Something for the weekend

The sort of thing you see on the walls of most pub gents would hardly constitute art. Banal graffiti, out of date Sky Sports posters, darts team fixture lists and condom machines; something for the weekend, sir? Then again, unless you've got a small bladder, they're not the sort of places you tend to spend too much time in. And you certainly wouldn't want to be seen getting your camera out in such surroundings. Would you?


Pictured above are two pieces I saw recently hanging in the Men's Room. No names, no pack drill. They both caught my eye for different reasons: if you look carefully, the bird on the right is actually a map of Brighton and Hove. And if you look carefully at the cat carrying girl on the left, you'll see she isn't wearing any clothes.

Steel City?

I love it when the Americans try and ape the Brits. Almost without fail they fall flat on their arse/ass; though there are notable exceptions. Mike Myers totally gets it: as well as being an uproarious comedy trilogy, the Austin Powers movies provided a great vehicle to show off his band's love affair with England. You don't believe me? Listen to Ming Tea's 'Daddy Wasn't There' or 'Do the BBC'.

Next up would have to be Gwyneth Paltrow. Long before she made a tit of herself at The Oscars and became a Coldplay groupie, Paltrow made a charming little film called Sliding Doors. Her portrayal of a young London temp straddling two parallel universes was so convincing I really thought she was one of us.

But for every Mike Myers there's always a Dick Van Dyke lurking round the film lot. Last night I watched the first 30 minutes of The Def Leppard Story. It's an American made for TV biopic that charts the rise of South Yorkshire's most enduring musical exports, Joe Cocker notwithstanding.

It starts with a car chase (well it would, wouldn't it?) depicting their drummer's last tear-up on the A57 before he parted company with his left arm. The stretch of road where it all happened, the infamous Snake Pass, looks like it was shot in The Rockies. The film's budget obviously didn't stretch to coming over to blighty.

Now, I know that nobody in their right mind would want to sit and watch the film, the whole film and nothing but the film - however, I do urge you to watch the opening ten minutes. Apart from the above mentioned car chase you get shots of 'Sheffield' circa 1978. And when I say Sheffield, I really mean Montreal. That's right, in his wisdom, the Director decided that the town known commonly as Steel City should be twinned with a Canadian outpost it shares no geographical links with whatsoever. So watch out for the Dickensian fruit and veg vendor selling his wares outside the factory gates, the rows of 'terraced houses' and the assortment of passing 'classic' cars. It certainly takes your mind off the dreadful dialogue that passes for a script*.

* The actor playing Joe Elliott says at one point he'd chew his own gonads off if it meant leaving Sheffield. Nuff said.

This will be the last time

Candlestick Park and Cow Palace. Two stadiums (stadia?) that not only share the same initials, but practically the same San Fransiscan zip code. And venues that, 18 years  apart, played host to a brace of British beat groups who hung up their gig bags for the last time whilst in the Bay Area.

The Beatles' last hurrah in 1966 is well documented: John knew it was going to be the last time - he even took an early selfie of himself with his back to the crowd. Slade, on the other hand, found themselve supporting Ozzy Osbourne in 1984 and, probably, never knew the significance of the evening's performance. When they returned to blighty Noddy Holder would slowly retreat from the band before finally telling the other three he'd had enough.

My good friend Mark Smith, pictured above, came to visit at the weekend. Mark was practically the fifth member of Slade; his love of the band is well documented and it came as no surprise when he called his first born Noddy and had the letters S L A D E tattooed on his knuckles.*



* As with a lot of content on the internet, some facts contained in the last paragraph may need checking out.

Let's Get Physical

In the summer of 1974 the rock behemoth that was Led Zeppelin retreated to the country and recorded a selection of tunes that would come to define them. The resulting album would be their Exile on Main Street, their White Album, if you will. That's right, an album so big in every sense of the word it would have to be released as a double album and housed in an all singing, all dancing, gatefold sleeve. Physical Graffiti, when it came out in February of the following year, would, at a stroke, put every rock album that had ever been released before it in the shade.

The sleeve depicts a pair of tenement blocks in New York and as men of a certain age (and women for that matter) will tell you, in the seventies you saw an album long before you ever heard it: the artwork was as crucial to the success of an album as the strength of its songs, the dexterity of the guitar solos or the dark art skills of the knob twiddlers.

And Physical Graffiti was no exception. From taking it out of the rack in the record shop, paying for it at the counter and bringing it home on the bus, you couldn't take your eyes off the cover. Where was the photograph taken? Who was that sat on the steps? What does it remind me of?
And, of course, the question we all asked ourselves: will it be as good as Houses of the Holy?

The answers I came up with: 96-98 St Mark's Place, Greenwich Village - where the basement is now home to Physical Graffitea. John Bonham. Jose Feliciano's Compartments (pictured above right) and, oh yes, it was as good as anything they would ever release.

3597 Medd Ave, Mount Airy, MD

From time to time I google Medd and see what's shakin' on the hill. My latest reconnoiter took me to an American real estate website. Therein I found a tasty four bed, four bath pile sitting in seven acres in Maryland. Situated between Frederick and Baltimore and a mere eight hour drive from New York City, I think, at $499,900 (£290,000), I've just found my dream house.

Take a look for yourself.