Month: September 2010

Cover Versions, Dylanish, Hard-to-find

Thou shalt not put musicians and recording artists on ridiculous pedestals no matter how great they are or were.

Craig McAllister

Bob Dylan? Is he not dead? A colleague asked me that a couple of years ago, just before I bored them to within an inch of their death with useless Bob trivia, making them wish they’d had the foresight to not think out loud in my presence. I love all things Bob and many things Bob-related. He can be the most obnoxious, obscure, obfuscating person I never want to meet, but he can also be The. Best. Thing. Ever. Right at the top of that ridiculous pedestal. But you probably knew that already.

With the release of the Bootleg Series Volume 9 (the Witmark Demos) just around the corner, it’s worth noting that Columbia records tried to get many artists to have a go at a Dylan track – they heard the ring-a-ding-ding not from the wonderful sounds old wheezy Bob and his trusty harmonica were commiting to vinyl, but in the glossy cover versions of the pop artists du jour. The Witmark Demos was Columbia’s way of getting Dylan into a studio with all the songs he had, pressing ‘record’ and firing out the recorded results to whoever they thought might be able to sugar coat it all the way to the toppermost of the poppermost. You don’t need me to tell you that many have tried (and will continue to do so), but nobody sings Bob Dylan like Robert Allen Zimmerman. Certainly not The Byrds, who recorded whole albums worth of his stuff. Certainly not N. E. One with an acoustic guitar, no decent hair-do to speak of and the noose-like albatross tag of ‘The New Dylan‘ hanging round their neck. And certainly not those X Factor hopefuls who’ve started giving Time Out Of Mind‘s Make You Feel My Love the Mariah Carey ‘soul’ treatment. There were at least 2 versions on last weekend’s show. Enough to give anyone the dry boaks (Google it, non Scots everywhere). Of course, for every 3000 bad versions of Dylan songs, one good one pokes it’s head carefully round the corner long enough for someone to notice.

Like this one.

I heard this for the very first time only last week and I couldn’t believe my ears. Frankie Valli, helium voiced purveyor of northern soul perennial The Night, bouffanted crooner of the Grease theme tune and subject matter of musical theatre or theater depending which side of the world you’re on does a spot-on version of Highway 61 Revisited‘s Queen Jane Approximately that is absobloodylutely magic. Between the opening Mr Tambourine Man-aping (Byrds version) guitar riff, the fabulous Four Seasons call and response backing vocals and the rolling and tumbling piano riffs, I can’t believe this track has escaped my attention for so long. It sounds like any one of those bands from the Nuggets compilation, Mouse & the Traps maybe. I’d never have guessed Frankie Valli was responsible for it. It’s my favourite record of the year so far, until I track down the unreleased Frankie Sings Bob sessions that must surely lurk in the darkest corners of this here interweb.

From one extreme to another.

Dan Le Sac V’s Scroobius Pip were briefly famous 3 years ago with their Thou Shalt Always Kill single. Take time to read this. Just like Bob Dylan, it’s poetry (man)…

Thou shalt not steal if there is a direct victim.
Thou shalt not worship Pop Idols or follow Lostprophets.
Thou shalt not take the names of Johnny Cash, Joe Strummer,
Johnny Hartman, Desmond Decker, Jim Morrison,
Jimi Hendrix or Syd Barrett in vain.
Thou shalt not think that any male over the age of 30
That plays with a child that is not their own is a paedophile.
Some people are just nice.
Thou shalt not read NME.
Thou shalt not stop liking a band just because they’ve become popular.
Thou shalt not question Stephen Fry.
Thou shalt not judge a book by it’s cover.
Thou shalt not judge Lethal Weapon by Danny Glover.
Thou shalt not buy Coca-Cola products.
Thou shalt not buy Nestle products.
Thou shalt not go into the woods with your boyfriend’s best friend,
Take drugs and cheat on him.
Thou shalt not fall in love so easily.
Thou shalt not use poetry, art or music to get into girls’ pants.
Use it to get into their heads.
Thou shalt not watch Hollyoaks.
Thou shalt not attend an open mic and leave
As soon as you’ve done your shitty little poem or song
You self-righteous prick.
Thou shalt not return to the same club or bar week in,
Week out just ’cause you once saw a girl there that
You fancied that you’re never gonna fucking talk to anyway.

Thou shalt not put musicians and
Recording artists on ridiculous pedestals
No matter how great they are or were.
The Beatles: Were just a band.
Led Zeppelin: Just a band.
The Beach Boys: Just a band.
The Sex Pistols: Just a band.
The Clash: Just a band.
Crass: Just a band.
Minor Threat: Just a band.
The Cure: Were just a band.
The Smiths: Just a band.
Nirvana: Just a band.
The Pixies: Just a band.
Oasis: Just a band.
Radiohead: Just a band.
Bloc Party: Just a band.
The Arctic Monkeys: Just a band.
The Next Big Thing… JUST A BAND.

And on and on it goes. You’d like it. See/hear it here. Anyway, around the same time, Dan Le Sac also took Blowing In The Wind, cut it to shreds, threw it up into the air, stuck it back together again in whatever order it landed and looped it into almost 8 and a half minutes of insanity. It‘s called Bob Dylan Thing. You might not like it. You might decide it’s the best thing since, well, Bob. You may even want to stick it on some ridiculous pedestal. But I doubt it. Give it a go though, eh?

Random fact

Bob has gone on record saying Elvis’ verson of Tomorrow Is A Long Time is the best cover version of one of his songs. That’s all folks!

Cover Versions, Hard-to-find

God Save The Queen Of Denmark

Craig McAllister

John Grant‘s Queen Of Denmark album is a slow-burning beauty of a record. It’ll appear on every hipster’s Best Of 2010 list, yet I doubt it did so much as graze the outer reaches of the stalest charts since I don’t know when. All the hippest of hipsters like to keep these things to themselves, y’see, so they can say “told you so” when the time is perceived to be right. Queen Of Denmark is melancholic, melodic, Midlake-mentored and as richly produced as anything from the Golden Year of 1973 (right up there with Band On The Run, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, For Your Pleasure) It’s good, so it is. You’d like it.

Before flying solo, John Grant was leader of The Czars. Much like the album mentioned above, The Czars flew under almost everyone’s radar, save a few canny folk with one ear stuck to the ground and a finger lodged in their other ear in an attempt to keep out the cor blimey mockneyisms and northern infleccheeeoooons of the lad rock that wafted out of every butchers, bakers and candlestick makers up and down the country. There are many bands you could argue were born at the wrong time (hello Trashcan Sinatras), but The Czars, with 6 albums, 3 singles and an EP released to general indifference throughout the mid 90s and early 00′s can stake a claim to that unlucky title. I’d like to be able to tell you I was one of the few with that ear to the ground in 1994, but even though I’d heard of them when a local band supported them around 1997, I didn’t get on board (there were plenty of seats left mind) until 2001′s The Ugly People Vs. the Beautiful People.

Starting with the eerie melancholy of the aptly-named ‘Drug’, The Ugly People…album smacked me (ouch) between the eyes in a way I’d never been hit (oof) since Elliott Smith’s XO masterpiece. I got my fix (stop!) by playing the album daily, like some sort of deathly ritual until I was absolutely sick fed up of it. S’a great album n all that, but I only began playing it again recently after I’d heard Queen Of Denmark. More fool me.

From this point on, I went on a bit of a Czars bender. I went back and started at the beginning of their recorded output (Moodswing), where Cocteau Twin Simon Raymonde came on board. He signed them to his label, produced them and carried out some A&R, encouraging them to cover Song To The Siren along the way. With no real commercial success (and precious little critical acclaim) The Czars split up to no great fanfare in 2004. Strange to think that in 3 years, I’d heard and processed their entire catalogue. Processed? Gruff Rhys of the Super Furry Animals says that he heard the Velvet Underground so much when he was younger that he never needs to listen to them again, that their music is stored in the human iPod, the myPod if you may, that is the human brain. I’m a bit like that with many bands, The Czars included.

And now I’m discovering them all over again, thanks to John Grant releasing Queen Of Denmark.

Cover Versions, demo, Gone but not forgotten, Hard-to-find, Live!, studio outtakes

Are You Experienced?

Craig McAllister

“We’d like to stop playin’ this uh, rubbish an’ dedicate a song to The, uh, Cream…” My first brush with Jimi Hendrix was at the tail end of the 80s on one of those Sounds Of The 60s shows where they showed a clip of the Jimi Hendrix Experience playing a brief blast of Hey Joe before freeforming into Cream’s Sunshine Of Your Love. On the Lulu show, no less. “That was really nice!” deadpans the still Scottish-accented Lulu through gritted teeth. On first seeing it (the full 9 minute clip is below), 20 years after the actual event, I thought it was fantastic. The string bending! The guitar tone! The way he re-tuned his guitar while he played! The way he sang and played at the same time! The way he sneaked a wee Beatles riff (I Feel Fine) into it! The sheer outrageous flamboyancy of it all – he looked like a pirate and, uh, did he just play that bit with his teeth?!?!?

It would be a few years later until I’d find out what that Plaster Casters slogan on Noel Redding’s tee-shirt was all about (Google it!), though Jimi Hendrix made just as big an impression on me, in much the same way as I’d hope today’s guitar obsessed teenager stumbling across a Sounds Of The 80s show would feel on hearing Freak Scene or Fools Gold (YouTube ’em kids!) for the first time. Man! I. Am. Old. Certainly older than Jimi was when he made his best stuff, that’s for sure.

James Marshall Hendrix.

The only guitarist ever to be named after an amplifier.

Jimi died 40 years ago today, on the 18th September 1970. At the ripe old age of 27 he joined that heavenly choir of fellow 27 year olds who drowned, drank and drugged themselves to death before their time was up. Brian Jones. Janis Joplin. Jim Morrison. Later on Kurt Cobain. And they’re just the well known ones. Daddy of the blues, Robert Johnson danced with the devil and paid the price at the same age. You can add Big Star’s Chris Bell to the list. Echo & the Bunnymen’s Pete de Freitas too. You could even argue a case for missing Manic Richie Edwards. He disappeared aged 27 and has never been seen again. He was officially pronounced dead in 2008. Weird, eh? I thank my lucky stars that at the age of 27 I was still trying to master Wild Thing on the plank of wood I called a guitar. Unlike my 40 year old self, the members of the 27 Club never got stale, bloated, fat and comfortable with it all. Well, apart from Jim Morrison of course. But you knew that already.

I’ve got all the Jimi Hendrix I need – that’s the first three albums done with the Experience and a compilation of his pure blues stuff as well as a couple of studio outtake bootlegs and a sneakily downloaded copy of the Jimi Hendrix Experience 4 CD box set, choc full of alt versions, live stuff, unreleased takes and all manner of the sort of stuff that thrills me to this day. I couldn’t care less if I never hear Purple Haze again, but you can never have enough versions of Third Stone From the Sun, especially 9 minute versions that are more jazz than blues, with Jimi taking on the role of stoned space captain. I don’t really need to hear his version of Hey Joe again, but I never tire of hearing the “Oh Goddam! One more time…make the voices a little lower and the band a little louder” version – replete with great swooning female backing vocals.

On his recent tour, Paul McCartney told the well known story of The Beatles going to see Jimi Hendrix at the Albert Hall and Jimi serenading the 4 moustachioed mop tops in their box with his own version of the freshly-minted Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. The Sgt Pepper album had only been released a day or two before and Jimi thought he’d play his version for the writers. It sounds thrilling to me. I can only imagine how thrilling it must’ve been for them. Note too, that in those days Jimi didn’t have access to any of the gazillion tab ‘n chord sites that litter the internet with badly tabbed versions of Sweet Child O’ Mine. Get this homeboys ‘n girls –  he learned straight off the record. Just like me. But better – he even replicates the brass parts. Show off.

It’s pretty clear that, post Experience, Jimi had bought himself a one way ticket to Flaresville, Seventies Central. Along with the hemlines and bottoms on his trousers, his music had expanded even further into the cosmicness of free jazz. He was playing with Buddy Miles, his Band of Gypsies even had a bongo player ferchrissakes. This is a much maligned and misunderstood period in the Hendrix canon. Had he stopped after those 3 JHE albums then died, he’d have been immortal. Instead, he’ll be remembered, perhaps unfairly, in the same way as all those other casualties – the promising start before succumbing to ego, drugs and fame and the inevitable  law of diminishing returns. Put yer prejudices aside and listen to this – one of the sweetest tracks Hendrix recorded (in true Plain Or Pan tradition, it’s the demo, not the final mixed version), and only released after his death in 1971. Angel was so good, Rod Stewart recorded a version of it that even them Faces would’ve been proud of. Aye!

*Bonus Track!

In 1968, this track appeared. So Much In Love by McGough & McGear (produced anonymously by one P. McCartney) was never likely to trouble the hit parade, but the guitar playing, the tone, the way those notes are bent……rumours are that’s Jimi at the helm steering the group (including Mitch ‘n Noel of the Experience plus Graham Nash amongst others) straight towards the section marked ‘phazed phreakout psychedelia’. S’acracker!

FYI, McGough was Roger McGough, ex of Scaffold and these days better known as a witty Scouse poet. His son Nathan managed Happy Mondays, if indeed they were at all manageable. McGear is better known as Michael McCartney, brother of Paul. But you knew that already.

Double Nugget, Hard-to-find

Keeping Up With The Joneses

Craig McAllister

Edgar Jones is a dude. Variously, he’s been a pipe-cleaner thin, bowl-headed 60s revivalist, Paul Weller’s bassman of choice, an Andrew Oldhamesque pop svengali, even a Merseyside Duke Ellington. He’ s had his long fingers in many a musical pie and I can guarantee you that anything he’s been involved in has been (and will be) boss, la.

20 or so years ago you would usually find me hanging about at Shabby Road Studios in Kilmarnock, home to chart non-botherers the Trash Can Sinatras (3 words in those days) and a handful of local bands with one half-cocked eye on the prize and no chance of getting it. The band I played in had a rehearsal room there and as I worked in Kilmarnock I was usually first to rehearsal. Often, I’d pop upstairs for a cup of tea and a chat with some of the Trash Cans and whoever else was about. Seemingly, Go! Discs advance had all been spent on the studio itself and some rattly old vintage Vox amps because they never, NEVER! had any milk for the tea. Over the course of my time as a (and I use this term loosely) musician I met a fair few coulda beens, shoulda beens and also rans, as well as the odd bona fide gin-u-wine chart success (Hello, Chas Smash) in the kitchen at Shabby Road and it was during one of these milkless tea breaks that I met Edgar Jones and his mop-topped, mono-obsessed band of merry men that comprised The Stairs.

The Stairs were recording some stuff for Go! Discs at Shabby Road. But rather than use the studio’s own desk, they had brought with them a handful of dusty old bits ‘ n bobs straight outta the 60s as well as their own 4 track recorder. From downstairs in my rehearsal room they sounded great. They were brilliant musicians. They only needed 3 chords and had a garage swagger that I was still to recognise as being Nuggety. One of them (the ginger one in the middle) had broken a guitar string and came into the kitchen looking for one, to no avail. “I’ve got one!” I said and ran downstairs to get it. I’m sure he’d have said something like “Ta la!” but I can’t remember. He was thankful though, for the next night he popped into the kitchen to give me a 7″ copy of the Weed Bus ep.

Borrowing the Bo Diddley beat from The Who’s Magic Bus and welding on the riff from the Stones The Last Time, Weed Bus sings of the joys of smoking on the top deck of the bus. And I don’t think they mean Silk Cut, if you know where I’m at. “It’s the 147 and you know you’re in hevuhn!” barks Edgar.

Second single Woman Gone And Say Goodbye came complete with a Stax house band riff, cowbells and the faint whiff of Hendrix. It‘s a belter. And in case you missed any of their wee reefer references, by the time the Mexican R’n’B album had came out, they were writing Glitter Band stomping songs like Mary Joanna “You are always on my mind“. It was so good they released it as their third single, to little fanfare anywhere other than my head. The 7″ even came with a free bit of sandpaper stickered with the legend ‘Stairtex Record Cleaner‘.

‘The use of new STAIRTEX provides an effective means of ensuring groove cleanliness essential to good reproduction. Its regular use will lengthen the life of the record and reduce the static charge. Destroys all compact discs. Available from (record) dealers. This side LPs. Other side CDs’

And then The Stairs disappeared. Their withdrawn 2nd LP finally saw the light of day only a couple of years ago. Edgar went on to various things (see first paragraph) and still operates on the periphery today. I last saw him at King Tuts about 3 years ago where he was playing (brilliant) bass in Candie Payne’s band – another of those shoulda been, coulda been acts. He’s the real deal, in music for all the right reasons. He’s worth looking up if you get the chance. In the meantime, enjoy the three slices of The Stairs that I’ve made available to you. And check your pennies then check eBay for the long out of print Mexican R’n’B album.

I once played football in the ‘garden’ at Shabby Road with Half Man Half Biscuit. But that’s another story.

Cover Versions, Football, Hard-to-find, Most downloaded tracks

Ramble On

Craig McAllister

One of the greatest pleasures in this blogger’s life is the daily digestion of blog stats. At any given time I can see who’s visited here, where they’re from and what the most popular posts and downloads are (currently the Jake Holmes/Led Zeppelin one). I can also see who’s Googled what and arrived at Plain Or Pan either by sheer good luck or misfortunate malapropos. Current visitors include those looking for What Brand Of Cigarettes Does Keith Richards Smoke?, Pain or Fantasy and my favourite, African Jungle Horse Sex. I can just about understand why trouser arouser browsers looking for Teenage Fanny are directed here. I just hope the sad old bastards leave with a new-found appreciation of the Bellshill Beach Boys chiming guitars and honey-coated harmonies. But don’t stand anywhere near me at the next TFC gig, or you might just get a punch in the face. OK? I wrote something about the Stone Roses a wee while ago that said the bassline on Something’s Burning sounded like it came from the heart of Africa itself. And a long while ago I wrote about Johnny Wakelin’s In Zaire being total jungle funk, but how Google pointed a slevvering sexual deviant looking for quirky equestrian delights towards this mighty fine site four times in one day is beyond me.

Off course, there’s an underlying seriousness to all this. Clearly, people are using the internet for purposes other than tracking down obscure records by musicians only a handful of people have heard of. Whodathunkit, eh?

On a lighter note, the football transfer window closed at midnight on Tuesday night. This is a nerve-wracking time for fans of any club, but especially for fans of the less-fashionable, poorer clubs. As a Kilmarnock fan I’ve had to endure the pain of seeing our star players being snatched away from us at the stroke of midnight by ‘Sir’ Walter Smith and his satanic promises of first team football and the chance to wear the badge of the team they’ve “always supported since I was a wee boy“. To be fair to my club, the last time this happened they held out spectacularly for a decent sum (£2 million I think) for Steven Naismith. But this was only after failing miserably to command a fee any greater than £400,000 (to be paid in instalements, not even in the one go) for the services of Kris Boyd the season previously, a player who went on to score about 17 gazillion goals over the next few seasons (many against us), helped his team to a European final and cemented his place in the Scotland team, before getting his dream move to a bigger club. That’s Middlesborough, if you didn’t know.

The internet was buzzing on Tuesday night. Fans forums were in meltdown as everyone logged on trying to find the truth amongst the rumours, the rubbish and the rest. This year’s big worry was whether or not our star midfielder and captain, Craig Bryson, would be off to join up with recently departed Killie boss Jim Jefferies at Hearts. The rumour mills were in over-drive. At various points leading up to midnight he was at Tynecastle undergoing a medical, he was being sold for £400,000, he was being sold for £200,000 plus a player in return. At one point he was even off to Ipswich. Truth is, none of this was correct. By midnight, Hearts had had a couple of cheeky bids knocked back and Bryson remained with us.

Amongst all the Bryson rumours was a rumour about another player joining Hearts. Every team has fans’ favourites. Maybe not the most technically gifted set of legs in the team, but the one with the biggest heart, worn on the sleeve with pride. The player who’s first to question the referee’s authority whenever he feels a sense of injustice. The player who’ll give away the ‘clever’ foul and take the ‘clever’ booking for the team. The player who kisses the badge unironically cos he means it (maaaan), the player who, when a goal is scored, is the first to run to the crowd and not his teammates to celebrate, a player who can whip up a frenzy of excitement on the terracing by the sheer mention of his name.

At Killie, Manuel Pascali is that player. A tough, no-nonsene pro he breaks down attacks with a crunching tackle before distributing the ball wisely to a team mate. Not wisely distributing. That would infer that he’s incapable of anything other than giving the ball to a teammate to do the hard bit. No. I mean distributing the ball wisely, whereby at lightning speed he assesses the situation and from all his options picks out the best pass that’ll put his team on the offensive. He’s a bit like one of those Dutch or Spanish holding midfielders that slugged it out in that tetchy World Cup final a couple of months ago. Only not as good, or he’d be at a bigger club. Which takes me back to transfer deadline day and stupid rumours. Not only was Bryson going to Hearts, Pascali was off too! In fact, he was currently undergoing a medical and was about to put pen to paper. Noooooo! This was a disaster! While we were getting all hot under the collar about our star midfielder, our old manager had only gone and thrown a cat amongst the pigeons by pinching Pascali from right under our blue and white noses. Manu! How could you? Except, of course, he hadn’t. As all this drama was unfolding on the football part of the internet, over on the social networking section my close personal Facebook friend Manu Pascali was exclusively revealing we were  not to worry, that he was sitting “at home watching a DVD” and that he was “Killie Til I Die!” Heroes, eh? Dontcha just love ’em?

Also over on Facebook, another friend had posted a video of lost Talking Heads‘ classic This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody). I’ve got Arcade Fire doing that I said. What, with their quirky nature and choice of instrumentation, it’s a song that suits them perfectly. So, for you, Mr Big Stuff and any other Arcade Fire fans (and there must be a fair few, given that they’re currently (ahem, cough) burning up the charts, here’s some rare Arcade Fire.

This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody) (taken from a 2004 CBC Radio 3 Studio Session)

Cold Wind (from the Six Feet Under TV series soundtrack)

No Cars Go (from the 2003 and re-released in 2005 Arcade Fire ep)

Poupee de Cire, Poupee de Son (Serge Gainsbourg cover, released on one side of a joint tour 7″ single with LCD Soundsystem. Sung in French. Or is that French Canadian?)

And if you haven’t done so already, you need to try this. Arcade Fire video +  Google earth images of your address + some animated birds = pretty fantastic viewing experience. Warning – takes a wee bit to load. But it’s worth the wait.