story, what an incredible album, what an incredible mess. This, one of the all-time great albums ever made, is born out of one of the great Rock'n'Roll stories of all time. A story of marital breakdown, tumultuous love triangles, divorce, birth, lies, deceit, power-struggles and terrible in-fighting - and that was just the band! How the hell they managed to work under the strain of everything that was going on I have no idea. I suppose it's a testament to the human spirit - the power of music as a resistance against the wicked wrath of Mother Nature. Or maybe they just wanted to carry on pissing each other off by writing the best songs? I don't know. The finished product is as formidable as anything out there on the shelves, that's for sure.

Ok, so here's where I do my Ok Magazine gossip bull-shit and fill you in on the situation. Singer/songwriter/keyboard player Christine McVie and bassist John McVie, who had been married for eight years, were in the midst of a permanent split, which rapidly became a divorce. They would only communicate in the studio regarding musical affairs. Singer/songwriter/ guitarist Lindsay Buckingham and long-term girlfriend, singer/songwriter Stevie Nicks had hit a bad patch and were persistently splitting up, fighting and causing mayhem with their personal problems within the band. Drummer Mick Fleetwood had just discovered that his best friend was shagging his wife, and would embark on a behind the scenes affair with Stevie Nicks behind Lindsay Buckingham's back. The band had just sacked their manager, Keith Olsen, and were handling their own financial affairs with potentially disastrous, drug inflamed consequences, and tensions ran high since the press repeatedly reported reunions of the original members of Fleetwood Mac, including the AWOL Peter Green. All in all, in the thick of all this wasn't an ideal place in which to be.

The highlights on the album include the roaring You Can Go Your Own Way; a pessimistic, angst-ridden slur against Nicks from former lover Buckingham. Dreams - penned by the infallible Nicks - became the album's only number one single, and is a hypnotising, moody retort: "Now here you go again/You say you want your freedom." As if that wasn't enough in the way of internal sly digs, Chritine McVie's You Make Loving Fun - an ode to her new boyfriend (Fleetwood Mac's lighting director) - really salts the wounds of former husband John McVie. Gold Dust Woman, another of Nicks' magnificent compositions, is the stand-out track on an outstanding album. Written about the hardships of being a star in the metropolis of Los Angeles, this spiralling, atmospheric refrain is Nicks' journal about sinking into coke addiction. Christine McVie's Don't Stop is an emphatic, radio friendly singalong that has become a staple Fleetwood Mac classic, and The Chain, the anthem for the legendary, underlying glue holding these troubled souls together, is a driving epic. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is just a selection of the highlights.

I was lucky enough to see Fleetwood Mac's reunion tour at Manchester's MEN Arena in which the band sailed gloriously through their catalogue of hits with spectacular conviction. At one point, during Mick Fleetwood's mammoth drum solo intro to Tusk, Stevie Nicks screamed angrily "how dare you!" pointing into the darkened front rows. She had spotted a fight and had made examples of the morons involved. It was with that fire that she, and three of of the other members of the second incarnation (Mick Fleetwood, John McVie and Lindsay Buckingham) delivered that magnificent gig. A return meeting in the same venue in 2009 was equally as memorable - Buckingham stealing the show with his amazing intensity. Rumours is quite simply one of the greatest records of all time - a landmark in Pop/Rock history that has now sold over 40 million copies. Mac are Back, and as good as ever, shining their light throughout the world with one of the most memorable collections of popular songs ever written. Long may they reign, and long in the history of popular culture may Rumours live on.

Michael Jackson Off The Wall, the Curse of Super-Fame, Musical Genius, and Untimely Death

First and foremost, God rest his troubled soul. I'm the same as everybody else really - I've no idea what to believe about the whole child abuse thing. To be honest, I don't want to think about it either. We're not dealing with Gary Glitter here - a blatant pervert who should be hung, drawn and quartered. We're dealing with a man whose life was so out of the ordinary that that very notion - ordinary - was so far from his reality that anything could have been possible. While I talk about Off The Wall I want Michael's music to be the focus, and nothing else. He was a troubled genius; a prophet in the musical sense. A genuine gift to the world. I hope that his legacy concentrates on the forty plus years of incredible entertainment that he gave to us, and not the undesirable stigmas that cost him some admirers in his later years, and, I believe, ultimately cost him his life.

Off The Wall, first released in 1979, was Jackson's fifth studio album, and his first to be produced by the great Quincy Jones. Speaking of production, this record was absolutely revolutionary. Jones took Jackson's songs and added new dimensions entirely. It was Jackon's venture into Funk, Disco and Soul that inspired Jones's magical production, leading to the surround-sound classics Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough (winner of a Grammy Award for Best R&B Vocal Performance), Off The Wall, and Rock With You - none of which need any critical review from the likes of me. They stand alone as timeless classics. She's Out Of My Life is heart-breaking; Jackson at his dramatic best. Other songwriters on the album include Paul McCartney, who duets on Girlfriend, and Stevie Wonder, who co-wrote I Can't Help It. Does it need me to say any more? Yes?! Well here we go - it was inducted into the Grammy Hall Of Fame in 2008. How's that?! It is a stunning album - Jacko's best in my eyes, and a perfect prequel to Thriller - the following collaboration between Jackson and Quincy Jones that would go on to become the biggest selling album in history. Off The Wall is one of those guaranteed feel good records rain or shine, and perfect for getting the party started. This is the Michael Jackson we know, love, and need to remember!



I had a ticket to watch Michael Jackson at his opening come back gig at London's 02 Arena. I vividly remember the excitement I felt when my mate Danny called me to say "I've got them! We're going!" It was, of course, more morbid curiosity that was going to lead me there. Given his recent reputation I wasn't expecting miracles. In fact, I wasn't expecting anything. In a weird way I'd have been perfectly happy for him just to have turned up Just to have seen him in the flesh. Maybe this attitude towards him was the problem all along? Nobody was ever prepared to let Jacko be human. The Elephant Man of our generation. Of course he didn't show up for the gig; he was dead just weeks before our big meeting in the capital. When the news broke I was totally bemused - I awoke to a text message from a good friend saying 'Where were you when Michael Jackson died?' It was like Princess Diana all over again. The shock was too big to be believable. The surrounding media circus hit the news home, and I soon realised that Michael Jackson, rather selfishly, was a piece in the Rock'n'Roll jigsaw that would never be fulfilled.



Eventually, I applied to keep the ticket. It took eight months to arrive, but will remain a strange reminder of what could - sorry, what should have been. I went to see the somewhat distasteful This Is It - another example of how people took advantage of him even in death - but it was pretty unmemorable. Jackson looked in better shape than he had been for a long time, and his voice was back somewhere near its best, but he still appeared frail and worn. He would never have made 50 shows. Never in a million years. A tragedy waiting to happen. Turns out the tragedy struck way, way too early. Should the world learn from this man and the fishbowl treatment that sent him wacky? Absolutely. After all, he was just a man. . . . . . .

Jeff Buckley Grace - How Fate Led Me To It.

The only music magazine that I have ever paid any real attention to in my time as a music nut is Mojo. I collected it for years and years, until housing back copies just became impossible. In my typical hoarding fashion I refused point blank to throw the old ones way, so the next option was to stop collecting it altogether since I couldn't afford to buy a mansion. It has never once stopped me rushing to Asda to stand defiantly at the magazine counter reading it from cover to cover, before putting it back, buying some chewing gum and leaving satisfied.

At a time in my life when I was getting heavily into music (the late 90's) I used to scour the album releases and reviews in Mojo to see if there was anything in there I fancied chancing. That was, of course, after I had first taken the chance on one of their glowing reviews and stumbled upon the classic Grace, by the unheard of Jeff Buckley. Things are quite different now, of course, since he is a household name - and not, I'd like to think, just because of his early and tragic death. His massive popularity these days is down, primarily, to the exceptional quality of this, his only completed studio album in his short lifetime. There have been several scrappy, money-spinning releases from his estate since Jeff's death in 1997 - releases that have remained inconsequential in the shadow of Grace. Many giants in music have spoken about Buckley fondly with regards to Grace; Jimmy Page of Led Zep fame said it was his favourite album of the decade, Bob Dylan considered Jeff to be "one of the great songwriters of the decade," and David Bowie was quoted saying the album was in his top ten desert island records. It has sold more than 2 million copies world wide, came #13 in Q Magazine's Greatest Albums Of All Time poll, #2 in Australia's program My Favourite Album, and #1 in Mojo's Modern Rock Classic Of All Time poll.

The highlights? Well, to be honest, there is nothing separating the ten tracks. In my opinion this is one of the strongest albums ever made. There are no weaknesses whatsoever. The sumptuous Mojo Pin is like a trickle of honey down the throat to open the album, followed by the thriving title track Grace, which displays Buckley's unimaginable vocal ability. Last Goodbye is a driving guitar riff embraced by a meaningful lyric, Lilac Wine a gorgeous, whimsical day-dreamer, and So Real a thumping, atmospheric anthem with some delicate, mysterious moment; once that snare is struck inviting the chorus the band certainly give it some. Hallelujah - Buckley's now iconic cover of Leonard Cohen's masterpiece - has to be one of the most beautiful cover versions ever recorded. Lover, You Should've Come Over is the album highlight - a brilliant lament that sears musically. Buckley's voice on this track is reminiscent of the amp on Spinal Tap - it goes up to eleven. Corpus Christi Carol is beautiful and haunting - and once again Buckley's extraordinary vocal is incredible. Operatic even. Eternal Life, remiscent of U2's sound on Achtung Baby, is sharp and rocking. The album concludes with the progressive Dream Brother, a rousing end to a fabulous record.

The world really is a lesser place without this marvellous talent. His father, Tim Buckley, was an immense talent. Obviously Jeff retrieved the genes. My eye was drawn to that review in Mojo - someone somewhere knew that Grace would touch me. Rest In Peace, Dream Brother.

The Moons Life On Earth - Brand New Release (15.3.10)

My musical leanings are very much rooted in the past. As an avid record collector, muso, and musician, I am often so far buried in albums from forty years ago that I regularly miss the rare gems that crop up here and now. Thanks to my mad mate Glenn, modern-day-music-vulture-extraordinaire, I was fortunate enough not to have missed this one. Life On Earth, the debut album from The Moons, was released nationwide just yesterday (15.3.10) and is already, quite rightly, causing a stir. The main man, Andy Crofts, is already a musician of repute; he has toured extensively with Paul Weller playing keyboards. In The Moons he swops keys for the guitar, and steps out of the shadows to the front of the stage to provide lead vocals. Tom Warmsley keeps his seat warm on the old ivories whilst singing harmony, Adam Leeds plays bass, Ben Gordelier the drums, and James Bagshaw plays a second guitar and also sings harmony. It is a tight five-piece set up that shines through brightly on what can only be described as a brilliant new album.

The opening track, Don't Go Changin', is a lively foot-tapper that can't help but remind me of The Fratellis' early stuff; quick, quirky, and enough to get the adrenaline racing. Chinese Whispers is similar in tempo, and has a delightful Lady Madonna-esque piano part anchoring the verses. It could quite easily be a Beatles track from that era - particularly with the glorious harmonies intercepting at the heart of the song. Let It Go really exaggerates the divine 60's sound going on here, and Torn Between Two, the album's sublime highlight, is quite frankly one of the finest singles I've heard in the last decade. Weller's craftsmanship is reflected by the songwriting of his keyboard player Crofts here; it is an absolutely compelling hook with a fantastic production, awesome harmonies, and a magical, swirling organ penetrating the lyric. On first hearing I thought my God, this is as good as For Your Love! I'd actually stick my neck out now and say that it is even better.

Nightmare Day, the following ska-soaked number, is an eccentric, tongue in cheek rant: "Nightmare Day/Well nothing has gone my way!" Promise Not To Tell is a slightly mysterious but buoyant foot-tapper, How Long a more serious and emotive ballad with great chord changes and a wonderful vocal performance by Crofts, and The Ragman an animated story about a character of the same name - a character straight from the ilk of Ogden's NutGone Flake. Everyday Heroes is a fantastic, soulful testament to the working classes; once again reflecting the Weller/Davies et al influence. This is a band that have swallowed the music of their heroes and regurgitated a bloody masterpiece! I'm excited for them even as I write this.

Lost Soul is a groovy lament: "I just lost the girl I used to love to you/You stole her with the things you do." Lyrically it is simple but blindingly effective - a trait that runs throughout the album. Can't we all relate to a line like this? Sure we can. Also listen out for the brilliant bass guitar by Adam Leeds. Wondering (featuring Paul Weller) is an airy, light-hearted piano-led wander through some dreamy, summer afternoon thoughts. A lovely, uplifting song indeed, before the album closes with Last Night On Earth, a rousing ending that boasts great guitar work and, once again, nods to the finest Beatles sound around, particularly the psychedelic freak out at the death of the song.

As far as debut albums are concerned, this is stunning. It really is. Musically mature, at all times gripping, and a killer for inviting the repeat button. All of the influences are prevalent throughout Life On Earth. It certainly does hark back to a golden age of British songwriting; you can hear The Kinks, The Small Faces, and The Yardbirds creeping through. Paul Weller is an obvious inspiration, The Specials too in parts, and most definitely The Beatles in their Rubber Soul/Revolver/Sgt Pepper era. You can also hear the likes of Ocean Colour Scene and The Fratellis in the melodies. Not a bad set of ingredients to make a great album by all accounts, which, already, Life On Earth is threatening to be. If this record was released forty years ago it would be an instant classic. In the age of Cowell and his cronies I fear that this probably wont be the case; it is up to us, the music loving fraternity, to put records like this where they truly belong - the top of the charts. Congratulations Andy and co, bring on the tour and many more years of making music!

The Ascot Ball - Saturday 17th April - The Fleetwood Hesketh, Southport - In Aid Of Queenscourt Hospice.

The Ascot Ball, to be hosted by Fleetwood Hesketh Sports & Social Club in Southport on Saturday 17th April, is an annual event organised by Jude Lennon in aid of Queenscourt Hospice, a self-funded organisation taking care of the terminally ill. I have personally been involved in playing at these events for the past few years, and it has always been a cracking night, well supported, and for an excellent cause. This year will see performances from my acoustic duo, Little Wing, as well as my 5-piece band, The Gypsy Beats (pictured above). There will also be a DJ and food, plus several raffles for top prizes - all for the price of £10 a ticket. A donation will be made to Queenscourt Hospice once all funds are collected in. If you are able, please come and support it. We will all, in our lifetimes, encounter situations where people we know use these marvellous and admirable facilities - it is within all of our interests to help in any way we can.

AC/DC Highway To Hell, Dirty Rock'n'Roll and My Closet Love for Headbanging!

If somebody has really pissed you off, if you feel like you need to put someone's head through a window, or you just want to let it all go and head-bang for half an hour, then this is the album for you. You may find it strange, if you have been following my blog, to find Highway To Hell in and amongst the like of Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Chris Rea and Eric Clapton. I suppose everyone is entitled to their guilty pleasure?! Actually, that is a major injustice - I take that back. AC/DC aren't a guilty pleasure. By saying that you have to half admit that the band you like are crap. There is nothing 'crap' about these boys. For forty years they have enlightened the world with their kick-arse, no-frills, put-your-fists-up-or-fuck-off Rock'n'Roll. And you know what? I love every damn minute of it!

Highway To Hell, the first AC/DC record I managed to get my hands on, came round by accident really. Me and a group of University friends were in The Leadmill (Sheffield) at some unGodly hour one Saturday evening pissed as parrots when the DJ decided to treat us to the loudest version of Highway To Hell I am ever likely to hear. The roof blew off, and everybody in the place - whether Mod, Goth, Emo, Punk, Chav (thankfully there weren't many of these) - united as one for just one song, and threw their sweaty locks of hair about the place. That was when I knew I just had to own it - that memory alone needed to be documented with a record on the shelf. I hunted it down, did my best in my pin-stripe pants and brogues to hide it from the Mod fraternity in the queue, and scurried back to my halls almost ashamed to have set foot in the world of the rockers.

The thumping title track opens the album, and when the drums come in to accompany the legendary riff it really is as though the walls are going to tumble down. Girls Got Rhythm begins Bon Scott's explicit lyrical obsession with women, and puts a seedy stamp on a record that oozes sex and all that is sordid - even the front cover depicts the mischief that awaits you when you press play. Walk All Over You is a definite album highlight, moving like a train through the low gears with an intimidating, all-masculine sound. Touch Too Much is, once again controversial, but quality rip-roaring Rock'n'Roll. Beating Around The Bush is manic, Shot Down In Flames a resounding rocker in which Angus Young's frantic but impeccable guitar playing comes to the fore, and Get It Hot is a booming Saturday night party anthem. If You Want Blood (You Got It) is tough and laddish, and very much reminiscent of West Street in Southport post midnight. Love Hungry Man is a superb, primal male confession, before the album closes with the super-controversial Night Prowler. This record caused a storm after serial killer Richard Ramirez quoted it as an inspiration, and left items of AC/DC apparel at many of his murder scenes in L.A. The band responded by saying that Ramirez's claim was unfounded - song meant no such thing as killing; it was actually written about a boy creeping into his girlfriend's room at night!

Highway To Hell was the band's final album with singer Bon Scott before he died in an alcohol fuelled mess in 1980. It is a remarkable story that AC/DC managed to come back bigger and badder than ever with Brian Johnson on vocals since usually the loss of the voice means the death of the band. Look at Queen. Nevertheless, what a raucous way to go - leaving the brilliant Highway To Hell as your epitaph. I got to see AC/DC last year at the new Wembley Stadium - one of the final jigsaw pieces to complete in my gig-going career - and it was everything I expected it to be: FUCKING IMMENSE! What energy, what excitement, what a stage show, what an atmosphere, what a band. Long live these Aussie rockers, and regardless what music you may be into, don't be shy - get yourself a copy of Highway To Hell!

Fairport Convention Liege & Lief - The Most Important Folk Album Of All Time

Many years back I used to run an acoustic jam night in a Promenade pub in Southport. It was a strange place; sometimes it would be heaving, other times completely dead, and there were always unsavoury characters hanging around. On this particular Sunday in question there was a guy in - probably thirty-five at the oldest, though he looked fifty - who was so far off his head it was untrue. The problem was that he loved the music we were playing. He started shouting out requests, trying to have constant one-on-one conversations with us, and then eventually coming up to us as we tried to play just generally making a nuisance of himself. He was actually trying to be complementary in a drug-fuelled, mental kind of way, but it was coming out all wrong. He began annoying everybody else in the pub, and it was decided that it was time to get rid. However, on his way out he turned to me and said "Listen lad, get hold of Liege & Lief by Fairport Convention, and I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight by Richard & Linda Thompson. They'll blow your fucking mind." Needless to say my chief concern was just to get rid of him, although his words stuck in my head. The following day, as I walked through town, I went into the now deceased Music Zone record shop and dug them both out. They looked really interesting - both folk albums - and Liege & Lief had a sticker on the front claiming 'The Most Important Folk Album Of All Time'. I bought them, brought them home, put Fairport on the stereo, and my sympathy for this troubled individual from the night before grew and grew. I'd never get to thank him for his recommendations, though he can be sure that in his own way he helped share the spirit of these awesome records.

Band biographer, Joe Boyd, said of Liege & Lief upon its re-release: "It stands the test of time as a ground-breaking work of genuine originality and bravery." He couldn't have put it any better. It is also credited as the record that created the genre 'Folk-Rock', and was listed in Mojo as #58 in the list of 100 Records That Changed The World. This is an album like nothing else - an album that bridges the ages. There is something historical and ethereal about Liege & Lief. It is a contemporary record that they should have been listening to in the middle ages. It is also a record swamped in tragedy; in 1969 the group were set to disband after a terrible crash killed original drummer Martin Lamble, and Richard Thompson's girlfriend at the time, Jeannie Taylor. Painfully, they came round to the idea of keeping on, and produced the album of their lives as a result. In the same way as Chris Rea's Dancing Down The Stony Road, personal tragedy created divine inspiration. It just shows the healing powers of art.

The sound on the album is of the British traditional ilk, and the album title is made up of two middle English words: Liege meaning loyal, and Lief meaning ready. The all round sound is absolutely stunning. A transportation back in time. The voice of Sandy Denny - another tragic figure in the music industry - is like an angel throughout. The battle between fiddle and guitar is outstanding. Thematically the album is untouchable, with literary lyrics penetrating the authentic music. Song titles such as Come All Ye, Reynardine, and The Lark In The Morning demonstrate the band's commitment to their revolutionary goal. I'm not going to go too deeply into this - I don't think I'm qualified to scratch the surface. What I will declare is my astonishment at how compelling this record is - I could listen to it on repeat for the rest of my life and never grow tired. So I'll join my anti-friend from the beginning of this anecdote by saying "Get hold of Liege & Lief. . . . .it'll blow your fucking mind!"

U2 Achtung Baby, Early 90's Cool, and the Birth of a Supergroup

U2 are a contentious subject. It is often impossible to gage whether Bonor, sorry, Bono, is a pathetic, sorry again, prophetic saint, or complete pretentious twat. I would, despite his good deeds, tend to side with the latter. Plus, I think his music - sorry - their music (since, despite the size of Bono's head, I'm sure there is just enough room for others in the band) has been shite for the last decade. And so, I'd like to say that the verdict is still out on U2, except Bono's security probably didn't let the jury in. Meooooowww! Anyone spotting a trend here? Well, I guess I'm about to contradict it since I bloody love Achtung Baby, hard as it is to admit. The Joshua Tree - the band's prequel to Achtung Baby - is often revered as their classic, though I'm going to stick my neck out and disagree, whilst also ripping Bono to shreds at every opportunity.

This album has sold over 18 million copies world wide. It got a Grammy Award for Best Rock Performance By A Duo Or Group With Vocal. It had several huge hit singles - most notably #1 single The Fly, and the timeless classic One. It gained maximum star reviews in Rolling Stone, Q Magazine, The Orlando Sentinel, L.A Times, Entertainment Weekly, AllMusic Magazine and The Austin Chronicle. It is listed in the 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. Q Magazine charted it as the 15th Greatest Album Ever, Rolling Stone #62 in their 500 Greatest Albums Of All Time poll, and VH1 cited it as #65 on their Greatest 100 Albums Of Rock & Roll. Achtung Baby reached #36 on USA Weekly's list of the Top 40 Albums Ever, and established U2 as the biggest band in the world. The resulting Zoo TV Tour was one of the most successful tours in Rock History, lasting over two years and consisting of 157 concerts. I could go on and on and on but I don't want this paragraph to sound like a modest conversation with Bono, so I'll stop there. I guess you're probably getting the picture anyhow.

Produced by Daniel Lanois and Brian Eno (a spectacular combination to have as a production team considering their career achievements individually), Achtung Baby was a major change in direction for the band. They themselves described this record as "the chopping down of the Joshua tree" - a brilliant analogy in itself to describe their experimentation. It opens with the mesmerising, industrial sound of Zoo Station, and is followed by the amazing Even Better Than The Real Thing, a stinging, intense, rip-roaring dance/rock classic. One, possibly one of the greatest and deepest ballads ever written, is one of several immense highlights throughout this record. Where these inspired lyrics came from I'll never know: "Did I ask too much?/More than a lot?/You gave me nothing/Now it's all I got/We're one but we're not the same/We hurt each other then we do it again." Whatever Bono was reading at the time dug his soul up, for sure. The guitar work by The Edge is super-special.

Until The End Of The World is more like commercial U2 with a killer hook, Whose Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses a booming anthem, and The Fly, their number one single, an atmospheric electro freak out with an unforgettable chorus. My favourite track on the album, and, along with One, my favourite U2 song of all time is the majestic Mysterious Ways. The guitar work echoes some strange hybrid between Johnny Marr and John Squire, the vocal a searing performance, the bass outstanding, and Larry Mullen's drumming just out of this world. It is just about as good as you can get a song to sound on record. There are a few songs that lie in the shadows of these monsters on Achtung Baby. Trying To Throw Your Arms Around The World is pleasant enough but passes without much thought, as does the sparse So Cruel. Ultra Violet (Light My Way) is the only weak spot on the record for me, though the following Acrobat is utterly compelling in its mysteriousness. The gorgeous Love Is Blindness is the perfect calming morning after an action-packed night out, and a fabulous end to a great record.

If the Bono of today wants to continually forget what he does best (write music) and continue to save the world then, unfortunately, the great U2 are finished. Whilst he's been dining with Nelson Mandela, and Henry VIII or whoever the fuck else he sucks up to, the music has suffered. Achtung Baby in my eyes is the last GREAT thing they did - a reminder of what this band are capable of, and an absolute classic album for anyone who is into music, regardless what genres you may lean towards.

The Sunshine Award.

Earlier today I received The Sunshine Award from Kate at

http://www.giveustimetoshine.blogspot.com/

I was thrilled to receive it and thank her dearly. I'm so glad that this blog may have touched at least one person - after all, that's the ultimate reward for doing anything creative. Kate is a great writer - she has a wonderful way with the word and lays the line down honestly and from deep within. I love to read her blog, she's one interesting young mind. Please visit her!!!

Artwork of Brian P Slade!

These pictures are photographs with Brian P Slade's unique touch! Visit him on facebook to see more of his work, including portraits of Paul Weller, Ocean Colour Scene, Lady Gaga, Alice Cooper and much more!

Chris Rea Dancing Down The Stony Road, Mortality, and Inspiration in the Face of Fear

I've never been one for paying for full price albums. In an earlier blog I talked about how I was a vulture for bargains. However, this occasion was an exception. I must have been flush at the time - (perhaps my student loan had just gone in!) - because to spend £13.99 on a new release album was unheard of for me unless it said Paul Weller on the front. Maybe I was intrigued by the front cover - that can often happen. Maybe my interest in Chris Rea from an early age spilt over into an out-of-wallet experience? I had always loved his classic hits, however contrived some may accuse them of being: Road To Hell, Josephine, Down On The Beach, and the amazing annual treat that is Driving Home For Christmas. Whatever happened on that rainy day in 2002, I came home with a copy of Dancing Down The Stony Road, his new double album release that just as well may never have happened.

In 2001 Rea was struck down with a severe case of Pancreatitis, later revealed to have been cancerous. The operation that he went in for only assured him a 50% chance of survival. He has stated in interviews since that he swore to himself before the operation that if he survived he would return to his blues roots and pack in the commercial rock business. Needless to say the man survived, and Dancing Down The Stony Road - in my opinion, the best album of his entire career (including Road To Hell) - was the resulting masterpiece. I know I probably overuse that word in my reviews, but I swear to you that here it is most apt. Chris Rea's obsession with the Delta blues is heavily prevalent in this album. He uses his exceptional slide guitar playing to great effect, his vocals are deep and charred (emphasising the blues themes in his writing), and the production raw and sparse. It is a late night album for sure; one for the whiskey drinkers and insomniacs, or, preferably both.

The opening track, Easy Rider, is an ode to the drugs that eased his agony whilst lying in hospital contemplating a potential meeting with the reaper: "Well now come on easy rider/Turn this screaming fire down low/Yeah come on easy rider/Pull this pain and let it go." Stony Road is a haunting paranoia, Dancing The Blues Away an airy waltz, and Catfish Girl a lesson for any aspiring slide guitarists - so good and authentic sounding that it could have been written on the ranch in 1890. Burning Feet is a cool groove, Slow Dance a piano led number that leads into a slide guitar frenzy, and Segway a very traditional instrumental take on the Delta blues. By now you should be feeling like you are watching over the cotton fields with the sun going down, cigarette and whiskey in hand. Mississippi 2 is, again, very traditional with a fascinating banjo/harmonica duel, So Lonely an eerie and uncertain plea from the subconscious, and the final track on the first side, Heading For The City, a jazzy, laid back chagrin in which Rea's morbid state of mind exposes itself: "Roll that dice/Say that prayer/Light a candle for me/When you get there." He had practically handed himself over to the angels, which makes this music that he created, with the hindsight of survival, even more engrossing.

Side two begins with the delightful ballad Ride On, When The Good Lord Talked To Jesus is a very deep, agonizing self assessment ("When the good Lord talked to Jesus/I guess I ain't what he had in mind"), and Qualified a dark, semi-religious blues akin to the stuff on Bob Dylan's Time Out Of Mind (previously reviewed in the blog). Sun Is Rising is another moody, slide guitar ramble, Someday My Peace Will Come a beautiful longing for one's sanctuary, and Got To Be Moving On a Spaghetti Western style chiller - it is short of only the gunshots during the shootout to put you right there, sat in the middle as the anxious wait for the draw lingers. Ain't Going Down This Way is another slide guitar/harmonica face-off, Changing Times an unusual upbeat and optimistic jaunt for the second side, and penultimate track, The Hustler, a great insight into the healing mind of this ailing songwriter: "Time to get up, make a move/Put the brain in gear, cut the groove."

The final track, Give That Girl A Diamond, is a wonderful love song, once again reminiscent of Bob Dylan, particularly his track Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands. Rea has absolutely excelled himself with this record. I think it is special because it is almost his own obituary; it is funny how a genuine brush with death can inspire the most beautiful art. At times it is very, very dark, but somehow inspiring and uplifting. Give the old boy a chance and give this gem a listen.

The Small Faces Ogdens' NutGone Flake - The Fine Line Between Genius and Lunacy!

The Small Faces - one of the great bands of all time. End of. Steve Marriot was a genius, and had one of the great voices ever heard. Kenney Jones, Ian McLagan and Ronnie Lane all went on to achieve legendary status in their own right. Marriot's eventual demise seems so sad considering his outrageous talent - a true victim of the devils of the music industry. His legend is preserved in his music, however, which is wonderful to know. The Small Faces are heralded by many as the ultimate Mod band - it is undeniable that they were quintessentially British both stylistically and musically. By the time Ogden's NutGone Flake arrived in 1968 they were already established as a fine band of their generation, but nobody had heard anything like this. A tongue-in-cheek concept album boasting several huge singles, it separated The Small Faces from the pack.

What we are dealing with here in Ogden's NutGone Flake is quite spectacular. It really is. It charts the journey of Happiness Stan, who sets out upon a quest to find the missing half of the moon. On his journey he saves a fly from starvation, and in return the fly tells him about someone who can help him with his quest: Mad John the hermit. Stan remarks that if all the flies became one, what a huge fly that would create - as a result the fly grows to gigantic proportions, and Stan rides on its back to the cave of Mad John. He tells Stan that the disappearance of half the moon is only temporary, and informs him that his quest has gone on so long that the moon is now full again. He finishes by singing Stan a song about the meaning of life. Now I guess anybody that has read this far is thinking what the fuck?! I understand this concern. It is, after all, complete lunacy, but, in my eyes, somewhat endearing. Musically it is outstanding, boasting the thumping rocker Song Of A Baker in which Marriot's vocal sears, the soulful ballad Afterglow Of Your Love, and the two 'psychedelic cockney knees-up songs' Lazy Sunday, which is archetypal Small Faces brilliance, and Rene. The whole thing is cheeky, childish, dreamy but musically mature - a must listen for any muso.

These classic songs are interjected by Stan Unwin's gobbledegook (known as Unwinese) - a strange hybrid between modern day slang and complete nonsense that narrates Happiness Stan's journey. It really is a surreal listen, but totally all-consuming. Upon release in 1968 it achieved #1 spot in the album charts for six weeks, and spent nineteen weeks on the charts. It was voted #59 in Q Magazine's 100 Greatest British Albums Ever, and was conceptual even down to its packaging; originally it was released in a round metal tin (which was also the case with the 2006 re-issue on CD) to reflect the parody of the tobacco inspired front cover (Ogden's Nut Brown Flake - a brand of tobacco from Liverpool in the late 19th Century). My mate Danny got hold of a copy of the re-issue in a metal tin, something which I've always been desperately jealous of! As far as the 1960's goes this is a massively important release. A benchmark in experimental rock records. It was listed in the 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die, and boy, you'd be a fool not to.

Joni Mitchell Blue - Heartbreakingly Beautiful

I have to be honest - I have no recollection of getting this album. I've no idea what inspired me to buy it in the first place. Big Yellow Taxi - Joni's instantly recognisable major hit - is quite frankly one of the worst songs ever. In fact, and this is really going some, in the world of music I can only think of The Manic Street Preachers and Mika that I despise more than that song. Oh, and maybe Elton John (the man, not the music). Even the Counting Crows re-hash makes me nauseous. All of this considered, I am unable to understand why I would ever go out and pick this album up. Maybe because it has always been billed as a classic. Maybe because I looked at the sleeve and saw that Big Yellow Taxi wasn't on it. Maybe I'd hit my head and forgotten who I liked and who I didn't. I can't remember. I'm just glad that I ended up with Blue, one of the most beautiful records that I, or you, are ever likely to hear.

Joni Mitchell was relatively well-known for 'getting around' amongst a circle of male stars back in the day. I'll never forget the laugh that James Taylor got when I saw him back in Manchester a few years ago when, pointing to a picture of Joni and him on the big screen, he said: "and that's Joni - my bitch! In fact, I think she was everybody's bitch." Blue is seemingly a rather troubled-in-love lady pouring her heart out through the medium of song - probably as a result of so many failed relationships with these stars - and it is nothing short of stunning. The opening line of the album, at the start of All I Want, sets the scene: "I am on a lonely road and I am travelling/Looking for something, what can it be/Oh I hate you some, I hate you some." Mitchell's voice is angelic at worst; she hits some notes that are off the scale, accompanied by her exceptional guitar work and subtle piano playing. Lyrically she is brilliant; sometimes brutal, often unwavering in her honesty, but always moving. "I could drink a case of you". Magic. Haven't we all felt that way about somebody before? Absolutely.

I don't want to do a breakdown song by song with Blue. There is something about listening to it as a complete record that is so very special; a sentimental journey from start to finish. I do have to mention River though - a haunting piano/vocal so sublime you'd think the angel Gabriel had penned it. Magnificent.

So, if you're on the brink of killing yourself this may not be for you - or, in a strange way, it may be your saviour. It is very deep, heartfelt, beautiful and in a league of its own. Joni's golden hour in her career, and a lasting statement from a wonderful singer/songwriter. If you're into melodies and words then you just have to own it.

uprising

mans' dawn awake

migration of the flock

in a dream

celestial

The Frank Flight Band Outrunning The Sun

In and amongst all the big boys, now and again a little diamond shines through the coal. That is the beauty of music. As in this case, it can be something so good that you feel for its underachievement, but take heart that you're in on the secret. Back somewhere in the mid/late 90's I worked a Saturday job at Partners The Stationers; I was fifteen years old and worked all day for what turned out to be about £20 - money I could use to buy my records. My boss at the time had a boyfriend who was in a band, and, since all I did was talk about music, she told me all about them and invited me to come along to one of their gigs in Republic Bar, Southport. At fifteen I could pass for eighteen, so I gathered a couple of mates and off we went. My memories of the specific details, after all these years, are pretty much shot. However, I do remember this: I fucking loved it.

I left that job soon after and heard nothing more of The Frank Flight Band. Imagine my surprise then when, over a dozen years later in 2009, I saw a poster on the wall of a pub that I was playing in advertising their name for an upcoming gig. I checked the diary there and then, and actually felt a wave of excitement to discover that I had the night free. Something about that night in The Republic Bar had stayed with me all this time; I couldn't put my finger on it, but I knew I had to see it all again. I made some phone calls, got down to the venue, and, beer in hand, waited for a dose of deja vu. I certainly wasn't disappointed, and left with the memento that I'd wished I'd had all those years before - their album Outrunning The Sun.

Now this is a difficult one to know where to start. It really is. There is well over an hour of music on this album - an album subversive and somewhat extra-dimensional in parts, but never short of formidable. It is the fruit of a ten year journey; in itself a contributory factor to this majestic disillusion. If ten years of taming the beast isn't enough to send a man stir crazy then I've no idea what is, and you know what they say: there is a fine line between madness and genius. For me, Outrunning The Sun has one foot either side.

The opening title track is a swirling, psychedelic, sub-underground freak-out lasting 16:18 minutes. It is as mesmerising and affective as anything on Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here, cruising smoothly through tempo change and progressive jamming with consummate ease. The production is superb, and only adds to the hypnotic effect upon the listener. By the time Andy Wrigley appears with his Jim Morrison-esque vocal somewhere halfway to Mars, your sights are already set on a rather mercurial journey to the sun. Tourniquet is a dreamy lament in which Wrigley declares the one statement in which we can all relate: "I'm foolish for loving you." Danny Taylor's bass drives the song alongside the inventive drumming of Dave Veres, whilst Frank Flight's entrancing rhythm (as in Beach House) guides the song home. Spag Bol (part 1) and (part 2) are boundless snippets of an enterprising jam, and Bad Time For The Future a thudding statement about the hopelessness of lost love. Crumbling At My Feet is funky and somewhat more mainstream than the rest of the record, whereas Gravitas is a spacious instrumental; anxious, uncertain and mysterious.

Preparations For The Mayday Ball is an interesting, medieval style acoustic jaunt, Better Not Shout a riveting self-penned rocker by Frank Flight, the band's instrumental driving force, and Evening Star another space-age epic with extra-terrestrial effects and atmospheric soundscapes. However, the outstanding track for me is the introspective Season Of Promise, another Flight number built on a wonderfully melancholy melody, reminiscent of Echo and the Bunneymen, or Joy Division. Wrigley's vocal is sullen and esoteric, his harmonies vibrant, Colin Rens' guitar work divine, and the all round sound somewhat aeronautical. A brilliant song embedded in an accomplished album.

In a similar vein to Paul Kappa, this is a band that should be heard, but probably wont. Another tragedy in the world of music in my eyes, but at least what is done is done. If art moves just one person then it is worth creating. I cannot recommend Outrunning The Sun any higher; if you like Pink Floyd, The Doors, or any of the progressive/psychedelic bands for that matter then this is a record you need to check out. The sleeve notes ask a series of rhetorical questions: "did they find what they were looking for in their quest? why did it take five years to complete? and which one is Frank anyway? let others put answers to these questions and in the meantime: sit back, strap yourself in and let the sun be your guide. . . . . . . . . . . . " Well, I hope more than just I become intrigued enough to care and venture deep into this weird and wonderful record.

Outrunning The Sun is available on CD from www.cdbaby.com/Artist/TheFrankFlightBand, and their myspace address is www.myspace.com/frankflightband

Dr Robert Realms Of Gold, the Bargain-Bin Beauty!

Bargain bins in record shops are, sadly, pretty much a thing of the past. For me that is nothing short of tragic. I used to be the king vulture. No sooner had they seen me before I was sweeping away with a brown paper bag full of bargains. Plus, bargain bins opened up a whole new world of discovery for me. A loss of a few quid wasn't the end of the world if I chanced my arm and ended up with something crap - and believe me, it happened a lot. However, on the flip side, shite CD's make great coasters, and, every now and again, I'd stumble upon a gem. Enter Dr Robert's Realms Of Gold. An album that would go on to become one of the most listened to records in my extensive collection for the ridiculous price of just 99p.

I knew nothing at all of Dr Robert (Robert Howard) when I picked the album up in a tiny independent record store called Forever Changes down Sheffield's cosmopolitan student street, Eccleshall Rd. All of my research on him would be done afterwards once I'd realised how special his songwriting was. Low and behold, he was extremely friendly with Paul Weller, and had been in The Blow Monkeys in his early days, so his CV was certainly worth a read. I couldn't quite believe what I'd found when I got home and put Realms Of Gold on. It's fair to say that I was gobsmacked. I had, shameful enough as it is to admit, been drawn in by the wonderful front cover. That was the only basis on which I'd decided to buy. I guess that judging a book by its cover isn't all bad.

The album begins with the superb title track, a rich and poetic journey into the depths of Howard's artistic fantasies: "I want to live in realms of gold/In deep imagination/I want to find the kingdom of/Love and Inspiration." The Coming Of Grace is a melodic 'songwriters' song, featuring the former stronghold of the style council, Mick Talbot and Paul Weller on keys and backing vocals. Comfort Of The Clan (also featuring Weller playing his custom Gibson Firebird) is a sassy, bass-led groove, and Follow Your Path a prophetic statement about self-worth and manifest destiny. By this point you really know you're dealing with a quality record.

Pond Life is a rousing rocker, Sanctuary a radiant acoustic track in which Howard's vocals shine bright, and Circular Key a stunning, moody drama set on the coast whilst looking out to sea. Have No Roots, the highlight of the album, is a brilliant lyrical spiel encompassing places and characters alike - either the birth of Howard's imagination, or relevant figures in his real life. Ode To Bacchus is a melancholy ditty, Don't Let It Slip a funky solo acoustic number recorded live on Tokyo FM, and So Slow The Rain a lovely ballad steeped in sentiment: "So slow the rain/that falls into my path/When all I ever wanted was to see you smile again." The closing track - A Moment Of Madness - is a propelling epic with the typical euphonic Howard stamp.

I don't want to say an awful lot more. This is a classic, and the album title Realms Of Gold (inspired by Keats - "Much have I travelled in the realms of gold and many goodly states and kingdoms see") could not be more apt in describing the wonderful songs of a wonderful songwriter. Well worth rooting out on Amazon or wherever you can find it!

Roxy Music Avalon, and the Coolest Man In Town

Let us just get one thing straight: Bryan Ferry is the coolest man in Rock'n'Roll. And I actually say that with sincerity. Not only has he, in my opinion, made some of the most groundbreaking music of the last forty years, but has created a style and genre belonging to him and him only. A poetic lyricist, sharp tune smith, style icon, and suave performer indeed. Ok, so his recent Dylan covers album was shite. Accepted. But I can afford him that hick up. He's nearly old enough for his bus pass. The album that I really want to talk about - and the album that cemented this man in music's hall of fame - is Roxy Music's Avalon, released in 1982.

I had, during my University days, an obsession with Roxy Music's Live Performance The Highroad; I saw it as a kid at home one night and nicked it - my Dad's ancient video tape version - and used to put it on in the early hours when I got in pissed from the latest student party. I just love every minute of it. I reckon I've seen it over 1000 times. As a performance it is monumental, although it was also chiefly responsible for getting me into certain Roxy Music songs back at this time. Avalon was always a favourite of mine, confirmed by the superb version on The Highroad. I ended up hunting down the album of the same name, which swiftly became my favourite Roxy Music record. It is, up to now, their last studio release (since Ferry went solo for many years) although Roxy Music have been reunited and back on the road since 2001 as a live act. Avalon was said to be the 'adult' Roxy album; smoother and more sophisticated than the others, and a world away from the chaotic initial incarnation of the band ten years earlier.

It opens with one of Roxy Music's most admired singles, More Than This, which is classic art-school Ferry, fag in one hand and pina-colada in the other, crooning into the breeze as he sits soaking up the sun at a beach-side bar. Bloody hell, where did that come from? Maybe that is an example of just how evocative this music actually is. As a single it achieved mass critical and commercial acclaim, reaching #6 in the UK charts. The Space Between is smooth, led by a cool saxophone layered upon echoey lead guitar; very atmospheric and agile in its delivery. Avalon, the title track, is ethereal in every sense. The Bahamas, where the album was recorded, has obviously put its stamp on the final sound. The backing vocals are delightful, and the production second to none.

India is an interesting instrumental before While My Heart Is Still Beating, a Ferry/Mackay penned, tense number in the thick of the album. The Main Thing is a compelling heart-beat, driven by Paul Thompson's rock-solid snare, whilst the album's third single Take A Chance With Me, Ferry's ode to the departed Jerry Hall, is a magnificent requiem in which Ferry's suggestive lyrics glow: "As they say, two can play/But keep that song away from me/In my time too much love/Has made me sad for so long." And to have left for the rubber-lipped Mick Jagger? To Turn You On is Ferry's sensual side spilling out, whilst True To Life is an airy, synth-covered amble before the final chapter, Tara. This splendid, laconic instrumental, revolving around Mackay's elevated sax, is the like the closing scene of a moving film that you never want to end. An unusual but refined ending to a classy record.

So here is the surprising part. I've seen Roxy Music twice since their 2001 reunion - once on that very reunion tour in Manchester's MEN Arena, and a second time at the Liverpool Summer Pops in 2005. I don't think I'll be rushing back. It was great to see the original members - Bryan Ferry, Phil Manzanera, Andy Mackay and Paul Thompson - back on stage together. There were even glimpses of brilliance, admittedly. However, neither show lasted for much more than an hour and a half, which is practically half the length of a normal show for a legendary act, and Ferry looked almost uncomfortable on stage. I even jeopardised my A-Level P.E exam the next morning the first time by cram-revising all there way there and back on the coach! Maybe I'd set my sights too high having digested The Highroad for so many years. If you watch their 2002 release Live At The Apollo they are, in fact, brilliant once again. Maybe I just caught two ordinary nights, who knows. I have, however, nothing but admiration for this band -particularly Ferry, the craftsman of my favourite lyric ever (on Roxy's hit Dance Away): "Loneliness is a crowded room/Full of ope hearts turned to stone/All together, all alone." And Avalon, of course, is a classic album showcasing a quintessential British band at the peak of their powers.