Mr Ian Dury Caught On Camera... Again

Fast-paced and kaleidoscopic, Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll has clearly been put together with a respect and devotion that would make Ian Dury grin. Taking us from his shambolic early gigs in pubs to fame, fortune and inevitable decay in a country mansion, the film concentrates on the ever-widening divide between Dury's domestic life with long-suffering wife artist Betty, played by Olivia Williams, and their two small children, and his desperate need for musical affirmation. Directed at breakneck speed by Mat Whitecross (BAFTA nominated for The Road to Guantanamo), much of the action naturally takes place onstage. Dury must be one of the trickier roles to tangle with but Andy Serkis, until now best known as Gollum in The Lord of the Rings, inhabits the man so completely, it's unnerving – from the stumbling walk, result of a childhood bout with polio, to the ravaged Cockney growl that made Burl Ives sound falsetto.

There's a droll Withnail & I gloom at the start, but the opening credits, courtesy of pop artist Peter Blake, with whom Dury studied at the Royal College of Art, are eye-poppingly psychedelic, taking you right inside the riot of Dury's head. It contrast fits; for anyone in their teens and twenties in late-1970s England, the first bars of Dury’s jaunty top-selling single, Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick – played here, complete with crazed sax solo and anti-violence message – conjure a world of energy, possibility and louche charm, just the ticket in a country stuck deep in recession. As we watch Dury, already a dad, already an ex-art teacher, get kicked off one too many small-time stages and start to motor round defiantly selecting what were to be the Blockheads, that artwork springs up again; next thing you know, Dury's got the mixture right, gurning in that rock 'n' roll vaudeville style, roaring lyrics of such lecherous innuendo, you realise he'd never get a deal these days. Soon he's picked up girlfriend Denise (Naomie Harris) – he didn't call himself Mr Love Pants for nothing – and moved with her out of the family's suburban semi into a decrepit hole in what he liked to call Catshit Mansions. A new life was beginning.

But of course, Dury was nothing if not triumphant underdog, and the film, often dangerously moving, deals with this side of things in detail. Shadowy flashbacks document his efforts to survive the brutish boarding school for the disabled to which he was sent, and the memories of rare visits from his father (played by Ray Winstone), who'd take the young Dury out for idyllic days before returning him to the school and its bullies, many of them teachers. On a return 'celebrity' visit, he learns that one particular teacher has hanged himself, and smiles serenely, 'That's the best news I've had all day.'

The trouble was, Dury was a deeply selfish bloke, in the way the creatively driven can be. An early scene shows him rehearsing deafeningly while Betty, in the upstairs bedroom, is in labour. It's played for laughs (‘Can you keep the noise down? I’ve just given birth!’), and Dury's crumpling face as he holds the baby shows his tenderness, if it doesn't quite allow for remorse. But this is the man we watch leaving his son in the care of giant bruiser the Sulphate Strangler (actually, a bit of a teddy bear); forgetting birthdays; ignoring a ten-year-old Baxter all the way through a drug-fuelled party. You want to hate this charismatic egotist, quiffed in the manner of hero Gene Vincent, chainsmoking, beer-swilling, flirting but above all sweating over melodies and lyrics – but somehow you can't. The songs it was all for are present and correct, from the title track to Clever Trevor, re-recorded with crunching vim by the original Blockheads and not actually punk at all, though Dury's cited as a founder member and wore razor blade earrings before the idea crossed Johnny Rotten’s mind. No, this was much more complex, a brew of reggae, rock ‘n’ roll and jazz, a bouncing bed for lyrics of hilarious articulacy.

But the subtle mix of dark and light make this much more than a rock biopic. Whether we’re watching a young Dury being knocked to the floor, the estranged husband suavely buckling on callipers after a night of torrid sex or the finally shamed, remorseful father whispering to his son, 'Don't be like me. Be like you...', this is the tale of a vulnerable genius who barrelled through every setback. The film is top and tailed with scenes in the music hall tradition that framed Dury’s life so well, from rakish bravado to underlying melancholy.

Sing In The Cave

Here is the mystery of Seattle’s Cave Singers: They never listened to much folk music, they never intended to play folk music, and more importantly, their guitarist never picked up the instrument until recently. Yet, this strange trio is writing and performing some of the most hypnotizing folk music we have today.

One listen to Invitation Songs, however, and you’re ready to call bullshit on them. It sounds like an updated version of the Anthology of American Folk Music. Not the graduate-student, learned interpretations of folk music circa 1962, but folk music approached by way of punk rock. It's sparse, melodic, creepy, and alluring, like the widow mourning graveside in Johnny Cash’s “Long Black Veil”. Guitarist Derek Fudesco's bottom-end acoustic work sounds like Mississippi John Hurt's soft, rolling finger plucks. Singer Pete Quirk's appealingly nasal voice simultaneously echoes Arlo Guthrie and a mosquito's buzz. And drummer Marty Lund plays like he's slapping a newspaper on a kitchen table.

Though Quirk spent time in Seattle post-punk group Hint Hint, Lund in Cobra High, and Fudesco as bassist for Pretty Girls Make Graves and the legendary Murder City Devils, maybe they’ve been folk artists all along and we just haven’t been open to the idea.

The band maintains that they never made a conscious effort to play a certain 'style' of music, and that, besides the odd Dylan record, their favorite bands are still the Replacements, the Pixies, Fleetwood Mac. With that in mind, I do believe it was Big Bill Broonzy who quipped: “All music is folk music.”

Invitation Songs is the Cave Singers’ debut. It was recorded in Vancouver, British Columbia by Colin Stewart (PGMG, Black Mountain), and its title is appropriate; it is one of the warmest and most welcoming records of 2007. Each track is coated in a dense atmosphere that feels humid but not stifling. The shuffle-stomp rhythms on “Seeds of Night” and “Dancing on our Graves” recall Civil War marches, highlighting Lund’s innate abilities. Elsewhere, on “Royal Lawns” harmonicas sigh and echo back like ghosts in abandoned railway cars. The brooding, washboard-driven “Called” is kin to Ugly Casanova’s chain-gang musings, and Quirk’s mid-song yelps don’t sound planned, but rather like the ultimate summoning of his inner turmoil.

“Helen”, a classic tale of a long lost lover (“Helen, you’re eyes are frozen in my brain”), employs a wavering synth to create a Martian blues vibe. On the rustic rock-flavored “Oh Christine”, another strummy song of a love just out of reach, Quirk takes on an almost jazz-poet tone. “I saw you smoking in the bar just the other night/If I saw you right...I saw you drinking in the bar just the other day/And what’s that I heard you say?” Nothing fancy, but he sings as if he is conjuring memories so personal he has to force them through his pinched teeth.

You see, the Cave Singers' music demands attention. You’ll throw this record on, maybe in the morning while you’re getting ready for work. Then, in the middle of the day, one of Quirk’s lyrics or Fudesco’s riffs will pop into your head, the way a Townes Van Zandt song does. You won’t be able to shake it. You’ll go home and listen to it again. Pretty soon, Invitation Songs will have worked its way into your subconscious and become the soundtrack to this moment in your life. Invitation Songs will remain a part of you forever.

Roses Made Of Stone

The Stone Roses were four lads from Manchester who believed they could be better than the Beatles. They had influences, sure, but they wanted to be individual. Because only then could they last. Only then would they mean something to future generations. The Stone Roses survives and shines because the band wanted their debut album to be a timeless record. Listening to it may take you back to baggy, to Madchester, to ecstasy and dancing in fields in floppy hats and flares. But it also exists in its very own space.

Sometimes it's cool to be arrogant. Sometimes it's OK to be confident and cocky. The Stone Roses had cheek and ridiculous self-belief. When producer John Leckie finished work on the band's eponymous debut, he told them they were going to do well. They shrugged; they knew. They had that idiosyncratic Manc swagger as epitomised by Happy Mondays before them and Oasis after.

Although singer Ian Brown was beautiful, with his pale northern skin, Jagger lips and hollow cheeks, the Roses were also very much a band. You get the idea that when Brown and Squire went into the studio with bass player Gary 'Mani' Mounfieldand drummer Alan 'Reni' Wren, they trusted and understood one another and were able to do what came naturally to them. They didn't worry about the influences of Jimi Hendrix or Johnny Marr, they just wrote what was in their hearts. You can't create genius; it just is.

When The Stone Roses was released in May 1989, it almost instantly became a classic. The opening chords of 'I Wanna Be Adored' are a perfect statement of intent, sending shivers down the spine with a rumbling, thumping bassline even before Squire's immense guitar sound sets in. It matters not that the lyrics have barely more than a dozen words; the sentiment is made crystal clear.

John Leckie's clever production allows the band to explore their ideas, leaving the songs with raw edges and making them feel real rather than synthetic. Brown's vocals are assured yet sometimes a little croaky, silky smooth yet a little cracked. And the folky Simon and Garfunkel feel is not just present on the 59-second 'Elizabeth My Dear' (an attack on the Queen set to the music of 'Scarborough Fair') but throughout the album.

In some ways this is not the sound of Manchester in the ecstasy-fuelled late Eighties, but a universal sound born of the Sixties. Squire may experiment with Hendrix ('Shoot You Down') and Marr ('Bye Bye Badman') but his heart favours trippy, psychedelic guitars. And he certainly knows how to write anthems, from the magnificent melody of 'Waterfall' to the closing track, 'I Am the Resurrection'. Brown later explained that he had to coax the band into letting the latter run to its full eight minutes, 12 seconds; they were worried about being pretentious prog rockers.

While the others were worrying about the effects of freeform jamming, Brown was wondering what might become of them. 'If we do get big ... we're either gonna get fucked up or we're gonna die - that's what happens to everybody.' He wanted to be in the biggest band in the world - he believed he was - but he knew there could be serious consequences too. Yet even Brown could not have anticipated a long, painful fight with their record label and a delay of over five years before a second album appeared.

In the end, the Stone Roses split up very publicly. All the stories seemed so important at the time: Brown and Squire no longer on speaking terms, the paint thrown over the offices of their other record label. Yet none of that really matters now. Fifteen years on, what we are left with is the art, the music.

The Roses had northern cool but they also had northern soul. They believed they should matter and they did.

John Lennon Talks To Rolling Stone

Not content to be merely an ex-Beatle. John Lennon has carved out a new career for himself as political gadfly, floating member of the international avant-garde and as rock's most psychologically daring tightrope artist. John has always displayed an amazing capacity for growth, and it one is impatient with the speed with which he takes up and then discards various causes, philosophies, and people, the other side of the coin is that he hasn't fallen into the latter-day complacency of various other rock and roll over-achievers.

Yet despite his quest in and out of music. Imagine raises the question how much further John can progress with the vocabulary of concepts and feelings land down on John Lennon Plastic One Band.

POB's importance lay not in the fact that it is the culmination of certain tensions which can be seen in John's work since the beginning (the lyrical directness and vocal intensity, for example), but that it was also their solution. As an early adolescent. John chose rock as both his artistic and therapeutic medium. Rock and roll's was of solving problems is simply stating and restating them ("I Can't Get No Satisfaction" is the classic example) and through the resulting emotional and physical exhaustion, the pressure is temporarily alleviated However, the intervention of the primal therapy experience forced John to redefine his approach in a subtle but decisive way Where he had sung "Twist and Shout" with the urgency of someone who had to get something off his chest, he sang the songs on POB as a final recreation of his original traumas, and as a document of their cure. POB is a profoundly "ultimate" album, because it unbends the mainspring of at least one man's rock and roll career. The question of following up POB was thus inescapable because it was difficult to imagine its successor being merely more of the same.

The problem of following an album as perfect as POB is of course more than a stylistic one. POB took an individual course. Where the trend of rock over the past few years had been one of increasing complexity and sophistication (certainly John, with songs like "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "I Am the Walrus" is as responsible for this as anyone), POB represented a return to rock's most visceral, and still implicit origins. Of course, it was not done naively, but with a full regalia of theoretical justifications. But it is a style which, because it is so bound up with a particular experience at a moment in time, is obsolete once it is expressed.

On the evidence of Imagine, I don't think John has resolved the manner in which a masterpiece and an artistic dead-end like POB can successfully be followed. In its technical sloppiness and self-absorption, Imagine is John's Self-Portrait. Most of it centers around issues which have already been dealt with on POB, only here handled less passionately and, strangely, less fastidiously as well. For POB, in its singing and instrumental work, was as much a triumph of artifice as of art. It managed to sound both spontaneous and careful, while Imagine is less of each. Even though it contains a substantial portion of good music, on the heels of POB it only seems to reinforce the questioning of what John's relationship to rock really is.

"Imagine," for instance, is simply the consolidation of primal awareness into a world movement. It asks that we imagine a world without religions or nations, and that such a world would mean brotherhood and peace. The singing is methodical but not really skilled, the melody undistinguished, except for the bridge, which sounds nice to me.

I first heard "Crippled Inside" on my car radio. I didn't know right off who it was (though the dobro sounded like George), but was convinced that only someone very famous, in this age of banal competence, would dare put out something so haphazard. The song's refrain and theme is "One thing you can't hide/Is when you're crippled inside," and is another pitch for John's personal outlook. It sports an Ed Sanders-type vocal.

It is not clear whether "It's So Hard" came before or after John's primal therapy experience. "It's so hard, it's really hard Sometimes I feel like going down." John sings, and the words can have the most general meaning, or, applied to John's own past, the most specific. The guitar playing is extremely basic; the sax playing by King Curtis is extremely compact. Like "Crippled Inside," it sounds to have been done in a single take.

"Oh My Love" is another post-primal testimonial, to the effect that John can only now see, feel, and love for the first time. John's singing here is not as full-bodied as on POB, though part of the blame must be placed on the quality of the recording, which doesn't sound as good to these cars as that on the earlier album.

"I Don't Wanna Be A Soldier Mama I Don't Wanna Die" is an enumeration of all the roles John withdraws from, and contains some incisive lines like, "Well, I don't wanna be a lawyer mama, I don't wanna lie" and, "Well, I don't wanna be a thief now mama. I don't wanna fly." The melody is essentially the Kinks' "You Really Got Me." An aura of grandiose decadence envelops this cut. When John shouts "Hit it!" to the horns, it is like some ancient tyrant commanding the Nubians. He sounds both long-suffering and cruel.

"How," again has a nice bridge, but is otherwise fairly drippy, and contains predictable lines like, "How can I have feeling when I don't know If it's a feeling?" "Oh Yoko!" is a charming bauble, another tribute to his wife.

The three really worthy, musically effective numbers are "Jealous Guy," "Gimme Some Truth," and "How Do You Sleep." And while on a spontaneous level I find them the most musically appealing. I think there are also sound reasons for their quality. Each of them represents an area of John's sensibility which he has previously not presented, and while I find "How Do You Sleep," John's character assassination of Paul McCartney, horrifying and indefensible, it nevertheless has an immediacy which makes it more compelling than most of the rest of the album.

"Jealous Guy" is a touching confession. It boasts a brilliantly tortured, pathetic vocal and an eloquent string arrangement. His voice here is weak and lacks range, but this only contributes to the effect. The song is powerful because it progresses beyond the realm of POB. There, John's whole realty was "Yoko and me." Here, then insulation and mutual devotion comes unstuck out of John's lack of trust in her, and the moment is a humane and revealing one The initial musical motive and the piano arrangement are highly reminiscent of "Day in the Life."

"Gimme Some Truth" is one of John's famous polysyllable songs, and like "I Found Out" is a series of denunciations. Here, however, the shock of recognition is not dramatized, rather, John knows perfectly well what the truth is, and is merely disgusted with all the hypocrites whose business it is to obscure it. It contains a brilliant seething guitar solo by George

In sheet viciousness, nothing on the album surpasses "How Do You Sleep." It begins with the orchestra tuning up, a la Sgt. Pepper. and proceeds to lay waste to Paul's character, family and career. John is still a wicked punster, and lines like "The only thing you done was yesterday" hit then mark. But beyond the cruelty of it, it is offensive because it is unjust. Paul's music may be muzak to John's cars, but songs like "Oh Yoko" of "Crippled Inside" are no more consequential than anything on McCartney or Ram. And while a song like "It's So Hard" is more "serious" than much of what's on those two albums. it is certainly no better. As for "You live with straights who tell you you was king," popstars do have their sycophants and I wonder if John is really such an exception. As for "Jump when your momma tell you anything," that is an unusual accusation for John to hurl at someone else. Finally, there is the audacity of the retrain "Ah how do you sleep at night?" as if to suggest that Paul's conscience should be bothered by the course his life has taken.

The motives for "Sleep" are battling. Partly it is the traditional bohemian contempt for the bourgeois; partly it is the souring of John's long-standing competitive relationship with Paul. When they were both Beatles their rivalry was channeled towards the betterment of the Beatles as a totality. Apart, it is only destructive.

Most insidiously, I fear that John sees himself in the role of truth-teller, and, as such, can justify any kind of self-indulgent brutality in the name of truth. In "Gimme Some Truth," John complains, "I've had enough of watching scenes. Of schizophrenic-egocentric-paranoic-prima donnas"; who is he speaking about now? Personally. I'm interested in John the man, his personal trials and dramas, because he has revealed them to us as John the extraordinary artist. If he does not continue as such, his posturings will soon seem not merely dull but irrelevant. It seems to me that John is facing the most extraordinary challenge of his career, both personally and artistically. But then, great artists, of whom John is one, are nothing if not resourceful.

Nazi's Are Wack Like Woolworths

There is absolutely no question in my mind that when it comes to intertwining lyrics with music, Pete Doherty is a genius. He continuously demonstrates that when it comes to songwriting, they aren’t many better. However, I also have no doubt in my mind that when it comes to making life choices, Pete Doherty sometimes decides to go down the wrong alleyways. You know what I’m talking about; the sort of alleyways that end up in either rehab, a courtroom, or on stage in Germany singing a Nazi anthem.

Now, there are certain things that you just don’t do. Inviting a known pedophile who is a registered sex offender to provide the entertainment at a 4 year olds birthday party is one, playing hide the remote control with your mates bird is another, steeling money from a Barnardos collection pot at your local bakery is definitely a no-no; and standing on stage in front of thousands in Germany whilst singing a known Nazi anthem is something that you should never do. Now, thankfully I haven’t done any of the above, but I know a man who has.

Pete Doherty wasn’t even booked to play at the On3 Festival in Munich at the weekend. However, being drunk enables one to have more confidence in trying to persuade people to do something they want to do. Now, Doherty was backstage drunk. And he wanted to be on stage drunk. So, he persuaded the On3 organisers to let him perform. However, they had no clue what he had in mind.

The Babyshambles front man took to the stage and sang the first stanza of Das Deutschlandlied. Now, although the third stanza is now Germany's national anthem, the first stanza is considered demonstration of far-right sympathies. The crowd booed so loud that Doherty was removed from the festival and sent on his way.

A statement was released through one of Doherty’s spokesman which said that he "was unaware of the controversy surrounding the German national anthem and he deeply apologises if he has caused any offence".

Was it bad luck, or was it stupidity? Who knows. But what I am sure about is Doherty’s German fan base may have dwindled slightly.

Moving Through Records At Lightspeed

The number 50 is big yet small at the same time. 50 pennies won’t get you a lot. You couldn’t get the bus, buy a bottle of water or even use the toilet on Ryan Air. However, with 50 pound coins you could get the bus to the airport, buy a bottle of water in departures and then fly to Amsterdam with enough change in your pocket to enjoy nice trip to the Red Light District. 50 real elephants would take up a lot of space in your front room. However, 50 miniature toy elephants will provide your young nephew enough entertainment to keep him from irritating you whilst you watch Only Fools and Horses reruns over the Christmas break. In terms of music, to write 50 songs is one thing, however to write 50 albums is quite another. And the latter is exactly what Lightspeed Champion has done.

Mr Champion, AKA Dev Hynes, has spoken out about his resolution to put social media, TV and just about anything else to one side to consecrate on clefs and quavers. He told Spinner; "I decided that in every gap in the week that I found myself sitting down, or watching TV or waiting for tea to brew or logging on to Facebook, I would write and record a song instead," Hynes then went onto explain on his blog. "[I'd do it] without any real thought ... by making words up essentially as I went along”. And done that he’s done in abundance.

Hynes is set to release 50 bootleg albums that he’s written over the past 2 years. "Some, I would say, are awful ... But mostly I find it all interesting. It's an experiment. Even some that I don't like particularly, I like the idea behind it”. It should be known that the bootleg series has nothing to do with Hynes second proper album, Life is Sweet! Nice to Meet You, which is due to drop in February.

The first bootleg album is available to download now; aptly titled House Sitting Songs, the album was written during Mr Champion’s extended stay in Manhattan as he was house sitting for a fellow musician. Hynes spoke on his blog; "The person in question was a musician and had a couple guitars lying around, as well as mini keyboards and drum pads for their kid to play on". So as all good musicians do he strummed, hit and pushed his way through house sitting in order to produce the House Sitting Songs.

2010 is panning out to be an interesting year for Lightspeed Champion. With 50 bootleg albums and the release of his second long player confirmed, I’ve got to say, I’m looking forward to it.

Is That Jam On Your Face?

The Jam, one of the great British bands, was a thick-as-thieves punk trio who bashed out mod anthems, led by the eternally boyish Paul Weller. On albums such as 1978's All Mod Cons, 1980's Sound Affects, and the 1982 live summary, Dig the New Breed, Weller sang his tales of ordinary English life, envisioning a nation of sad-eyed boys dressing up to go race their Vespa scooters through the streets while a hundred lonely housewives clutched empty milk bottles to their hearts. The fantasy struck a chord in the U.K., where Weller came to be revered with fanatical devotion. Although the Jam never had an American hit and broke up 20 years ago, these sharp-dressed mods have influenced practically every decent British rock band since.
Weller, the self-proclaimed "Cappuccino Kid," was only 18 when the Jam debuted in 1977 with In the City. He yelled his clumsy youth-explosion lyrics over frantic guitar riffs, but even when the band slowed it down for the naively touching "Away From the Numbers," his Woking accent was too thick for any American to comprehend, one of the reasons the Jam never came close to cracking the U.S. This Is the Modern World had weaker songs, as sophomore albums do, except for "Life Through a Window." But All Mod Cons made Weller a boy wonder over in Britannia, with a cover of the Kinks' "David Watts" as a touchstone for Weller's catchy little vignettes, especially the funny "A-Bomb in Wardour Street" and the politically charged "Down in the Tube Station at Midnight." (Despite the somewhat bizarre claim in Jon Savage's England's Dreaming that the Jam were Tories, they were the U.K.'s most energetically left-wing pop stars.)

From their Who/Kinks/Creation riffs to their mohair suits, the Jam touched off a glorious mod revival, inspiring followers like the Merton Parkas, the Jolt, and Secret Affair, whose 1979 hit "Time for Action" perfectly summed up the mod lifestyle: "Looking good's the answer/And living by night." But Setting Sons was a pompous concept album, taking the whole influenced-by-the-Who business a little far, despite "Thick as Thieves," "When You're Young," and "Saturday's Kids," a boyish answer to Blondie's "Sunday Girl." The Jam had its first #1 U.K. hit with "Going Underground" and followed with the magnificent Sound Affects. The album offers the poignant teen-boy ache of "Start!," "Monday," and "Boy About Town"; the sha-la-la harmonies of "Man in the Corner Shop"; a Shelley poem on the back cover; and the Jam's best song ever, the acoustic lament "That's Entertainment," which can break your heart even if you have no idea what Weller's saying.

The Jam faltered with the R&B moves of The Gift -- why these three decidedly unfunky gentlemen decided it was their destiny to get on the good foot, the world will never know. "Town Called Malice" was a gem with an elastic bass line and a howling organ, while "Ghosts" was an elegiac ballad. But the lads were rich adults now and could no longer pretend to be the skinny-tied, bowling-shoe-wearing, Union Jack-waving, tube-station-frequenting adolescents of "Boy About Town" or "Saturday's Kids." So they bade farewell with the superb single "Beat Surrender," though Weller kept pursuing his R&B and classic-rock influences, first as the Style Council and then solo, aging from the Cappuccino Kid to the Duke of Decaf but still sounding touched by the hand of mod.

Of all the Jam's many overlapping repackages, the original 1983 double-vinyl Snap! is still the best, blasting off with the essential early hits "In the City" and "All Around the World." But it's truncated on CD and includes only the inferior demo version of "That's Entertainment," so the 1991 Greatest Hits is preferable. Snap! has the version of "The Modern World" on which Weller yells, "I don't give a damn about your review!"; on Greatest Hits, it's "I don't give two fucks." The poorly selected 2003 Sound of the Jam omits necessities like "All Around the World" and "The Bitterest Pill." Extras has ace covers of the Who's "So Sad About Us" and the Beatles' "And Your Bird Can Sing"; Direction Reaction Creation is an impersonal but functional box set. Dig the New Breed, the Jam's superb live album, has dramatic renditions of "Ghosts," "Going Underground," and "In the Crowd," plus a version of "That's Entertainment" even more moving and incomprehensible than the original. A final thought, from "Boy About Town": "There's more than you can hope for in this world."

That Can't Be True

A good rumour is a lot like buying a second hand car. It starts out great giving you lots of false hope. Then one day it decides to break down on you just as you enter the Blackwall Tunnel. It’s at this point that you realise that everything that Dave’s dad told you when you bought it was a complete lie. Note to self: Never buy a motor off Dave’s dad. Then there are some rumours that are so ludicrous that you just don’t even give them the time of day. And why should you? They’re complete horse shit.

Thanks to the internet rumours and myths come quicker than adolescent in a room full of Page 3 models. One of my favourites from years gone past was that Jim Morrison is still alive and kicking.

Myths: Jim Morrison is alive and someone else’s body is in his grave.

Facts: Some people still don’t believe that Morrison’s body is the one buried in his grave in a Paris cemetery. The official cause of Morrison’s was listed as a heart attack (believed by many to have been drug related) in 1971. One enterprising gentleman has even produced a video that he claims is Morrison living the life of a cowboy in the Pacific Northwest. People who have seen the video say the man in it bears no resemblance whatsoever to Morrison, and other than the fact that many of his song lyrics had mystical themes, there is no evidence to suggest that his death was faked.

What I say: Complete and utter rhubarb.

Keep The Kula

Once upon a time; long, long, long ago. There existed a land called Britpop. This was an innocent place; a place that excited before terrorist outrages, war in Iraq and Big Brother. A place where Rock’n’Roll was about living for the moment. One group, however, stood out amidst this boozy bacchanal. Emerging in spring 1996; Kula Shaker were strict vegetarians, discussed Arthurian legend in interviews and, when the fancy took them, wrote top five singles in Sanskrit.

After two albums of impeccable progressive pop–boasting themes ranging from global meltdown to Orwellian paranoia – on 11th August 1999 they vanished as quickly as they arrived. “It was getting closure to the eve of the Millennium”, explains Crispian Mills. “At this stage, all the innocence and optimism which we’d started with had been sucked out of us by the process. We went through so many hassles with managers and labels you wouldn’t believe. We played a festival in Cornwall to coincide with the full solar eclipse and splitting up just seemed like the appropriate thing to do.”

As with most bands that’ve played a hand at pop’s high table, a lengthy cooling off period was necessary. In their absence, a host of new groups emerged, inspired either by their love of William Blake (The Libertines), acid rock (Wolfmother) or Boys Own sci-fi (Muse). It wasn’t until last year, however, when Crispian asked original members Alonza Bevan (bass) and Paul Winter-Hart (drums) to try out a song he was working on, that they found themselves back in the same room together. Against the odds, the old magic was still there.

“We recorded a fully blown Hindi song for a charity record. The music just lifted all the poison out. There was still so much energy between the three of us. It’s going to be ten years this year since ‘K’ came out, so we decided It was as good a time as ever to get back together.”

Recruiting keyboard maestro Harry B. Broadbent to complete the line up (original organist Jay Darlington deciding to keep his night-job with Oasis) the band set about rekindling their musical fire. Having tested the water with the ‘Revenge Of the King’ E.P (recorded in “a shed in New Malden; it was very Terry’n’June”) Kula Shaker played their first gig for seven years just before Christmas last year.

“We wanted somewhere off the radar so we got a gig under another name, in this tiny tiny pub as the in Leighton Buzzard we’d once played many years ago. “laughs Crispian. “Somebody must have told them who we were, cos there was literally a sandwich board outside with ’Kula Shaker- live tonite’ written on it. Hysterical. “It couldn’t have been more perfect if we’d staged it. We were all in fancy dress and the audience went bonkers.”

To ensure no one mistook this new adventure for an Electra glide down Memory Lane, the band set to work on their third album. As they had always planned, it would be called ‘Strangefolk’. “The recording process wasn’t easy. There were a few things which threw a Spaniard in the works. But we’ve still got the same beliefs and love of music we always had. For me, song writing is still about storytelling, and Kula Shaker have always been very cinematic.

Lyrically, “Strangefolk” sees Crispian return with an older, wiser head. If the proclamations of ‘K’ and ‘Peasants, Pigs And Astronauts’ were songs of innocence, these are undoubtedly songs of experience.

“There were a few things I wanted to get off my chest” he continues. “I think rock & roll has failed to really comment on the war. It’s staggering, so much going on and yet so little to say about it. Seems like there’s a real complacency in the air.”

Accordingly, “Strangefolk” delivers a lacerating assault on Blairaq (“To Die For Love”) a storming swamp-blues addressing Katrina and her waves (“Hurricane Season”) and in post-millennial mantra “Song Of Love/Narayan”, an epic to rival Ben Hur. Those fearing the band have lost their sense of mischief should head for “Great Dictator Of The Free World”, a song delivered from the perspective of George Bush, climaxing with the line “I want to make love in Guantanamo!” If there are flashes of Freakbeat, Ragtime, Chicago Blues, acid rock and mediaeval harmonies along the way, that’s because those are the forms of music the band love. They’re old fashioned like that. For Crispian, it sees the band coming full circle since those dark days of ’99.

“We are living in exciting and terrifying times, but it feels right to be back. We’ve missed being here, and hopefully people have missed us too.”

Missed them? A Rock’n’Roll band who look great, have tunes to spare and would rather sing about the state of the planet than the state of their wardrobe? They’re just in the nick of time. Watch the skies-Kula Shaker are overhead.

Such A Blur

Can you remember what you were doing at 9:50pm on June 28th 2009? You can’t? Well, I’m not some sort of mind reader that has the ability to look into the past of people that I’ve never actually met; however, I do know that 170,000 of you were gathered together to partake in something special simultaneously. And when I mean special, I mean really special. Admittedly, both stumbling across money stuffed down the back of your sofa, or finding out that the bird you always fancied at school likes you back are special; yet neither can compare to what happened between 9:50pm and midnight on that memorable summer evening. Why? Because Blur were back together again performing to the masses on the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury.

This performance has gone down in history as one of Glastonbury’s finest. There are a number of reasons for this. Firstly, in terms of live music there isn’t a better setting than Glasto. It’s the epitome of what rock & roll stands for. It makes bands and breaks bands. It’s the one time of the year where likeminded people from up and down the age ladder gather together in order to rejoice and have it off to something amazing. And 2009’s festival delivered in abundance.

This moves me on to point two. As a band, Blur have achieved vast amounts of success. They grabbed the attention of the youth and gave them some much needed southern-style direction, during a time when northern bands were hogging the limelight. When Coxon left the band in 2002 and Blur subsequently stopped recording music or playing live, an obvious gap in the market was formed. The public missed unique sound of a Colchester based band that’s music was laced with erudite quips of the highest caliber. And with Glasto being the festival that it is, there is no better setting to gel it all back together again.

And the third reason that Blur’s performance at 2009's Glasto has gone down as one of the greatest is because they didn’t fail to deliver. Their show was packed with hit after hit; with each one sounding as good this they ever did. In fact their show was so good that they won Best Vintage Headline Performance at the UK Festival Awards.

Other notable winners at this years awards include:

Best Headline Performance: Blur, Glastonbury
Best Major Festival: Glastonbury
Best Breakthrough Act: Florence & The Machine
Best Metropolitan Festival: Gaymers Camden Crawl
Best Medium Festival: Bestival