Tom Petty and the death of Gene Clark
Consulting this website's Future Book of The Dead I notice I didn’t put Tom Petty on my list of possible celebrity obituaries. And rightly so. I didn’t really dig him that much. Sure, I had his greatest hits on my iTunes (or at least the ones I liked – about 10). Some of them are okay. I play them sometimes. But it’s not urgent, if you know what I mean.
Basically, one for our American cousins. Nothing wrong with Americana - love it - but not everything travels the Atlantic.
But since he’s dead - and I think my readership is not ready for another one of my 4th Century Roman Empire jerk offs - let’s talk Tom. But only tangentially.
(A note to readers, Mick Taylor will not feature in this article. Read it anyway, guys. Broaden your perspective a little.)
I first came across Tom Petty in 1988/89 when the Travelling Wilburys came out. The others – Dylan, Orbison, Harrison, Lynne were well known to a UK audience. Tom Petty though? Who the fuck was he? And to be honest, although I had both Travelling Wilbury albums at some point, I still didn’t know who Tom Petty was. I still slept good.
The second-time Tom Petty came into my consciousness was through Gene Clark - the magnificent but doomed Byrds singer / songwriter. As is well known, Clark was often an alcoholic, often a junkie. By the late 80’s though, he was semi-clean because his records weren’t selling and he was broke.
Enter Tom Petty.
Petty seemed to have wanted to have been in the Byrds (listen to Here Comes My Girl, for instance). So, on his Full Moon Fever Album, he chose to cover the Clark/Byrds classic – I’ll Feel A Whole Lot Better. A pretty faithful if uninspired cover, frankly. However, as the album was a best seller and stayed in the US charts for ever, Clark, as the unwitting songwriter of one tenth of the album, suddenly got a ton of cash. Clark did what Clark did and got off his tits with every drug he could find.
Yes, Tom Petty killed Gene Clark.
Not knowingly, of course. But the money from Petty fuelled Clark’s habits. And then he died.
So, not really a Tom Petty eulogy. More a couple of random facts about music. About my life. Anyway, listen to this from Tom - its not bad and probably a good way to remember him.
Conquering the Web
Tim Robson doesn't drink coffee no more.
Occasionally I break habits, turn things around and walk a different path. In these moments I have cider instead of wine, the pesto chicken instead of the steak, wear Oxblood shoes instead of my usual two tone brogues. But sometimes more than that; impulsively joining a gym, or booking a weekend away, quitting coffee (yes, I did the latter last week).
On Monday, I'm starting a night class in Richmond. Web Design.
Huh? How's that work Tim? You're writing this on a goddamn website already.
True, I am, but - like my chatting up skills - I can always get better. So after 10 weeks, expect new things, great things on this website! What? Who knows? All I do know is :-
1) It was a total bitch setting up this website with me falling down more blind alleys than a drunken gimp running wildly through a nighttime Souk.
2) There's loads of stuff I could be doing here that is just too much of a faff to work out myself. Most of the controls on this website I've no idea how to use. Who knows, the text could be dancing across the screen backwards in multi coloured letters as I charm and amuse. Or maybe I can work out how to link this website to Social Media.
3) Monetise my fanbase. Well obvs kids. Wait for timrobson.eu sponsored by Tom Ford or Waitrose Bavette Steaks or, indeed, Battersea Arts Centre. How much, I mean, how much, have I plugged this place in the last year? A shit load. I mean, getting 10% off my drinks - though my membership expired in April - doesn't nearly cover all the free advertising they get from this site. Nowhere near, at market rates.
4) The chicks. Computer classes are well known as pick up joints. We all know that. A smile, a sly wink followed with "You coming out for a cheeky drink, love?". We all know where it leads. As you were.
5) There is no five (Oh grow up Tim).
So what I'm saying is - quite literally - watch this space!
Tim Robson (Making Britain Great Again)
Inevitable Unions
Parc Barbieux, Roubais
A few words on modern dating. It seems I return to this subject in most of my short stories. There's something magical, mysterious, maddening about the dance, the etiquette, the splendour of those moments when everything matters, anything could happen and someone special is involved. The course of love is, of course, neither straight nor completed oftentimes. But it provokes and pushes me to be a better writer. "Sad songs - they say so much."
Take some of my (entirely fictional) words on the subject. (All short stories and extracts @Tim Robson).
The Decline of the Dinner Party
Take the over 40’s dating scene. It transpires we never really get past the angst and exhibitionism of our teen years. Modern life – divorces, hook-up culture, porn – forces us to replicate the cycle over and over again. We may dress better, and drink wine instead of snakebites but, emotionally, we remain staggering around the teenage disco. Mullets, this time, are probably optional.
* * *
Insignificance
“So, here I am, at The Thirst. Single!” The lady laughs again. Should I offer her a drink or ask her name? Not sure of the etiquette.
“When did you separate?”
“Yesterday. He’s staying in London tonight and the kids are with my mother.”
Christ! She didn’t hang about. But what with the newness of the pain and Gerry’s betrayal I sense she has a motive and I, well, a rare window of opportunity.
***
About Twenty Minutes
I turn over and she makes a suggestion. I have one or two of my own which leads to a rustle of falling clothes. From my wallet, I produce a roll of notes and lie back. Her skills match her beauty or does her beauty make me appreciate her skills more? I drift into semi consciousness gazing at her, analysing each seductive curve, enjoying the teaching certainty of every touch, wanting the moment to last but knowing it will not.
***
Bang the Beat!
Avice escaped me years ago. Her doppelgänger holds my hand now, challenging me into action. We’re alone in her flat, late into the night, both a little drunk. Who even has dreams over forty? Impossible dreams that are edging improbably towards reality? It’s now, Joss!
Heart-beating, I lean in to kiss Ann. It feels right. The circle has turned. I’ve waited thirty years.
Thwack! Ann slaps my cheek and not softly. She lets off a high-pitched cackle.
“Easy there Grand-dad!” she hoots. “I think you just embarrassed yourself.” She gets up and disappears out of the room. I’m ashamed of myself. I make ready to leave.
Ann returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
***
The Bottle and The Sock
Our sentences collide. Kate looks at me, serious all of a sudden.
“I’m tired of playing games. Tired of pretending I’m cooler than I am, listening to good looking guys talk at me, being an object for inadequate men getting back at their ex-wives. It’s so exhausting.”
I know when to listen. Kate smiles. A sly smile.
“Can you to do one thing for me?”
“What?”
“I want you to stand on your chair, call for quiet and propose a toast to Donald Trump and let everyone know how much you love him.”
“Here?” I say scanning the hipsters swarming around us. “This isn’t a fly-over state, you know. People have been lynched for less.”
“Those are my terms. You can’t be a troll all your life. Sometimes you have to come out and say what’s on your mind. Defend your beliefs in public.”
***
The Winter Train
She laughed nervously and drank her wine, electing not to respond to this obvious move.
“I see, that’s how it is, eh?” he said. If he were younger perhaps, he would have attempted to win her over. But that wasn’t his way, these days. These days he was staunch and strenuous no more.
She stayed quiet hoping the moment would pass. Although she’d missed her train, they’d be another soon. To stay would be a mistake. She’d done the right thing by saying hello, by listening to him, buying him a drink. But now it was time to go.
“If we’d have met for the first time today, with no history, would we have got together?” he asked.
“I don’t think that’s appropriate, Tom,” she said reaching for her bag.
“I was just wondering because, I thought that, as you got older, men started to gain the advantage.” His voice was flat, resigned. “But that’s not true, is it?”
She had no response to this and so allowed the silence to grow.
***
Online Dating
“U iz wel fit! Lol!!”
It’s an unlikely cri-de-coeur, a rallying cry, a thought made flesh. Well; it’s a mating call. A distillation of all I know and all I am after two years of hard training. Let’s see what response it garners, eh?
I hit the ‘send’ button. Over the next half an hour I copy and paste this stunning message to twenty more ladies. Blondes, brunettes, professional, tattooed, coy, shy, bold, sexy, knowing, intellectual, smiling, frowning, slim, large. Whatever. Ain’t fussy.
***
In Sambuca We Trust
I know this is a prelude, a feint manoeuvre; faux outrage before she goes back to enjoy make up sex with him, sex that should have been mine. It will be hard to forget this one. The stakes were higher, the hurt is deeper.
And sure enough, five minutes later Megan is gone with a kiss for each of us. I shake my head bitterly. James is so pissed he doesn’t notice my anger. Or if he does he puts it down to the usual late night Alan mood – alone, failed, drunk, ranting. Yep – all of the above. I order two more drinks. Nothing like a hangover to solidify the also-ran, almost there, silver medal unfairness of it all.
The drug dealer passes me with a tall blonde. “I think you left your fishing rod on the dance floor mate,” he says as they leave.
***
In Between Days
“Okay, you can come back so long as you stay on the sofa and leave early. Is that clear?” She wags her finger at me. With history beckoning, I’ll agree to anything right now and so nod my head.
But on the walk back to her house, it’s not too far, we hold hands and it’s natural and unforced and lovely, and I am once again the man I always wanted to be, the man who is seen as interesting and desirable by someone who is likewise. Our stars are hitched, our steps in tandem, and we gently skirt around the edge of possibilities. Whatever happens, happens rightly.
We sit side by side on her sofa - the lights dim, our breathing rhythmic - and the smell of her perfume, and the closeness of her body, is alarming, nostalgic, shocking even. Erotic in a way I’d long forgotten and never expected to experience again. I allow that most dangerous of emotions, hope, to suggest itself.
Yes I've used this video before. I love this song. And it kind of encapsulates - better than I do - what I want to say. I dryness in the throat as you gulp down nostalgia. I was there. Once.
Mick Taylor.Com
Tim Robson. In Bruges. Mick Taylor not pictured.
As you know, this website's URL is www.timrobson.eu.
The .eu suffix is, of course, amusing to me for obvious reasons. Unfortunately, timrobson.co.uk and timrobson.com were already taken. A little research has revealed that they've been taken by some goddamn tennis professional who doesn't seem to have used his website since about 1894. He was, apparently number 490 in the world in 1983. Who knew? Thing is, I was probably number 822 myself. Playing lefthand. Anyway, he's somewhat greedily grabbed my name on the internet. And not used it. Bastard.
And there's that other Tim Robson 'writer' out there who writes wanky business books about how to fellate the boss and achieve your goals by showing up, pulling off, or something. Haven't read it. Amusingly Amazon assigned his book to me for a while and my sales shot up by at least a couple of copies. Yeah, okay, so my figures doubled. Whatever. I'm sure management consultant Tim Robson is a nice bloke, and all, but he winds me up as he seems to be SEO'ing my ass into second place.
There's only on Tim Robson - writer. He's funny. Bald. A hit with da ladies.
But in some ways the other (lesser) Tim Robson - writer, helped to take out 'Pervert Tim Robson' from Google's Tim Robson first page search results. For some time - before I took up the internet burden of my name - some peado in Yorkshire was the man. The Tim Robson you were directed to. Now imagine all the dates, ex-friends and curious ex-girlfriends I missed out on during these years of internet quietude.
"Oo - I wonder what that sexpot Tim Robson is up to now?" Tap. Tap. Tap. "Pervert Tim Robson Jailed". Erm. maybe I won't get in touch.
Images. Stealthily as my popularity grows (this month has already had the third largest traffic ever and we're, like, only half way through) - the more Tim Robson (me, the hunk, keep up!) pictures appear. Currently, two in first line of images thanks to my good friends at Almond Press.
So - what has this got to do with Mick Taylor? Fuck all. But as people seem to come from all quarters of the world to read my Mick Taylor articles, I thought I'd cheaply cash in on that. Yeah, I'm that sad and I'm that low.
But enjoy the Mick Taylor video below. A great, great version of 'You can't always get what you want' with a guitar solo so ridiculously good, it preaches the gospel. From about 3.10 MT kicks that proverbial ass.
Some Thoughts on Aftershave
Wear this, get the ladies!
I've always liked after shaves. I can remember the smell of Givenchy Gentleman back in the 70's. But the first bottle I got all for myself was Old Spice. I still think OS smells all right, to be honest. An older French teenager stayed at my house on a French Exchange in the mid 80's and brought me a present of some Yves Saint Laurent. Smelt of lemons. Which is fine as I like lemons. He liked The Cure.
There have been (brief) Brut moments where Xmas presents have been worn, say, after a hard work-out in the gym. I remember a bottle of Hai Karate hanging around my teenage bedroom. Even then I realised it smelt like shit. I drifted in and out of Boss, CK One, Egoiste; so many, so many, who can count?
For ten years or so I went with Taylors of Old Bond Street's Sandalwood aftershave. It became my signature scent. It's subtle but, with those woody notes, vaguely manly. My last bottle ran out in 2016 and I've been searching since the for a new signature scent.
Recently I've tried two aftershaves at opposite ends of the market. One expensive and worth it and one cheap and yet overpriced.
Tom Ford for Men - Light but persistent, this is damn good. Pricey but worth it. Not especially masculine but I have my metrosexual moments. Probably one to wear on a date to leave a lingering - but not unpleasant - impression. Classy. Expensive. Sounds like me, no?
David Beckham Classic - reduced to £5.50 in Wilkinsons so I thought, why not? I'd just used up the Quorum I got for Xmas, so I had a quick spray in the shop. Spray, spay... Yeah - all right. And it's not an unpleasant smell, and did I say it's £5.50? Why not? Well, I will tell you why not! I spray it on in the ensuite and by the time I leave the bedroom I'm often wondering - "did I put any on?" David Beckham. Tosser. Bet he doesn't wear this crap.
And so concludes Tim's review of Aftershaves. You can literally feel the stock markets tremble as these words are read by a shocked world. And Tom - if there is a Tom, how would I know, you can send me a few free bottles for my plugging of your product. Cheers.
I was going to write - one for the ladies - but that might slur my obvious masculinity.
The Greatest Album One / Two Punches
There are albums that come out of the blocks with two killer tracks that are like a pissed off Mike Tyson swinging wildly at some trash talking, old timer patsy in the mid 80's. Albums that decide that the best way to follow a kicking first track, is to put on another.
Lock up your aunties! The Crowes in 1992
The Southern Harmony and Musical Companion (1992)
The second album from the Crowes throws 'Sting Me' to the left and "Remedy' to the right. 1992 might have been Grunge Year Zero but, together with Teenage Fanclub, the Crowes held rock's banner aloft. These are kick-ass rock tunes. Basically, The Faces reimagined if their Marshalls were turned to 11 and Rod really went for it. Love these two songs. Highlight - the 'fuck you' start of the guitar solo in Sting Me. A moment in rock I've ever and a day tried to replicate. Two seconds of true power!
The CD reissue doesn't 'feel' right!
Eden - Everything but the Girl (1984)
The impulse purchase one doesn't regret! Stood in WHSmith Rochdale's record department in 1984, I hear the wondrous album play over the store speakers. One track, two tracks, I was sold. Marched up to desk and asked, "Pray tell me good madam, who is making this bewitching sound?". Everything but the Girl apparently. Crazy name, crazy sound. So, I bought the album - that cardboard, non veneered album with the abstract painting on the front. The songs, I now know as Each and Everyone and Bittersweet. They detail the commonplace jealousies and realities of relationships. All bedsits, screaming babies and jealousy. No holding hands and a rush towards lust with these songs. It was the clever lyrics as much as the bossa nova rhythms that had me captivated. The rest of the album's pretty good (apart from the execrable Soft Touch).
George is a pinapple head
Beatles for Sale (1964)
Not a One / Two, but a 1-2-3. The Fab Four of course do what other groups do - only better. Whilst other groups would put their singles on their albums, The Beatles didn't. So Beatles for Sale kicks off with No Reply, I'm a Loser, Baby's in Black. With these stunning ditties The Fab Four literally piss on their competition. The bar is set so high, their album tracks sound like a career best single for any other group. Bizarrely, although released at the height of Beatlemania, Beatles for Sale is pretty obscure these days and these three - being non singles - are not as well known as they should be. But I love this album. Almost as much as I love...
Fisheye
...Rubber Soul (1965)
Pound for pound, this non single containing album, packs pretty much the hardest punch of any album. It roars out of the blocks with McCartney's funky - come on Motown have a go if you think you're hard enough! - Drive My Car. Most groups' best single ever. Just an album track. We then shift gear to the acoustic and sitar masterpiece that is Norwegian Wood. As a guitarist, this latter song - with it's major to minor shift - is a dream to play. Like You've Got To Hide Your Love Away this shows why Lennon is so revered. This is effortlessly brilliant. We all fuck around on D but don't achieve anything like this. Let alone chucking in a middle 8 in G minor. Class. In a glass.
Hard. Soft. Kicks ass.
Led Zep 4 (1971)
Anything The Beatles can do, Zep does one better and louder! The whole of Side 1 of Led Zep 4. Just review these four tracks:- Black Dog, Rock n Roll, The Battle of Evermore, Stairway to Heaven. And this is just an normal album, not a greatest hits compilation. Not a filler in sight! From the sonic destruction of the first two, to my teenage fav with Sandy Denny (obligatory hobbit references!) to the ubiquitous - but deservedly so - Stairway, this is how to start a 37 million selling album. Are these guys knights of the realm yet FFS?
Rhinestone Cowboy
A great album
I came to the Glen Campbell story a little late. In 1975 he had his last burst of chart activity with what was to become his theme song - Rhinestone Cowboy. It was big back then. I remember it and loved it.
Rhinestone Cowboy is an interesting song in that it deals with an urban loser who dreams of becoming one of those rodeo riders, all decked out in a glittering cowboy outfit with fake gems and big smile for the crowds.
In a way - obvious connection never eschewed - that was how Glen Campbell was; a synthetic cowboy hiding some real grief and a more complex oeuvre than the good ole country boy image he got pigeon holed with. He was so much more than country music.
He was a session guitarist in LA playing with the ubiquitous Wrecking Crew of musicians employed by the studios to provide the backing to thousands of hits. I knew he played on The Righteous Brothers songs and lots of surf music but did you know he also played the guitar on Sinatra's Strangers in The Night?
He also had a high voice. This voice got him a stint in the Beach Boys in the mid 60's when Brian Wilson was cooling his toes off in the sand and the touring group needed another harmony. Indeed, it was Brian who gave Campbell his first solo single, the Beach Boysesque - Guess I'm Dumb. This would have slotted nicely into Pet Sounds. It was a failure.
It was another songwriter however that Campbell will forever be associated with - Jimmy Webb. This is where the career defining hits came in - Galveston, By the Time I get to Phoenix and the ever brilliant, never bettered, written in 20 minutes, Wichita Lineman.
For those that follow my videos on YouTube (er, that's probably just me) well you'd know that Wichita Lineman is one of those songs I like to whip out when a guitar and the occasion merits it. This major / minor key song is classy, and Campbell's yearning voice, never fails to send shivers down the spine when he sings:
“And I need you more than want you
And I want you for all time.”
Simple and yet beautiful - the first line cueing up effortlessly the second. Songwriting gold, my friends.
Other favourites from my Glen Campbell list - some well known, others not - are Where's The Playground Susie, If This Is Love, Time, Dreams of the Everyday Housewife, London. If you want to hear how Campbell interprets a song, how his easy style masks virtuosity, listen to his version of Only Make Believe.
From what I've read and from interviews I've watched, Campbell comes across as a nice guy with a prodigious talent. I'm proud to say I was a fan.
Oh, and I like this one from Glen Campbell's TV show 1970. HIs guest is Neil Diamond. They do a rocking version of Thank The Lord for The Nighttime.
And yes I realise that Glen Campbell wasn't on my list of obituaries... What can I say, some flexibility in my subject matter is important...
Tony Blair, Re-appearing Chimneys and Knee Breeches.
I look out my window and see Battersea Power Station sporting four chimneys. I can remember last year when there was just one. In between I remember there being two and then, some time afterwards, three. Chimneys; they come, they go.
It's an exciting observation and I wanted to share it with you - fellow students of urban architecture.
Back when I had hair and the world was younger and kinder, I did a Masters Degree in some real estate related subject. Some right-on professor who put the tosser in the phrase 'complete tosser' was jerking off about the evils of worshipping buildings. Apparently, everything in the urban environment should be new, anything 'old' knocked down when a new fad comes into view. No idols. No memories. No sentimentalism. He was Corbusier's idiot son.
Architectural and cultural vandalism was very a-la-mode in the 90's. Remember that dickhead Blair ludicrously waffling about Britain being 'a Young Country'? Scrapping the Lord Chancellor's office because it was symbolised by wigs and knee breeches? He should have been impeached just for that particular stupid action. Let alone the illegal wars.
Professor Tosser would look out from his ivory tower on Wandsworth Rd and pontificate on the built environment he could see. BTW, I use the term 'ivory tower' loosely. It's more like a concrete tower. And the University building is now a Tesco Express which seems appropriate and very modish somehow. The Prof would riff on the poverty of Battersea around him and the ridiculousness of preserving that great white elephant - Battersea Power Station. A cesspit of chemicals, pollution and redundant bricks.
But, it remained. And remains. Though redeveloped it still maintains its facia. The bricks. It's dominance and, yes - count them! - it's four chimneys. As Bruce says:-
“I had a brother at Khe San
Fighting off the Viet Cong.
They’re still there, he’s all gone.”
Four chimneys August 2017
Three Chimneys Feb 2017
One Chimney Spring 2016
In Bruges.
Tim Robson shows Colin Farrell how to be cool In Bruges.
Decided on a spur-of-the-moment to take a trip to Bruges. I don't think I've been here since, I dunno, 1978. The world has changed, Jim Callaghan's dead, the Boomtown Rats are not at Number 1 in the charts, but Bruges seems pretty unchanged.
Beer and chocolate, waffles and mussels, frites and mayo. Lots of stunning Flemish architecture, good museums, great hotel. Canals, picture postcard views, tri-lingual Belgians... What's not to like?
Gotham City meets Flanders meets Lowry.
I think I might do this again. You know, take off, go somewhere. Be free. Be spontaneous.
Next week, I'll be coming from - who knows? Brighton? Burgess Hill? Or - what about Battersea Arts Centre?
Yeah. Goede Nacht. As we say around here.
A classic shot - on all the postcards - rendered by TR at an unusual time. After dinner. More Leffe, vicar?
-
Whispers and Echoes
Ambrose barring Theodosius from Milan Cathedral.
As we all know, Theodosius I was the last unified emperor of both the Eastern and Western halves of the Roman Empire. Clearing up the mess left by Valans at Adrianople, he battled Goths, usurpers and heretics to Nicene orthodoxy in a time of tumult for the Empire.
It was also an interesting time in the history of the early church. During Theodosius' reign, Bishop Ambrose of Milan formulated the doctrine that whilst the Emperor ruled matters temporal, the Church was in charge of matters spiritual. This was an important development in the history of Western thought. One of the Emperors' many titles was Pontiff Maximus - the highest religious office in the Roman World. By the act of giving away this authority, the later emperors allowed the church to control both religious life on earth and - more importantly - the path to salvation in the afterlife. This segregation of church and state persisted until at least the Renaissance and, arguably, through to the Bishop of Rome even now.
Ambrose was a combative sort who liked to defend the church's rights. He excommunicated Theodosius following a massacre of civilians in Thessalonica in 390. More interesting to the modern world, perhaps, was his meddling in imperial matters. A christian mob burnt down a synagogue in Callinicum, Mesopotamia and Theodosius ordered the local bishop to rebuild the temple. Ambrose argued that Theodosius should retract this as he was ordering the local bishop to act against either truth or death.
Theodosius backed down and the synagogue in Callinicum was not rebuilt.
Today Callincum goes by its Syrian name of Raqqa.
History is somewhat wider than living memories.
The Decline of the Dinner Party
Somehow, my life hasn't turned out this way.
“Since the baby, she never wants sex. I mean ever.”
“Define never,” I say, these things being somewhat subjective.
“Lucky if I get it on a Sunday morning. The brat always wakes up in the middle though. It’s like it has a sixth sense. I start pounding away and then it begins with the crying. Happens every time. I usually come with the sound of crying in my ears.”
“Hers I bet.”
Phil hasn’t heard. “It’s got to the stage where I literally cannot come now unless I can hear crying. If there’s no crying, I can’t come.”
Imagine a world where Branwell Bronte came home to the parsonage in Howarth one winter's night a bit pissed. His sisters and the good reverend have gone off to bed and the fire in the sitting room is almost out. Stumbling around, he finds a load of papers on the table and throws them on the fire. They burn brightly and Branwell falls into a drunken sleep as the only copy of Wuthering Heights goes up in smoke.
Or what about; it's summer 1965 and the Beatles, fresh from playing The Hollywood Bowl turn up at a pre-arranged meeting at Elvis Presley's Los Angeles pad. The Fab Four and The King chat and someone gets out instruments and one of the Memphis Mafia says, let's record this. But the guy with the tape machine puts the reel on badly and so nothing is recorded! (BTW - this didn't actually happen. Though they jammed a little, as far as I know there are no bootlegs of this famous summit meeting).
Or maybe in some early Christian Council following Nicaea in 325, a bunch of bishops are choosing which gospels to go in The Bible. Naturally they select the Gospels of Judas, Thomas, Philip and Mary. "Throw that nonsense written by those heretics Matthew, Mark, Luke and John into the city's dump" they might have shouted.
You get the picture.
Things of value hidden, lost, thrown away.
Well, it was nearly that way this week when I left my rucksack on a Thameslink train back to Sussex. Just got up off the train and forgot my bag. Which had all manner of electronic devices and personal stuff packed inside. Including this laptop. As I'm constantly working on articles, short stories, poems, history, the laptop has many irreplaceable words of wisdom, fun and import penned by me on the 19:23 from Clapham Junction after a couple of wines at Battersea Art Centre.
For example, the quote above, is included in my current story - The Decline of The Dinner Party. Image if it had been lost to the world? Luckily, a cleaner handed in my bag and the world need not mourn the loss of untold, incalculable but well-written Robson.
I'll leave you with another from the lost story that was found again:-
"It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found."
Whoops, that's Luke 15 but here's some real wisdom:-
“I work in fracking. You know, extracting gas from rocks by high pressure water techniques.”
“You’re joking!” she says as though I’ve admitted to a liking for casual racism.“No, it’s an interesting job and it’s well paid and I love the moral dimension.”
“What the fuck is the moral dimension?”
“Well, as I’m sure you know, cheap energy means cheap fuel, which means that pensioners and poor people don’t die in winter. Cheaper energy lowers industry’s costs, makes them more efficient and provides job opportunities for millions of people. This reduces welfare and increase taxes to pay for good things like doctors, nurses and schools. Julie, it’s a moral mission to get that gas!”
The world has been saved these words and wit. Rejoice at that news!
Great Songs You've Never Heard
Man the early 90's were wild!
In my role as the sage of Battersea Arts Centre, the Yoda of Lavender Hill, the eye candy of Burgess Hill and the once and future King of Rochdale, I necessarily wear many hats. Especially on sunny days. So it's a given that many people read this blog in order to be on point with the issues and slightly ahead of the curve about what to think.
I get that. So let me direct to you to some songs that aren't famous but, maybe, should be. It's that Shazam moment where you frantically point your phone towards some tinny speaker in the pub when a weird and wonderful track comes on. "Wow! What's that!"
You Can't Win Them All Mum - Lost Soul Band (1993)
Ever tumbling, ever dying, You Can't Win Them All Mum, was my favourite song of 1993. A bit like Theresa May's favourite sexual position, who cares? Well, I have taste and this is a beautiful song. Led by Gordon Grahame, this Scots band had about 10 seconds of fame in the early 90's but - like a Celtic Achilles, they burned bright and then left. I had this single in three formats (7', 12' and cassette) back in the day. This is always on my Desert island Discs playlist. It's a private song from my youth, means something personal and shows that people who sound like Tim Robson can make it - albeit only briefly!
Sucker - Kevin Tihista (about 2001 /2 I reckon - Google is a bit silent on this)
Shit man! Beautiful, wistful, the alternative world's national anthem. For every loser out there who has been duped by an unfaithful parter. Call yourself a 'sucker' and then move on. Hold the moral high ground, it's their fault not yours. Also speaks forcefully about asymmetrical attractiveness within a relationship. Never happened to me, of course! Though all my girlfriends have been pretty stunning. Heart rending vocals, great acoustic guitar. Makes you weep. Makes you strong. Sucker!
Yohanna - Funny Thing Is
She sings like the best female singer you're ever gonna hear, she beautiful as hell, she writes great songs. Big in Iceland... If there was any justice in the world, Yohanna would be fucking huge all over the world, and you'd all be saying that you got on the Robson hipster train before she was famous, before she was the pin up of female vocalists, the Icelandic Aretha Franklin. Yeah, so she and I swapped a few Facebook messages a couple of years ago. Doesn't mean I'm smitten (I am! I am!). Of all the artists here - she's the one you need to check out and go - 'why the hell don't I know her?' Join the secret club of the righteous.
Forever J - Terry Hall - 1994
Wow! Another of my Desert Island discs. Got nowhere in the charts back when I had hair and my girlfriends were plentiful and ridiculously attractive. A stunning song with a French feel, great melody, vivid memories. Once heard, never forgotten. Well forgotten by everyone except me and a few others who can also recognise this diamond in the dirt. BTW - doesn't Terry Hall look like that nob Ed Milliband here in the video?
That's it for now. I guess I'm easing my way back into blog writing as I seem to have slept through the last couple of months. When inspiration dies. It dies. You can't fake it. And I've been uninspired recently. There's no alchemy and I can't give you base metal.
But now I can. It's back. I'm back and this time, it's for real. Man.
What do ya think? Comment below.
Read more?
More obscurity? What about the best underground 60’s sounds?
Fooking Manchester.
One Love Manchester was a significant concert for many reasons and those who organised it, and those who had the guts to turn up, made it special occasion. The scum who think blowing little girls up advances any cause, achieves some bullshit equivalency or pleases a capricious god, should rot in hell. This concert was a giant 'Fook You'* to all those who try to shut down others' lives simply because they are - as Trump says - pathetic losers.
Although all the acts on the day were good, they were pretty much on the contemporary pop edge of music. Of course. And then, right at the end, on walks Mr Manchester himself, Liam Gallagher. The Manc swagger's there, the only guy in the world who can rock an orange parka and yet still look cool. Hell - even his voice sounded better than usual!
For Manchester, for the Western way of life, for defiance and for rock itself, I give you Mr Liam Gallagher.
* Also respect to - amongst others - Ray Larner ("Fuck you, I'm Millwall") who battled back against those lowlifes at Borough Market.
The King
A question I'm often asked (by myself usually) - who would you have most like to have seen in concert? The possibilities are endless - The Beatles (obviously), The Stones, Queen, Led Zep, The Who, Sinatra... But there is only ever one answer. The one person I would have loved to have seen in concert, is Elvis.
To be clear, Elvis from 1969 onwards. Elvis in his mature years.
Like much of his life story, his last few years have acquired a mythology. The myth is that of a fat, drugged Elvis, bulging belly in a white tasseled sparkling jump-suit, sweating his way through a tired set to drunken middle-aged audiences at The International, Las Vegas.
Well let's scotch that myth. Take a look at E - lithe and on form, slaying them in 1970...
From the 2001 opening to the Fools Fall in Love (Elvis has left the building) ending, an Elvis show had rituals and designed peaks and troughs. Where to start? Well, start where I did, aged 10 - Elvis Live at Madison Square Garden. This 1972 was peak Elvis. The set list has all the live greats - Polk Salad Annie, Suspicious Minds, American Trilogy, You Gave Me A Mountain, Proud Mary, You don't have to say you love me...
You can listen online.
Blogging. Not so Much.
Dark and cloudy. Trouville today.
Blogging has been atrocious this month. Sorry. I know there are many of you who need their daily fix of 'The Tim'. I understand that you've been disappointed in May.
I've been busy. But normal service will be resumed soon.
A brief holiday in France and then back to the fray, putting the world to rights.
Hold on. Drought over soon!
Cheers
Tim
Lavender Hill (up against the wall edition)
Piles of perfectly good bricks outside Battersea Arts Centre May 2017
“All politics is local.”
Wandsworth Council quite clearly have so much money they can just piss it up against the wall.
There's an interesting example of digging holes and then filling them in again happening on Lavender Hill. An act of such pointlessness it would be funny if it wasn't for the fact the taxpayers are taking a beating again.
Lavender Hill had pavements in red brick. Bricks tend not to break and fracture like concrete slabs. The pavement is therefore in pretty good condition (excepting the non brick, stone slabs outside Battersea Arts Centre).
The brickwork pavement in Feb 17. Pretty good condition, no? Gone. A memory.
So what are the Council doing? Digging up and skipping a perfectly good pavement and then putting down another.
As an act of pointless waste of tax payers' money this is quite high. I literally cannot understand what the hell they are doing. Maybe, they signed some bullshit deal with a contractor that means they have to rip up the pavements every X number of years. Irregardless of condition.
Wandsworth is a Tory Majority run council. You can't trust the Tories when it comes to money. I suppose they had to justify their 3.99% council tax increase in 2017/18 somehow.
Of course, Labour / Lib Dem / Green would just hose the money into the Thames so it's a choice between a kick in the goolies or being shot.
--- --- --- -- --- ---- ---
So here I am. Worrying about the state of the pavements in Wandsworth. I think - girls - I should start re-engaging with you. But, once you turn on that switch, there's no turning it off. You have been warned...
Concrete slabs. Waiting to be broken.
A La Recherche du temps se souvenait.
Go on then... I would.
Tim's 70's Songs (Remembered Edition)
Here it is. The official Tim 70's song list. Based on what I liked in that decade. So, there's not much before 1973. I'll do another list (when?) of my favourite 70's songs now but - to be honest - young Tim had great taste!
Abba - Dancing Queen (1976)
For so long this was my fav track. Abba's comeback track after their career stalled 1974/76. Familiarilty and Mama Mia have dulled some of the brilliance of this - the springy piano, the trademark girls' harmonies, the effortless melody.
Terry Jacks - Seasons in the Sun (1973)
Probably the first record I really remember. (With the Osmonds) My God, it dominated that winter of 1973/4. It soundtracked the Heath government going down in flames and the dawn of Wilson's last administration. Yeah, it's morbid, sickly, over sentimental but aged 5, I liked it. Strange, my kids do too. One hit wonder.
Elvis Presley - Suspicion (1962 / re-released 1976)
Man - I loved this song and would wait around the radio for the Top 40 just to hear it. Hit Number 9 in Feb 1977. Recorded in 1962, Elvis is on top form and just hearing the intro gives me chills, even now. He was dead just months later and 'Way Down' stormed to the top. Taken way too soon. This was my first Elvis fav.
Boomtown Rats - Rat Trap (1978)
Never really punk, but the Rats looked it, this was before Bob Geldof became Saint Bob and then - pace Brexit - Bob the Nob. Great tune but what makes Rat Trap so special is the narrative style lyrics. The way the song builds - detailing urban decay and hopelessness - until we get to final double couplet:-
"She finally finds Billy down at the Italian cafe
When he's drunk it's hard to understand what Billy says
But then he mumbles in his coffee and he suddenly roars,
"It's a rat trap Judy; and we've been caught...."
Glen Campbell - Rhinestine Cowboy (1975)
Like a shiny beacon from the 1970's. Glen Campbell on top form, coming back after years of irrelevance. Yep - I'd sing along to the radio on this one. I've been known to busk versions of this song when the mood takes me. Good times.
Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody (1975)
This packed both a punch and a tutu. Impossible, over wrought, it shouldn't work but it sure as hell does. Number One 1975/76 for 9 weeks, to my 6 year old self, it seemed that Top of The Pops couldn't finish without this scary song with that scary video being played. Yeah, sure, it's ubiquitous now but I listened to again recently and yes - thanks sixth form - I still know every word. Loved the revival in Wayne's World.
Wings - Mull of Kintyre (1977)
First single I ever bought along with a million or so other Brits. Fashionable to knock this as a McCartney piece of fluff but - as every guitarist knows - it's a great strum to practice to. And when those bag pipes come in near the end! Scottish rock! Can't say I play it much now but when I do hear it, it always brings a smile to my face.
The Buggles - Video Killed The Radio Star (1979)
Fuck! This was the future when it came out. It still is. So far ahead of it's time. So clever. So well produced. Probably pop's finest ever three minutes. This is in my Desert Island Discs. And that reprise at the end! Spine tingling! The girls singing "Ow-A-Ow-A!". When people say the 70's were shit, this is a great counter argument. It wasn't.
Grease - Summer Nights (1978)
How BIG was Grease in the 70's? Huge! Unlike Star Wars it had songs which ruled the charts in 1978. And they had an inbuilt video to show on TV. I saw the film when it came out in Rochdale. All the smut and innuendo ('Took a holding in the arcade' - anyone?) went right over my 10 year old head. This is just a great song and who hates this?
Blondie - Dreaming (1979)
A toss up between this and Denis, Dreaming came out of the blocks like some poster child for a pilled up new wave kid looking for a fight. My group used to do a (crap) cover of this. I remember 2 things about this song. 1) It's bloody good and sums up new wave better than any other song of the era. 2) Debbie Harry. Yeah. Debbie Harry. No more needs to be said.
Like this - then read my Greatest 70’s films feature!
The Mamas and Papas
Stealthily, I’m penning an article on my memories of the 70’s. It’s a think-piece with much first-hand material, assorted recollections, warm memories. There’s laughter, tears; insight. If you remember the 70’s, you were probably there.
In the 70’s I got my music mainly from the Radio 2 – Terry Wogan or Stupot rather than Radio 1 and Tony Blackburn. We are all victims of our parents’ choices. Obviously Thursday nights and Top of the Pops or the music slot on Swap Shop was important. But for repeated plays I would need to raid my parents record collection. Hence my love of The Carpenters or Abba, I guess.
And the Mamas and Papas.
I created a Mamas and Papas playlist recently to play on the train to work. I love the Mamas and Papas. Although the group was of the 60’s* they are inextricably linked to the 70’s for me.
I played and played the Best of The Mamas and Papas LP. It was the British best of compilation with just ten tracks. I knew every word. They informed my evolving worldview. My nascent thoughts on relationships were crystalized by “Sing for your Supper’, “I Saw Her Again Last Night’, ‘Dedicated to the One I Love’. Before I actually had relationships, I had an idea of what they were about.
So; who were the Mamas and Papas?
John Philips – tall, songwriter and vocal arranger. Boss. Obsessive. Drug casualty.
Mama Cass - Big, bold and brassy with a belting powerhouse of a voice. The heart and soul of the group. Fancied Denny. He preferred Michelle.
Denny Doherty – Lead singer. Dressed in a kaftan at the Monterey festival. Looked a prat. Slept with Michelle. Wrote ‘I Saw Her Again’ about this.
Michelle Phillips – Ethereal, heartbreakingly beautiful. Thin soprano voice but she had the look. Wife of John but also known for shagging Denny and, briefly, the late great Gene Clark of the Byrds.
And their sound?
Bright if somewhat wistful songs with complex multi tracked musical arrangements that utilise interweaving lead and backing vocals. A unique sound – briefly with us and then, gone forever.
After their hippy beginning (documented in the hit Creeque Alley) the group only really lasted two years in the public eye – from late 1965 to late 1967. They reformed in 1971 to complete their unsuccessful fifth album - as demanded by contract - but they were essentially a mid 60’s group.
I hesitate to put in a list headed – My Favourite Mamas and Papas songs. I’ll instead entitle it:
Some Interesting Mamas and Papas Songs
Twelve Thirty (young Girls are coming to the Canyon) – I discovered this later, in the 80’s. Moody, reflective, with tinkling piano underpinning one of John Philips best songs juxtaposing an unfriendly New York with the warmth of California. The possibility of renewal.
Look Through My Window – The opening line, “It’s not that lovers are unkind,” is a wonderful, if oblique, start to this wistful romantic vinaigrette. “Look through my window, to the street below’. It takes a formulaic set up –someone reflecting on a break up whilst looking out of a window- and turns this into a wider metaphor for alienation. Great vocals throughout, resolved by Denny’s softly repeated ‘She’s gone,” at the end.
For The Love of Ivy – One for hard-core Mamas and Papas fans. John Philips’s masterwork, constructed over many, many sessions in his home studio. Harmony, piled on harmony, choirs of Mamas and Papas trying for more! More! For The Love of Ivy sails past like a doomed battle cruiser sailing to war; so stately, so magnificent, you want to stand to attention and salute it. It shouldn’t work, but it does! This was my 70’s favourite.
California Dreaming. Their calling card; a massive hit, it introduced the Mamas and Papas to the world. But despite its ubiquity, the song bears repeated scrutiny. From the acoustic guitar figure at the start, the signature vocal harmonies, Denny’s impassioned delivery, the flute solo, the abiding sense of yearning. There’s an air of decay – of the seasons, of a relationship that’s run its course leading to the yearning for something better. California.
Finding a live performance from the group is rarer than rocking horse shit. There's the stuff from Monterey but Michelle's mic wasn't working. To be honest - they were a studio band. With all the harmonies and double tracking, they couldn't replicate their sound live. So - I'll post a video of them miming. Live. If only to hear their music as it should be. And to see how beautiful Michelle was.
* They released People Like Us in 1971 to fulfil a contractual obligation.
Well - It made me laugh
A train station in London
A packed commuter train at East Croydon on the 7:52 to London Victoria.
The train is about to leave the station.
Some tourist with the world’s biggest back-pack forces himself onto the train just as the doors are closing. There’s no room but he somehow manages to leverage himself into the carriage. And his bag.
We all shuffle up and the train slowly starts off.
Two minutes later - as we pass Selhurst - the tourist starts to look agitated.
“Gatwick! Does this train go to Gatwick?”
For a while no-one answers.
“No, it’s going to London Victoria,” says a kind soul.
The tourist looks mortified. Visions of missed planes flash in front of his eyes.
“But I have to go to Gatwick!”
There is an embarrassed silence as everyone looks the other way. Then a voice pipes up from somewhere down the carriage.
“Well you’re going to London now, mate!”
Pause. General laughter.
The Visible Slap
Disgruntled Sky customers storm Customer Services
“For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath”
And lo! My bitching and moaning got my wifi sorted.
8:30am Saturday morning a good BT engineer turned up. Often they are shit and uninterested. You're just a number. Not a name. They turn up, fiddle about and then leg it knowing the thing ain't gonna work and that some bitch in customer service is going to get a thrashing.
Rightly.
I can't help feeling my thermo-nuclear eruption on Thursday had something to do with my resolution in record time (still late, of course). My non sweary rant had me 'personally' go for the customer service rep. I alluded to the fact that Sky tape their calls and hoped her manager would be playing this back to them soon. And how it should be used in their annual appraisal to determine her annual pay rise. I made my formal complaint against both Sky and the customer service rep. Unfair perhaps? Random - certainly. Cruel? NMFP.* Effective. Yes.
By the way the rep was confrontational, incompetent and insensitive.
All my years in customer service has proved to me one thing; he who shouts loudest gets their complaints dealt with soonest. It shouldn't be that way but nine times out of ten it is.
It's only when people are personally engaged that you get great customer service. From a company stand point that means allowing the front line to override policy if they deem it necessary. To reward regularly and comprehensively incentivise the front line. From a customer point of view you need to get names, set deadlines, invoke complaints policy, make it personal. Only then will you be taken seriously.
I'm basically on a one man altruistic mission to improve Britain's utilities. Eliminate errors, drive down costs, improve efficiencies, cut down-time; compete globally, bring wealth to the country, bolster tax revenue and simultaneously reduce tax rates whilst increasing spend on social necessities.
The parable of the talents is one of the strangest biblical parables. It seems Jesus is a Gordon Gekko capitalist - 'Greed is good, greed works, greed clarifies!' A little bit like the Samaritan quote that got Thatcher in so much trouble in the 80's (wrongly).
Driving costs down is a moral mission, brothers and sisters.
No, I'm not pissed.**
* NMFP - One of my favourite Malcolm Tucker-isms - Not My Fucking Problem
**Yet
*** The Visible Slap - The Invisible Hand!!! Geddit? I do stand up too.