Although they never asked me to appear in any of their advertising campaigns, damn you Roger Daltrey, Kickers were definitely my footwear of choice in the late seventies. I also had a penchant for white baseball boots - they looked good with drainpipe jeans. There will be photographic evidence of me and my size nines somewhere in the archives, but in the meantime I'm more than happy to let Messrs. Daltrey and Stewart take centre stage.
What makes a painting a great painting? I guess it all comes down to personal taste; just because Sotheby's (other auction houses are available) have catalogues full of canvases with asking prices north of what you'd pay for a Lear jet, or even a small island in the Bahamas, doesn't make them great. With maybe a one or two exceptions.
Back in 2006 I cut loose on a family vacation in New York, left Jenny and James back at the apartment devouring waffles and American TV, and spent a morning at the Metropolitan. Therein I lost all track of time and just immersed myself in ART! In a museum bigger than the town I currently live in, I wandered through vast halls in what I can only describe as a heightened state. And then, maybe an hour in, I found what I was looking for. A visiting Edward Hopper exhibition was in town, and they'd brought the big one: despite having practically grown up with Nighthawks - on posters, prints and postcards - nothing prepares you for the sheer size of the thing as you approach it from the far end of the room.
The painting measures 60" x 33 1/8 " and hits you like a sledgehammer. It did me, anyway. I stood, just a couple of feet from it for a good thirty minutes. My eyes took in every square inch of canvas as I tried to memorise it. I wanted to shut my eyes and still see it. It worked. And it still works - as a mindfulness exercise, I can recommend it.
Hopper, who painted his masterpiece in 1942, was very vague about the inspiration behind the diner and where, and, indeed, if it existed. The clever money is on a little place in Greenwich Village that was later torn down, but nobody really knows. This picture (left) claims to be it, but isn't.
As with most great paintings it's been parodied more times than Downfall. Yet, as with most forms of imitation, a lot of them are very flattering. My favourites are the pixellated version, Star Trek and the one that hangs in Medd Towers - try and spot the game it's depicting. The fact that the diner is called Chalkies may give it away.
Here's a quirky little film bringing the painting alive:
Reading David Hepworth's riveting 1971 on the train to the Harrogate Literary Festival yeterday (to see David Hepworth and Mark Ellen speaking together), I was struck in an early chapter by just how pivotal Carole King's Tapestry album was to the history of rock music. Prior to 1971 precious few albums recorded by women had ever gone to the # 1 slot on Billboard - Janis Joplin and Bobbie Gentry being the notable exceptions, muscling their way in to what was a very testosterone fuelled environment. At its peak Tapestry was selling an eye watering 150,000 copies a week: every week for pretty much most of that year (it's now sold north of 25 million). And it soon became the bedrock of many a playlist on America's fledgling FM radio stations, where it hit the sweet spot - for men and women alike. It really did, and still does, sound like she was singing her intimate songs to you and to you alone. Especially 'You've Got a Friend'.
Often covered but never bettered - even when she gave the song to her good friend James Taylor who recorded it within days of King and with many of the same musicians.
It's always the way: I'm looking for a photograph of me wearing a particular shirt I once owned (long story) and I end up with (as it turns out) a much better photo of the Number One Son rehearsing with his band, Trippin' Over Wah. The image (above) captures him perfectly. It was taken in 2005. In 2005 James was famous. Seriously.
* Phill Jupitus played their single on 6 Music.
* Did I mention that Phill did his whole breakfast show from our house in July of that year?
* James was a Rock Star in Japan. His tee shirt said so.
* Trippin' over Wah were regulars at Nottingham's Boat Club - that reminds me, James once helped me do some research on one of the UK's most illustrious music venues for a future blog post I really must get round to writing.
* Another guitar hero, Gerry Laffy, painted James' picture that year (left).
* The police were regularly called out to their gigs. * He was fighting off the babes with a shitty stick.
* Their debut, single, Tokyo Joe, still sells for silly money on eBay.
* I was their manager. Ably assisted by Ross Kenney (RIP).
I'd like to think you'd sit next to me on the bus anyway. Or acknowledge me if I smiled in your general direction; it saddens me that, following the seismic shift in our political landscape after the events of last Thursday, anyone in this country should be in anyway fearful of just getting on with their lives.
Johnson and Gove's actions will, I'm sure, come back to haunt them, but in the meantime a little bit of solidarity is called for. Be safe.
Although they never asked me to appear in any of their advertising campaigns, damn you Roger Daltrey, Kickers were definitely my footwear of choice in the late seventies. I also had a penchant for white baseball boots - they looked good with drainpipe jeans. There will be photographic evidence of me and my size nines somewhere in the archives, but in the meantime I'm more than happy to let Messrs. Daltrey and Stewart take centre stage.
Back in 2006 I cut loose on a family vacation in New York, left Jenny and James back at the apartment devouring waffles and American TV, and spent a morning at the Metropolitan. Therein I lost all track of time and just immersed myself in ART! In a museum bigger than the town I currently live in, I wandered through vast halls in what I can only describe as a heightened state. And then, maybe an hour in, I found what I was looking for. A visiting Edward Hopper exhibition was in town, and they'd brought the big one: despite having practically grown up with Nighthawks - on posters, prints and postcards - nothing prepares you for the sheer size of the thing as you approach it from the far end of the room.
Hopper, who painted his masterpiece in 1942, was very vague about the inspiration behind the diner and where, and, indeed, if it existed. The clever money is on a little place in Greenwich Village that was later torn down, but nobody really knows. This picture (left) claims to be it, but isn't.
As with most great paintings it's been parodied more times than Downfall. Yet, as with most forms of imitation, a lot of them are very flattering. My favourites are the pixellated version, Star Trek and the one that hangs in Medd Towers - try and spot the game it's depicting. The fact that the diner is called Chalkies may give it away.
* Phill Jupitus played their single on 6 Music.