#thank you to the Beatles for making miles a musician

[nicoscheer]

X

He’s gonna be the fucking death of me first killing the joke and now silverscreen 😭😭😭

Indie rock icon, last shadow Puppets star and one of Merseyside’s most notable musical exports, Miles Kane, returned this year with his fifth album ‘One man Band’. Following on from his last two records which are packed with Glam stompers, the new album saw him dive back into the punchy Indie sound that first earned him waves of fans. We spoke with Miles about how his songwriting, style and sound have evolved over the years…

Q. You’ve had a productive spell recently releasing two albums in two years, have you enjoyed focusing on you solo work?

A. “Yeah, I think especially on this record. I just love making tunes, you know? I think on this one, it was great working with our James, my cousin from the Coral and Alfie Skelly too. Also, not having that pressure of a major label and just being fully in control of what I want to do. There’s always a plan and an expectation but I think I’ve really taken control of the ship on this album. I think I just got in a zone. It wasn’t a/masked but the quality of songs came quite quick, which doesn’t always happen.”

Q. How important to you is your visual identity as an artist?

A. “It’s always been massively important with me, whether it’s super stylized suits or glam rock makeup. There’s many sides to my sort of style, but on the new album I’ve just been feeling the more casual side both in life and in music. I just wanted it to be not super posed and sexy, I wanted it to feel more natural.”

Q. What drove you to write the track ‘Baggio’

A. “Im obsessed with Italian shirts and always have been as a kid. So I think it was a story about that childhood and my intriguement/ obsession with Italian football. It’s more of a song about childhood, reminiscing and remembering these specific little things. For me, it was World Cup 94, watching Italy and seeing Baggio. You could have said Oasis or something like that but Baggio’s a bit cooler and I think people around me like James and Alfie were like ‘Oh, this is so you’ because obviously they know me and I think that’s why it connected. I think at first some people were like, ‘ what are you on about there?’ but it’s these kinds of songs that I’m glad I stuck to my guts on.”

Q. Was it fun to explore the retro football style too with the single ‘Baggio’?

A. “Yeah, I love all that. I love all the old footy shirts because I think it sort of takes me back to a weird comfort memory of being a kid and I think a lot of those old footy shirts are super chic. The photo of me in the Baggio shirt wasn’t like a set up photo shoot. Chaz who plays bass was bringing his camera in and took that. I guess it was more candid and summed up the album better for me than trying to look cool or giving it the big one.”

Q. Are there any other celebrity icons or physical anchors you use to inspire your songwriting?

A. “Yeah, loads man. Rocky… fucking Al Pacino. There’s loads of wrestlers that I’ve taken inspiration from. I get very inspired by stuff like that, whether it be a jacket or it’s a bit of makeup or whatever, I’m quite obsessed. I get the mood of something I’m into and it’ll inspire me to do my version of that feeling. It sounds quite mad to explain it, but for me, that just works”.

Q. You’ve written songs on Merseyside, in London, America, at home or on tour… does your environment impact the kind of songs you’re writing?

A. “I’d say it’s more about where you’re at in your head you know. A lot of the songs on the new album were written up north and a lot was written on my couch in London where I am now. If I wanted to go and make a reggae album in Jamaica maybe that would have a big effect on it haha but, for me, I think it’s more about where I’m at in my mind.”

Q. How has Merseyside impacted you as a musician and as a person?

A. “Where you’re from is who you are, isn’t it, it’s everything. I’ve learned from all those Merseyside bands, The Coral, The Zutons, The Bunnymen, Teardrops, The Beatles. I saw them and wanted to be like them guys, you know? It was just engraved in me. I probably wouldn’t be sat here talking to you without them.”

Q. Which is your favorite track to play live off the new record?

A. “I could play this whole album live to be honest! I think ‘Never taking me alive’ is my favorite track ever to play to be honest. It’s kind of my new ‘Inhaler’ or ‘Come closer’, it’s got that big old riff and the big energy. I love that side of my tunes. Making this album I really fell in love with playing guitar again. I really want the guitar to be at the front just as much as the words are. I’ve really embraced that side of myself. Again, it’s simpler and I think that suits me. I like those other sides of me, don’t get me wrong but give me a riff and some lyrics and that’ll do me mate.”

-

Part of the interview above

Miles reposted with 👌🏽

-09/01/2024-

X

Oh do I love him (the lipstick paired with him so openly talking bout using glam makeup in the above interview 🫶🏽🫶🏽🥰)

Please i can’t he’s so dog dad; good to know he loves Maxie just as much as we do (the audio says “you talking to me?!”(from taxi driver)

#08/01/2024 #so I just shamelessly stared at his calves cuz wtf #Miles boxing and Alex doing Muay Thai does something to my brain #adore his full focus during training #Maxie really got that Alex Turner Bambi eye stare down to a t #interview #I love that Miles’ entire extended family are musicians #please do play the entire album live darling #stan a self aware king who knows he’s obsessed #love that like 90% of all musicians also love photography #really just gift this man fifa points; wrestling/ boxing memorabilia or old footy shirts and he’s happy #thank you to the Beatles for making miles a musician #comfort memory of being a kid 🥹🥹 #Miles Kane is king #just Miles crouching low down to take that pic of Maxie who doesn’t even reach his ankles #Instagram #bootmusicuk

[harrisonstories]

Above: Caroline Coon (left), George Harrison (center), and Rufus Harris (right) Below: Caroline, George, and Rufus with the “Release family”. They were at a party in the Release office in London, England. (1969)

NOTE: If you would like to check them out, this is the official Release website and this is their twitter. (cw: drugs)

“The organisation Release had helped both Lennon and Harrison avoid severe punishments [for their drug busts], but was still operating on a shoestring budget. Hoping to gain some financial help, Caroline Coon contacted Derek Taylor, and a meeting was arranged with Harrison at Apple where she made a presentation detailing the running costs of Release. Also present were Peter Asher and Barry Miles. Towards the end of the meeting Harrison opened his desk drawer and handed Coon a cheque. Expecting little more than a token gesture, Coon thanked Harrison and left the office without looking at the amount. As she reached the front door she was astounded to find it was for £5,000 -- slightly more than the national average house price, and three times the typical annual salary. Harrison’s generosity allowed Release to buy larger premises, and ensured their ability to continue providing legal assistance. A photocopy of the cheque was displayed on a wall in their office for many years.” - Joe Goodden, Riding So High: The Beatles and Drugs

“I didn’t know what to expect, because a lot of other rock stars had turned us down, including Mick Jagger who we had also represented. I eventually secured a meeting with George and went along to see him at Apple. He met me at the door and told me how much he admired the work we were doing. As soon as we sat down in his office, he opened his desk drawer and, without asking questions or making any conditions, he took out his check book and wrote a check. I was so grateful and so amazed that I said my thanks, took the check and walked out of the office not even daring to look at it. I expected maybe £10 or £20 but, when I eventually looked at it, he’d given us £5,000. He dropped by our office the next week, so at least we were able to say thank you to him properly.” - Caroline Coon, Q magazine (Dec. 1995)

“I can vividly remember this picture being taken. It was 1969, in the Release office in London [the centre for advice on drugs and drugs law]. Behind George and me is a picture of the Queen smoking a joint, which I’d made.

I founded Release with my friend Rufus Harris, who is on the far right of this picture, in 1967. People like George Harrison would ring to ask for advice when they were busted by the police. We were having a celebration because the week before he gave me a cheque for £5,000, which saved us from closing. When I saw how much he’d given us, I burst into tears. When he turned up at the party, we were so happy that he had taken the time to visit us.

I was 23, living in London. As an art student, I had fallen in love with a Jamaican musician, who told me one day, ‘By the way, I’ve got to be at the Old Bailey on Monday morning.’ After a five-day trial, he was sent to prison for three years. The police had raided his home and found a couple of grains of cannabis in his wastepaper basket, and a gun. He only got nine months for being in possession of an offensive weapon, but three years for the cannabis. I thought the injustice that had happened to the man I loved was appalling and tried to get his case up for appeal.

By the time we started Release, the police were shifting their attention from the black community to the hippies. When Mick Jagger was arrested, we demonstrated against it, but I wanted to do something more. Part of the role of Release was to educate young people that drugs should be taken in moderation, which was not very cool at the time. The rest of the crowd in the picture were what we called the ‘Release family’, because we were also a drop-in centre for young people -- we had group therapy sessions. All kinds came along: runaway teenagers, women seeking pregnancy advice, homeless people.

We sometimes had to deal with police corruption. Famous people were prone to having drugs planted on them and then getting busted, for the publicity. On one occasion George Harrison told me, ‘I had my pot in a box on my sitting-room table. [The cop] came out of my bedroom brandishing a lump of pot that he said he found in my wardrobe, but it wasn’t mine.’ It happened all the time.

Release has carried on: 50 years later, the organisation is going strong and, as a matter of fact, we have won. It’s not a question of if prohibition of cannabis will end, but how it will end.”

- Caroline Coon, The Telegraph (2016)

#john lennon #george harrison #the beatles #caroline coon #mick jagger #release #joe goodden #rufus harris #derek taylor #peter asher #barry miles #riding so high #Q magazine #the telegraph #1969 #1995 #2016

[kreekey]

also 6- I remember people used to quote how the apple crew didn't like when she ordered them as a reason to hate her like SERIOUSLY? white men hate a foreigner woman (who's recovering from a miscarriage btw) how tf is that not coming from internalized racism/sexism? and 7- I remember an audio from get back (?) sessions where Linda was repeatedly saying Jahn JAhn, making fun of yoko's accent, to get the whole squad laughing.

6 Haha I know. Here’s the Barry Miles quote, from the Zapple Diaries:

John railed to anyone who would listen that the other Beatles and the staff of Apple hated Yoko because they were racists, but this was not true. As Derek Taylor pointed out, they didn’t hate her, but they didn’t love her either. As for the accusation of racism – musicians and most of the music industry have traditionally always been free of racism and bigotry, although there might have been a residual anti-Japanese feeling (the war had only ended twenty years earlier and stories about Japanese wartime atrocities frequently featured in the newspapers). Still, the real reason that people disliked Yoko was because she ordered them about and sent them on errands in a particularly rude way; she was brought up with servants, and that’s how she treated the staff of Apple.

As thecurvature said in response:  

...I’m really just smacked in the face and simply can’t ignore the utter absurdity, obliviousness, and inability to self reflect in the assertion that musicians!!!! and the music indutry!!!! have always been free of racism and bigotry!!!!! Like that’s literally the dumbest whitest shit this white woman has ever fucking heard. Anyone who has the gall to believe that to the extent that they actually wrote it down and shared it with the world has shown their racist hand and relinquished their right to a fucking opinion.

X

(There is no war in Ba Sing Se no racism in the 1960s. Maybe a teeny tiny bit lol. Certainly not enough to influence anybody’s opinions at all.) But yes it’s true she was born with servants, in fact in 1945 after the US firebombings of Toyko, Yoko's mother took her three children and their last remaining servant to the countryside where the chance of air raid was decreased. But yes, Yoko had a relatively privileged childhood, and when she grew older, she also rebelled against materialism and such facets of her background lol, I believe she hadn’t had a ‘servant’ in roughly two decades by that time? And it’s true she suffered miscarriages and a car crash during that time, was also already hated by the public, and was dealing with the fact contemporaries were saying her avant-garde career was dead already. And there is the factor that, especially at that time, many white men would’ve (subconsciously?) resented a non-subservient foreigner woman. But it’s not like the Beatles themselves have ever been rude to staff. For one example, Emerick recalled in his biography that during a White Album recording session, John’s amp was up to “an ear-splitting level” and he politely asked John to lower the volume so he could better record it. John replied caustically and asked him to just do his bloody job, and “Come on, get with it, Emerick. I think it’s about bloody time you got your act together.” This made Emerick mad, he couldn't even respond. He also said it was more memorable than the fact Yoko first joined them that same day too (she was reportedly very quiet/shy, John just plunked her there lol). And I don’t have a link, but Barry Miles did a talk/Q&A during which he had an anecdote where Paul really chewed out an underling who had brought him a drink, but forgot a coaster. Around that time, some of Paul’s staff mentioned he could be hard to deal with. ...However, this was around the time Linda’s health wasn’t great, so he was under stress. But does Yoko’s stress not count, or something? Idk. There is a certain empathy usually extended to idols like Paul and withheld from Yoko.

Also some other accounts on Yoko’s personality:

...Yoko seem[ed] to many people a manipulating, psychic, power-wielding egotist who would stop at nothing to get her way. This judgement hid the truth from people who didn't want to face it: Yoko's appeal, to John and the people close to her, was that she was such a strong-minded, artistic individualist. She combined all this with a fearsome practicality. Above all, she would not tolerate weakness in people. Many people who were aware of their own frailties winced at Yoko's intuitive recognition of their failure to do anything about them. John did not; he wanted his woman forceful, intelligent, powerful, domineering, and one step ahead of the game.

... One of the popular myths about John Lennon has been that he was tough, hard-hearted, vicious, and unsentimental. One of the great myths of Yoko Ono is that she is a manipulative witch, power-hungry, and cold. The reverse is true in both cases. Lennon was incurable romantic all his life and that quality manifested itself with great intensity after his reunion with Yoko. Yoko too has always been emotional, tearful, and compassionate.

Lennon, by Ray Coleman

It was a big plus to her [Yoko's] personality, that she's strong... but not to say overbearing, not 'mean' strong, you know. She's a tough girl. You know, a good New Yorker can take care of herself and she doesn't get pushed around too easily. And I think that helped John 'cause John would have more of a tendency to be nice to somebody or you know, say, 'Okay,' when he didn't really mean 'Okay,' because he didn't want to piss somebody off. You know, whereas, Yoko would be much more pragmatic. It the answer was 'No,' she'd just say 'No' and say, 'Next question.'

Elliot Mintz in Lennon Revealed, by Larry Kane

7 I haven’t heard that audio, so I really can’t comment on it. If someone has a link? The Get Back tapes are hours and hours long so I can’t look for it myself haha sorry. I’d love to give Linda the benefit of the doubt, and the social climate of the 1960s was surely different (and the mood just in Abbey Road Studios was tense as well.) 

Anyway thank you anon for sending these in! Interesting points to consider, some comparisons and things I hadn’t even thought of. Also nice to hear people bring that up because it can be hard to discuss things like this, things like racism in the fandom or double standards. But it’s worthwhile, IMO. If anyone has anything to add, I’d be interested in that too <3. 

#whole squad laughing.lol anon #again ty for sending in your thoughts #yoko ono #asks #anon #answers #long post #the beatles fandom #retrospective

[kalypsichor]

oh darling [ beatles x reader ]

summary: backstage on the England leg of your tour, you meet the four Liverpool boys of your dreams

prompt: can i request a reader who’s a musician/singer and a big beatles fan so they sing their favorite songs at a concert (my peronal faves are “honey pie”, “oh, darling!” or “for no one”, but you can choose!) and the boys were secretly there!! the boys meet them after the show and the reader just loses it?? maybe some romance?? warnings: too much backstory, badly researched 60s slang

i’m fudging the timeline around so that in this fic oh! darling was released in the early 60s instead of in abbey road and reader is meeting them in the mid 60s. reader is american and I incorporated some romance but left it open-ended. more notes at the end!

masterlist

This is what you love most about touring. A thousand faces shining with the glow of the stage in dark concert halls; the satisfying dig of guitar strings into your fingertips; each inhale of breath that rushes into your lungs and is converted to notes ringing with clarity, clashing with dissonance; and the raw electricity of it all.

As the last chord of the song fades into the air, you allow yourself a giddy, adrenaline-fueled smile. The crowd roars and stomps their feet and you can feel the ground vibrating underneath your feet. It takes a while to get them to quiet down, and when they finally do, you lean in towards the mic.

“I’d like to thank y’all again for coming to tonight’s show!” Cue more screaming. “We’re going to close out with a song by a band you probably haven’t heard of— very underground, very obscure, you know. One of your lot. This is Oh! Darling.”

The crowd erupts into more cheers and you allow yourself to reminisce about the first time you’d heard this song on the radio. A few years younger and without a nickel to your name, your band had been just a hobby during the off-seasons of school. In the sweltering New Orleans summer, crammed into a friend’s garage, you wrote and played songs inspired by the local rhythm and blues so popular at the time. It was all just for your own enjoyment, of course— you didn’t think that anyone outside of Louisiana would like your kind of music. But you loved the slow grinding tempos and the strong backbeats that were so fun to dance to, even if you and your bandmates were the only ones who’d ever sing or dance to them.

Until, of course, you changed a radio station one day and suddenly heard that very same rhythm and blues from some internationally known band called The Beatles. “Well,” you said, turning to your bandmates, “if some pasty English boys can play it on the radio, why can’t we?” So the band began booking gigs at local bars, then theaters, then across the world as its popularity grew. All the while, you fell in love with the English band, buying every new record and learning your favorites on guitar.

And here you were on tour in Britain years later, living a dream you could barely believe. A giddy smile spreads across your face as you realize the enormity of being here at all, thousands of miles away from home and singing the song that started it all. Your fingers pluck the familiar strings and you feel yourself settle into a nostalgic beat.

Oh! Darling, please believe me I’ll never do you no harm…

When it’s over and you take your last bow, sweat beads your face and neck and you want nothing more than a cold shower and a bottle of champagne. The din of cheers and claps follows you into the wings of the stage where your manager waits with an odd smile on her face.

“Some people here to see you,” she says. You grab a cup of water from one of the assistants and down it like, well, water.

“I thought we weren’t letting fans backstage today.”

“Yes, but these aren’t the usual fans. They’re… you have to see for yourself.”

You set down the glass, already wishing you were in bed. “Look, Grace, I’m sorry but it’s just not a good time. I don’t care if it’s the Kennedy’s or Jesus Christ himself, tell them to come back later.”

“It’s been said that we’re bigger than Jesus, y’know.”

If you turned your head any faster you would’ve gotten whiplash. That familiar Scouse accent that you’ve only heard in records and interviews… but there was no way it was—

“John Lennon?” It’s your drummer, Thomas, who speaks. “You’re John Lennon. God, that’s unreal. I’m talking to John fucking Lennon.”

“Oh, don’t mind us, we’re just backdrop,” grumbles one of the other three. He’s got dark, intense eyes under heavy brows and a mop of hair. This is George Harrison in the flesh and blood, and he would seem very serious if it weren’t for his toothy, almost canine grin. You feel a thrill race down your spine from the almost predatory look that he gives you.

Kate, the bassist, peers over your shoulder. “Y’all are a lot shorter in person,” she comments. Then, quietly to you, “Close your mouth, honey. You’re catching flies out here.”

You really hope you’re not drooling. It’s no big deal, right? Except that your idols are standing right in front of your eyes, mop-tops and all. You suddenly become hyper-aware of how your hair is plastered to your face and yet somehow also sticking up in eighty different directions. Why didn’t you use more product? More importantly, why haven’t you said a single word yet? They must think you’re some kind of idiot. Okay, do something before it becomes awkward. A handshake! A handshake is good.

You stick out a trembling hand. “Hi,” you say, voice breathy and high like some kind of schoolgirl with a crush.

Too late, you realize that there’s no way all four of them can shake your hand, idiot, and you’ve already come up with four different ways to fake your own death and never speak to anyone again when Paul McCartney (Paul! Freaking! McCartney!) takes your palm with a gentle but steady grasp. He brings it to his lips in a mock bow, eyes peering up under fluttering eyelashes.

“M’lady.”

(Is this what cardiac arrest feels like?)

“Down, boy!” John pats the back of the bassist’s head, smirking, and before you can mourn the loss of his touch they’ve begun bickering like an old married couple.

A different hand takes yours. Thick, calloused fingers. Cold metal rings press into your skin. “Don’t mind them, they’re children. I’m Ringo.” And here was Ringo Starr with the signature grin. Something about his sweet, wide smile makes you relax instinctively. He’s just human, like you. They all are. Underneath the fame and fortune, you’re all just messy humans with a love for music. And with that realization, you let yourself settle back into your usual self.

“They’re not so bad,” you say. “I’ve seen worse. At least they’re potty trained, right?”

This gets an adorable laugh from him as well as George, the latter of which had been talking to Kate about guitars until now.

“Great job up there, by the way.” You blush at the compliment and George goes on, “Those are some wicked brilliant riffs! You’ve got to show them to me sometime.”

“What, and let you steal our band’s secrets? You’ll have to try a little harder than that, mister.”

The three of you fall into an easy banter, mostly gushing about each others’ musicianship. Eventually, John and Paul break their fight, realizing that they’re no longer the center of attention.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” John says a little breathlessly, still laughing from something Paul said. You try not to notice how pink his cheeks are or the way his hair falls perfectly into his eyes from the toustling. “Say, why don’t we take this somewhere with a booth and at least three pints of alcohol?”

“There’s a pub two blocks down,” Paul chimes in, “and they always let us take the back door. The fans can get crazy, y’know.”

Pru, the other lead vocalist, swings an arm around your shoulder and answers before you can. “Sounds boss. I’m ready to split if you are, mop-tops.”

They look confusedly at one another and you huff, elbowing her in the ribs. “What she means is that we’d be delighted to go. Right, Pru?”

She scoffs something along the lines of stuffy Brits but nods. With that, the two bands begin making their way to the exits, melding into one raucous group of overlapping conversations. Before you can make it there, however, your manager grabs you by the arm and looks you in the eye with a steely glare.

“I better not being seeing your face in the papers tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, Mom.”

“And be back at the hotel before three! You’ve all got interviews in the morning and I do not want another situation like Toronto on my hands. You hear me?”

“That reporter was a sexist pig and I meant what I said. Also, I wasn’t that hungover!”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” George pipes up, “We’ll get her back in one piece. Maybe two, if we’re unlucky.”

You pat Grace’s hand and her glare softens. “Alright, get outta my sight.” She waves a hand and walks off, already rattling off instructions a mile a minute at some poor intern.

“Is yours like that too?” you ask, looking after Grace fondly as she picks up a costume rack without slowing down. If the terrified look on the intern’s face is any indication, she’s still berating him to high hell.

“Honestly,” George replies, “I think all managers are. Mum away from home, y’know. Eppy’s always right and it’s annoying as hell.”

You share a knowing smile before surging on to catch up with the group already at the door. John’s at the lead. Elbowing your way through, you make your way to his side.

“It’s a side entrance so it shouldn’t be too bad,” he says, pushing on the handle.

Immediately, a barrage of sound smacks you in the face hard enough to do a double-take. Apparently, you and every other person in London knew about the side entrance because you’re met with a sea of clamoring fans. Heads turn toward the opened door in a mesmerizing, horrifying ripple of motion. Someone mutters a heartfelt fuck under their breath. It’s probably you.

“There she is!” a girl screams.

“I love you! I LOVE YOU!”

“Is that the Beatles?”

���MARRY ME PAUL! I WANT YOUR BABIES!”

Amidst the chaos, someone intertwines their fingers in yours. It’s John. He looks down at you with a boyish grin and, not for the first time, you lose a bit of yourself in his gaze. The other three boys share the same wild glint in their eyes. He leans close until his lips brush your ear and for a moment you let yourself believe that you’re alone with him and nobody else.

“This is the part where we run, darling.”

And so you do.

notes: because i’m horny for music history, i spent way too much time researching oh! darling’s musical composition. the song is heavily influenced by new orleans rhythm and blues as well as louisiana swamp blues, music styles originating from african-americans/creoles/cajuns in the 50s (read more about it here!). so in my mind, reader is of the same ethnic background as the music she creates, but you’re free to interpret it however you want! 

#paul mccartney x reader #john lennon x reader #george harrison x reader #ringo starr x reader #the beatles x reader #the beatles #beatles fanfic #paul mccartney #paul mccartney fanfic #john lennon #john lennon fanfic #george harrison #george harrison fanfic #ringo starr #ringo starr fanfic #kalwrites #holy hell look at these tags #tags bonanza #this was five pages long in my docs #whoops #I've never written such a long fic before #I'm drafting this at one am

[thecoleopterawithana]

It quickly became apparent that it made more sense to separate out Indica Bookshop from Indica Gallery. [...] In the summer of 1966, Indica Books moved to new premises at 102 Southampton Row, near the British Museum and all the Bloomsbury bookshops, allowing the gallery to take over the ground floor of the Mason's Yard property. There was room in the back of the bookshop for a gallery annexe, and one of the first shows there was of musical sculpture by the Freres Bachet, which all the Beatles attended at one time or another.

The bookshop was huge and when Miles and his old friend John Hopkins - usually known as 'Hoppy' - decided to start an underground newspaper, to be called International Times (IT), the unused basement of Indica Books seemed the ideal place for the editorial office. The paper soon ran into trouble financially and Paul suggested to Miles, 'If you interview me, then you'll be able to get advertising from record companies.' Rather than do a conventional interview, Miles just taped an afternoon's conversation at Paul's house, during which they discussed fame, spiritual matters, drugs and electronic music. It was transcribed and printed as a straightforward question and answer in the best Warholian tradition, with no introduction or summing-up. It was picked up by the underground press syndicate and reprinted all over the world, from the San Francisco Oracle and the Georgia Straight to obscure underground outfits in Sweden and Holland. 'You should go and do one with my friend George,' said Paul, and so George Harrison became the second person interviewed by IT and devoted his entire interview to discussing Hinduism and Zen. Pop stars liked the straight Q & A interview presentation because press interviews at that time were mostly paraphrase with very little direct quotation and their words were always changed to suit the purpose of the journalist. IT gave them a vehicle to state their views.

Paul was correct in thinking that interviews with musicians would enable IT to get record-company ads, but the paper was still broke and often unable to pay the printer or its staff. Paul helped out financially, and was thanked by being given a credit in the staff box under the name of 'Ian Iachimoe'. This was the 'secret' name that Paul suggested his friends use when writing to him to make their letters stand out from all the fan mail. It was the sound of his own name played backwards on a tape recorder. He even used it himself: the original manuscript of 'Paperback Writer', which was written in the form of a letter, ends with 'Yours sincerely, Ian Iachimoe'. Paul was happy to lend a hand in laying out the paper and there was one evening when Paul, together with the Beat poet Harry Fainlight, took time out before dinner to draw a half-page psychedelic ad for Indica Books in order to meet the printer's deadline the following morning. It was published in issue 16. Such were the times.

— In Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

#Paul McCartney #indica bookshop #International Times #We were a bit more artsy #barry miles #John Hopkins #Geo #Paperback Writer #Harry Fainlight #'Ian Iachimoe' #pseudonyms #photo #quote #Illustration #my stuff

[randomvarious]

Joey Dee & The Starliters - “Ya Ya” Fetenhits: Oldies Song released in 1961. Compilation released in 1999. Rock & Roll / Twist

Before the British invasion came to largely define the early-to-mid-60s rock sound of America, there existed The Twist, a hip-gyrating dance sensation forever immortalized by Chubby Checker’s two chart-toppers, “The Twist,” and its next summer follow-up, “Let’s Twist Again.” But the life of this fad craze was extended for at least half a year thanks to New Jersey’s own Joey Dee & The Starliters’ ode to their residency digs, the 1961 #1 hit, “Peppermint Twist.”

Joey Dee & The Starliters isn’t a band you hear much about these days, but they are one of the most important bands in the history of rock and roll and popular music. They’re sort of like music’s Forrest Gump: they just happened to have good enough fortune to be in the right place at the right time for a lot of things to happen. For instance, they ended up being the house band at what’s widely considered to be the world’s first-ever discotheque, The Peppermint Lounge, which had a star-studded clientele. This passage from the bio section on Joey Dee’s website explains further:

In 1960, the Starliters were noticed by agent Don Davis while performing at a Lodi, New Jersey nightclub called Olivieri’s. The group was booked at an obscure venue on 45th Street in New York City called the Peppermint Lounge®, for what was supposed to be a one-time weekend gig, which lasted 13 months.

While performing at the Peppermint Lounge®, Joey Dee & The Starliters® attracted the following celebrities, Merle Oberon and Prince Serge who actually danced the Peppermint Twist® with the regular audience that was in attendance that night.

This being in print the next morning by columnists Earl Wilson and Cholly Knickerbocker, it took barricades and mounted police to keep the crowds in line, which had backed to Broadway, the next night. For several years, the craze would continue at the World Famous Peppermint Lounge® Night Club.Celebrity visitors included Marilyn Monroe, Errol Flynn, Frank Sinatra, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Sidney Poitier, Debbie Reynolds, Judy Garland, John Wayne, Jackie Kennedy, Nat “King” Cole, Shirley MacLaine, Johnny Mathis, Liberace, Miles Davis and many more luminaries.

Joey Dee & The Starliters were also the first multiracial group with a #1 hit (”Peppermint Twist”) and one of the first multiracial groups in the entire world. They even counted Jimi Hendrix as a member at one point. So too was Joe Pesci, as well as three guys who ended up forming three-fourths of The Young Rascals (”Good Lovin,” “Groovin’,” ”How Can I Be Sure”). A ficitonal movie was made about Joey Dee & The Starliters and the Peppermint Lounge in 1961 called Hey, Let’s Twist. The Beatles did their first-ever international performance in Stockholm, opening for Joey Dee & The Starliters in October of 1963, after which Joey Dee showed them a good time. The Ronettes (the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame girl group of “Be My Baby” fame) performed with Joey Dee & The Starliters just about every night, from when they first asked the band during a show in 1961 if they could sing and dance with them up on stage, all the way through the summer of 1962. It was before Phil Spector would make them a girl group powerhouse. Looking back, Joey Dee & The Starliters served as a launching pad for so many important, big-time musicians, that if one of the above-mentioned events never took place, the history of popular music could be forever altered.

In 1961, Joey Dee & The Starliters brought the sound of the Peppermint Lounge to homes all across America with their debut album, the live recorded Doin’ the Twist at the Peppermint Lounge. Capturing the dancin’, twistin’ atmosphere is a cover of Lee Dorsey’s “Ya Ya”. Basically lyrically inept, this lively number is notable for its hand-clappin,’ whirly, swirly organ-fuelled instrumental sections, which were clearly made for dancing. As the house band in the world’s first discotheque, Joey Dee & The Starliters knew what they were there to do: get the people dancing. And that they did. In the next decade, with the explosion of disco music, Studio 54 would become the world’s most notorious discotheque, which every night would feature extended instrumental sections of a litany of songs for its coked up, A-list clientele to groove to. And out of that arose hip hop culture, in which b-boys and b-girls would breakdance to those extended disco breaks courtesy of the DJ who lined up both copies of his records perfectly to double the length of the break. But all of that can be traced back to Joey Dee & The Starliters’ Peppermint Lounge residency.

The house band from the world’s first-ever discotheque, which boasted a clientele of the world’s most famous people; the band that counted Jimi Hendrix, Joe Pesci, and three fourths of The Young Rascals as its members, and who also performed alongside The Ronettes every night for a period of time, all before any of them were famous; the band who headlined The Beatles’ first-ever international performance; the band that extended the life of the Twist with “Peppermint Twist.” This was all Joey Dee & The Starliters. An indispensable piece in many facets of the history of popular music.

#rock & roll #rock and roll #rock n roll #classic rock #rock #rock music #twist #the twist #twist music #music #60s #60s music #60's #60's music #60s rock & roll #60's rock & roll #60s rock and roll #60's rock and roll #60s rock #60's rock #pop #pop music #60s pop #60's pop #60s pop music #60's pop music

[bich-the-moss]

Music questions tag game 🎸

Tagged by @giaffa thank you!! (Also you don’t need to apologize for tagging me in this stuff. I love getting to answer these questions, so thank you for including me. You’re rad as hell 🤘)

(This is a long post. I’m sorry.)

Favorite Band(s): My Chemical Romance, Queen, Fall Out Boy, The Smiths, The Beatles, Panic! At The Disco, The Cure, Blondie, Arctic Monkeys, The Last Shadow Puppets, Pierce the Veil, Twenty One Pilots, Green Day, The Strokes, I Don’t Know How But They Found Me, The Struts, Frank Iero and the Patience, Good Cop Bad Cop, Mindless Self Indulgence

Favorite Musician(s): Gerard Way, David Bowie, Morrissey, Miles Kane, Poppy

Favorite Song(s): Alright this is just gonna be a list of my current obsessions

Fascination Street — The Cure

One Point Perspective, Do Me a Favour, Secret Door, That’s Where You’re Wrong, Mardy Bum, Evil Twin, Batphone — Arctic Monkeys

Headfirst for Halos, It’s Not a Fashion Statement It’s a Deathwish, Disenchanted, Destroya, The Kids From Yesterday — My Chemical Romance

Paint a Vulgar Picture, What Difference Does It Make? — The Smiths

Suedehead — Morrissey

Hard To Explain — The Strokes

Do It All The Time, Choke — IDKhow

Suffragette City, Oh! You Pretty Things, Queen Bitch, — David Bowie

In My Life, Norwegian Wood, Help!, I’m Happy Just To Dance With You, Penny Lane, What Goes On?, Helter Skelter — The Beatles

Color of the Trap, Give Up, Cry On My Guitar— Miles Kane

I Do It So Well — The Struts

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy, Death On Two Legs — Queen

Favorite Genre: Any subgenre of Rock, really. Punk, Alt., Indie, Mod, New Wave. Give me some guitars and a killer bass line and I’ll be happy.

Favorite Instrument: Piano and bass. I’ve always wanted to learn to play bass, but I’ve never gotten the opportunity.

Favorite Eras of Music: I really wish I was cognizant enough in the early 2000’s to appreciate the music, but no. I was too busy being 6 and trying to learn how to read, so I missed out on some cool moments in the rock scene. I’m also really fond of 60’s Mod Rock and all the Punk New Wave bands from the 80’s.

Favorite Years of Music: same as above

Least Favorite Genres: (Gonna go on a rant here. I’m sorry)

Stadium Country music is the bane of my existence. I would rather jump off a cliff than have to hear fucking Luke Bryant or whoever the hell it is sing about sucking America’s proverbial dick and glorifying Humble, Small Town, Country Values™️.

I also can’t stand Christian Rock music. The industry as a whole capitalizes on people’s religion and guilt trips them into buying music that isn’t nearly on par with other religious genres, let alone other Christian styles. 90% of it is just vapid and repetitive rhetoric meant to spread toxic positivity.

Been To Any Concerts?: Panic! At The Disco, Weezer, The Struts, Poppy, and Arctic Monkeys.

Favorite Broadcast Concert: MCR’s The Black Parade Is Dead in 2007. The drama, the grandeur: Unmatched.

Upcoming Concerts?: Nothing is completely planned yet, but I’m thinking about seeing either Morrissey or Hozier in October. Then I’m supposed to see Mom Jeans with my friend whenever they come back to Redding.

Favorite Albums: Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino (Arctic Monkeys), Disintegration (The Cure), A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out (Panic! At The Disco), Jazz (Queen), Folie A Deux (Fall Out Boy), Is This Is? (The Strokes)

Tags: @bri-the-binch @ringokilledthepropman @twinkiesdunkedinranch @galactic-pal if you want

Sorry I keep tagging you guys in this stuff, I don’t have many other active mutuals 😬

#tag game

[dancelittleliardance]

Thanks to @playit0ut for tagging me!

favourite bands: Arctic Monkeys, The Coral, Our Girl, The Stone Roses, Slaves, Courteeners, The Smiths, The Beatles, The Big Moon, The Last Shadow Puppets, Milburn, Reverend and the Makers, The Orielles, Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds, Tame Impala, Kasabian, Half Man Half Biscuit, Pulp and The Libertines

favourite musicians: Bill Ryder-Jones, Stella Donnelly, Alex Turner, Miles Kane, Matt Helders, Jarvis Cocker, Pete Doherty, Jake Bugg

favourite song: at the moment? Anna (Go To Him) by The Beatles. It's too hard to think of a all-time favourite song!

favourite instrument: I don’t play any but I'd love to be able to play any type of guitar. Love everything about it.

favourite era of music: 90s britpop & 00s indie

favourite years of music: 1994-2009

least favourite genre: I dislike a few genres, I'm feel like an old man complaining about how much I hate new music.

been to any concerts: Around 15? maybe more? My favourite one has been seeing Arctic Monkeys in Sheffield. Nothing will ever beat that.

favourite broadcast concert: Couldn't even tell you. Don't really watch broadcast concerts which probably makes no sense.

favourite album: Probably West Kirby County Primary by Bill Ryder-Jones.

any upcoming concerts: Seeing Our Girl in July and also going to Tramlines in Sheffield!

My mind's gone bank on who to tag, but if you want to do it. Have a go!

[prettyboyporter]

tagged by @sightetsound  @ohmybgosh @flippyspoon  and @kelpie-earnest - thanks <333

Rules: Answer 21 questions and then tag 21 people who you want to get to know better.

Nickname:

trace, traybum, a plethora of nicknames from students - plays on my last name.

Zodiac:

Taurus

Height:

5’5”

Last movie I saw:

At home: Bird Box, and it was okay! I was entertained. It had the guy from Moonlight so any time he was on screen I was fucking swooning for him remembering his performance. 

At the movies: Into the Spiderverse and I adored every god damn second of it. Miles Morales and Peter B. Parker forever. The animation style was so textured and amazing. If I could clone a version of myself who wasn’t spending every free moment reading or writing fanfiction, I’d go see it again.

Last thing googled:

Orlando Bloom’s age, because today is his birthday and I totally forgot that he is my age, hah. Happy bday pretty elf. 

Favorite musician:

The Beatles, hands down, forever and always my faves. 

Song stuck in my head:

Alright by Kendrick Lamar

Other blogs:

tracy7307 on ao3, was tracy7307 on LJ back in the day as well.

Do I get asks:

Nope! I’ve only been utilizing Tumblr for about a month, month and a half, bc I’ve been out of fandom for years but ended up running across a harringrove fic that shook my soul and now here I am trying to get back into it all. Just taking my first steps back in and figure out how to use this thing - how to have meaningful discourse about my new ship/fandom again, feeling the heartbeat of this place and just *trying* to jump in.

How many followers?:

Not many! See above, lol

Amount of sleep:

I like getting like 9-10 hours on weekends when I’m able to sleep in. I love sleeping.

Lucky Number:

Don’t have one

What I’m wearing:

MSU sweatshirt (my alma mater) and PJ bottoms

Dream job:

I have it - teaching high school English. I LOVE what I do. I am truly blessed in my career.

Dream Trip:

I’d love to visit India the most for friends and food and culture, Belgim for beer, and Czech Republic, and New Zealand and Australia, Africa and Iceland, Sweden and Ukraine . I want to go everywhere. Just everywhere.

Favorite food:

A filet, cooked sous vide, medium rare.

Play an instrument:

Nope

Languages:

English and some Spanish.

Random Fact:

I have a birthmark on my left breast that looks like a light coffee stain. Makes one nipple slightly darker than the other and I think it looks fucking amazing.

Describe yourself as aesthetic things:

A stack of comic books, a cluttered desk, cuffed jeans and doc martens, mug of coffee with cream, romantic displays of affection, Inuit art, a growler of beer next to a bottle of gin.

I think everyone I’d likely tagged has already been tagged, so I’ll go with my local love @hawkguyhasstarbucks

[waltwhitmcn]

apple cider

hello angel! thank you for your ask♥

apple cider: if you could throw a party, and invite absolutely anyone, who would they be? 

oh my, that’s a tough question. first of all, i would invite every single one of you (this is quite ill-timed but thank you for 1183 followers, as of right now. i cannot express just how much i cherish each and every one of you♥). then, of course, some musicians to make us dance through the night: the beatles, aka my favourite band ever. then maybe to change it up and allow them to take breaks, david bowie, the band queen and iggy pop and lou reed and glenn miller and miles davis. i’d invite a bunch of writers as well, like kerouac&ginsberg, whitman, keats, the shelleys, camus, and donna tartt! (lord byron might be allowed to come, if he promised to keep his hands mostly to himself, at least in public). then we’d be joined by jonny lee miller, michael fassbender, keira knightley and lucy liu, and then maybe warhol to immortalize this fantastic night ahah.

cheers love, thanks again! xx

#that was fun #i tried to cut it short though #because much more people would be mentioned otherwise #it would be great #asks

[mimimarilynlove]

So what do you think of Coup De Grace?

I’m really enjoying the album so far!! I love it and actually imo it’s his best work to date? (I’ve only listened to the full thing as a whole like, a couple of times and mostly I’m still listening to the songs in small batches ahaha~ but yeah I just take things slower I guess) I love the variety he’s giving us with the tracks, also the fact he’s really pushing his vocal range on this one. I’ve always loved his voice (just, there’s something very comfortable and endearing to the quality of it? both his speaking and singing voice, but yeah I wasn’t really expecting to hear a range that went from the soft whispering verses on Shavambacu to Wrong Side of Life, you know what I mean?) so yeah him exploring the depths of his vocals makes me incredibly happy :’)  

Tbh I’m a little surprised with how… the theme/subject is entirely about the breakup, haha but yeah there we go, that’s what he meant referencing Adele XDD Uhm, in this regard it’s quite different from the previous two, but ykw I love how honest he’s been lyrically, the way he writes in general; I consider myself a pretty emotional person, so naturally I find Miles’ way of expressing his feelings more relatable (= how raw/direct he delivers everything). He’s not afraid to show his vulnerability and it’s absolutely one of things I adore most about him.I do think he improved with writing the verses? Obviously the way he emphasize the main lines/keywords in the chorus is characteristically his sound, I’d say you can definitely tell the difference between the songs on this one to the previous two. Killing the Joke and Shavambacu stands out a lot to me atm bcs they’re very stylistically HIM, and there’s better structure to his composition and that makes me really proud. Haha the only thing I’d say tho is that it’ll take me a bit longer to process the album as a whole? Because the different dynamics/vibes of the tracks on it,,, it’s kinda hard to compare the individual songs so I can’t really rank them yet XDDD

I know there’s some mix responses on songs like Cry On My Guitar, for him not being “original” enough with the material/sound he’s giving us? Personally, I think it’s just the kind of artist and musician Miles wants to be? For me it’s just like being inspired by the artists I admire and wanting to create because of them. I mean, this is a little controversial to talk about but, I don’t see it problematic necessarily because Miles has always been open about his musical influences; he literally talks about his idols like Marc Bolan, Bowie and the Beatles all. the. time. (same thing for COTT and DFWYA, we all know he’s a biiig fan of Oasis and Weller and all the artists he grew up listening to) so yeah… I find it pretty sweet that he’s still acknowledging their sound, because at the end of the day, these were the things that got him excited about making music in the first place. I don’t think every artist have to go for something completely *new* or *unique*, but Miles definitely do have his /own/ sound in all the material he’s given us, be it his own writing or collaborations or even covers. 

Oh yeah, also I’m curious about people’s thoughts on Silverscreen and Cold Light of the Day? I haven’t seen a lot of comments on these and also Something to Rely On but personally I’m very fond of them. Maybe it’s because they remind me of an earlier indie sound they’ve (him and his previous collaborators) had before when they were younger; specifically Silverscreen really reminds me of some of the songs from The Little Flames/Rascals hehe. It’s quite lovely and endearing he’s going back to that (well, kinda) and again that’s just something I didn’t expect before the album came out :3

Anyhow hehe sorry for the ramble but I’m really happy to answer your ask!! Feel free to let me know your thoughts on the record as well \^O^/ thanks again dear and I hope you have a great day

#Miles Kane #Coup De Grace #album review... ish?? #nah more like first impression XDD #I'm flattered tho by the ask anon #thank you very much <33 #I'm curious on how you guys are all finding it as well!! #please let me know \o/ #anon ask #reply

[secretradiobrooklyn]

New York State Tax Edition | 3.20 & 3.27.21

Secret Radio | 3.20 & 3.27.21 | Hear it here.

Liner notes by Evan (except * for Paige), Art by Paige

1. Antoine Dougbé - “Towe Nin” 

There was a while during which I tried to listen to every single T.P. Orchestre song that could be heard via discogs.com. They’ve released dozens of albums, probably close to a hundred if you count all of the albums attributed to various members, so that was a very daunting task… though really what it highlighted was the sheer volume of songs that just are not available to be heard in digital form. Those songs take on a sort of mythic quality as we listen to the huge variety of styles and periods that this band passed through in their prolific and very obscure career. But the ones that loom in the imagination the largest, for Paige and me, are the songs attributed to Antoine Dougbé. He writes for the band but doesn’t record with them, and in most cases Melomé Clement arranges the songs — and these are some of Melomé’s finest arrangements, in my opinion. “Towe Nin” isn’t a propulsive powerhouse like the Dougbé tracks on “Legends of Benin,” but it does have tons of style, and the band sounds extremely confident. My favorite detail of many — like, listen to the shaker solo in the middle! — on this track is the final passage, where three voices suddenly meld into an extremely Western, Beatle-y harmonic finale (with an unresolved final chord). Where did that come from?! It blows my mind to think about how these guys were hearing music and writing music in Benin in the ’70s…

2. Hürel - “Ve Ölüm” - “Tip Top” soundtrack

The other night we watched a DVD that was part of our Non-Classic French Cinema Program that Paige has been drafting for us, featuring movies she figures French people would know but that didn’t get exposed to American audiences. This one was… baffling — the problems were French cultural ones that we really didn’t grok at all. Which was kind of cool. An odd detail was that this song featured prominently throughout the trailer and the film, though we couldn’t figure out, like, why. But we knew immediately that it was awesome.

And… this track sent us down the rabbit hole of Anatolian rock, which turns out to be Turkish psych music from the ’60s & ’70s. We’ve played Erkin Koray’s “Cemalim” and thought that was cool, but had no idea it was a burgeoning scene with tons of creative writers and amazing songs. We’ve spent a lot of time checking out Anatolian music since, and I can tell we��re just getting started. So: thank you to a giant French crowdpleaser movie for the Anatolian clue-in!

3. They Might Be Giants - “Nothing’s Gonna Change My Clothes” 

I was not expecting to experience a They Might Be Giants renaissance at this point in my life, but this is just further proof that time has a lot of tricks up its sleeve. This song tells me a lot about what I like now by re-presenting what I liked then, showing off completely new facets I hadn’t yet appreciated. This song is lousy with insights… including that super Slanted Malkmus-y scream at the very end!)

4. Jacqueline Taïeb - “La fac de lettres”

Jacqueline Taïeb is probably my single favorite French pop artist, even though her body of work is way smaller than most of the runners-up. (I would say the closest contender is Jacque Dutronc.) She’s so full of irrepressible character, it just bubbles up out of the vocal performances. Her biggest hit was “7 heures du matin,” in the character of a bored, rock-obsessed teenager trying to figure out what to wear to school that morning, and “La fac du lettres” kind of picks up the thread: now she’s in the auditorium at school, learning about British history — the invasion of Normandy, the Hundred Years’ War — and pining to get back to the recording studio. 

5. La Card - “Jedno zbogom za tebe”

I didn’t know what circumstance would call for Yugoslavian synth pop warped by endless cassette plays, but it turns out that driving a thousand miles west in one fell swoop requires a certain amount of ’80s vibes. Turns out Yugoslavia had a pretty rich punk/new wave scene in the ’80s, and even though the songs were often critical of the Communist government, they were not only allowed to be played but, to a certain extent, supported by the government, and there were also several magazines covering punk, new wave, ska (!), and rock music in Yugoslavia.

6. Suicide - “Shadazz” 

Maybe it’s the band name, but I was never able to find a place for myself in the music of Suicide, despite how many bands I dig who cite them. But Paige pulled this track, and now I’m starting to get it. I also really like how the kick drum fits against the cymbal-ish sound loop that leads the percussion. 

7. Girma Beyene - “Ene Negn Bay Manesh”

Man, Ethiopia was swingin so hard in the ’60s and ’70s! This track combines the organ-driven band dynamic with a smooth Western vocal croon that I’ve never quite heard before. 

8. Os Mutantes - “Trem Fantasma” 

I still can’t believe that I haven’t been listening to this album my whole life — it’s so freaking amazing from beginning to end. Every song feels like its own complete cinematic experience, with narrative twists and turns, a high-drama dynamic, and each voice taking on a host of characters, independently and together. “Trem Fantasma” is an entire album contained in a single song — and that’s what it’s like with every song on their debut album. PLUS it’s got the coolest possible cover. Truly, I’m still in awe at this album. It makes me wonder: what did the Beatles think of this record?! 

9. The Beatles - “Think for Yourself” 

This is one of those songs that I feel like established whole new harmony relationships in Western pop… and this likely isn’t even one of their top 50 songs for most Beatles fans. Apparently, they had the main tracks recorded already — this is one of George’s first songs, it’s just 1965 — and they threw the harmonies on in “a light-hearted session” between two other things they were in the middle of, because they were under pressure to get this album finished. That’s amazing! Also, this song is the first one to use a fuzzbox on a bass: Paul played one (excellent) part on clean bass, and another one one all fuzzed out, which became the lead guitar — in fact, John had a guitar part but scrapped it to play an organ instead. What a righteous song to kick off the concept of lead bass guitar! That was Harvey Danger’s big compositional secret: Aaron wrote and played most of the lead guitar parts on bass, and had a fantastic sense of what he could do with the tone of his instrument. 

10. Erkin Koray - “Öksürük” 

Anatolian rock! It has its own note scale, that gives it this Eastern tonality while working in Western rock shapes and with what feels like a very relatably wry sense of humor. Erkin Koray is right up there in the firmament for us — the whole genre is full of welcome discoveries, but Koray is a really unique guitarist and composer beyond any particular genre. This track plays up his lead guitar passages while maintaining a pretty undeniable disco downbeat, and his vocal delivery strikes me as more French than anything. And yet the whole thing is so deeply and fully Turkish.

11. Vaudou Game - “Pas Contente”

We’ve been so head-over-heels for Beninese funk and rock from the ’60s and ’70s that our fantasies about that music are completely separated from any music happening today. But Vaudou Game is led by Peter Solo, a Togolese musician who grew up on the sound of T.P. Orchestre and decided to work with it himself. His band is handpicked and mostly I think French — the sound is I think a really impressive take on classic Beninese style but with very modern feel. This track is from 2014. I’m looking forward to digging in some more, because it’s a thrill to find a live wire in this music style. 

12. Cut Off Your Hands - “Higher Lows and Lower Highs”

This is one of my favorite tracks from the last 5 years. I get so absorbed in the way the bass part relates to all of the other pieces. The bass is absolutely the reason this song works — just tune into it and check out how the whole world of the song bends to accommodate it.

The Gang of Roesli - “Don’t Talk about Freedom”

Years ago, when I took over Eleven magazine, there was a giant stack of mailed-in CDs in the editor’s office. I didn’t hang onto many of them, but there was a set from Now-Again Records that just looked like something we should spend more time with. Turns out that one of them was “Those Shocking Shaking Days,” a collection of trippy, heavy Indonesian rock. I didn’t get it at the time, but lately I’ve certainly been picking up what they were laying down. The baroque keys, the vocal la’s, the hitched-up bass and guitar, that little bass lick, the harmonica… I would love to have been around for the session this came from. 

13. Warm Gun - “Broken Windows” - “PAINK”

More paink from France, in the mode of Richard Hell, short sweet and rowdy.

14. Duo Kribo - “Uang” - “Those Shocking Shaking Days”

This is another amazing Indonesian track — amazing for a completely different reason than The Gang of Roesli. Such a note-perfect rendition of chart-topping American (and German — what’s up, Scorps?) rock, but their own song nonetheless! This song attracts me, repels me, attracts me, repels me, on and on in equal measure. To me the kicker is the outro section, which sounds like something Eko Roosevelt came up with… thousands of miles and many genres away from Duo Kribo.

15. The Real Kids - “All Kindsa Girls”

Even as the theoretical pleasures of Facebook overall continue to recede, I find myself glad of a FB group somebody let me in on: Now Playing. The only stipulation about posts is that you have to include a photo of the actual record that you are actually playing — beyond that, it could be any genre, any period, whatever. People post interesting albums all the time, and will often write up their thoughts or memories about the band when they do. Boston’s The Real Kids just sounded like something I should know about, so I hunted it down and man, they were not wrong. Not everything on the album was for us, but right from the African-sounding guitar intro, “All Kindsa Girls” certainly was. Lead guitar/vocal guy John Felice was an early member of the Modern Lovers and a fellow VU devotee with his neighbor Jonathan Richman — he also spent time as a Ramones roadie. I’m tickled by how much the penultimate guitar riff sounds like something off the first Vampire Weekend album, and the final riff was destined to become a punk classic.

16. De Frank Professionals - “Afe Ato Yen Bio” 

We broadcast the first part of this episode from the cockpit of the van rocketing between New York and Illinois. Not long after we got here to the woods, a package showed up from Analog Africa with our new “Afro-Beat Airways” reissue, as well as their first indispensable T.P. Orchestre collection, “The Skeletal Essences of Afro-Funk 1969-1980.” We’re celebrating that record with this absolutely killer song by De Frank Professionals, a band about whom very little is known. I am in love with every part of this song, from the sixth-beat hi-hat accent to those tandem vocal parts and that beautiful guitar tone. This track has quickly risen to being one of our all-time faves. Bless Samy Ben Redjeb and everyone at AA for doing the work to find these amazing recordings, track down the musicians, pay them for rights to release, and making these miraculous finds available!

17. Ros Serey Sothea - “Shave Your Beard” 

Concurrent to our African fascination has been the gorgeous and thoroughly tragic revelation of Cambodia’s richly talented and expressive rock scene that was utterly destroyed by the Khmer Rouge. There were so many amazing musicians in the scene, but certainly the most flat-out amazing voice was Ros Serey Sothea’s, as this track makes clear. I also love just how sophsticated and innovative these Cambodian song arrangements are — they really take Western ’60s pop into a new world, with intricate guitar parts and really solidly satisfying instrumental structures.

18. King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard - “O.N.E.”

This is a hard band to keep up with, for a variety of reasons — they can be so intense, and their guitar-rock prog virtuosity can get a bit off-putting if you’re not ready for it. This track, though, reminds me of a host of favorite reference points from the last twenty years of rock. This recording makes me wish that they could have played with Bailiff in Chicago in 2012 — I think everyone would have gained a lot from that connection.

Also, the video is so beautiful!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkZd2lBQb2c

19. Ettika - “Ettika” - “Chebran: French Boogie Vol. 2”

French culture is shot through with African references. Ettika was an early ’80s hit with musicians besotted by synths and American rap styles. This band was produced by a noted French composer who was married to a Cameroonian and very much into African groove. This “French Boogie” collection is full of African-style gems heavily refracted through the decade’s new technology.

20. Spice Girls - “Wannabe”

I yield the floor.

*As I mention in the “broadcast” it just felt right. That confident opening line. What are guilty pleasures? How do you feel listening to this song? And y’all already have our phone numbers, so that’s no surprise!

- The Gang of Roesli - “Don’t Talk about Freedom”

21. Steely Dan - “Reelin’ in the Years”

Gut reaction: do you actually love this song? Do you actually hate this song? Do you find that your reaction changes moment by moment within the experience of listening to the song, where your personal experience clashes with your cultural memory associations? Me too.

22. Zia - “Kofriom” - “Helel Yos”

I don’t remember how I got to this track, but holy smokes am I glad we did! It’s pretty freakin hard to find out anything about Zia. The cover of this album portrays an older man with dyed hair and a white blazer over a black collar… but I did actually find a video of Zia performing this song on Iranian public television, and he looks considerably younger and less flash than that. In fact, he’s sporting a tan three-piece suit with a wide tie, all alone on a heavily mirrored stage, and he kind of looks like he might be running for a senate seat in his spare time. It’s a very weird effect. But meanwhile: this whole album is super cool, very expressive of an emotional state I definitely don’t understand. The handclaps are absolutely top notch in the rhythm — they remind me of Ayalew Mesfin’s awesome “Gedawo.”

23. Jo LeMaire & Flouze - “Je Suis Venue te Dire Que je M’en Vais”

Doesn’t this sound like something you could have had intense adolescent feelings to? 

*I first heard this song in the trailer for Boy Meets Girl  and then later in the film. (Not my personal favorite Carax but definitely great, and the music and sound design is top notch.) Then my French teacher suggested I check out a song, and it was this song. So that’s neat!

24. Rung Petchburi - “Pai Joi” - “Thai? Dai!: The Heavier Side of the Lukthung Underground”

We’re still just getting to know Lukthung music, but for the last couple weeks we’ve been getting deeper and deeper into Thai rock, psych, surf and funk. It’s a rich vein, and it shares some really interesting characteristics with seemingly unrelated regions, like Turkey and Ethiopia.

Black Brothers - “Saman Doye”

I’m telling you, “Those Shocking Shaking Days” will improve your life immediately.

25. Nahid Akhtar - “Dil de Guitar” - from “Good Listener Vol 1,” 

This collection just came out this month, which was a surprise because we just stumbled across this track by reading about Nahid Akhtar elsewhere. What an AMAZING track! This was recorded and released in Pakistan in 1977, and I can’t even imagine how they wrote it, much less recorded it. The drum loops seem like they hadn’t been invented yet… but there they are, cranked up to their highest speed. It’s a collage of ideas and hooks, all just crammed together into a single song. the main hook reminds me a bit of “Jogi Jogi,” our favorite Pakistani song on WBFF thus far. I feel like I could listen to this song a hundred times and hear something new each time. Akhtar’s voice is so expressive and confident in those long held notes — and who is that ogre doing call and response with her? So weird. So cool.

[zillanewt]

What’s In Your Head?

Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four

summary: So, the year is 1999. Eddie is 23 years old, telepathic, and lives with his childhood best friend, Bill, in Portland, Maine. He meets a young musician with a knack for speed named Richie at a bar. Based off @trashmouthloser‘s mutant!loser club headcanons!!

pairing: reddie

words: 1.9K

warnings: mentions of child neglect

A/N: I literally woke up at 3:30 in the morning and thought “wow I’m gay and I need to write something gay.” So, this chapter is literally full of 3 am feelings. Once again, thank you to everyone who read, liked, and reblogged! It makes me so happy when y’all enjoy my stuff. Please message me if you would like to be added to the taglist!

Officially, they were not dating...yet. After the house party, Richie had begun to invite Eddie to hang out more often, but none of it was ever an official date. Sure, they had spent plenty of time together, either in their apartments or cruising around in Richie’s 1987 El Camino and listening to mixtapes together.

Although, most of the time, Eddie was distracted by Richie repeatedly thinking, “the front is like a car, and the back is like a truck. The front is where you drive, and the back is where you fuck.” It was, if only slightly annoying, kinda endearing.

Much to Eddie’s satisfaction, Richie was so comfortable around him that he let Eddie freely read his thoughts whenever he wanted to. Not even Bill placed that level of trust in him, as he always maintained Eddie must ask first. So, during a majority of their time together, Eddie would try and hone it on Richie’s thoughts.

It was slightly difficult though, due to Richie’s nature.

Not only was Richie such a high energy person with the speed of the Energizer bunny, his thoughts seemed to follow the same pattern. It was often whenever Eddie even tried to read his thoughts, he’d be thinking at five hundred words a minute - and none of those words followed a logical pattern. To be honest, he appreciates the symbol of trust, but he doesn’t really listen to Richie’s thoughts casually because he can’t keep up.

Furthermore, ever since he has known the man, Richie has done nothing but praise and encourage his abilities, which Eddie definitely wasn’t used to. As a telepathic, he was used to be the problem solver for everyone else, but nobody could really quell his insecurities until now. So, their relationship works in a symbiotic nature. Eddie comforts and advises Richie whenever he’s upset, and Richie assures Eddie he isn’t useless and freakish.

So, no, they hadn’t been on an official date, despite their friend's desires for them to just get it over with, but Eddie was plenty satisfied with what they had between them. Unlike Eddie’s previous relationships, he didn’t feel as if he needed to make either of them put on a button up shirt and nice slacks, go to an Italian restaurant where the waiter is a dick, and then get handsy at the end of the night to have a meaningful relationship.

But that wasn’t to say, the two of them weren’t handsy anyways. They just preferred to get frisky in jeans and t-shirts instead.

Eddie loved his relationship to Richie and how free he felt around him, so he wasn’t particularly in hurry to slap a label on it.

****************

One night, they were eating at McDonald’s at two in the morning, but Richie was uncharacteristically quiet. So much so that it was disheartening to Eddie. He definitely didn’t like a quiet Richie, because that meant he was wandering around in murky territory.

“You’ve barely touched your burger,” Eddie points out, trying to ignore the way Richie stares blankly at his extra large Coke (“As if you need more sugar,” Eddie once teased).

Richie glanced up at Eddie and forced a painfully fake smile, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. Eddie could see so much hurt in his eyes, and it pained him. He just wanted to read the other’s thoughts, so he could fix the problem, but a voice from childhood was screaming at him in his head.

Maybe, this was too personal for Eddie to know. They’ve only known each other for a couple months, and Eddie was internally screaming at himself not to intrude.

“I’m just not that hungry,” Richie replied quietly, still displaying a faux smile which was still giving Eddie chest pains.

“You’re never this quiet,” Eddie says even quieter as if he’s afraid Richie is going to shout at him to mind his own business at any moment. Though he knows in his heart Richie would never do that. Richie refuses to lose his temper and yell at Eddie, even when he’s ready to burst from anger.

He doesn’t reply.

Nothing is said further on the subject until they get in Richie’s car and hit the highway, speeding down at 90 miles per hour because nobody is on.

“Do you think I’m annoying?” Richie whispers, almost hoping Eddie doesn’t catch it.

And Eddie almost doesn’t, as it was so quiet it was practically drowned out by Eddie’s childhood jams mixtape.

Despite knowing better, Eddie glanced over and saw tears forming in Richie’s eyes. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, causing tears to well up in his eyes too. In an instant, he wanted to find whoever even implied Richie was a nuisance and tell them off.

Eddie grabbed at Richie’s hand which was resting on the gear shift and intertwined their fingers. When Eddie finally spoke, Richie paid close attention to his face out of the corner of his eye.

“I mean,” Eddie started, “you constantly tick me off and give me headaches, but I wouldn’t ever trade you for someone else. And anyone who says you’re annoying has to answer to me because only I get to bully you.”

There was a gentle smile plastered on Eddie’s face as he said all of it, and it made Richie’s heart beat ten times faster. He couldn’t believe someone so beautiful and considerate could even give two shits about him. For reassurance, he squeezed Eddie’s hand, and the other man squeezed back in kind.

He thinks this specific moment was the one he officially fell for Eddie, and they weren’t even dating yet.

When they arrived at Eddie’s apartment, Richie realized he didn’t want to be alone tonight. Surprisingly, he didn’t even want into Eddie’s pants. He just wanted to hold Eddie close to him as the smaller man slept and his mind raced. He wanted to feel the soft skin of Eddie’s waist as his shirt rode up and to intertwine their legs.

He wanted Eddie so bad.

“Can I stay with you, tonight?” he asked in a choked whisper, ready to mentally kick himself when Eddie inevitably rejected him.

The rejection never came, though.

Eddie only nodded gently and solemnly, getting out of the car. Richie instantly followed suit and rushed to where Eddie was standing on the doorstep. He hugged the other man from behind and held on tightly as Eddie sort through his keys, burying his nose into the crook of Eddie’s neck and smelling the sweet scent of peaches. Richie secretly knew Eddie used women’s perfume, but he never said anything about it due to Eddie’s sensitivity about his masculinity.

When Eddie finally got the door unlocked, Richie had to restrain himself from bolting in and up the stairs. Instead, he followed Eddie at a timid pace, trying to keep as quiet as possible so as not to wake the other tenants and Bill.

Richie wanted to scream for joy when they got to Eddie’s apartment and, eventually, his bedroom.

He’s been in Eddie’s room before, but never this late at night. They hadn’t gone all the way yet, because, again, they were taking things slow. Everything felt so much more serene when it was drowned out in the moonlight and streetlights.

As one would expect Eddie’s room looked like that of an adult with one exception. Eddie had posters of Culture Club and Billy Idol hung up, and Richie found his nostalgic fondness for the ‘80s to be entirely endearing. Whenever Richie teased him about his love for Boy George, Eddie always replied “I was a gay kid in the ‘80s. Who else am I supposed to be obsessed with?”

“I don’t have anything for you to wear,” Eddie stated, snapping him out of his thoughts, “because none of it would fit, you giant.”

“You know what else is giant, Eddie Spaghetti?” Richie teased. “My wang.”

“God, shut up,” Eddie huffed, rolling his eyes playfully. “I should’ve left you at McDonald’s.”

Richie stripped down to his boxers, feeling comfortable enough to sleep almost naked with Eddie. As he struggled to get out of his tight jeans, he remarked, “then who would tell you what a pretty boy you are?”

Much to Richie’s satisfaction, Eddie blushed wildly like a schoolboy. “Just get into bed,” Eddie snapped with no real bite.

“I love it when you order me around,” Richie drawled, complying with the request. Eddie just audibly groaned in response.

For a moment, Eddie left the room to go to the bathroom and brush his teeth. When he came back, he was dressed in large Beatles shirt (that Richie recognized as his) and boxers. He got underneath the covers, then turned to face Richie.

“Hey,” he whispered, “do you want to talk about earlier?”

“Not really,” the other immediately responded.

There was a moment of silence as Eddie worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Can I read your mind, instead?” Eddie asked hopefully.

Richie considered it for a moment, knowing it would be easier than actually explaining the problem to Eddie. Soon, he relented.

“Ok,” Eddie started, “so I’m going to do something I haven’t really done since high school, so don’t freak out if I start having tremors.”

Before Richie could ask what the fuck that meant, Eddie put his fingers on both of Richie’s temples, closing his eyes in concentration.

Richie’s mind was running so quickly it was hard to focus on the specific problem. But, all of his thoughts seemed to be about his parents, who Richie never discussed voluntarily.

Eddie could see memories of Mr. Tozier calling Richie dumb and a failure, and then Mrs. Tozier wishing she simply had another child instead of Richie entirely. It irked Eddie to no end that the other’s parents would treat him this way when Richie wasn’t even that bad of a guy.

Sure, he cursed like a sailor and always said inappropriate things at inappropriate times. And sure, Richie was a notorious chain-smoker, much to Eddie’s dismay. But none of those things warrant this kind of treatment. Richie deserved to be loved like every other child, and Eddie hates Richie’s parents for taking that away from him.

Finally, Eddie found the specific problem. Richie’s parents hadn’t invited him home for Thanksgiving this year, which must’ve led Richie to believe they did it because they thought he was annoying.

Truthfully, they did it because they’re shitty parents, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Rich, honey,” Eddie cooed, “you don’t need your parents. Why should you care what they think of you? You’re an awesome and talented musician. You’ve got plenty of friends who would literally bend over backward for you. And, you’ve got a cute boyfriend who thinks you’re one of the coolest people he’s ever met. Honestly, I wouldn’t want you to spend Thanksgiving with them anyway. You belong here with us in Portland.”

Richie felt like he was about to cry, but he didn’t know how he could possibly respond to that. Instead, he just pulled Eddie as close as possible, holding him tightly. Eddie relaxed in his grip and placed a chaste kiss on his jawline.

After a moment of silence, Richie finally replied.

“Wow. I can’t believe you called me your boyfriend. You must really like me, Kaspbrak.”

But nothing was said to refute the fact.

“Shut up, trashmouth,” Eddie said, rolling over so they could spoon. “You know I do. Now go to sleep already.”

Something swelled in Richie’s chest, as he pulled Eddie to his chest and buried his nose in the crook of his neck again.

For once in his life, he felt lucky.

taglist: 

@asteroidbill, @ttrxshmouth, @lukemybieber, @neutral-gal, @lolrichie, @omgboiledcabbages

#reddie #my fics #what's in your head?

[thedrude]

Meeting THE POLICE pt. 2

In ‘95, I took my first staff job, moving from San Francisco to LA to work at Disney Interactive. Despite seeing Stewart perform live several times I had yet to meet him. I knew he lived in LA but was baffled by the credits on his solo records and soundtracks listing his studio as The Worried Rabbit, Nineveh Assyria. I knew he had spent his youth in Beirut and Cairo so I thought, maybe he spends part of the year over there? I finally looked it up to find that Nineveh was an ancient Mesopotamian city – in other words it was bullshit!

Digging further I found the name Kinetic Studios in Culver City. I mailed a color copy of my Stewart portrait from my Journal with a letter. A young guy my age, Ryan, called and invited me to Stewart’s studio! The next day I walked into Kinetic Studios, MTV Music Awards strewn on the floor. I don’t have much of a story for Stewart. He was at a computer working on a film score. Smiling and friendly he stopped to talk to me and sign the portrait. I gave him a framed painting which I imagine he stuck in a closet immediately (an attractive piece with nice colors but seeing as it collaged multiple figures of Stewart hanging from a noose <from the sleeve art of the “Can’t Stand Losing You” single> it was not the cheeriest image). Stupidly, I didn’t bring a camera!

From ’95 'til The Police Reunion in ’07 I saw every Stewart and/or Andy gig in LA I could possibly make. When Stewart and Andy were rumored to be appearing at the sold out The Police Rock en Español gig at the House of Blues Sunset, I went down there and scored a ticket. When they played with Incubus at the KROQ Acoustic Christmas, I was there (thanks to my good friend Mike McLaughlin for that one). George Martin presenting Beatles music at the Hollywood Bowl (Stewart on drums, and Andy a last minute addition on guitar), I was there. I had tickets to see Stewart play with The Doors (The Cult’s Ian Astbury on vocals) at the Universal Ampitheatre - was disappointed when Stewart had to cancel. Oysterhead at the Palladium. Andy at tiny jazz club The Baked Potato.

I was living in Glendale at the time, about 3 miles from the Cahuenga Blvd location that Andy played constantly. He seemed to play at least one night a week. I would have this conversation with myself, “but I just saw him last week, and the week before, and the week before..” before inevitably leaving my boring apartment to have a couple drinks and watch Andy rip it up, always with stellar musicians. Bassist Jerry Watts and drummer Bernie Dresel were the most regular rhythm section I can recall, though Gregg Bissonette was on drums at least a couple times. Latter day Who drummer Simon Phillips played one night, his kit hilariously crowding Andy and Jerry off the tiny stage. I went to most of Andy’s photo exhibitions as well. Through all these, I got to know Andy and his assistant Dennis a little bit. I’ve got to say Andy tended to be a bit grumpy when I showed up on my own, and to my amusement all smiles and charm when I would bring a woman! (Haha!) I showed him my artwork whenever I got the chance. He was particularly taken with my Puzzled 2 piece, saying to my delight “it would be a great album cover.”

The greatest of these little Hollywood gigs, was of course in'07, when as one of Stewart’s “Nutters” I got into the Whisky A Go Go for The Police Rehearsals / Press Conference. It was unreal - by that point I had long since given up on The Police reuniting! Redundant, but it’s worth saying, I fucking love that band!

[sweetdreamsjeff]

Remember Me? - Extract from Dream Brother Part 1 of 2

Jeff Buckley drowned three years ago. He’d seemed on the brink of a brilliant rock ‘n’ roll future. Yet he had never shaken off his obsession, part anger, part yearning, with the father he had barely known - Tim Buckley, legendary singer-songwriter. David Browne on their lives and destiny

Friday 15 December 2000 19.17 EST

Although dusk was in sight, the moist, breezy Memphis air still felt mosquito-muggy inside and outside. It was May 1997 and Jeff Buckley, who had turned 30 about six months earlier, emerged from his bedroom in black jeans, ankle-high black boots, and a white T-shirt with long black sleeves and “Altamont” (in honour of the Rolling Stones’ anarchic, death-shrouded 1969 concert) inscribed on it. Though officially out of his 20s, he remained a rock'n'roll kid at heart. As he and his tour manager Gene Bowen stood outside on the front porch, Jeff said he was heading out for a while. Generally Bowen would accompany Jeff on expeditions while on tour, but tonight Bowen needed space. Some mattresses would be delivered shortly, and the last thing he needed was Jeff bouncing around the house when they arrived.

           So, when Jeff told Bowen he would be leaving with Keith Foti, Bowen was mostly relieved. Foti was even more of a character than Jeff was. A fledgling songwriter and musician and a full-time haircutter in New York City, Foti had accompanied Bowen from New York to Memphis in a rented van, the band’s gear and instruments crammed in the back. Stocky and wide-faced, with spiky, blue-dyed hair, Foti, who was 23, could have been the star of a Saturday morning cartoon show about a punk rock band.

Jeff told Bowen that he and Foti had decided to drive to the rehearsal space the band would be using during the upcoming weeks. Bowen told them to be back at the house by nine to greet the band. Jeff said fine, and he and Foti ambled down the gravel driveway to the van parked in front of the house.

Suddenly it dawned on Bowen: did Jeff and Foti know where the rehearsal space was? For non-natives, Memphis’s layout can be confusing; it wouldn’t be hard to get lost or suddenly find one’s self in a dicey part of town. Bowen bolted through the front door, but the van was already gone. Oh, well, he thought, they’ll find the building. After all, they had been there just yesterday.

Cruising around Memphis in their bright yellow Ryder van, past weathered shacks, barbecue joints, pawnshops and strip malls, Jeff and Foti made for an unusual sight. Foti was in the driver’s seat, which was for the best; Jeff was an erratic driver. They cranked one of Foti’s mix tapes, and the two of them sang along to the Beatles’ I Am The Walrus, John Lennon’s Imagine and Jane’s Addiction’s Three Days. Foti and Jeff both loved Jane’s Addiction and its shamanesque, hard-living singer, Perry Farrell. It took Jeff back to the days in the late 80s when he was living and starving in Los Angeles, trying to make a name for himself.

It wasn’t Jeff’s fault that he shared some vocal and physical characteristics with his father and fellow musician, Tim Buckley. Both men had the same sorrowful glances, thick eyebrows and delicate, waifish airs that made women of all ages want to comfort and nurture them. It wasn’t Jeff’s fault, either, that he inherited Tim’s vocal range, five-and-a-half octaves that let Tim’s voice spiral from a soft caress into bouts of rapturous, orgasmic sensuality. In the 60s, Tim wrote and sang melodies that blended folk, jazz, art song and R&B; he had a large cult following himself, and some of those songs had been recorded by the likes of Linda Ronstadt and Blood, Sweat & Tears.

When Jeff had begun writing his own music, he, too, moved in unconventional ways, crafting rhapsodies that changed time signatures and leapt from folkish delicacy to full-throttle metal roar. None of this, he insisted, came from his father’s influence. His biggest rock influence and favourite band was, he said, Led Zeppelin. To his friends, Jeff talked about his bootleg of Physical Graffiti out-takes with more affection and fannish enthusiasm than he ever did about the nine albums his father had recorded during the 60s and 70s.

Tonight, for once, Tim’s ghost was not lurking in the rearview mirror. If anything, Jeff seemed at peace with his father’s memory for perhaps the first time in his life. Whenever Jeff had mentioned Tim in the past, it was with flashes of irritation or resignation. He sounded as if he were discussing a far-off celebrity, not a father or even a family member. In a way, Tim was barely either: he and his first wife, Mary Guibert, had separated before Jeff was born, and Jeff had been raised to view Tim’s life and music warily. But in the past few months, Jeff seemed to have begun to understand his father’s music and, more importantly, his motivations.

Jeff’s years in Los Angeles hadn’t been fruitful, but when he moved to New York in the autumn of 1991, a buzz began building around the skinny, charismatic kid with the big-as-a-cathedral voice and the eclectic repertoire. Many record companies came calling, and he eventually, hesitatingly, put his name on a contract with one of them, Columbia. After an initial EP, an album, Grace, finally appeared in 1994. A brilliant sprawl of a work, the album traversed the musical map, daring listeners to find the common ground that linked its choral pieces, Zeppelin-dipped rock and amorous cabaret. Certainly one of the links was Jeff’s voice, an intense and seemingly freewheeling instrument that wasn’t afraid to glide from operatic highs and overpowering shrieks to a conversational intimacy.

Beyond being simply one of the most moving albums of the 90s, Grace branded Jeff as an actual, hype-be-damned talent for the age. The record business was always eager to promote newcomers in such a manner, but here was someone with both a sense of musical history and seemingly limitless potential. Like Bob Dylan and Van Morrison before him, he appeared to be on the road to a long and commanding career in which even a creative misstep or two would be worth poring over. Comparisons with Tim were inevitable, and a disturbing number of fortysomethings had materialised at Jeff’s concerts to ask him about his father. But, much to Jeff’s relief, the comparisons had begun to diminish with each passing month.

Grace hadn’t been the smash hit Columbia would have liked, but worldwide it had sold nearly 750,000 copies, and it was talked up by everyone from Paul McCartney and U2 to Zeppelin’s Robert Plant and Jimmy Page. Fans in Britain, Australia and France adored him even more passionately than those in America. To his managers and record company, Jeff was a shining star, a gateway to prestige, money and credibility. A very great deal was riding on the songs he was testing out on the four-track recorder in the living room of his house in Memphis. Jeff didn’t like to think about those pressures, which is partly why he moved 1,000 miles away from New York. Here, he could think, write, create.

The drive from Jeff’s house to Young Avenue, where the rehearsal room was located, should have taken 10 minutes down a few tree-lined streets. But something was wrong. Before Jeff and Foti knew it, nearly an hour had passed and there was still no sign of the two-storey red-brick building. They found themselves circling around a variety of neighbourhoods, past underpasses for Interstate 240 and pawnshops. To Foti, everything began to look the same.

Jeff had an idea. “Why don’t we go down to the river?” he said. It sounded good to Foti, who had brought along his guitar and felt like practising a song he was writing. Having a talented, well-regarded rock star as an audience wouldn’t be so bad, either.

The Wolf River did not look particularly wolfish; it barely had the feel of a river. The city government had passed an ordinance banning swimming, but no signs indicated this restriction. According to locals, there didn’t have to be, since everyone in Memphis knew it was far from an ideal swimming hole. The first six inches of water could be warm and innocuous-looking, but thanks to the intersection with the Mississippi the undercurrents were deceptive. All day long and into the early hours of the morning, 200ft-long barges carrying goods from the local granaries and a cement factory hauled their cargo up and down the Wolf. With their churning motors, the tugboats that pulled the barges were even fiercer and had been known to create strong wakes. Local coastguard employees had once witnessed a 16ft flat-bottom boat being sucked under the water in the wake of a tug. Memphis lore had it that at least one person a year drowned in the Wolf.

Even if Jeff had heard these stories, he either didn’t care or disregarded them. Hopping over a 3ft-high brick wall, Jeff and Foti strode across a cement promenade strewn with picnic tables. Then Jeff hiked his black combat boots on to the bottom rung on the steel rail that ran alongside the promenade and jumped over. Foti, gripping his guitar, followed, and they found themselves barrelling down a steep slope, swishing through knee-high brush, ivy and weeds.

On the way down, Jeff shed his coat - just dropped it in the brush. “You’re not gonna leave it here, are you?” Foti asked, stopping quickly to pick it up. Jeff didn’t seem to be listening. Carrying Foti’s boom box, he continued down to the riverbank. The shore was littered with rocks, soda cans and shattered glass bottles, and it quickly sloped into the water just inches away. As gentle waves lapped on to the shoreline, Jeff set Foti’s boom box on one of the many jagged slate rocks on the bank, just an inch or so above the water. “Hey, man, don’t put my radio there,” Foti told him. “I don’t want it going in the water. It’s my only unit of sound.” Jeff didn’t seem to pay particular attention to that request, either.

By now, just after 9pm, Foti had strapped on his guitar and started practising his song. Looking right at Foti, Jeff took a step or two away, his back to the river. Before Foti knew it, Jeff was knee-high in the water. “What are you doin’, man?” Foti said. Within moments, Jeff’s entire body eased into the water, and he began doing a backstroke.

At first, Foti wasn’t too concerned: Jeff was still directly offshore, just a few feet away. He and Foti began musing about life and music as Jeff backstroked around in circles. “You know, the first one’s fun, man - it’s that second one … ” Jeff said, his voice trailing off as he continued to backstroke in the water.

With each stroke, Jeff inched more and more out into the river. Foti noticed and said, “Come in, you’re gettin’ too far out.” Instead, Jeff began singing Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love. “He was just on his own at that point,” Foti says. “He didn’t really observe my concerns.” Jeff had an impetuous, spur-of-the-moment streak. Many of his friends considered it one of his most endearing qualities; others worried that it bordered on recklessness. Like his father, he liked to follow his muse, to leap into projects passionately and spontaneously, even if they weren’t fashionable or appropriate. Take that night in 1975. Tim was on his way home from a gruelling tour. His record sales were in freefall, but lately he had tried to cut back on his drinking and drugging, and was attempting to get his music and even a potential acting career on track. On the way home from the last stop on his tour, he stopped by the home of a friend, who offered up a few drugs. What was wrong with a little pick-me-up after some exhausting road work? No one knew if Tim realised exactly what he had snorted that late afternoon, but it ultimately didn’t matter; he died that night of an overdose at the age of 28.

Although Jeff had experimented with drugs, he steered clear to avoid his father’s fate, both physically and artistically; he had learned from Tim’s mistakes in the matters of artistic integrity and handling the music business. Onstage, Jeff would often make cracks about dead rock stars, pretending to shoot up or breaking into spot-on mimicry of anyone from Jim Morrison to Elvis Presley. Once this new album was completed, he was planning to dig deeper into his family heritage and unearth the truth behind the seemingly ongoing series of tragedies that haunted his lineage.

Tonight, as he backstroked in the water, Jeff appeared to feel freer than he had in a while. The mere fact that he was in water was a sign of change. Although he had grown up near the beaches of Southern California, Jeff was never a beachcomber.

It was now close to 9.15pm, and Jeff had been in the river nearly 15 minutes. His boots and trousers must gradually have become more sodden and heavy. He began swimming further toward the centre of the river, circling around before drifting to the left of Foti. Then he began swimming straight across to the other side, or so it appeared to Foti. Directly across from them, on the opposite bank, was a dirt road that ran right up from the river. It looked so close - maybe Jeff felt he could reach it and take a quick stroll.

The tugboat came first, moments later. “Jeff, man, there’s a boat coming,” Foti said. “Get out of the fucking water.” The boat was heading in their direction, up from Beale Street. Jeff seemed to take notice of it and made sure to be clear of it as it passed. The next time Foti looked over, he still saw Jeff’s head bobbing in the water.

Not more than a minute had passed when Foti spied another boat approaching. This one was bigger - a barge, perhaps 100ft long. Foti grew more concerned and started yelling louder for Jeff to come back. Once again, Jeff swam out of its path, and Foti breathed another sigh of relief. In the increasing darkness, the speck that was Jeff’s head was just barely visible.

Soon, the water grew choppy, the waves lapping a little more firmly against the riverbank. Foti grew worried about his boom box. The last thing he wanted was to see it waterlogged and unusable. Taking his eye off Jeff for a moment, he stepped over to where Jeff had set the stereo down on a rock and moved it back about five feet, out of reach of the waves. Foti turned back around. There was no longer a head in the water. There was nothing - just stillness, a few rippling aftershock waves, and the marina in the distance. Foti began to scream out Jeff’s name. There was no answer. He yelled more. He continued screaming for nearly 10 minutes.

On the other side of the river, Gordon Archibald, a 59-year-old employee of the marina, was walking near the moored boats with a friend when he heard a single shout of “help”. Concerned, he looked out on to the water. But he saw nothing, nor heard anything more.

The folk singer Tim Buckley, who was to become Jeff’s father, married Mary Guibert in 1965.

It was spring 1966, Mary Guibert was three months pregnant, 18 years old, and Tim was out of town. Even before Tim left for New York, his wife suspected he was spending time with other women. “By no stretch of the imagination was this a marriage made in heaven,” she says. “He hadn’t been faithful to me for very long. And I thought that was perfectly acceptable because, after all, he was so wonderful, and I was so nobody.”

Mary says she told Tim about the pregnancy before he left for New York, but that he told her he had to leave town and that she should move back in with her family in Orange County, near LA, get a job, save money, and “maybe get an abortion or whatever you want to do”, she recalls him saying. Even then, Tim made no mention of another woman. “I just had no idea,” Mary says. “A lot of denial going on. Tons of denial on both sides, because he wouldn’t bring himself, to the very end, to say, 'You know, I really don’t love you very much’.” She sent Tim letters to various addresses in New York; his replies came fitfully and were pointedly vague. Finally, a mutual friend gave her the news: Tim was in New York with a new girlfriend, and would be back in Los Angeles shortly.

Lee Underwood, guitarist in Buckley’s band and a great friend, recalls the situation being a topic of discussion while he and Tim were in New York that summer. Given the choice of returning to Mary and Orange County or following what Underwood calls “his destined natural way”, Tim “decided to be true to himself and his music, fully aware that he would be accepting a lifetime burden of guilt. Tim left, not because he didn’t care about his soon-to-be-born child but because his musical life was just beginning; in addition, he couldn’t stand Mary. He did not abandon Jeff; he abandoned Mary.”

Finally, some action had to be taken. Tim came to meet Mary at a coffee shop near her home. What exactly happened remains unclear. Tim never talked to his friends about it, while Anna Guibert, Mary’s mother, recalls Tim giving Mary an ultimatum: divorce or abortion. According to Mary, she asked Tim what they should do about the marriage and pregnancy, and he replied, “You do whatever you have to do, baby”, and hung his head.

Afterwards, Mary, who was by now many months pregnant, walked home, told her mother the news and cried. As Anna Guibert remembers, “I said, 'That’s the best thing, honey. If he doesn’t want you, be free.’ She was crazy about Tim. But he wanted his career. There was no place for a baby in his life."Mary, however, did want her baby.

He was born on Thursday, November 17, 1966, at 10.49pm, after 21 hours of labour. The issue of identity loomed even before the child left the hospital. Mary named her son Jeffrey Scott - "Jeffrey” after her last high-school boyfriend before Tim (“my last pure boy-girl relationship, my last pure moment”) and “Scott” in honour of John Scott Jr, a neighbour and close friend of the Guiberts who died in an accident at the age of 17. Yet because Mary preferred Scott, the child was instantly called Scotty by his family. Tim was not available for consultation, since no one knew his whereabouts.

At school, Scotty was the eternal clown, making jokes, craving attention and being more interested in music (including cello lessons provided by the school) than grades. His second-floor bedroom became a rock enclave, his most valuable possessions being a Hemispheres picture disc by the prog-rock band Rush and all four of Kiss’s solo albums.

He had a guitar given to him by his grandmother, and although he hadn’t learned to master it, he would sit and cradle it, “like Linus’s blanket”, according to Willie Osborn, his childhood friend. Although Jeff had taken his father’s name, his music tastes reflected none of Tim’s influence. He was just eight years old when Tim died; they had had their only proper encounter just months before.

The meeting between Tim and Jeff Buckley, April 1975.

Mary Guibert was flipping through a local newspaper when she saw a listing for Tim Buckley’s upcoming show. It was, she says, “an epiphany”. It had been six years since she and her first husband had seen each other, and nearly as long since they had spoken. Mary and Jeff took the hour-long drive to Huntington Beach, an oceanside town 10 miles southwest of Orange County, and arrived at the Golden Bear just before Tim walked on-stage. They took a seat on a bench in the second row.

Jeff seemed enraptured, bouncing in his seat to the rhythms of Tim’s 12-string guitar and rock band. “Scotty was in love,” Mary says. “He was immediately entranced. His little eyes were just dancing in his head.” To Mary, Tim was still a dynamic performer, bouncing on his heels with his eyes shut, but she also felt he looked careworn for someone still in his 20s.

At the end of the set, no sooner had Mary asked her son if he wanted to meet his father than the kid was out of his seat and scurrying in the direction of the backstage area. As they entered the cramped dressing room, Jeff clutched his mother’s long skirt. It seemed a foreign and frightening world to him, until he heard someone shout out, “Jeff!” Although no one had called him that before in his life - he was still “Scotty” to everyone - Jeff ran across the room to a table where Tim was resting after the show.

Tim hoisted his son on to his knees and began rocking him back and forth with a smile as Jeff gave his father a crash course on his life, rattling off his age, the name of his dog, his teachers, his half-brother and other vital statistics. “I sat on his knees for 15 minutes,” Jeff wrote later. “He was hot and sweaty. I kept on feeling his legs. 'Wow, you need an iceberg to cool you off!’ I was very embarrassing - doing my George Carlin impression for him for no reason. Very embarrassing. He smiled the whole time. Me too.”

Tim’s drummer, Buddy Helm, recalls. “It was a very personal moment. The kid seemed very genuine, totally in love with his dad. It was like wanting to connect. He didn’t know anything personally about Tim but was there ready to do it.” The same seemed to be true of Tim; after years of distance from his son, he seemed to feel it was time to re-cement whatever bond existed between them.

Shortly after, before the second set began, Judy, Tim’s new partner, asked Mary if it would be acceptable for Jeff to spend a few days at their place: Tim would be leaving soon on tour, but had some free time. It was the start of the Easter break, so Mary agreed. Next morning, she packed Jeff’s clothes in a brown paper bag and drove him to Santa Monica to spend his most extended period of time with his father.

Tim and Judy lived a few blocks from the beach. As Jeff remembered it, the following five days - the first week of April 1975 - were largely uneventful. “Easter vacation came around,” he wrote in 1990. “I went over for a week or so, we made small talk at dinner, watched cable TV, he bought me a model airplane on one of our 'outings’ … Nothing much but it was kind of memorable.” Three years later, he recalled it with much more bitterness: “He was working in his room, so I didn’t even get to talk to him. And that was it.”

Mary recalls Jeff telling her that he would dash into Tim’s room every morning and bounce on the bed. At the end of his stay, Tim and Judy put Jeff on a bus out of Santa Monica, and Mary picked him up at the bus station in Fullerton. When Jeff stepped off, she noticed he was clutching a book of matches. On it, Tim had written his phone number.

By his teens, Jeff was exhibiting impressive musical skills, as another school band member, drummer Paul Derech, discovered when he visited Jeff in the Guibert home in early 1982. Sitting on his bed, Jeff played songs from Al Di Meola’s Electric Rendezvous and the first album by Asia. Even though Derech had to listen closely to Jeff’s guitar - Mary couldn’t yet afford an amplifier for her son - his dexterity was so apparent that Derech literally took a step back.

Once, Jeff pulled out a picture of Tim from his closet and softly said, “I’ve spent a lot of time looking at that picture”, before moving on to another topic. Derech, like other kids, sensed immediately that his father was a sore point. Instead, they talked music. Although punk and new wave were the predominant rock styles of the moment, Jeff had little interest in them. He preferred music that challenged him and transported him to imaginary worlds. In the late 70s and early 80s, that music was prog (short for progressive) and art rock - bands such as Yes, Genesis and Rush that revelled in complex structures, science-fiction-themed lyrics and virtuosic, fleet- fingered guitar parts that only a few teenagers could hope to master. In a friend’s garage, Jeff and Derech soon began jamming on versions of Rush songs. Jeff declined to sing, though; he told friends and family he wanted to be a guitarist, plain and simple.

The reason, some felt, was because he didn’t want to be compared to the musician father he barely knew. “He had exactly the same speaking voice as Tim,” recalls Tamurlaine, the daughter of Herb Cohen, Tim’s one-time manager. She befriended Jeff when he and Mary would visit the Cohen family for dinner. (Cohen and Mary kept in touch after Tim and Mary’s break-up.) During those meals, Jeff’s vocal and physical resemblance to his father led Cohen often to mistakenly call Jeff “Tim”.

Jeff moved to New York City in 1990.

Often sporting his black Hendrix T-shirt, Jeff immediately took to New York, hauling his guitar into the subway to play for change and roaming the streets. “I talked to him right after he got to New York and he was loving it,” recalls his friend Tony Marryatt, a fellow student at Musicians Institute in Hollywood. “He said it was just like a Woody Allen movie.” To support himself, he took a series of day jobs, from working at an answering service (for actors such as F Murray Abraham and Denzel Washington) to being an assistant at a Banana Republic clothes store.

© David Browne 2001. This is an edited extract from Dream Brother: The Lives And Music Of Jeff And Tim Buckley

#jeff buckley #remember me? part 1 #dream brother: the lives and music of jeff and tim buckley #david browne

[amoralto]

This is just a brief supplementary post to my response for this previous ask, which may be edited as and when other quotes trudge through and overcome my ailing recall. So in regards to John’s Desperate Need For Verbal And Explicit Acknowledgment, here’s John’s “I was going through murder and I knew Paul wasn’t” quote in greater context. The interview was, interestingly, conducted only three days after the hush-hush meeting where John made his “I want a divorce, just like my divorce from Cynthia” pronouncement to Paul, although Barry Miles wasn’t to know that at the time:

That’s all we ever get told all our lives – “You haven’t got the ability, you’re a cobbler.” It’s like in one of me books, “You’re a broomstrivest”, or something. The father keeps saying to him: you’re this and get it right what you are. And that’s all we’re told all our lives, what our limits are. What we’ve got to make people aware of is not their limits but what these people’s limits are, what they think the limits are. People are limited into thinking they couldn’t run their own affairs and what we’re trying to say is that you are unlimited and you’re all geniuses and you were all artists and musicians until some bastard told you about 12, “You must do woodwork, and you do metalwork and we haven’t got room in lithography for you, so you’ve got to be a letterer,” and all that. That was going on all the time, it happened to all of us. But if somebody had told me all my life, “Yeah, you’re a great artist, you’re a great artist,” I would have been a more secure person all the time.

The two years before I met Yoko, I think the others were on to the same thing. We all went through a depression after Maharishi and Brian died; it wasn’t really to do with Maharishi, it was just that period. I was really going through the “What’s it all about?” type thing – this songwriting is nothing, it’s pointless, and I’m no good, I’m not talented, and I’m shitty, and I couldn’t do anything but be a Beatle. What am I going to do about it? It lasted nearly two years and I was still in it during Pepper. I know Paul wasn’t at that time; he was feeling full of confidence, and I was going through murder around those periods.

I was just about coming out of it around Maharishi, even though Brian had died – that knocked us back again. Well, it knocked me back. But I’d just about got my confidence, then. With the acid trip scene, I went through that “get rid of your ego” bit. I really had a massive ego three or four years after acid. I spent the whole time trying to destroy my ego, which I did, until I had nothing left. I went to India with Maharishi and that, and he was saying, “Ego is good as long as you look after it, don’t destroy it at all.” But I’d really destroyed it, and I was so paranoiac and weak I couldn’t do anything. I’d really done a good job on the ego, and I was just about building it back up again when I met Yoko. It literally went in weeks. I was just trying to work it back again and get confidence in myself. Then we met Derek again after a long time, and Derek did a good job on building the ego one weekend at his house. Reminding me of who I am and what I’ve done, what I could do. He just reminded me of who I am. Him and a couple of friends did that for me – they said, “You’re great, you are what you are and you’re infinite,” and all that. The next week Yoko came down to Derek’s. That was it; then I just blew out. […]

The things were coming out, and [Yoko] came and opened the door a little bit: “I love you for what you are, whatever it is.” And I respected her genius. For her to love me was the answer then. She wouldn’t have loved a dummy, which I’d begun to think I was. That helped – the accumulation. I was just out of it then.

— John Lennon, interview w/ Barry Miles. (September 23rd, 1969)

I’m sure John and Derek in their self-confidence shindig would have commiserated very easily over some of their feelings about and towards the passive-aggressive, reckless, compulsive, and all-round emotional disaster ocean that Paul was during that time; as Derek Taylor himself was to write in Fifty Years Adrift: “I never hated anyone as much as I hated Paul in the summer of 1968.” John will be John, though, so here he is a mere two years later ranting about Derek Taylor and Neil Aspinall jumping on the Paul bandwagon, in a spectacular display of his zero-sum perspective and gang mentality of everyone only being on one side or the other (when all Derek and Neil were actually concerned about was the togetherness of the band as a whole):

MCCABE: After you gave an interview once, Derek said he was sad you felt that way.

JOHN: Well, that’s the game they play. Neil Aspinall plays that game too. At one point, in one of the Northern Songs proceedings, I sent a telegram to Neil, because I’d heard he’d been doing things behind me back, and I said: “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” Because I was the one that protected him many times from Paul. Paul had no love for Neil, and vice versa. And all of a sudden he’s a Paul man. Because they clung to Paul—Derek included—because they all thought Paul was the one who was going to hold it all together. So they had a choice of which side to come down on, and they chose Paul, and the past, and at that moment I cut ‘em off.

— John Lennon, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld. (September 5th, 1971)

As for John’s recognition of Paul’s manner of Dealing With Things By Not Acknowledging Them: 

WENNER: So Brian [Epstein] died, and then you said – and then what happened is Paul started to take over.

JOHN: Well, that’s – Paul – he— [hesitating] I mean, you know. Paul, I think Paul... I don’t know how much of this I want to put out or tell you. I think Paul had an impression, he has it now, like a parent, that we should be thankful for what he did, you know, for keeping The Beatles going. But when you look upon it objectively, he kept it going for his own sake! Not for my sake did Paul struggle. But Paul made an attempt to carry on as if Brian hadn’t died, by saying, “Now, now, boys, we’re going to make a record.” You know? And, being the kind of person I am, I thought, [flustered voice] “Oh, well, we’re going to make a record, all right.”

— John Lennon, interview w/ Jann Wenner for Rolling Stone. (December 8th, 1970)

And here he is possibly talking about more than writing lyrics:

I always had an easier time with lyrics – although Paul is quite a capable lyricist who doesn’t think he’s a capable lyricist, therefore he doesn’t go for it. Rather than face the problem, he would avoid it, you know?

— John Lennon, interview w/ David Sheff for Playboy. (September, 1980)

Another supplementary post to come soon, hopefully! In the quotes for curious contemplation vein.

#context