If anyone in the Berks/Bucks area fancies it, we’re starting a small run of gigs (hopefully with more in the works) on Thursday at Global Café in Reading.
Support comes from the splendid Rocket Kings, and doors are at 8:30.
For as long as I’ve been reading the music press (c. 1988-2012, RIP) bands and solo artists have always been at pains to emphasise their working class credentials and try really hard not to seem in any way privileged.
But how many truly working class bands of note have there been?
The Manics were. Oasis too. John Lydon, sure. But I suspect they’re pretty notable by their rarity, aren’t they? I’ve always been quite struck by pop’s (well, rock’s) tendency to protest a bit too much on the class front. What’s that about?
Isn’t pop essentially a bit of a middle class affair? How many truly working class musical heroes have there really been? And if the answer is “not many”, why is being openly middle class so uncool in pop?
I want the sorts of faces that induce actual screaming. Nausea. Involuntary bowel evacuation.
I absolutely love it on Question Time or similar when a point is made and one bloke in the audience – always a bloke – claps with enormous enthusiasm, all by himself. He’s usually a potential member of The Wall Of Ham (pictured). I love it. Makes me very happy.
Any other minority-interest joys you’d like to share?
What does it sound like?:
I won’t pretend there’s much new here for the casual listener to The Afterword’s seminal run of reviews threads: they’re classics for a reason, and there can be hardly a fan amongst us who hasn’t at some point punched the air while yelling “WHOAH-OH-OH! Tony Blackburn’s Motorway Jams!” as that unmistakeable intro kicks in. The Afterword has never set much store by pushing the boundaries for its own sake, and with quality like this, who cares? Bargepole’s mic-flailing stage moves give way inevitably to Lodestone’s foot-on-monitors riffing in the middle eight, the sound of “Did you really have to write this” echoing epically as Chiz steps up to share Lodey’s mic, Bargey piles in with a resurgent roar and the entire thread crashes gloriously into the amps and tumbles offstage in a mass of thrilling recrimination. Crowd. Goes. Wild.
What does it all *mean*?
You can reissue the classics as many times as you like. Some things never get old.
Goes well with…
Might suit people who like…
– Watching Lodey and Bargey do their Jets v Sharks thing. – The fireplace scene from Women In Love
So, rather than being The Nicest Man In Ever, Dave Grohl turns out to be The Actual Worst. The Rock Dad. Can there be anything worse? His 8-year-old kid wants an Imagine Dragons record (not, as the headline claims, Lana del Rey). He comes out with AC/DC because PROPER MUSIC.
Other scenes from Chez Grohl: “Happy birthday, sweetheart. I know you wanted pizza for tea, but here’s some liver and onions. It’s better.”
“Here’s twenty quid, love. Get yourself a toy.” “Oooh, how about that?” “No, not that, get the Meccano. I loved Meccano when I was your age, plus it’s educational.”
Let’s have some more from the School of Be-My-Avatar Parenting!
Folks, we’re supporting Will Samson at The Islington on Tolpuddle St in, er, Islington on 19th November.
The venue have very kindly allowed us to ahem HELP YOU OUT with a heavily discounted ticket and a free drink (I make no representations about what the drink might contain, I’m just saying here and now).
Gigs in London being, frankly, difficult to organise and promote, we don’t do them often, so I was wondering if any of you lovely folk might like to make a mini-mingle of it? Is that awfully self serving? It’d be AWESOME to see you, and any money we make we’ll just end up spending on buying you a pint (NB: we’re highly unlikely to see any money!).
It just struck me as a sort of nice double bubble type deal: we get to see old friends and new, and you get to
Either DM me or confirm attendance on the FB link above and I’ll put your name on the list. The venue has asked me not » Continue Reading.
Bought myself a black filter at the leisure centre while taking the boblets to their swimming lesson.
Boblet 2 returns from her lesson.
Her: “I can smell your coffee.”
Me: “I see. I myself cannot. You use Evyan skin cream, and sometimes you wear L’Air du Temps. But not today.”
Nearly did a victory lap of the place.
Any good moments from the lives of Afterworders lately?
To go along with http://theafterword.co.uk/things-we-could-live-without, what about the things you just cain’t quit, no matter how much you wish you could?
In my case it’s Amazon. I don’t disapprove of Amazon or anything – as I’ve said before, the fault is with the law, not with them. It’s just it’s so bloody easy to spend money on the thing.
(And yes, I have just checked my bank balance. And yes, I have just shit meself.)
I post from my phone a lot, and when I’m using mobile data rather than wifi, I get the Imunify360 Captcha security thing a LOT. Like, maybe 1 in 3 times I click a link on the site?
I get that, post hack, the site needs protecting but for me it’s rather too much on the intrusive side right now.
You will now be directed back to the page in the 3 second…
The music is always kind of secondary for me at festivals since we take the kids and it’s actually just a very fun holiday. Which is just as well cos I’m not fussed by this year’s lineup.
Any fellow AWers doing the Suffolkation this weekend?
@gatz just mentioned the band !!!, pronounced “chk chk chk” over on the “It’s all the same” thread.
I’ve never listened to them because their name was so annoying. It’s like Does It Offend You, Yeah? – something incredibly pleased with itself, arch, punchable. Now, sewer rat might taste like pumpkin pie but I’ll never know cos I wouldn’t eat the filthy motherfucker. In the same way, !!! might be incredible, but I’ll never know cos I wouldn’t listen to them on purpose ever, just on the basis of that name.
What other band names are simply unacceptable? No ifs, no buts: too infuriating to even give the music the most cursory of chances. Not “a bit lame”. I’m taking instant non-negotiable shouts of “fuck off!”
Queen Elizabeth Olympic Stadium, London
I never got to see Guns N’ Roses as a kid: I was about 14 when Slash called it quits, and I never had any interest in seeing LA’s finest hard rock JD-swiggers without him. By the time I lost interest in them, they’d become a bloated caricature of rock excess with Axl Rose routinely arriving 3 and 4 hours late for shows and causing riots by so doing.
So I was a little amused that we were late for this gig.
By the time we got there, it was about 8:20. The Olympic Park is a proper shlep from the wilds of Berkshire and we thought there was no way they’d be on before 9. But as it turned out, we missed It’s So Easy, Welcome to the Jungle and half of Rocket Queen. Ironic, as Alanis Morissette might observe.
Didn’t matter, though. I never thought I’d see Slash, Axl and Duff on the same stage again and yet not only here they were, but here they were warm, smiling, going back-to-back in solos, Axl laying a fond hand on his top-hatted compadre’s arm every so often. It » Continue Reading.
As my band prepares to record final overdubs for our second album, we’ve basically spent all the money. We wanted to do this record right, so we’ve used professional studios and a pro mix engineer – all of which is great but not sustainable for a band made up of two working parents who have neither the time, inclination or record contract to give it all up and hit the road!
So once the album is done, we’re going back to DIY. (Our first album was entirely DIY – recorded in whatever space we could scrounge, with budget mics and a laptop. I mixed and mastered it myself long before I’d actually learned anything about how those things are done, and while the record definitely sounds good for a DIY beginner, I’ve learned tons since.)
So, if you record at all, what kit and techniques do you like?
Job 1 is obviously getting decent mics. Now, as much as I’d like a vintage Neumann, you’re talking £10k – » Continue Reading.
I’ve been through many iterations of what musical gear-heads call “GAS” over the years. Once coined to stand for “guitar acquisition syndrome”, now more often meaning “gear”, it describes the compulsive desire to buy the next piece of musical kit.
In my case, I’ve been a sufferer since my teens, when I’d feverishly leaf through the school music supplier’s catalogue looking at all the guitars I’d never be able to afford. It branched out: amps, basses and – most fatally – pedals. I got lost down the pedal wormhole for literally years, obsessing over getting JUST the right fuzz or delay. Daftness.
I was GAS free for many many years, until I tripped, fell and acquired my first hardware synthesizer. I ADORE synths. And the worst part is, you can get enormous modular racks of them which are never, ever finished. And they do so much!
To date, I’m the slightly shamefaced owner of a big Nord workstation, a MeeBlip Triode, a Korg Monologue, a Novation MiniNova, a Roland TR-8 drum machine (808 JOY) and a Roland JU-06 reissue of the incredible Juno 106. About to arrive is a hardware sequencer, my first: a Squarp Pyramid. I’ve had » Continue Reading.
Home at the folks’ for a couple of nights and my old man has dug out a load of old vinlies for me, bless him. Sure, there are a couple of original Beatles albums which my mum bought in the 60s (Abbey Rd and White Album, the latter pretty pristine with all the trimmings: photos of the boys etc) but what I’m really excited about is my old stuff, notably:
Bad by Michael Jackson Crazy For You by Madonna (the first single I ever bought)
Sadly no sign of Hunting High And Low by a-Ha, my first ever album purchase, but it’s so great to have Bad again. The moment I touched it, I could almost have been transported back to the beginning of 1988 and my 10th birthday, which I got this LP for. The next birthday I have, it’ll be exactly 30 years since that present. I’m gonna play it.
I realise this is a bit tiny-violin territory, but why has it become acceptable in the last 30 years or so to dismiss someone’s opinions, abilities, right to a complex interior life, emotions – you name it – purely on the basis that they’re a bit posh?
For me, pretty much the LEAST objectionable thing about Boris, Osborne and Cameron is their education and background. Conversely, Gove often gets credit (or anyway a grudging “at least he wasn’t born posh”) for being an adopted scholarship boy. Music journalists and musicians have been making a massive deal of the assumed virtues of being working class ever since (yawn) punk. Nicky Wire still won’t shut up about it. It’s presumed relevant that Corbyn isn’t state educated. It all seems a bit odd.
What’s it all about, then? Is it just resentment at the hold the posh still have on public life? What’s the statistic? – something like 7% of the population went to private school and yet they make up 32% of MPs.
That’s often quoted in horrified tones, but – devil’s advocate in excelsis here – isn’t it the case that private schools until quite recently did offer a vastly » Continue Reading.
I was reminded by the old Facebook memories thingy this morning of a great motto by Michael Lewis (I’ve forgotten who he is but should credit him anyway) which I adopted as the motto of House Bob. It runs thus:
“Do as little as possible, and that unwillingly, for it is better to receive a slight reprimand than to perform an arduous task.”
I adopt as my sigil the sloth.
I got a small wrist-slappy move to the Noticeboard last time I posted one of these. Won’t make that mistake again.
Anyway. A couple of songs from our occasional series of rehearsal videos, one of which is new.
Hope you like. Frankly, I hope you see it at all. *waves from doldrums of Noticeboard section*
I’m acting as @drakeygirl’s self-appointed amanuensis this week. She hasn’t asked me to or anything but I’m an impatient bugger so ner.
So how’s everyone’s week been? I return semi-refreshed from the Easter break (apart from only getting 2 hrs sleep last night thanks to stressing THE FUCK OUT about work. But that’s another story. It’s possible I’m semi delirious. Sorry.)
I’ve discovered this amazing thing, right. It’s called WALKING. I basically really dislike cardio exercise but it turns out that a daily and brisk 3-mile walk is quite the tonic in a number of ways. I listen to far more music – and isn’t Gods of the Earth by The Sword just a great record? – and that combined with calorie counting and 3 lots of strength training a week is A Thing That I Can Do And Enjoy.
So I went to Greece. Ate a small percentage of it. Came back having put 4 lbs on. Did a week of the aforementioned regime and BANG. Net loss of a pound since last Chubby Check which means…fanfare: a stone. Done and dusted.
Now just 2 or 3 to go.
Moose Allain on Twitter has been retweeting great nicknames people have been sending him and it’s been making me chortle.
My own favourite (and I know it’s not original, but it was to me at the time) involved a chap a friend of mine worked with, who was famously unsociable. He was known as Eternal Flame because he never went out.
Let’s be having you.
…and – if you are – you don’t get our social media updates, the band I’m in with my friend Katy is reasonably active at the mo. We’re rehearsing for some shows in the summer and should be recording album #2 around the same time.
Anyway, all the “how-to” manuals tell us to keep putting stuff out and interacting with our audience, so we’ve decided to start doing little regular video captures of songs in rehearsal. Here’s the first one, from last night. It includes a new song.
As you were.
… Razorlight’s old website bio. Here’s an extract.
“London’s most passionate and wired underground rock’n’roll band.
Formed in the summer of 2002 around 22 year old frontman/singer/writer Johnny Borrell, they existed for two months without a name, until one night at a Warholian squat party in a derelict factory in the East End, their singer found himself speaking in tongues. Improvising lyrics at the end of the set, Johnny was passed down words from the watchful muses above, and out of his mouth came the sound… rezorright… raisaaarite….razorlight. Now they had a name they could proceed to blow away every run of the mill garage rock band, with a set of serrated, transatlantic, poetic songs played with white knuckle intensity and delivered by a singer with total, natural charisma.
Night after long night they’d been holed up in a rat-plagued low-boho rehearsal studio on the East edge of town, shaping the scribbled visions of urchin-savant Johnny into grooved, twitching, adrenalised guitar pieces and making occasional live foreys to support The Von Bondies or The Libertines. Finally they could play shows where the converts in the crowd could happily shout ‘You are the bollocks!’ without adding, in frustration ‘What’s » Continue Reading.
Oldie, but goodie. Benny Hill music dubbed over ravers in a field. Stick with it: you’ll thank me about a minute in.