Wandering up Sauchiehall Street last night, it seemed that
the exceptionally dark night colluded with the dreich and damp. The LED street
lighting did little to quell the foreboding. I just thought about a similar
trek in Madrid and how it never feels like. "Go and live there then you twonk" (other expressions are available but this is a family show), I hear flashing across your mind. You know, I think I just
might but that's a consideration for another day.
A friend commented on the Martin Rev show last night reckoning Rev was "a bit of a chancer". I didn’t take that as a
negative because while I understood exactly what he meant, I thought the “show”
worked. It’s about being able to convince those that are
watching, listening is secondary. Glasgow loves Rev and the city always loved Suicide. They were accepted there very early on.
Things ran a
little late and by the time he swaggered on, we’d been assaulted by various
degrees of noise via the opening “bands” and Twitch’s disc jockeying. It was
nice to hear Wall Of Voodoo again.
Marty’s performance is always entertaining. The volume
that he uses to punctuate the approximations of the material is sometimes
verges on painful but that’s part of the experience. I don’t wear earplugs but
I respect the right of others to do so. However, in this environment it’s shutting
out part of the fun. If you go to see nobel prize winner Bobby D these days,
you don’t get by numbers retreads of his songs. The Rev/Suicide “songbook” gets
the same treatment.
During “I Surrender”. I thought he mentioned Alan but I may
have imagined it. The bittersweet aspect to all this is that I really miss his
sparring partner. Not sure what the title of the second piece is. The one that
sounds like a demented loop of “Let’s Dance” by Chris Montez. Or The Ramones if
you prefer.
Rinky dink REV pix by my crappy phone
A loosely recognisable groove blew out of the squall every now and again but that was almost secondary. Welcome to extreme show business, I wonder how this might work in Vegas because this is entertainment. Pure but maybe not so simple.
A disco-fied edge informed much of the material played up to where I had to leave to catch the (Love) Train. Another loop of The Trammps “Disco Inferno”
threatened to engulf the fateful in a perpetual tailspin to Hades. Martin Rev
will turn 69 in a little over a week. He’s still out there.
Amy and Eric in Glasgow.... photo by Shona Thomson
In the town name-checked in “Do
You Remember That” where the pub that (nearly) everyone said she should stay
away from her ‘winnebago driver’,Amy Rigby returned to kick off the series of
UK shows. Glasgow’s Admiral Bar resonated to a set that drew upon an incredible
canon of songs that have appeared since the advent of “Diary of a Mod Housewife”.
Her debut album was only ever available on CD until now and she’s here now
pushing copies of the vinyl. It’s my theory that the people who could really
benefit most from hearing this gal are those who have no idea that she even
exists.
Aye. I consider this lady to be family but I’m
an objective sonuvabitch when push comes to shove and some of these songs have been known to move
me to tears. I have many memories wrapped up in these songs and I was
actually present at a couple of the ‘scenes’ logged in the
aforementioned “Do You...”. Something I don't take lightly.
But I ain’t here to sell you a
pup on behalf of a pal. I genuinely believe that it’s a crime to have someone
of this calibre playing the venues that you’ll find her in during this trip
when way lesser individuals are playing bigger places. I don’t ask for much
of this world but it’s time that people made a connection with the good and the
true again. It’s always a thrill to watch someone who’s never heard Amy just totally get it. Like someone who’s maybe never seen “It’s A Wonderful Life”
before, I envy that metaphorical punch in the face.
There were shout-outs to our dear-departed, Billy Miller and Stewart Cruickshank during the show. I’m pretty sure
that the disintegration of “Dancing With Joey Ramone” was down to Krunch himself, making himself known to us in the ether. T'was utter magic
nonetheless while a crazed “Twenty Questions” conjured up Hasil Adkins. Amy
can raise quite the ruckus when she wants to while “Don’t Ever Change” is one of the most gentle hymns to these times that you’ll ever hear. I'll never forget hearing that for the first time in the studio of BBC Scotland in Aberdeen back in 2001 and it hasn't lost it's potency one iota.
Having
Eric along on to add bass and guitar here and there was a treat. And there
were new songs too that will be coming up in 2017 on her next album. To quote
one of the songs that was performed on Thursday night, “Don’t make the fatal
error that you’ll find someone better, ‘cause you won’t.”
The world fell down after I returned from Spain. Idiocracy
turned out to have been a documentary sent from the future and folks that we
could really do with still having around have passed on.
La Alegria - for absent friends
I’ll take up this epistle where I left off. Leaving Benidorm
for Madrid after another rip-roaring FUNTASTIC. It was full on Hallowe’en when
we hit town, the streets were rammed. I made it to base camp and took a wee
while to regroup before heading to Madklyn where them Young Fresh Fellows were DJing at this excellent Madtoon haunt. It went well. From there I
introduced mi crew to the wonders of WEIRDO BAR! where Pantero Rosso was laying
down a mighty selection of shouty punk rock to which Kurt and I took great
pleasure in screaming along with.
Ther great crowd in there was equally up for the
craic. When the lights came on there was only one destination
that could follow this. Can you guess where that might have been? Wurlitzer is where. The place was jumping because November 1st was a holiday.
Monday night/Tuesday morning was for all intent and purpose a full blown
Saturday. The Dictators“Weekend” come to life on steroids.
Forth and McOi
Scott (McCaughey)
and I left Wurli at 5.35am. On my way to the hotel, I had pizza for breakfast. Or was it
supper? No coca cola though.
It was a real honour to be asked back to El Sotano, Diego and Francisco really make it fun. November 1st - being a holiday - was relatively
sedate. That lull is perhaps what brought upon the lurghi but
after 5 days with about 5 hours (maybe 8 tops) sleep then perhaps I was getting
what I deserved, getting further away from being a youngster with every passing
day. I’m reminded of that song by Spirit, “Nature’s Way”...
The Device
Next day, the YFF van headed for Valencia. Some of us
stayed put to just dig being in Madrid. The early night meant I was up bright
and early to meet Ulla and Murky for breakfast. One great thing did happen
though, Tad’s cymbal device was located and I was able to deliver it before the
band set off. That was the last sign that I recall of thinking that there could
be a god or something akin. Before the fucker started acting up and picking off good people for no apparent reason. The talisman had been returned though and that made me feel like I'd achieved something worthwhile.
Lisa and I met Mr Marco Padin, he of the Ghost Highway
imprint for a slap up Italian lunch at La Tagliatella out near where he works
near the Suentes train stop. This man
does great work. In the evening we did a wee tapas crawl with Murky and Eva.
Some time out just to talk and sup.
Three Troublemakers
November 3rd was Ruthie’s birthday and the
festivities took place over cocktails and the YFF show at El Sol. That was
quite a combo to have play your birthday party young lady! They even played
“Gear Summer” in which said wee lassie makes a cameo appearance! Ms Varla Rose made the Sol scene too.
So all of a sudden it’s Friday. And The Dahlmanns headed to
town with first-timer Jo Espen Johansen. Lisafer wired into “sea varmints” (c) LF - with them at the food hall while I stood back and watched. What I
recall of it because I was in a haze of booze and pharmacy drugs was a blast! At one
point my head totally cleared when I was in Wurlitzer with Jo and Andre. Line sensibly opted to sleep by that point. That place has healing powers and just as well because my Madrid electricity was on the futz
and then some.
La Fiambrera’s SHAG exhibit came to a close that Saturday.
These gals have really done an amazing job getting to the level they’re at now,
just a month shy of being open for 2 years. Having a bunch of my favourite
people on earth join me in the greatest city on earth was a trip. Of course
others were missed but next year I hope the whole gang can make it provided I
make it to the 6 decade mark. And even if I don’t then the party can still go
ahead.
Casa Camacho is virtually next door to my favourite pastry
emporium and it is the home of the "yayo"(a tasty aperitif that
consists of gin, vermú and casera). Ms Ulla and Captain Lagarto made a great
choice by picking this place and if you ever get out there you need to try one
or several of those. The lurghi kind of had me on the ropes but there was one
more night to go with the gang and I wasn’t about to wimp out. I wasn’t firing on all cylinders but at one point in Wurlitzer, I swear that my napper totally cleared. I don’t recall what was playing or what the intake
between the pharmacy drugs and booze was but I really should have
been paying attention rather than just attempting to stay vertical.
So maybe it wasn’t a blaze of glory but I think we did
pretty well. The upside of not being completely wasted was that it was really
just a tiredness/cold combo I had to deal with on the Sunday morning. Folks
were beginning to leave town and the curtain was on its way down. I left the
kids in Iowa (the cafe) to make a bee line to see Pantones play a kids show at La Casa Encendida, a very nice culture centre downtown that reminded me of the CCA in Glasgow.
It was so good to finally see them play. What it had to lack in volume was
more than made up for by seeing the rapport their music has with children of
all aged, parents and kids alike. They seemed like good role models as they let
the youngsters loose with their instruments after the set. The drone/proto-free jazz
noise emanating from the stage sounded like something a WIRE reader would
piddle themselves over. Meanwhile, there's a brand new album coming on Subterfuge. Sooner rather than later I hope.
Every one of the wee attendees will one day start or be in a
band. I’m sure of it.
Are there such events as these here in the UK? Health and
safety would likely have a field day and make it virtually impossible to stage.
The Spanish people are very savvy and seem to be blessed with a crazy strain of
common sense when it comes to family.
There was a children’s rock’n’roll show at Wurli that
morning too withLas Señoritas Estrechas and Calvario. Stepping back in there in daytime was a little psychedelic.
Menudofest is a regular occurrence where the kids get to chalk on the walls and
let off some steam in this very cool environment. Even if it’s a plot to
indoctrinate them for later life then it’s a win/win. They’ll associate it with
a good time. It's the “baby” of Marta, a punk rock Snow White that I
met in Benidorm with her friends in conjunction with Wurlitzer. The staff in this joint are real troopers in every respect of that word.
This almost brings me back to where we started. I was
really starting to fade but got my second wind when I was able to see Sonia
briefly and to meet her son Lux! He’s already beginning to act like his
namesake. Jim and Kurt came by having gotten back from Bilbao and that – as
they say – til next time - was that.
As I wandered back to get my bags and a cab to the airport,
I just wanted to get on the ride again but I was about to pay the price of
having such a good time. My thanks to everyone that chipped in and turned up to
make my 59th year on this fucked up world a special thing.
The Fellows adding "NBT" (based on The Screaming Dizbusters version) to their set in Benidorm and Madrid and a call from MRC
on were the icing on the cake. If I forgot something then that equates to me having an even better time than I think than I recall. How far can too far go? That's coming right up in 2017. I hope...
I didn’t know Don Waller but he was a pivotal character in
my zine upbringing. He and his merry band of maniacs put together a magazine
called Back Door Man that could arguably be considered the first ever punk rock
magazine. Bomp and the like seemed scholarly by comparison. BDM and Teenage
Wasteland Gazette signalled an injection of attitude or swagger to the world of
print.
I did have some dialogue and also correspondence with Don. I
think Sid Griffin was involved but I can’t remember what it was about. In
recent years I’ve suggested to anyone that would listen that a compendium of
Back Door Man was long overdue. Jim Parret tells me that he was working on such
a beastie with Hozac. I hope that will all come together.
Many of my friends knew Don so this must be a shock to them. In coming days, people will discover the importance of
this character in the various avenues of which he served. This week has gone
over the score on the condolenceometer and I’m aware that, being we’re at the
age we’re at, this could well just run and run.
But I sure hope there can be a
let up. Or that people who deserve to shuffle off this mortal coil might be
given priority.
The passing of Mose Allison just days after his 89th
birthday is yet another sign on the highway to the fact that there aren’t many
of the genuine innovators left. I’m perfectly aware that this is symptomatic of
us all getting old. I don’t appreciate the smart arse aspect of that being
pointed out but still, there is that cosmic certainty of inevitability.
Mose was, for a while, a shining example of living
history. That he was spared to a good age was absolutely to the advantage of
those of us who were able to see him play. Though I was aware of him, it was
only in the past 15 years that I really came to appreciate that he wasn’t just
some old jazz guy. It’s being reported that he was too blues for jazz and too
jazz for blues. In essence he was more than either of those pigeonholes.
I’d discovered an act called Parlor James on a visit to San
Francisco in 1996. One of the members was a lady by the name of Amy Allison.
Her voice was like nothing i ever heard before and I was captivated to the
point that I bought all the promo copies I could find in Amoeba Records. Some
years later, I contracted chicken pox in New York and found out that Amy
Allison was playing the Lakeside Lounge the day after the doc gave me the all
clear to get out of Dodge. Dodge being NYC.
A few years later the very wonderful Laura Cantrell cut an album,
“Not The Trembling Kind” and on it was “The Whiskey Makes You Sweeter” written
by Amy. Having asked Laura for contact details, I plucked up the courage to
cold call her and the rest is history, six weeks later she was here in Scotland
ready to play shows with Amy Rigby and ultimately to record with David Scott.
However, I digress. It seemed to be only right that I
investigate her dad’s work properly and it floored me. There had been versions
of his songs but being the singular artist that he was, the way to hear these
was performed by the man himself. I was lucky enough to see him perform too and
the last time. At Glasgow Jazz Festival in the Old Fruitmarket he tore the
place a new roof.
The one time I met him, I’m certain he had no idea what the
hell I was babbling about. He smiled and nodded a lot. My favourite recent Mose
story is the time that he appeared on “Later” and he declined to let Jools
Holland plink along with him. To me that's the measure of a true giant.
Mose Allison was a quiet cerebral man with nothing to prove to
anyone. He conducted himself as the archetypal Southern gentleman at all times
and if you never heard him then jeebus, you surely have a treat in store.
Amy sent this link to a cool obituary that explains in some detail just how important her dad is in the firmament o everything. I'm not about to say "Was".My condolences to my dear friend and her family at this time.
As you’ll no doubt be aware by now, Billy Miller left this
god-forsaken excuse for a planet on Sunday November 13th. He put up
a hell of a fight and in recent times I had convinced myself he was truly superhuman.
That he may well pull through because no mortal could really endure the run of
health hurdles this guy faced on a daily basis. So it was a shock to learn that
he he’d gone and perhaps the initial
feeling of loss was tempered with a wee bit of a relief to know that no further
trauma would befall him.
First time I met him was in the autumn of 1983 during my
first ever stateside. I’d been penpals with Miriam
since 1978 so we met up and hit it off, simple as that. Ours was a
transatlantic congress rooted in the fandom that had brought us together and
that no blighter was ever about to ever tear asunder.
The kids with Leo Schnauser, November 1987
And of course, we were hardcore Dictator fans when there weren't so many of those around. On my 30th birthday, Billy and
Miriam took me to meet Al Lewis at his restaurant in NY. One of the few times I’ve
ever been stuck for words. To Billy he was Leo Schnauser not Grandpa. The discussion moved on to Larry Storch as I recall.
Over the years we had many adventures. Not as many as I’d
have liked because some bugger decided to install a big pond between us so that
was problematic. Memories are a little
jumbled right now and trying to put this together, my head is jumping all over
the place. If it ends up making any semblance of sense then that will be more
by accident than any sense or notion of clarity.
I was looking for the story about the time he and I were on
a panel at Berlin Independence Days in 1988 but it doesn’t seem to be on the web any more. Greg Shaw stood up and told everyone that just two members
of said talking shop represented rock’n’roll referring to Mr Miller and myself.
That was quite an honour. You can see from the photo that they split us up in
the hope that we wouldn’t cause mischief. Did that work out? What do you
think??
That panel I was on about... Richard Boon, Some daftie, Jon Storey, ?, Ed Ward, ?, Sir Wilhelm Miller, ?
Them A-Bones at The Loft, Berlin 1988
The big European launch of the Norton Empire was at that same
BID event. Wolfgang Doebling had released "The A-Bones "Tempo Tantrum" 10”
on his own Exile Records and he brought the band to play during the event which
was the equivalent of something like the New Music Seminar crossed with CMJ. A
wee band from the Pacific Northwest by the name of Mudhoney was also in
attendance. Billy was tickled by the amount and selection of “baloney” (cold meats)
for breakfast that was available in the Pension we all stayed at. It was like
being at some crazy rock’n’roll camp where folks from all over came to talk
about music.
The A-Bones at Coyote Studios (?)
Billy Miller was the funniest, sharpest cat I ever
met. He had his finger on the pulse of everything. His perspective was based
upon an inherent grasp of the human condition. There was one situation that
involved a discussion about Bobby McFerrin
(I know) that I remember nothing about other than the fact that I
sniggered for hours afterward.
The last time I made it out to NY, Howard Thompson and I
visited Castle Norton and spent a fantastic afternoon there. I also got to
see them in my beloved Madrid and also in London with Roy and Cyril. The last
one in the company of Stewart Cruickshank who left us a year ago (tomorrow). Billy features in the Punk Rock USA documentary Stewart made so if
anyone would like to hear that then shoot me a message.
I've been looking through the pictures from B + M's wedding and I still can't believe we attended such an event. Talk about being made for one another... It boggles my mind to think of the way that Billy and Miriam
have had to struggle with illness and hardship these past few years. Folks this
good and pure and true should never be subjected to the gauntlet they’ve had to
run. It’s all too obvious that there is
no justice where such matters are concerned.
Mr Miller, Jay Street Fall 1983
Knowing Billy was such a privilege
that I can’t even begin to explain. Those of you who were lucky enough to
have met or spent any time with him at all know what I’m talking about. For
those that didn’t, you have the Alt. Smithsonian archive that Norton Records
resides over to investigate. The Millers have done more for the culture of
America that matters than anyone ever. Before “Americana” came to mean almost
nothing, Billy and Miriam were documenting what made their country great. When it actually was. If any dipstick can get us back to that then I'll take notice.
Despite what seems to be happening around us, the Norton vision is very much intact
and Miriam will carry that on. Joey Ramone only knows what must be going on in
what is left of her mind right around now.
Direct all your love toward that lady
for as long as it takes to at least get her on an even keel. Billy may not physically be around but he’ll never leave our
hearts nor or minds.
Very sorry to report the passing of my dear friend and total inspiration this shitty Sunday afternoon. Much love to Miriam and the family at this time we all hoped wasn't gonna come. And also to you folks who know what I mean when I say this was the funniest fucking gut I ever met and an utter gentleman always. More if I can ever think straight again later.
Arriving in Alicante the day everything kicks off adds a
degree of urgency to proceedings but it
also provided another glimpse of that small world syndrome. I met Rafa, a
Madrid native that has lived in Edinburgh forever. We must have been at the
same shows dozens of times but never met and share a whole bunch of friends and
acquaintances. It’s always great when this happens so we went straight to the
pub after getting off the bus to raise a glass (or two). That set us up well
but in the topsy turvy FUNTASTIC world, time doesn’t travel in a straight
aligned line like it does much of the rest of the time. Like when you go out to
eat at 9pm and all of a sudden it’s midnight and you realise you may well have
missed Shock Treatment. That’s the band, not the electroconvulsive therapy
however much you think that I might benefit from such a jolt or three.
As we boarded the UFO to head on out of this world
entertainment wise, I wondered what the denizens of “The Benidrome” must think
of the annual influx or do they even notice? FUNTASTIC XI was packed with even
more activities than ever. Meaning that if you could keep up with the pace then
it was perfectly possible that you could have no sleep for something like 50
hours straight. Not including the extra hour for the clocks going back. So we
arrived just before The Phantom Surfers busked their way to the stage in order
to close the opening party to leave the floor open to the death-defying DJs.
It makes my heart soar to see so many “weel-kent” faces. The
social aspect is perhaps more important than the bands but the sheer scope of
music delivered is mind-boggling, something for everyone and a wee bit extra just
for good measure. If you don’t care for what’s going down on stage then the
DJ’s will provide the soundtrack for whatever devilment you choose to get up to
out by the pool. The Pound to Draculin exchange rate was a little rough for we
Brits abroad because of the Brexit numbskullery but that didn’t hamper the
fluid intake none and you can’t put a price on this level of feeling that you
left that shitty old world behind for a bit. There are those that you really
wish were there too though. Those who could sure use a hit of this kind of
crazy.
Photo by Tom Ahawk
Saturday began quietly enough. A leisurely wander prior to
meeting La Hembra Alfa, Raccoón Robledano and the gang. I dunno, it seems to me
that these kids must feel like they have their grandpa hanging around but they
say not. I love them for that and a ton of other stuff.
JC3 / Photo by Tom Ahawk
The Johnny Casino Three were the best of the early evening
rock action for me. It tailed off a wee bit but I was too distracted with
everything else. It’s very hard to focus in this environment. The notion is to
just not try and retain what’s going on but then how would anyone find out that
they need to get their arses across to this annual blast.
I wasn’t too thrilled with The Ar-kaics records but live
they’re much more full blooded. From that point, they were the biggest surprise
to me. A really solid outfit that bear re-investigation and one that I would
definitely see again.
Zelatorrific! / Pic by Oklahoma Watt
Zelators delivered upon the four songs I saw them perform
less than a month ago. If the B52s had come from Akron then that’s just a wee
insight to what these folks are capable of. They’re working on their debut
album now so once that’s all in place, I think this thing could really travel. Damn
nice people too.
Las Munjitas Del Fuzz were next and they put the Mediterranean
into the Medway Sound and had Brother Russ Wilkins join them onstage.
Guitar
Wolf is a worthy concept in terms of performance art but for me, “musically”, that’s where it falls short. They sure know how to kick up a dirge but the
density of the noise is something I find utterly charmless. I’ve
tried. You might call it endurance but
it just strikes me as thunderously dull. Visually spot on but lacking any tangible substance. I like heid-boggling volume as much as the next
maniac but I find this lumpy and nowhere near as amusing as I wish it was. I’m aware that many will disagree, that is of course your/their perogative.
Photo by Tom Ahawk
What can I say about those Young Fresh Fellows. One of my
favourite bands since forever ago. I reviewed their first album for Sounds in
October 1985 – before many FUNTASTIC attendees were born – and have never looked
back. They are also my dear friends and they wedged a version of "THE NEXT BIG THING" into their set dedicated to me. I had no idea they were going to do that. These past three years that I have been fortunate to
attend this wonderful gathering of the clans, a band from the Pacific Northwest
has been the epicentre. I wonder who it might be next year?
So much drinking and dancing ensued following the Fellows.
La Hembra Alfa alerted me to this that Nacho de la Cruz had posted somewhere...
"Sí pero finalmente abrazasteis los cantos de sirena del moderneo y en
esas andáis aunque naturalmente reneguéis de ellos como San Pedro a Cristo,
pero compartís fiestas, festivales y demás codo con codo. Yo pensaba que había
dejado de molar desde hace años, pero viendo el sábado subido a la tarima de la
ventana del Funtastic a Lindsay Hutton con su esposa o pareja bailando como si
no hubiera mañana las putas canciones de toda la vida que estaba pinchando
parece que no, bueno sí, pero eso que me llevo."
It was nacho's DJ set what caused it. Possibly the greatest review I ever got. Viva Patricia!
Las Jennys - Photo by Isa Risa
It was already the wee hours of Sunday and nowhere near
enough sleep later, bound we were for Las Jennys de Arroyoculebro at Rockstar
Bar. A total highlight that just hit the spot. That wee wummin with the beard and the singer could cause a row in an empty hoose. Come to think of it "she" looks a wee bit familiar, don't you think?
Sunday evening was billed as Hallowe’en Pandemonium. To say that the collected
throng was up for all of that and more is an understatement. How Paloma and
Varo continue to be able to outdo themselves is nothing short of miraculous.
People come to this because they are fans of the organisers just as much as
they might dig any band that's playing. They trust the curation and they want to be in
attendance of the biggest party thrown in any given year. Cruising at the altitude FUNTASTIC flies at, experiencing is believing.
The Freaks of Nature were perhaps my hit pick of the final
run. Like The Manfreds channelling The Fleshtones Blast Off period. Paul
Manchester is convinced that The Cavemen are the greatest band in the world and
he even dressed up like one. I’m closer to the age of an
actual caveman and it was all a wee bit overwrought but the kids loved them. Like Les Grys Grys, they ain’t
for me but if it opens up a way for youngsters to discover this hooch then I’m
fine with that. Let me know when if ever they get anywhere near being as wild as Las Jennys.
Mummified / Photo by Isa Risa
The Fuzillis oeuvre is all over the shop but it really works as the atmosphere cranks up. An archetypal party outfit that get extra brownie points for shoe-horning a
version of Tommy Ridgley’s “Jam Up” into their repertoire. The Mummies were way
better than I expected and the ideal way to close the band action on the
eleventh edition of FDC. There was still
mucho dancing to do after that but I wasn’t able to stay til the death because
I didn’t want to feel like death on the drive to Madrid later that day. In this
fucked up world, there is no escape that can equal the outright pleasure that
is part and parcel of the FUNTASTIC experience.
The kids and some old daftie / Photo by Isa Risa
To all of the folks that
congregate from all over to make it what it is, I salute your stamina and ability to rage. To all of those who couldn’t make it this year due to
illness or whatnot, I hope that circumstances are different come 2017 and you
can beat a path back to the vessel that annually carries us on out of this
world. When on terra firma, we could be found in an excellent wee tea room
adjacent to our accommodation.
Florentine Salón de Te was often the place to be
and they do the most scrum-diddley-umptious mini jam doughnuts amongst much
other delights.
These serve as field recordings and shouldn't necessarily be indicative of how it sounded in the room or as a backdrop to the shenanigans taking place around any given performance. So don't judge any of the acts based on these. See them for yourselves should you ever get the chance.
Monday 31st October was the day we hit the road and headed for Madrid. More about that end of the adventure in due course... Howlin’ at the Hallowe’en Moon in my favourite rock’n’roll city in the world. What could possibly go awry?
I'm not sure who took this but they sure captured a great moment...
The Tenth Annual Wurlitzer Ballroom Bash just done ended.
Thursday was supposed to be a quiet one. It started with a
saunter that took in La Fiambrera to catch the SHAG exhibit. To see this stuff
on a screen and in books or even prints is one thing but in person, it’s truly
something. The much sought after “Spirit of 76” artists proof was there and the
originals are more vibrant than a supremely vibrant thing. Munster and WEIRDO BAR! were next and I ended up at Wurli while the show was still going full
pelt. This one had a hardcore flavour but all of the bands went way over that
ideal HC 18 minute set limit by quite a margin. I could hear the racket from
the street so that was close enough. GAS Drummers sounded particularly
reasonable from that proximity.
Thanks to the Jägermeister/Mahou/stellar
company combo, any notion of an early night hit the skids. I would never have
touched Jäger before I visited the Wurlitzer but their magic temperature
machine serves it at just the right viscosity for such a medicinal compound. And
who could realistically say no to those J-girls? I mean, really!?
So Friday was a little woozy and I was late in setting
out. A late lunch at Restaurante Cantalejo with Eva, Murky and Nickie was a nice
way to recharge. I recommend the albóndigas.
Alvaro Wurli kindly schlepped me along to see DEATH who were
playing at Sala Caracol. We got there in time to catch the last 4 songs by The Zelatorswho are the best “new” thing that I’ve seen in a long time. Combining the bass-tastic whoosh of Mysterious-era
Rezillos with The Comateens to arrive at a crazy cocktail of futuristically
backdated fizzy pop, I really thought they were good. DEATH on the other hand
were entertaining but not my Santa Claus by any means. I know the story, haven’t seen the film and the record I’d heard was at the Hendrix end of the
MC5. Imagine BŐC interpreted by Prince, good if that sort of thing floats your boat but I’d just seen and heard the very agreeable racket that The
Zelators make though. My judgement was (living) coloured.
Then all of a sudden, it was show time and to take in the
musical program that had been set. Over the next two days both Los Chicos and
The Boys would take the stage. I think there could have been a theme emerging
here...
Le Moto de Fernan are one of those spirited two person
outfits of which a little goes a long way with me. You’re familiar by now that
I have no attention span, right? I’d heard Juana Chicharro before when I fell down a bandcamp
rabbit hole one evening. They remind me of Desechables with a hint of Flamenco.
Relentless and damn good, their record is an accurate account of the atmosphere
they whipped up.
Los Wallas verge on the psychedelic and pack quite a twang.
For some reason they made me think about The Waterboys but that might have just
been the singer’s hat. By that time I’d had a few sherbets. They definitely enjoy
their Sergio Leone/Morricone.
The Chicos are nothing short of incendiary. We hear people
rattle on about bands being dangerous but these guys literally live up to that
epithet in the most positive sense possible. They were always great but now
they’re really cranking out musical kalimotxo that is obviously fuelled by the
stuff they neck in no small volume. Robert Rodriguez needs to cast the twins as
a kind of Cheech Marin/Tommy Chong on Pacharan in a Netflix original series
now. On top of their musical prowess, they are solid entertainers. The show
left everyone dazed. I offer the consideration that Los Chicos are
better than The Supersuckers were at the peak of their powers give or take a
song or three. There. I said it.
After they’d done, the inaugural Wurli blasting of The
Dahlmanns“Play It” and “Do You Want Crying” took place. Both sounded majestic
in their home away from home. Kent Norberg of Sator is also a member of The
Boys now. He was in the house and the last time I’d seen him was in Moss all of
this stuff happens for a reason and that notion takes on a whole new dimension
when one is pished. I needed to be somewhere sort of early so I left just after
5am, drinking water with the hooch really helps (thanks for the tip Jorge).
All of a sudden it was bloody Saturday. How the hell did
that happen?
When I eventually surfaced, I covered a fair amount of
terrain. Victor of I Wanna Management hepped me to the fact there was early
evening activity in (formerly Groovie) Mongo Sci Fi and Tiki Bar. They were
screening Animal House on the TV as mod and r+b blasters blared and I would
have liked to have hung around longer but time was literally slipping away.
Grabbed some fine hot pastry from my favourite haunt - El Cambalache - close to WEIRDO! and Mongo
then made my way down to Tres Cruces to meet up with the Robledo Crew. They
arrived just as the opening band started. Terrier are local pop youngsters with
a penchant for jangle and they sound like Luna in places. On this showing, they
have a healthy following.
Psychotic Youth had just started when we got in. Juancho
told me it was the first time they’d played Spain and this was a one off show.
Judging by the reaction, they’ll almost certainly be back. The Boys delivered.
I don’t think I’d seen them since they opened for The Ramones at Edinburgh
Playhouse. Great to see Kent Norberg of the mighty Sator front and
centre with his heroes, he was clearly having a ball as was the packed crowd. I
was subjected to a non-stop pummel as I tried to deflect revellers and have the
bruises on my arms to prove it. There was a hint of Mott marinated into their
performance of songs from their career. Uno highpoint was a local lass getting
up and singing "Brickfield Nights" with them. Another hoot was
Aku crowd-surfing. That gal is fearless!
Laura, you were well represented.
It is always a pleasure to hang out with friends and to meet
nice folks for the first time, some of whom are heading for Funtastic in just 3
weeks time!
As joints go, this one jumps more than it’s safe to think
about. 10 years in the ring and showing no signs of flagging, these shindigs just keep getting bigger and better. When I left a wee bit
north of 5.30am on Sunday morning, our hosts and hostess and the Wurli crew had
another fiesta to throw. And as I made it out the door a couple of punters came
in and broke into spontaneous dancing.
A total surprise and honour was to have NBT immortalised on
the birthday t-shirt. An extreme measure of success and muchas gratitude is hereby bestowed upon all who make Wurlitzer tick. Tick. BOOM!
