A FOND FAREWELL
Sad Losses From The Musical Universe
Here we are then, creeping toward the autumnal months and still beholden to ever-changing Covid restrictions. Some things are back to normal - gigs and festivals have taken place since our esteemed government threw open the country's doors on 'Freedom Day' - but there is still an element of jeopardy in the air, a nagging threat that things will change at any minute. Sadly though, some things will always remain the same - and once again, it is with a tip of the hat and a raising of the tankard that we say goodbye to some rock and roll legends who have reached the end of their journey.
We also said au revoir to a couple of my favourite 80's musicians who both had a major influence on my early record-buying adventures. Fritz McIntyre - who has died at 62 - was, along with Mick Hucknall, the founding member of the mega-selling 80's modern soul band Simply Red. Supplying lush keyboard textures and dulcet backing vocals, McIntyre appeared with Hucknall across five albums, including their creative zenith 'Stars'. In the end, like many others no doubt, he tired of the ever-increasing Hucknall ego and decamped to Florida where he became the artistic director for a spate of local churches. Despite their highly regarded naffness, I always had a soft spot for early Simply Red - it's impossible to deny the brilliance of Hucknall's voice - and fell deep and hard for their third album 'A New Flame' which was drenched in McIntyre's marvellous musical flourishes. Meanwhile, Birmingham's Brian Travers - another tragic cancer victim at the age of 62 - was one of the founding members of the politically charged reggae troupe UB40 who (aside from the Bob Marley greatest hits album 'Legend') became my first real foray into that area of music. Travers and the rest of the band - led by the Campbell brothers Robin and Ali - were massively successful from the off, reaching the Top Ten in 1980 with their first four singles - including the peerless 'King' and 'One In Ten' - before repeating that success worldwide with the huge-selling 'Labour Of Love' LP in 1983. In truth, over the following two decades or so, the band lost their early anti-Conservative edge - which, let's face it, gave them their name - and by the mid-90's they had become a safe, middle of the road heritage act. Eventually, years of mis-management, inter-band rancour and badly organised finances led to a hugely fractious split and there have been two versions of the band touring the hits in recent years. Travers himself stayed with guitarist Robin Campbell whilst lead vocalist Ali maintained the most successful iteration with his own band. Despite this though, those early UB40 records - especially the glorious debut album 'Signing Off' - still thrill to this day, and the wondrous saxophone playing of Brian Travers reminds me of lazy Sunday afternoons in my bedroom at home as a spotty teenager, ignoring my homework and swaying to the light reggae sounds of a bunch of lads from the Midlands. Iree.
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| The classic UB40 line-up (Brian Travers kneeling) |
Whilst we're on a reggae tip, fire up a doobie and crack open a can of Red Stripe in memory of The Upsetter himself - Lee 'Scratch' Perry - who has departed this mortal realm for a destination no doubt more befitting a man of his psych-infused mental capacity. An absolute legend of Jamaican music, the supremely talented and highly prolific producer, songwriter and vocalist has moved on to pastures new at the fine old age of 85. Regarded across the globe - not just in his own back yard - as one of the leading lights of reggae, Perry was full of strange tales and weird and wonderful anecdotes from his life in music - from 'discovering' Bob Marley and walking around the entire island of Jamaica backwards to burying televisions in the back garden for being 'evil' and keeping a duck pond in his legendary Black Ark studios. A madcap, crazy genius who took great pleasure in confusing the listener at every turn with his broiling stew of sample-filled reggae jams, reverb-drenched dub, and all kinds of shamanistic psychedelic wonder, Perry's legacy will live on and endure for as long as music exists.
"I never liked to work because I don't want nobody to be a slave. I want to be worked in my mind. Everything that's going on, there's some big spirit behind me who send me to do the thing that I must do."
And it's a sad fare thee well to two pioneers of traditional American folk and country music as one half of the truly great 50s harmony vocal duo The Everly Brothers - the eldest sibling Don - moves on to that great gig in the sky at the age of 84 to finally pair up with his younger brother Phil, who died 8 years ago, and rekindle that lightning in a bottle moment when they first sang together all those decades ago. With huge worldwide hit singles like 'Bye, Bye, Love' and 'Wake Up, Little Susie' topping charts far and wide during that first flush of rock and roll madness in the late 50s, the duo were massive influences on the likes of The Beatles and The Beach Boys. We also say goodbye to one of the finest vocalists of modern times - not just in country music circles but in the whole of music - as the glorious Nanci Griffith sails on to new horizons at the far too young age of 68. A true storytelling songwriter, politically charged and socially aware, Griffith's songs were pure, poignant and passionate and touched on subjects like false imprisonment, wrongful executions, native land rights, racism, immigration and all points in-between. Born to an artistic family, Griffith started out early, winning song-writing competitions in her teens. A run of very fine folk-tinged country albums followed with the likes of 'There's A Light Beyond These Woods' and 'Once In A Very Blue Moon' standing out. She won a Grammy in 1994 for her 'Other Voices, Other Rooms' album which saw her tackle a variety of covers whilst duetting with the likes of Bob Dylan, John Prine and Emmylou Harris. With her delightfully dulcet singing voice and crisp, precise guitar picking, Griffith stood head and shoulders above the majority of her peers. She stopped recording almost a decade ago and retired from view, keeping a low profile throughout her final years.
Here she is back in her early days with her stunning paean to small-town American life - the truly spine-tingling 'Love At The Five And Dime'. Just wonderful.
Alan Lancaster was one of the founding members of the legendary British rock and roll institution Status Quo, playing bass with them from their early days as a flower-power loving psychedelic troupe, through their imperial mid to late 70s phase as denim-clad boogie merchants, and right up to their mega-selling 80s period at the top table of rock royalty. Along with drummer John Coghlan, he was part of the thumping rhythm section of the Quo who were - of course - led by the axe-wielding vocalists Francis Rossi and Rick Parfitt. With hit singles aplenty like 'Down, Down', 'Roll Over Lay Down', 'Whatever You Want' and 'Caroline', the Quo were regular visitors to the top end of the charts. After Coghlan's departure in the early 80s, Lancaster stayed a little longer before - tiring of the constant battle of wills between himself and Rossi, as well as the bands move toward a more mainstream easy-listening sound best typified by the horrendous 'Margherita Time' single - he quit under a cloud after the band's appearance at Live Aid in 1985 where they opened the show with a typically rousing version of 'Rockin' All Over The World'. He retired to Australia with his family where he embarked on years of litigation with the rest of the Quo camp over lost royalties. Eventually, the band buried any outstanding hatchets - Lancaster and Rossi reluctantly - and embarked on a hugely successful arena tour in 2014 dubbed 'The Frantic Four Ride Again'. Financially, this allowed Lancaster to relax about his future but the historical enmity between him and Rossi was still very evident and the reunion fizzled out. Lancaster returned Down Under where he was soon diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. A multitude of health issues followed and he passed away with his family by his side at the age of 72. With Rick Parfitt lost to us a few years ago, there are now just the two original members of the band remaining in Rossi and Coghlan. Rossi himself had this to say about his former friend and bandmate: "Alan was an integral part of the sound and enormous success of Status Quo during the 60s and 70s. Although it is well documented that we were estranged in recent years, I will always have fond memories of our early days together and my condolences go out to Alan's family."
I was a big fan of the Quo back in the late 70s when I first started to discover music and this particular track was my go-to when it came to playing air guitar in front of the mirror with a tennis racket. We've all done that, haven't we?
Dusty Hill - the fulsomely bearded bass guitar maestro from Texan boogie merchants ZZ Top - left us suddenly in late July at the age of 72. He was in the middle of a Covid-delayed US tour with the Top and had missed one gig due to illness just days before he passed. In his entire 52 year tenure with the trio, it was his only no-show. His two bandmates - the just as fulsomely bearded Billy Gibbons and the famously non-bearded Frank Beard - paid tribute to their fallen comrade with this statement:
"We will miss your steadfast presence, your good nature and enduring commitment to providing that monumental bottom to the Top."
Hill was born and raised in Dallas and studied cello at school before transferring to the bass in the early 60s. Starting out in the jug-band blues combo American Blues, Hill soon hooked up with first Beard and then Gibbons and ZZ were born in 1970. Splendid albums followed including 'Rio Grande Mud', 'Tres Hombres' and the utterly fantastic 'Deguello' and by the end of their first decade together, they had become one of America's finest blues and boogie-woogie outfits - with healthy record sales and huge tours like the epic Worldwide Texas Tour that saw the band travel the US performing alongside rattlesnakes, buzzards and even a buffalo. After a lengthy break at the turn of the 80s - during which time Hill took a part-time job at a local airport - ZZ returned with a bang in 1983 with the multi-million selling 'Eliminator' album that saw them embrace modern production techniques and electronic instruments to startling effect. Massive hit singles like 'Gimme All Your Lovin', 'Legs' and 'Sharp Dressed Man' gained heavy rotation on the nascent MTV and, almost overnight, ZZ were household names across the globe. The image - the beards, the dance moves, the fast cars, long legged girls and the signature spinning guitars - all helped of course, but it was primarily the music that sent them stratospheric. Combining the band's love of down-home boogie and searing electric blues with catchy choruses and radio-friendly tunes, by the end of the 80s - having repeated the trick with 'Afterburner' and 'Recycler' - the trio were one of the biggest groups in the world. Hill was a major part of this success, his thick, groove-laden bass lines gave the ZZ sound a serious slab of heft - and he also contributed lead vocals on a number of tracks over the band's career from the peerless 'Tush' in 1975 right through to their dopey but fun cover of 'Viva Las Vegas' in 1992 which, remarkably, was their biggest hit in this country. Further albums were few and far between in recent years - the last was the very fine Rick Rubin helmed 'La Futura' in 2012 - although their 16th album was almost in the can when Hill died. Gibbons has reiterated that the band will continue without Hill - their long-term guitar tech will fill the hole - but, for me, they won't be the same without Dusty grooving away behind Billy G. Rest in power, Dusty.
I was lucky enough to see the band at Wembley Arena during their mid-80s hey-day and it's still to this day one of my all-time favourite gig experiences. The band were at their physical peak and were having an absolute blast on stage. They peppered the show with the big hits of course, but also dove deep into their back catalogue to give the long-standing fans something to chew on. There were lasers, explosions and all kinds of chicanery - including a marvellous disappearing act from Gibbons and Hill that saw them vanish into thin air whilst their guitars were left spinning around independently. It was tremendous stuff.
ZZ were all over the British TV in the 80s - I can remember a wonderful set from them on Channel 4's legendary The Tube show in 1983 - but this performance of 'Cheap Sunglasses' - one of the stand-out tracks from 'Deguello' - on Whistle Test in 1980, is the one I always go back to. Marvellous.
And last - but by no means least - in this litany of lost legends, we say bon voyage to the rock in the self-styled greatest rock and roll band in the world, the epitome of classic cool and an all-round good egg and thoroughly decent chap. Ladies and gentlemen, Charlie Watts from The Rolling Stones has left the building.
I think it's fair to say that because The Stones have been around for so long and travailed so many ups and downs over the years - not to mention the fact that Keith Richards is somehow still strolling around like a man half his age - that the news of poor old Charlie's death was greeted with the kind of shock that would usually follow a much younger musician's exit. Not Charlie, surely? Isn't he - and by definition, the rest of The Stones - meant to be around for a lot longer? Well, he was 80 and suffering from ill health recently due to an adverse reaction to an 'unspecified medical procedure' - the kind of latter life issues that millions succumb to every day - but still, it's Charlie Watts ferrcrissakes. The world is already a poorer place without him.
Born and raised in Wembley, the young Charles took to music early and honed his chops on the drum kit in a number of free-flowing jazz combos in the late 50s. Always immaculately turned out and seemingly disinterested in the late-night lifestyle of his fellow beat buddies, Charlie seemed a less than obvious choice when the fledgling Stones Mick Jagger and Brian Jones came calling and offered him a job with the band. After much pleading from the rest of the lads, Watts finally relented - on the condition that the date of his arrival would be set in stone as the original birth of the band. Savvy fellow. As we all know, The Stones hit the ground running and were monumentally successful from day one - battling it out with The Beatles throughout the sixties for the title of 'Biggest British Band' before taking on the mantle after The Fab Four called it a day. The imperial Stones phase of the late 60s to the mid-70s saw fabulous albums like 'Let It Bleed', 'Exile On Main Street' and 'Sticky Fingers' hoover up sales and awards in equal measure. They've never quite been the same for me, musically, but in an increasingly fickle world The Stones have maintained an incredibly long-lasting touring career with the odd album chucked out every five years or so. Their tours are mammoth affairs that traverse the globe regularly and the current stage of their 'No Filter' tour was about to get underway when poor Charlie fell ill. The Stones will continue no doubt - the always business-minded Jagger seemingly can't even countenance the idea of doing anything else - with long-time band comrade Steve Jordan filling in, but let's face it, they will never be the same.
Charlie wasn't a flashy drummer - his 60 years at The Rolling Stones coalface marked him out as a steady, reassuring presence in the band with no airs and graces or powerhouse "Hey, I'm the drummer!" posturing. The greatest compliment anyone could give him was that you always knew he was there, keeping the band on track and reigning in any wayward flights of fancy from Richards, Jones and later in the group's career, Mick Taylor and Ronnie Wood. He shone on the likes of 'Gimme Shelter', 'Paint It Black', 'Honky Tonk Women' and the whole of the really rather fantastic live set 'Get Your Ya-Ya's Out!' which even featured just him on the cover, jumping around like a loon whilst wearing a pair of silver trousers. He never sought attention - unlike his in your face singer - and preferred to steer clear of the limelight, spending his down time with his beloved wife Shirley and getting his musical fix with stints in a whole slew of modern jazz ensembles. He bred sheepdogs, wrote a book about his hero Charlie Parker, raised horses and - of course - spent a pretty penny on his sartorial splendour, wearing some of the finest suits ever seen on a man. He was, without doubt, one of the sharpest dressed men in music and maintained that elegance right through to his final days. And, despite a hugely surprising dalliance with heroin in the late 70s (a lapse he put down to boredom) he never fell into the rock and roll lifestyle that claimed so many of his peers - his dear friend Brian Jones for one. He was dry, arch and didn't suffer fools - when asked some years ago what it was like being the drummer in The Stones, he replied: "It's five years of work and twenty odd years of just hanging around". He was the glue that kept the band together - he kept a firm hand on the tiller and greased the wheels all the way through - never more so when the decade-long feud between Jagger and Richards in the 80s threatened to capsize the entire shebang. He was, quite simply, an absolute legend. Rest in power, Charles old chap.
(As a postscript, I can't leave without reciting the - possibly apocryphal - tale that concerned Charlie being rudely awakened in a hotel room on tour one time by the phone ringing. Upon answering, Charlie heard the strident vocal inflections of Jagger hollering "Where's my drummer?" Charlie got up, had a shower, combed his hair, put on a perfectly tailored three-piece suit and marched down to Jagger's room where he knocked on the door. Jagger answered and was immediately smacked in the mouth and left sprawling by Watts who quietly said the following: "Don't you ever call me your drummer again. You're MY fucking singer!")
Here's a wonderful clip from a Stones show in the early noughties of them playing the lesser-spotted 'Monkey Man' - originally recorded for their seminal 'Let It Bleed' album in 1969. What's great about this clip is that it just focuses on Charlie and shows off his economical way with the beat. It's fabulous. And, as a bonus, we don't get too much Jagger....
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