H2O

February - from the Latin februum, meaning purification. I said a little while ago I'd be posting one or two pictures on the first of every month during 2023 and, sure enough (this time with a water theme, no matter how tenuous) here's Month 2's selection. (In case you missed January, look no further.)

The photograph below was taken in Leicester a couple of weeks ago on one of my photo excursions (just me rocking up at Nottingham station with nothing more than my camera and a rucksack (with a book and a chocolate bar) jumping on a random train and seeing where I end up. The fountain in a city centre square was backlit by the sun and really caught my attention; as did the pub just up the road where I repaired to a couple of minutes after this image was captured. More on The Blue Boar I'm sure in future posts...

My second photograph will probably comes as no surprise. Last Thursday's visit to the capital was special. For lots of reasons. I'm in the middle of writing up a few words and will share with you in the next few days, I'm sure. In the meantime, here's a photo of Mother Thames taken from the top of a certain power station in SW11.

Helping me out with this month's photo challenge are a couple of my favourite bloggers: Alyson and C are not only great virtual friends, but real - in the flesh - friends who I was privileged to spend time with last year in Edinburgh at BlogCon22.

Alyson first - 'A bit twee but it was dusk and we spotted these swans on a flooded area of the local golf course - loved how the light hit the water.' Twee? Not a bit of it; a brilliant photo, Alyson. Thank you.

C is a fabulous artist and illustrator. She says 'Here's a piccy for your photo theme - my little much loved water pot (I call her Potula) - where I dip and rinse my paintbrushes every day.'

Perfect, C! Just what I was after, thank you so much.

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Hall & Oates - Family Man (taken from their 1983 album, H2O)

She's Gone

Daryl Franklin Hohl and John William Oates made some astonishing records in the 70s and 80s. I can honestly say, to the best of my knowledge, everyone I know could sing the words to at least one of their records; at least one. Which is why, if you ever rode shotgun with me in my car, unlike the young woman above, I'm sure I wouldn't have to leave you stranded by the roadside.

She's Gone first appeared on their 1973 classic album Abandoned Luncheonette. It bombed when they first released it as a single on Atlantic but three years later when the duo had scored some big hits with their new label, RCA, Atlantic re-released it with a fresh catalogue number and voila it went to Number 7 on the Billboard chart.

Hall & Oates - She's Gone (1976)

Tho' the record had charted a couple of years earlier when this lot released it as a single; it may only have just scraped into the Top 50, but many purists say it's the definitive version.

Tavares - She's Gone (1974)

Grounds for Separation

I've just re-read Block Buster! by Dave Thompson. As the title would indicate, it's the definitive biography of glam rockers the Sweet; nothing to do with the chain of video shops.

Their rise to teenybopper stardom - and Top of the Pops ubiquity - followed later by (begrudging, often) critical acclaim was far from overnight; yet their demise was comparable with the speed with which Laurel and Hardy's piano came hurtling down those steps in the film 'Music Box'. Though, as you can imagine, not half as funny.

And the reason why they fell from grace with such indecent haste? Two words: Brian Connolly. Sorry, make that three words: Brian Connolly's drinking. In 1974 after releasing Sweet Fanny Adams and being invited by Pete Townshend to support the Who at Charlton Athletic football ground and play in front of 60,000 fans, Connolly went on a bender. A proper bender. Not for the first time he then got into a fight and was badly beaten up, suffering critical bruising to his throat (they really did kick his head in). As a result the tour to support the album (the album that should have been flying off the shelves) was pulled, as was their chance to play in front of the biggest crowd of their career supporting their heroes. The rest of the band weren't happy; to say the least. They seriously considered playing Charlton as a three piece; they even considered getting a replacement for Connolly. But they gave their friend another chance.

Fast forward a couple of years and, after an 18 month lay off from touring, the band sought solace at the Château recording studio on the outskirts of Paris. Armed with a shedload of new songs they recorded their most coherent album to date: In early 1978 Level Headed was promoted massively in the States where they were embarking on a massive tour with hopes of finally 'cracking America'.  With the album's lead single Love is Like Oxygen picking up airplay it was all set fair. However, Connolly's love of the bottle scuppered the band yet again. By now bloated and out of shape (physically and vocally) he was turning up pissed at most of the shows and the tour soon descended into farce. The record company pulled the plug on the remaining dates and the band were flown home in disgrace.

Connolly was kicked out of the band the following year. And with him went any last vestiges of future aspirations the band may have had. The remaining trio of Andy Scott, Steve Priest and Mick Tucker limped on with three wheels on their wagon till the Cherokees finally caught up with them in 1981. Game over.

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When Andy Scott wrote Love is Like Oxygen it was no secret that he was a huge fan of Hall & Oates. Steve Priest alleges that Scott ripped off their 1975 track Grounds for Separation when writing his lyrics three years later. Scott will no doubt tell you different. The bridge Andy Scott may or may not have liberated comes in at 1:20. I'll let you decide.

Hall & Oates - Grounds for Separation (1975)

The Sweet - Love is Like Oxygen (1978)