Tuesday, August 28, 2012

I actually typed this last night and thought I’d posted it. Or dreamt I posted it.

Spent much of Sunday in a fog brought upon by the news of George Gallacher’s passing, the one saving grace that he seems to have left the theatre without suffering after what would have been a happy result for his team. George, in my experience was a fit-looking, dapper man who hadn’t visibly changed in years. A real gent that was always generous with his time. The fact that he and Fraser got to do some shows as The Poets in recent times is heartening too thanks to the relentless efforts of Lenny Helsing to make it happen. Introducing the music to new generations and making those that were already familiar with it relive a portion of their youth.

An abiding memory was a version of The Poets playing at my friend Simon’s birthday party at Sloans in Glasgow when Laura Cantrell and her crew were here. I guess it was during Celtic Connections? I remember the joy on Mr Tepper’s face witnessing one of the few things that wouldn’t happen in NY.

Never saw any of the recent shows. Thinking there would be plenty of time I suppose. Last time I saw him was a few months ago when he wrote up a jukebox tab for KP. Another wheeze I hoped to see through was for those two to meet the next time Matt & Kim were in town. Ain’t gonna happen.

Stopped in at the smallish but perfectly formed wee Scottish Cinema exhibit at NLS on George IV Bridge in Edinburgh. Well worth a schlep, even if it’s just to see the original poster for “The Battle of the Sexes” that’s part of it. I’d really like one of those and might even clear wall space for it. Finally saw “Searching for Sugar Man” too and it is pretty good but like Anvil, and in the wake of the giant spoof that life has become, some of the set up didn’t seem entirely plausible. The producer of the second Rodriguez album really got on my tits with a "total sincerity” schtick that really was hard to swallow to the point that I thought Chris Guest would appear any minute.

It’s only when Sixto Rodriguez and his family enter the scene that things begin to take on a more positive spin. His is a story that could never happen now. That type of mythical status is impossible and he’s sort of Jandek-like, not musically but in the way he was isolated from his audience.

Anyway, it is fairly uplifting in the end and he seems like a good soul. Nowadays as soon as someone coughs there’s camera footage so the romantic possibilities that there could be artists like this now are zero. This was a guy that slipped through the net. There are loads more both obscure and not so much that should be celebrated and perhaps introduced to a prospective new audience that might be able to provide that elusive tickle.

From there I attended a book festival event that was strangely not sold out. I’m not at liberty to say what it was because the reason for going was to score something that will be a gift for someone that may read this. If you really want to know what it was, and I’m sure most of you don’t care, then leave a comment on the post and I’ll get back to you.

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