Lidl Britain

Possibly likely to only raise a laugh with UK readers, but never mind...

As seen in my local Lidl, their own-brand version of Smirnoff Ice.

This is so great on so many levels. I really don't know where to start.

Lamb to the slaughter

Bad news for all music lovers, I'm afraid. The excellent and entertaining Gideon Coe has been shunted from his daytime slot on BBC 6Music to make way for the appalling George Lamb. Sadly, Lamb is not the Eton-educated son of a viscount (this would at least give him some interesting stories to share rather than inane chatter). Instead, like so many of the BBC's presenters, he seems to have been chosen not for his aptitude or radio-presenting skills, much less his knowledge of or enthusiasm for music. No, like Stephen Merchant and Dermot O'Leary (and I can't fathom the appeal of either of these), he seems to have risen to his position solely on the basis of his telly work. Not that being good at one thing necessarily precludes you from being good at another; at 6Music Don Letts, Guy Garvey of Elbow, Craig Charles (Pebble Mill poet, crack cocaine enthusiast and Coronation Street cabbie) and even Sir Bruce Dickinson of Iron Miaden all preside over excellent shows because of their genuine enthusiasm for the music they play, and all of them more than make up for their lack of radio background.

Now I was prepared to give George Lamb (of whose existence I was unaware heretofore) the benefit of the doubt after he was parachuted into the ten o'clock graveyard slot on the station (the one now occupied by Coe). And like most occupants of the slot, he was instructed to play a mixture of old sessions, live appearances, old BBC In Concerts etc. I mean, how hard can that be? But I almost threw my DAB radio at the wall when he mangled the name of The Rezillos in his first week, before sniggering dismissively and admitting to his producer that he'd never heard of them (and from what I could infer, his producer hadn't heard of The Rezillos either). A similar incident happened the next time I listened, and Lamb cheerily admitted ignorance of Boo Hewerdine, whose recorded work was due to be featured later in the show. Now some may say George Lamb's unprofessionalism is refreshing, and that it breaks down the barriers between DJ and audience, that it's the antithesis of the slick Smashey and Nicey era. Well maybe.

DFA freebie

Thanks to that nice James Murphy, you can click here to download a free three track DFA EP featuring the aforementioned LCD Soundsystem, Shocking Pinks and Fall sound-a-likes Prinzhorn Dance School. And, hey, it's worth every penny.

Street smarts

While her ex-husband Phil (seen on the left--and isn't that new Genesis P- Orridge* look that he's rocking really quite fetching?) has been facing murder charges, Ronnie Spector's four-part documentary on doo-wop (Street Corner Soul) is currently airing on Radio 2, and is highly recommended. Tracing the history of the genre from The Orioles onwards, it gives an insight into why aficionados like Brian Eno and Martin Rev of Suicide fell for this "Martian music" when it crackled through the airwaves at the birth of the fifties.

To my mind, one of the high points of Western art (let alone of doo-wop), and right up there with Fallingwater, or Duchamp's Fountain, is The Flamingos cover of I Only Have Eyes For You, written in the 1930s and popularised by Peggy Lee, among others. The song is deceptively simple, infinitely complex, and is only connected to the songwriting tradition in the same way that a Wright building is connected to traditional architecture. It sounds like nothing else on earth. It is sui generis. The first three guitar chords lull you into a false sense of security, and then four seconds in, you're hit with an incredible wall of sound. That insistent piano note. Voices that sound like they were recorded in a submarine. At the bottom of a sea. On Mars. Forget street corner soul: The Flamingos are street corner Satie; spare, minimal, sepulchral.

Martin Rev, one half of Suicide, took this template and updated it in the seventies and eighties, and similarly married technology with New York street corner soul. His sparring partner and lyrical foil in Suicide (Alan Vega), however, eschewed the saccharine subject matter of doo-wop and instead told harrowing tales of dystopia in the songs they did together as Suicide, even if their insistent, repetitive melodies owed as much to the Orioles, the Flamingos and the Coasters as they did to Suicide's CBGBs contemporaries. It was only in his solo albums (especially Clouds of Glory and See Me Ridin') that Rev was able to pay explicit homages to the music that he'd have heard in his youth. Whisper, from his aforementioned album Clouds of Glory, doesn't actually have any lyrics, but if it did you can imagine that they'd be sing-songy paeans of everlasting love, and its arpeggiating harmonies could easily be replicated by four voices standing on a Brooklyn corner.

Download the Flamingos' I Only Have Eyes For You (MP3) (deleted May 2008)

Download Martin Rev's Whisper (MP3) (deleted May 2008)


* For those that want to compare and contrast, Genesis is pictured below...

StSanders is God

With apologies to those that may already have seen this, but I had to share it, as it is the best thing on YouTube right now... Slowhand plays some free jazz. Skronk out! The sax at 1.33 is the bit that tips most people over the edge...



...and kudos to the comment that Thurston Moore would sign Clapton to his label in a heartbeat if he really did sound like this.

Blanc looks

Blanc

Steptoe

After watching the grand finale of The Restaurant this week, I couldn't help noticing the distinct similarity between Gallic restaurateur Raymond Blanc and Harry H. Corbett, aka Steptoe fils. Could they by any chance be related etc...

And the nominations are...

While I'm mentioning Blur, it seems apropos that I mention Alex James' recent autobiog, which I'm partway through. It's mostly a pretty breezy read, though James is no Peter Ustinov or David Niven. He's had a pretty charmed life though, with few of the struggles that typify rock biogs; Blur are fully formed by page 38, and have had their first hit by page 67.

One passage stands out so far. Not because it's well written, or revealing, or shocking, however. Instead, he's describing hotel life and touring...

Having worked in a hotel, I knew exactly how demanding guests could be and I set about making myself a nuisance, calling reception and asking for more pillows, more towels, more bubble bath, some matches, board games, books, whether they serve Ricicles at breakfast and if they knew anywhere I could get Golden Nuggets.

Okay, it's hardly Led Zep fishing for sharks with groupies, or even The View flooding a Travelodge. But I can't help thinking that unlike Robert Plant, John Bonham, Jimmy Page et al, James had actually worked in a hotel. And therefore his actions are even more reprehensible. For taking the piss out of underpaid and overworked staff, Alex James is officially the Irk The Purists ***TWUNT OF THE MONTH***

Nominations for November's Twunt of the Month will be announced shortly.