Tuesday, 20 July 2010

Let's start with Tony Ogden

I thought I would start with Tony Ogden's last recordings. Bubblegum.

World of Twist were one of those bands - those Manchester bands -  who came riding along in the face of soul less, inward looking music that had begun to forget that pop - was pop - that pop was throwaway ,stupid and there to make you feel [soul] powered - for the moment.

It doesn't always have to be about a career, a rider and the NME front fucking page.

World of Twist was a working [class] aesthetic. A slant off to the left of the mainstream - a mixture of the future and the past - of acidic modernist approaches and psychedelic sixties pop prowess. And within it all was Tony Ogden - so important for the balance - the mix - the general gang mentality that permeated this POP group.

He's dead now of course.

And the tales of the Twist's second album often wake me from my sleep - where once I would have walked to Manchester and asked around about it - now I just hope that someone will post it up on the web. Life's easier with the web. You don't have to be so autistic - others will do the leg work.

But the Twist was my starting point. Brought to my attention by none other than my brother and the bassist in The Williams/ Superelectric. These hip young things [at the time] were soaking up the sounds of the underground and passing them my way - straight down to London Town.  They would marvel at the Adge's ability to create a bubbling underbelly of analogue beauty admist the MC5 hammer of the [super] group - and footstoppingrammalamma of the beat.

But they'd tell me about Tony.

Not that they knew him - wish I had now - but it's not to be. They told me about Tony's presence - his ability to communicate with a crowd. It's that star thing. It's charisma man.

So a trip to the Camden Ballroom from South ov tha riva - with a 2 for 1 cut out voucher culled from the back pages of the NME to see World of Twist for one night only [and it was only one night - I never had the pleasure of their [real] company again] They strode on stage - all white shirts and smart trousers - 'I heard they only let you in here in a shirt' and then it on with the show.

And show is the word to use. This was entertainment wrapped up in new sounds, new clothes, new music and new found love for the pop genre. This was quality [street] from start to finish  and I respect him and all the Twist for it. So here's to the passion of pop originality.

A final swansong to the great O

Honey by Bubblegum which can be found on Escape from the Love Machines [having some problems uploading this - but will rectify soon]

so this will suffice until then.

Thursday, 1 July 2010

we find a way back in to this

And the music seemed to fade into the background - it wasn't so constant and so consistent as it used to be. I guess I had fallen out of love with it - out of having any respect for it - and who was/ is going to guide me through this moronic culture [club] I now inhabit?

Those early memories of hope and positive attitudes came tumbling back to remind me of simplicity and shitness - the times when things ceased and hedonism reined [a love] supreme. I was driving into work this morning, the greatest hits of Primal Scream [not even a named album - things have slipped so far] raised in volume to awaken the [soul] power within. Not thinking - just feeling- as age grabbed my throat and wrestled the final vestiges of 'hipness' out of the electric windows.

So i decided as I trawled the digital zine scene - now our thoughts really do cost nothing - that perhaps I could/ should/ write again. In small bursts - like scatter bombs on the unsuspecting - the thoughts and stuff that revolves in here on a daily basis.

And also because I want to write about music and parenthood and all that shit in between - all those moments that come [and go] in Greenwich Park - and those looks and laughs we have as adults. And ultimately I want to remind myself of this beautiful city and all the things it offers.

I have - like most of us - moved on - but every now and again that relentless DIY spirit is channelled.

Sometimes listening is not enough.