Sunday Morning Coming Down

Many of you will know this already, undoubtedly being regular visitors, but over at the ever wonderful No Badger Required, curator SWC regularly calls upon the services of their hand-picked Musical Jury to help compile a list of the Top Twenty on a number of different topics. When providing their nominations, the MJM (Musical Jury Member) is invited to provide a few words on their nominations, which SWC uses when going through the final list. although being members of a jury their identity is kept hidden, SWC providing them with a pseudonym. This time, it’s London Underground stations.

The current topic getting the rundown treatment and therefore no longer up for discussion is Rocks Greatest Number, that is, the artist with a number in their name who attracts the highest number of votes.

On Friday, SWC reached #14 in the final countdown, and posted offerings from two of the jury, MJM High Barnet and MJM Paddington, on a band much loved around these parts: 10,000 Maniacs. You can read what words they cobbled together here. I should add, before we go any further, that if you’re unfamiliar with them, please disregard the band name, which conjurs up the image of a punk rock hardcore band, when in reality that could not be further from the truth.

Anyway, both High Barnet and Paddington certainly know their stuff, especially MJM Paddington, who seems to be an incredibly wise and undoubtedly devilishly handsome sort to boot. Both mention there are two distinct phases in the life of 10,000 Maniacs: with Natalie Merchant providing lead vocals, and then without, following her departure from the band in 1993. Both contributors are keen to point out that their nominations for the Top 20 are based solely on the first phase, and both refer to the MTV Unplugged album as a highpoint, and they’re not wrong, it’s practically a Greatest Hits album, had 10,000 Maniacs ever had any hits (they only ever had one in the UK, and that was lifted from this record). The album was recorded on April 21st 1993, but not released until October 26th 1993; Merchant announced her departure on August 5th 1993.

You’ll be familiar with the concept of the MTV Unplugged series: back in the days when MTV still lived up to its own acronym (i.e. it was a TV channel devoted to music, unlike today when it features nothing but reality TV shows) a musical act would be invited into the studio to perform a concert in front of a live audience, where the act could only perform using acoustic instruments: no electrical equipment (bar microphones and speakers) were allowed. The results would be recorded, broadcast and often, but not always, released for sale. Most famous examples where commercial success with the records followed were by as diverse a groups of artists as Mariah Carey, Alice in Chains, Rod Stewart, (arguably most famously)Nirvana and Eric Clapton. All of these went platinum (as did 10,000 Maniacs’), with Clapton’s (which I’ve mentioned on these pages before, I have a soft spot for) selling 26 million copies worldwide, becoming the best-selling live album of all time.

So, yeah, quite a successful franchise.

This “no electric or electronic instruments” policy was lampooned back in the late 1980s/early 1990s on The Mary Whitehouse Experience:

But I digress.

What neither MJM High Barnet nor MJM Paddington mention is that the live broadcast of 10,000 Maniacs MTV Unplugged contained some extra songs which did not appear on the original release of the album, but were included when an Expanded Edition was released in 2024. These were three cover versions, presumably originally omitted as they would have made the record a little covers-heavy, what with the actual inclusion of their version of Patti Smith’s Springsteen-penned Because the Night a nailed-on, must have.

The first of those three covers really needs no introduction, taking the song to a much more mournful place than the original:

10,000 Maniacs – Jolene

However, the other two do require a little bit of an introduction.

The first is a song written by Jimmie Dale Gilmore and first released in 1972; on both these next two versions, 10,000 Maniacs are joined on stage by the legend that is David Byrne:

10,000 Maniacs (feat. David Byrne) – Dallas

The second is by an artist who has featured on these pages once before, a long time ago (2023 is a long time ago, right?): Iris DeMent. As well as the Expanded Edition version of MTV Unplugged, this version can also be found on 10,000 Maniacs snappily-titled compilation album Campfire Songs: The Popular, Obscure and Unknown Recordings of 10,000 Maniacs:

10,000 Maniacs (feat. David Byrne) – Let the Mystery Be

All bloody marvelous, I’m sure you’ll agree.

And, as a treat, since I’ve not posted anything here for a while, here are the originals:

Dolly Parton – Jolene

Jimmie Dale and The Flatlanders – Dallas

Iris DeMent – Let the Mystery Be

You’re welcome.

More soon.

Rifftastic, Mate! #22

A series where we look at the Top 30 riffs in popular music, as decided by The Telegraph, of all places.

And, in at 22# on this constantly surprising list is…

Muddy Waters – Mannish Boy

And here’s what The Telegraph hack wrote:

“Or how a riff turned bad, in the best way. This stop-start blues strut begins life in 1953 as Willie Dixon’s Hoochie-Coochie Man, which he gave to Muddy Waters to record in early 1954. Bo Diddley was inspired by it to write I’m a Man in 1955, with a similar riff that he made rawer and more distorted. Muddy responded with what we’d probably call a diss track these days, Mannish Boy, aimed, at least in part, at the younger man. The riff on it, heavier, more rhythmic, all swagger and aggression, is the final boss.”

Well, I suppose you can’t really do a list of the best riffs ever without mentioning at least on e of the all-time great blues guitarists, can you? And, to be perfectly honest, I know embarrassingly little about those early blues records and pickers – a little about Robert Johnson, maybe but not enough, so, as ever I’m not going to challenge this (a thought 100% verified by the fact that when I first wrote this sentence, a) it was a lot shorter, and b) I realised I had written Robert Thompson, who is a bloke I work with, and who is definitely not a legendary bluesman who reputedly made a pact with the devil. As far as I know).

This from wiki:

“Although the song contains sexual boasting, its repetition of “I’m a man, I spell M, A child, N” was understood as political. Waters had recently left the South for Chicago. “Growing up in the South, Black Americans [would] never be referred to as a man – but as ‘boy’. In this context, the song [is] an assertion of black manhood.”

Yes, I read the words “sexual boasting” in the voice of Simon Bates, too.

Anyway, if it were me compiling this list, and I felt compelled to include a blues legend, then I’d probably have plumped for this one too, once I’d worked out what it was called, for the guitar riff is that riff – you know the one, that da-da-da-da-da-dun – that we immediately associate with blues songs, the one used when people do homages, piss-takes and pastiches of blues records, or when they want to sell a few skip-full of Levi 501s.

More soon.

Rifftastic, Mate! #23

A series where we look at the Top 30 riffs, as decided by The Telegraph, of all places.

No, you’re not mistaken. That’s a glitterball.

Glitterballs are associated with disco (the musical genre) and discotheques (as people of my age refer to nightclubs).

They are not associated with guitar riffs.

But fear not: our now semi-trusted Telegraph-scribe once again has a point:

Nile Rodgers is one of those guitarists whose harmonic and rhythmic mastery transforms everything he touches without ever overpowering it. From Chic’s Le Freak to Daft Punk’s Get Lucky, Rodgers has been shaping the sound of unforgettable records for nigh on five decades. His Sister Sledge era is full of big hits and underrated riffs – Pretty Baby, for example – but this is the stand-out in which Nile is making difficult things seem effortless in service of an irresistible groove.

Sister Sledge – He’s the Greatest Dancer

Again, no arguments here, although I do wonder if the writer was told they needed to diversify-it-up a bit.

A semi-anecdote for you: years ago, when I still lived in Cardiff and was happy, (just about) young enough to still go clubbing and get what was colloquially known as “off my face” (I’m sure there are many of you who are nodding sagely, remembering those days and, more stingingly, the day you realised you had reached an age where you could no longer continue with any credibility). I was out with my mate Rob, who I think I’ve mentioned before on these pages (I’ve probably told this non-story too, but I can’t be bothered to check, I’m sure one of you will tell me).

Rob and I knew each other firstly through work, but we’d become much better acquainted when we found ourselves having an off-our-faces conversation (the best sort of conversation) when we bumped into each other in The Emporium, a now-defunct club in Cardiff, the greatest club I ever went to.

After that meeting, we went out clubbing together regularly; there would be others with us, sure, but they were peripheral, in my opinion (with the exception of Dum Dum, my main clubbing buddy after Llŷr had to stop).

Anyway, lots of background to a nothing acid-drop there; on the night in question, we were in a club called Reds; it was quite early on, we were probably only just at the coming-up stage of the night, when Rob approached me, put his arm round my shoulders and manoeuvered me away from where he didn’t want me to look.

“Don’t look round,” he said, “but that bloke just told me he thought I was the greatest dancer he’d ever seen.”

Now, to be clear, Rob’s an alright dancer, in the same way that I’m an alright dancer. Neither of us are John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, but we wouldn’t stand out in a crowd of average dancers as being the shit ones.

Thing is, you can’t tell someone to not look round and not expect them to do exactly that: turn around and have a look.

I broke free from his shoulder-lock, turned and pointed at the one obvious predatory homosexual. “What, him?!” I said, as he disappeared sharpish.

“Ah,” said Rob. “That’s that sorted, then.”

And now, every year (when I remember, which isn’t often), on his birthday I send Rob a link to the video for this tune, and wish (Oh, what, wow) the Greatest Dancer he’d ever seen a happy one.

In my defence, I did say it was only a semi-anecdote.

More soon.

Rifftastic, Mate! #24

A series where we look at the Top 30 riffs, as decided by The Telegraph, of all places.

So what has the surprisingly good riff-roundabout spun into view this week?

A double-header, that’s what.

Neil Young & Crazy Horse – My My Hey Hey (Out Of The Blue)

“A hymn to the evolution of a riff” writes The Telegraph hack. “Neil Young wrote it as part of a punk collaboration with Devo in 1977, recorded acoustic and electric versions of it on his 1979 album Rust Never Sleeps with Crazy Horse, then turned it into a thermonuclear weapon on his 1991 live album Weld. The latter is its most unstoppable form but stripped down to its pure essence as an acoustic riff, it carries the sweet melancholy intrinsic to Young’s best work.“

Neil Young & Crazy Horse – Hey Hey My My (Into the Black)

I don’t have much to add to that; it’s not a tune I would have chosen myself, but I’m not going to argue against its inclusion here.

But I will point out the song was introduced to a new audience, and. ironically, a new lease of life in 1994, when Kurt Cobain quoted it in his suicide note. “It’s better to burn out than to fade away.” He was quite wrong, of course. What he needed to do was not marry Courtney Love.

Anyway, that seems a pretty depressing way to end things sign off so here’s a rather lovely remix I have of it, which is much closer to the first of the two above:

Neil Young – My Hey Hey Hey (Cousin Cole Remix)

More soon.

Sunday Morning Coming Down

Thank goodness for social media!

Sure, it’s mostly filled with, and occasionally owned by, racists and bigots, intent on stirring up division and hatred.

But every now and then something pops up on my timeline which makes my continued engagement with social media worthwhile.

Such was the case earlier this week, when this crossed my radar:

It’s a cover version, of course, but one which I never knew existed, so I did myself a little digging, by which I mean I typed “Never Can Tell Emmylou” into Google.

Here’s what it says on wiki:

‘Emmylou Harris’ recording of “You Never Can Tell” – entitled “(You Never Can Tell) C’est La Vie” – was the lead single from her 1977 Warner Bros. Records album Luxury Liner. The recording was a Top Ten C&W hit.

Harris had sung Chuck Berry songs as a member of a DC-based folk trio early in her career. Her decision to record “…C’est La Vie” was the result of her listening extensively to rock-&-roll oldies while on the road. The track, which features a prominent Cajun fiddle contribution by Ricky Skaggs, was recorded in an August 10, 1976 session recorded in the Enactron Truck, the mobile studio owned and operated by Harris’ producer Brian Ahern. The same session yielded “Hello Stranger” which would serve as the B-side of the single release.

Released February 2, 1977, “…C’est La Vie” rose as high as #6 on C&W chart in Billboard that April. The track also rose to #4 and #5, respectively in the Netherlands and also the Flemish Region of Belgium. It also charted in Germany at #41.

In a 2013 interview Harris said: “‘C’est la Vie’ was a wonderful song to do, and I might [perform] it for nostalgic reasons, but it just lost its appeal for me after a while. I didn’t feel that I was bringing anything to it, I guess.”‘

Emmylou Harris – You Never Can Tell (C’est La Vie)

And of course, having posted that, I can’t ignore the most famous use of of the original, in a film which reignited not just public interest in the song – the Pulp Fiction soundtrack was everywhere in the late 90s – but also in John Travolta, who had been bereft of a hit movie for twenty years or so.

Here’s that scene and, for those that have never seen it a) who are you????, and b) Travolta’s character (Vincent Vega) is a hitman, tasked here with taking his boss’s wife (Uma Thurman/Mrs Mia Wallace) out for an evening and doing whatever she wants; the last person who did this was, reputedly, thrown out of a window by his boss/his henchmen for touching her foot (or giving her a foot massage, depending on whose account you believe).

Just like the other week when I posted about A Mighty Wind, whilst I wait for today’s soccerball to start a revisit to one of the greatest films ever made is on the agenda (and I don’t mean Mighty Ducks 2).

You could spend a couple of hours in worse ways.

More soon.

Late Night Stargazing

I was doing some research the other day.

Not for this place, obviously. When I can be bothered have time to write, the only research I do is to check what I’ve written is a) factually correct, and b) unlikely to be sued.

(Did I mention how much I love McDonald’s? And Nigel Farage? But mostly McDonald’s. Their milkshakes are immense, both delicious and yet infinitely throwable. These two facts should only be combined if one is reacting in a fit of cold hard rage, of course.)

Anyway, (he says, stepping back once again from a Rant) the research led me to tonight’s choice, which has featured here once before, back in 2021 so a) you’ve probably not heard it since (I know I haven’t), and b) one of the people I dedicated it to back then is no longer with us, so perhaps my dedication was misplaced.

Anyway, here’s the modern day piano man/Billy Joel it’s okay to like (unless my research missed any scandal he may have gotten himself tangled up in):

Ben Folds – The Luckiest

Just gorgeous.

PS It’s ok to like Billy Joel too. He’s fucking great.

PPS Nigel Farage is not. He’s a grifter who will do and say anything for cold hard cash. Except explain and declare donations of, say, £5 million, or hold a surgery in his constituency.

More soon.

Rifftastic, Mate! #25

A series where we look at the Top 30 riffs, as decided by The Telegraph, of all places.

A series which, I think it’s fair to say, has been full of surprises so far. And that shows no signs of letting up today.

For those outside of the UK, The Telegraph is a daily newspaper, a broadsheet (by which I mean, not a tabloid, like The Sun or The Mirror, although it’s aimed at quite a different demographic. It’s content is, like The Sun, quite right-wing leaning, and written in a…how can I put this…more sophisticated way than the likes of The Sun does. They use words which have more than two syllables, for example. And, to the best of my knowledge, they’ve never had a page dedicated to, well, tits, for want of a better phrase).

But please do not think my highlighting of this newspaper is in any way a recommendation to purchase it. No no no no no. Don’t do that.

My purpose here is merely to show that one should not judge a book by its cover. Just because someone writes for The Telegraph, it does not mean that their opinion is worthless all the time. Sometimes, they know what they’re talking about. There’s good in everyone.

(Except for Farage. His opinion is worthless, for we all know what he is. I am suppressing a Rant post about him, you won’t be surprised to learn.)

Take today’s choice, for example. There are so many other tunes by this band which would automatically leap into our minds when talking about great guitar riffs: Debaser. Gigantic. Monkey Gone to Heaven. Planet of Sound.

All worthy contenders for inclusion in this list.

But no.

This hack has gone for this tune, and it’s hard to argue against it:

Pixies – Where Is My Mind?

Oh, now I get it. Tits. Smuggled in to The Telegraph by way of an arty sepia cover.

But seriously, here is what they wrote about this down-tempo classic:

“Pixies’ songs are so chock full of great riffs, it’s hard to single one out. I almost chose the brutal U-Mass from Trompe le Monde (1991), but ultimately you can’t escape this “lazy arpeggio” that guitarist Joey Santiago sets in motion to worm its way through your brain towards your inner psyche – more than a billion streams can’t be wrong.”

Which is pretty much what I said, right?

Also: Pixies’ drummer is called Dave Lovering which always makes me do a Finbarr.

More soon (Note: no Quo yet, surely they’ll pop up sooner rather than later…).

Rifftastic, Mate! #26

A series where we look at the Top 30 riffs, as decided by The Telegraph, of all places.

And the surprises just keep coming:

Andy Gill fired off a set of riffs on the album Entertainment! that shifted the axis of rock ’n’ roll in the post-punk era. They’re abrasive, angular, aggressive… and they set the template for the hybrid rock funk that would make superstars of Red Hot Chili Peppers (Gill produced their first album), and influence bands from The Rapture to Yeah Yeah Yeahs to LCD Soundsystem. Ether may be the purest, At Home He’s a Tourist the most extreme, but Damaged Goods deserves its place here as the driving force of the band’s best known song.

Gang of Four – Damaged Goods

You’ve probably noticed that there’s not been much in the way of arguing the suggestions thus far are not worthy of their placing. And that’s not about to change.

What I would say is that while something from the Entertainment! album definitely deserves a place on this list, I probably would have plumped for this instead:

Gang of Four – I Found That Essence Rare

…but that’s probably down to this barnstorming version by blog favourites The Wedding Present, who, great as they are, are unlikely to feature again in this list (I have no idea, I did read the list in full when I decided to do this series, but, y’know…my memory…..).

The Wedding Present – I Found That Essence Rare

Anyway, more soon.

Rifftastic, Mate! #27

Well, after yesterday’s relegation shenanigans, I was tempted to just post this today, irrespective of the result yesterday.

For whilst it could be construed as an acceptance of our fate, it could also be seen as gloating at the fate of West Ham, and that’s not cool.

So, I’m definitely not posting this and laughing:

Status Quo – Down Down

Nope, not me.

Instead, I shall revert to type and post what should have appeared here on Saturday. Which is the next in…

A series where we look at the Top 30 riffs, as decided by The Telegraph, of all places.

Now, much as we may have expected to be able to laugh at and ridicule the Telegraph’s idea of the best guitar riffs, I think it’s fair to say they’ve done alright so far. But we are only at #27…here’s what clocks in there:

Motorhead – Ace of Spades

Nope. Not going to argue about that being included.

More soon.

Sunday Morning Coming Down

Apologies there was no Rifftastic! post yesterday. There’s a reason for that: yesterday was a significant anniversary which it seemed more appropriate to mark today.

I appreciate that makes very little sense. Let me try again.

Yesterday it was two years since my Dad passed away. As regulars will know, I owe my love of music, and to country music in particular, to him. So here, on a Sunday, where I usually post country records, is where I shall commemorate him.

He also taught me a valuable lesson when I was younger: 1986, World Cup finals. England have been uninspiring, and need a win from their final group game to go through to the knock-out phase. The tournament is in Mexico, the games in in the UK are shown live, but late at night. I am not yet old enough to drink alcohol legally, but Dad settles down to watch the match and offers me a beer.

“Tonight” he said wisely, “we’re either celebrating or drowning our sorrows”. Subtext: either way, we are having a drink.

Sheryl Crow – We Ought Be Drinkin’

It’s a philosophy I’ve followed ever since, and forms the foundation of my outlook on life: that you should always try to find the light in the dark. Here’s an old favourite round these parts, although this is a version I’ve not posted before:

The Whites – Keep On The Sunny Side (O Brother, Where Art Thou OST)

Other than the deaths of friends and relatives, perhaps this outlook has never been more appropriate than today: the final day of the English Premier League.

Ordinarily, my beloved team, Tottenham Hotspurs, who I’ve followed since 1981, have nothing to play for by this time, having settled once again for mid-table mediocrity. However, that has changed over the past 10 years or so, with us almost winning the bloody thing once (the year Leicester City confounded the critics by actually winning it); for a few years we managed to finish high enough to qualify for the Champions League (we got to the final of that in 2019, robbed by a penalty decision which wouldn’t stand now shouldn’t have been awarded (I’m not bitter, oh no, I’ve definitely let that go), but other than that, the phrase “already on the beach” by the time the last game of the domestic season comes around.

But not this year.

For having sacked the manager who finally won us a trophy last year (sacked for not also ensuring we finished further up the league table) at the start of the season, brought in a new manager who had been reasonably successful elsewhere, but who wasn’t for us, sacked him then brought in a bloke who had no managerial experience in the UK whatsoever, got rid of him “by mutual consent” a few games later when he failed to change our form for the better, and finally brought in a respected manager with experience both here and overseas, who has seen a bit of an upturn in results which leaves us almost, but not quite safe.

There’s one relegation spot left, currently inhabited by West Ham. West Han fans really hate Spurs fans. I’ve never really understood why, as every Spurs fan I know is pretty much indifferent about them. Maybe that’s why they hate us so much.

Anyway, we are two points clear of them, so just need one point (a draw) to be safe. If they win and we lose, we go down.

But our match is at home, where we have only managed to win three times all season in the league. It would be just like us to lose, West Ham to win, and we go down.

The Roomsounds – Win Lose or Draw

My phone will be turned off until Match of the Day this evening, so that I can avoid stumbling upon any spoilers on social media, and disregard any goading messages I get sent (so don’t bother!).

Thank goodness it’s a Bank Holiday weekend, for tonight I will be either celebrating or drowning my sorrows until my legs don’t work anymore.

Merle Haggard – I Think I’ll Just Stay Here and Drink

More soon (with a headache).