The Blue Stones - Smokehouse bootleg cassette 16 Aug 1991

Clayton Frick founded The Smokehouse Blues Club which operated on Friday nights at the premises of the Master Mariner’s Club on the top floor of a building on the corner of Shortmarket and Loop Streets (long since demolished) for a couple of years and it soon became the go to live music venue in the CBD in very early Nineties.

The concept of the Smokehouse was that it would be the closest thing to a Chicago juke joint that we could have in Cape Town and the bands who played there would be in thrall to the blues. The first bands, such as the one led by Clayton Frick and the Blues Broers in which his younger brother John played guitar and sang, were blues oriented but soon the Smokehouse became such a popular gig that all manner of other bands, with only a loose connection to blues, also played here.

The space lent itself ideally to the concept of a large juke joint with four separate areas arranged around a central air shaft that provided the only ventilation and fresh air for a club that was suffused with cigarette smoked.  The four areas were divided into the performance room, a bar area, a section of pool tables and fourth area I don’t recall, perhaps it was the entrance lobby. There was a single, cramped lift that gave access from the ground floor and on popular nights there was inevitably a queue of eager, impatient and irritable punters waiting downstairs.

I was at the Smokehouse for almost all of its nights, partly because at the time I attended every live gig in and around Cape Town that I could get to and partly because I was deeply interested in the blues.

In the late Eighties the blues torch in Cape Town had been carried by The Flaming Firestones, Clayton Frick’s first band, in which Rob Nagel, one of the mainstays of the blues rock scene in the Western Cape from the early Eighties, had played blues harp and saxophone and usually had one featured vocal number.

After the demise of The Flaming Firestones, Nagel and John Frick went on to found the Blues Broers and Clayton Frick led his own band. The Blues Broers often featured a horn section and even backing vocalists and the Clayton Frick band shows featured an acoustic blues section with tea chest bass, to broaden the limited electric blues band sound and to emphasise their mission to be as authentic as possible.

Most, if not all of the bands, that played the Smokehouse did not leave any proof of their existence in the shape of recordings, whether albums released by corporate record labels or released by the bands themselves, unlike the situation that arose after 1994 where almost more bands or acts released their albums themselves. The Blues Broers eventually, in another incarnation and from about 1996, put out several CD albums, but the only record of the John Frick led band is the Shake Like That album on cassette, but there’s nothing like this, as far a I know, of the Clayton Frick band, The Mavericks, or any ot the other Smokehouse bands.

Well, now there is the Blue Stones Smokehouse bootleg cassette that’s available on YouTube, featuring the Clayton Frick band playing a selection of blues standards and a handful of Frick originals in traditional style. There’s no acoustic segment.

The band consists of Clayton Frick (gtr, vcls), Dave Ferguson (The Mavericks) (blues harp), Rufus Wainstein (bass), Alistair Musson (gtr) and Russell Weston (drums.)

Apparently, the performance was recorded on a Walkman and if this is so, it’s astonishing how good the sound is, even digitally cleaned up and enhanced. The second impression is how good the standard of the musicianship is and how well the guys play the blues. To make the clichéd point, one can’t tell, from just listening to the music, where this band is playing and it might just as well be a blues club in the USA or anywhere else in the world.

The band is full of energy, the music swings sufficiently (Russell Weston is the USP drummer for so many bands) and the performances are engaging though not spectacular. The overall impression is of a  journeyman blues band going to work and doing what it does best, but  with no spark of genius, because they play only hoary standards and because the original compositions follow the old school templates so slavishly. It was obviously a entertaining gig and a great night out but it’s music that should be experienced In the euphoric state of drunkenness if you want the full visceral effect. Listening to the tape at home, sober, doesn’t generate much excitement.  It’s a nostalgic investigation of the past rather than a celebration of a historical achievement.  

The real value of this bootleg cassette is that it emphasises how good local musicians could be and that it’s a wonderful record of a time and a place when the Cape Town music scene that shone brightly for a year or two.

    

 

Oasis, part 1

Introduction

I almost can’t believe that I’ve never written about Oasis before, except a piece where I contrasted them with Blur, who I’ve always preferred, from the day in 1994 when I bought Parklife and Definitely Maybe.

Parklife was constantly on the stereo and I bought all the following Blur albums, and even the preceding two. I didn’t play Definitely Maybe much because I couldn’t stand Liam Gallagher’s whiny voice and never bothered to buy any other Oasis album until I finally bought (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? (1995) probably 15 years after its release and only because it was going cheap at Cash Crusaders,

I did see Oasis play live at the Coke Fest in Somerset West in 2009, possibly one of the last gigs the band ever did. They played a festival set of greatest hits and ended the gig with “I am the Walrus.” It wasn’t the best set of the festival but at least I can say I saw them live at least that once. I was only a few metres from the stage, to the side in the so-called golden circle, and had a good few of these modern rock gods, well, I think that’s how people thought of Liam Gallagher, a compelling stage presence despite his mostly stationary position at the microphone. Noel just stood there, playing his guitar, and I wondered what he, and his brother, for that matter, thought of playing for a smallish crowd compared to what they must’ve been used to, even then, on the edge of a small town on the farthest edge of the Cape Town metropolitan area.

I suppose a paying gig was a paying gig, it was just another festival and they could look forward to a nice holiday in South Africa.

I’d read about Oasis in the UK rock press before I bought Definitely Maybe and I was intrigued by the stories of drug taking, hell raising and big guitar music, and really wanted to like the debut album because it sounded like the type of music I’d like, in the footsteps of the Beatles and the proto-grunge of Neil Young and Crazy Horse on albums like Ragged Glory. The music on Definitely Maybe was okay, perhaps over arranged, with too many guitars and on occasion a tad overlong (a criticism I have of Ragged Glory too) but I wasn’t prepared for Liam Gallagher’s irritating Mancunian whine and I was surprised at how much I disliked his singing. I could recognise the album as a good, almost old fashioned, big rock record but it didn’t blow me away and I couldn’t fathom why it could be as popular as it apparently was in the UK. Must’ve have been all the touring and the positive press, and that the zeitgeist was right for taking a break from rave music and embracing raucous guitars again.

The reviewer of Q Magazine didn’t think much of (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? and I didn’t bother buying it, because I’d had my fill of Oasis from the debut album. Then the album became impossibly massive, selling something like 22 million copies eventually, and multiple singles from it were chart toppers in the UK. “Wonderwall” was a cultural phenomenon all its own, as probably Noel Gallagher’s most covered song.

For the release of Be Here Now (1997) Q Magazine went all out and devoted two pages to a minute analysis of the album and gave it all the praise the review of (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? had lacked. This album was recorded during the period of Oasis mania, with some tracks laid down on Caribbean Island holidays, and with at least one of them featuring celebrity pal, Johnny Depp on slide guitar. Admittedly, the album was also recorded in a mood of cocaine enhanced hubris. Be Here Now sold well enough, but nothing like its predecessor and it’s critical reputation has suffered. I guess it should’ve had the curt, dismissive review (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? had been given.

Oasis had already shed its original drummer and a couple of years after Be Here Now, two more founding members left, new guys were recruited, Creation Records, Oasis’ label, went belly up, the band changed its logo and the look of its album covers (the first three are recognisably a set) and forged on, perhaps not the indestructible rock gods they once were but still selling lots of records and attracting large crowds, until it all fizzled out because of the simmering sibling rivalry that had always been a source of great tension within the band.

Today the Gallagher brothers lead their own bands, and are probably as successful as they could be in their second acts, and frankly, I’ve no idea what any of the other ex-members are doing. For all I know, neither Paul Arthurs or Paul McGuigan need ever work again, just from their earnings from the first three Oasis albums; Tony McCaroll, original drummer, squeezed a £600 000 settlement from Oasis, and if he invested this windfall wisely, might be in the same position.

Andy Bell had a career with shoegazers (the UK rock movement that preceded the Oasis juggernaut) Ride, Oasis-influenced Hurricane #1, Beady Eye (Liam Gallagher’s immediately post-Oasis group) and seems to have many projects on the go.

Gem Archer was with Oasis acolytes Heavy Stereo, one of many copycat guitar bands who couldn’t quite match the success of their influence, also played in Beady Eye and is currently the lead guitarist in Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds.

Definitely Maybe

So, it’s 25 years since Definitely Maybe was released. I’ve listened to (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? a couple of times, heard one or two tracks from Be Here Now and have never listened, or been interested, in any of the other Oasis records.

It seems, having had a quick look at the general critical appraisal of Definitely Maybe, it seems that my lack of enthusiasm for the record is very much a minority (perhaps even unique) view and perhaps listening to the album again  after I haven’t heard it for so long, might give me new insight. Apart from Liam Gallagher’s irritating vocals, I recall that the music, although guitar heavy, didn’t seem to have much dynamic range, mostly being this mid-paced roar, and the more rhythmic approach of “Cigarettes & Alcohol” and the quirky, tuneful and acoustic “Married With Children” stood out from the rest, where it was pretty much only the choruses that distinguished one tunes from another. Oasis were never ones for the fast paced rocker; perhaps Liam’s voice just wasn’t suited for that style.

After listening to the album again, my initial comments are confirmed, though I must admit that Liam Gallagher’s vocals aren’t as irritating as they were in 1994 and the wall-of-guitars arrangements are impressive though, over the length of an album it does tend to become samey and a bit of a drag, and that’s why “Cigarettes & Alcohol,” “Diggsy’s Dinner and “Married with Children” stand out as relief from the relentless, unvarying pace of the other songs.

Even with hindsight I can’t quite see why this record would’ve put Oasis on the map and why it would outsell all other Britpop albums, or indeed, put Britpop on the map. The tunes are rousing and anthemic, and that must be the USP, but they aren’t very memorable and, for me, once I’ve listened to the record, the songs, except for the couple of exceptions, simply fade away quickly. Their half-lives are incredibly short.

(What’s the Story) Morning Glory?

The tracks from, (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?  sound different to the debut, less bombastic, more pop-like, and the lyrics are better discernible which is a downer. The UK music press, though it was not very critical of this record or Oasis in general, did point out that Noel Gallagher, for all his musical inventiveness, or must plain theft from other artists and for being able to craft memorable, sing-a-long choruses, was a crappy lyricist who seemed to sling together lines and find facile rhymes just for the hell of it, because he had to provide words for Liam to sing. In some instances, he seems to follow the John Lennon approach in the late Beatles period, of nonsense lyrics that seem profound on the surface and, specifically in Lennon’s case, were taken very seriously because the lyricist was thought of a genius, so that even overt, undisguised twaddle can be imbued with deep symbolic meaning. Noel Gallagher is nobody’s genius and his “Sixth Form poetic symbolism” grates.

That didn’t stop, for example, “Wonderwall” being a hit and much-covered song. The best thing about “Champagne Supernova,” as is the case with the songs generally, is the chorus hook and the music. The words basically suck.

Be Here Now

Be Here Now was recorded in the shadow of its massively successful predecessor and now the band had, as usual after such triumph, all of the money and leeway they needed to record the follow up.

As mentioned, where (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? received the most cursory of dismissive reviews in Q Magazine, Be Here Now  was treated like royalty and given the full attention of the reviewer who went to great lengths to analyse and discuss the tracks, with the most effusive praise. At the time, when I hadn’t even heard all of the earlier record, except for some of the hits from it, this review felt like overkill to me. One of the songs, “Fade In-Out,” turned up on a compilation and though it was a nice, slow burning rocker, featuring Johnny Depp on slide guitar, it sounded like your typical album filler. It wasn’t any better than just pleasant and if there were an indication of the quality of the rest of the album, Be Here Now was a journeyman’s record, not a work of unadulterated brilliance. In the context, the earlier assessment of (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? may well have been accurate as purely critical judgment. A pop song isn’t necessarily good because it sells millions; many crap, cheesy songs become extraordinarily and inexplicably popular. It seems to, at some point, it must've become mandatory to own (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? as a commodity and not so much as a work of art. Where Be Here Now was quick out of the starting gates because it was the follow up to e mega success, it also quickly faded when the public realised it wasn’t as much fun as the first two albums, didn’t have the zeitgeist rogering qualities of the second record and that its flaws were brutally exposed and remained unforgiven where the euphoria over the debut and the brainwashed, mass market adoption of the second album papered over the cracks.

By 2000 the world had no only entered the new millennium, but Oasis had lost its first record company and two more founder members and at least Noel Gallagher was probably chastened by the whole Be Here Now experience of a band, though still undeniably, massively popular as concert draw, that had lost its way. Apparently he hadn’t written any songs for a couple of years, with the original cache that fuelled the first albums long gone, and had to re-enter the fray to produce the tracks for a new record for a new label, and by this time the standard cycle of musical evolution had passed Oasis by over the 6 years since the release of Definitely Maybe. In the original pop parameter, artists released at least one album every year and in the early Sixties it was often one album every six months. The musical evolution of musicians such as the Beatles or Beach Boys, to use the most prominent examples, could therefore take place incrementally but quite quickly so that the time lapse between Help!, Rubber Soul, Revolver and Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is roughly two years but the gradual changes in the music from record to record mitigate the leap in ambition and concept from Help!  to Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Oasis’ work rate was much less, as per the parameter of their time, since the early Eighties, when record companies were content to allow big selling albums, and their spin off singles, enough time to sell and sell, and become phenomena, and allow plenty of time between records, for the mega artists to ensure that each follow up is as commercial as the forerunners. So, in six years Oasis released three albums, though those albums followed each other relatively quickly. However, we’re still not talking an album a year for each of the six years, and this gave Noel Gallagher breathing room but also the luxury of not having to worry about writing new material quickly, sometimes a better, more effective modus operandi than a more relaxed, casual approach. Pressure can concentrate the mind wonderfully.

The first impression of the album is that Noel Gallagher no longer had great tunes and relied on a guitar wall of sound production, and a ponderous, mid-tempo pace, to give the songs heft they would otherwise lack. They would probably work well in a packed stadium with an enthusiastic mass of drunk and/or drugged fans who aren’t there to listen critically and just want to experience the experience. Each song feels anthemic but once you’ve worked your way through 71 minutes of this bombast, you’re left with nothing much to retain as memorable, except that the band seems to be plodding along furiously. There’s a sure visceral excitement that comes up with loud, roaring, soaring guitars and it works on a case by case basis but cumulatively there’s just too much of it.   

Deep Purple Revisited

Of the British heavy groups of the late 60s and early 70s, I've always had the most difficult relationship with Deep Purple. I've never liked Uriah Heep, mostly liked Black Sabbath and have always been fond of Led Zeppelin. With Deep purple there has always been an ambivalence.

My introduction to the band was with “Smoke on the Water” on the radio. The first Purple album I ever owned and listened to, was Made in Japan, the double live album that followed Machine Head (1972), and a year or two later I bought another double album called Deep Purple Mark I & II, a compilation of the best tracks from the first four or five albums.

As a rule, I preferred guitar heavy hard rock and not so much the keyboard embellished, and often overblown, music of Deep Purple or Uriah Heep. The lyrics seemed less poetic then pretentious.

Due to lack of money and interest, I never bought any of the Deep Purple studio albums. I sold Made in Japan and Deep Purple Mark I & II, while I was in high school for money for other records I wanted at the time.  Many years later I bought another greatest hits collection called Deepest Purple, and then an album of the live recordings that were outtakes from the Concerto for Band and Orchestra album (1970). Even  later, I bought a CD called 24 Carat Purple, yet another best of compilation.

In all this time I never thought to buy the studio albums until I found Deep Purple In Rock as a low budget release. I bought it because it was cheap and not so much because I placed any significance on it. It was only much later when I read more of the history of the band that I came to know that Deep Purple In Rock was the breakthrough album of the second lineup that lead to the glorious in the Mark II version of the band.

Even when CDs replaced records and many old albums from so-called classic rock bands became available again, I wasn't disposed to buy any Deep Purple product.

Up to early 2019 I'd never heard Shades of Deep Purple and Book of Taliesyn in full, only hearing some of the best tracks. This early version of the band was heavy progressive pop rather than hard rock and featured Rod Evans and Nick Simper as respectively vocalist and bass player. For the Mark II version of the band they were replaced by Ian Gillan and Roger Glover.

Having listened do the first two albums, I prefer the later albums that are tighter, tougher, heavier, and this pompous.

Deep Purple In Rock is OK but it is difficult for me 50 years after the event to see how it was a ground-breaking or breakthrough album for the band except in contrast to the earlier efforts. It is high-energy and tough, but the songs aren't that great. My favourites I've always been “Speed King” and “A Child in Time.”  in the latter case, I liked the dynamics and tension of the music and the slow building links of the song to those extraordinary shrieks at the end. In Deep Purple terms, I've always seen it as their “Stairway to Heaven.”

I've recently watched a documentary on the band, focusing on the first two lineups and the records they made. I've also only recently listened to Machine Head in its entirety for the first time and was extremely pleasantly surprised, and now I realize why it was such a big record for them and why so many of the tracks became concert staples and or amongst the best-known Purple songs. “Smoke on the Water” is the centre piece now, although it wasn't seen as that at the time until it became a monster hit and probably the most quintessential purple hit of all. The music and the playing on the album seems livelier and looser then on Deep Purple In Rock and more listenable. This album has legs.

I don't know any tracks off Fireball except for the title track, and the same goes for the first couple of records after Machine Head, especially the ones no longer featuring Ian Gillan as vocalist. These albums seemed to be best represented by their best tracks compiled on a single record so that one has a seamless display of good songs without the duds or filler tracks on the parent album.

Deep Purple Mark III featured not only a new vocalist but also a new bassist and eventually even Ritchie Blackmore left the band and was replaced by Tommy Bolin, who tragically died after recording Come Taste the Band in 1976.

(An aside: Deep Purple album covers are among the worst ever.)

Purple is still going, or at least, carried on for many years throughout the 80s. 90s and early years of the 21^st century. I don't think Richie Blackmore ever returned but Ian Gillan did, and they had a couple of other lead guitarists. Jon Lord has died, which means that the classic Deep Purple line up can no longer perform but in these days where a band name is a brand that can keep going regardless of the musicians, I would imagine that Deep Purple could record and release records and keep touring even if only a few of the original band members are still alive.

The discography of the band does show that it has been a recording band during its entire lifetime but, for example, like the Rolling Stones, the lighter albums or not as highly regarded as the classic albums from which the best known songs come and or probably hardly known except to die-hard Deep Purple fans.

The musicians in Deep Purple have always prided themselves on their technical proficiency and this was part of the success. They were experienced, worked hard at their craft and were always professional. This works well in the studio and especially when the band performs live. Deep Purple arose in an era where virtuosity was prized by audiences who liked lengthy guitar solos, extravagant keyboard solos and extended drum solos, none of which could be done or would sound as good if the musicians weren’t at the top of their game.

The sad fact is that songwriting doesn't only require technical proficiency but does require some genius or flash of brilliance to make the lyrics Intriguing and the tune memorable. The older a musician gets, the more proficient he or she might be at writing lyrics, providing the chords for a song, working out a tune from those chords and arranging the track. These proficiencies do not a brilliant song make, and this type of composition is hardly ever viscerally exciting. When you listen to songs by older musicians you can appreciate the craft and the workmanship, but you’re hardly ever moved emotionally. As soon as you’ve heard the track, it leaves your mind.

This applies to Deep Purple as much as it applies to any of their peers. The Deep Purple albums that will always sell, or Deep Purple In Rock, Machine Head and Made in Japan, and, of course, the compilations that focus on the best songs and they will mostly, if not entirely, be from the 70s output of the band.

        

In Memoriam: Little Richard

Richard Wayne Penniman (December 5, 1932 – May 9, 2020), better known as Little Richard,

Little Richard was 39 at the time of the London Rock &  Roll Show  in 1972, one of a series of shows featuring some of the greats of the rock ‘n roll era of the Fifties, and though he was releasing contemporary albums he was already a nostalgia act. The young rockers of the day, then in their mid to late twenties or early thirties, would continue to have careers as contemporary artists well past their forties, yet the gap between, say, 1952 and 1972 was vast, almost unbridgeable, and conceptually far larger than the gap between 1972 and 1992, or even 2002. 

Little Richard made his money as nostalgia act when he was 40; at 40 the Rolling Stones, David Bowie, et al,  were regarded as creatively as vital as ever  and were simply venturing on new musical paths and directions, their popular mainstream appeal undiminished.  No matter how many contemporary records Little Richard released from 1967 onwards, he would always only be known for his hits from the Fifties and those were the tunes the audiences wanted to hear when he performed.

Like Fats Domino and other R & B artists Little Richard became a rock ‘n roll star almost be default, as his music was pure R & B, tougher, louder and faster than Fats Domino’s relaxed Bew Orleans sound, but recognizably jump blues with gospel fervour rather the country and  blues  amalgam of the early rockabilly stars that we think of as the origins of rock ‘n roll, at least from the White American perspective.

Little Richard and his Orchestra, an old-school R & B billing if I’ve ever hears one, was a big, horn driven band where the honking saxophone and the pounding piano were the star solo instruments and not the guitar so characteristic of rockabilly type rock ‘n roll.  This sound changed only much later, especially after Little Richard returned to secular music in the early Sixties and his record companies sought to add contemporary flourishes to the music to bring it up to date with an audience now familiar with the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and the other British Invasion groups that made old-fashioned rock ‘n roll almost redundant and certainly outdated, even the music informed the new groups.

Vee-Jay Records and Okeh Records tried their best in their own ways to make Little Richard appeal to a modern, young, White audience with a contemporary sound, new songs and modern production values and with The Rill Thing (1970), King of Rock and Roll (1971) and The Second Coming (1972) Little Richard made some three records, with a mix of cover versions,  his interpretations of more original material and a mix of styles from rock, country, blues, soul and funk, and I’d say, if one compares these albums with the kind of thing, for example, Bob Dylan, the Rolling Stones, David Bowie, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, and other rockers from the Sixties, recorded at a similar age, that Little Richard made better, more compelling albums. Updating his sound to the Seventies worked out better for him that the White guys’ sound being updated to the Eighties, a graveyard for all those giants of Sixties and Seventies rock.

Perhaps, at the time, it might have seemed retrograde for Little Richard to stay with his signature sound and to play to his strengths rahter than to push the envelope with a more progressive approach and that might be an explanation for the low level of contemporary appeal and the huge demand for his old hits when he performed. The records are energetic and fun but there are no new standards, no new hits indelibly identified with  Little Richard and the over reliance on well known hits for others, especially on the albums that followed The Rill Thing, may be to blame. As much effort as Little Richard puts into his interpretations, one cannot say that he owns any of these songs, nothing like the way Aretha Franklin took “Respect” from Otis Redding who wrote the song.

Lifetime Friend (1986), released around the time Little Richard had a cameo in the movie Down and Out in Beverley Hills, combines rock and gospel and is yet another album full of energy, verve and joy, yet the Eighties production style and sheen dates the album and detracts a bit from the performances though, admittedly, the album doesn’t suffer from the worst excesses of the decade and is quite entertaining to listen to, especially the gospel tracks.  Even so, one can’t help but see this as yet another exercise in treading water by an artist who’ll never surpass his early successes and who’ll sell albums only to a hardcore fanbase, though one might imagine sales were boosted by his appearance in the movie, without adding a must have inclusion to the discography.

For me Little Richard and Chuck Berry were the two icons of early rock ‘n roll, partly because of their renditions of their own hits and partly because of the huge, wide ranging influence they had on the rockers that followed. It’s also scary how much Eighties period Prince modelled himself on Little Richard’s look around the time of the London Rock and Roll Show.

The visceral thrill of listening to Little Richard howling “Tutti Frutti,” “Good Golly Miss Molly,” “Lucille”  and pounding his piano at the same time, or the gospel drama of “Send Me Some Loving” or “I Don’t Know What You’ve Got,” is unparalleled in early rock ‘n roll or rock in general. Whether he was the king of rock and roll or whether he started it all are immaterial questions. The only important fact is that he was rock royalty and that the was there from the beginning and that his big hits still thrill to this day/

Reflections Concert for James 1995

The other night I came across, for the first time, a video on YouTube that’s a record of the 1995 Concert for James, actually two shows, in which some South African rock acts (and Vusi Mahlasela) pay homage to the late James Phillips who died on 31 July that year.

My first thought was: South African rock has come a long way since then. My second thought was:  the terribly dated clothes! The video is a great snapshot of the period when South African rock was moving out of the alternative bunker towards the SA Music Explosion” mainstream. Acts like the Springbok Nude Radio became rock royalty. Others, like The Pressure Cookies deservedly disappeared without trace.

The shows, and the interviews with some of the musicians, feel like the last big gathering of the alternative generation, those who were on the frontline of the local rock struggle for recognition beyond a cult following, and for this generation James Phillips is seems to have been an icon and inspiration as a pioneer.  

Phillips died on 31 July 1995 from injuries suffered in a motor vehicle accident on his way home after the Grahamstown Arts Festival. He was 36 and already a well-known figure in South African alternative rock circles, as musician and mover and shaker but after his death he was elevated to god-like status and is probably still revered as such.

I don’t get this adulation, other than as the typical uncritical reverence afforded an artist who “dies too soon,” for I take a dim view of his recording career. Perhaps he was a great guy to know and an enthusiastic promoter and booster of local talent, as people claim him to have been, but as an artist he was quite mediocre, at least as creative spirit.

Phillips was not a great songwriter by any means, and certainly not if the measure of talent is catchy, memorable tunes.  In Corporal Punishment, from whence “Hou my Vas, Korporaal” comes, he wasn’t the best songwriter and this popular ditty isn’t his sole composition. The Cherry Faced Lurchers’ Live at Jameson’s album is an ugly mess of a record that’s barely listenable. Their reputation must come from being first to market, so to speak, playing to their drunk mates. The music is not the stuff of legend.

Wie is Bernoldus Niemand? is the best record by Phillips, the only one worth owing and the only bearing repeated listening. It’s not unflawed but it has tunes, memorable tracks and enough witty, insightful lyrics to make it a classic mirror to the South Africa of its time.

With Sunny Skies, Phillips sought a mature, progressive jazz rock style with “meaningful” lyrics and over fussy arrangements, yet forgot to write tunes or hooks. It’s hands down one of the most irritating and quickly forgettable albums I’ve ever listened to, and it was only a duty listen, not one for pleasure.

I suppose I’ll be in the minority when I express the view that James Phillips was no genius and not even a very good musician, as the official hagiography seems set in stone, and perhaps I have tin ears too, but if one actually listens to his music with some critical attention, one hears a striver and a worker whose main claim to fame is that he  put himself out there, perhaps against minimal competition, and received brownie points for chutzpah, amplified by his untimely death.

The features some of the leading lights of the then nascent post-1994 “South African Music Explosion” and some remnants of the earlier “alternative” scene, such as The Radio Rats, who broke through in the late ‘70s.. Interestingly, Koos Kombuis is absent, and given his connections with Shifty Records, and Phillips personally, given that the latter played on Niemandsland … and Beyond and led the band that backed Kombuis on the tour in support of the album, this is like a glaring omission.  Valiant Swart represents the new Afrikaans rock and this also emphasises how strange the omission of Kombuis is, seeing as how he and Swart, at this time, were the new Afrikaans rock.

Some of the acts were or are Shifty Records artists, and if some deserve an elevated status in the South African rock pantheon of the time, and all time, such as Squeal, there are also the likes of The Pressure Cookies and The Kêrels that deserve no more than being listed as contemporary bands of the time (though The Kêrels  were part of the Shifty Records roster in the late ‘80s and were resuscitated for the “South African Music Explosion.”  Tanya Selley, who fronts The Pressure Cookies, was a fellow traveller, mostly as backing vocalist, of the Shifty crowd. Both bands recorded mediocre, imminently forgettable albums that probably sold only to die hard fans who attended their gigs, and soon imploded and are now forgotten except by those fans.

For a tribute to James Phillips, it’s significant that only a few bands performed Phillips songs, or at least in the video record.  The Blues Broers, somewhat incongruously, do “Snor City,” Mathew van der Want does “My Broken Heart” (both from Wie is Bernoldus Niemand?)  Urban Creep does “Shot Down” (from Live at Jameson’s) and a collective billed as The Cherry Faced Lurchers (originally a trio; perhaps the stage announcer meant simply The Lurchers), fronted by Wendy Oldfield (ex-Sweatband and a solo artist) perform “War Song” from Sunny Skies. 

No act manages to elevate their respective versions of the Phillips songs and the covers emphasise the general weakness of the material, with the White funk of “Snor City” standing out mostly because of the mordantly funny lyrics.

Possibly, as counterpoint to the satire and put downs of  “Snor City,” Kalahari Surfers perform the far more serious social commentary of  “Johannesburg.”

Of course, all the musicians are experienced, efficient and technically proficient and committed to what they’re doing and the various interview snippets of praise to Phillips probably  express genuine views, but the overall sense of the shows, from the video, is a parade of “stars” going through the motions in a venue and in front of a crowd that are still very reminiscent of the old. “alternative” days, where the scene is insular, small and confined to an in crowd rahter than being a genuinely popular movement.

Looking back at the event, 25 years later, it’s comically dated in the post grunge, ‘90s clothing and hair styles on view, in the interregnum between full blown grunge and more mainstream modern rock.

Squeal’s rendition of “Killing the Light” is the highlight of the video, showcasing what I think of as the archetypical Durban rock sound of the time, fusing melody and power chords, and the nadir is Johannes Kerkorrel (or it could have been Die Gereformeerde Blues Band)  performing a perfunctory, barely going through the motions,  rendition of “Sit Dit Af” in the irritating cabaret rock style of the Voëlvry tour of some 6 years before. Perhaps the contrast lies in the career arcs of the two acts. Squeal was on an upward curve whereas Kerkorrel was a solo act, doing actual cabaret and with a more arty,  intellectual approach to his music, long past the populist, alternative period of Die Gereformeerde Blues Band and on a slow, downward curve to his eventual suicide.  Squeal was performing a new, still fresh tune and Kerkorrel was just rehashing a tune he was probably sick of by then.

Not the Midnight Mass, an acapella, theatrical group and Johnny Clegg are also oddities in this group of new rock acts. The first just doesn’t quite fit and the latter, a genuine musical legend and alternative music royalty in South Africa, seems to have been invited simply because of his status and the vague similarity in his struggle years and those of Phillips, in their own spheres, though plenty of Clegg’s music is far more memorable than most of Phillips’ stuff. Also, Johnny Clegg is a household name in South African and James Phillips isn’t, and will never be.

However, Not the Midnight Mass, Clegg and Vusi Mahlasela seem like add-ons to make up the numbers, as does, really, Bright Blue who is shown performing their struggle anthem, “Weeping,” possibly the best and most powerful song to come out of South African in the ‘80s though the band was an anachronism by 1995, never destined to lead the local rock revolution.

The video is an illuminating snapshot of the times and a nostalgic reminder of how young the musicians were then, and how many of the band careers were so very fleeting. Vusi Mahlasela, Johnny Clegg, Valiant Swart, the Springbok Nude Girls and even the Blues Broers are examples of acts that had legs and were far more successful than the rest and while most if not all the others still pursue music as career, perhaps on a part time basis,  they are still prime examples of how difficult it was, and probably still is, for local rock acts to make a living from their music. Even the leading lights of the “SA Music Explosion” ran their course quite quickly.

The typical question in the case of early death always is what would James Phillips be doing now? My guess is that he’d be doing solo gigs, perhaps producing other acts, as an elder member of the rock establishment, a kind of national treasure but not necessarily a household name anymore except for the fanbase. Judging by Sunny Skies, the musical direction he wanted to pursue would have been less direct rock and roll and more intellectually elevated music with loss of clever arrangements and zero visceral pleasure.  

The only worse option would have been to reform The Cherry Faced Lurchers and to revisit their unsatisfactory songbook.

I think of James Phillips as a mediocre musical talent but as a person with lots of drive, ambition and opinions he wasn’t afraid to articulate and communicate. He was better as a guitarist in a band rather than as the singer or songwriter. He was probably an excellent frontman in the sense of vibing up and entertaining an audience but his talents were not in his musical ability.

Having said that, James Phillips name and reputation as pioneer of South African rock has been engraved in stone and it’s not likely that any official, mainstream history will ever deviate from this view, so my opinion is simply going to be iconoclastic. So be it. I have listened to the music and i believe my ears are as good as anyone else’s. Technical proficiency or a pioneering spirit do not equate to good, enjoyable music and I do not hear anything pleasurable in Phillips’ music. It’s hard work to listen to, does not provide a happy experience and is not memorable other than as being a tough time to work through.

Rush

Neil Peart, the widely admired drummer and principal lyricist of Rush, died on 7 January 2020, and this means that the band, on a permanent hiatus, or retirement, for several years now due to Peart’s ill-health, will never reunite even if the members are only in their late Sixties, and mere puppies compared to many other classic rock acts who still tour, and release records.

Although I knew of Rush from the Seventies, having seen the distinctive album cover of Fly By Night in my local record store, and reading sensationalist  comments and condemnations in the English music press, principally the NME, regarding the purported fascist philosophy propounded by Peart’s lyrics, it was not the kind of hard rock band I was interested in when I was a teenager and never developed more than a passing interest in.  ,

To the NME, Peart and Rush, ostensibly typical mild-mannered Canadians, were right wing reactionary musicians and to be detested and avoided. For me, their music was simply the type of Seventies hard and prog rock that didn’t resonate with me; at least, that was my opinion without ever having heard a note. Rush was not being played on South African rock radio and, mostly based on the reviews in NME, I wasn’t going to waste my money on their albums.

My mind was changed somewhat after I’d heard “Tom Sawyer,” “Vital Signs” and “The Camera Eye” from Moving Pictures (1981), all which had been played on The Hobnailed Takkie show, the forward thinking rock show on Radio Good Hope at lunch times on Saturdays. These songs indicated that Ruch were more than just another hard rock band, and if I still didn’t go out to buy that, or any other, Rush album, I found a new respect for them.

Because I was wanna-be guitarist and had a general interest in rock music, I bought all kind of music publications, including Guitar Player, or similar magazines, and in at least one there was a feature on Alex Lifeson, the guitarist, and possibly even something on Geddy Lee, the bassist and singer of the band. From these articles It was clear that Lifeson and Lee were highly regarded virtuosos on their respective instruments and were more than simple hard rock bad boys who had learnt a couple of killer riffs. This was impressive though virtuosity by itself has never impressed me or influenced me to follow a band or musician.

I followed Rush peripherally through the years following Moving Pictures, from album reviews or articles in the music publications I bought, but it was very peripheral. As I’ve mentioned, I never felt compelled to buy any Rush record, and after listening to more of their music recently, that opinion hasn’t changed. I might like individual songs, but an entire album is hard work.

As has so often been the case over the past few years, YouTube has been a great source of information about Rush, from interview clips, filmed concerts and at least one documentary. The Rush story is typical: young guys with ambition and drive, but not yet great musical ability, form a band, are motivated and hard-working, continuously study their instruments to improve as technicians and strive to progress album by album, eventually, through persistence and sheer hard work, not only producing music with great production values and technical excellence but also develop a devoted fan base and achieve critical and commercial success, while still being nice guys with their feet on the ground.

I think of Rush as one of those quite successful bands that were never ground breaking, far ahead of their time or influential on younger musicians, apart perhaps from a worth ethic point of view,  that will in due course fade and disappear except for die-hard fans, with perhaps a handful of classic tunes that would still pop up every now and then on classic rock radio, but will otherwise just be another band from history.

Although I can appreciate the technical mastery of the three musicians, and Peart’s complex, innovative drumming, Rush does not make music that excites me viscerally. I prefer simple, punchy music with the minimum of embellishment or “progressive elements” and the middle of the road rock albums Rush has released, not quite hard enough, not quite exquisite enough, will never find a place in my record collection. Moving Pictures was the only album I thought of buying and that was only because of the three songs I knew, but not even that motivated me even to listen to any of the other product, both earlier and later releases.

  

Dr Feelgood revisited

 Dr Feelgood was the first contemporary band I discovered on my own, so to speak, with no influence or suggestions from my school mates who hadn’t even heard of the Feelgoods. They were into heavy and prog rock bands, not pub rock R & B. I heard Dr Feelgood on the radio, fell in love and immediately sought out their records.

I practically wore out the grooves of Malpractice (1975), the band’s second album, and my first purchase. After that, and up to A Case of the Shakes, I bought all the albums though not necessarily as they were released.  I bought Be Seeing You (1977) and Private Practice (1978) as soon as they appeared in my local record store. Let it Roll (1979) and A Case of the Shakes (1980) came from sale bins.

To me, the first four Feelgoods albums, Down by the Jetty (1975), Malpractice, Stupidity (1976) and Sneakin’ Suspicion (1977), are by far the best records the band put out, because of Wilko Johnson’s song writing and guitar playing. Both these factors made Dr Feelgood distinctive, interesting and highly entertaining. It was also useful, for a break from Lee Brilleaux’s growl, that Johnson took some vocals.

From Be Seeing You. Dr Feelgood became just an ordinary British R & B band albeit with more of a pedigree than most, and I’d wager the band lasted as long as it did, changing guitarists, losing the original rhythm section and eventually Brilleaux passing away, yet with the band carrying on regardless, because of the massive impetus, influence and name it gained from the Wilko Johnson years. I’d also bet that the most loved Feelgoods tunes were written by Johnson.

In about 2006 I acquired CD copies of the first four albums, and when I signed up for Apple Music, I downloaded those albums, with “bonus materials,” to my phone.  I had no interest in the other albums I used to own but now I’ve gone to the trouble of listening to the four albums from Be Seeing You to A Case of the Shakes for the first time probably since the Eighties. Even then I didn’t play the later albums as often as the first four.

My recollection had been that I liked A Case of the Shakes best because the songs were top drawer and the production, and music, gave the record a tough Eighties new wave rock edge and sharpness that made it a joy to listen to. I didn’t listen to the record much at the time because the surface of the vinyl had deteriorated rapidly, leaving jumps and scratches that made the listening experience challenging.

Now, with pristine digital sound, my first impression of the album is reinforced.  The band sounds tough and committed to the material (which is the best in a while) and John Mayo is at the top of his game. Even lee Brilleaux relies less on his gruff growl and sings a bit more, especially on “Violent Love.”

Private Practice is the second best of the four. Where Be Seeing You was quick product to introduce John Mayo to the fans on record, the album that followed it was a more considered affair and Mayo was allowed to do play for more guitar than before. The original Feelgoods' sound was  a simple instrumental trio, with some slide guitar and some blues harp, with not that much studio overdubbing of guitar parts because of Wilko Johnson’s characteristic guitar style. On Private Practice, Mayo puts down many guitar parts, to the extent where the reviewer from the NME compared final track, “Sugar Shaker,” to Jimi Hendrix’s extravagant use of guitar overdubs on “Night Bird Flying.”    

For this reason, at least musically, Private Practice is as conventional a  rock album as the band ever made, and with “Down at the Doctor’s” and “Milk & Alcohol,” contains two bona fide Feelgoods classics not written by Wilko Johnson.  At the time, I was dubious about the jerky, riffy guitar sound Mayo used. On listening to the album now, I appreciate how good it was, much improved from Be Seeing You and far superior to Let it Roll, how ambitious it was and, still, how shaky the song writing was.

\Where Private Practice was a natural development and expansion of the new sound of the band on Be Seeing You, the latter album was vastly and jarringly different to Sneakin’ Suspicion. There was little transition between the one style and the next, because John Mayo, if no less accomplished, was a very different, more traditional, guitarist than Wilko Johnson.  With Be Seeing You, the band lost its edge and immediately sounded like just another journeyman British R & B band; in fact like the competition Dr Feelgood had managed to rise above.

At the time I was quite fond of Be Seeing You and preferred it to Private Practice, but now it sounds lame, dull and, at best, worthy; far from exciting or compelling.

In contrast, and surprisingly, Let it Roll, now sounds far better than I remembered it. It’s still the work of a journeyman band, with no flashes of genius or quirky creativity and one cannot think this band could make A Case of the Shakes only a year later. Let it Roll is smooth, polished, accomplished within limitations the band’s accepted, and therefore a bit dull. 

Today, after listening to and reconsidering these albums, I don’t think I’d be persuaded to add them to my music collection again, even digitally, because they just don’t move me. Private Practice and A Case of the Shakes have merit but both made more sense when they were contemporary and I was a general Feelgoods fan. Since then, I’ve concluded that I’m a Wilko Johnson fan and, without him, that Dr Feelgood represents an ordinary, banal style of R & B I don’t much care for because it lacks quirkiness and a compelling USP.

Dr Feelgood became a brand and carried on regardless of how many founding members it shed along the way, and I suppose that demonstrates the longevity of a powerful brand, if carefully managed  but it’s also sad that brand became bigger than the music it represented. A whole bunch of later Dr Feelgood albums are available on Apple Music and yet I feel absolutely no need to listen to any of them. I’ll stick to the first four albums. The opening chords of “I Can Tell” (Malpractice)  still gives me a visceral excitement and anticipation for what’s to come, and “Back in the Night” from the same album still sounds as otherwordly as when I heard it on Radio 5, amidst the general disco playlist it favoured in 1975.  All the Wilko Johnson songs on Sbeakin’ Suspicion are works of genius and shine so much more brightly than any of the other songs on the record, that it’s ridiculous to think he was kicked out of the band.