It's Halloween! Only appropriate then that I offer you a bunch of Ghosts. But which would you welcome into your home, and which are downright scary...?
THE GHOSTS #1
Belgian surf-pop from 1963. Presumably they came from somewhere near Bruges, since that's the only part of Belgium to have a coastline.
THE GHOSTS #2
Brazilian garage band who released one album featuring instrumental covers of popular 60s hits towards the end of that decade...
THE GHOSTS #3
Also from Belgian, though no one seems to know when it was quite released, have some "horror funk", which I found surprisingly enjoyable. Imagine Iggy Pop mucking about in a studio on Halloween...
THE GHOSTS #4
Want to hear something really scary?
The man behind these particular Ghosts was none other than Radio 1 Breakfast Show DJ and all round "Ban this sick filth!" friend of Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Mike Read.
THE GHOSTS #5
Not much that I can find out about these guys other than that they went by two different names on their debut 1984 release; one side of the album was by the Ghosts, the other was by The Heart Of Gold Band. All subsequent releases took the latter name, and all I can find online are tracks under that Neil Young-inspired moniker. But here they are anyway...
THE GHOSTS #6
From 2002, and the album A Hatchetful Of Secrets... I'll give them this: it does actually sound like something out of a horror film.
GHOSTS #7
Also from the early noughties, the era of "landfill indie", these guys were originally known as Polanski. Would you save them from the landfill?
THE GHOSTS #8
2010, and this "UK synth pop collective" arrived on the scene, splashing a load of money on a video... but disappeared after a couple of years. Were they Underrated?
If your mansion house needs haunting, which of these guys would you call?
Who's the black private dick that's a sex machine to all the chicks?
Who is the man that would risk his neck for his brother man?
Who's the cat that won't cop out when there's danger all about?
Richard Roundtree may not be a household name, but his most famous role guaranteed him immortality.
They say this cat Shaft is a bad mother
(Shut your mouth)
But I'm talkin' 'bout Shaft
(Then we can dig it)
As you'd imagine, dozens of rappers name-drop Richard Roundtree in the hope of channeling even a fraction of his effortless cool. Far less interested in cool, we have New York's Kevin Froleiks, also known as Goodbye Charlemagne, who describes himself thus: "Failed comedian. Failing musician." Here he is with an ode to facial hair...
Elvis Presley, the king of rock
And Martin Van Buren had mutton chops
And Richard Roundtree in Shaft
And John Travolta in Grease
And Henry Winkler as Fonzie
And even Liberace
They all had side burns
On the side of their face
Like a furry picket fence
Or a fuzzy picture frame
They all had side burns
Playing pong with their eyes
Two caterpillars about
To turn into butterflies
And if you didn't dig that, here's 22 minutes of Free Improv Jazz...
I always like to indulge in a Halloween themed top ten at this time of year... and this time, it has really big teeth! (Bob Seger gave you an extra clue yesterday, with his Silver Bullet Band.)
I used to be a werewolf, you know. But I'm alright no-ooooooooooow!
I'm hoping You'll Accomp'ny Me in another round of Snapshots this Saturday. It's Still The Same as it always is - just identify the ten artists below, then figure out what might connect their songs...
10. Found in the basic ramp structure.
9. The main point of this quiz.
8. Holy circles, cylinders and spheres, Batman!
7. Gremlins.
6. Fine girl from Cumbria.
5. Sparks fly over this male quintet.
4. Thankfully Ripoll.
3. Sounds like an Australian to me.
2. In today's race, Xanadu ran and Gorgonzola Fondu ran, but all the other horses fell at the first hurdle.
1. Zen raver now confused.
We've Got Tonite to work out the answers... if not, all will be revealed tomorrow morning.
Before the Red Weed of McDonalds conquered the world, if we fancied a quick burger, we all headed out to our local Wimpy Bar. Back in the 80s, Wimpy was pretty much your only option for fast food in the UK, beyond more traditional fare such as fish and chips or pie and peas. In the 90s, many Wimpys were transformed into Burger Kings (same parent company), though Huddersfield still has an actual original Wimpy, in the same place it was when I was a kid. I have to confess I haven't been in there for 40-odd years, but if you held a gun to my head, I'd choose it over the golden arches or a flame-grilled Whopper, if only for nostalgia's sake.
The word "Wimpy" appears in thousands of songs, mostly as a pejorative that has nothing to do with the burger chain. I listened to them all, just in case. Here are a few songs that did have a more direct connection, starting with the lesser-known titular mentions...
And now, especially for George, some vintage Genesis prog-bollocks...
Citizens of Hope and Glory Time goes by, it's the time of your life Easy now, sit you down Chewing through your Wimpy dreams They eat without a sound Digesting England by the pound
Back in the 80s, Ralph Rabie was a South African singer songwriter who used the stage-name Johannes Kerkorrel to protest against Apartheid. His song Hillbrow became a big hit in Belgium and The Netherlands. Proving that Wimpy Bars had, at one point at least, taken over the world...
Actually, The Wimpy Bar started out in the good old US of A. However, the only American singer I can find who mentions them is the amazing Mr. Byrne, although he's referring to J Wellington Wimpy, Popeye's cartoon friend who inspired the name of the Wimpy Bar.
(Sadly, in the TV version that's on the tube of you, they appear to have made Tom change the lyrics to "Eat in the chippy", which doesn't make any sense, because you don't eat in the chippy, you buy your food and then go back out into the cold. Stupid BBC.)
My overall take home from today's investigations is that Wimpy's were a crap place to take someone on a date (even if it was cold, Tom). Although clearly nobody told Ian Anderson that...
I have to wonder if Ian's date was Julz Sale from Leeds post-punk band Delta 5. That might explain the little second person rant with which we close today's proceedings: another gem from Cherry Red's tremendous Where Were You? compilation.
I drove to Birmingham last week for a teaching conference. The journey down on Thursday night was pretty uneventful, if you ignore the M42, a jumped up dual carriageway which thinks its a motorway but only has two lanes, even though everybody drives as if there were three. I made it down in two and a half hours, spent the night in a wonderfully Fawlty Towers-esque hotel, and then headed off to the conference which was a very useful and engaging day.
However, I arrived in Birmingham about the same time as Storm Babet. I'm not sure there were any rooms left in the hotel for her, so she raised merry hell for the rest of the night and throughout the following day. My journey home then, took seven and a half hours rather than two and a half, and culminated in a lengthy period sitting on the edge of a hillside in Glossop with a flat tyre, waiting for someone to come and fix it. The RAC told me the waiting time was 5 hours, so I called a local mobile tyre guy who was able to get there in just an hour and a half. When he finally arrived, his headlights revealed that I'd also lost a number plate while driving through one of the many road-swamping rivers I'd had to ford as part of my journey. If only cars still came with spare tyres, like they used to... but don't start me on that.
Altogether, I think I listened to my entire in-car memory stick during those journeys, which is made up of a mix of current albums I'm into (The Hold Steady, Jenny Lewis, The Handsome Family, Laura Cantrell, BC Camplight, Jim Bob, Lloyd Cole et al.), and some older wonders (most notably the first disc in Cherry Red's excellent Where Were You? compilation). To keep me sane while I waited for the recovery guy though, I needed a little more. So I put on a recent edition of the Mickey Bradley Record Show on BBC Radio Ulster (available on BBC Sounds, should you have the time and the inclination). Mickey Undertone always plays a great selection, mixing punk and new wave with classic soul, pop and folk plus a bunch of new stuff that fits well with the old. He may even have overtaken Natasha Raskin-Sharp on BBC Radio Scotland as my favourite radio show at the moment (but don't tell Natasha, she's still delivering the goods). Anyway, here's a few of the tunes Mickey played that kept me going while I waited for a new tyre...
US Power Pop star Dwight Twilley left us last week, at the age of just 72. I reckon I first came across Dwight's music through our old pal Brian. Yes, here he is to tell us more. And here's a classic slice of Dwight...
And here's a modern band who were clearly influenced by Dwight's sound...
Hey Sammy
Do you wanna go for a ride
Get Shitty
Can you feel it on a Saturday night
Dwight Twilley
Blowin' up your mama's hi-fi
No really
I'm so glad we're in it tonight
Actor Burt Young also passed last week. No mentions in the jukebox, but I couldn't let Rocky's brother-in-law go without at least a mention...
For fans of the inexplicably popular ball kicking activity, this week's biggest celebrity death will be that of Sir Bobby Charlton, of whom the most I can honestly say is that I've heard of him. And so has the jukebox...
There was a short-lived band from Bradford in the early 90s called The Bobby Charltons. Sadly, their music appears to have never founds its was onto the interweb. Herman's Hermits have though... and here they are with an ode to the team for whom Sir Bobby played most of his football...
Here's a rather patriotic (I'm hoping sarcastically so, but no quite sure) anthem from Staffordshire rock band Demon. Worth including because it's the first time I've seen Morecambe & Wise mentioned in song...
Even more worrying is Elton John's version of Give Peace A Chance. I'm all for a bit of Elton, but the whole Spike Milligan / Frankie Howerd routine gets a bit much...
Everybody in the Soviet Union, unite
Go down to the shops and talk about John and Yoko
Timothy Leary, Barbara Windsor, Yoko Ono, Madonna
Bobby Dylan, Bobby Charlton, Eddie Charlton
Tommy Cooper and the Amazing Horseradish Dancers
Derek Baker, Norman Mailer, Alan Ginsberg and the Hare Krishna Three
Since the New Order detente detailed on Monday, I feel a little more charitable towards the following track... though New Order + Football is still a tough ask in this house.
Miki Pannell is from Italy. According to his bandcamp page, he's been in the following bands... Demented Are Go. Aaron Memphis, Spectacular Band, The Hugs, Soulteros, 33 Revolucciones, Showdown, Stressless Rockin' Band, Zak Washington and the Boogiemen, Rose Tinted Spectacles, Something Shocking, The Court Jesters, Rhythm Bound and The Royal Scumbag Orchestra. He remembers Bobby for that famous comb-over...
Remember bald is beautiful, Yul Brinner could be you
So if you start to lose it, here's what you've got to do
Don't do a Bobby Charlton, accept it with some grace!
Go and shave your head... And put a smile upon your face
The tune that made the most impact on me today though was this one from Jenner Fox, who is American (so please excuse his use of the word "soccer"), but still tells an emotive tale about a young British football fan who grows up to coach an American soccer team. Bobby gets a mention, alongside a number of other footballing greats, but the reason this song resonated with me is that the young lad's dad was clearly not a football fan, and that's something he remembers from his youth.
The music industry is full of pretenders. Some of them get lucky, others simply fade away into obscurity. But how many of them are truly Great Pretenders?
Let's find out...
THE PRETENDERS 1-4
We start with some doo wop. Actually the doo wop blog I found lists four (or possibly seven) different doo wop bands that used the name The Pretenders, and I'm not sure I can separate them without extensive research. But here's a brief sampling...
A spooky surf instrumental from Minnesota in 1963...
THE PRETENDERS #6
On Jerk Records out of LA in 1965, though these guys were clearly no jerks.
THE PRETENDERS #7
Though these guys might well be. Another wacky instrumental, this one from '66...
THE PRETENDERS #8
Get ready for a top New Jersey soul tune from 1969. One listen to this and you'll wonder why these guys never made it big.
THE PRETENDERS #9
Chrissie Hynde's band formed in Hereford in 1978 (although Chrissie herself is from Ohio). Chrissie's the only Pretender who's been there the whole time, although drummer Martin Chambers has been along for most of the ride.
Here's a video in which Chrissie appears to have stumbled onto the set of Minder. Watch out for the over-literal representation of the word "Special" in the lyrics...
After Chrissie made it big, no other Pretenders came forward. But which are just pretenders, and which are the real deal?
Love is an emotion we primarily link to our hearts,
perhaps because our heart beats faster when we see the person we love. Except
it’s only doing that because that’s what our brain told it to do.
Part of the whole attraction process is strongly linked
to physiological arousal as a whole. Typically, that's going to start with
things like increased heart rate, sweatiness and so on.
Simply thinking about the object of your affections is
enough to trigger dopamine release, making you feel excited and eager to do
whatever it takes to see them.
Then, when you actually do see them, your brain “rewards”
you with more dopamine, which you experience as intense pleasure.
I could go on, but putting aside adolescent hormones and teenage
notions such “being in love with love”, or as Donny put it…
…I think it’s fair to say I was getting a fair few
dopamine hits whenever I saw this girl, spent time with her, or thought about her.
Doesn’t sound quite so romantic, that, does it?
2. Was she actually called Maddie? Well, her name was
Madeline, and that was how she referred to herself. I never heard anyone else
call her Maddie, but I did on occasion. Did I do this as a sign of affection?
Clearly. Was it actually what she wanted? I’m not sure.
The reason I called her Maddie (and possibly one of the
reasons I was so “in love” with her) is because I was obsessed with the TV show
Moonlighting at the time, and its main characters were David (Bruce
Willis) Addison and Maddie (Cybill Shepherd) Hayes. I didn’t particularly fancy
Cybill Shepherd, and “my” Maddie looked nothing like her, but David and Maddie
had a whole “will they / won’t they” thing going on, and in my head I was
confusing fantasy with reality, as teenagers are wont to do. The other thing
that happened in Moonlighting was that David Addison occasionally broke the
fourth wall, and seemed at times to be aware that he was a character in a TV
show. This notion appealed to me greatly, and together with my mate Richard, we
regularly talked about our own lives as though they
were episodes of a TV show. Actually, this was an idea I’d been working on
throughout my childhood – in my head, I had my own TV station (one that
switched over to being just a radio station when I went to bed… it was
complicated). This might seem like irrelevant information, but you’ll need to
know it later. There will be a quiz.
3. Clearly Maddie did know I existed since we had regular
conversations, mostly on the long bus journeyhome where we would often sit together – well,
not together on the same seat, but usually on adjacent seats. And when we got
off the bus, those conversations would often continue while I walked her home –
well, we were going in the same direction, and I carried on up the hill after
she’d crossed the road to go into her own house. Were both of these situations led
by me? I mean, did she ever choose to sit by me or was she always on the bus
when I got on with empty seats in her vicinity? Was I merely preferable to some
of the other losers and malcontents on that bus? Did she secretly want to walk
up that hill on her own but she was just being polite when I tagged along?
Looking back, I might think that. I certainly
manufactured situations in which we could bump into each other or be in the
same place together, but that’s what you do at that age, isn’t it? The whole
thing’s a minefield, and I’m glad I don’t have to deal with it any more. In my
defence, I will offer the rainy lunchtimes we spent together in the music
block, practicing our instruments. (Not a euphemism.) She played piano better
than me, and some other kind of wind instrument (clarinet?) while I had my
tenor horn and we would, on occasion, hang out in one of the practice rooms, mucking
about with music, but mostly just chatting and having a laugh.
(I should perhaps at this point reveal that, about a year
or so later, my friend Simon got so sick of me going
on about Maddie that he went to ask her if she’d like to go out with me.
Because clearly I was never going to do such a thing myself. I was great at dropping
hints, but no way was I going to approach her directly. So anyway, Simon
asked her out for me… and what ensued? Only one of those awful, embarrassing
(for everyone) sitcom scenarios in which Maddie actually thought that Simon was
asking her out for himself (rather than me), excitedly accepting, only to then…
well, you can guess the rest.)
In my previous Self-Help For Cynics Post, I wrote about
the Storytelling Brain. How the brain uses stories to create neural pathways
which teach us how to deal with things that happen to us in our lives. This appears
to be a wonderful thing… until it goes wrong. And when it does go wrong, those
same neural pathways end up reinforcing negative opinions, beliefs or ideas
based on responses to negative experiences. Dr. Faith explains, in her own
inimitable style…
But clearly the storytelling brain has the capacity to be
a serious fucking problem too. We start telling ourselves (and believing)
certain stories about ourselves and the world around us. Our brains are wired
to crave certainty. We WANT to see patterns in what happens to us so we can
make better decisions about the world and how we are supposed to keep ourselves
safe in it.
The emotional brain makes a decision for us and the
thinking brain has to scramble to come up with a reason why.
Which brings me back to the will-they / won’t-they romance
in my 16 year old brain.
It was the end of term. Or, in the TV station of my head,
it was the last episode of the series. Everything was building up to a climax,
because that’s what happens at the end of a series. On our final journey home
together before the holidays, I got up the courage to clumsily drop the biggest
hint so far to Maddie that I was interested in being a little more than
friends. The ironic thing is, I have very little memory of what I actually
said, I only recall that it went as well as it could have done (no outright
rejection, anyway… then again, clearly she didn’t swoon into my arms either)
and that I was left with a distinct feeling that when I saw her again… maybe…
we’d be ready to move up to the next level. Like, I dunno, actually sitting
together on the same seat or something.
As a result, I walked home that night in a state of
euphoria. Which is all in the brain, again! Healthline
explains…
That giddy, euphoric
excitement you feel when spending time with the person you love (or seeing them
across the room, or hearing their name)? You can trace this entirely normal
effect of falling in love back to the neurotransmitter dopamine.
Ah, that pesky dopamine again. I’m surprised it took me so long to get to
that little critter. Harvard
Health goes into more detail…
Dopamine is most notably
involved in helping us feel pleasure as part of the brain’s reward system. Sex,
shopping, smelling cookies baking in the oven — all these things can trigger
dopamine release, or a "dopamine rush."
This feel-good
neurotransmitter is also involved in reinforcement. That’s why, once we try one
of those cookies, we might come back for another one (or two, or three).
Hopped up on dopamine following my seemingly successful
hint drop, I was keen to share this with my friend Richard, who understood the
language of 4th wall breaking imaginary TV shows better than any of
my other contemporaries.
A little bit about Richard, before I go on. We’d been
mates for about three or four years by this point, and along with my other mate
Simon, who I’d known since junior school, we’d formed a pretty tight little
group. Best friends? I’m not sure I’ve ever had a best friend, but the three of
us were as close as we could be without ever using that terminology. Although
Simon and I had the longer friendship, and many shared interests, Rich and I
had bonded over a love of music. That began with Queen (particularly A Kind Of
Magic, which was out around then) and classic Motown. Although lately, his
tastes had been changing. He’d become obsessed with the Smiths (who, at the
time, I hated) and the Pet Shop Boys, a band I liked (bought quite a few of
their singles) but clearly didn’t connect with on the same level that he did. I
liked Neil Tennant’s arch lyrics, while Rich liked the beats. It was the
mid-late 80s, and although I didn’t realise it at the time, I was losing him to
dance music.
I don't like country-and-western I don't like rock music I don't like, I don't like rockabilly or rock 'n' roll particularly Don't like much really, do I? But what I do like I love passionately
On that fateful evening then, I gave him a call to update
him on the end-of-season cliff-hanger involving Maddie… but when he answered
the phone, something was off. There was music playing in the background, and
Rich seemed distracted. As I poured my euphoric heart out, it quickly became
apparent that Rich was only half listening to me, that someone else was there,
and that they were taking up more of his attention. And after a few minutes I
realised that whoever it was, was laughing at me. Laughing at the private
conversation I was having with my friend, at my pathetic attempts at romance,
and that Rich was laughing too.
You call me on the phone, you left me all alone All I get from you is shellshock Another day goes by and all I do is cry All I get from you is shellshock
I stopped and asked Rich what was going on. Who was there
with him? And that’s when he told me.
It was Swanny.
All you need to know about Swanny is that he lived a few
doors down from Rich and that he was a complete and utter arsehole. A couple of
years prior, he’d indulged (along with a few other kids) in some minor league
bullying, of which I was one of his semi-regular marks. And as far as I was
concerned, the scars were still fresh.
“What are you doing?” I asked Rich, meaning, “Why are you
laughing at me? Why aren’t you being the friend and confidant I’ve come to
expect and rely on? Why are you pissing all over my euphoria… with fucking
Swanny!?!”
“Nothing,” said Rich. “We’re just listening to the new
New Order record.”
I hung up the phone and didn’t speak to Rich again for
the next nine months. Eventually Simon managed to get us talking again, and we
made up… in a way. But it was never the same.
When I was a very small boy Very small boys talked to me Now that we've grown up together They're afraid of what they see
Thirty-five years later, I still can’t listen to New
Order. This is something which sets me at odds with large sections of the music
blogging community who worship the ground Bernard and Peter (and whatever the
rest of them are called) make beats on. And it’s all down to my story-telling
brain, which has inextricably linked the anger, embarrassment and shame I felt
that evening in 1988 to New Order’s Technique. Neural pathways have been
created which mean that whenever I hear New Order on the radio, or see another
post pop up about them on one of my favourite blogs, I’m taken back to that
night and all those unpleasant feelings.
"Unpleasant feelings" though... as adolescent trauma goes, I will admit that this is pretty mild. However, the same principle applies to much deeper wounds, in theory.
Since I was born I started to decay Now nothing ever, ever goes my way
Dr. Faith would no doubt tell me that this can be fixed.
That if I started listening to more New Order, thereby allowing my brain to
create new neural pathways which could over-ride the old ones, that would
eventually lead to positive associations and responses, and my opinion of the
band might change. It is possible to re-wire your brain in this way… after all,
as I mentioned earlier, I used to hate The Smiths, and then in my 20s, various
things happened which allowed me to hear them in a new light. If I put enough
energy and effort into it then, perhaps I could make myself like New Order.
Are there any bands you hate because your brain has
linked their music to painful memories?
I would like a place I could call my own Have a conversation on the telephone Wake up every day that would be a start I would not complain of my wounded heart
Post script...
A weird thing happened while compiling this post. I actually sat and listened to the New Order songs above, and I didn't hate them as much as I thought I did.
Now you can call this wishful thinking or a self-fulfilling prophecy, or me just trying to make a point. Wanting to believe in something, then making it so. Theodor Herzl: "If you will it, it is no dream." Surely it can't be as easy as that...?
Now then, Job Seekers... I bet you're wondering why Pauline isn't holding a camera?
Don't question, Pauline, your workshy layabouts! Lounging around on a Sunday morning when you should be out looking for WORK! Remember what Yosser Hughes said: "Gizza Job!" Now get out there...
You blew it up! Ah, damn you! God damn you all to hell!
Sorry, just had to get that off my chest. This week's Snapshots has nothing to do with apes or planets though... so let's stop monkeying around and get down to it. Identify the ten artists below and tell me how their songs might be linked...
10. Took part in the UCLA Sheepdog Trials.
9. Material which is mined in reverse.
8. Policeman exposed.
7. Faithless nun reads Gigi.
6. Always direct proof that too much alcohol is bad for you.
5. Sent by a lovely goddess to tidy up.
4. She left Green Gables for a Lincolnshire town.
3. Kids!
2. Doesn't matter.
1. The Contours?
Take your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape! The answers will be here tomorrow morning...
