TODD SNIDER at the BORDERLINE, LONDON

I wasn’t planning on writing about Todd Snider’s gig from last week but it would be remiss of me not to mention it; especially as I’m being nagged by Monkey Brother who was beside himself with excitement beforehand (“pissing my pants” was what he actually said) at the rare opportunity of seeing Oregon’s Snider this side of the pond. I warned against building his hopes too high. I needn’t have worried.

I’m never entirely sure what defines the genre “alt-country” but I think its contemporary country music without Stetsons or syrups. Kris Kristopherson once said “If it sounds country, man, that’s what it is.” Snider sounds country most of the time even though he described himself on Wednesday as a “stoner folk singer”. That tag seems more on account of his slightly drawled vocal, hippy idealism, leftish politics and tiny slits for eyes rather than his work ethic. His discography bears testimony to that with an album almost every year since his debut Songs From The Daily Planet back in 1994, none of which have been released in the UK.

Those albums mostly feature a back-up band but this gig was just Todd standing centre stage with a guitar, a harmonica and a bunch of songs. He’s a storyteller and an inventive lyricist; it was hard to second guess the lines as they veered off in unexpected directions, some with a simple knockabout quality, others long, winding, talking blues packed with ideas and rants. Stripped of the more overt country styling of his earlier records, those lyrics were to the fore and it wasn’t all heartaches and hangovers. In one song alone he told the story of The Kingsmen recording "Louie Louie"; Marilyn Manson laying "weird chicks"; dead bodies on television reports; and threw in a snatch of "Let's Get It On". Not your standard country fayre by any stretch of the imagination.

Whether tender or as the self-deprecating outsider Todd’s sense of comic timing bought many a chortle during the songs or the banter in between. It was a masterful performance. There are occasions when one watches artists (or anyone at the top of their profession) and think that’s as good as it gets. Every so often Monkey Brother and I glanced at each other, shrugged, raised our eyebrows and shook our heads. There wasn’t anything to say, it was just an acknowledgement that yep, that’s it. Just it. When I think of the time and money I’ve spent on other would-be troubadours I wouldn’t trust to deliver a letter let alone a song, it makes me feel the waster.

The first half of his set spanned his career from his debut right up to the forthcoming Agnostic Hymns and Stoner Fables before playing audience requests during the second half. His promise to play them all went unfulfilled but after 95 minutes and ending with "Conservative Christian, Right Wing Republican, Straight White American Male" he’d earned his corn. If I were a “stoner folk singer” I’d be putting my dope back in the tin and hanging up my guitar.

MRS. PEEL, YOU'RE NEEDED

Any excuse to post a picture of Diana Rigg and Monkey Picks will take it, so a doff of the bowler to Mrs. Peel You're Needed. They’ve amassed a phenomenal amount of photographs and press cuttings of The Avengers and beyond, including this one of Diana at home with her dog Poopie. Well worth investigating.

FEBRUARY PLAYLIST

Current spins in Monkey Mansions.

1. Bo Carter – “My Pencil Won’t Write No More” (1931)
A right old saucy one was Bo. He recorded 110 songs during the 1930s and from his lyrics I’m surprised he had the time. Some sample song titles: “Your Biscuits Are Big Enough For Me”, “Don’t Mess My Digger So Deep”, “Please Warm My Weiner”, “Mashing That Thing” and, my personal favourite, “Banana In Your Fruit Basket”. Little wonder he eventually ran low on lead.

2. Clyde McPhatter – “Thirty Days” (1957)
A year before he died, aged just 39, as a result of heavy drinking, a bitter McPhatter claimed he had no fans. Oh Clyde, you did and you do.

3. Eddie Holland – “True Love Will Go A Mighty Long Way” (1962)
Not an early Holland-Dozier-Holland cut but a Holland-Holland-Mickey Stevenson one before he fully hit his stride at Hitsville. Ace Records have beautifully put together a new Eddie Holland compilation It Moves Me: The Complete Recordings 1958-1964 of which this is a highlight.

4. The Ballroom – “Baby Please Don’t Go” (1967)
There are hundreds of versions of this blues chestnut but none as audacious as this mind blowing piece of pulsating West Coast psychedelia.

5. Chris Barber and His Band – “People Get Ready” (1969)
Giorgio Gomelsky at Marmalade/Polydor wouldn’t give The Action a recording deal yet whisked the considerable vocals talents of Reggie King away with the promise of production work. The pair and Chris Barber are credited as producers on Barber’s Battersea Rain Dance, an album of instrumentals bar this track with a pub style vocal. Reg presumably sat behind the mixing desk and pressed the record button. What a bloody waste.

6. Chris Bell – “You and Your Sister” (1978)
Chris Bell left Big Star after their first album yet his solo work, posthumously released as I Am The Cosmos, sounds to me like a perfected version of Big Star with “You and Your Sister” the sibling of “Thirteen”.

7. The Rolling Stones – “No Spare Parts” (1978)
Mick and Keef probably thought “Faraway Eyes” was enough to fill their country quota on Some Girls so this has only seen light since the recent two-disc reissue. I can’t think of an instance when the Stones used a pedal steel without great results and this is no exception.

8. Gang of Four – “I Found That Essence Rare” (1979)
The liner notes of the CD include testimonies from Michael Stipe and that Flea fella from Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Don’t let that put you off.

9. The Boo Radleys – “Wish I Was Skinnny” (1993)
This still sounds good but, please lads, don’t take it as encouragement for you to get back together.

10. Johnny Cash – “For The Good Times” (2003)
A Kris Kristopherson song but like so many of his later recordings Cash convinced the listener it was his own and sung from profound personal experience. Breaks and warms ones heart in equal measure.

JOE ORTON TELEVISION INTERVIEW (1967)

Following Saturday’s post, here is the only known surviving video footage of Joe Orton. Broadcast on 23rd April 1967, Joe proudly tells Eamonn Andrews of his library book escapades.

IN MEMORY OF THE MC5's MICHAEL DAVIS

Not a week goes by without the death of someone whose records sit in my collection. My reaction is usually dependent on two things, both selfish: did they still have anything to offer musically, and did I have any personal contact with them?

In the case of MC5 bassist, Michael Davis, the answer is yes to both. Only last month I wrote about the MC5 Black To Comm boxset that documents an incredible gig from 2008. A year later I was fortunate enough to meet Michael backstage at the Dirty Water Club. Most encounters of this type tend to be along the lines of “Excuse me, would you mind if I had a quick picture with you?” Click. Done. But that night we sat quietly for half an hour chatting and drinking. He was such a mellow, laid back dude and surprisingly open and honest, it felt no subject was off limits as we discussed music, drugs, prison and a load of other stuff. I kept thinking to myself “wow, this is brilliant, remember this bit, remember this bit”. My mate Long John and I were buzzing for days afterwards. “That was MICHAEL DAVIS! Of the MC5!,” we kept saying. It was. It really was. He could’ve been an arse and I’d still love the MC5 but he wasn’t and he made me love them more.

Thanks Michael.

Michael Davis, 5 June 1943 - 17 February 2012.

MALICIOUS DAMAGE: THE LIFE AND CRIMES OF JOE ORTON AND KENNETH HALLIWELL IN ISLINGTON

Last February I wrote (here) how budding writers Joe Orton and Kenneth Halliwell helped themselves to books from Islington libraries to create collages on book jackets before placing them back on the sleeves to watch the reaction of browsers. This protest over “rubbishy books” and an early version of guerrilla art, along with wallpapering their flat with torn out pages, earned them both a six month stretch in 1962. The following five years saw Orton’s star spectacularly rise as a successful and award winning playwright (Entertaining Mr Sloane ran on Broadway and Loot won the Evening Standard best play of ’67), Halliwell, previously Joe’s mentor, became marginalised and struggled with jealousy and depression, culminating in nine murderous hammer blows to Joe’s head and his own suicide in their tiny 2nd floor Noel Road flat. Orton was 34, Halliwell 41.

Islington Council were none too impressed by having their book stock “attacked by predators” 50 years ago but now they celebrate their former residents with an impressive exhibition within the borough’s museum. The main focus is on the books they altered. All forty of the surviving ones are displayed as framed works of art rather than the perceived acts of vandalism that resulted in an eighteen month investigation by the council’s legal clerk Sidney Porrett who is quoted as saying “I had to catch these two monkeys”. Monkey heads and cat heads were regular replacements on many books. Some aren’t especially interesting yet others show a mischievous camp humour: John Betjeman is replaced by a tattooed man; Queen’s Favourite is decorated by two topless men grappling on the floor; and best of all, The Steel Cocoon by Bentz Plagemann (which sounds like a name Joe and Kenneth would’ve created but is the genuine author) has a prominent well-filled jockstrap as the new design. There are copies of the original jackets but there’s no comparison really.

It’s wonderful to see the typewriter Joe bought in 1967 for the not inconsiderable sum of £80, and on which he wrote What The Butler Saw and the rejected Beatles screenplay Up Against It, but even that is upstaged by lists of ideas for prospective book and play titles and a volume of his infamous diary covering a holiday in Tangier. I first read his plays and diaries many years ago and being young and green was rather shocked to read such explicit accounts of promiscuity and gay sex. The page open here is typically frank account of a sexual encounter which Joe describes as “very goatish”, which is a new one on me but a phrase I’m looking forward to using at the earliest opportunity. Joe’s diary became a cause of added anguish for Kenneth during their final year until he, in the words of Orton’s brother, “went crackers”. His suicide note simply read: If you read his diary all will be explained. KH. P.S. Especially the latter part.

Malicious Damage is at the Islington Museum, 245 St John Street, EC1 until 25 February 2012.

THE FEARSOME FOURSOME - "SINCE YOU'VE BEEN GONE" (1965)

Roosevelt Grier, Merlin Olsen, Lamar Lundy and David Jones all played (American) football for the Los Angeles Rams in the mid-60s. According to the wonderfully named Dick Butkus (no, me neither) they were “the most dominant line in football history”. I guess that means they were four brick shithouses difficult to get past.

What I do know is that they appeared on Shindig in 1965 performing this raving rhythm and blues shaker. The song was actually the flip of “Fool, Fool, Fool” credited solely to Roosevelt Grier on Rik Records in 1964 and titled “Since You’ve Been Gone” (not “Since You’re Gone” as per this clip). Grier cut a lot of records whilst a footballer; perhaps his most familiar one in soul circles is “In My Tenement”, before becoming an actor and then a minister.

Another nice piece of trivia is he helped smack Sirhan Sirhan (not a member of the New York Dolls apparently) to the floor after Sirhan assassinated Robert Kennedy in 1968. A remarkable man. Enjoy this fabulous clip.