Prior to Christmas, I've occasionally had discussions with friends running along the lines of "there's always a celebrity or two dies at Christmas, plus some sort of natural or human disaster is almost guaranteed". Well, today with 500 dead in a Lagos fuel fire, the latter part of this observation/prediction seems unfortunately fulfilled, a follow up to theologically-questioning events such as Darwin 1975 and, most awful of all, the Tsuami of 2004. As for the former part - first Charlie Drake just before Christmas proper, then a major superstar: on the day of JC, Goodbye JB!
When I was about fifteen, I used to have a three-paperback collection called the Encyclopedia of Rock. No illustrations, just hard fact and spare, terse opinion. A primer. I remember how the entry on James Brown couldn't decide whether to paint him as charlatan or genius. Like the two were mutually exclusive. He was certainly a genius, even as funky circus master, recruiting and drill sergeant, let alone dynamic performer and maker of great records. And he was, principally amongst his many, many titles, The Hardest Working Man In Show Business.
Age, personal conflict and PCP had not withered him when I saw JB on TV, closing the Murrayfield edition of the Live8 concert, on the eve of another human tragedy, the London bombings. He shouted, shook, shimmied and hammered the piano, screamed his scream and rocked. Now Syd Barrett has screamed his last scream and so has JB. 2006 has bid farewell to Arthur Lee. 2006 has had us fans of 60s music contemplating vitality versus mortality. At leat those guys made it to 60, 61 and 73. Last night I watched a documentary on Alma Cogan, dead at 34, and a fascinating part of 50s/60s showbiz fabric. Cute to begin with, she became really gorgeous as time went by. And, judging by her interview on this BBC4 show, her sister Sandra Caron still is. I don't know what it all means. The night before I saw Petula Clark in the same bio slot, voice fantastic and seeking new challenges in her 70s. I was impressed. Square don't exist anymore. Except for the two most crappy cuboid records ever made: Twistin' By The Pool and Walk Of Life by Dire Straits. Compared to those pieces of tired junk dross (and I like some other Knopfler!), these make even the most inane early outings by Alma C sound like the soul of JB.
December 26th, 2006
When I was about fifteen, I used to have a three-paperback collection called the Encyclopedia of Rock. No illustrations, just hard fact and spare, terse opinion. A primer. I remember how the entry on James Brown couldn't decide whether to paint him as charlatan or genius. Like the two were mutually exclusive. He was certainly a genius, even as funky circus master, recruiting and drill sergeant, let alone dynamic performer and maker of great records. And he was, principally amongst his many, many titles, The Hardest Working Man In Show Business.
Age, personal conflict and PCP had not withered him when I saw JB on TV, closing the Murrayfield edition of the Live8 concert, on the eve of another human tragedy, the London bombings. He shouted, shook, shimmied and hammered the piano, screamed his scream and rocked. Now Syd Barrett has screamed his last scream and so has JB. 2006 has bid farewell to Arthur Lee. 2006 has had us fans of 60s music contemplating vitality versus mortality. At leat those guys made it to 60, 61 and 73. Last night I watched a documentary on Alma Cogan, dead at 34, and a fascinating part of 50s/60s showbiz fabric. Cute to begin with, she became really gorgeous as time went by. And, judging by her interview on this BBC4 show, her sister Sandra Caron still is. I don't know what it all means. The night before I saw Petula Clark in the same bio slot, voice fantastic and seeking new challenges in her 70s. I was impressed. Square don't exist anymore. Except for the two most crappy cuboid records ever made: Twistin' By The Pool and Walk Of Life by Dire Straits. Compared to those pieces of tired junk dross (and I like some other Knopfler!), these make even the most inane early outings by Alma C sound like the soul of JB.
December 26th, 2006
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