Category: Music

Musical Weekend

3/5/2016

My wife is currently reading the autobiography of Helen Keller, who, from a very early age, lost both her sight and hearing. I simply can’t imagine what that must be like - a very different kind of life I guess, though, certainly in Keller’s case, not without joy and a sense of fulfilment . It’s hard for anyone born (especially since the invention of broadcast sound) to conceive of a life without music; it’s all around us a lot of the time. Just step into the garden a moment: hear the radio blaring from the guys working on the loft conversion in the next street, the pounding bass of a passing car as it drives by, or the sound of a child practising piano scales.

A running theme of our past Bank Holiday weekend seems to have been popular music - not intentionally planned though, things simply fell out that way. We’d booked several months back to see Eric Bibb in concert at the Assembly Hall in Tunbridge Wells. We possess several of his albums and have always enjoyed listening to these, so it was very satisfying to get an opportunity to catch him live. He is a highly accomplished blues performer, a beautiful songwriter with a distinctive and very pleasing voice. On Sunday evening he had a band of excellent musicians and backing vocalists accompanying him. His daughter Yana Bibb, a skilled jazz vocalist, provided the support for the first part of the evening. The Bibb family are something of a musical dynasty: Eric Bibb’s father Leon was very active in the New York folk music scene of the 60’s, his godfather was the legendary Paul Robeson and his uncle was the jazz pianist and composer John Lewis. You get the feeling that the musical luminaries of the sixties like Bob Dylan, Judy Collins, Odetta etc regularly dropped by the Bibb family home like my mother’s neighbours in the valleys of South Wales used to pop round to borrow a cup of sugar. Eric Bibb himself moved to Sweden in the Seventies and now lives in Finland. I see one of the dates he has for his current tour is Porthcawl in South Wales - a favoured holiday destination of my family’s when I was a child. I’d love to see him again if I had the opportunity and excuse to pay a visit to Wales at the end of the month! He’s playing at a number of locations all over the UK - so I hope you take the opportunity to see him. Check out Eric Bibb's website for details.

The reason why I said our weekend had a musical theme was because we also watched the George Harrison documentary, Living in the Material World, directed by Martin Scorsese. This is a film in two parts, beautifully realised through hundreds of clips and interviews with those who knew George. If you grew up in the Sixties as I did, The Beatles were inescapably part of your life. And George, the youngest of the four, was in many ways the most fascinating and complex character, often upstaged by Paul and John in the song-writing stakes, he too created some wonderful songs including Something, While My Guitar Gently Weeps, My Sweet Lord and dozens more. If you haven’t seen this film (I’d caught about half of the second part on TV a few years back)and if you’re interested in The Beatles, The Sixties, George Harrison, or all three, this is an excellent film which I can highly recommend.

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Lil' Jimmy Reed

13/7/2014

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I’m still doing a fairly authentic troglodyte impression through my daily strivings down in the cellar. How much preparation can any flippin’ job require, I ask? Then in my head I hear the tempering voice of sound reason (I’ve learned to trust its promptings through many bitter lessons, dear reader) postulate, “Fail to prepare, prepare to fail”. I shrug my shoulders with resigned acceptance, gather together my board and trowel and carry on. Actually, I’m in danger of painting a picture of cellar purgatory here - it really ain’t that bad! And like I’ve said before, I quite enjoy, even relish, a burst of physical work between drafts. I like to move about and flex a muscle or two; the one and only thing I don’t like about writing is all the sitting down it requires, which makes me think that in the future I may research a standing desk.

Anyway, I did emerge from the cellar from time to time, most notably on Thursday evening when my son Tom, who with his encyclopaedic and ever-expanding knowledge of Blues, Jazz and Soul music, invited us to join him and his fiancee and go and see a touring Blues artist called ‘Lil’ Jimmy Reed’ that he’d heard of via the Blues with Bottle mailing-list. The gig was in nearby Sevenoaks at the Stag Theatre’s Plaza Suite venue, and was organised by the Blues with Bottle Club - a local group started some twenty years ago by a group of Blues enthusiasts. It’s a comfortable venue, the evening was relaxed but most importantly the music didn’t disappoint any!

At approximately seventy-five years of age Lil’ Jimmy Reed must be amongst the very last of the Southern Bluesmen who is still umbilically connected to its heyday. He was born in Louisiana, although I understand he now lives in Alabama. His first guitar was fashioned for him out of an old cigar box,and his first professionally made guitar was a gift from his father after he returned home after a successful day at work. He learned to play by ear and never took a lesson in his life. His real name is Leon Atkins and he acquired the name change after turning up to watch the popular blues singer Jimmy Reed; the management at the venue, seeing their man was too worse for wear with drink to put before an audience, and aware of Leon’s growing reputation, thrust him onto the stage, introducing him as Lil’ Jimmy Reed - the name stuck!

This was a terrific evening. Lil’ Jimmy was very ably supported by Bob Hall on boogie- woogie piano and Hilary Blythe on bass guitar. Judith and I were were very glad not to have missed this opportunity of experiencing Lil’ Jimmy play. We felt privileged to be hearing and seeing such an accomplished performer and great exponent of the Blues.

Here’s a clip of Lil’ Jimmy playing - taken from You Tube

Here’s Lil’ Jimmy’s Facebook page

Also, here are some up and coming UK dates. If any are near you - definitely worth seeing!

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Turner, The Sea and Therese

17/4/2014

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National Maritime Museum, Greenwich

If, like us, you enjoy a wide range of interests, then you’ll appreciate the regular dilemma in the Johnson household is simply choosing what to prioritise out of the many great things always available to see and do. Judith has been pointing out since last November how much she wanted to visit Turner and the Sea at the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich. We managed to get there about a week before the closing bell - the exhibition ends very shortly on 21 April. A lifelong admirer of this great English painter, I am so glad that we didn’t miss it. As a schoolboy who pursued Art as a main subject, I was deeply captivated by his paintings, more so probably than by any other British artist. I was mesmerised by the painterly virtuosity he possessed. He seemed to own an ability to bend light, to create both movement and momentum in his works, to blend, morph and fade his palette almost to the point of abstraction. He is unique, and it has always saddened me that there isn’t a Turner Museum entirely dedicated to his work and the large legacy of paintings, studies and sketches he bequeathed the Nation in his will. There is of course a large changing display at the Clore Gallery at Tate Britain.

It was marvellous to experience this current Greenwich exhibition, entirely dedicated to Turner’s lifelong fascination with the sea. In 1796, aged just twenty-one, Turner exhibited ‘Fishermen at Sea’ at the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition - the first of many marine paintings he produced throughout his fairly long life. I suppose the sea as a subject is not altogether surprising for someone of our island race, where it’s never possible to be more than seventy miles from a coastline. Incidentally, the majority of Turner’s sea paintings were concentrated in the earlier and later years of his life.

On the same day, we managed to get across to the Finborough Theatre, Earls Court to see an excellent musical adaptation of Therese Raquin. The novel is of course by Emile Zola, a book which I’m sorry to say I’ve not (yet) read. I mentioned that we were planning to see this production to a friend who is not only very well-read but also a great aficionado of musical theatre. However, I couldn’t persuade him to come along with us, his email back read, “Oooh, I read the novel at university, it’s an awfully dark subject for a musical ...” My wife, Judith, who has also read the book, was equally quite intrigued at the prospect of seeing it staged in this way.

The show, I am pleased to say, exceeded expectations. We were totally drawn in and captivated by the action. The production design managed to conjure up the grim claustrophobic environment where these lower middle-class Parisians act out their sad drama of betrayal, repressed sexual passions, murder and hellish despair. It’s hardly any great surprise that Zola’s novel was considered scandalous in its day - it is still immensely powerful stuff!

The main roles are fully inhabited by Julie Atherton, Tara Hugo, Jeremy Legat and Ben Lewis. The singing, by a surprisingly large ensemble cast for such a tiny venue, is excellent. I imagine the ease with which the drama appears to unfold before its audience, only goes to demonstrate the skill of its performers. I am no singer myself but I know enough to understand how technically demanding performing this work has to be. The musical score is composed by Craig Adams with book, lyrics and direction by Nona Sheppard. It seems a shame that such a powerful production, due to close shortly when it comes to the end of its allotted run, can’t be re-mounted in a bigger venue for a larger audience to appreciate what is a wholly impressive piece of work from everyone concerned.

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Catching the 3:10, Gregory Porter and Other Stuff

27/3/2014

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I completed the first draft of the new book I’ve been working on a week ago. It’s massive and will need to be savagely reduced, but then that’s the way I like to work. I plan to spend a few weeks attending to some other stuff that needs my attention, then will return to it with a refreshed eye. I was ordered not to do very much this week by my wife Judith. I guess she knows the signs of when I’m tired far better than I do! I generally only realise I’ve reached the point of exhaustion when I sense an overwhelming desire to collapse to the floor and weep - I’m so lucky to have a partner who knows what I’m like and generally warns me off long before I actually reach this point. It was a good week, and I felt seriously proud when a friend whose opinions on any kind of literary offering I highly value, contacted me to let me know just how much they had enjoyed Niedermayer & Hart. He took the time to write and send an in-depth analysis of what he’d liked about the book. My tail hasn’t stopped wagging since!

On Saturday evening we watched 3:10 to Yuma - the original Glenn Ford, Van Heflin film of that title made in 1957, as opposed to the Russell Crowe, Christian Bale 2009 remake. They are both good movies, with faultless performances from both sets of leading actors, however for me it’s only the ’57 film that deserves to be hailed a classic Western. The earlier version lacks the extremely dark post-modernist ending of the later film. The short story upon which both scripts were based was penned by Elmore Leonard, which I haven’t read but most certainly plan on doing. Judith remains keen on watching any kind of cowboy film and has recently been observed by myself (still nursing some very grave suspicions - see earlier post Could the Aliens who Abducted my Wife Please Return Her!) at bedtime excitedly turning the pages of a compendium of short stories entitled The Giant Book of Western Stories. Weird, huh?

On Sunday we went to see the extraordinary jazz singer Gregory Porter at the Assembly Rooms, Tunbridge Wells. He possesses one of those rare voices that isn’t really definable, no matter how many adjectives can be strung together to assist with this purpose. But I think if you’ve ever heard him sing you’ll know immediately what I mean. The wife and I don’t really typify your regular jazz lovers, but then Gregory Porter doesn’t typify the regular jazz singer. I’ve heard him described as a ‘Jazz’ singer who possesses a ‘Soul’ voice. I suppose both of us have a deep and abiding fondness for classic soul and perhaps this is why he appeals so much. His aura as a performer radiates great warmth, which is not an inconsiderable feat at the Assembly Rooms, as this is not a venue that could ever be classified as intimate. Apparently, Porter, who grew up in California, planned to be an American Football player but his plans were scuppered by a shoulder injury. It’s hard to believe that someone with such incredible vocal talent might have considered a career in any other field. It’s also difficult to understand why Porter, born in 1971, has taken all this time to receive anything like the recognition he deserves. We first saw him on the Jools Holland show and certainly hope to see him again whenever he tours the UK. The four musicians supporting him were equally superb and deserve mentioning too: pianist and music director, Chip Crawford, drummer Emanuel Harrold, bassist Aaron James, and alto saxophonist Yosuke Sato. It was a tremendous evening. I highly recommend listening to this man, take a look at the Gregory Porter website where you get the opportunity to hear a few tracks. Enjoy!

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Coriolanus and Julie

6/2/2014

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I’ve been driving all about me a little crazy lately by constantly humming along to “Brush up your Shakespeare” from the musical Kiss Me Kate.

The reason, you ask?

The song, an earworm, lodged itself firmly into my cerebellum once I knew I was going to see an NT Live transmission of Coriolanus.

Still not fully made the connection?

You may recall there’s a line in the song about getting booted up the ‘Coriolanus’. Thing is, I seem to have a musical black-hole in my brain when it comes to lyrics, e.g. “Brush up your Shakespeare, start quoting him now, brush up your Shakespeare, da da da da da da da da” - then a whole lot more ‘das’ before finishing with “Da da da Coriolanus”.

Perhaps you’re beginning to understand how weeks of this might drive the latter-day saints that surround me into contemplating a little arsenic or ground-glass topping on my muesli!

Anyway, relief came when the night of the (exorcism) performance finally arrived and we went along to see the show. Coriolanus is not a Shakespeare play I am well acquainted with, having only seen it performed just once. This was at the RSC in Stratford back in the early 1970s.

The Donmar production, directed by Josie Rourke and with Tom Hiddleston in the titular role, was highly accessible. I found myself engaged throughout the entire performance and was honestly left open-mouthed by the abrupt, quite viscerally shocking final scene. I don’t know why, but I am still endlessly surprised by Shakespeare’s universality and greatness as a playwright - you’d think I’d know this by now, wouldn’t you? Isn’t it amazing that four hundred years on, Shakespeare can still leave an audience feeling emotionally drained and speechless?

The designer Lucy Osborne used the space simply but effectively, creating something powerfully evocative by subtly incorporating graffiti designs reminiscent of those seen in the ancient Roman world. The cast brought the play to life with a consistent energy and dynamism and all deserve praise; however, Tom Hiddleston, Mark Gatiss as Menenius and Deborah Findlay as Volumnia were outstanding. The production runs at the Donmar Warehouse, Covent Garden, until 13 February. Check the NT Live site for possible encore dates at a cinema near you!

The second theatrical venture of the week was a visit to the E M Forster Theatre in Tonbridge to see Julie Madly Deeply, which received excellent notices when it ran in the West End until very recently. The show is written and performed by Sarah-Louise Young with support on the piano and an occasional interjection/ad lib from Michael Roulston, who is also the musical director. The show is unashamedly a love letter to Julie Andrews and goes through her life from child singing sensation, on to Broadway and the movies, right through to the surgical mistake that tragically robbed the world of that iconic voice. It is a fun and funny piece of cabaret and Sarah-Louise Young managed through her wittily sharp banter with the audience and highly competent singing talent to get the house completely on board and on her side. This is a very entertaining evening, and whether or not you’re a massive Julie Andrews fan, I honestly can’t imagine anyone not enjoying it.

I thoroughly recommend seeing this one too!

The show is currently touring the British Isles and you can search for a venue near you by taking a look at this website Julie Madly Deeply

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Dunvant

9/10/2013

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A Child is Born - Dunvant Male Choir

The weekly blog! Sometimes, just like Raymond Briggs' wonderful creation Fungus the Bogeyman out on his nightly duties of scaring people, engendering boils etc, I catch myself wondering if there's any point in it all or whether it's really worth the effort. This doesn't take the form of a constant melancholic soliloquising, as in poor Fungus' case - more often than not, it's simply just me throwing my rattle out of the pram - railing against the (self-imposed) discipline of producing something (hopefully) readable and interesting every week. Actually, I genuinely love my blog and such displays of pique are infrequent.

Occasionally though, the blog has done far more than was ever expected of it. I have been contacted on numerous occasions via my website by long lost friends and relatives, who found my blog after searching a common area of interest. This outcome always brings me great joy! However, sometimes I'm approached too by unknown people who have found my site through making a general search on behalf of a hobby or interest. This was how Robert Evans, who resides now in California, was able to get in touch. He, like me, was once a Gowerton Boys' Grammar School boy, though in a different era, but we both performed in the school Dramatic Society and were taught English by the marvellous Gilbert Bennett. I recently responded to his charming email, and somehow the world feels a little cosier to know there's a Gowerton boy out there somewhere in Northern California!

Actually, his email was quite synchronistic, as only a day or two before I'd received another email from Dewi Morgan of Dunvant Male Choir (near Swansea, South Wales). About a year ago, I forget exactly how it came about, Dewi contacted me to ask for my permission to reprint my Gilbert Bennett post in their annual magazine - GB had been a Vice President. I happily consented of course, but assumed there must have been a change of plan, since I hadn't heard any more about it and the promised magazine didn't materialise. All was explained in Dewi's email - the printing had suffered long delays - a copy was on its way to me.

I received the magazine in the post this afternoon together with the kind gift of a Dunvant Male Choir CD - A Child is Born - A Celebration of Christmas Music - featuring Bryn Terfel - and (I suppose more topically) with narration by Gilbert Bennett. I was delighted and I can't wait to sit down and listen to it. Many thanks to Dewi and Dunvant Male Choir!

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A Cheese Feast!

24/10/2012

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Say Cheese!

I've been thinking (musically!).

When my son was fifteen or so, teenagers actually used to compile and listen to these now obsolete things called cassettes. How quaint! A few years later on, the rage amongst the young was to burn compilations of their favourite songs onto CDs for their friends. I expect they do something similar with their ipods today, or whatever is the current method of sharing music. I'm certain of one thing, they will definitely be sharing tracks. Since the birth of recorded sound every new generation has adopted the popular tunes of each era as its personal soundtrack. When I was young, your mate suggested you came over to his house after school to listen to the new Bowie album. If he was a good mate he might even let you borrow it.

Anyway, I say, why should the youth have all the fun!

I was lying in bed recently and I started humming some of my favourite tunes. Then, I started to think about my favourite cheesy songs. Let me explain, a cheesy song in my definition isn't a bad song, although it might have been toe-curlingly awful if it hadn't been for that little bit of fairy dust that came along and made it great.

So, for this blog only: here is my all time best cheesy/fantasy compilation album!

Since that's a bit of a mouthful (as cheese can occasionally be!) I'll simply call it:

The Cheese Feast (with extra cheese topping!)

My album tracks would be as follows and run in this exact order:

Harper Valley PTA - Jeannie C Riley
Bang Bang - Nancy Sinatra
Sex Machine - James Brown
Son of a Preacher Man - Dusty Springfield
Walk on By - Dionne Warwick
Return to Sender - Elvis
Jolene - Dolly Parton
Mona Lisa - Nat King Cole
Fever - Peggy Lee
Something Stupid - Nancy and Frank Sinatra
Hit the Road Jack - Ray Charles
Respect - Aretha Franklin
Son of Hickory Holler's Tramp - O C Smith
That's Amore - Dean Martin
If I were a Carpenter - Johnny Cash and June Carter
King of the Road - Roger Miller
The Shoop Shoop Song - Cher
These Boots are Made for Walking - Nancy Sinatra
From Russia with Love - Matt Monro
The Onion Song - Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell

Wouldn't this be a truly awesome album?

A veritable festival of cheese!

After all, let's face it, a little bit of cheese is always palatable. But for me this album would totally fit the bill, because sometimes when the mood takes me, and when it comes to cheese - nothing else will do!

Eat! Enjoy! (no crackers needed!)

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Double - Oh - Fifty!

3/10/2012

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There was a bit of a kerfuffle earlier on in the week: on Monday someone cheekily put Adele's new Bond single out on the internet. I didn't hear it, although I did catch a tiny snippet later that afternoon on the PM programme. The song is being officially launched on Friday to mark Bond's fiftieth anniversary.

The Bond series is fifty years old, imagine!

If JB was a real person and hadn't always managed to stay roughly the same age throughout his various incarnations, I expect he 'd be a nonagenarian by now. I can just picture him in a Home Counties nursing-home dedicated to the care and welfare of retired operatives of the British Secret Service. It would have to be a place especially comfortable, for those exceptional agents who carried a double-o prefix - who knows, perhaps his old sparring partner 'Q' is there too! And maybe he's busy dictating his memoirs to a certain elderly lady called Moneypenny - a 'Miss' rather than a 'Ms' - who spent her life swooning and waiting for the adoration of one man to be reciprocated.

My first encounter with Bond was at the age of nine when my grandad, Dycu (Duck-Key) to me in my family's Valleys' dialect but officially Dadcu (Dad-Key), took me to see Goldfinger. The year in question would have been 1964. Dycu was an avid reader and it was probably from him that I picked up the habit myself. The man almost always had a book in his hand; Nevil Shute, Dennis Wheatley and Ian Fleming were amongst some of his favourites I recall. He must have liked them a lot, because he had whole shelves dedicated to these writers, and there were countless others too whose names I can't remember.

Plaza Cinema, Kingsway, Swansea

I think it was possibly the only time Dycu took me to the pictures, certainly the only occasion I ever recall. I remember we went to see it in the Plaza Cinema, Swansea, which made a huge impression on my young mind. Because of all the ornate ceilings and chandeliers I believe I may have thought I was entering the court at Versailles. It was without a shadow of a doubt the most opulent building I had ever encountered - a true picture palace. It had been built in 1931, seated 3000 people and was at that moment the largest cinema in Wales. It took a hit when Swansea was badly bombed during WWII but had been restored in time for me and my Dycu to see the Bond film. It was pulled down to make way for a dance hall, supermarket and smaller cinema (though still massive compared to cinemas today which tend to go for fairly small multi-screened complexes) the following year.

And what about the film? It was the most exciting thing I had ever seen! My mother came to meet me and Dycu as we came out and I reckon our eyes must have been popping out of our heads, because I recall Mam saying,"Well, I can see you both enjoyed that!"

After Bond I required my pearly-handled six guns with the low-slung holsters that I sported about our garden in Wales considerably less. I started to wear a trilby hat, had a card in my pocket that bore my secret service number (licensed to kill of course), when taking refreshments in our kitchen I sipped small glasses of Tizer pop (shaken not stirred) and always carried a gun discreetly in a shoulder holster. Cowboys were out - secret agents were in!

For the next twenty years I went to see every new Bond movie. Roger Moore made the series fun, but Connery, with a little touch of sadism about him, was always best in my eyes. I loved Thunderball as a boy with all its underwater action but as a man I think I like From Russia with Love most of all. And Goldfinger , the template for every Bond film that came after it had the best villain, best villain's henchman and best theme song, sung of course by 'Our Shirl from Tiger Bay'.

I really like Adele, think Daniel Craig's great as JB, but honestly let's face it, they don't really stand a chance against the wide-eyed-awe of that boy I've been travelling with since 1964!

Happy Fiftieth Birthday Mr Bond!

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How I Came to Traditional English Folk via Abba

16/5/2012

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Huh?

No - you read it right - vision's okay!

It's true. The ultimate Spandex clad pop band, the Anti-Christ of traditional music, was largely responsible for introducing me to English Folk. I have to admit that up until then Folk had always conjured up in my mind a bygone age, hand-rolled cigarettes, thick woolly sweaters, hats festooned with gaily
(traditional useage) coloured ribbons, women in long skirts and men in shabby, ragged-arsed jeans.

I believe I've mentioned elsewhere in the pages of this blog that it can be a dangerous thing in my house to express approval for any product or gift item capable of being gift-wrapped, placed beneath a spruce-like tree or can slip nicely into a Christmas stocking. One unqualified yummy sound might produce a ripple effect in my house that could see me eating beans on toast every Saturday lunchtime for a decade (causing a potential ripple effect you'll appreciate in far more ways than one!).

I recall the moment quite clearly. We were driving along (don't actually remember where) when one of Abba's songs came on the radio. I don't recall which one, and I know better than to list the titles of the ones it might have been, or I'll only end up humming along to it for the next seventeen days!

Anyway, this song was on the radio - and perhaps because I was driving and it was a lovely sunny afternoon, I remarked quite casually, "Funny how time works ... it's actually quite enjoyable listening to this ..."

My guard was down, or else I should have immediately retracted the statement and added a disclaimer like, "However, this opinion is totally off the top of my head, and although I've enjoyed listening to this single Abba track, it adequately fulfills my Abba quota for the next decade."

I really should've known better. From that moment on my festive fate was sealed!

There's no real disguising the shape of a CD case and as I drew my pressies together into a pile on Christmas morning I wondered what it might be? The new Norah Jones album, Tracey Chapman, Van Morrison perhaps? Or even an old favourite like James Brown, Ray Charles or Otis?

I admit when I peeled off the packaging I was momentarily lost for words. Abba Gold had not until that moment owned any part of my conciousness. Was I having my leg pulled? I looked
for signs of twinkling around the eye area.

Huh? ... Huh? ... and Huh again!

I quickly covered my tracks, "Abba Gold! That's brilliant!" I lied.

An hour later, unable to remove the cellophane wrapper, fully aware that if I actually lobbed the thing into a CD player I would be doomed to those pop anthems rattling around in my head until the Spring, I 'fessed up. I'd chosen my moment; it was after Christmas lunch, which I'd cooked
(always a good time to approach my wife after a nice meal!)

"That's okay," she said, "I was quite surprised when you said you fancied some Abba!"

I was down the HMV shop as soon as they opened after the holiday. I'd recently caught the last ten minutes of Peggy Seeger's Desert Island Discs on Radio 4 and had been much taken with The Joy of Living sung and written by her late husband Ewan McColl. I came across an album of his called Black and White. It was a complilation album, a kind of "Best of ...". I loved
it and so did Jude as well as our son. Around that time one of Jude's brothers, Jeremy, was discovered to be terminally ill. We visited him regularly throughout his illness and he and his
partner Sandra, who were both quite knowledgeable about folk music, introduced us to singers and bands previously little known or totally unheard of. I recall they had just discovered Karine Polwart and one of her songs in particular became very important to them both throughout that difficult time. We got to know something of Tim Hart and Maddy Prior, Martin Carthy, Dave Swarbrick, Bert Jansch, Annie Briggs, Jake Thackray, John Spiers and Jon Boden, Richard Thompson, Kate Rusby, the Waterson family and dozens more whose names are equally worth a mention.

So you see, gentle reader, out of that scorned copy of Abba Gold I discovered a whole new world of pleasure - it literally opened up my ears. Who knows, perhaps one day I may even open up my mind to Abba.

Huh?

(Coming soon to this blog page - fun competition - to win 5 print copies of Niedermayer & Hart)

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Musical Weekend

Lil' Jimmy Reed

Turner, The Sea and Therese

Catching the 3:10, Gregory Porter and Other Stuff

Coriolanus and Julie

Dunvant

A Cheese Feast!

Double - Oh - Fifty!

How I Came to Traditional English Folk via Abba

M J Johnson

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