Showing posts with label David Bowie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label David Bowie. Show all posts

Thursday, 23 April 2026

Of Bowie, big cats, Cool Britannia, Baranski, Benidorm, Osmond brother, bonking blockade, Beethoven, Bond and the Black Dyke Band


Immerse yourself...

Another snippets post today, dear reader:

  • God news: Everything these days seems to be "an immersive experience" - dinosaurs, the Titanic, numerous Egyptian kings and queens, the Vikings - and now it's David Bowie's turn! You’re Not Alone [pictured above] features an hour-long 360-degree film directed by Mark Grimmer – lead designer for the V&A’s blockbusting 2013 exhibition David Bowie Is – and is showing at London’s “immersive exhibition space” Lightroom. The blurb on its website reads: "Featuring the artist as its sole voice, a story composed from hundreds of interviews spanning a five-decade-long career at the cutting edge of art and culture sees Bowie invite you into his way of thinking like never before." We'll be the judge of that!
  • "Here, kitty, kitty" news: The audience at a circus in Rostov, Russia got more than they bargained for when a ginormous Bengal tiger took advantage as a barrier collapsed, leapt out into the auditorium and bolted for the door. Without eating any children. More's the pity.


[Photo: the fabulous IanVisits blog; click any pic to embiggen]

  • ...and Alan Osmond, eldest of the singing brothers.
  • Safe sex shortage news: Thanks to the blockade of the Strait of Hormuz, and a shortage of raw materials, the price of condoms is set to rocket by 30%!
  • Culture with a capital "K" news: This year's BBC Proms season programme has been announced - with 86 Proms across eight weeks, 20 international ensembles, 41 orchestras and choirs from across the UK, 42 Proms appearances from the BBC’s own orchestras and choirs, 20 premieres including 17 BBC commissions and co-commissions, and 14 Proms across the UK including residencies at Bristol Beacon and the Glasshouse International Centre for Music (Gateshead), and the first ever Prom in Mold, North Wales; highlights include the Proms debuts of The New York Met Orchestra, the Spanish National Orchestra and the Mahler Academy Orchestra, a Prog Rock Prom, an evening with Evelyn Glennie, a celebration of soul legend Marvin Gaye, a brass band Prom with the Black Dyke Band, and a Prom featuring iconic music from the James Bond films titled "Bond and Beyond". Phew!

  • And finally: Happy St George's Day to our English chums!


Pull that string! [click to embiggen]

And the weather? Beautiful and sunny, but still a chilly wind.

Tuesday, 10 February 2026

Of a culinary vamp, tenors, treasure, old farts radio, brutalism, gay disappointment and Bowie in cabaret


Congratulations to the "sex kitten" of TV chefs Nigella Lawson, who steps into the shoes of previous hosts Dame Mary Berry and Dame Prue Leith as the new presenter of The Great British Bake-Off.

It's another snippets post, dear reader:

  • Brutal(ist), indeed news: The hideous concrete monstrosity that is London's Southbank Centre [the 1950s adjunct to the otherwise OK Festival of Britain survivor the Royal Festival Hall, it encompasses the Queen Elizabeth Hall, Purcell Room and the Hayward Gallery, and was later joined by the National Theatre next door, and the British Film Institute (BFI) after that] has become a Grade II listed building. It's still depressingly ugly.

  • Muddled history news: It is once again LGBT History Month in the UK and, unlike in its heyday when Camden & Islington LGBT+ Forum actively facilitated loads of events that appealed to all sorts of groups who vaguely sat under this stupid "alphabet soup" banner, and we always found at least one or two events to go to, there's not a lot that appeals. Not for several years, more's the pity. It's all "trans" this, "queer" {{shudders}} that and "lesbian" the other; at least in our locale.
    One event on the other side of London did indeed catch my eye, however - a touring dramatisation of a long-forgotten radio script from the BBC all about homosexuality in an age when it was completely illegal: Stephen M Hornby’s play The BBC’s First Homosexual. Unfortunately, and possibly inevitably since its London run is a) cheap (£5) and b) hosted at the teeny-tiny Cinema Museum in Kennington [which I have been dying to visit], it's sold out! As is the centenary celebration of the irrepressible Kenneth Williams at the British Library. Dammit.

  • And finally: Sad news arrives of the death of Mr Des de Moor. Latterly known for his passion for real ale and his writings about the subject, he seems an unlikely candidate for a tribute here - but his name rang a bell when I saw it in the obituaries. With very good reason - for, way back in 2003, I happened to purchase a copy of a real oddity: his tribute CD to David Bowie, in cabaret style, with the late Russell Churney [of Fascinating Aida and Julian Clary fame] Darkness and Disgrace! And here, for your delectation, are two tracks from it:

And the weather? Shit.

Sunday, 25 January 2026

Bowie and Burns


Me with the powder-blue suit Bowie wore in the iconic music video for Life On Mars

Back in 2013, the V&A staged one of the most comprehensive and mind-boggling exhibitions dedicated to the life of one person, ever - the wonderful David Bowie Is..., the most visited exhibit in the museum’s history. I went along, and was blown away by it!

Then in 2023, thanks to a donation from the Blavatnik Family Foundation and Warner Music Group, and in collaboration with the great man's estate, the entire archive around which that exhibition was based was acquired by the V&A for the nation - and for a permanent [albeit with items on rotation] display at the new David Bowie Centre in Stratford, which officially opened in September 2025, with tickets strictly limited, and members a priority.

So it was that Madam Arcati and I (V&A members) were able to snaffle tickets - for us and for John-John [Hils, for whom we also booked a ticket, couldn't make it] - for a viewing yesterday!

The V&A takes great pains to emphasise that this is not solely an "exhibition" - and indeed, in comparison to their usual dazzling multi-room, multitudinous-exhibit events (dozens of which we have been to, and thoroughly enjoyed), it is quite tiny; just one room, with ten visual display cases, a big screen and floor-to-ceiling shelves around a table. 

It's the latter part that makes clear the true purpose of the centre - for anyone, by request in advance, can take a closer look at any of the 90,000 items in the collection! If you want to handle Bowie's platform boots, his fedora from The Man Who Fell to Earth, or his personal diaries, you can do so!

Of the items currently on display [as I mentioned above, many of these will periodically be refreshed and changed], I was enthralled by the variety and range, from all eras of his career. Highlights: That suit [pictured at the top of the post] from Life On Mars (and the cream suit from the Serious Moonlight tour I went to see in 1983, and his "Ziggy Stardust" costume), a pair of letters - one a "reference" written by David's dad, the other a very curt rejection letter from Apple Records - his high-drama metal "wings" from the Glass Spider tour in 1987, the handwritten lyrics to Heroes (and the synths played in those "Berlin sessions"), the Stylophone he played on Space Oddity, and, and, and... everything!

It was a brilliant day!


[Click any pic to embiggen]

About the David Bowie Centre

[PS We also took a wander around the V&A East Storehouse itself, which is a stunning (and bewildering) warehouse-scale display of objects of all types and from all eras, that are a mere part of the museum's gargantuan collection, which visitors walk around, under and above - worthy of another visit, and another blog post all of its own - read the review from the ever-wonderful The Londonist instead.]


Meanwhile...

...happy Burns Night!

Bringing the two things together nicely, here's Scotland's uncrowned Queen, Lulu singing the song Bowie wrote for her (together with the great man on backing vocals):


We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when
Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend
Which came as some surprise; I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone, a long long time ago

Oh no, not me
I never lost control
You're face to face
With The Man Who Sold The World

I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home
I searched for form and land, for years and years I roamed
I gazed a gazely stare at all the millions here
We must have died alone, a long long time ago

Who knows? not me
We never lost control
You're face to face
With the Man who Sold the World

Saturday, 24 January 2026

I'd like to be a gallery, put you all inside my show

Those rancid little gnomes at Blogger just cannot leave well alone, can they?

This week's little "surprise"? - yesterday, the function for comments-upon-comments in a thread [aka "embedded", as it's described in the settings menu] stopped working, with the "reply" link greyed-out. Whatever this shit is, it's also hit the setting whereby the reader clicks a photo to embiggen and it opens in "LightBox" (a widget that lets you scroll through posted photos) - photos currently open in a new window/tab instead. Other navigation functions have also been affected. Sigh.

I digress...

This afternoon, Madam Arcati, Hils, John-John and I are off to the wilds of Hackney Wick, to visit the new David Bowie Centre at the V&A's "East Storehouse" - and that's a collection I am champing at the bit to see [despite already having already been overawed by the David Bowie Is... exhibition back in 2013] !

Something appropriate for the occasion is in order:

Like to take a cement* fix
Be a standing cinema
Dress my friends up just for show
See them as they really are
Put a peephole in my brain
Two New Pence to have a go
I'd like to be a gallery
Put you all inside my show

Andy Warhol looks a scream
Hang him on my wall
Andy Warhol, Silver Screen
Can't tell them apart at all

Andy walking, Andy tired
Andy take a little snooze
Tie him up when he's fast asleep
Send him on a pleasant cruise
When he wakes up on the sea
Be sure to think of me and you
He'll think about paint and he'll think about glue
What a jolly boring thing to do

Andy Warhol looks a scream
Hang him on my wall
Andy Warhol, Silver Screen
Can't tell them apart at all

Andy Warhol looks a scream
Hang him on my wall
Andy Warhol, Silver Screen
Can't tell them apart at all

Apparently Mr Warhol was not best pleased. I'm certain David lost no sleep over it.

[*I'm pretty sure that in his original lyrics, this word was not "cement" at all, but "semen"; sanitised for 1970s audiences, no doubt.]

Wednesday, 14 January 2026

Of beards, cultural deficit, zero zero, rough trade, Dilbert, fake pandas, Welsh Romans, Bowie and Gallic electro


A gamble that paid off news: a Belgian art dealer who bought a painting that caught his eye for under €100,000 (£86,600/$115,000) "on a hunch" is now the owner of not only a Rubens, but a Rubens "two-in-one" - if you flip the picture upside-down. [click any pic to embiggen]

It's another snippets post, dear reader:


RIP, Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert.

And the weather? Rain, mizzle, rain, ad infinitum...

Saturday, 10 January 2026

And you, you will be queen

Fuck, how time flies! Remarkably it is TEN YEARS today since we lost the greatest of all my icons, the god who walked amongst us, the peerless David Bowie.

As you will be more than aware, dear reader, I have paid due homage to the great man many, many times on this very blog...

Read my week-long series of "Bowie Tracks of the Day" following his untimely death:

Read my two-part magnum opus in tribute to the great man on his 65th birthday in 2012:

I still mourn his loss, needless to say.

As does, it would seem, our "house band" here at Dolores Delargo Towers...

RIP, David. Well done, Sara, Scott Bradlee and the band.

Wednesday, 17 September 2025

Of Sundance, Bowie, Fry, nuns, stones, Titchmarsh and vodka


RIP Robert Redford, gorgeous man that you were!

It's another snippets post, dear reader:

And the weather? Grey. Very grey.

Wednesday, 8 January 2025

Even a Fool Learns to Love?

It is that annual "Diva Day", when we celebrate the birthdays of two eternal icons and Patron Saints here at Dolores Delargo Towers [one, gladly, still with us us, one forever missed] - Dame Shirley Bassey and Mr David Bowie.

To that end, a mini-quiz, dear reader. What connects this song from the then Miss Bassey's repertoire...

...with this, from Mr Bowie's?

From The Guardian:

In the late 60s, a young songwriter called David Bowie was asked by his manager to write an English lyric for a French pop song, Comme d’habitude (As Usual), by Claude François. “I turned in the pitifully awful title 'Even a Fool Learns to Love', which he rejected out of hand, quite rightly, I feel,” Bowie remembered in 1999. “And it passed on to Paul Anka, who did his own English lyric. And he called it, simply and effectively, 'My Way'”...

...Later, Sinatra would claim My Way “really had nothing to do with my life whatsoever”. Anka, however, felt Sinatra’s experiences helped give the song its power. “Shit happens to everybody every day, whether you’re Frank Sinatra or Joe Blow,” says Anka. “Of course he had regrets – that’s why we sat around and drank every night. You could hear it come out in him, from Ava Gardner, to whoever … but that was the magic of Sinatra: when he sang about it, you believed it. His lucky streak is that he is able to sing about it, convey it and help people along who need it emotionally.”

... When the young Bowie heard Don Costa’s grand arrangement [for Sinatra] on the radio, he was crestfallen. “So in retaliation,” he said, “I wrote 'Life on Mars'.”

A note on the inner sleeve of Hunky Dory reads: “Inspired by Frankie.”

Inspired, indeed.

Saturday, 30 November 2024

Gnus to Gnomes


RIP, Barbara Taylor Bradford, glamorous to the end.

It's a "snippets post" again today, dear reader...

And the weather? Finally quite mild after the wintry storms of late.

Speaking of gnomes:

Saturday, 5 October 2024

The final frontier

I am aching in places I didn't even know could ache, having spent several fruitful hours in the extensive gardens here at Dolores Delargo Towers. Two full bin-bags of crap - mainly sycamore seeds and prunings - later, and I have barely scraped the surface (literally) of about one-third of what needs to be done...

On a different subject altogether, we're apparently in the middle of World Space Week (who knew?), so let's have a selection of suitably-themed songs for your delectation, shall we?

First up, an old, old favourite that I and my sister used to dance to way back in the early '80s at Lazers nightclub (RIP) in Newport:

A classic that simply had to be here:

From the sublime to the ridiculous...

Donny & Marie Osmond Space Finale With Charo, Roy Clark, George Gobel, Osmond Brothers:

And three bizarre examples from the kitsch end of the genre...

...ending up with Miss Sara Brightman and Hot Gossip and their timeless - ahem - classic I Lost My Heart To A Starship Trooper:

Strange new worlds, indeed.

Sunday, 8 January 2023

If it’s good enough for Shirley Bassey it’s good enough for you

Double-Diva-Day is upon us!

Today is the 86th birthday of our most-revered Patron Saint Dame Shirley Bassey, and, as I have mentioned many times before, she shares it with another - the desperately-missed David Bowie...

Here's my favourite anecdote from the latter, that ties the two together neatly:

“Well, backstage one night I was desperate to use the bathroom. I was dressed in my full, battle finery of Tokyo-spaceboy and a pair of shoes high enough that it induced nose bleeds.

“I went up to the promoter – actually I tottered over to the promoter – and I asked ‘Could you please tell me where the lavatory is?’

“And he said: ‘Yeah, look down that corridor. On the far end of that wall. You see that sink? There you go.’

“I said: ‘My good man, I’m not taking a piss in the sink.’

“He said: ‘Listen, son, if it’s good enough for Shirley Bassey it’s good enough for you.’”

Such is the glamorous life of the megastar.

Let's have a wallow in a little something from both divas...

Many happy returns, Dame Shirley Veronica Bassey (born 8th January 1937)

We still love you, David Robert Jones (8th January 1947 – 10th January 2016)

Sunday, 11 September 2022

The greatest interviewer of them all

Among the non-stop coverage of the death of Her Majesty and the ascension of King Charles III, the sad loss of another "national treasure" has largely been overlooked.

Mavis Nicholson (for it is she) was the doyenne of daytime telly, before it went all tabloid and wall-to-wall antiques/makeovers/gawking at "dream homes" and so on; the woman whose amicable chit-chats with just about everyone who was anyone hooked the nation. Her voice was gently hypnotic, the twinkle in her eye was entrancing, and her sense of humour was legendary - she even appeared in French and Saunders' peerless piss-take of Silence of the Lambs!

From an article by Carolyn Hitt on WalesOnline in 2016:

The first female chat-show host in the history of British television was a middle-aged woman from Briton Ferry.

Mavis Nicholson talked her way into this ground-breaking role and enjoyed a 25-year career interviewing some of the biggest stars in the world – from David Bowie to Elizabeth Taylor... Bette Davis, Kirk Douglas, Lauren Bacall - it didn’t matter how major the celebrity and how many times they had played the interview game before, Mavis got something from them that no-else could...

Direct but never combative, probing but never prurient, Mavis provided a twice weekly master class in the art of the long-form interview. It’s a lost art now. It may survive on radio but it’s gone on television. On the small screen the personality of the host is considered more important than his guests – and it usually is “his” rather than her.

Mavis’s good friend Maureen Lipman placed her in the context of her male interviewer peers: "It would be interesting to watch Parky, Wogan, Frost and Mave at work. I know who’d come out best. Because there was a Frost-Nixon moment in every one of Mave’s interviews.”

...Her approach married thorough research with the courage to go off script if the occasion demanded it. Indeed Mavis resisted pre-prepared lists of questions.

"Once I was in that studio there was only one person alive in the world and that was the guest. I wanted to be concentrating on what they were saying,” she explained.

"Something they said would lead you to another question that perhaps you hadn’t thought of beforehand. I’d always carefully read researchers’ notes, always had meetings with people and listen to all points of view and I’d read the guests’ books or go to see the play/film they were in and all that sort of thing.

"The homework was always done jointly but then I said I had to be left alone because if I was going to find out anything new about the guest it would come from the spontaneity of the studio and the conversation we would be having together. And when a conversation is good, you’re so engrossed in it, it’s like a blanket going round you both."

Here she is, "throwing a blanket around" David Bowie, and coaxing some quite candid conversation out of him:

...Dame Barbara Cartland talks about sex:

...even she is outshone by Quentin Crisp, however:

A truly great broadcaster.

RIP, Mavis Nicholson (nee Mainwaring, 19th October 1930 – 9th September 2022)

Saturday, 8 January 2022

Just a mortal with potential of a superman


right-click and "open in new tab" to embiggen

The "God who walked among us", David Bowie would have been seventy-five years old today.

No-one, no thing could ever replace him...

I'm not a prophet or a stone age man
Just a mortal with potential of a superman
I'm living on
I'm tethered to the logic of Homo Sapien
Can't take my eyes from the great salvation
Of bullshit faith

If I don't explain what you ought to know
You can tell me all about it
On the next Bardo
I'm sinking in the quicksand of my thought
And I ain't got the power anymore

Don't believe in yourself
Don't deceive with belief
Knowledge comes with death's release
Ah!
Ah!

Don't believe in yourself
Don't deceive with belief
Knowledge comes with death's release
Ah!
Ah!

David Bowie (born David Robert Jones, 8th January 1947)


More Bowie:

Read my week-long series of "Bowie Tracks of the Day" following his untimely death six years ago:

Read my two-part magnum opus in tribute to the great man on his 65th birthday:

Friday, 8 January 2021

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

That was a long, long, long week... Time for a bit of a party!

As it is "Diva Day" again - the date when two of our greatest icons Dame Shirley Bassey and David Bowie [whose death five years ago this weekend rocked the world, and still hurts] were born ten years apart - it seems only fair that we usher in the weekend in their company. First, a boppy number from her...

...and then one from him!

Have a good weekend, dear reader - Thank Disco It's Friday!

Many happy returns, Dame Shirley Veronica Bassey (born 8th January 1937)

RIP, David Robert Jones (8th January 1947 – 10th January 2016)

Tuesday, 8 January 2019

Clutches of sad remains











From an article on the ever-wonderful Dangerous Minds site:
According to his parents David Bowie was a smart kid. He was rolling paper into a typewriter and tapping keys writing gobble-de-gook lines and even using a phone - the old-fashioned rotary kind - by the time he was three. His parents thought he was special, just like every parent does, but they were right. They never talked to him as a child, no baby talk, no goo-goo, ga-ga, they treated him as a mini-adult because they thought him smart, intelligent, someone who had chutzpah, someone who just might do something. Not that his teachers thought the same. He was an average student who could always do better. One former school friend Trevor Blythe said of him:
"He was a very bright guy, but he never applied himself. He was fairly good at art, but overall he tended to wander through. He was a butterfly. I was old-fashioned and could knuckle down and do the job. He was the opposite to that. There was a creative spirit, but no-one could’ve guessed where it was headed."
I imagine not...

Today, that "creative spirit" would have celebrated his 72nd birthday.


Who'll love Aladdin Sane
Battle cries and champagne just in time for sunrise
Who'll love Aladdin Sane

Motor sensational, Paris or maybe hell (I'm waiting)
Clutches of sad remains
Waits for Aladdin Sane you'll make it

Who'll love Aladdin Sane
Millions weep a fountain, just in case of sunrise
Who'll love Aladdin Sane

We'll love Aladdin Sane
Love Aladdin Sane


And we do.

David Bowie (8th January 1947 – 10th January 2016)

Sunday, 14 October 2018

Do you want to feel how it feels?



Yesterday was apparently National Album Day, and was heavily promoted by the BBC (of course). I missed it, being somewhat occupied at John-John's "film show" yesterday, at which we were treated to a mammoth "Marvel-fest": back-to-back viewings of Avengers: Infinity War, Thor: Ragnarok and Avengers: Age of Ultron - a faboo day, indeed!


The best disco in town

However, let's make up for it, a day late. I thought I'd treat you, dear reader, to a little snapshot of ten of my all-time-fave albums - and then it's your turn...

I have excluded "Various Artists" anthologies (of course) and "Greatest Hits" collections from this list, so that means that certain albums that were never off my player such as Madonna's Immaculate Collection, Siouxsie & the Banshees Once Upon a Time, The Best of Bowie, and those by Queen, Abba, Bananarama, Dusty Springfield, Amanda Lear, Vicki Carr, X-Ray Spex, Blossom Dearie, Celia Cruz, The Supremes, Dalida, Petula Clark, Noel Coward, Erasure, Eartha Kitt, Max Raabe, Doris Day and so on (and on and on - they're probably the bulk of our music collection) do not count. The same goes for soundtracks, so that's Gypsy, Saturday Night Fever, Hairspray, Moulin Rouge, Cabaret, South Pacific, Chicago, Sweet Charity, Side by Side by Sondheim, Rocky Horror and many more (probably the second-biggest part of our collection) off the list.

However, by a process of whittling down the "long-list" (which included Ofra Haza - Yemenite Songs; Scissor Sisters - Scissor Sisters; Paul Anka - Rock Swings; Alison Moyet - Alf; Texas - White on Blonde; Dame Shirley Bassey - Performance; Elaine Stritch - Stritch; Yazoo - Upstairs at Eric's; Freemasons - Unmixed; T Rex - Electric Boogie; and Human League - Dare), here is my Top Ten (not in strict order of preference):



10: Beautiful South - Blue is the Colour.
There is not a single duff track on this delightful - and the band's most popular - album. Top tracks: Artificial Flowers, Blackbird on the Wire, Alone, Don't Marry Her (Fuck Me), and this one:






09: Kylie Minogue - Light Years.
The ultimate party album; it includes On a Night Like This, Disco Down, Loveboat, Kids (with Robbie Williams), Please Stay, Spinning Around, the wonderful title track, and this - the "Gay National Anthem"!






08: Blondie - Parallel Lines.
What can I possibly say about this album that hasn't already been said in droves? It is undoubtedly the one that would feature in just about anybody's Top Ten; it contains no fewer than five mega-hit singles (six were released, but I'm Gonna Love You Too never made the charts) - Sunday Girl, Heart of Glass, Hanging on the Telephone, One Way or Another, Picture This - and also includes this one:






07: Liza Minnelli - Results.
Darling Liza-with-a-zee found herself suddenly back in vogue with this one, thanks to the estimable hit-making talents of the Pet Shop Boys. I loved it when it came out, and love it still. Every track is a winner, including Losing My Mind, Love Pains, Twist in My Sobriety, Don't Drop Bombs, So Sorry, I Said - and this fragile version of a PSB classic:






06: Bronski Beat - Age of Consent.
Coinciding neatly with my own coming-out explosion onto the gay scene in a cloud of pink glitter and poppers, Jimmy Somerville and the boys really broke the mould with this sumptuous array of passion and anger, including the huge hits Smalltown Boy, Why? and I Feel Love/Johnny Remember Me (with Marc Almond), as well as Need-a-Man Blues, Love and Money and this:






05: Pet Shop Boys - Actually
Yes, them again. The Boys were probably the biggest thing to come out of the UK throughout the late '80s and early '90s; their music was everywhere, and they worked with loads of other favourite artists (cf Miss Minnelli at #7 on this very list, as well as Dusty Springfield, Patsy Kensit, Queen Madge (on Sorry), Robbie Williams, Kylie Minogue (In Denial), David Bowie, Tina Turner (Confidential), Boy George and Pete Burns). But this album, in my opinion, was their finest hour. Every track here is a classic - from the opener One More Chance to the closing number Kings Cross (which was an "earworm" for me just the other day), via Shopping, Rent, What Have I Done to Deserve This? (with Dusty), It's a Sin, and another eternal fave:






04: Soft Cell - Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret.
There never was before, and will never be another band quite like Soft Cell. The combination of Northern Soul, Marc Almond's tearfully-broken-diva vocals, loads of sleaze, and Dave Ball's absolutely-of-the-moment synthesizers was an instantaneous and massive hit both sides of the pond. It is the magnum opus of synth-pop, against which those who followed would be judged [Nine Inch Nails, Goldfrapp, Suede, Róisin Murphy, Scissor Sisters and many more besides all owe Marc and Dave some debt for their own success] - with such world-conquering numbers as Tainted Love, Say Hello Wave Goodbye and Bedsitter, as well as Frustration, Entertain Me, Seedy Films, and this controversial classic Sex Dwarf, I played this album to death!




03: Grace Jones - Nightclubbing.
After spending a large part of the 1970s as a "Disco muse"/Studio 54 icon/art-house model, at the beginning of the '80s Miss Jones truly hit the zeitgeist when she was spotted by Island Records' entrepreneur Chris Blackwell, teamed-up with Sly & Robbie - and this masterpiece [her second for Island, after Warm Leatherette] was the result. Like just about all the albums on this list, every track here could have been a stand-alone single - and indeed, quite a few were, including Walking in the Rain, Demolition Man, I've Seen That Face Before (Libertango), Use Me, Feel Up [the latter two in the US only], and this:






02: David Bowie - Hunky Dory.
An artist who simply must appear in any countdown of the all-time greats, David Bowie is indeed here. As any regular reader will know, Mr Bowie is, was, and always will be my favourite artist of all time. On the occasion of his 65th birthday, I posted a huge and in-depth pair of features on his back catalogue:
And following his untimely death I posted a week of Bowie tributes (the final one here has links to the preceding six).

Unsurprisingly, as I have mentioned my love of the album so many times over the years, it is his 1971 masterpiece Hunky Dory [which I described previously thus: "...on balance - even with strong competition from 'Station to Station' - in my opinion it is his greatest album, across a five-decade career"] that is almost-but-not-quite at the top of this list. Its tracklist alone features several of the songs that could be considered "definitive Bowie" - including Changes, Oh! You Pretty Things, Queen Bitch and Life on Mars?, and the rest of the album is track after track of masterpieces such as Fill Your Heart, Song for Bob Dylan, Andy Warhol, Kooks, Quicksand, and the one that contains one of the most-quoted of all his lyrics ("He's chameleon, comedian, Corinthian and caricature"):






01: Kate Bush - Hounds of Love.
David Bowie is indeed considered to be "god" round these parts, but even he is pipped to the post by what is, definitely and definitively, the very best album ever released! [OK, OK, that is in my opinion - others out there will argue for their own, and indeed, as far as "popular" taste may be judged, the likes of Michael Jackson, Fleetwood Mac, The Beatles, Pink Floyd and - ahem - The Eagles will always appear in such "Top Ten" lists in the meejah. Not in mine.]

Miss Bush began as a bit of a "novelty act" - all unusual and often squeaky vocal warblings and arty "interpretive dance" steps, she became the butt of many a "comedic" impersonation and pastiche - but eventually the British public realised what a fantastic talent she has, and nowadays she couldn't really be higher up the "national treasure" ladder. When she released this work of genius, it had been three years since her last (commercially unsuccessful) album The Dreaming, and no-one had huge expectations of her. Yet it became a massive success, and proved the defining moment of her career - with hits from it such as Cloudbusting, Hounds of Love and The Big Sky. Side two of the album (separately titled The Ninth Wave) included some of her most mysterious yet captivating work on tracks such as And Dream of Sheep, Waking The Witch and Under Ice. However, it was this track, the opening salvo of the double-album, that really was the ground-breaker:


It doesn't hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
You, it's you and me.

And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
If I only could, oh...

You don't want to hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware I'm tearing you asunder.
Ooh, there is thunder in our hearts.

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?
Tell me, we both matter, don't we?
You, it's you and me.
It's you and me won't be unhappy.

And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building,
Say, if I only could, oh...

You,
It's you and me,
It's you and me won't be unhappy.

'C'mon, baby, c'mon darling,
Let me steal this moment from you now.
C'mon, angel, c'mon, c'mon, darling,
Let's exchange the experience, oh...'

And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
With no problems.


Well, that's quite enough self-indulgence.

What are your favourite albums, dear reader?

Wednesday, 21 February 2018

Queen of fucking everything...



...here, sat with HM The Queen.

This unlikely pairing was in the front row of the London Fashion Week show by relative newcomer Richard Quinn [recipient of the inaugural Queen Elizabeth II award for British design; that's why HM was there].

Speaking of Queens, and of Fashion:


Listen to me - don't listen to me
Talk to me - don't talk to me
Dance with me - don't dance with me, no
Beep-beep
Beep-beep


Indeed.

Thursday, 2 November 2017

Quiz Time!



What links these otherwise disparate tracks?






...the awesome talents of the recently-departed Mr George Young, who was behind them all! [He wrote all of the songs above with the exception of the AC/DC track, which he produced; Angus and Malcolm Young being his brothers - coincidentally, John-Paul was no relation]



RIP George Redburn Young (6th November 1946 – 22nd October 2017)

Tuesday, 10 January 2017

Down on my knees in Suburbia



As I embark on yet another of my "cross-London safaris" [thank heavens the Tube strike was yesterday!], this time to a meeting in the far southerly borough of Merton, it is - inevitably, on this poignant first anniversary of his death - to David Bowie I turn for solace.

Here's a fitting song (from that marvellous 90s drama series of the same name) - it's Buddha Of Suburbia:


Living in lies by the railway line
Pushing the hair from my eyes
Elvis is English and climbs the hills
Can't tell the bullshit from the lies

Screaming along in South London
Vicious but ready to learn
Sometimes I fear that the whole world is queer
Sometimes but always in vain

So I'll wait until we're sane
Wait until we're blessed and all the same
Full of blood, loving life and all it's got to give
Englishmen going insane

Down on my knees in Suburbia
Down on myself in every way

With great expectations I change all my clothes
Mustn't grumble at silver and gold
Screaming above Central London
Never bored, so I'll never get old

So I'll wait until we're sane
Wait until we're blessed and all the same
Full of blood, loving life and all it's got to give
Englishmen going insane

Down on my knees in suburbia
Down on myself in every way

Day after, day after day, day after
Zane, Zane, Zane, Ouvre le chien
Day after day, day after
Zane, Zane, Zane, Ouvre le chien
Day after


Wish me luck...

Sunday, 8 January 2017

I guess the season is on



From the utterly superb website of all things Bowie, Pushing Ahead of the Dame:
“Ironically, the lyric is something about taking a short view of life, not looking too far ahead and not predicting the oncoming hard knocks. The lyric might have been a note to a younger brother or my own adolescent self,” Bowie wrote of the song many years later, and in its most generous interpretation, Teenage Wildlife is Bowie’s bequest to his successors - be true to yourself, or at least to your favourite illusion; know that the crowd will mock your ambitions and will hunt you down if you have the bad taste to fulfil them.

Is fame even worth it, though? A kid with “squeaky clean eyes” is desperate for fame but he becomes a toy of commerce, just another ugly teenage millionaire, “a broken nosed mogul,” with nothing new to say. The “same old thing in brand new drag comes sweeping into view.” After that, all that remains is the fall: it’s a world of pop stars as a succession of Jane Greys, queens crowned and dispatched in a week.
Today would have been the 70th birthday of my idol ["singing falsetto"?], David Bowie.

With his eternal legacy, universal adulation - and of course, his most unexpected and untimely death almost a year ago - there is very little I wish to add to the reams and reams of articles, tributes, analyses, retrospectives, and reminiscences that many writers (not least myself over the years- just click the keyword "David Bowie" at the foot of this post) have put together about Mr Bowie's life.

Suffice to say, as my regular reader will know, I loved him deeply - and I especially revered his album Scary Monsters and Super Creeps (which provided a major backdrop to my own teenage years, and began my "relationship" with the great man). I am, as he was, also deeply cynical about the occasional flurry of activity that hits the media touting "the new Bowie", or that ubiquitous lazy journalistic tack of making a comparison between him and his successors to the top of the commercial tree - often on the most tenuous of bases, such as a "change of image".

No. There was, and ever will be, only one David Bowie.

And in this song (released in 1980 as the opening track of side two on the above album, in the midst of the emergence of the likes of Gary Numan, the "Blitz Kids" and eclectic post-Punk outlandish "dressing-up" street-styles - the first wave of people he often dismissed as "imitators"), Bowie made his own bitter reclamation of his position as a true original...


Well, how come you only want tomorrow
With its promise
Of something hard to do
A real life adventure
Worth more than pieces of gold
Blue skies above
And sun on your arms
Strength in your stride
And hope in those squeaky clean eyes
You'll get chilly receptions
Everywhere you go
Blinded with desire
I guess the season is on

So you train by shadow boxing,
Search for the truth
But it's all, but it's all used up
Break open
Your million dollar weapon
And you push, still you push,
Still you push your luck

A broken nosed mogul are you
One of the new wave boys

Same old thing in brand new drag
Comes sweeping into view, oh-ooh
As ugly as a teenage millionaire
Pretending it's a whiz-kid world
You'll take me aside, and say
"Well, David, what shall I do?
They wait for me in the hallway"
I'll say "Don't ask me, I don't know any hallways"
But they move in numbers and they've got me in a corner
I feel like a group of one, no-no
They can't do this to me
I'm not some piece
Of teenage wildlife

Those midwives to history put on their bloody robes

The word is that the hunted one is out there on his own
You're alone for maybe the last time
And you breathe for a long time
Then you howl like a wolf in a trap
And you daren't look behind

You fall to the ground
Like a leaf from the tree
And look up one time
At that vast blue sky
Scream out aloud as they shoot you down
No no, I'm not a piece
Of teenage wildlife
I'm not a piece
Of teenage wildlife

And no one will have seen
And no one will confess
The fingerprints will prove
That you couldn't pass the test
There'll be others
On the line filing past,
Who'll whisper low
I miss you he really had to go
Well each to his own, he was
Another piece of teenage wildlife, oh-oh-oh-ohh
Another piece of teenage wildlife, oh-oh-oh-ohh
Another piece of teenage wild...
Wild
Wild
Wild


RIP David Robert Jones (8th January 1947 – 10th January 2016)