What Happens on Tour...

Essential holiday reading*

Maybe Jimmy Page has already been questioned by the authorities about having sex with underage girls in the 1970s; maybe he hasn't. One thing is certain though - Led Zeppelin weren't big on asking to see picture ID when young girls queued up to get back stage after gigs. Or when they made their way past hotel security and found which rooms the band were occupying. On the contrary, their manager, the notorious Peter Grant, actively encouraged the practice. Different times? Maybe. Different crimes? Well, no, actually.

Oh Lori

The notoriety surrounding similar events today are played out in the press as vile acts carried out by vile people. But in1972 Lori Maddox was a 13 year old virgin when David Bowie publicly bedded her on his Spiders from Mars tour. I say publicly: Bowie knew she was jail bait. His entourage knew she was jail bait, and so did every band, bartender & bellboy in Los Angeles where Maddox was part of a groupie inner circle that hung with any bunch of musicians knocking around Sunset Strip.

Led Zeppelin was one such bunch and, not long after Bowie's exploits with Maddox, Jimmy Page called her and had her chauffeured to his hotel suite. Lori was all of 14 at this point. Page knew this but wasn't remotely bothered. There's nothing more to add really; it's a salacious story that needs no further embellishing. It was Led Zeppelin and it was the 1970s. That seems to be the general consensus of opinion. Just read Hammer of the Gods, or indeed the new Page biography [*pictured poolside- above - by Danny Baker], where you're never more than ten pages from a juicy 'What happens on tour...' story. Only, these stories never stayed on tour.

I discovered this tune only recently on a Classic Rock station coming out of New York that doesn't play Rocky Mountain Way on the hour, every hour. Jimmy Page lends his guitar skills to this 1968 diamond in the rough from Donovan.

Donovan - Season of the Witch (1968)

He Ain't Heavy

Name above the door

You know the feeling: you get off the train, walk out of the station and then realise you haven't got a bloody clue where the venue is. 'Excuse me mate, you from Sheffield?' Oh God, thinks the hapless passer by, not another flaming tourist. 'Easiest way to get to the 02?' Fucking hell, that's an easy one, (I can tell) he's thinking. 'It's that big white box building up there', he said, pointing to the big white box building. 'See it?' I did: smashed it. 

Catching a late afternoon train out of Nottingham means there's plenty of time to find the venue (tick), find pub(s) near venue - Spoons and Head of Steam (tick and tick) - have a couple and still get there in good time (tick). No repeat of Amsterdam.

Thomas Walsh is Pugwash

The last time I saw Pugwash was in Islington, north London. I was with my good friends Steve and Mondo and we'd been drinking in Holborn most of the afternoon. I do remember meeting Mark Ellen for the first time and the delightful Kate Mossman. My memories of the gig, however, are patchy, though I do seem to recall the guitarist from XTC joining them on stage at one point.

Anyway, that was back in 2010 and I did say to Mondo the next day how I'd love to see them again when I was a little less, ahem, relaxed.

So when I saw that Pugwash were opening for Nick Heyward on his latest trek around the country I snaffled a pair of tickets faster than the devil on horseback.

When Thomas Walsh walked onto the tiny stage he all but filled it - I wrote a while back that Thomas Walsh is bigger than the Beatles. After a few words of introduction in his broad Dubln brogue he launched straight into Perfect Summer from the shimmering Siverlake album recorded earlier this year in LA. His songs are perfectly formed three minute pop nuggets made to be heard by the whole world: one day they will be, but just for tonight, Sheffield were given their very own private performance. Highlights too many to mention, but Mason on the Boundary (from Duckworth Lewis) and Nice to be Nice meant that I could have gone home a happy man, even if I hadn't have stuck around for the night's star turn.  

Nick Heyward is my brother**

It's not hard to see why Nick Heyward asked Pugwash to go on tour with him. They compliment each other perfectly. And if they're not already writing together then they should be.

Heyward's pedigree meant that he could come out of the traps with two Top Ten Hits (Love Plus One/Take That Situation) and still have plenty of gas left in the tank. Complete with a rather fetching smoking jacket, and an equally loud five piece band (six if you count the man himself), he treated the crowd (though gathering may be a more accurate term) to a masterclass in how to string together a bunch of hits (and a few near misses too), tie them up in a bow and deliver each and every one like his life depended on it.

Standout songs*? If I had to trade one for my grandmother it would be Kite. And He Doesn't Love You Like I do; OK, both grandmothers then.

* Nick has been dropping the Beatles' Dr. Robert into his set for as long as I can remember, and last night was no exception. Here he is in 1993 performing it on Danny Baker's late night Saturday TV show with the Railtown Bottlers, Danny's house band (look out for a very young Mark Kermode on standup bass).

Nick Heyward - Dr. Robert

**Interestingly a woman from Middlesborough who I was chit-chatting to down the front said I looked like Nick Heyward's brother.

In other news, Nick said that his daughter (who resides in Shefield, apparently) was in the audience. So, techNickally, that would make her my niece then?

I'm desperate, Dan

I've just acquired a pair of tickets to go and see Danny Baker later in the year on the final leg of his Good Time Charlie's Back! tour. I can't tell you how made up I am.

I spoke to him on the phone many moons ago when he was still doing the Morning Edition on Radio 5; of course he won't remember, but it's still locked in my memory bank all the same. That was when the BBC still let him play whatever damned records he liked. No playlist for him; oh no. Whether or not he ever played Lieutenant Pigeon's follow up single to Mouldy Old Dough is something I may have to ask him when I see him in September.

Lieutenant Pigeon - Desperate Dan

Crossing the Red Sea

It's Sunday. A day of rest. You might go to church. Or temple. You might clean the car. You might even mow the lawn. For what it's worth I'm a lapsed Catholic, I take the wheels to the car wash down the road apiece and I let my next door neighbour cut what little grass we have 'as it's no bother' to him. Thank you Sat.

Sunday is also the day when British Rail decide to do their 'engineering' works. This will inevitably mean the network operates a reduced service, resulting in (even) slower trains and, worse still, no porters to carry your matching luggage from carriage to cab. Hang on a minute, about those porters...

This little outpost on the digital network has had some minor engineering works of its own carried out today. Hopefully, without any disruption whatsoever. Can you see what's been going on? This question doesn't have a right or wrong answer by the way. Because if you said 'yes', it means you can see the (subtle) advertising placed beneath each of my posts. If you had said 'no', then you probably haven't been offended by the serendipitous ads that, I think, are quite in-keeping with the look and, dare I say it, style of my blog.

Let me explain (whilst at the same time assure you that I have neither sold out or part exchanged my soul with the Devil*).

Even Monkeys Fall Out Of Trees has been going nearly eight years. Back in 2010 it started life as nothing more than a weekly diet of pop ephemera - stuff that had been cluttering my brain for far too long and needed expunging. Putting it 'out there' (in the nefarious world commonly known as social media) was cathartic. I enjoyed writing it (and still do, tremendously) and my 'readership' for want of a better word seemed to get it. And throughout its life it has transmogrified into a cross between a social & cultural documentary from the standpoint of a white middle class male of a certain age, and the ramblings of a mad man.
This is where you will find out who invented the Venn Diagram, what makes chips and curry sauce a meal of Kings and why the Sweet (and not the Beatles) were probably the best rock and roll band in the world.

My modest two up two down blog now gets just shy of 30,000 page views a month. Every month. Incredible isn't it? I think so anyway. And that was the thing that made me think (and I know I'm not the first blogger to think this, or the last) "Can I earn some pin money doing this and, at he same time, keep the look and feel of the blog and not piss my readers off?"

Of course it's way too early to begin to answer that question. The ads only went live at midnight.

What you will see, I think you'll agree, are ads that fit. So far I've seen ads for audiobooks, tee shirts and guitars. Stuff I have no problem with. I'm not selling arms, tobacco or cars here. Or washing powder. I'll leave that to Danny Baker, and James Hunt before him. These messages will, I'm hoping, slot in nicely - font, colours etc. with the rest of the blog. Tell me if I'm wrong, but I think it works. Whether or not I actually see any pounds, shillings and pence out of this is another thing. That would, quite literally, be a bonus.

I look forward to writing each and every post on tis blog like you wouldn't believe. The buzz of the blank screen suddenly filling up with words, my words, is just as big a thrill now as its always been. And that's because, nine times out of ten I write from the hip. Yes, there's an element of fact checking going on - I was a professional writer in another life - but, and I hope this comes across,  I try not to get too bogged down with timetables, regular features, and lists - content that can turn writing for pleasure into a chore. That said, nobody likes a list more than me. But I'm far more likely to present it like this, than in a chart rundown sort of way. Themes are great too, but as a lover of words, you're far more likely to encounter this sort of thing, than a bunch of misfit songs with a tenuous link. OK, I've done the odd tenuous link too, guilty as charged.

Will it last, I hear you cry. The blogs - definitely. This advertising malarkey - who knows? Will it make me a fortune? No, of course it won't. I've read testimonies from fellow bloggers who basically see two bob and a conker from it. But as I said earlier, money is not the driver here. And if at anytime the ads take over or distract from the main event, then, to paraphrase Jim Reeves, they'll have to go.

* Actually, I've already sold my soul to the Devil.

The only way is Essex

Between 1973 and 1975 David Essex dominated the UK singles charts. He was our David Cassidy. Or Donny Osmond. You couldn't turn your telly on or open a magazine and not find his Colgate ring of confidence staring back at you. Like dog sh*t n the park - he was everywhere.
Around this time Danny Baker, famously, was passing himself off as Essex's brother. Wearing the same white suit as Essex and tossing his mane á la Essex, he was getting as many babes as his 'brother', if not more.

Anyway, anyone who read Stud, and is still wondering who the hell I'm going as to this fancy dress shindig, I will put you out of your misery.

On Saturday night, Matthew, I'm going to be David Essex. Jump up and down in yer blue suede shoes.

Though something tells me there's probably more mileage in touting myself as Danny Baker's brother.

Coupling

Husband and wife

Glenn Tilbrook and Chris Difford, commonly known as Squeeze, have had more bust ups and reconciliations than Burton and Taylor. They can't live with each other, can't live without each other. They've recently been taking their two man show, The At Odds Couple, around and about and you may well have caught them in a provincial theatre near you telling (and retelling) their personal stories and playing their wonderful songs.

They've also written some brand new material for fellow Deptfordite Danny Baker as the soundtrack to the new comedy Cradle to Grave (starring Peter Kay as Spud - Baker's old man) now showing on BBC 2. Baker's life story pretty much centres on SE16 and, in particular, the south east London where Danny, Glenn and Chris grew up in the 1960s and 1970s - much of the landscape that made up that part of the capital just isn't there anymore.

Father and son

When the pair aren't writing or recording (or bickering) they can often be found, unlike, say Ant or Dec, playing solo gigs. And as good as their own songs are and as great as Squeeze's repoirtoire is, every now and again, Tilbrook in particular, will slip anchor and throw in a tune he wished he'd written: this one, however, Weather with You, he sort of did. Crowded House owed a lot to Squeeze - a sort of SKiwis if you will. And anyone who knows Woodface will tell you it plays like a Squeeze Best Of.

Anyway, here's Tilbrook going nowhere on his mantelpiece.

Listing

It's that time of year: everywhere you turn you get beam-ended by yet another 2014 round up or, worse still, a bucket list.  Don't get me wrong, I like a list as well as the next man - in my previous life as a music journalist, the run up to the end of the year was all about rating and ranking one album or film or gig above another. And plenty of my fellow bloggers you see in the right hand margin of my ramblings are filling their boots also. It's a good way of compartmentalising the past; 'tidy up time' as a very annoying Antipodean BBC radio presenter working in the West Midlands used to say.

These days I tend to latch onto stuff much later. If you want to know what my favourite film of 2014 was, ask me in about 2018 - there's every chance I might have seen it by then. But if you really must know what's been floating my boat this year and don't fancy trawling through the 100+ blog posts I've written this year, here's my rough and ready reckoner:

Best Gig

I'm tempted to say Dodgy at York Fibbers. Not least because I supported them that night. I'd also love to report that violin virtuoso Nigel Kennedy (who shared my birthday earlier this week) headlining this year's Scarborough Jazz Festival made it to the top; he very nearly did, but not quite. That accolade goes to Wreckless Eric. Eric, complete with a full band for the first time in years, all but lifted the roof at The New Adelphi in Hull. When he played the ubiquitous Whole Wide World - the signature tune he wrote whilst living in the Humber Delta - you could have been forgiven for thinking that you were in the presence of rock and roll royalty.

Best Book

I've read an awful lot of fiction this year but my favourite read has been Going to Sea in a Sieve by Danny Baker. Danny's a writer and it shows. I now that sounds completely bleedin' obvious, but so many memoirs are penned by ghost writers or, worse, read like an eleven year old's diary (Pete Townshend springs to mind). Every line has been thought through, every gag seems effortless and, like a stick of seaside rock, it's got honesty written through it from start to finish. His David Essex story alone is worth the price tag.

Best Album

After watching The Detectorists on the BBC earlier in  the year I was blown away by the theme tune and the incidental music written and performed by Johnny Flynn. Country Mile, his latest CD, arrived on my birthday and, even though it's still in its shrink wrap, I just know it's going to be my album of the year.

Best Single

Without shadow, I've not heard a better 45 all year than My Type by Saint Motel. I was digging it in August and I'm still digging it now.

Best Podcast

As much as I would love to give it to Rhod Gilbert for his BBC Radio Wales Saturday morning radio show, I'm going out on a limb here and nominating Serial. And I've only heard two episodes. A young girl goes missing in Baltimore in 1999 and week by week the story is stood up on its end, pulled apart and dissected. Gripping stuff.

So there you have it; well, very nearly. After spending the first half of this year working away from home I was going to list my best B&B, pub, restaurant for diners who dine a la todd, Open Mic Night etc. but thought that was maybe going a bit too far - though honorary mentions must go to Brodies in Chalfont St Peter, The Shoulder of Mutton in Wantage, The Wheatsheaf in East Hendred and The Catweazle Club in Oxford.

Magic Carpets

Yesterday on BBC Radio London the venerable Danny Baker was looking for custodians of various modes of transport. Thanks to The Candyman I am now in charge of Magic Carpets. Will this mean letters after my name? Will it get me a table in exclusive fancy dan restaurants? Probably not. Though a badge would be nice.

So what will I do during my tenure? Well, for starters, a recent song of mine, Magic Carpet, will be dedicated to the Danster. Along with three more Johnny Medd originals I've been road-testing in local folk clubs, it'll be on a little EP I'll be putting out later in the Summer; with the knob twiddling expertise of The Number One Son, we'll shortly be spending a couple of days in his new Manchester studios.

England's Dreaming

Just back from a scorching few days in South Devon: Mrs M and I took the Number One son & his lovely fair maiden and a splendid time was had by all.
Whilst not impossible, it's hard not to mention that soccer competition going on in Sun City. The lad and I took respite from the rays and watched England make hard work of Slovenia in a South Hams hostelry; during our National Anthem I was put in mind of this little nugget, which I first heard on one of Danny Baker's venerable football podcasts. It dovetails nicely with the poster seen in the window of Kingsbridge's bookmakers - Pat Potter - earlier in the week; no doubt Pat's relieving many England fans of their hard earned lucre ahead of tomorrow's encounter with the old enemy.