I’m seem to have fallen out of love with the net. It’s been a gradual process these past couple of months.
Over the Christmas period I contracted a dreadful cough, which got so bad I managed to crack a rib or two, and slip a disc in my back as a result. Then this ghastly flu descended. Quite frankly I’ve never been that ill in my life, and thought I would die, and welcomed the idea as an escape from the awful pain!
As a result of a pony ISP,(you know who you are, Primus!) my landline and net went down on Christmas eve, tho’ it had been on/off since the 16th of December. Despite dragging my sorry and sick ass out of bed to make over 10 calls to my provider, I wasn’t reconnected until the end of the first week in January. But amazingly I didn’t go into Cold Turkey or trauma. Initially it troubled me, but after a couple of days I simply didn’t care, and I suppose being very ill I didn’t want to get out of my pit anyway.

I’ve been using the net since 2006, and over the last 6 years it’s become a huge part of my existence. And of late, accelerated by the Winter darkness not to mention my continued unemployment, it started to take over my life.
Being connected to the net is like looking through some magic portal, a connection with a huge source of energy. I use this analogy: the net is like our collective unconsciousness as Jung would say, real life is our every day motorik stuff, the web is like the Spiritual side, the hidden-from-everyday-life stuff. But it’s a self perpetrating myth because along with the good stuff there’s flood of rubbish, which threatens to swamp the net like a “black tide of mud”.

My website is pretty much my only creative outlet these days, and I do spend a good deal of time tweaking and beautifying it, let alone the countless hours I spend writing, which of course I find most enjoyable. Originally I put the site together, or should I say under my direction, my dear old mate Will put it together, as a means of trying to garner work. What started out as an ego jerk has for me turned into a work of art, and one that’s appreciated by tens of thousands of people, and to you good readers, I say many thanks and may God bless you.

People say to me “why don’t you have Google ads on your site, you’ll make a pretty penny with your traffic”? Well, I did consult with an expert in the field, who said that perhaps I would make £100-£150 the first year via ad click throughs. But for such a small amount, why would I want to compromise the credibilty of my site? Which leads me to a big reason why my cyber love affair seems to be over, bloody Google ads! Our post modern media is concerned with only one thing, the hard sell. The capitalist/materialist society must keep functioning apparently, by whatever means possible, and thus must must find ever more sophisticated forms of hypnosis, to tell the masses what they must consume/buy. And what did the clever fools come up with? Google ads! Let’s say you’re feeling mellow, there’s a beautiful old tune running round your head which you don’t have in your personal archive, so you sashay on over to Youtube. It’s there, with the official video, so you click it and don your headphones……and what pops up on the screen? “DATE LOCAL WOMEN FOR FREE!” or somesuch. Jesus, I hate that! Your serenity is destroyed, the mood is lost, it’s akin to having your Ma tap you on the bum when you’re making love, it’s horrible. It’s like Artexing the Cistine chapel, it’s a defacement of art, just to turn a penny. But then, certainly over the last couple of years, the net has become more and more commercially oriented.

People say “oh it’s great for keeping in touch with old friends” which of course it is. But the majority of the time, some one will connect maybe once or twice, and that will be that, end of. Whatever happened to Myspace or indeed Friends reunited? I tell you what happened, perhaps they maybe physically reunited once, and after that they simply couldn’t be arsed! Now if only Facebook would bite the dust, perhaps our society would develop the ability to be social and gregarious again. And just in case anybody still thinks FB is about social networking and making friends, well, all I can say is, what a good little robot you are, and of course the government will always know where to find you……
Facile, puerile, inconsequential, social networking: all these words go together quite nicely! I simply had to lunch Facebook, it’s so self serving and moronic it’s embarrassing, and perhaps the premier reason why I no longer love the web.

And speaking of the government, it seems like they’re reaching desperation point, in trying to control and censor the net. With both the SOPA and PIPA in the US, and DEA in Europe,  it’s scary the lengths these greedy gits will go to. I hear some of you say “they are uninforcable laws”, and to that I have a one word answer, Megaupload.
Does the average net user really deserve the government breathing down their neck? And what are these “file sharers” doing that’s any different to the major record and movie companies? Except they do it better! I’m certainly not prepared to criminalise these people, because their actions simply aren’t that serious, except to the fat cats. I’m not saying I think all music and movies should be free on the net, because surely when someone produces a work of art they should get a fair royalty for doing so. And speaking as one who’s music is freely available on the net, and having received less than £30 in royalties from that source, I think that fault may lie with the people who collect the royalties, rather than the actual payments themselves. Yes Mr Townsend, some git nicked my kid’s bike too, and I can’t afford a replacement……

It’s been my great pleasure to work with George Peckham on a number of occasions. For the unenlightened, this is the man who cut the masters for albums such as “Abbey Road” and “Darkside of the moon”, not to mention more humbly the Accidents single and album. And it was on the occasion of the Accidents album mastering that George turned round to me and asked who was going to collect my royalties? When I answered the MCPS(now the PRS)he threw up his hands in dismay, and when I asked him why it was a bad thing, he told me to go down to their offices, and check the carpark, and let him know if there were any old and cranky cars parked there, amongst the BMW’s and Mercedes. The industry has always robbed the artist, and as far as I can tell continues to do so. Perhaps we should all be paying some sort of minor licence fee for net usage? Well the BBC rob the nation for billions to turn out their shite, perhaps if we all paid let’s say a quid a month to use the net(on top of the line rental)and put together a fair and transparent body to administer these payments, certainly I believe the artist would be better served. But I don’t suppose that would appeal to the greedy music and film industry……..

And here’s another beef, whilst there are a number of sites that I will always use for reference and research(and for the Wombwell scholars amongst you, again I urge a visit my cousin Shaun’s site  http://www.georgewombwell.com/gw_blog/ for the most accurate information about the great man)research on the net is fraut with innacuracies, infact as a writer I’d say it’s the most unreliable source one can access. For example, re my last piece about SMiLE, even Capitol’s official blah had some mis-truths. And I laughed hysterically when I read on one stupid website that my great great great Uncle once owned the Elephant man! And yes I can confirm, Michael Jackson is my half brother, and indeed Elvis does work at our local chippy.

I think the Internet is like cultural junk food. And personally I love to eat Mcdonalds once and a while, it’s delish. But as part of a staple diet it’s unwholesome and unhealthy, and fills you full of hot air……

“Reforms by advances, that is, by new methods or gadgets, are of course impressive at first, but in the long run they are dubious and in any case dearly paid for. They by no means increase the contentment or happiness of people on the whole. Mostly, they are deceptive sweetnings of existence, like speedier communications which unpleasantly accelerate the tempo of life and leave us with less time than ever before. Omnis festinatio ex parte diaboli est – all haste is of the Devil, as the old masters used to say”.
CG Jung 1957

                                                                                                                                                           “Alwight Tel?”

I had a ghastly and unsatisfying meal on November the first 2011, completely lacking in any nutrients. I had to eat my own hat! Why you ask? Because the Beach Boys SMiLE was finally released! This monstrous meisterwerk, much beloved by scholars of the arcane for over four decades finally gets the full treatment it deserves…… I think! For me, since the first bootleg cassette I had of it in the early Eighties, it’s been a major musical obsession. I decided to count all of the bootleg cds I have of it…….they number some 17, that’s not including Brian Wilson’s version, which I personally thought was wonderful, tho’ the 2011 version has a good deal more fairy dust sprinkled on it. Or the numerous internet versions, (such as Purple Chick’s excellent “reconstruction”) which must number almost 20. And I heard a couple of tracks on the net recently, AV’s of familiar bootlegged tracks, in pristine sound, stereo I might add, completely unheard by me before.

What is it about a piece of unfinished music from 1966/early 1967 that intrigues and obsesses me so? I suppose with any unfinished piece of art, the imagination can run riot, and SMiLE has plenty of space for that. Then there’s the “what if?” factor, “what if” it had been released early 1967? How would it have changed musical evolution? And would it have inspired the Beatles to even further heights than “Sgt Pepper’s”? I think it may well have done, and for anybody still wondering how Macca’s bass playing went from melodic Rock’n'Roll shapes to a far more clipped, obtuse style, well look no further than “Pet Sounds”. Of course Carol Kaye played a lot of bass for the Beach Boys from 1965, but Brian Wilson told her exactly which notes to play, and how to play them. Listen to “God only knows” back to back with “With a little help from my friends” and I think you’ll get my drift. And of course Macca has stated time and time again that he thinks “Pet Sounds” is the greatest musical work ever.

When I listen to the “Bicycle Rider” pieces, it sends chills down my spine. The piano sounds strange, almost ghostly. The melody is dark and foreboding, like a negative zone version of the “Heroes and Villains” theme. And with that crawling heavy bassline underpinning the sound, it conjurers up something very Gothic, but oddly very Wild West too. The piano sound has something of a Western saloon bar feel, albeit a bar frequented by Zombie gunfighters! Do you like worms?(or Roll Plymouth Rock)has always blown my mind, but when I saw Brian Wilson doing it live for the first time in 2004, and he started singing “waving from the ocean liners……” I nearly went into religious rapture! Finally, the missing part of another wonderful jigsaw, and again a very eerie sound, with the ominous timpani and tack piano, and a slight return to the “Bicycle rider” theme, played on the Harpsichord. When Brian’s faux Hawaiian vocal comes in, over the mournful slide guitar and haunting backing vocals, the effect is simply otherworldly and black. Psychedelic, American Gothic.

There’s so much mystery surrounding SMiLE. Eliphas Levi once said “mystery is the abyss which ceaselessly attracts our unquiet curiosity”, and certainly SMiLE could be that definitive abyss. Just the song titles themselves intrigue, “Love to say Da Da”, “Cabin Essence”, “Child is the Father of the Man”, what on earth could Brian be talking about? In the early Summer of 1965, Brian Wilson took LSD for the first time. The trip inspired “California Girls”, and from there on in Brian continued to take Acid to stimulate his creativity, and there’s Brian saying “you guys you feeling the Acid yet?” on the Our Prayer sessions. In 1967, Brian said LSD “shattered his mind”, and this drug psychosis, coupled with Mike Love’s total disapproval of the project(and much pressure from Capitol, as per, not to mention the Beach Boys suing them for unpaid royalties), ended any possibility of SMiLE’s completion. SMiLE recording sessions ran from May 1966 until May 1967, and Brian continued to work on Heroes and Villains up til August 1967.

So what was left? Well, having listened to the “finished” versions of several of it’s major pieces i.e. Wind Chimes, Wonderful, Heroes and Villains, Good Vibrations and Vegetables on Smiley Smile, albeit in somewhat different forms, and Our Prayer and Cabinessence on 20/20, and the awe inspiring Surf’s Up from the album of the same name, (courtesy of Carl and Dennis for the most part), the next biggest revelation in the mystery was the release of over 30 minutes of SMiLE fragments on the 30 years of Good Vibrations box set in 1993. And here’s a major part of the enigma that needs to be explained. Whilst madmen like me were obsessively attempting to collect every known take and fragment on every bootleg available, it eventually became clear that it was the audio quality of the track and how it had been modified by the bootleggers that made it sound like a different take in some instances. Obviously, some of the sources were rather noisy acetates, probably Brian’s, or given away by him. Apparently he delighted in Frizbie-ing many! There’s a fabulous AV of “Worms”, a different arrangement with some instrument variations, it’s fabulous but it sounds like it was recorded in Marilyn’s deep fat fryer!

So without a complete sessions log(which I’d personally like to have!)we were buggered! There is a “sessionography” in the deluxe box, but apparently it’s not totally complete and there are minor innacuracies. Oh no, please Lord!

Let’s get one thing very clear, SMiLE was never completed, so beyond the released tracks, how many other revelations can we expect? Well, even for the jaded pallet such as mine, there are a number of morsels that are previously unheard.  The brilliant thing about the 2011 version is the sound quality is awesome, clean and noise free. And there’s a lot of takes that are announced(and annotated in the sleeve notes)so we can be very clear about which take is which. I’ve found a day by day SMiLE session-ography, http://www.mountvernonandfairway.de/smile.htm but it doesn’t list specific takes, just the tracks recorded. What would be cool is a kind of SMiLE forum where one can contribute a track and have it appraised by “SMiLE scholars” as to which take/overdub session it was. But you can bet Capitol wouldn’t like it! So, in the interests of sanity, I’m going to let go of getting every take of every track, and perhaps in my lifetime the totally complete sessions will be released on whatever format is popular then. There are apparently 75 master reels in existence. Yeah, I’d like to hear them all……if I haven’t already.

With the 2011 release, we get a fairly certain idea of what Brian originally had in mind………I think. The 2004 template is probably, rightly the starting block. Has any one verified the oft cited hand written note that Capitol supposedly based their tracklisting on? It’s disputed by many. Indeed if you compare BW’s signature on the various “products”(the SMiLE box signed by BW, a snip at $6000, with the surf board of course, I got one for each of my family members)and the Capitol note, I don’t think the handwriting matches at all. Did any body get a reason why Van Dyke Parks refused to have any thing to do with the project? Bearing in mind his brilliant word imagery is the icing on the finished parts of the SMiLE cake. Perhaps he thought he’d given his all to the BW version? More mysteries……

Sometimes I dispair living in the modern world. No blue touch paper, no Bowie, and a lifelessness inherent in our culture. But this box set is a beautiful glimmer of what could have been, and why the enlightened call Brian Wilson “genius”. And I’m still finding numerous delights. SMiLE touches my soul like few other pieces of music do, and it continues to inspire and intrigue me. Somewhere out in that darkness,

“Lost and found you still remain there……”

“Alwight Tel?”.

After my Mother died in 1986, my Pa sold the family home and moved in with a lady friend. I was lucky enough to get a flat close by, so it was easy to keep an eye on him, and we shared a lot of quality time together. I loved my Father dearly, he was my hero and my best friend. Life was good for Alfie, their home was warm and comfy, she took good care of him, they shared many holidays, mostly in Italy, and were reasonably well off. But in 2004 Dad’s “landlady” started to complain that he was becoming very forgetful and repetitive, which I suppose I had noticed, but put down to his old age. It drove my Pa’s lady friend crazy, so it was decided to give her a break I would spend more time with him, and become my Father’s carer. Initially we’d go out together for long walks and the occasional visit to the pub. That was our regular Sunday lunch time ritual. We enjoyed the English gentlemen’s privilege, we’d meet Tom my brother in law at the Malster’s arms, and imbibe much good ale, and fine cigars and cigarettes, then I’d walk Pa back to his for a nice Sunday roast, or sometimes we’d enjoy lunch at my Sisters. Those Sunday lunch time sessions were wonderful, the three of us were very close, we shared a lot of laughs, occasionally a few tears for our dear departed, and brilliant conversation.

But on one of these lovely Sundays my Pa turned round and told me he thought he was very ill. When I asked him why, he said “nothing’s right any more”. That disturbed me enough to take my Father to his Doctor, who checked him over and proclaimed that Pa had Cardio vascular age related Dementia, and possibly Alzheimers too. I was mortified. The Doctor(or Quack, as Alfie called him!)advised me to seek out a residential home for my Father quickly, as he believed my Dad’s condition would deteriorate rapidly. After a visit to each of the local care homes that would accommodate my Father, and learning more about the disease, I spoke to the Alzheimer’s society in Chelmsford who confirmed my feelings that my Pa didn’t have Alzheimer’s. A further visit to a specialist confirmed that my Pa had hardening of the arteries, which lead to the poor blood supply to his brain, resulting in his Dementia, but not Alzheimer’s.

From here on in, aside from actually sleeping in the same house as my Pa, I was with him every day. And we shared many wonderful moments. I was still trying to work part time at this point(early 2005)and sometimes, much to his delight, I took him to work with me at a local caravan park where one day, I spotted some beautiful blue flowers at the foot of a fence where we were walking. I asked him what the flowers were, and he said “Forget-me-nots”. Being the son of a true countryman, Alfie had an almost Supernatural connection with Birds(feathered and non feathered!)and Wildlife in general, something I’m happy to say I seem to have inherited from him.

Then one Sunday when we’d returned from the pub, we simply couldn’t rouse Pa’s lady friend. Unfortunately she’d long since took my Father’s door key, blaming his Dementia. Alfie couldn’t figure out where his lady friend had gone. And indeed for the next ten months he continually asked me, no doubt several hundred times a day, where she’d gone, even up til a few days before he died. To use Dad’s words, she’d done a “moonlight flit”, she’d “jumped ship”, taking most of her stuff with her, and some of my Pa’s too, including his credit cards(which I cancelled first thing the following day)his cheque book, and his pension book. Having sensed something wasn’t quite right, I’d already had his pension paid into his bank account several weeks previous, and held on to his debit card, already having the power of attorny over Alfie’s finances. My Father quit full time work when he was 75, after some 60 years plus working, but had continued to work part time til he was 85. At which point he’d stopped citing the “dreadful drive” to the Pine factory in Tolleshunt Knights(TK being his place of birth)as his reason. As a result his pension was considerable.

I really don’t want to name names, or make accusations about a person, whose family may take offence, because I still have much love and respect for that family, or at least certain members of that family. It will suffice to say that my Father’s “landlady” enjoyed my Pa’s wealth and pension, and when he became ill, it was too much for her to deal with, and she took the easy way out, and left. But for my Dad, it was too much to take, and suffering Dementia, unfortunately he never got his head round the fact that she’d gone, and continually asked me where she was. To say his constant repetition and questions drove me round the bend would be a massive understatement.

Pa and I went to mine, and after a telephone call I was told that a small suitcase containing some underwear and a few other minor bits and pieces had been left behind my garden gate. It was so sad, and rather pathetic, this little case that had travelled the world, with it’s scant contents, precious little to show for almost 90 years on the planet. The following day, at the behest of Social services, Pa was taken to be assessed at a local care home. The stench of pee 10 feet from the front door was overwhelming, and despite the best efforts of the lovely staff, the place was grubby, it stank and was falling down. I’d like to think that my Dad’s visit there improved things a little, certainly their security, as Alfie tried to escape several times, and as a result they had to put an alarm on the front door. Once he was found walking down the lane to the nearby village, with another elderly chap. When one of the staff caught up with him and asked where he was going he said “the pub”.

My Father hated being there, and when I visited him he wept and begged me to take him home. After a few days I began to worry that staying there would have a permanent effect on Pa’s health, and it broke my heart to see him crying, so I defied every body, and Tom and I sprang him from the dreadful place. Officially homeless my Pa stayed with me for several months. It was a difficult scenario,  I have a lengthy, steep staircase leading to my flat, and often as not I’d wake to find him standing at the top of the stairs, without his glasses on, unsteady and uncertain of where he was. Alfie slept a lot of the time, on a wee bed in my lounge, mostly I think because he was so confused, sleep was a better alternative to the ghastly reality of losing the place he called home, after almost 20 years. People who suffer Dementia become seriously disoriented if they’re moved from the familiar, and this is obviously what happened to Dad.

Some weeks later at a meeting with the local Social services, ably supported by the council’s homelessness officer, and my elder Sister, I was asked whether I could possibly care for my Pa for a few more hours weekly, in an attempt no doubt to save shillings somewhere. I was tired and ragged, and of course all my waking hours were spent looking after my Father. I was so angry I leapt out of my seat and was intent on punching the social worker. At which point the homelessness officer grabbed my hand and pulled me outside in to the corridor, and calmed me down. She told me if I hit the guy Alfie would never get re housed, and I’d be at the top of the SS’s shitlist, so I went back into the meeting and said nothing. There were vague promises made that once Pa had been re housed, then a care package would be put in place, to assist me.

I do sincerely hope(and I do very much welcome comments pertaining to)that the system within the Social services has changed for the better. Because when I cared for my Father it felt like it was a constant battle to get help, and to get things done. Gradually, by September time 2005, my Pa, aged 89, having been homeless for four months, was offered sheltered accommodation. We moved into a sweet little bungalow in Heybridge, and for the most part we were happy. Every couple of days carers came in and showered and shaved my Pa, something he’d long since lost the desire and ability to do. I kept Alfie as pristine dress wise as he’d ever been, obsessively making sure he was his “dapper” self. According to Pa the bungalow wasn’t his home, his real home being Fitch’s crescent, our family home that we’d left some 19 years previous, after Ma had passed. And sometimes he’d remember he’d lived at his lady friend’s house and want to go there. We shared some truly sad times, but there were lots of very good times, and some extremely funny times too!

On Christmas day 2005, Pa, Tom and I had our usual knees up at the Malsters at lunch time. Afterwards Tom took Alfie home with him for lunch, whilst I went back home to bed, for some well earned shut eye. On Boxing day I decided to cook a Christmas feast, paid for by the generosity of the Fireman’s benevolent fund, some thing Alfie had championed for all his years in the Brigade. We sat down to enjoy this lovely dinner washed down with much Cava, tho’ I noticed Pa was scraping the small crusty edge off his stuffing. “Every thing ok Pa?” I asked, wondering why he was scratching at his plate.”Bloody lovely boy” says he, “apart from the Snake. I’ve tried it a couple of times and I’m sorry but I don’t like it”. I’m not sure when he thought Snake had been introduced to the traditional English Christmas dinner, but after me assuring him there was no Snake in the dinner, and him assuring me he had tasted Snake before, and there was, I had to let it go. Another time Pa and I were walking through the local shopping precinct, and a young Mum with a very low cut top, pushing a buggy, passed us. Split seconds later Alfie turned round to me and said “bloody lovely tits Tev!”. It seemed Dad never lost his love of women, and once when we were in a pub in Maldon, he bumped into a small group of ladies he knew, enjoying lunch. “How are you Alf?” one of the more brassy gals asked, “I’m fine” he said, leaning on his walking stick like the errant son of Charlie Chaplin “just don’t get enough sex any more!”.

I quickly found out I had to be very careful with what I said to Alfie. He’d usually wake at 7.30 a.m, I’d hear him get up and take him for a pee, afterwards he’d go back to bed til maybe 8.00-8.30. But then, if he asked me whether we were going to the pub that day, if I said yes he’d say “bloody lovely!” and leap out of bed and attempt to start dressing! At which point I’d have to explain that it was only 8.30 a.m. and he hadn’t had his breakfast, and the pub visit was at least four hours away. Caring for someone with Dementia is probably one of the hardest things you can do, as you’re being constantly battered with the same questions, literally hundreds of times a day, and you’re having to try to keep someone fed and watered who simply can’t remember what happened three seconds ago, never mind a half an hour. I’d always try and give Alfie all his favourite foods to keep him happy and because he’d like to retire no later than 9.30 pm often as not I’d cook his dinner early, and I’d eat later after he was in bed, in peace, without the constant questioning. But several times I’d cooked Pa’s dinner, and for whatever reason he’d been late for bye byes, and me being hungry I’d cooked my dinner and ate it in front of him, prior to him settling. As I was eating he asked me, “so where’s my dinner?”. I explained that he’d already eaten his dins, and that I was having mine late. “Bloody starving I am!” he says, and proceeded to tell me he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a cup of tea!

Getting Dad ready for bed was always a head spin. If I left him to his own devices often as not he’d simply take off his trousers and jumper, and snuggle down. So I had to help him undress, as he simply couldn’t remember how. Then came sorting out his pyjamas, then trying to get him to take off his glasses, then hand over his hearing aid, which was a nightly battle! Perhaps he wanted to see and hear well in his dreams……?

Caring for my Pa, as far as I was concerned, was just returning the favour. He’d washed me, fed me, dressed me and wiped my bum as a child. And when he got Dementia, it was my turn, the child truly became the Father to the Man. I’d urge any one in my circumstances to do the same, because trust me, it’s about as real as things get in this “Maya”, and the love between a parent and child is very profound, and knows no bounds. As my great friend Mr Lovely says of when some one dies, “where there’s a will, there’s a relative!”, but I’d add to that. Inevitably when some one dies, there’s tremendous guilt, even when there should be none. Despite the fact I did my best I still felt I could have done better, so my ego hammered me with guilt. But in the dreadful scenario that is Dementia or Alzheimers, you have to learn to love in a more patient, deeper way, I couldn’t have lived with myself had I simply packed Pa off to a care home.

So after almost 5 pretty far out months at the bungalow, just when I thought things were becoming a little more settled, Alfie’s Dementia became more acute. And there were one or two occasions where my Father, or rather his Dementia, became very aggressive, and tried to lash out at me. One Sunday when he was due to spend the day with my Sister, he said he couldn’t get out of bed. I tried to motivate him in all the usual ways, telling him it would soon be time to go to the pub, and that my Sister was cooking a big Sunday lunch for him, but he simply wouldn’t budge. When I asked what was wrong he said he couldn’t move, and I  became very concerned. It was only lovely Tom’s arrival that finally got him motivated. Looking very subdued and shaky I got him out of bed, dressed him, and sent him on his way. But despite the splendid lunch and much pampering from my Sis and Tom, he returned to the bungalow, breathless and disoriented. The following day he simply wouldn’t get out of bed, and complained he felt unwell, and coughed a little blood.

At that point I called the Quack, who thought my Pa had a chest infection and gave me some antibiotics and said Dad would be fine in a few days. I can’t recall who alerted them, but the District Nurses began to visit, which perked Pa up for the time they were with him. I can’t praise these lovely women too highly, they managed to get Pa to the loo, to drink, and take his medication. But for the rest of the time, Alfie behaved like he had a fever. He moaned and groaned continually, refused to eat or drink, and for quite a bit of the time spoke to various people who were “visiting” him in his delerium. He kept reassuring my Mother he’d be with her soon, and had quite heated conversations with some of his visitors. I was totally freaked out, I felt powerless and simply couldn’t cope, and Dad’s rantings were driving me more crazy than his constant questioning. It was beyond me to nurse my Father at this point, or do any thing to help him further. After consulting my Sisters I decided to call the Quack again, and request that my Pa be taken to hospital, where surely they could attend his needs better than I.

When my Pa’s Doctor did show up some 5 hours later, he was rather uptight and gruff. He said my Pa had a chest infection, and what did I expect him to do? I told him I simply couldn’t cope with my Father being this ill, and please could he send him to the hospital for proper medical care? Then he asked me something that totally blew my mind; did I want him to die at home or in hospital? because if he went to hospital, if the chest infection didn’t kill him, then surely MRSA would. I was outraged that he could say such a thing, and told him that I didn’t think that was the issue, that my Father needed urgent medical attention that I couldn’t give him. He wasn’t willing but got on the phone and ordered an ambulance, which arrived some four hours later! Thank God it wasn’t an emergency……

When I think back to the Quack’s attitude, of course what he said wasn’t as bad as I thought, he was just so brusque and his bed side manner was awful, and he said it all in front of my Pa. I couldn’t cope with my Dad being that ill, but of course it would have been better for him to die in his own bed, rather than a strange hospital. But when I went to see him in hospital the day after his admission, I realised I’d made the right choice. The Doctor on the ward confirmed my Dad had Pneumonia, but anticipated he’d pull through after a course of medication.

My Father was in intensive care, with nurses attending to him regularly. He was wearing an oxygen mask, but as I walked into his room, I could see he was smiling at me, behind the mask. One last smile. One of my nieces stood on one side of his bed, crying and holding on to her hubby, I sat on the other side holding Pa’s hand. He’d stopped his delirium, and seemed relaxed and at ease, tho’ didn’t speak. I left him for a few minutes to speak to his Doctor who assured me Alfie would be fine once he had completed his course of antibiotics. I went back and saw my Pa, told him I loved him, and told him to get his arse out of the hospital asap.

I went back to Heybridge, visited a friend’s pub and had a few drinks, and went home to bed. When the call came through early evening that my Dad had died, I couldn’t believe it. The Quack had said he’d pull through. But I think Alfie had just had enough, and decided he’d leave. Just like all the Yogis and Gurus I’d read about. He was tired, and he wasn’t himself any more. I think he saw a way out and took it, and who could blame him? I felt devastated. My Dad, my best mate, had gone, and he wasn’t coming back. I sort of went numb, like there was a cotton wool barrier between me and reality. Dear old Al was as supportive and kind as he’d always been, and another mutual friend Steve, who’d also been very good to Pa and I, was brilliant. The three of us went out the following day and had a good drink, to celebrate Alfie’s life, and indeed our lives.

Then came all the really tough stuff, registering Dad’s death, sorting the funeral arrangements, all the financial bullshit, then emptying the bungalow of all of Pa’s clothes and belongings. Tom was fantastic, he held my hand(sometimes literally)through the incredibly difficult process of sorting Pa’s clothes. Which was going fine up until me finding a tie he’d bought, insisting to my Sister Helen he must buy it the previous Christmas. It was a big old bright red kipper tie, with a silly fluffy Santa on it, and when you hit Santa’s nose it played “We wish you a Merry Christmas”. At that point I just broke down, because it summarised Alfie in lots of ways: he loved Christmas, as I do, (and of course it reminded me of our last Christmas together) and he was always trying to put a smile on people’s faces, playing the fool, being the “Norman Wisdom” of the family. He loved people(especially women!)and was the last of a certain breed of adventurers, because when he “traversed the globe” the world was a much bigger place. From the inspiration he’d got from his Geography lessons as a young boy, and with a sharp mind and a kind of fearlessness unknown these days, he walked the path few dared to tread, and along the way loved many women, saw sights “Kings and Queens aint never seen”(Howling Wolf)earned and spent a small fortune, and certainly had few regrets. Except Australia that is!

I consider it a privilege to have had Alfie as my Dad, and every day I think about him and feel good, laugh, cry, but above all I know Alfie had a dozen people’s lives, loved a lot of people, and we will never see his like again.

http://youtu.be/RMTKb-pgxGI

“If I leave you it doesn’t mean I love you any less” – Warren Zevon

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKPVW_yQncY

“Listening to you, I hear the music……” – The Who

Since 2001, with guidance from my dear friend Mr Lovely, I’ve been studying philosophy, and meditating daily. The Mad Princess asked me exactly what I get out of meditation, so I figured it was time to take stock.

One of the biggest benefits I get from meditation is the ability to silence the “chattering monkey”. I believe as Nick Fisher(dear friend and Bible scholar) does, that the brain is the interface between the soul and the body. And our ego, the emotional part of us, constantly witters away, so much so that many people tell me they simply can’t sleep, with their thoughts continually raging. If you try and analyze what the monkey says, it’s mostly related to the ego. Some philosophies call the ego the “Big Lizard”, the remnant of more primitive times, when we were hunter/gatherers. It was necessary to be on our guard, and to be fearful and careful, with all the numerous dangers in pre civilisation. Hence I suppose why most people are still fearful about many things. Old habits die hard.

But if we really analyse our fears, we find 99% of them are unjustified, based in either the past or the future, neither of which actually exist, except in our minds. It’s as if we project a negative past onto a negative future, we believe that because something bad has happened in the past, it’s bound to happen again. Rational fear is of course still jolly useful i.e. if someone’s chasing you with an axe, run! But otherwise, almost all the fears we have never come to anything, and it would seem to me they’re the ego’s way of punishing us, for not complying with the wishes of the “Big Lizard”.

So to recap, the first benefit I felt from meditation was being able to slow my thoughts down, and let go of a great deal of fear, to be able to rationalise far better than I ever had done. Next, I’d say that meditation has increased my awareness. I am more aware than ever of the fact that my emotions and fears shape my world. And once I realise the world is my own projection, shaped by my thoughts and feelings, I can be free of it. A while ago I did a demo of the Morris Albert song “Feelings”. As Mr Lovely reminds me, my feelings are “nothing more than feelings” as the song says, neurotransmitters firing, thoughts in my mind. And through meditation and training the mind, you can choose whether you validate these feelings, or not. And most of the time, especially bad feelings, I can just let them go, negating their effect. I am reminded by “A course in Miracles” written down by Helen Schucman, but puported to be her hearing an inner voice, possibly Christ, that “Nothing real can be threatened. Nothing unreal exists. Herein lies the peace of God”.  Our soul is real, the ego’s hypnosis isn’t. As the Hindus say, Maya(a Sanskrit word meaning “not that”) is not the illusion of creation but the ignorance that makes one see the illusion as real.

Once you have an awareness of your fear and emotions, you can begin to understand others better, and become more compassionate. Because every other poor soul is experiencing what we are, fears about money, our work, our home and our relationships. People needlessly and continually beat themselves up, just because of their thoughts. It’s one of life’s great tragedies, people seem to be unable to step out from under the big black cloud of fear. Through meditation, and stilling the “chattering monkey”, you really can retrain your mind, and let go of negative and useless thoughts. But it’s not a quick fix, and requires discipline and daily input.

As my regular readers know, my Grandmother was a renowned Psychic, and as I’ve said before I believe she was a Theosophist. Broadly, Theosophy attempts to reconcile humanity’s scientific, philosophical, and religious disciplines and practices into a unified world view. As Mr Lovely says, “anythingarianism”! So from an early age I’ve been open to lots of different religious and spiritual ideas. Certainly my Mother was a Christian, and read the Bible, and gave me her copy in the late 1970′s. I read it for a while, and thoroughly enjoyed it, and recently started reading the New Testament again. The copy Nick sent me has the words of Jesus in bold red letters, which I find uplifting and righteous, and they make excellent sense.

I’ve certainly always liked to believe in Reincarnation. And pretty much all faiths prescribe to some sort of afterlife. As I’ve previously said, my Grandma would go into a trance like state and mutter incomprehensibly. When she came round, I asked her what was up. She’d say she was just speaking to friends on the other side.

As Warren Zevon said “I’ll see you in the next life, wake me up for meals!” Of course being older and more cynical, I’m not completely convinced of Heaven, Nirvana, Samadi, or whatever your choice of label might be. And if I do reincarnate, do I really have to come back to this planet, as beautiful as it is? Because it seems the norm is war, turmoil and hate, at least as far as our leaders are concerned. I think the average joe on the street is decent and hard working, and have a reasonable idea of what’s right and wrong. They have a lot to teach our Prime Ministers and Presidents.

The problem I have with certain spiritual doctrines is that they are like a secret club, where only the enlightened(or the rich) are allowed admission. And for me, that’s one of the big plus points about Christianity, all are welcome, all are forgiven. Of course Christianity must not be confused with Churchianity. And let’s get this very straight, any one that promotes violence, war or theft is not Christian. So that pretty much rubs out our world leaders! Buddhism I feel is the most accessible Eastern philosophy, and I particularly like their concept of “mindfulness”, to live in the present. Because surely if we dwell too much on the past or the future we simply aren’t living our lives to the fullest.

I think Scientology has some excellent precepts too, for example the concept of Engrams, a “recording” of a past painful event not normally accessible to the conscious mind, but something that affects most people daily. Unfortunately unless you have the cash for the numerous books and courses, it doesn’t seem to be a very welcoming church. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking L.Ron Hubbard was some sort of genius. I’ve also studied the Kabbala, and have several of the tapes from Madonna’s Guru, Phillip Berg, courtesy of Mr Lovely. It’s a fascinating philosophy, to summarise it: a religious philosophical system claiming an insight into divine nature, based on the Hebrew Bible. But you’ve got to have a very good memory to practise this faith, because there’s so many names, of Angels and Arch Angels, and the like. And of course Mr Berg would like just a wee bit of your wage……

I know the benefits of Meditation. I have faith in something bigger than Mankind. And I have faith in Mankind too. I believe that the Ten Commandments are the best moral rules by which we should all be bound. I don’t dig hate and war, but I groove on Peace and Love.

“Every Man, and every Woman, is a Star”

What exciting times we live in! Sadly not culturally, because I don’t think music or the arts has been at such a low ebb creatively in living memory, tho’ some will argue different, but please, don’t! I’m talking about what’s happening on the planet, with our political climate shifting daily and our perception of what’s happening getting bigger and bigger, thanks to the Internet. It’s a time of extremes.  Because of the occupation of Wall street and similar demonstrations, people are beginning  to wake up to what’s really happening financially with our planet, and are starting to realise 99% of what politicians say is spin. I saw a recent documentary on Lee Perry, who was asked what he thought of the political climate in England. He said he didn’t like our “crime minister”! I believe the “limited financial resources” cliche most of the World’s politicians drone on about is rubbish. If there is “limited financial resources” it’s because the banks and politicians have stolen it all, i.e. 90% of the wealth in this country is owned by 10% of the population, a good percentage of which are in government. If these people weren’t so greedy, there’d be ample to go round, and many times over. Let’s get this straight, no one believes the politicians any more, it’s game over chaps I’m afraid. The system is rotten and corrupt, and no amount of spin will change that. Trust simply cannot be repaired. I’m not sure of the way forward, but perhaps it means dismantling our current system, and rebuilding one that isn’t based on financial rewards and perks, with many “jobs for the boys”.

I was listening to the brilliant Strawbs album, “Grave New World” recently, specifically the track “New World”. There’s a video to accompany it on Youtube, which I’ll post at the end of the article. It’s a wonderfully moving piece, with much footage of man’s inhumanity to man, ghastly. But what really shocked me, was some footage I haven’t seen before, of starving children in Africa. I’m afraid I’ve been as guilty as the next person in just turning a blind eye to famine. But I don’t believe us poor folk are to blame for that particular atrocity. I’d like these MP’s with their floating duck houses and plasma tellys to watch this video, then tell me how they feel about the system. And don’t trot out the usual bullshit about governments in Africa stealing the resources. If we can go into Lybia, help over throw Gaddafi, and build new army bases in that country and set up a system of “democracy”, then don’t tell me you can’t administer aid properly and fairly, without all the usually cited difficulties. And when the government says there’s a 17 billion pound wasted food mountain every year, you’ve got to ask, how obscene is that? Rather than give it away to the poor, they’d have it rot. That amount of food would feed the starving peoples of Africa and elsewhere easily, with some left over! Hang your heads in shame you wicked people!

If you really look into world finances, and the very interesting(and privately owned)Federal reserve, it’s not hard to figure these people(and their banking buddies)already have a New World order, which is concerned only with the financial domination of the planet, a “globalisation” of their political system of greed. Whether the massive down turn in the world’s economy is part of their plan or a minor set back I’m not sure.

Despite assurances to the contrary from Mr Cameron, the rich still continue to get rich, more so than they’ve ever done before, and the poor just stay poor. And not only do we stay poor, but the food companies keep thinking up more ingenious ways of ripping us off. For instance, have you noticed recently, your favourite coffee/biscuit/butter/whatever has shrunk just a little, yet the price has risen quite considerably? And hey, we’re paying a hundred pounds per year more for our utilities than we were in June, whilst all the major energy providers post record profits, even tho’ the cost of energy production has dropped, and gas prices crashed in 2009 and haven’t recovered any where near their previous high. So c’mon Dave, are you going to tell ya mates to calm down and come down, or what? I doubt it.

As a great philosopher once said, “when you ain’t got nothing, you ain’t got nothing to lose”. But when you’ve got pots of money, well as Stanley Unwin said trembly trembly. Because surely the poo has not hit the fan anywhere near as hard as it will do soon. The Euro looks terminally sick, and the Dollar has a bad dose of something.

And thus Gaddafi was overthrown. Well, great that’s another formerly US sponsored dictator out of the way. They’re amazing the American government, but don’t ever fall in love with them, cos one day they want you, the next day they hate ya! Of course Gaddafi should have felt the full weight of international law, for all the atrocities he committed. But am I the only one thinking that shooting him in the head, in the street, was barbaric? Again I’ll say, this despot should have been tried in a proper court of law for all the dreadful horrors he committed, but is it really Christian(and the last time I looked both Cameron and Obama were purportedly Christian, right?)to summarily execute him in the road? The tabloids scream “that’s for Lockerbie” but we all know they’re criminals and liars, and is his death really going to make the relatives of the victims of Lockerbie happier? I doubt that.

Or are we now applying Sharia law, an eye for an eye, etc.? Perhaps we should cut a few MP’s hands off, that’ll teach ‘em! You’ll notice I’ve used the term Christian, but just like Muslim, it’s a much abused term nowadays. Certainly the Christians are very involved in exposing a lot of what’s happening covertly in America, and jolly well done to them I say. And many Christians believe we are in “End days”, the period of much tribulation, prior to the second coming. Indeed Buddhists and Muslims and many other faiths also believe in Armageddon too. With the state of play in world politics, who can blame them for believing the Bible prophesies are being fulfilled?

So where, you ask, does Lady Ga Ga fit in to all of this? Well I heard a duet she recorded, probably quite recently, with Tony Bennett, “The Lady is a tramp”. Tony’s voice still sounds as good as it ever did, his phrasing immaculate. But Lady Ga Ga’s voice sounds like so much vocal histrionics, and for me completely wrecked the track. A bit like putting a Techno beat on “Bridge over troubled water” by Simon and Garfunkel, or splashing coloured paint, Pollock style, over the ceiling of the Systine chapel, both of which concepts would appeal to few(but maybe to some!) In our current cultural vacuum, plagiarism is deemed original, and the Emperor’s new (meat)clothes just fine and dandy.

She is the ultimate “cult of personality,” along with X factor “celebrities”, and fits perfectly in to our vacuous media controlled world, which worships mediocrity and the bland. She doesn’t have to think creatively, her stylists do it for her. And despite her claims to the opposite, she is indeed meat, and processed meat at that! I suppose nobody mentioned the Beatles “Butcher cover”, or the cover to the  Undertones greatest hits double album “All wrapped up” to Ms G? Now c’mon Ga Ga, be a good little robot and be nice and outrageous, so those little middle class white tearaways can feel dangerous and hip! Don’t worry about the content, it’s only chewing gum for the ears! I loved what Bowie’s press office said in response to rumours he was going to work with her, “David has not worked with her and has no plans to do so, it’s a hoax”. Thanks Dave, sanity in the maelstrom.

But the real link between globalisation and Lady Ga Ga is simple, one word: hypnosis.

But I still have faith in human nature, we’re such crazy impulsive beings, well as the man said, “anything could happen in the next half hour!” There’s a lot of people out there who don’t worship money, but worship love and truth. I pray that ultimately we’ll be the last ones standing. And hey, how pleased am I the anti greed protesters are wearing Guy Fawkes masks? Finally here’s a lyric that Nick sent me, a great song we loved as kids, and still relevant!

Frank Zappa – I’m the slime

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhEwjCoGru8

When the digital switch over thingy happened recently I decided that would be the end of it for me. Aside from the unashamed tripe dished up daily, the one eyed beasty called television is responsible for more hypnosis and bulls**t than most people realise, and I for one am happy to lay it to rest. Of course the tv licensing people will no doubt brand me a liar, but hey, that’s their problem!

What it has done is make me reach into my huge archive of video tapes. My initial delve was towards all the wonderful Zombie movies I avidly collected in the 80′s, mostly Lucio Fulci but the entire George Romero back catalogue. Those 1970′s Italian Horror movies really float my boat, because they’re so incredibly dark and atmospheric, and the vibe of all the Zombie/Cannibal movies is desperate and Apocalyptic, and I’ve had a hundred dreams where I’m the Ian McCulloch figure, the dude who leads the good folk away from the bad!

But what did I nonchalantly stumble over in my rifling’s?A whole evenings worth of Glam Rock! Yee-har! A fabulous Glam top ten presented by my favourite DJ’s, Tony Blackburn and Alan “Fluff” Freeman. It was probably the very awful “Never too young to Rock’n'Roll” movie that followed it that got me thinking about the common threads in Glam Rock. The biggest influence is 50′s Rock’n'Roll, like most popular music post Elvis, and certainly Doo Wop is an influence too, with all the “bop shewaddy” backing vocals of Mud, Wizzard, Showadywaddy and the Rubettes. But there’s another looming prescence which may have alluded all but the most obsessive……Phil Spector.

Showaddywaddy, and Mud, who weren’t really Glam, all wore regulation Teddy Boy drape coats, and brothel creepers, aside from Mud’s very girly looking guitarist Rob Davis, now a songwriter of some renown, having written “Can’t get you out of my head” for Kylie. And Les Gray undoubtedly sang like an Elvis pastiche, tho’ their hairstyles would’ve certainly got them kicked out of the Silver era club, our local Rock’n'Roll joint in Maldon.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               All of Glam’s key players referenced 50′s Rock’n'Roll in some way or another. Bill Legend told me Bolan’s hero was Eddie Cochran. He also said Bolan told him he received a telegram from Elvis, wishing him luck on his first tour of America, tho’ Bill thought that was pure fantasy on Marc’s behalf. Bill also told me David Bowie(via Tony Visconti)asked him to drum on the “Diamond Dogs” tour, which he declined!

The sound came from somewhere else tho’. Of course it’s obvious that Roy Wood, a totally under rated English pop genius, replicated Spector’s “Wall of Sound” almost as obsessively as Brian Wilson did. And a damn fine clone it was too. But compare “Angel Face” by the Glitter band and “Instant Karma” by the Plastic Ono band and I think you’ll get my drift. An often used effect in Glam is the Sun style slap back echo. And what does Spector do with Lennon’s vocal on “Instant Karma”? It’s said that John hated the sound of his voice, and urged Spector to cover it in Elvis echo. And I know from personal experience, slap back echo does wonders for one’s voice, an instant double track, with every breath sounding full and dramatic. And it’s not just the vocals, on both Lennon’s and the Glitter band’s singles, there’s slap echo on the drums and hand claps, both an essential part of the sound.

Something I really love about the Glitter band is their tuneless thug/football hooligan/terrace style Heys! and along with the neo tribal/Burundi drums, saturated with Spector style echo, guarantee to get the pulse racing. Plus they have 2 drummers just like the Wrecking crew. The Glitter band’s vocals aren’t quite as intense as Lennon’s, but the compression on the drums and bass give it a similar density to “Karma”. And with “Power to the people” there’s even Saxophone to thicken up the sound, just like the Glitter band. Mott the Hoople used wailing 50′s style sax to good effect on their singles “All the way from Memphis” and “Honaloochie boogie”, courtesy of Andy Mackay from Roxy Music.

Perhaps it’s a sound very much of it’s time, the early 1970′s, but a good degree of the Glam rock that followed Lennon’s solo singles certainly have Spector nuances.

So we’ve got the dense, compressed drums, with added echo(just like “Instant Karma”)on the Glitter band/Rubettes/Suzi Quatro/Slade and the Sweet 45′s, with a driving, heavy bass. As Alan Williams once said to me, all great Rock’n'Roll has the drums upfront, and certainly Glam is no exception. The guitar sounds reflected 1970′s heavy Rock, the Marshall amp/Les Paul archetype brought on by the Who, followed by Free and numerous other Blues Rock ensembles. Then we have the Sun/Elvis slap back echo on the lead vocal, and listening to “Mama weer all crazee now” even the very venerable Sir Noddy of Nodsworth Holder has that close slapback on his voice. And of course, special reverence must be given to Slade, who along with the Glitter band influenced several generations of musicians, and continue to do so today.

I pretty much hated Glam all together in it’s time. I loved Bowie, Roxy Music, the New York Dolls and the Stooges, and thought mainstream British Glam Rock was the pits. But when I heard “Fox on the run” by the Sweet on a de-tuned radio when it was released, I realised they rocked pretty hard, especially their B sides, where they were given free reign. Sweet were the sub Heavy Metal archetype, and perhaps we have them to blame for “Hair Metal”, bless ‘em! And if you watch the Sweet on TOTP, doesn’t Mr Priest look like our favourite Droog, Alex? I have “Turn it down” as the ring tone on my phone, set to maximum volume. It always goes down well at the checkout in Netto……

Over the years I’ve become very fond of the genre, especially Slade(Noddy is a national treasure!)the Sweet and the Glitter band. I suppose I forgave Bolan post Tyrannosaurus Rex, because “20th Century Boy” and “Solid Gold Easy Action” rocked fabulously. Oh yeah and Bill Legend played in my band, the Surf Rats. Not that you’d know that if you checked any of the numerous websites pertaining to Mr Fyfield, I’m not sure why because he played with the Surf Rats longer than he did T.Rex. God bless Bill.

Through Bill Legend I also got to meet Len Tucky, the ex Mr Quatro. I found Len to be a man of few words, and if I could accurately described his demeanour it would be stoic, tho’ I’m told he’s extremely deaf after many years of his lugs being battered by Marshall amplification. Another Glam player I met a few years ago was Vic Faulkner from Hello. Vic was a pro player from his early teens. His success with Hello means a nice yearly royalty cheque, just in time for Christmas. A more affable fellow you’d be hard pressed to meet, Vic is a fabulous bass player, an excellent guitarist, with a voice to match, and still playing.

Ian Linge, the Surf Rats rhythm guitarist was a major Glam fan in the day. He said when a new single was released in those times, people would actually queue outside the most popular record shop in Maldon, Ma Cater’s, in their droves to buy it. And of course sales in those days were phenomenal, you really did have to sell millions to get into the charts. The popularity of Glam Rock in the 1970′s was akin to Beatlemania in the 1960′s, and certainly all the girls at my school adored Bolan, the Sweet and Slade, along with their contemporaries the Osmonds and the Partridge family, tho’ the Mad Princess tells me you had to like either Donny or David and that there was fierce rivalry in opposing camps! I tried to capitalise on this by having my long hair styled like David Cassidy’s, and this did indeed bring some successes with the fairer sex, along with a wee bit of eyeliner, blusher and glitter applied to the barnet! As Steve Preist from the Sweet once said, “sure, we’re Gay, now where’s yer girlfriend?”

Of course Roxy music weren’t part of the mainstream pack, and didn’t fit the Glam archetype. I have to thank Miss Peyton for turning me on to their wonderfulness. In 1972 via Veronica’s Dansette I was given an incredible Rock’n'Roll baptism, most importantly the Stooges and Roxy Music. Roxy’s style and music totally suited Veronica and Hilary’s mentality, a mix of Biba chic, Greebo fashions and 1950′s Kitsch, with a dash of Rock’n'Roll, courtesy of their Mum Cath, a major Elvis fan. Roxy had a Sci-fi edge too, more glamorous than Ziggy’s alien. Their spaceship would have been made from chrome, and fashioned with the sleakness of a 1950′s Cadillac. When I heard “Virginia Plain” in the Summer of ’72 it blew me away, their Velvet Underground rhythms, the like Hawkwind-but-weirder synths, and Ferry’s neo crooner /Elvis vocals added up to a startling and unique sound. And when I heard their first album it took me to a very strange place indeed. Very melancholic and icy, with great Pop sensibilities. And can I perhaps be the first to say their sound was certainly Prog-ish on the first two albums?

At this point, with the exception of Slade(see “How does it feel?”)it has to be said, that unlike popular music in the 60′s and early 70′s, Glam was amazingly devoid of the Beatles influence.

Another band that didn’t fit in the Glam mainstream were Mott the Hoople. I emailed John “Mojo” Mills at Shindig magazine recently, mostly in an attempt to blag a job with what I consider to be England’s finest music magazine. He asked me about ideas for future articles, and I told him something that I’ve been milling over for a while is a career overview of Mott the Hoople. Great he says, I’m making a documentary film about them! Pah! Beaten to the punch! They fascinate me as a band, they went through so many phases and styles, from Folk, to Dylan, to Blues rock and Prog, and Bowie, and beyond, but were always Mott the Hoople. And perhaps to some extent, they channelled 1950′s Rock’n'Roll more than any of the other players, certainly on “Mott” and “The Hoople” albums. I’ll try and summarise them: Dylan listening only to Sun era Elvis and Chuck Berry, with an altruistic philosophy, fronting a band who rocked hard, copped the Stones’ best swagger, inventing the sort of sloppiness that made the New York Dolls brilliant, and had Mick Ralphs as their Ronno. A Glam Rolling Stones if you will. And lest we forget, when Mott went toes up, Mick Ralphs positively shone in Bad Company, at least for their first two albums. I can still feel the excitement when Will bought “Brain Capers”, wondering what stoned idea made them attach a Lone Ranger mask to the cover……

I love the story Bowie tells of Mott rejecting “Drive in Saturday” as the follow up to “Dudes”. He was convinced it would be a hit for them, and when they told him they weren’t interested, he did what any star of his calibre would do……he shaved off his eye brows.

I guess it also had to be said, can any one imagine any of today’s humourless Rock’n'Rollers wearing the ridiculous costumes of the Glam era? And I think the 1970′s were much happier times, when people were less uptight and game for a laugh. And that reflects on classic comedy too, whether it be Monty Python’s or Morcambe and Wise, or Spike Milligan, inherant English silliness, much loved and sadly missed.

“Are you ready Steve……?”

Before I begin this piece, I’d just like to say, I abhor violence in anyway, shape or form, and the criminal opportunists and children who rioted in our cities these past few days should feel the full measure of the law.

But I have to laugh when I hear the media call these people criminals, which of course they are, but hey? Isn’t hacking into a murdered person’s phone criminal? Isn’t the false hope they gave to the loved ones of this person absolutely and utterly abmonable, beyond reprehensible, criminally evil? Just to sell more newspapers, to make them more money. Again, not to make light or in anyway excuse the rioting, but the media make these idiots look like Pick’n'Mix shoplifters!

And I also laugh again when I hear our “politicians” talk about the rioters being criminals, because to my mind, there are no bigger criminals in this country than the ruling classes. They are totally and utterly corrupt, completely rotten to the core. They don’t have to go out and loot a Plasma telly, they just stick it on their expenses and hope no one’s watching. These “politicians” have got to realise, we don’t believe a word they say, and as Truman said about Nixon, we know when they’re lying, it’s when their lips move! They have screwed billions and billions of pounds out of this country, with their dear friends and colleagues, the bankers, and continue to do so, yet tell us they’ve cleaned up their act. They are singularly responsible for the massive lowering of the moral tone in this country, as I’ve said before, your average brainwashed consumer thinks well, the politicians can get away with murder and seem to have no conscience, we’ll have some of that!

The politicians can’t ever fix the damage they’ve done to their reputation, the expenses scandal has confirmed politics is one big “Old boy’s club” where the gravy train is ridden daily, nay hourly. And no worries if you’re disgraced or sacked, you’ll get a nice fat pension and one of your buddies will give your a job as an advisor with a huge salary to boot. And if anyone still thinks that any of these “people” give a damn about us, well I’m afraid you’re sorely mistaken. They have one God, one goal, and that’s money, nothing more. They’ve raped and wrecked our society, and expect us to foot the bill!

These “politicians” approve the brainwashing of the masses via tv and the media in general, programming them to desire the newest car, the newest appliance or gadget, to perpetuate the consumer society. Trouble is, the goodies keep getting more and more costly. These fools who looted probably saw it as their only chance to get their hands on the big prizes, hypnotised in their desire to consume, without any thought for the consequences. And if their motivation was political, why not riot in Parliament, three quarters of the country would be rooting for them!

And of course we couldn’t use water cannons to break up the rioters? In a week where Amnesty and other human rights organisations refused to engage with the government about their policy on torture, because they think the debate will have no credibility, what, we can torture people, but heaven forbid we use a water cannon! Yeah, right……

And who gave our children the power over adults? Probably the same politically correct persons who are angry about the self same kids trashing our cities. These kids have no respect for themselves or others. And heaven forbid we attempt to discipline them. When I see toddlers out on my street after 6 pm I have to wonder what the hell are their parents thinking? Not from the hysterical “the streets are alive with Paedophiles” bullshit the media spout to sell papers, but from a love/respect standpoint. Do these people know where their kids are? Judging by recent events the answer must be no.

I do believe we can make this beautiful country honest and decent again, and I do sincerely believe the majority of people in this country have a well balanced set of morals, and do know right from wrong. Such a pity we can’t depend in any way, shape or form on our government, or the media to show us the way……

The Mad Princess and I watched Coldplay at Glastonbury courtesy of the BBC on Saturday night a couple of weeks ago. I can’t say I’m a huge fan, tho’ some of their tracks, “Speed of sound” for one, I certainly like. Their light show projected on the Pyramid,  specifically for the encore, was Psychedelically awesome, but sorry Honey, Chris Martin smells of pretension to me, and I ain’t talking about the latest Kate Moss fragrance. But no matter, generally a jolly good show. And judging by the audience(mostly twenty something gals according to the Beeb’s cameramen)the mood was high.

It got me thinking about the festivals I’d been to, tho’ I’m afraid I’ve only camped at one, and that was Reading 1973. Bob Mardon(yup, he of Chelmsford Punk festival infamy, bless him!)Sally Butcher, my then current girlfriend and I took the train to Reading from Chelmsford, and a very pleasant journey it was too. We were excited at seeing Genesis on a big stage, where we knew their elaborate theatrics would look amazing.

There were other delights that day that stick in my memory. The first being John Martin, ably assisted by Danny Thompson. It was a wash of his beautiful guitar through a ton of echo, and his stoned scat singing, along with Danny’s staggering upright bass attempting to underpin the proceedings. On a warm Summer’s day  it was heaven. Then something of an aural assault, Jon Hiseman’s Tempest, who at the time had the very brilliant Ollie Halshall on guitar. Ollie riffed very aggressively, but very Psychedelically too, and I was mightily impressed. On top of that Jon’s drumming was all double kick drum and heavy, it rocked and Bob being a drummer at the time loved it.

When Genesis came on later that night, Gabriel was wearing the Magog mask we first witnessed at the Rainbow in February of that year. I seem to remember him atop some sort of oblisk or platform which looked like an extension of the mask. Tall and scary! After several “McCartney Woodbines”(de rigueur at 70′s festivals)our young minds were well and truly blown. The next time I recall seeing Genesis(altho’ I saw them numerous times with Gabriel) was at the premier of “The Lamb lies down on Broadway” at Empire pool Wembley, in April 1975, an all together different affair……

The other festival that really sticks in my head was V August 2007. Mostly because of the Stooges, with the guitar God Ron Ashton. Ron came on, looking every inch the Christian militia man/weekend soldier/geek who shopped at the A&N, and wah wah’d, wailed and hammered his guitar like a man truly possessed with the spirit of Rock’n'Roll, which of course he was. If there was one guitarist in this age that you just had to see live, it was Ron Ashton, no contest. Bone crunching was a cliche made for Ron’s guitar chords, mega raunch and feed back-full, geetar Nirvana/Apocalypse!

I’ve seen the Ig so many times the site of him on stage is a familiar joy, a bit like how I used to feel about the Ramones. You never know how fragile beauty can be til suddenly it’s gone. God bless the Stooges, God bless Ron Ashton RIP……

Grahame Coxon was also at V that year. We caught most of his set, which was superb, very Punk rock and Johnny Ramone rama lama. It’s said that he stole “Revolver” from thee Light Brigade(a song we stole from Pegboy, who stole it from Mission of Burma)from seeing us in Colchester, but perhaps that’s Rock’n'Roll myth?

I also had the misfortune to attend Donington in 1994. As is the modern archetype the weather was pretty rancid, but it was the audience that really did my head in. Sure there were a few Glammy Hair Metal types, with their Rock chick girlfriends, very FLA 1990. But the majority appeared to be beer buffoons, and from the moment the gates opened around midday, the mob proceeded to try and drink their weight in ale from huge plastic containers, usually designated for Dc10 or Helicopter fuel. Of course the arena is huge, with some 70,000 in attendence, so a visit to the loo is a major excursion. No probs say the beer buffoons, we’ll pee in the plastic container……and when they’re full we’ll just hurl them into the audience. How utterly charming. Still, Aerosmith were pretty amazing, plus they did an obscure Page era Yardbirds track in the soundcheck, “Think about it”, the b side of the Yardbirds last single “Goodnight sweet Josephine”.

Lest we forget, music festivals weren’t always the corporate, hard sell affairs they are today. As MP’s son said a while back, so when did attending a festival become a fashion statement? Another excuse for Topshop to sell another frock from their Glastonbury collection? I got thrown out of the tent Iggy played in at V for smoking a cigarette(Rock’n'Roll huh?). I’d love to have seen these company bruisers handle an army of Freaks tripping on Oswold’s finest! Everyone knows about the spirit of Woodstock, and that was to kick off counter culture events globally. The point was Peace and Love, not Carling Black label(surely the modern equivalent of Watney’s?) and L’Oreal. Alcohol was very low key back then, nowadays it’s probably the main drug at festivals, no doubt followed by Cocaine.

But by the middle of the 70′s, the booze flowed more freely at festivals, specifically beer, and of course one could take one’s own alcohol into the gig in those times. I can remember a few showers of beer cans at Reading, which providing they were empty posed only a minor inconvenience, but an unpleasant one none the less!

This brings to mind a tale of two of my friends who went to Knebworth in 1979 to see Led Zeppelin. The usual beer can assault broke the otherwise peaceful and friendly scenario. Suddenly through the hail a can hit one of the friends on the side of the head, resulting in a nasty gash to the cranium. But the fellow’s despair turned to joy, as he realised he’d been struck on the head by an unopened can, a Party Seven! Manna from Heaven!!!

For the uninitiated, a Party Seven was seven pints of Watney’s bitter in a can, tho’ I believe Charringtons did a superior ale in the same sized tin. Trust me. That’s all you needed to party in the 70′s, seven pints of Watney’s and a Macca Woodbine. And of course these were the days before ring pulls, so your can of choice had to be opened with a special device, a can opener! How confusing! Altho’ any pointy implement would suffice, at which point the disgusting brew inside would erupt like a miniature alcoholic geyser! See all the fun missed not having lived through the 70′s?

My regular readers will know I’ve been reading James Wentworth Day of late. For a romantic writer, the fellow did have some rather fascist notions. Will’s Pa John couldn’t stand the chap, but thought his ideas on fortifying the home were excellent, tho’ didn’t go far enough. Day suggested razor wire, Will’s Pa said it should be rusty!!!

Anyways, James writes about a festival planned for Tolleshunt D’arcy in the early 70′s, in “A Garland of Hops”. He barely contains his outrage, describing Pop festivals as “the modern plague”, and that not long before Weely had been “crucified, horrified and polluted” by similar. Steady on old chap! Him and the villagers devised all sorts of methods to keep the “hooligans” at bay, including 12 bore shotguns, a gallows(!!!)bombs and bulls. Needless to say, the festival never took place, and the “Pop loonies” were put well and truly in their place, within 24 hours of the event being announced!

With the possible exception of the Stooges, there’s little to attract me to festivals nowadays. I suppose I can say I attended a handful of festivals/gigs in the early 70′s that still had the 60′s/Hippy vibe, and had I have gone to the free festivals i.e. Stonehenge and Windsor, as many of my friends did, that would have continued. But Punk was coming, and I had my own gig to do.

At some point in the early 70′s through mutual friends, we met a chap a few years older than us who we called “Donny Luftwaffe”, who was the Hippy archetype. He was dressed in dirty white cheese cloth(a material common in Freak garb in the early 70′s)and had a Daevid Allen beard and barnet. He was at Glastonbury in 1970, and actually saw Bowie there. The way he described the festival was like a beautiful, shimmering Acid dream, full of sex, love, pot and Rock’n'Roll, with Aliens in silver spaceships hovering above, keeping an eye on the Flower children below.

Try telling that to the kids of today……

I’m listening to Eric Carmen singing ” All by Myself”. Eric is the lead singer in the Raspberries, a band associated with the Powerpop genre. So what exactly is Powerpop? Pete Townsend coined the phrase to explain the Who’s(and the Small Faces and the Beach Boys) sound, but I wonder what he really meant? I suppose “All by Myself” is a power ballad, with it’s bombastic instrumentation and arrangement, coupled with the sweetest of vocals and melody, not to mention the Beatlesque orchestration. It could be “Overnight Sensation” part two, if you squint hard enough! And the re-formed Raspberries have indeed covered “All by myself”.

Powerpop is usually guitar orientated, with lots of harmony vocals and killer riffs, but what actually constitutes Powerpop?

There’s certainly always a 60′s Pop element in it, and the Beatles influence is usually present, and sometimes a classic Powerpop song will sound like an unreleased Beatles song. For instance, “Yes it’s true” by the Flamin’ Groovies, or “No presents for me” by Pandemonium. In a lot of Powerpop the guitars tend to be raunchy and distorted, the “Power” bit that Mr Townsend talked about. I think that Powerpop is a magic mixture of guitar sounds, vocal harmonies and the all important melodic song, with the appropriate choppy nuances. For instance, the Iveys “Tube Train”, which essentially sounds like an unreleased Who song circa “Sell Out” era. It’s a very aggressive sounding track, clashing distorted Who-esque guitars and drums, with a sweet vocal line. So I think that’s another clue, a kicking guitar track, with an almost too sweet vocal and hook, a distinct contrast between backing track and vocal, one angry, one sweet, emotionally opposite in a lot of instances. The Who’s influence can be heard on a good deal of Powerpop. And I think that their album “Sell Out” is a bench mark.

Another bench mark, and a major favourite of mine since 1976 when I borrowed “Radio City” from my mate Matthew West, is Big Star. And I think their influence on modern Powerpop can’t be overstated. Again, sweet melodies, Byrdsian harmonies, fabulous, melancholic songs, the wet, reverbed drums, in fact pretty much everything is drenched in reverb. Above all, Alex Chilton’s never replicated, metallic, jangling, crystalline, out-of-phase guitar sound, as unique a sound as Townsend’s or Mcguinn’s.

Also, the Chris Bell solo album, “I am the Cosmos” is exceptional. Chris was the founder member of Big Star, and the main writer, and co-writer with Alex Chilton, on their first album, No. 1 Record. Again, the Beatle influence is there, and especially on the title track, which was mixed at Air studios, and engineered by Geoff Emerick, a long time Beatles associate and engineer. If you love Big Star, you really need to listen to “Cosmos”, though I suppose the title track is the most indispensable on the album. “Cosmos” wasn’t available for years, until the good folk at Ryko put it out in 1992. Though I was lucky enough to get a copy of the single on the Car label, around ’79 I believe. I read a review by Bryan Price, which said apparently Chris Stamey(from the Db’s) put Car records together.

“Cosmos” has the melancholic vibe of “Back of a car” or “What’s goin’ ahn” (from “Radio City, both co-written with Chilton, prior to Bell’s departure from the band), with a wall of Chilton-esque guitars, some sounding Leslied, an effect well loved by Abbey Road era Beatles. A Leslie is a revolving speaker cabinet, and the earliest ones were utilised in Hammond organs. The sound is a phased, whooshing effect, and has become a standard Powerpop sound, from Badfinger to the Move, to Cheap Trick and the Flamin’ Groovies. “Cosmos” also has the classic Big Star reverbed drums and almost distant, lower register bass guitar. Apparently Chilton did have limited input on the album,and his backing vocals on “You and Your Sister” (the b-side of the “Cosmos” single) are simply beautiful.

Another major influence on Powerpop has to be the Byrds. Certainly their gorgeous three part harmonies have been emulated many times. The Groovies, the Raspberries, Big Star, and the Posies, have all used the Byrds style harmonies as standard, as have many others. Also Roger Mcguinn’s twelve string Rickenbacker jangle, a la “Mr Tambourine Man” is another Powerpop benchmark. Roger said he’d started playing the Ricky as a direct result of seeing George Harrison playing one in “A Hard Day’s Night”.  Roger started out as a folk musician, (as did Gene Clark and David Crosby) and this influence, along with the Beatles and other British invasion bands, led to the Byrds being tagged “Folk Rock”. But everyone who wanted to play guitar oriented Powerpop wanted a 12 string Rickenbacker. Eric Carmen once said that his ultimate aim was to get on stage with Wally Bryson(who of course joined the Raspberries), from The Choir, another fab Cleveland Powerpop band, and play “Tambourine Man” on their 12 string Rickenbackers!!! Its massively full sound and harmonics are a common thread in Powerpop, and here we go back to Mr Townsend with “I Can’t Explain”. It’s like a Rock’n’Roll evolution, a passing of the Rickenbacker baton, from the Who, to the Beatles, to the Byrds,on to the Searchers (though John Mcnally initially used a Burns double six, an English built electric 12 string) to the Choir, then Powder, on to the Raspberries, the Flamin’ Groovies to the Plimsouls, and onto the Smithereens and early REM.

The Smithereens certainly deserve a major plug, because I think that after the flurry of excellent Powerpop  in the 70′s, they were the first guitar band to drag it back into the mainstream in the 80′s. They had all the credentials, the Beatle-esque songs, the 6 and 12 string Rickenbackers, the three part harmonies, the tight, agressive Who-like backing, the pop riffs and the sweet melodies. I saw them several times in the USA. At Summers on the Beach, in Fort Lauderdale, in  the summer of 1988, they lifted the roof with a killer encore of the Who’s “The Seeker”. They also did “Iron Man” by Black Sabbath, not sure why……

And post Smithereens a band that first caught my attention in Sweden in 1993 were the Posies. Their first album “Frosting on the beater” contained all the vital ingredients, with my favourite tracks coming over like a Big Star homage. Fab Chilton-esque guitars, layered, Big Star/Byrds harmonies. And of course their two key members, Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow were an essential part of the modern version of Big Star, and on “In Space”  proved themselves not only a worthy foil for Alex Chilton, but songwriters of similar calibre. Also, and it’s not unusual for the genre, they have quite a Psyche edge to their sound, backward guitars, phasing etc.

As you may have read in my article about the Ramones, I adore and consider the Flamin’ Groovies top notch Powerpop. This year Cyril reunited with original Groovies vocalist Roy Loney, and played la Beat Bespoke in London at Easter. Of course us hardcore fans would be happier to see the Chris Wilson fronted Groovies reform. Chris joined the band(rather drunkenly apparently!)for several songs in the encore at Easter. And on Chris’ website, he’s talking about him and Cyril(and George Alexander, the Groovies original bass player)re uniting soon. Oh, I hope so!

Perhaps not a familiar name to many Powerpop fans are Powder. I bought a comp of theirs called Biff Bang Powder, probably 3 years ago, put together by a man I consider to have immaculate taste, Alec Paulo ( who played bass in Magic Christian, Cyril Jordan’s last Powerpop excursion), on Distortion records. Though the band went through numerous incarnations, (and also a stint as Sonny and Cher’s backing band) it’s the first few tracks on the cd, the early demos from 1967, are essential to any avid Powerpop fan. They sound like more unreleased gems from the Who’s “Sell Out”. Fabulous songs, sweeter than sweet vocals and harmonies, sledgehammer bass, drums, and what sounds like a Stratocaster running through a Marshall or Sun amp. Slashing guitar, contrasted with melodic quiet picking, very Pete Townsend. And totally unmissable.

I have to give a mention to another mega fave of mine, the Pursuit of Happiness. Think I must have heard them on college radio in the US, in 1989 initially. They are from Canada, again pretty songs and  harmonies, with really brutal, sometimes almost heavy metal guitars. And their original line up, and the one that most frequently unites, featured a female lead guitarist and backing vocalist (Kris Abbot and Lesley Stanwyck). They’re the intelligent end of Powepop, but still rock hard, check “Love Junk” as a primer. Beautiful psyche edged, melancholic pop.

Well, I’m not sure any of my meanderings have helped to define the Powerpop genre. Perhaps I’ve succeeded in defining some of it’s nuances? As a further guide, I’d like to list, in no particular order, ten of my favourite Powerpop gems: Enjoy, and as the man called Cyril once said to me, ROCK OUT!!
Just a Smile – Pilot (Great tune, great 12 string guitar sound)
Do I love you– the Powder (Orgasmic Who-like thrash, brilliant vocals and harmonies, quiet/tender then loud/rocking)
Couldn’t I just tell you – Todd Rundgren (Why didn’t you do more like this, Dude?
World of you - Aerovons (great powered up fabs)
Top of the Pops – the Smithereens (Kick ass rawk, great vox and tune)
Tube train – the Ivys (More kicking Sell Out-isms, essential)
Promises– Jumbo (English soft rock, a great tune, fab layered jangling guitars, tres obscure)
Don’t change your mind – The Choir (great 12 string Ricky courtesy of Wally Bryson, covered by the Accidents along with “I’d rather you leave me”, hip kids or what???)
Looking for girls – The Pursuit of happiness (Kick ass  rockin’ Powerpop)
Big brown eyes – the db’s (Fabulous, sunny Big Star jangle)

“Ya right Tel?”

I have nerve deafness. I inherited it from my Father, who inherited it from his Mother, who inherited it from one of her parents. I have Tinnitus in both ears(a whistling in my right ear, a hissing in the left), and a type of adult glue ear which necessitates a visit to the ENT department at my local hospital every three months. I began to realise I was deaf at the age of 11, when I couldn’t understand completely what my excellent form teacher Mr Williamson was saying. So as not to appear an idiot I would pretend to understand, and as a result when questioned further I would either evade the issue or invent an answer sometimes to hysterically funny results. I can recall my class mates laughing heartily at some of my responses, I greeted their reaction with a mixture of delight(at being the centre of attention)and dreadful embarrassment. Amazingly I passed my 11 plus and was deemed bright enough to go to Grammar school, much to my great chagrin, because all the kids I went to primary school with called me “Swot” and “snob”, and felt it their duty to give me abuse, some physical.

I unconsciously developed the ability to lip read over the early part of my adult life, and despite nagging from both family and close friends I chose to ignore my deafness, fearful of  a proper diagnosis. It wasn’t until the late 90′s when my then girlfriend coerced me into seeing an Audiologist, via a recommendation from my Doctor. I went to the ENT at my local hospital, and my hearing test was conducted inside a wood and glass booth. You’re given what looks like a pair of lightweight headphones, with an extra arm which sits on the front of your skull, to test bone conduction. I sat there for a while, with a “panic button” type device in my hand, which I was told to press when I heard a sound. I waited and waited but couldn’t hear anything. Then various tones came through which I was able to hear. The upshot being I was diagnosed with moderate hearing loss. The Doctor said he’d expect a person of eighty to experience my type of deafness! So what is “moderate” hearing loss? And who decided it was “moderate”? Not a deaf person I bet! Moderately good? Or moderately bad? I suppose the best definition I can find for moderate is “not extreme”.

I tried hearing aids, but it’s so odd being able to hear things that I never had before, like the rustling of my clothes, my foot steps, children playing on the field a way from my house. It changes one’s perceptions dramatically. I simply couldn’t get used to the additional noise, and walking down the street wearing both aids was a nightmare. My balance felt altered, and all the noise and extra sounds disconcerted me so much I couldn’t use them.

Nowadays all of my friends and family understand how deaf I am and are very considerate, tho’ still take the pee from time to time. And I’m no longer afraid to appear stupid by saying “I’m sorry I didn’t hear that”. I don’t feel disabled and realise I’m very lucky compared to some poor souls, but of course my hearing loss has been a serious impediment at times. I realise now my college studies just couldn’t happen, because at Art school the classes were pretty big, in shiny, glassy rooms that clacked and clicked but weren’t conducive to hearing a hapless, struggling and possibly quite pissed lecturer.

It’s remarkable, when you’re deaf people have no qualms about calling you “deafy” or “deaf bastard” or some such. But you never hear them say “you blind bastard” to a blind person or “you disabled bastard”! to the disabled. It’s like being deaf isn’t so much a physical problem but a mental one. As my Pa used to say “I’m deaf, not daft!”, because that’s how a lot of people react to deafness,  it’s something they can’t see so they assume it’s in your head. It’s like deafness is an invisible disability. It’s as if you’re not actually deaf, you’re just being arrogant and can’t be bothered to respond. Or you’re just stupid……

We are the invisible cripples, us deaf folk. I asked a work colleague if she thought deaf people were disabled and she said no. And when I visited the Audiologist recently, I asked her if she thought I was “disabled”, and she said she thought the question was “difficult”. I would say to any body who has doubts, wrap a pillow round your head, so it covers your ears, gaffer tape it in place, then go about your normal day. Then tell me deafness isn’t a disability……

EPILOGUE:

Well I had another hearing test recently with a very nice(and not unattractive!) Audiologist called Barbara. Incidentally if there’s any NHS bods reading this, please let it be known the fitting of hearing aids in a non sound proof room, with every single surface being reflective, is a total no no, a bit like open heart surgery on a rubbish tip. And whoa! be aware, Broomfield hospital is really big and scary. Huge, like MIA or Heathrow, Jumbo jets could easily park in the foyer. It’s “Land of the Giants”! But anyway the upshot of the visit was I now have two very small hearing aids, with tiny earpieces.

Barbara explained that the volume and eq of the aids is totally matched by the computer with your hearing loss. And I’ve got to say, they’re great! I’m still getting used to hearing a ton of top end, but generally they’re fab. Only trouble is, whether I copped it at Broomfield I don’t know, but I have a raging infection, which has just about closed my right ear…….