Beautiful

Pelé. The greatest player of all time. And that's not up for debate. His CV ran to two words: 'Footballer. Humanitarian'. The beautiful game - a phrase he may or may not have coined - described the sport he'd loved from a young boy to the day he died. And he was a beautiful man. He fought tirelessly for the poor in his native Brazil and when he stood on the world stage as part of the UN, always with a smile on his face, people listened.

In a playing career that spanned three decades (he started professionally with Santos in 1956 and bowed out in 1977 whilst with the New York Cosmos) he scored over 1200 goals, including 92 for his country between 1957 & 1971.

Famously, on 19 November 1969 the player born Edson Arantes do Nascimento found the back of the net for the 1,000th time during a league game at the Maracana Stadium in Rio de Janeiro. 

...

However, here's a sure fire goal (seemingly) you won't see in Pelé's stats; thanks to a truly miraculous save from England's Gordon Banks in the Mexico 70 World Cup. This was my first World Cup and, like millions of others around the world, glued to their TV sets, I couldn't believe what I'd just seen. Cue David Coleman...

Pelé (1940-2022)

I'd be quite prepared for that eventuality

How many people can say they saw George Harrison play live last Saturday night? Yep, I dusted down the DeLorean and got her up to 88mph & was transported back to a time and a place where the Dark Horse played a rather fab greatest hits set - everything from Taxman to When We Was Fab via My Sweet Lord, All Things Must Pass and Something; to mention but a handful.(Though I was miffed Piggies didn't get an outing.)

However, he did play this - and he got his drummer to sing it; naturally. I'd forgotten completely that George had written it - despite the credit on the sleeve. 

George Harrison - It Don't Come Easy (1970)

Angelic

I found myself up in the North East recently, Sunderland to be precise. I was a bit early for my meeting so I grabbed a coffee in a little caff whilst reading a couple of the flyers from the counter; it seems the Osmonds are coming to town, well, facsimiles of (if you know you know). The Osmonds musical - story by Jay Osmond - is coming to the Sunderland Empire (the West End of the North East) on September 13 where it plays for five nights + a couple of matinees too.

And before you ask, yes, I am tempted. What's not to like? Long before I got into heavier and more 'serious' music, the kind of disposable* bubblegum pop those five brothers used to make was right up my strasse and is still hardwired into my brain to this day; if you grew up in the 70s the chances are those songs are still front and centre in your brain too. 

The Osmonds - One Bad Apple (1970)

...

When I came back I took a slight detour via Gateshead to pull in one of Antony Gormley's most iconic sculptures. I've passed it countless times bombing up and down the A1, but never before took the time to study it at close quarters. I'm so glad I did. It dominates the landscape without totally taking over, if that makes sense?**. Go and see it, if you haven't already...

* Not that disposable after all; still sounds fresh to these ears.

** I'm playing with you; as you probably know, I hate the expression 'if that makes sense?' If that makes sense?

Solo

Twitter earlier this evening: 'What's your all time favourite guitar solo?' I didn't have to think twice; I knew the answer straight away. Well, you do, don't you? You'd know too if I asked you, I'm sure you would. Don't get me wrong, there's a longlist in my head, for sure. There's also a (very) select shortlist in there too. And yes, some heavy metal guitar heroes are in the running; as are a lot of jazz greats. In the 12+ years I've been writing this blog you'll find several in my back issues - hidden in plain sight, most of 'em.

But, all time favourite? Well, that's easy, innit? Take a bow, Jerry Donahue...

Fotheringay - ‘The Sea’ (2:47 - 3:53) https://t.co/lJAnxxboYb

— 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙼𝚎𝚍𝚍 (@JohnMeddUK) August 25, 2022

...

Fotheringay - The Sea (1970) 

 

ATMP

Nothing lasts forever; I guess it's inevitable. George Harrison probably put it best (he often did) when in 1970 he said, quite simply, All Things Must Pass.

A couple of things this week have knocked me off my perch; although unrelated they both fall into the ATMP category. El Goodo (Lazy welsh psychedelic band - their strap line, not mine) announced on Twitter this week that they were breaking up: 'We're sorry to announce that El Goodo is no more, we're calling it a day. Thanks to everyone who has supported us over the past twenty odd years. Adiois Amigos. Hyyl Fawr." To say I'm gutted is an understatement. Although I came to the party late, one of the albums that got me thru LD1 was their immaculate 'Zombie' from last year; chockablock full of glorious toe tapping tunes. As swansongs go it's perfect. Live fast, die hard and leave a good looking corpse; as somebody, not George Harrison, once said.

And then, as if this news wasn't bad enough, another Twitter announcement from the makers of one of my favourite podcasts. We Share These Streets (True tales of everyday folk in bygone Nottingham) dropped this bombshell yesterday: "A quick message to let you all know that episode 20 of We Share These Streets will be the final one one. As we all come out of lockdown and life returns to a sort of normality, we're finding it more challenging to make the time needed to research, write and tell the stories as a regular show. Thank you so much for listening and being part of the community." Again, gutted. These 20 minute vignettes of my hometown have been put together with such love, care and attention they are just perfect. But what can you do? All Things Must Pass. Whether it be Hillman Hunters or typewriters, Ceefax or Spangles, fax machines or white dog poo, honest politicians or Little Chefs - they don't make 'em anymore.

A bit like the threepenny bits I bought on a market stall last Saturday - one from 1938 and another, more shiny, from 1967. I asked the stall holder if he'd shined the later one up. He said no, explaining to me that the nickel content was much greater in '67 - it being the last year they were minted. You live and you learn, as somebody far wiser than me once said.

Heads

Tails

No guitar, no concertina

Reading a review of a recent Mungo Jerry compilation* sums the band up as follows: 'Doing the simple thing well and in a memorable way is a far harder skill than it might appear, but Mungo Jerry had in spades.' Quite. Starting life as a skiffle/jug band they scored their first Number One in 1970 with 'In the Summertime' and a little later - when they'd expanded their sound and embraced the stompiness (if that's even a word) of glam - a second with 'Baby Jump'. 

So it was on the back of these flattering words that I decided to dig out their first album: 'Mungo Jerry' was released in 1970 and captured a band that already were fast becoming a festival favourite; that may sound a tad trite but just have a look at some early footage from the period and you'll see what I mean. 

I only have one problem with this album - and it's not even a problem as such, more an observation: in 1970 jug bands were all about keeping it real - banjos, upright pianos, harmonicas and jugs (obviously) were a staple part of their sound; so too were kazoos. To the point that when I listen to some of the selections on this (mostly great) album there are times when instead of seeing their mutton chopped leader Ray Dorset (pictured above) belting out another Alright Alright Alright, all I can picture in my head is a grey fluffy puppet character who, as Sooty's nemesis, was always getting into - what were referred to in the 70s as - scrapes. I speak, of course, of Sweep. Probably, after Eric Morecambe, the funniest funny man** of the decade. 

OK then, here are exhibits A & B. First up, a fabulous song from an album nearly as old as me. 

 Mungo Jerry - Maggie (1970)

And here we have one of the finest comedy sketches of the 1970s. Fast forward if you will to 22:40 to see what happens when Sooty decides to perform a violin recital. Just listen to the anguish in Sweep's voice as Mr. Harry repeatedly sends him away with a flea in his ear. 'No guitar and no concertina' is my new mantra.

Sooty and Sweep

     

* This latest collection is rather clumsily titled 'A & B sides & EP Tracks 1970-75'. Though anyone buying it couldn't possibly argue its moniker was in anyway ambiguous.

** Sorry, dishevelled glove puppet.

May I?

Tempting as it maybe to chip in with my two penneth about the demise of civilisation all around me, I think I'll stick to writing about music and musicians from the 1970s; which was kind of this blog's modus operandi in the first place. So, hard as it may be - forget Covid. Forget Brexit. Forget Johnson & Cummings. And forget Trump. Yeah, right.

***

Since returning from a relaxing few days away (my Easter break had been put on ice for six months) I've immersed myself in artists and bands collectively known as the Canterbury Scene. I'm sure many of you know its origins - if not, here's a quick overview. The roster of musicians and artists that came to prominence in this magical period (straddling the late 60s/early 70s) and the albums they churned out was prolific. And like most genres, and indeed sub-genres, there was the good, the bad and the ugly. But, you know what, even the bad and the ugly make for compelling listening. And some of the the stories that came out of 'the scene' are now legendary. For instance, when Robert Wyatt was kicked out of the Soft Machine (his own band), he formed a rival group straight away. He called them Matching Mole - a pun on machine molle - the French translation for Soft Machine.

Which would lead you to think I'd plump for a Matching Mole track today. Well, as my mother used to say, you know what thought did. 

No, instead I've gone for a beautiful song from one of the most influential musicians of all time. And if you don't believe me, this is what rock critic Nick Kent once said about him:


"Kevin Ayers and Syd Barrett were the two most important people in British pop music. Everything that came after came from them."

Kevin Ayers - May I? (1970)

Kevin Ayers (1944-2013)

"Sorry for Everything"

Dad never talked about his brother much. I've only pieced the story together from speaking with my auntie who in turn had based her version of events purely on a handful of postcards she received over 50 years ago.

Don was a dreamer. He left the UK in 1953 and paid his passage on a cargo ship that left Southampton bound for New York. Although his exact whereabouts were never known, it appears that he was washing pots in a sleazy Manhattan hotel in the Summer of 1955: an English school friend of his on vacation in upstate New York, and visiting NYC for the day, saw him quite by chance - in his kitchen whites - on the steps of the hotel and arranged to meet him in the bar when he came off shift. Don never showed.

In addition to the five postcards his sister received between 1954 and 1963, was a letter dated August 1st, 1964. The last communication from him she ever received:

"Dear Maj, sorry for everything. Getting married on Saturday. That's Betty on the red blanket. You'd love her. I do. D x"

And that was it. Until 1970, when Auntie Maj received a letter from the Home Office marked Private and Confidential. It said, quite matter of factly, that Don & Betty had been involved in a road traffic accident between Poughkeepsie and Newburgh, and were both pronounced dead at the scene. A cremation had already taken place and there were no wills, no estate and no personal effects. It's as if they never existed.

***

I'm away for a few days tomorrow. I'm conscious of the fact that I still have two remaining items in this silly little series of mine. I want to run them back-to-back but am waiting till I can locate a missing photograph. Hopefully I'll find it before Legacy Blogger is, like Don 50 years ago, withdrawn from service. 

1970 (5/5)

The final song in this mini series hasn't just popped into my head, its been kipping in the attic ever since my son was born. Sweet Baby James is 50% cowboy song, 50% lullaby, 100% immaculate. There may well have been better songs written than this; but not many. Even its writer, James Taylor, said it's the song he's most proud of. I can't disagree with that.

James Taylor: Sweet Baby James (1970)

1970 (4/5)

Did he? Or didn't he? We can talk till the cows come home about how George Harrison accidentally or otherwise plagiarised He's so Fine by the Chiffons, but it won't change the outcome. In 1976 the judge - after years of legal wrangling - found Harrison guilty as charged. Beatle George never saw a dime from his multi-million selling chart topper - ironic as he was the first of the post-Fab Four to land a Number One single on both sides of the Atlantic.

So, whether I'm singing the George Harrison original (well, as original as a song with a nicked riff/motif can be), or the version George produced for his mate Billy Preston - before Harrison committed his to tape - My Sweet Lord is the 4h. selection of songs currently pin-balling round my skull 24/7.

Billy Preston: My Sweet Lord (1970)

John Lennon once famously said that whenever he heard My Sweet Lord he was convinced there was a God. Even as a non believer, I think I know where he was coming from.

George Harrison - My Sweet Lord (1970)

And, finally, the elephant in the room. It's hard to believe nobody (not even Phil Spector) told the ex-Beatle he was treading on very thin ice. But, hey, it made for a great rock and roll story.

The Chiffons - He's so Fine (1963)

1970 (3/5)

Only three songs in to my mini series and already I'm floundering with the concept of themed blogs; I've said before that lists, running themes etc. are an anathema to me. And do you wanna know why? I'll tell you why: the third song from 1970 that I've been singing like a madmancap isn't even from 1970. Yikes!

All this time I thought I was singing a Syd Barrett song from his 'A Madcap Laughs' album; turns out I was actually singing an Andy Ellison pastiche recorded some 35 years later. There never were such times.

So, to demonstrate what a chump I've been, here are the (offending) tunes in all their glory:

Exhibit A

Andy Ellison - Heather Lane (2005)

Exhibit B

Syd Barrett - Octopus (1970)

1970 (2/5)

The conceit for this mini series - songs from 1970 buzzing round my head - is, of course, deeply flawed: how can there only be five songs in there and why are all from 1970? Busted.

But, at the time of conception, you've gotta believe me that this clutch of songs were pretty much front and centre of what passes for my brain and, yes, I was, and still am, singing them at traffic lights. In the supermarket. In the shower. Don't tell me you've never been afflicted too.

This one is a funny one. Unlike the last ear worm which is from a band I kind of know inside out and back to front, Cat Stevens is an outsider to me; albeit an outsider who, for a handful of years in the late sixties and early seventies, wrote some real touchstone songs. Maybe I was too young, maybe I wasn't emotionally invested enough to buy into his brand, maybe he was just too gospel-y for me. But 'Wild World' pierced my armour. It got thru. And still hasn't left.

Cat Stevens - Wild World (1970)

1970 (1/5)

It was Sandy Denny who asked the perennial question: Who knows where the time goes? And having recently compiled a photo book for James' 30th - a job that saw me rifling thru literally thousands of photographs, slides and digital images - I know. God, I know. But, like asking how they get the stripes into a tube of toothpaste - we all kinda pretend not to.

Which brings me to today's offering. Anyone still following me after all these years will know the glue that binds this whole shaky caravan together is four parts shooting from the hip, one part premeditated. Themes or lists (apart from annual roundups) happen when they happen, or, most likely, don't happen when they don't happen. But, for some unfathomable reason I have five songs in my head that were all released in 1970. And even those at the back of the class will know that that's 50 years ago in anyone's language.

So, rather than blurt them all out in one hit I'm going to release them into the ether one at a time.

First up, Slade. Long before Noddy Holder discovered mirrored top hats and indeed before Dave Hill found an alternative use for Bacofoil, Slade were a bunch of Black Country skinheads trying to catch a break. They obviously succeeeded, but not before dispensing with the Ben Shermans, Sta Press and 14 eye DMs (your mum probably called 'em bovver boots). And they sounded like this:

Slade: One Way Hotel (1970)

Back Home in 1970

"But there's only four of us" said Reginald Dwight to his pay masters at Hallmark Records when they asked him to cover the England 1970 Mexico World Cup tub thumping anthem Back Home. That's right, the future Elton John and his then band couldn't even muster a 5-a-side team, let alone the 22 man squad who sang (mostly in tune) the football anthem to end all football anthems.
All things considered, I think Elton makes a decent fist of it. Oo-er missus.

Top of the Poppers - Back Home (1970)

This is Ours

I'm still coming down from Dodgy's gig at Rock City last Saturday. There's more than a strong possibility I'll be seeing them a little later in the tour; if only to hear them do their a capella version of Find the Cost of Freedom. For years now they've been dropping it into their set as part of This is Ours. I could listen to them harmonising all night. Here it is/they are from the Astoria in London doing just that.

Dodgy - This is Ours/Find the Cost of Freedom (1995)

And here's the original. Absolutely no introduction necessary.

Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young - Find the Cost of Freedom (1970)

Catch the Pigeon

Groovy

When I posted recently this photograph of my mother feeding the pigeons in Trafalgar Square in the 1950s it prompted a number of people to get in touch - they shared similar photos (mainly of parents) from a similar time. Probably even taken by the same photographer.

Grab him, nab him

However, the snap above is a tad more contemporary. Well, by tad, I mean it was actually taken in 1970, but it's in colour and, dare I say, groovy. And there's not a single collar and tie to be seen. The times they were a-changing.
I don't know if it was choreographed or not. Either way, the scaffolders working on St. Martin-in-the-Fields Church in the background would almost certainly have whistled at the girls 'approvingly' when they walked past: it was written into every builders contract at the time; don't tell me it wasn't.

Westminster City Council prohibited the feeding of the birds in 2003 (wolf whistling at pretty girls probably around the same time) when their numbers reached 35,000 (who was counting them?*) and everywhere in the WC2 postcode was knee deep in guano.

Me & James

The photograph on the right was taken a few years before the ban. James looks to be around three or four so, I'd say, 1993/4. We'd been to the Natural History Museum that day, if memory serves, and afterwards we seemed to gravitate towards Trafalgar Square (in true pigeon style). He loved it. I think that comes through loud and clear. But, as with any rite of passage, he just did it the once.

I don't know where the birds went for bush tucker after 2003. One day they were everywhere, sh*tting on your head, next thing you know they'd buggered off. All things must pass. But not before I leave you with this exquisite slice of Vaudevillian glam from 1972. It was never hip, granted, but this is the missing link between Mrs. Mills and Gary Glitter. And you can quote me on that.

Lieutenant Pigeon - Mouldy Old Dough (1972)

* The pigeons, not pretty girls

Nothing Rhymed

Gilbert O'Sullivan and friends

It's late,  I'm tired, and I've had this song going round in my head all week. It was released in 1970 and, in all honesty, I'm guessing there are only a handful of tunes written since that are even fit to tie its boot laces.

I really need someone like Alyson on hand who could put Nothing Rhymed into all sorts of perspectives - musical, personal, cultural, political even. All I know is that if you're sitting anywhere near me on the train to Sheffield tomorrow morning, I'll probably sing it to you. I apologise in advance.

Before I go, does anyone know what drink Gilbert's talking about when he name checks a Bonaparte Shandy? It sounds very elegant, though probably isn't at all.

Night x

Gilbert O'Sullivan - Nothing Rhymed (1970)

3D

The Archies, a fictional cartoon group who had a string of bubblegum hits in the early seventies, could literally only ever be two dimensional. Unlike the young girl below, who obviously caught the eye of the BBC camera man.

Sugar Sugar was co-written by Andy Kim who later went on to record Rock Me Gently - the best Neil Diamond single Neil Diamond never sang. Kim was also a Monkee for a while (another bubblegum band who existed somewhere between the second and third dimensions) when Micky Dolenz and Davy Jones, then just down to a duo, needed a dig out with songwriting duties.

The Archies - Sugar Sugar (1970)

Small beer

Remember rosettes?

As someone who used to set pub quizzes, I stumbled on a lovely question the other day. In what year was the Penalty Shootout first introduced into English football and who scored the first goal?

Anyone who remembers The Watney Cup* would tell you that in 1970, prior to the first Semi-Final between Hull City and Manchester Utd, it had been announced that, in the event of a stalemate, the match would be decided by spot kicks. This, taken from the programme notes:

Drawn games in The Watney Cup will be decided by penalties. Both sides will be given five chances to score. The Watney Cup will be the first tournament to introduce this method of deciding drawn games. EUFA & FIFA have now agreed to use it in forthcoming European and World Cup games. As league secretary Alan Hardaker says: 'It will be good to settle something by pure football.'

 The Scaffold: pretending to like Watneys

Alex Stepney (United's goalkeeper) could be as vital to Manchester United as George Best when it comes to scoring goals. As Alan Hardaker says: 'It will be good to get a few goals from goalkeepers. Gimmicks used to encourage the scoring of goals are good for the game.' 

George Best arriving at Boothferry Park

Not sure about that, even forty five years on. And, a couple of seasons later, this short lived competition introduced another 'gimmick'. A variation to the offside rule which meant you could only be given off side if you were goal-hanging in the 18 yard box.

The programme notes go on to say: That's what the game is all about. Putting the ball in the net. But not many people in soccer with the exception of Watneys, of course, can guarantee goals.


Hull City v Manchester Utd: Wednesday 15 August 1970
1-1 after 90 minutes
Man Utd won 4-3 on penalties
George Best was the first player to score a penalty
Denis Law was the first to miss a penalty
And Ian McKechnie, Hull City's goalie, was the first keeper to save a penalty (though he did miss at the other end, thus gifting the tie to Man. Utd.)

* The Watney Cup was a pre-season tournament played out between eight teams  - the top two scoring clubs from each of the four divisions who had not qualified for Europe or been promoted. Hull City had scored 72 in the Second Division, Man. Utd. 66 in the First. It was also the first sponsored competition of its kind.

1970-1977

I never tire of looking at photographs of The Beatles, especially when I stumble across ones I've never seen (or can't remember seeing) before. Earlier today I found this little gem.

To the untrained eye you'd say it was lifted from the 1967-1970 Blue Album. But look again. It's obviously taken at Manchester Square in Marylebone (EMI's London offices), however, it's been taken from a diiferent angle and on a different day. I know it's a boy thing; if I was to show the picture to my GLW and say 'can't you see George is wearing a different jacket?' I'd get 'the look' and probably an audible sigh which, over the years, I've translated into English: it means 'grow up.'
Which is probably why I won't be showing her this photograph either.

Before they demolished EMI (the building*, not the label) another four piece combo had their mugshots taken from the bottom of the stairwell.

* I'm assured that the rail Macca is leaning on now resides in his office.