RIP - Paul Williams (Crawdaddy creator)

I know.

Said this thing was going to jumpstart. Well, there've been a few curveballs here and there that have gotten in the way. The enforced regime change with all this new hardware is taking a wee bit of acclimatising to also. Just finding time recently has proven to be problematic. All that considered, it is my intention to stir this thing into life. Maybe even change the decor now that I don't have to pedal so fast to make the screen flicker.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves, I'm just glad it's Friday night and I have no place to go. The weather here is grim but not here in the bunker. So let's see how the weekend pans out. No promises or expressions of achieving anything much.

Thanks for dropping by on the off chance something might have occurred, Something will when you - and I - least expect it to.

Still haven’t been able to shake this thing back into action but I made it out two nights in a row on Thursday and Friday. Two shows, two duos. Dynamicly intact.

It was the welcome return of Wreckless Eric and Amy Rigby to Glasgow. As always, the audience should have been bigger but those that were there were treated to this unique experience. Nobody else does what they do and even if they did, they wouldn’t come close to this level of entertainment. That’s what they do, they entertain. It’s not a choreographed chunk with the same banter at every show. It’s always tailored to the moment. It’s a pleasure to witness and hear. They deserve to be appreciated far more widely but these two are resigned to the slog. One day the world will catch up. It has to. The set closer of “Leaving On A Jet Plane” indicated what that would have sounded like had it been tackled by yon Velvet Underground for the third album. By the time it wound out, the meleé could well have come from VU and Nico.

So it was a late finish early on Friday morning. Once those Wrigbys headed for Gateshead, I returned to the reality of phone-rassling.

So by the time it got to the evening, the consideration of dragging myself into Edinburgh. Had I considered that the town would be chocka with rugby supporters, it may well not have happened. However, I flaked out the last time I was supposed to catch The Creeping Ivies so I figured extra effort should be made. The last time I was in The Wee Red Bar in Edinburgh was when Amy (Rigby) played there with her daughter Hazel. And strangely, I’d just talked to Hazel when her mom called her from here in the bunker.

Anyway, it’s a nice room and the Ivies were on a 4 band bill sweetened for me by a 10pm curfew.  I missed the first one. The second one wasn’t too offensive but the third one kind of was. I won’t name names but completely the kind of thing that exasperates me. Ironically desecrating the Boney M songbook is a pretty lame schtick but they had an entourage, one of which introduced them and I’m still trying to uncurl my toes.

The Creeping Ivies are very possibly the best “new” combo in Scotland. The two person group formation has thrown up much that I can’t take more than 10 minutes of. I include The White Stripes in that. But these kids have a magic ingredient, they also look great in addition to making a low down shakin’ chill-inducing racket. They’re honing their chops right now as they impatiently wait for vinyl copies of their “Stay Wild” album to drop.

This is an analog noise that sounds OK in a digital format but they were born to make slabs of wax. Their “Rock’n’Roll Party” EP is begging to be unleashed as a 7” example of the way it can still be done. The best thing about ‘em is that they’re not contrived. There’s a genuine magic that can’t be plotted via the modular antics that so many employ.

So I was glad I caught them finally. They exceeded expectation and I don’t experience that sensation too often.