Coming soon on Last Summer Records...

Dark earlier, light later... the autumnal nature of the past week or two signals that it ought to be time for hibernation. I had to drag myself out an hour early yesterday morning and it was hard. Not to get up but to get out. I hate the commute too, an ever escalating haemorrhaging of time that I’ll never get back. In recent times this has been exacerbated by traffic lights at bridgework (not of the dental variety) for a local white elephant that’s currently under construction. An abject waste of time, money and everything else that goes with the territory.

And the reason for the time slip was that it is once again time for the six monthly dental check up. These half yearly events come around very quickly. Too fucking quickly for my liking.

But I shouldn’t whine. Monday morning brought the news that one of my brother’s closest friends passed away late Sunday night. Just a matter of weeks after the guy was told he wouldn’t make it until Christmas. Hell, he barely scraped into September. I’m not entirely sure how a person can process a situation or information like that. Maybe I would have asked him that when we were travelling to the Del Lords show in Newcastle. He was really looking forward to that, Couldn’t the supposed higher powers have cut the guy a break to at least have gotten there?

Evidently not.  Anyway he’ll be with us very much in spirit on October 26^th doon the big toon. My thoughts are with his friends and family at this cruel time. You never know what’s ‘round that next corner so don’t let valuable time slip away (like I’m inclined to do).

I went to donate blood tonight. I had to convince them it was a full 24 hours since I’d been at the dentist or they weren’t gonna take it. Rules, regulations, health, safety. It’s all about covering your arse. Or blaming someone else. Take your pick.

It was kind of, sort of my intention to start September with an intent to update this daily where possible again. I have nothing prepared so we'll see what becomes of this notion. Last eek at this time I was in MRC basking I the sunshine and excellent company. Today, I'm in the bunker looking out on a decidedly autumnal day expecting the rain to pish down at any second. Most likely when I go out the front door.

There's a bunch of stuff that I guess I want to write about but I don't know if that will actually translate into wordage. One thing I'm not going to do is continue with a slew of RIPs. Of course if something significant should occur (and I hope to hell it doesn't) then of course I'll have to bend that but let's hope that these are few and far between. The other thing I'm a little aware of is that "the blog" has had it's day. Not just this one, pretty much all of them.

As have websites that don't "sell" stuff in general. I don't find that I have the time to trawl anymore. Not that I'm really doing anything else of great importance but the web bores the heck out of me. As for viewing stuff on mobile devices, don't "eben" get me started on that shitstorm. However, this portal exists and there enough visitors here to suggest that I should at least make an effort. I don't like this laptop as much as I did the fixed PC that I used to have. I'd much rather be anywhere else but where I'm stuck but there are flecks of light out there on the horizon.

As I sit here contemplating, Mr D'uff just flagged this up...



And  as I set sail last Friday, some wonderful new ACC music dropped in so as you can see, sonically - things are going OK.

I can't get the widget thing to appear so click here to go to the Soundcloud page where other wonders from Sausalito also appear.

 

Still shell-shocked after an all too short roll in the Moss Rock City thunder. Got back V late last night and the fog outside replicated that which is in my heid today. Two Dahlmanns sets over the course of Saturday in the shadow of the old paper mill that was an employment staple forever until the interweb made their product obsolete. However, don’t get me stated about that. Look at the company logo. Isn’t that great?

 

So the kids were suitably enjoyed by the attendees. The festival itself wasn’t exactly run with military precision but it got there. Missed Black Debbath but heard their almighty racket from town as we wandered toward the site. This was the first time I heard the D’s do “I Know You Want Me Back Again”, a song that will be a 45 sometime sooner rather than later I hope. Written by the hit factory that made “Solna” the solid treat that it is.

 

Quite a late finish on Sunday morning because some smartarse (me) took a wrong turn on the road back to base. I’m glad I did though because wandering in the maze on a clear night was quite a peaceful exercise. It must be great to stay in that location tucked up on the hill yonder.

 

A low gear day and we had a Svele party at Casa Andreassen. A Svele is a big pancake, double the thickness of a crumpet and about the same circumference. Tasty gear. A wee wander afterwards to say au revoir to my dance partner and a quick pit stop at the beach completed the trip that is hopefully my last to Torp. Much as I love the ferry journey, it’s a pain in  the arse for Andre to schlep me there and back.

 

There is good news. Ryan-err are starting to fly from Edinburgh to the much closer Rygge on November 6^th. That will make such trips considerably easier from both sides. Not that the citizens there need fear constant bombardment by me, I hope some of them will come out this way to the daftest wee country in the world before things go completely skew wiff.

 

The fog outside is gone. Things are getting autumnal but the gridlock in my napper continues abated. The next jaunt is to The Pipeline for The Nomads/Dahlmanns London bash with The Hip Priests and The Outbursts. Approximately a month away. And once again, Madrid not long after. I'm kind of seizing the moment here...

When I saw Rich Nesin’s note about Allen Lanier this morning I had to do a double take. Been keeping the RIP’s in check lately but this one resonates. Blue Öyster Cult made a big impression on a 15 year old me and opened the door to pretty much everything. They were punk rock at the time before the term was corporate-ised. Often lumped with the metal albatross, the band was closer to something like the MC5 but the songs were really something else. The concept of “stun guitar” was an exciting prospect and it all made some kind of sense when they claimed “we’re pain, we’re steel, a plot of knives...”. It still does. Listen to any of these early records and they stand up to the test of time far more than anything by The Clash. Actually the best album those guys made were with BÖC’s producers. Go figure.

 

And of course those same producers were responsible for something by the name of The Dictators Go Girl Crazy. Indeed HDM mentioned today that Lanier played some keyboards on there, presumably he was Alan Glover? Don’t think I was ever aware of that.

RIP - Allen Lanier

 

Just lately it hasn’t been too easy to get away from myself. After a bit of gallivanting I crashed back to earth and find myself wondering WTF is going on. Attempts at getting out of the house on weekends have met with mixed results. Even to the cinema. Although that had a positive blip last night because I dragged my hiney out to see Beyond Midnight. I’ve always liked Julie Delpy and even bumped into her once in Edinburgh with her parents when “Two Days in Paris” was at the EIFF. The follow up to that wasn’t good but I don’t really blame that on her. It seemed mean spirited and that’s something I don’t think she is. She was back up to her usual standard here.

 

Anyway, it’s good and a worthy catch up in the cycle of this Linklater trilogy. Could there be another instalment? Who knows the way things go in these franchised times but if I’m still around then I’ll give it a whirl. Probably.

 

One of these days I might even get around to writing about music again. I’ve become a fan of silence. And even quiet. This often manifests as boredom however and has a habit of keelhauling any semblance of sleep. Pass out sometime around 8, wake in a stupor around 11 and then only feel like sleeping when it’s time to get up. Maybe I’m stuck on Madrid time but unfortunately the distractions which exist there aren’t available here.

 

The Del Lords shows in Newcastle (October 26^th) and London (November 11^th) have been announced so those look like the bookends to the euro-trip. There’s a festival in Spain on November 2^nd where they’ll share a bill with The Dictators NYC. It’s a bit of a pickle...

 

The latter part of the ’13 looks like being hectic. The Nomads/Dahlmanns/Hip Priests and another combo in London on October 5^th is something of an opening salvo. Ms Laura Cantrell is in Glasgow the night before we head down there. All show details here. It’s good to have her back and I’m just waiting on the nod as to when the “No Way There From Here” album will be released. I’m guessing maybe the Monday before that but I’ll confirm that in due course. “Can’t Wait”? Me neither.

 

There's something fucked with the font size on this blogger thing. Maybe it'll sort itself out, maybe it won't. I can't figure out how to correct it and it's stupid crap like this that makes me want to walk away from ever being on a computer ever again. Also, depending on the browser you're viewing it on, maybe through a bloody phone or a "tablet" then it could look even worse. If you do then don't fret - there are bigger fish to fry. Truly.

RIP - Mick Farren

RIP - Faye Hunter

RIP - T-Model Ford

Espaňa por favor...

I have a Madrid thing going on. Well a Spanish thing in general but I find myself having been to the capital 4 times since last August. It’s getting to the point of delusional when I walk across Sol and feel more at home than actual home is these days. A touch of the old Wynn Stewart’s kicking in there methinks but let me tell you, it’s not a bad feeling.

So let’s accentuate the positive for a bit and consign the dark arts of French air traffic control to the dustbin. Or pipican. Three and a half hours late in getting to town... nuff said. As it was, at least I got there. Some other folks were left stranded.

I hit that old cuidad running alright and joined Murky, Eva and Lisa for some Mahou lubrication and tortilla then toddled up to meet Missy Ruth and Francisco just afore show time. The Young Fresh Fellows at El Sol is one of those total treats. There’s no such venue anywhere else and people will tell you that Glasgow audiences are the best in the world. That is not so. It may have been at one time but not anymore. Much drinking and dancing was done by all and this, followed by a session just around the corner in that home away from home, the mighty Wurlitzer. I saw a Tim Warren blast on fb recently declaring that British music was Americanised to be shipped back a la coals to Newcastle.
 

I tend to agree with that and the Fellows are another outstanding example of this theory in action. Hell’s teeth, I can even stand Beatle songs when they do them. Guide set lists weren’t adhered to and of the three shows I saw all of them were different. Sign of a class act that ain’t painted into a corner.

You see a pattern emerging here, right? Thursday was an early start for some of us, leading up to the A-Bones show and a subsequent late finish on Friday morning. Brooklyn’s finest and the W are an explosive combination and this was the first show they’d done with Bloodshot Bill sitting in for the other BB. The festivities went on even later than the previous night (morning?). The combo Teenage Mutant Trash that opened were pretty good too. Listen.

Just as well that Friday was a little less hectic then on the run up to leaving town. Travelling with Francisco and Ruth was a total treat for Lisa and I. Off the scale great. The coolest company one could ever hope to be in and what fantastic  terrain. Driving through mountain tunnels, one of them was a total mindblower where we went from bright blue and warm to dropping more than 15 degrees and sub-tropically dreich. Like a Jurassic trossachs and humming of eucalyptus. Warmer than Scotland ever gets but very similar appearance wise.

We arrive in Avilés, drop the gear at our cool, off kilter digs and get to the venue just before the band hit the stage. We missed The Reformers sadly and I figured that we’d see them in Vitoria, not knowing that they weren’t playing. The show took place underground from a giant egg designed by Oscar Niemeyer. Really I never dreamed it. Another blinder of a set that bore no resemblance to the setlist, a highpoint being a twisted re-telling of The Seekers “Georgy Girl”.



After the festivities, we hit a place called Malawy that was the only place we could find that passed for “food”. Locals stared at the TV sets even although there was nothing on there like they would in some science fiction mini-series. Tad ordered a vegetarian sandwich that came with a slice of ham but Ruth sorted it. The rest of us would have eaten a scabby horse and may well have done so.

The drive next day to Vitoria was equally epic. What a fantastic part of the world Northern Spain is. And how lucky were we to get to see it like this? There was time to explore a bit when we got to town and we even found a bar that served kalimotxo but never imbibed. A wee siesta was called for prior to heading for Hell Dorado, a place I’d heard about but never visited. What a joint. They serve drinks in glass glasses and people smoke. Just like vintage Espaňa. It’s like a recreation of the old NY Ritz. With perfect sound and layout, a really cracking place on the outskirts of town that is a credit to the folks who run it like a private club. Aptly named Club Sonico, this would be the perfect place to shoot a live video should anyone good feel the need to do so.

A bunch of shows in that area over this weekend was perhaps that was the reason why the place wasn’t packed but there was still a healthy attendance and those who went along were treated to a far better version of “Teenage Kicks” than I’m sure what traded as the actual Undertones delivered up the road.  We threw dance shapes long into the night and the dj played The Ben Vaughn Combo and The Skeletons and NRBQ and all was well with the world. The opening act was called something to do with Trash too but I can't recall the actual name. The girl in the band reminded me of Kim (Schifino).

Returned to our hotel in the wee hours again. This was the last show. It was almost over and I don’t think any of us wanted it to end. Next morning we met up for breakfast afore hitting the road and all too soon we were heading back toward Madrid and the airport but not before some more pintxos at Cafe Pancho and a wander in Burgos though. It was rough when we finally said “so long” but this will be continued. Somehow, somewhere, sometime. This is not over.

You can see a whole host of clips here. Fill your boots. Thanks to Gordon and Christophe.

A little down the page there, you read me typing about being tired of hearing about people dying. I never met James Gandolfini but I feel like I did. So waking up the morning the news about him broke (no extended pun intended) was shocking. I was obsessed with The Sopranos and I recall meeting Steven Van Zandt at Joey’s Birthday party he same weekend as Silvio killed Adriana. That was pretty amazing. There’s a photo of Avy and I with him outside Irving Plaza and he’s holding an Amy Allison CD but anyway I digress.

Thinking about how he bowed out in Italy correlates with something I was thinking while I was in Spain. Can’t recall if I said it out loud or not but it goes something like this. If it is at all possible, I want to go down doing what I was doing like that. While I imagine that it would cause undue hassle for a club, restaurant owner or perish forbid – my dance partner but it would be my choice to keel over in front of The Dahlmanns or the YFF or The A-Bones or the Quattros or just with the crew. Gandolfini was 4 years younger than me and that’s the wake up call right there. Another prod.

The fact that I haven’t gotten over (and may well never) this most recent adventure is neither there nor here. Took LAST Friday off to attend to mundanities like the central heating and car servicing so that meant I could schlep into Glasgow on Thursday evening. The reason? To meet  and hang out with Monsieur Jacques Ball of the Dig It! Parish and man of science with a beat on the “laws of physics”.  What a gent! And great stories too plus he told me that Ben Vaughn will be making for France

Cinema-wise, I saw "Populaire" and liked it. Wasn’t really able to do the EIFF like I saw two movies.  “The Berlin File” lollygads a bit to begin with but then it hits a high octane stride. It makes the most recent "Die Hard" and all that shit CGI look like "Driving Miss Daisy". I smell a sequel too so I’ll be looking out for that. “Call Girl” isn’t exactly a cakewalk but it’s an excellent film. It has an inherent seediness that has become a staple of Scandinavian grit. Even although the perceived idea that Sweden is a shining example, it is obviously beholden to the same corruption and sleaze as everyplace else. There was one little piece that actually made me shudder. Attention to detail of the period is exemplary too.

I got out of the habit of watching festival coverage on TV. Mostly because the acts they show on there stink. But a band or an act is a business to some degree and they’re working and presumably earning. None of my business that most of them don’t deserve a second glance far less listen but let’s leave that to one side. It’s an opportunity to be seen and heard, It potentially increases an acts audience exponentially and everything grows.

That my interest in music hasn’t waned to see me acting my actual age is a cause of much pondering to me. It may not necessitate analysis or even matter but something that does bring it into sharp focus is just how awful much of the perceived entertainment is nowadays. Aided and abetted by this chuffing internet which seems much more of a curse than a blessing to me at this point.

I’m at sixes and sevens. No - make that sixteens and seventeens maybe. Weekends flash by so quickly, particularly when you have no idea where to start with using such precious time wisely. I’m currently trying to deal with seemingly having ingested a hundred or so lines of uncut pollen having finally “tackled” the beast known as “The Hedge”. And no, that’s not the moniker of some balloon from a Boner + Co tribute band.

It’s been a while. Still haven’t managed to pull together my latest travelogue but I’m close. A little down the page there, you read me typing about being tired of hearing about people dying. I never met James Gandolfini but I feel like I did. So waking up the morning the news about him broke (pun intended) was shocking. I was obsessed with The Sopranos and recall meeting Steven Van Zandt at Joey’s Birthday party he same weekend as Silvio killed Adriana. That was pretty amazing. There’s a photo of Avy and I with him outside Irving Plaza and he’s holding an Amy Allison CD but anyway I digress.

 

Thinking about how he bowed out in Italy correlates with something I was thinking while I was in Spain. Can’t recall if I said it out loud or not but it goes something like this. If it is at all possible, I want to go down doing what I was doing like that. While I imagine that it would cause undue hassle for a club, restaurant owner or perish forbid – my dance partner but it would be my choice to keel over in front of The Dahlmanns or the YFF or The A-Bones or... actually just with my crew someplace. Gandolfini was 4 years younger than me and that’s a wake up call right there. Another prod.

 

The fact that I haven’t gotten over (and may well never) this most recent Spanish adventure is neither there nor here. Took LAST Friday off to attend to mundanities like the central heating and car servicing so that meant I could schlep into Glasgow on Thursday evening. The reason? To meet  and hang out with Monsieur Jacques Ball of the Dig It! Parish and man of science with a beat on the “laws of physics”.  What a gent! And great stories too plus he told me that Ben Vaughn will be making for France.

 

Cinema-wise, I saw "Populaire" and really liked it. Wasn’t really able to do the EIFF like I used to do but last Sunday I plumped for two movies.  “The Berlin File” lollygads a bit to begin with but then it hits a high octane stride. It makes the most recent Die Hard and all that shit CGI look like "Driving Miss Daisy". I smell a sequel too so I’ll be looking out for that. “Call Girl” isn’t exactly a cakewalk but it’s an excellent film. It has an inherent seediness that has become a staple of Scandinavian grit. Even although the perceived idea that Sweden is a shining example, it is obviously beholden to the same corruption and sleaze as everyplace else. There was one little piece that actually made me shudder. Attention to detail of the period is exemplary too.

 

I sort of got out of the habit of watching festival coverage on TV. Mostly because the acts they show on there – in my opinion – stink. But a band or an act is a business to some degree and they’re working and presumably earning. None of my business that most of them don’t deserve a second glance far less listen but let’s leave that to one side. It’s an opportunity to be seen and heard, It potentially increases an acts audience exponentially and everything grows.

 

That my interest in music hasn’t waned to see me acting my actual age is a cause of much pondering to me. It may not necessitate analysis or even matter but something that does bring it into sharp focus is just how awful much of the perceived entertainment is nowadays. Aided and abetted by this chuffing internet which seems much more of a curse than a blessing to me at this point.

 

I’m at sixes and sevens. No - make that sixteens and seventeens maybe. Weekends flash by so quickly. Particularly when you have no idea where to start with using such precious time wisely.

RIP - Alistair (William Mysterious) Donaldson

Haven't been able to find out what happened. Had been trying to get a hold of him recently to sign a printers proof of the US CD longbox. The idea was to auction it for charity or something. Needless to say that didn't happen. A damn shame. His passing of course, not the fact I didn't reach him.

Prone to bouts of crazy behaviour by all accounts, my memory of him was as a gentle, quiet guy and a great player that influenced folks like Jim Sangster and J. Mascis. If I can find an obit then I'll link it.

RIP - James Gandolfini