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.

The Eagles Hotel California, Our Meeting Down Under, and Why This is a Desert Island Album

What can you possibly say about Hotel California that hasn't already been said? Realistically, probably nothing, so I'll begin with the facts. Released in 1976, it has sold more than sixteen million copies in the U.S alone. It was number one in the album charts for eight weeks. It also boasts two number one hit singles in the title track Hotel California, and its brilliant predecessor New Kid In Town. It was listed #38 on VH1's Greatest Album's Of All Time, #37 on Rolling Stone Magazine's 500 Greatest Album's Ever, and #13 in a 2005 survey by Channel 4 determining the best record ever made. It was a major global critical and commercial success, and in the title track boasts one of the most air-played songs of all-time, with one of the defining opening lines in Rock'n'Roll history: "On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair/Warm smell of colitas rising up through the air." In 1977 New Kid In Town won a Grammy Award for the Best Arrangement For Voices category, and in 1978 the album Hotel California won another Grammy Award for Record Of The Year. So, just in case you aren't quite getting the picture yet, this album is a BIG fucking DEAL.

That's all the statistical crap out of the way. I guess now I can have my say. Ok, so it opens with the title track. Some people can't stand it; I suspect that is because it is overplayed, over-quoted, and totally misunderstood. Songs can be ruined by the radio, it is true, but it is impossible to draw the line. When there is a demand for air-play because something is so good, how do you mediate it? It is the unanswerable question. In my opinion the song Hotel California speaks loudly for itself. One of the great moments in music history, it still sounds fresh, still has something to say lyrically as well as musically, and has the potential (along with certain Beatles/Stones/Elvis numbers etc) never to grow old. I don't often get defensive about music anymore - I am broad-minded enough to appreciate that everybody has different tastes, and everybody is entitled to an opinion. However, I'm going to break the mould here since I love this track, still get so much pleasure out of playing it live, and believe in its genius so much. If you think this song is shit you have one of two possible ailments: either a) you are deaf, or b) you are a complete dickhead.

New Kid in Town, which still stands as my favourite Eagles track ever, is, in my opinion, simply perfect. Lyrically it exposes the tensions felt as a young person; it captures the anxiety caused as a result of an imposing newcomer, and puts us all back into a situation familiar to our younger days. How many young people have been conscious of some other stealing their limelight? Hi-jacking their relationships? Taking their girl/guy? How many people have experienced that feeling of green-eyed envy and jealousy, which leaves you feeling paranoid and empty? I'd guess just about everyone. Despite this song being, musically, one of the most sumptuous, delightful, harmonies tracks you'll ever hear, that underlying material theme and uneasiness is right there within. Life In The Fast Lane is the riff that sparks the fire on the album; a wonderful duel of sorts between Joe Walsh and Don Felder - a duel with two outright winners. Wasted Time is a stunning ballad in which Don Henley's immense vocal steals the show, amidst some fine guitar playing, immaculate piano work, and a heavenly string arrangement. It is devastating in every possible positive sense.

The reprise of Wasted Time is equally as dazzling, pre-empting Victim Of Love, a thunderous lament co-written by Henley, Glenn Frey, Don Felder and JD Souther. Joe Walsh's slide guitar is riveting throughout. Pretty Maids All In A Row - Walsh's only self-penned track on the album - is an overwhelming love song in which his much criticised vocal puts many critics back in their unjustified boxes. The harmonies are everything you would expect from the Eagles; they are, in fact, so tight that it could be mistaken as one multi-dimensional voice. Try And Love Again, written by soon-to-depart bass player Randy Meisner, is a lovely country song, sang in his usual alluring style. The album ends with the epic The Last Resort - a song that has come up against much speculation over the years. Glenn Frey said in an interview that the song was about the loss of paradise; how human beings are experts at screwing up the environment and making a catastrophe of everything beautiful here on Earth. Musically it is untouchable; a prodigious statement, a colossal musical arrangement, and a hair-raising moment if ever there was one. It concludes a record that is so broad musically and thematically that it is impossible to compartment. It is Rock, Folk, Country, Pop - everything in fact. Conceptually it speaks about imprisonment, death, materialism, insanity, the separation of art and commerce, lost love, found love, drug addiction, the transient nature of fame, temptation, shallow relationships, manifest destiny and the American Dream. It is an absolute classic which every music lover should own, and never fails to reveal itself in a new light every time I listen to it.

Back in 2004 I was walking through Knox City, a multi-storey shopping centre just outside Melbourne, Australia. I spotted on a poster that The Eagles were coming down under for a series of shows, five of which were at the Rod Laver Arena. I rang my mate Travis, he came down, and we bought a pair of the cheapest tickets - $94.60 each. The most expensive were over $500 a piece. Capitalism gone mad. We were warned that we had paid for restricted view, but I suppose beggars couldn't be choosers. When the night finally came - wait for it - on a gloriously hot November's evening, Travis and I were blown away. First of all, our 'restricted view' seats were actually right at the side of the stage. I had people sat two yards to my right who had paid the full $500. Secondly, The Eagles were amazing. They played all the hits, their harmonies were incredible, the playing immense, and the atmosphere electric. A magic night. And, to top it all off, they released that very gig on DVD just for me as a keepsake. What cool old boys.

Since then I have managed to see The Eagles twice - once in Manchester at the MEN Arena (2006), and again at The O2 Arena in London (2008), where they plugged their brilliant new record Long Road Out Of Eden. It is a curse that I wasn't around to see them blossom in their heyday, but a total blessing to have caught them doing what they STILL do best in their autumn years. The Eagles are an institution - and, yes, they are commercial, but their importance and influence cannot be denied. Hotel California is one of my desert island discs; to think I'd never hear it again would break my heart in two. BUY IT!