In 1986, following the acrimonious departure of Roger Waters, Dave Gilmour asked Colin Moulding to join Pink Floyd. He politely turned him down as XTC were midway through recording Skylarking. This is such a great story on so many levels; not least as XTC were twice the band Pink Floyd ever were (even if record sales might indicate otherwise - XTC just weren't into world domination.) And, anyway, Moulding had integrity and a sense of loyalty to Andy Partridge. As well as an inner belief that what was happening in Swindon could never be matched in London. Or Paris. Or even New York. Like I say, it's a great story. One he no doubt tells his grandchildren to this day.
A few years later, however, Moulding did record this for a Floyd tribute album. I love it. I'm also playing it all over the house on my acoustic. It's a great song to play on the guitar, it really is.
In the same way I wouldn't leave most bands (let alone a covers band) together in the same room as an XTC song, I definitely wouldn't leave a valuable Crosby, Stills & Nash treasure unattended.
But, it seems to me, Foxes and Fossils aren't most bands.
If you've already seen them tackle Senses Working Overtime then you certainly don't need any more blurb from me today. And, as for their interpretation of Helplessly Hoping, I'm sure you'll find - even the toughest cookies amongst you - that a little bit of your heart is left aching by the time they wrap this beautiful song up.
My friend Emma* has recently taken delivery of a new bicycle. She's loving the open road, but is scared stiff she can't see a thing behind her. 'Get a mirror' I said. You always need to know who's behind you. Always.
My sad excuse for a bike, on the other hand, is lurking at the back of the garage somewhere; unloved and unkempt, sporting two perished tyres and a rusty chain. I can't remember the last time I donned the yellow shirt, lycra bottoms and Day-Glo bike clips. Maybe this is the answer: draw a cartoon of myself on the window of a New York cab and roll the film.
How good is this btw?
*No, not that Emma - Em's far too busy being mummy to the most beautiful baby in the world. XTC - I'd Like That
Prompted by a couple of Phill Jupitus tweets last night, I've been carrying a whole bunch of XTC tunes in my head since I woke up at the crack of sparrows this morning.
I can't remember a time when XTC haven't featured on a mixtape/CD compilation/playlist at sometime or other in the forty years I've been knocking these things out. Beginning with Statue of Liberty🗽 back in 1977, the bunch of cheeky misfits from Swindon have written and produced some of the most intoxicating, quintessentially English, pop music spanning nearly four decades. The fact that Andy Partridge called time on their live career in 1982 due to crippling stage fright, never stopped them from hunkering down in the studio and consistently churning out magical album after magical album.
I'm sure everyone has their favourite favourite XTChoon they can't live without; with so many to chose from, it can only ever be a transient trio. I told Mr. Jupitus that Dear God, Grass and I'd Like That would be my first three out of the starting blocks. @FurryCanary commented that they formed a pleasing narrative arc; I never saw them like that, but I guess they do. I then remembered I'd nearly forgot The Meeting Place. Written by Colin Moulding it's probably the band's finest hour - from what is certainly their finest album.
I absolutely adore this quirky instrumental cover*. In fact it would be well at home in the little Folk club I belong to. Can you have a sea shanty without words. Or sea? An XTC shanty, perhaps.
Or if that doesn't float your sea vessel, how about this cracking lounge version of Senses Working Overtime? It looks like it was recorded at a Route 66 roadside diner somewhere in Southern California. Further from Swindon and the miserable M4 I'd say it's impossible to get. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...
* After having listened to it again several times over breakfast, it puts me in mind of the Camberwick Green/Trumpton/Chigley soundtracks. I'll get my coat...
They call it the irresistible force paradox: when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.
In 1986, when XTC had a clutch of songs they were desperate to turn into their next album, the band were told by their record company, Virgin, that rock and roll veteran Todd Rundgren would be at the helm.
With his producing hat well and truly on, Rundgren listened to all their demos, and without discussing it with anyone in the band, chucked all the songs he didn't like in the bin and got them to record the rest in the exact sequence and running order he had already preordained for the album; Andy Partridge - Managing Director of XTC plc - wasn't happy.
The band based themselves at Rundgren's remote studios in upstate New York where Partridge and Rundgren were at each other's throats the whole time. 'It was like having two Hitlers in the same bunker' Partridge said many years later when looking back at the making of the record. Perversely, that's probably what made Skylarking one of XTC's finest hours and a truly gorgeous collection of songs.
We're going to see Field Music at The Cockpit in Leeds tonight. They remind me of XTC; especially on this year's Plumb. Andy Partridge writes songs at the bottom of his garden in Swindon. I don't know if brothers David and Peter Brewis write their material in their own sheds in Sunderland; they may well share a shed. Probably on an allotment.
I love old photographs. Who doesn't? But when my dad recently gave me a big brown envelope full of random 'family snaps' I was somewhat troubled by the fact that I hardly knew any of the protagonists. 'Go away and write on the back who, where and when,' I told him.
So that's what he did. Now it all begins to make sense. So, knowing how boring other people's photos can be, here's just a small selection. I've now got a photograph of my great great great grandmother.
My grandfather, aka Pop, doing a spot of parading.
A rather nice shot of him with my Nanna on the promenade in Eastbourne in 1963; I love the way men used to wear shirts and ties when visiting the seaside.
And then, at the bottom of the envelope, came The Mystery Woman; my dad put a question mark on the back of her photograph. It would appear nobody in the family knows who she is. She's a flapper and no mistaking. Looks like I could be doing some detective work over the summer.
This post is dedicated to my Pop. John Richard Medd (whose name I share) was born December 29 1906. (my birthday is the 28th) and died December 1983. I think about him often.
The News Quiz on Radio 4 never fails to put a smile on my face. They say the best pictures are on radio and, as good as Merton and Hislop are on the telly, Jeremy Hardy and Andy Hamilton* shade it on points most weeks. Last Friday saw Fred MacAulay and Armando Iannucci riffing on the subject of acronyms: following on from Sandi Toksvig's tale of a girl she was at at Uni with who proudly wore a Cambridge University Netball Team sweatshirt, MacAulay and Iannucci came up with The Scottish Hospitals Information Trust. And then, naturally, The Scottish Hospitals Information Trust Executive.
Andy Partridge probably didn't have acronyms in mind when he penned this personal diatribe directed at his ex-wife.
* Mrs M was having lunch with a friend in Birmingham's Mailbox last week when she spotted AH dining alone at the table behind theirs
