I have never felt older (give or take) than I did during the sets by the two opening bands in London on Wednesday evening. Regurgitating several decades of what has already been reconstituted to death, this was the musical equivalent of turkey twizzlers or whatever. One of the members of Cymbals looked like Chesney from Coronation Street from where I was standing. The poster said something about the other act being called Prehistoric Penguins, if it’s the same group and they changed their name then change it back. I know I could google to validate that but I already burned way too much time experiencing their, er, music.

Openers, Echoes – all the good names are already taken. We know this but come on, “you’re ‘avin’ a giraffe” as the ex-Eastender says on the ad, that often plays in the breaks between Corrie, the one with “Sinbad” in it. A soundtrack for the impending Royal Wedding that was so horrendously generic that it’s quite possibly headed for the stratosphere.

Last time I was in this venue it was February 1991 or thereabouts, when Dave Alvin and The Allnighters played. The evening before the first Gulf War broke out my memory serves me like one of those wheels on fire. Or maybe that should read misfires.

Nothing sells out anymore but this show did and it’s a testament to Matt and Kim’s unique thrash pop sensibilities that the place was packed to the rafters. This is without conventional support ala magazine hype and airplay on what passes for radio these days. It was perhaps the most rapturous response I’ve ever seen an act get down there. They even kick off with “Yea Yeah” these days so you’ll get some idea about the energy levels by close of play. Such boisterosity is only fitting for the wall to wall anthems and “Northeast” might slow things down a little but the way it builds is nothing short of stadium-mungous. “Sidewalks” finally gets a UK release next week but I’ll be damned if this audience wasn’t entirely conversant with the new material already.



These positive vibrations are at odds with what is sanctioned by NME type quangos. This might mean that it takes a little longer to infiltrate an actual audience here in Blighty where people seem to depend on being spoon fed but the medicine will go down, I’m certain of that.

They were supposed to go see Screeching Weasel in Austin last Friday night and for one reason and another couldn’t go. Kim told me that she’d heard that Ben had hit someone and that the gig came to an end. And sure enough, when I got home there's all this stuff about what happened that has turned into a feeding frenzy. Not having been there, I’m not qualified to comment but I don’t recognise the Ben Weasel monster that’s being painted in cyberspace.

I did think about being flippant. That I might try to deflate it by chalking it up to equal opportunity but of course no-one can condone hitting women of either sex. Reading the “punk rock” commentary that follows the Jim DeRogatis report is pretty sickening but ultimately typical of how the cyber-bush telegraph works. Violence never got anybody anyplace and I’m sure that no-one regrets the situation more than Ben does at this point in time.

Don’t let any of this colour your enjoyment of “First World Manifesto” though, more about which later.

For those around the environs of Glasgow, don't forget this special Monorail Film Club screening on Sunday.

I'm just back from London, playing catch up and mourning the fact that this weekend will be an hour shorter in duration.

Them Fleshtones are headed for Europe... word on an Amsterdam show just in. More to follow!

Trying this from a phone. It'll never catch on.

Apparently I saw 35 films at the weekend. By the name it got to yesterday evening and the more prog sections of the Nosferatu soundtrack I was definitely struggling. I kept semi-lucid by trying to figure out whether the last time I saw it the tinting wasn’t something I could recall. And still can’t.

Anyway, the first Hippodrome Festival of Silent Cinema (to use its full title) was quite the blast. It took a certain amount of stamina and at one point yesterday afternoon I was yay close to bunking off but somehow didn’t. Of course, seeing these old films in a place they would have played first time out makes for a special atmosphere. The Hippodrome is unfettered from normal time and space and I hope that can continue. Everybody that visits it that can will return so I’m sure there’s an excel spreadsheet that can predict exactly when they might have a full house for every screening.

It’s odd because the film that I was going to bump turned out to remind me of Blood Feast. There was definitely a touch of Fuad to the limping convict but there’s no way HGL could have seen this amateur Scots film called “Hair” surely?

The score was composed and performed by kids from local schools. It indicates the chasm between what kids are taught and what is considered education nowadays. With the benefit of hindsight, I might have stuck in a bit better if I’d been confronted with film and music or it’s likely I would have found some other means of veering off the tracks and ending up in this deep rut that I occupy.

The way this country has been sold down the river quite probably presents a slew of new ways of falling through the cracks. Staring down the barrel of being surplus to requirements at any given time, these are just cold hard facts.

In other news, I’ll be in London for a few hours, Wednesday into Thursday for the Matt & Kim blitzkrieg. These two do all their own stunts just like those heroes of yesteryear. In the days before CGI when fakery was at least creative.

Not looking forward to the clocks going forward this weekend. No sir. No madam. I am not.

Mandatory for those within travelling distance of Springfield, Mo.

RIP - Jet Harris

RIP - Jet Harris

RIP - Ferlin Husky

The world really is unravelling. I saw an interview with Gadaffi’s son on Channel 4 that was more Sacha Baron Cohen than Borat himself. Unbelievable. Spoof characters that would have been unbelievable on TV and movies are playing out some kind of doomsday scenario in real life. It would be worrying if it wasn’t so matter of fact stupid. Yes I have got that round the right way. Just. Maybe?

Word from SXSW is that the interweb is over. Too true. We’re only a few years away from getting chipped and wired into whatever the grid the overseers see fit to plug us into. In the interim, your “device” will fulfil the same function. It seems like most people might have to be surgically removed from their own particular homing device such is the urge to stare at it all the time. I understand the limited appeal of them being useful to impart actual information. Such a thing could even be a lifeline in certain situations but not walking down the street not watching where you’re going.

It’s the weekend of the Silent Film Festival at the Bo’ness Hippodrome. Heading back in time but paying 6 quid a gallon for petrol. I wonder how this compares to the price in Japan where a large chunk of the country is experiencing the onset of Armageddon? The horse and cart will be making a comeback if it keeps up and teams of cyclists will be employed to keep cinema screens flickering. Or do they even do that in these days of digital projection? Anyway, I think the program is largely made up of proper reels so pedal power seems like the way to go. I was at a thing called “An Escape From Reality” this afternoon where a film that was made for the opening of the refurb’ed cinema screened and there was a discussion about the history of the place and the work itself. It was really great. Not a bad way to spend a Friday afternoon at all.

In other news, I was thrilled/humbled to get a note from Laura Chilton about Mike’s piece on Alex yesterday. Felt like I was doing something right for the first time in ages. I’m sure it’ll all tumble back downhill from here...

Thanks Duglas...

It’s exactly a year since Alex Chilton died. My thanks to Rich Lustre who had the presence of mind to suggest to Mike that you folks may care to read it. I think that you would.

I first encountered Alex Chilton in 1977. A long-time semi-obsessive fan of his former band Big Star, through some kind of reckless audacity or sheer dumb luck, I managed to secure an interview shortly after his “relocation” to NYC. Moments after our introduction, he requested my astrological sign. I reckon I passed the test, because, inexplicably, we connected instantly and developed a friendship that would last decades.

Much has been written and conjectured about Alex, of course, often depicting him as, among other things, “obstinate,” “quirky,” “difficult,” “idiosyncratic,” etc. But the Alex Chilton I knew was the basically polite, intelligent, funny, generous guy who happened to be spiked by a pretty serious dose of creative genius.

Complex, yes, strange, sometimes, intense, absolutely, honest, to a fault, a man who did not suffer fools gladly, you bet. But I simply viewed Alex as a person who behaved with very little pretense. He was, without apology, who and what he was.
During the course of the relationship, we shared many laughs, joints and lawn mowing ceremonies, we engaged in long conversations covering numerous diverse topics, including his deep historical interests, Katrina, the virtues of The Cramps, The Byrds, KC and the Sunshine Band, Clarence Darrow, the mystery of female as well as stuff like Walker Texas Ranger, college basketball and why the drum solo should never stop.

The last few years, I was fortunate to see him frequently, in Philadelphia, in New Orleans and in Brooklyn, where Big Star gave their final performance. Ironically the only occasion I ever witnessed the band and the last time I saw Alex alive.
Memories remain, of course, too many to recount, but some moments persist: hanging with Charlie Feathers in Memphis, dawn at Lux and Ivy’s apartment, motel blues when Alex would almost absentmindedly haul out a guitar and serenade with snippets of John Dowland, Ray Davies and Texas Whiskey. I also recall the Diet Coke, card reading Chinatown dinners with my daughters, with Guantanamera on the airwaves and Paris Hilton in the news, and fragile, enchanted guitar/flute baroque duets with his lover Laura and Gram Parsons gravesite in the fog and mist in New Orleans...

I’m not much given to things spiritual or mystical nonetheless…

St. Patrick’s Day 2010, listening to Like Flies on Sherbet, thinking of him, I felt him about…

Later, my daughter delivered the awful news…”you better sit down…Alex died…”
As always, the music resonates, providing comfort and solace. Still, there are those times when I realize that we’ll never hear that lazy, liquid drawl again or see that sly, crooked smile. And the sadness sets in.

When I finally remember Alex Chilton, he will be one of those few, rare individuals with whom I shared a remarkable bond that neither time nor distance could shake.
And I’ll know just how very goddamn groovy it was to have known him and call him my friend.

michael j. ferguson

I did kind of hold out hope that I could go to the Matt & Kim show in London next week a clobbering bill from the car service, MOT and having spruced up the bunker a bit the coffers are a tad low. This is in fact an understatement. I guess it was worth doing but I’m not altogether comfortable with the result. I’m not complaining just stating a fact. I haven't ruled out the M&K scene altogether just yet thanks to some twelfth hour encouragement.

Just about to dig into the new Screeching Weasel album that Ben kindly supplied in the event that amazon have put back their availability date. More about First World Manifesto in due course. Maybe it’ll help blow away the cobwebs? I guess if these guys can’t do that then it’s likely nothing will.

Hamell on Trial has some shows coming up in a couple of weeks. There’s Glasgow at a place called The Bay on April 1st. Anybody know anything about this venue? It’s in West Regent Street. An Edinburgh show is also said to be happening on April 2nd but I’ve no idea where yet. This will be his first time back since two stints over the Edinburgh Festival in recent years. Although he did open for Ana Difranco once but I can’t recall when that was.

Such is the fractious nature of my mindset.

Misadventure and grave errors of judgement aside, I don’t feel like I have the right to whinge about anything with what’s happening on the other side of the planet. So far, no-one anyone I know has been anything other than shaken but there’s all the other stuff and just dealing with the sheer scale of it.

The pacific rim does seem to be getting a kicking but I’m sure they don’t deserve it. I’m still juggling with the fact that I’ve lost the will to blog with any regular frequency. Largely as a result of a tremor that’s gone on in my own backyard with no sign of a positive outcome. I’m having doubts about this “time and wounds” business that I keep hearing about.

Anyways, I just remembered that Wreckless Eric and Amy Rigby are bound for some shows in the likes of Austria, Germany and Switzerland so if you’re in any of these places, or near a venue then you should go.

Wed, Mar 16 - Verein PMK Innsbruck, AUSTRIA

Thu, Mar 17 - Kultur-Schranne Dachau, GERMANY

Fri, Mar 18 - Treibhaus Luzern, SWITZERLAND

Sat, Mar 19 - El Lokal Zurich, SWITZERLAND

Sun, Mar 20 - B-72 Vienna, AUSTRIA

Tue, Mar 22 - Kampnagel Hamburg, GERMANY

Wed, Mar 23 - Crystal Club Berlin, GERMANY

Fri, Mar 25 - Blau Mannheim, GERMANY

They just put their house on the market and if they could return from the tour to a bidding war on it then I'm sure they'd be very happy. And they truly deserve to be.

If the Mayans have got it right and the world is ready for the high jump in 2012 then we should all be giving it laldie like it was 1999 all over again. Personally I don’t feel much like it but by all means, fill your boots. And then there's the matter of tickets for the London Olympics going on sale, don't get me started on that.

I call a truce on my Beatle-bashing to bring you this.

For those of you in and around Glasgow tomorrow evening...

Let's try and get something done about this once and for all...

I’m going to try and keep this motor running. What the heck else do I have to do?

My mojo or muse (small m) or whatever it was that drove me is still on hiatus. However, things like what happened in Japan today or NZ a few weeks ago provide one aspect of a perspective.

So now that you’re here, then here’s some stuff to play with.

CJ Ramone is heading for Italy (Thanks Kjell)

Roy Trakin’s Knickart newsletter is always good reading.

Let’s see how the weekend shapes up...

A message frae Murray Ramone...

Howdy folks, just a wee reminder

THIS SATURDAY 12/3/2010
Citrus Club
doors 7pm
The Sexual Objects (featuring Davy Henderson)
Vic Godard & the Subway Sect

Then after that finishes, go out the door, turn left, turn left, turn right at the cross roads,
cross the road, pop down the first set of steps and you're in .... Henrys Cellar bar

appearing in this order onstage from 10:45
Monica and the Explosion (featuring Paul Slack)
SPECTORBULLETS (featuring Russell Burn)
Vic Godard & Subway Sect (just a couple of songs for fun)
Shock And Awe (featuring one or two mystery guests ....)
Robert King - OPIUM KITCHEN (featuring Jo Callis. And me. Just a short taster set for the forthcoming album)
Sam Barber and the Outcasts