A Tribute to the Great Gerald Wilson

For me, it all began about two or three years ago when a good friend with peerless taste, Jo Wallace, pasted a version of Light My Fire on her Facebook page. I'm a sucker for this song, loving Tony Hatch's, Erma Franklin's and Shirley Bassey's takes on it, as well as the original. This one though, was something else. This was so far up my street you'd need to pack a flask and sandwiches if you had any desire to reach it. The Gerald Wilson Orchestra. Gerald Wilson? Never heard of him? No, I hadn't either.

Have You Got Spiral Scratch, Buzzcocks?

This Friday in Manchester and Saturday in Brixton, 25th and 26th May 2012, Buzzcocks will play for the first time in 33 years with original vocalist Howard Devoto. I will be at the latter show. I am getting quite excited, almost as much as my fourteen year old self would have been.

This chapter from Taking Candy from a Dog will explain all.

It’s July 1979 and Lee writes to tell me some big news. Really big news. He’s read in the NME that Spiral Scratch is going to be re-released.

After a string of fantastic singles throughout 1978 the last couple haven’t been so hot, but the Buzzcocks are still my favourite band. I bought the current one, Harmony in my Head, in both the blue and red sleeve, even though it’s not a patch on Promises or Love You More.

I’ve got everything they’ve ever made, including Pulsebeat 12" on blue vinyl, everything except Spiral Scratch. Lee tells me that the Spiral Scratch EP is one of punk’s main foundation stones, the first true ‘independent’ record. That piece of plastic, recorded one December afternoon in 1976, has inspired a thousand other bands to make DIY records. That way they cut out the corporate middle man.

Jottings of a Traveller III (Sardinia Oct 2009)

They say that things always come in threes. Of course they don't, not always, but sometimes they do. Take this week for example. At the age of exactly 44-and-a-half (on Sunday) I experienced three 'firsts' as follows;

 I. My first visit to Italy. Sardinia, to be exact. Castelsardo, on its north coast to be more exact. Okay, so it's not the mainland, but say you'd never been to Britain, the Isles of Sheppey or Man would still count.

Vic Templar, Private Detective

I've known Mr K for almost twenty years and I know that he runs a Private Detective Agency, but that's all I know. What he actually does, who he works for, who he checks up on, is a mystery. If you'd ask me whether he carries a gun or not, I'd surmise that he does not.
Mr K knows I'm a little bit down on my luck so asks if I fancy earning some cash on the side. Sure, what do I have to do?
Here's what I have to do - I have to drive past this particular house and see if there's a For Sale sign outside.
And then what?
And that's it. Sign or no sign - that's all he needs to know. Drive past, look, then phone him with a yes or no.
So I don't have to stake the house out, or wait for someone to leave, or keep watch for a particular visitor or delivery, or take candid snaps, or ask questions of strangers in local cafes or bars, or tail someone at a safe distance?
No. Just see if there is a sign or not.

Jottings of a Traveller (Slight Return)

Two uncannily similar tube incidents. The first is undated, but I guess would be sometime in the Summer of 2008. Both were on the Victoria line en route to Victoria station.

It's one of those days that of which we get maybe four or five in a year. Perhaps a little cluster of three in a row without a cloud in the sky, temperature pushing 90 (that's 32 for my Aussie and American chums) not a wisp of a breeze. Good cricket weather.
Of course, everyone is moaning. People are looking at each other, sweat cascading from their brow and armpits, out of breath, panting, scantily dressed, sighing, raising eyebrows to strangers, damp sticky clothing. Someone will make comment along the lines of 'I'll be glad when this is over' or 'Terrible, isn't it' or simply, 'It's too hot'.