On our way back from Dudley, Sam and I stopped off in the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution, the small Shropshire Village where Abraham Darby III built the world's first bridge made out of iron across the Severn Gorge between 1777 and 1781.
There probably aren't going to be any songs about Ironbridge, I figured... little knowing that back in 1973, "Shropshire's top pop band" changed their name from Fluff to something far more substantial...
For our annual Boys' Only Holiday this year, Sam and I visited the West Midlands, spending a lot of time in Dudley, which had more to offer than just the brush fire that got us kicked out of our hotel.
Dudley Castle & Zoo was much more impressive than I'd expected - to be fair, I thought it would be a castle with a few animals outside, but actually the zoo offered a greater range of wildlife than anywhere this side of Chester - lions, tigers, giraffes, wolverines, monkeys... and Sam's favourite, the snow leopards.
I always visit zoos with a heavy heart. I understand the conservation and protection of endangered species, and I've no doubt that they do good work in that regard... but it always makes me sad to see wild animals caged, or away from their natural home.
Equally, if not more impressive - and without the added layer of guilt - was the Black Country Living Museum next door, a real "step back in time" kind of place...
...well, you get the idea. Definitely worth a visit if you're ever in the area.
Our family holiday this year took us to Northumberland, a place I haven't been since I was a teenager when my parents took me to Seahouses on what would be our last family holiday together. I wasn't all that impressed, and after that I chose to stay home with my sister when they went away. Suffice it to say that Seahouses holds more appeal to a fifty-something... though fortunately there was enough to keep Sam entertained to. How long before he no longer wants to go on holiday with his parents.
When I lyric-searched Seahouses, I kept getting these guys... but no relation.
Although the song title at least is appropriate, thanks to us (for once) choosing the best week of the summer to be away... a little too hot for me on a couple of the days.
We stayed in Beadnell, a lovely quiet village just down the coast from Seahouses, and one that clearly means a lot to Geordie prog-folk bloke Richard Dawson...
She asks why we spend precious time Crafting our sheaves by hand When we could acquire all we need From the bastle at Beadnell Or one of the abundant caskets of parting cloud Which every sundown Float to ground on their dark balloons
Now if you're wondering if the house at the top of the page was our holiday accommodation... sadly not. That's actually the former home of William Armstrong, the Tony Stark of Victorian England, a "scientist, inventor and philanthropist" who I suspect made most of his fortune from arms dealing. That house, Cragside, was once described as "truly the palace of a modern magician". It was probably the most impressive place we visited, though the ostentatious display of wealth left a sour taste too.
On then to Alnwick, home of a far more wholesome magician. In the grounds of Alnwick Castle, we fought dragons and learned how to fly a broomstick just like Harry Potter and his chums.
One final treat came with a boat trip around the Farne Islands to visit some grey seals (sadly, the puffins had all left for their winter holidays). The lighthouse on the photo is the one where local legend Grace Darling made her dramatic rescue back in 1838...
Sadly, we didn't get as far as Lindisfarne on that trip... we're saving the Holy Island till our next visit.
Anyone who's ever made it across those steps At Lindisfarne, that Lindisfarne Where the tide comes in early and leaves us stranded Without our family until the morning
Sam and I spent a few days in Lincoln last week, on our annual Boys Only Summer Break (All U Can Eat breakfast included). Before we went, there were a few raised eyebrows... "Lincoln? What is there to do in Lincoln?" Apart from the obvious...
Well, we found plenty, thank you very much, starting with the above, the most impressive cathedral I've ever seen... we didn't go inside, but the view from outside was pretty awe inspiring. And it's right next to the castle, which we did go into... though we had to be careful to avoid the dragons.
Inside the castle, we also saw the Magna Carter... though even if with glasses on, I couldn't read a word of it. And we took a tour of the prison which, rather incongruously, had an exhibition about album cover art on the bottom floor...
Both the castle and the cathedral are at the top of a road called "Steep Hill". Considering how flat the rest of Lincolnshire is (particularly compared to where we come from), we expected this to be about a high as a molehill... BUT... it is actually a bloody steep climb. We needed a rest when we got to the top... fortunately, there was a lovely pie shop on the way up to provide sustenance.
A quick look back on the blog revealed that I did once compile a Top Ten Lincoln Songs, though most of them were about American presidents, cars and that place in Nebraska. Thank heavens for Dave Davies...
When I planned our annual Boys' Getaway this year, I figured Stratford-upon-Avon would be a day more for myself than Sam... in the end though, we both enjoyed it far more than Warwick Castle. Unlike the overpriced Serf Taxation Scheme of the day before, we caught the FREE Park & Ride into Stratford and pootled round various attractions, charity shops and sites of national interest (well, national interest to English teachers), feeling far more welcome than we had at the castle.
Tudor World sounds a lot more flash than it is, but after the Disneyland vibe of the day before, we appreciated the more am-dram evocation of times gone by.
It's free to wander around the new RSC theatre too, so we stopped for coffee and a cake in their rooftop restaurant... well, I had coffee, Sam had a mocktail. Great view of the town from up there.
But the highlight of the day was our visit to Shakespeare's School Room, where you get taught by the very schoolmaster who taught young Will Shakes. (Or it might be an actor.) We lucked out here as we arrived at a time when we were virtually the only ones in his lesson (the next lesson, there was a coachload of American tourists). We learned how the school day started at 6am in Shakey's day, how all the learning was in Latin, and how the schoolroom is still used today by the Grammar School next door. It stayed open all through the Plague and the Black Death... the only time it was closed was during Covid.
Our day finished in The Mad Museum, "an eccentric world of moving art". Well worth a visit...
Unlike Warwick, I struggled to find songs about Stratford, which is why you've got some songs about its most famous resident today. Sadly, I don't think Liz Phair was thinking of the town when she penned this...
Sam and I spent a few days down south last week - not all the way down, just south of Birmingham. On our first full day, we visited Warwick Castle, a spectacular old building, but a place which feels like it's been Disneyfied to milk every last penny out of its visitors. I could just about handle paying almost fifty quid to get in, because there was lots to do, but once inside they try to fleece you for more money at every turn. Seven quid to park (in a field), people offering to take your photo at every turn then hand you a digital download card with a hefty price attached, extra cost for the Dungeon Tour (which was OK, but not a patch on Edinburgh or York Dungeons).
At the end of the Dungeon Tour, they hand you a wonderful keepsake full of glossy photos taken along the way, plus a keyring and some other gubbins. "A lovely memento of your day," the teenager in charge says (virtually everyone working at Warwick Castle is a Sixth Former... I'll let you reach your own conclusions as to why), before hitting you with the price tag of £22, putting parents in rather an awkward position. Ironic, given we'd just heard about the highway robbers who spent their last days in Warwick Dungeon. Fortunately, Sam was wise to their game: "Give it back and let's get out of here!"
But the final kick in the teeth came later in the afternoon when Sam fancied a go at the kid's jousting event, a pretty basic affair in which another teenager gave two kids a wooden sword and got them to run along an obstacle course bashing a few stripy poles along the way, Despite this, Sam was desperate to have a go - six quid, please. So we bought a ticket and stood waiting in the blistering hot sun for half an hour while the Teenage Knight Mentor mucked about getting two other kids through the course. One of them cut her finger, so the Teenage Knight Mentor let them have another go, after spending ages running around looking for a plaster. And on and on it went. Finally they were done, at which point the Teenage Knight Mentor headed off down the other end of the course to talk to some other parents who were enquiring about the course. I followed, just to make sure she didn't allow them to go before Sam. No worries - "I've got someone waiting down that end," she told them. So I presumed Sam would be next. Only then her (slightly older but only just) supervisor turned up, a conflab occurred, and Teenage Knight Mentor buggered off completely. The supervisor then headed over to us... "this event is closed for half an hour - you can come back then". Sam burst into tears and I demanded my money back. "Sorry, we don't give refunds."
At this point, we left Warwick Castle and headed into the town to scour the local charity shops. A far more cost-effective endeavour. So yeah - Warwick Castle... it's a good job I don't do reviews in Trip Advisor. The town itself is much more welcoming.
Leeds was the first city I knew. My dad worked in Leeds when I was a kid, back in the days when getting there from Huddersfield was a much shorter journey. As I grew older, Mum used to take me to Leeds Comic Marts every other month, and when I started work, I'd often catch the train from Bradford to Leeds to spend my wage in the city's many record shops. It was later that I discovered Manchester (too big and scary for a little Yorkshire lad) and later still, Sheffield (Leeds without the pretentions). Nowadays I work in Leeds myself, or close enough, but the only reason I have to visit the city centre is the occasional gig. I don't feel as welcome there as I once did... it's all too new and shiny and ever-expanding... but then, I've never been a city boy.
Still, I was encouraged to breath life into this old blog series after listening to the wonderful Cherry Red compilation, Where Were You: Independent Music From Leeds (1978-1989). Not only does that collection feature some of the best bands to ever call Leeds home, including The Wedding Present, The Sisters of Mercy, Cud, The Mekons and The Sinister Cleaners... but it also features quite a few songs about Leeds. Like this one!
Named after an Eddie Cochran song, Pink Peg Slax were a Leeds rockabilly band who scored quite a few sessions with John Peel and Andy Kershaw in the 80s, though they never broke through to the big time. They were also responsible for this little beauty...
Mandi and Debi Laek are two sisters from Leeds whose quirky tales of life in Leeds have drawn comparisons to The Kinks, The Jam, Brian Wilson and Syd Barrett.
Mark Knopfler wrote the following tune about Harry Phillips, a Leeds sculptor who never got the respect he deserved... because he wasn't from a trendy town.
Here's a contemporary American band that 30-something hipsters like Ben are into, despite the fact that they're named after that old sitcom about growing up in the 60s. The song is all about being on tour, mostly in Leeds, but far away from home...
Last night in Leeds
Ad and I found ourselves wandering the city
Looking for pizza
All we found was complacency and somewhere to sleep
I'm still waiting for the map to say home's a week away
Back in the UK, Geordie folkster Richard Dawson is someone I've been listening to quite a bit lately since Michel Faber sang his praises in Listen. Here, Richard talks about missing his daughter after driving her away to University...
But my favourite song about Leeds is still this one, from Californian songwriter John Darnielle. It's a song dedicated to Goth God and "Leeds lad" Andrew Eldritch... although he was actually born in Cambridgeshire. Nevertheless, it always makes me smile...
Not a single location today, but the whole of Scotland... or Caledonia, as the Roman Empire referred to it, and those with a romantic soul might still know it today. Written by Dougie MacLean, the version I know best is the one by Frankie Miller, originally recorded for a Tennent's advert.
As an Englishman, I have very little national pride, and if a similar song were written about my own home country, I doubt I'd feel the same... but Caledonia makes me feel patriotic for a country that isn't even mine. Does that make sense? I'm not sure it does to me...
Old blog serials don't die, they just get put on hold until inspiration takes us back.
And so we return to our musical journey around the British Isles, stopping today at the unfortunately named Lincolnshire port of Grimsby.
Lincolnshire lad Bernie Taupin penned the lyrics to Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting based on his experience of watching neighbouring gangs scrapping there at the weekend.
A year or so later, he wrote a rather more complimentary ode to the town...
Not being a Londoner, I'm not going to pretend to be a great expert on this particular London thoroughfare and train station... but musically, it seems the road has quite a history, giving birth to Hawkwind, The Clash* and rapper AJ Tracey, who apparently mentions the road quite a lot in his lyrics... but sadly not in my record collection.
*There are two Clash songs that mention Ladbroke Grove... but neither of them really grabbed me. Apologies, Clash-heads.
I found enough songs to do a Top Ten Ladbroke Grove tunes, but the majority were hardly classics. So I've limited myself to a Top 3. Still, I've struggled to find even one song that relates to a lot of UK towns, so three about one London street... well, it must be quite a street!
Sadly, this post doesn't represent a return to regular blogging or a resurrection of old features. Things are still tumultuous and may be set to get more so... I'm holding my breath on that one and for the best.
I'm not going to bore you with the ups and downs of my current predicament though, particularly as I know many of you are going through tumults of your own. But I put this tune on a compilation for Sam the other day and the mention of Barnsley leapt out at me.
Barnsley is the town where I work, and has been for the last 8 years. It gets a bad rep, as many northern towns do, but I reckon it's got quite a lot going for it, once you get past the "It's grim up north" cliches. The fact that I hate my job has nothing to do with the town in which I work - indeed, having commuted to Bradford for 20+ years prior to that, I find my 40 minute drive to Barnsley to be a delight... if it wasn't for the rocks rolling round in the pit of my stomach the closer I get to my purgatory. It's certainly a nicer and easier place to get to than Manchester, Leeds, Sheffield or any of the sexier cities round these parts... just one of the factors which makes searching for a new job a bit of a minefield.
Anyway, I can't find any other songs that mention Barnsley, but this one was a favourite of mine back in the late Britpop era and it still stands up pretty well today. I've no idea what these lyrics are about though...
Another picturesque Scottish seaside town today, in the Firth of Lorn. Musically, it's the birthplace of folk singer Aiden O'Rourke and a couple of famous bagpipe players.
It's also the second town in this feature to get name-dropped by Everything But The Girl... although this one wasn't written by Tracey Thorn, but her other half Ben Watt, who also make a rare lead vocal showing here. Tracey provides gorgeous backing vocals, otherwise this song truly would be Everything But The Girl.
This week we stop off in the "New Town" of Milton Keynes, a town build from scratch in the late 60s using a modernist grid-style layout more akin to American cities than most other UK towns which were cobbled together in bits over many centuries. Often the butt of jokes, I visited Milton Keynes once to see friends who live down that way and found it to be perfectly pleasant... if a little "unreal".
Famous musical sons of Milton Keynes include the drummer from Babyshambles, the bassist from Bloc Party and... erm… nobody else I could find given five minutes on iffypedia. I did, however, come up with a couple of lyrical references...
To Scarborough then, where I spent some of my holiday last week. Although we stayed near Scarborough, we did spend more time in Whitby, Filey and Robin Hood's Bay. I do know a song about Whitby, which I'll feature another time, but sadly couldn't find any that referred to either Filey or Robin Hood's Bay. Lynchie was curious as to when exactly Robin Hood visited the North Yorkshire coast, and iffypedia only offers a vague legend about him seeing off some French pirates there once. But even outlaws deserve a holiday, surely?
Anyway, Scarborough, birthplace of rock band Little Angels and folkie Eliza Carthy (no, neither of her famous musical parents were born there). Scarborough may also attempt to claim Robert Palmer, and yes, he may have grown up there, but he was actually born much closer to my own home. There's a reason I call him Batley Bob.
I'm sure we can all name an obvious song about Scarborough.
However, this week's selection comes from Art Brut's Eddie Argos and Dyan Valdes of The Blood Arm, from their short-lived but much-cherished (in this house, anyway) collaboration, Everybody Was In The French Resistance... Now! Only 31 views on youtube as I write this post... let's see if we can get them up to at least 35, shall we?
Looking to pay another visit to Northern Ireland on this feature, I figured Shane MacGowan would be a good person to ask.
Sure enough, he directed me to Antrim Town in County Antrim, a town that doesn't appear to have any famous musical sons and daughters... unless you known differently... although Liam Neeson does hail from just a few miles up the road in Ballymena.
When he last stepped up that street
Shining steel in hand
Behind him marched in gray array
A stalwart earnest band
For Antrim town, for Antrim town
He lept into the fray
Now young Roddy McCorley goes to die
On the bridge of Tuam today...
Sounds a bit like the plot of a Liam Neeson movie, that.
Last night I woke up at 3am and cried, "Utoxeter!"
I had no idea where Uttoxeter was, or even how to spell it... double t, who'd have guessed?
Apparently it's in Staffordshire, quite near Alton Towers, a theme park I frequented as a much younger man and will probably have to return to when Sam's a bit older, although you won't see me on any of the rides. Not any more. I get queasy at the thought of the carousel. Once, as a teenager, I rode the Corkscrew, the most exciting rollercoaster in the UK. They told me the other day that it's not even there anymore. My past is just relics and ruins.
I didn't hold out much hope of finding a song that mentioned Uttoxeter, especially when the only pop star to originate from the town appears to be Dave Sampson. You know, of Dave Sampson & The Hunters fame. Come on, they had a #29 hit in 1969, you must remember it?
No, me neither.
Fortunately, good old Graham McPherson came to my rescue with this amusing little ditty...
Our man is feeling rather wonderful
Lying somewhere comfortable
A-bathing on his yacht...oh
Our man is drinking drinks exotica
Dreaming of Uttoxeter
I think not
In years to come, I'll look back and think, "I could have been a proper writer, you know... if I hadn't wasted so much time finding songs about Uttoxeter and writing about them for six people to read on the internet"...*
*I almost said "six strangers" there, until it occured to me that I feel like I know you lot better than I know people I see in the flesh on an almost daily basis. Make of that what you will.
Of course, I should have checked in with Nigel first...
I have loads of songs in my collection that mention Leicester Square (farewell, and all that), but all of them are about London, not the East Midlands city of Leicester, a place that crops up in songs far less.
Famous musical children of Leicester include Engelbert Humperdinck (who was born in India, but moved to Leicester when he was 10), 80s rockers Diesel Park West, Kasabian (who namedrop their hometown in Treat), Peel favourites Gaye Bykers on Acid, Mark Morrison, Showaddywaddy, and a couple of great bassists: John Illsley from Dire Straits and John Deacon from Queen (the sensible one, who retired when The Game was up).
The Fall stop off at Leicester Polytechnic (probably a uni now) in Words of Expectation, and I might have had to inflict all 9 minutes of that on you this week were it not for a last minute save from East Kilbride's finest, Roddy Frame. No idea why he mentions Leicester (or who Leicester's left-it-lad might be) in this tune originally included on the 12" of Oblivious... but I'm glad he did.
We'll be wired with the force of a wave
We'll be leaving with the force of a wave
It's like, "but how can I help it, if they break then they break
When my hands are untied they're entitled to shake"
It's like, I look to Leicester's left-it-lad
And the sickness was singing and the song it was sad
Just down the road from Aberdare is the former coal mining village of Cwmaman, birthplace of muso-irking indie band The Stereophonics. (Or the Stereophonies as Muso-Prime, Mark Radcliffe, likes to call them.)
I can see why some people have a problem with the Stereophonics. They starter out as lyrically intriguing Welsh indie storytellers, but rapidly went a bit L.A. when it became clear they could have bigger hits by making their stories more generic and widescreen.
That first album though... Word Gets Around... that's still a favourite of mine. Great little small town stories set to timeless indie guitars. And all those songs, although it never gets mentioned by name, were written about the band's experiences growing up... in Aberdare. They became much less interesting once they left their hometown behind.
Standing at the bus stop with my shopping
In my hands when I'm overhearing elderly
Ladies as the rumours start to fly you can
Hear them in the school yard, in the scrap yard
In the chip shop, in the phone box, in the pool hall at
We arrive in the Cambridgeshire city of Peterborough this week, birthplace of Erasure's Andy Bell, Maxim Reality & Gizz Butt from The Prodigy, and Ashton Merrygold from JLS. Me neither.
One of my favourite Sheffield bands, The Long Blondes, wrote the following tune about Peterborough, which is never very far, they tell us, although they do conclude "I'd rather be in Sheffield than Peterborough".
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