Twelve Dreams Of Dr. Sardonicus.

It is Saturday afternoon and through the kitchen window I just spotted my first bee of the year, going from flower to flower on the clematis which is growing all over the top of my tiny shed. That is an encouraging sign. I am listening to Twelve Dreams Of Dr. Sardonicus by Spirit which arrived recently.  It came about because a couple of weeks ago on the radio Marc Riley played a track by Spirit called Taurus and talked a bit about the band. It brought back memories for me, because in 1982 I met Randy California the guitarist and singer with Spirit. I was working for a pub landlord called Pee Wee Hunt from Trowbridge who was running the backstage bar at Glastonbury. I wasn’t taking my duties very seriously and was drinking at the bar. That’s where I met Randy. 

I don’t remember much about the conversation, but he was very amiable and bought me a drink and I insisted on buying him a brandy (rhymes with Randy) which he found quite amusing. With his curly hair and headband, he reminded me of Jimi Hendrix. Randy did play in Jimi’s band in 1966 and it was Jimi who gave him the name Randy California to distinguish him from another Randy in the group. There was another amusing incident that night because during Randy’s set the stage was plunged into darkness for about twenty minutes when the generator packed up. That was due to the genny operator being so stoned he forgot to put the fuel in the generator. The drummer Preston Heyman played a twenty-minute drum solo which the crowd clapped along with. You can find some of Randy’s Glastonbury set on Youtube. By the way, I got fired from my backstage job the following morning.

Randy California, Glastonbury 82

Anyway, a friend of mine whose views I respect told me that Twelve Dreams Of Dr. Sardonicus was one of his favourite albums. I agree, it is a great album. It was released in November 1970 and produced by David Briggs who was recommended to the band by Neil Young. David produced over a dozen of Neil’s albums. The production on this Spirit album is of the first order. There is so much going on in the mix. Spirit were Randy, guitar and vocals, Jay Ferguson – vocals, percussion, keyboards, John Locke – keyboards, Mark Andes – bass, vocals, and Ed Cassidy-drums.

The opening track Prelude/Nothing To Hide begins gently and acoustically, but then rocks out. The lyrics say “We are married to the same bride” the bride in question is music. Natures Way has a pleasant acoustic sound and is one of Spirit’s best-known songs. It was written in one afternoon and first played at the Fillmore West the same evening. There are two versions of Animal Zoo on this CD because it was also a single. It is a catchy song with the refrain “You’re much too fat and a little too long”. Love Has Found A Way has a rhythm track which David Briggs recorded, then played it backwards and they constructed the song over that. Why Can’t I Be Free only lasts a minute and leads into Mr Skin which is a tribute to their bald drummer Ed Cassidy. Space Child has exquisite piano and synthesiser playing by John Locke. When I touch You contains some very weird psychedelic sounds and on Street Worm Randy tries to emulate on guitar the saxophone playing of John Coltrane. Life Is Just Begun contains the lyric Hey Kiowa which is the name of an Indian clan and also a horse in Topanga Canyon. Morning Will Come features some beautifully arranged brass instruments. For the final track Soldier the band went into a studio which had a pipe organ. The majestic sound of this instrument is a fitting finale to this great album. There are also four bonus tracks of previously unreleased or different versions of the songs.

Shortly after making this album Ferguson and Andes left the group to form Jo Jo Gunne. Randy pursued a solo career, although different formations of Spirit emerged from time to time. Randy sadly died in Hawaii in 1997 at the young age of 45 while saving his son from drowning, but his legacy lives on. In the decades following it’s release Twelve Dreams Of Dr. Sardonicus has rightly come to be regarded as a classic album.

Van Morrison & Ray Charles, Wembley Arena 1996.

One of the most unusual Van concerts we ever went to was at Wembley Arena in summer 1996. Van was in a double bill with Ray Charles, so I felt we had to go. In the paper we had read that Van had been awarded the OBE in the Queen’s birthday honours which I thought was a good omen. We arrived at Paddington Station and booked a room in a crummy hotel. All the decent ones were booked up. As soon as we got unpacked, we headed for the West End. In the tube station I could hear raucous singing in the distance which echoed along the tunnels and got louder and louder. Suddenly we were surrounded by about 1,000 Scottish football fans all wearing tartan and kilts and carrying flags. It was like a scene from Braveheart. This was the day Scotland were playing England in Euro 96. At Wembley Stadium right next door to the Arena where the concert was.

"Oh no”, I said to Kim, “This is all we need," It didn't bode well.

In Trafalgar Square there must have been at least 20,000 Scots who had completely taken over the place. It was all good natured, for now. We hurried to my favourite London watering hole The French House in Old Compton Street, Soho. I like it because it is often frequented by actors, writers and the like and there is always somebody interesting in there to talk to. On one occasion a few years previously, I met the famous illustrator Ralph Steadman in there. I nipped to a nearby bookshop and bought a copy of Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas which he had illustrated (The Picador edition) He graciously signed it, and did a little Ralph Steadman original doodle in it for me.

We bought a bottle of Chardonnay, sat at the bar and got chatting to one of the clientele. I told him that we were going to see Van. He was really interested and we ended up having a really long strange conversation about Madame Blavatsky,The Theosophical Society, Krishnamurti, The Golden Dawn and The Rosecrucians. It was really weird. I had only wanted a quiet drink. I asked him what he did for a living and he smiled and said he was a piano tuner. I think he was a musician, but I’m not certain. Eventually it was time to leave for Wembley and we hailed a taxi. The taxi driver was a very timid little Indian man and as we drew near to the stadium, he refused to go any further when he saw the thousands of football fans streaming down the road from the game that had just ended.

"They will kill us" He moaned.

We got out of the taxi and went in a large pub that was packed with Scottish and English fans.

“I’m going to get battered in here,” I said to Kim.

The Scottish fans were amiable and good natured. It was the English who seemed intimidating. Luckily though, England had won 2-0 so there wasn't a bloodbath. The atmosphere in there was quite tense. We left the pub breathing a sigh of relief. Walking up to the Arena we saw the coach carrying the England team leaving Wembley and while queuing up outside we saw a long white stretch limo arriving. I bet Ray Charles was in it. I couldn’t imagine Van riding around in one of those. Van was first on stage which is a sign of his humility because he was a much bigger artist than Ray in terms of record sales in 1996. Van and his band were all in a row across the stage. He looked uncomfortable in this venue which is like a vast shed. The first song was Not Feeling It Any More which was an odd choice to start a concert with. This was followed by Raincheck, Summertime in England, Some Peace of Mind, See Me Through / Soldier of Fortune, Tupelo Honey / Why Must I Always Explain, Vanlose Stairway / Trans-Euro Train, Whenever God Shines His Light, The Healing Game, Moondance, Full Force Gale, Have I Told You Lately, It's a Man's Man's Man's World. During the show Van made a long rambling speech and then asked if there were any requests. The highlight for me that night was The Healing Game because I had never heard it before. It was nice to see Ray Charles, but I wasn't in the mood by then and we left before the end to avoid the rush.

The next day before we caught the train home we went for a walk. We looked at the paintings along the Bayswater Road, went for a stroll in Hyde Park and looked at an exhibition in the Serpentine Gallery. The football madness was over for another day and peace had returned to the capital. As I reflected on the concert the night before I realised that if Van isn't in the mood then he just can't do it. It was the first Van Morrison concert that I hadn't particularly enjoyed. These days I try to go to concerts without any expectations, and then I’m not disappointed

Van Morrison, Princess Theatre, Torquay In 2006

One of the highlights of 2006 for me and Kim was meeting Van's daughter Shana when she appeared at Bristol Harbour Festival. She sang  versions of Sweet Thing and Sometimes We Cry and we met Shana after the gig. She kindly signed a CD for us. I had a little chat with her and told Shana that the last time saw her was back in 94 at Exeter University when she duetted with Brian Kennedy.  What a nice lady she is. A couple of weeks later we saw Van again for two shows in Torquay. It had been nine months since we last saw Van on a cold December night in Bristol when he first revealed his country songs. The journey to Torquay was nice, once you get past Exeter and the train runs right along the beautiful Devon coast until you reach Torquay on the English Riviera.

I was pleased to see Katie Kissoon back in the band on vocals because I had not seen Katie since my first Van concert in 1979. Fame was the opening song and I usually dislike this song but it seemed a lot better tonight. Then Enlightenment which was a rarely heard song back then. This was followed by Only A Dream, one of the best songs from Down The Road. Then Choppin' Wood which isn't one of my favourites, followed by I'm Not Feelin' It Any More. I remember Van singing this at his Wembley Arena show in 96.  What Am I Livin' For? was followed by Magic Time and then Moondance with the usual solo spots for most of the band.

 It was then time for the highlight of the evening which was I Can't Stop Loving You with Crawford Bell, Katie and another girl excelling themselves on vocals. Then it was Bright Side Of The Road which is always a crowd pleaser. A nice version of Have I Told You Lately? followed and I was pleased that Van had dropped the Las Vegas version. A  country style version of Precious Time followed, then Crazy Love with Van displaying all his vocal brilliance and Katie getting warm applause for her verse. Playhouse followed and for me this is one of my least favourites from Pay The Devil. The tour de force that is Streets Of Arklow followed, which segued into You Don't Pull No Punches. Here Comes The Night was next and then Wild Night which was superb as was Help Me with Van telling the audience that it was a Sonny Boy Williamson song. Then it was the usual finish of Brown Eyed Girl and Gloria.

The next morning we had breakfast in Wetherspoons and a couple of Magner's Irish ciders. At 6.00 thousands of people lined the sea front for a spectacular flying display by The Red Arrows who are one of the worlds leading aerial aerobatics teams. We met up with the gang in the Mambo bar and then went to the show. Our seats were at the front with a great view of the band. Katie looked especially great in her slinky black dress. The performance was even better than the night before. Steal My Heart Away, Ancient Highway/In The Afternoon, One Irish Rover, Wonderful Remark, What Makes The Irish Heartbeat and St James Infirmary being the songs that were different to the night before. Everyone agreed that both shows were brilliant. Van shows at the Princess Theatre are always memorable for one reason or another. I have seen him perform there on several occasions, so let's hope there is more to come in the future.

Marie Laforet: The Girl With The Golden Eyes

I have not had much alcohol during this pandemic, but last Saturday night I treated myself to some cans of cider. It put me in a jolly mood, and I was listening to music on Youtube. I stumbled across a beautiful French singer called Marie Laforet. She was singing in English a folk song that I had heard previously by many singers. It is called Barbara Allen. She accompanied herself on guitar as well. (I have shared the video to this blog page if you want to see it) I thought she was wonderful and before I stopped to think, I was looking to see what albums were available. I found one simply called Portrait 1963/1969. “That will do”, I thought, and clicked buy. Ideas were already forming in my head. “I could write a story on my blog page called ‘The Ballad Of Marie Laforet’, that will sound mysterious and people are bound to read it”.  I like French female singers. I bought an album a couple of years ago called La Question by Francoise Hardy which I highly rate and often listen to. The new CD arrived yesterday. I was a bit disappointed that there wasn’t a little booklet with it containing sleeve notes, photos, and biography. I had to consult Wikipedia to find out about her. She was born in Soulac-sur-Mer, Médoc in 1939. In 1959 she stood in for her sister in a talent contest and won. As well as being a singer, Marie was also a successful actress. I read that she appeared in a film called La Fille aux Yeux d'Or (The Girl with the Golden Eyes) which would become her nickname. “That’s what I’ll call the story!”, I immediately thought.

It was when she sang in her second film St Tropez Blues that she began releasing singles and had her first hit in 1963 with Les Vendanges de l'Amour (The Harvests Of Love) She moved to Geneva Switzerland in 1978, opened an art gallery and lost interest in music until returning to sing in 2005. Marie Laforet sadly died in 2019 aged 80. When I played the album, it wasn’t at all what I expected. I think I was expecting that she would be like a French version of Joan Baez or someone like that. What I heard is French 1960s pop music. Wiki told me that her biggest successes were in the 1970s. Perhaps I should have done more research. I still like the album I bought though, very much indeed. Some of the songs are what I think the French would call Ye Ye music. Several of the songs are covers of well-known English or American songs.

Viens Sur La Montagne was originally Go Tell It On The Mountain which was a Peter, Paul, & Mary song. Katy Cruelle is a song I first heard by Karen Dalton. There are two Simon & Garfunkel songs covered here. La Flute Magique is her version of El Condor Pasa and you can guess which song La Voix Du Silence is. Marie Douceur, Marie Colere is a great version of Paint It Black by The Stones. Le Vin De L’ete I knew as Summer Wine by Nancy Sinatra & Lee Hazelwood. Of her own original French songs, I find Manchester et Liverpool quite interesting because northern industrial English cities are not usually found in romantic song titles. I can’t say much else about the songs because my French is really poor and I can’t be bothered to translate all the lyrics, but I like her voice, even if I don’t understand what she is singing about. I don’t think I will play this album as much as the Francoise Hardy, but I am glad I found Marie Laforet, the girl with the golden eyes. 

Marie Laforêt- Barbara Allen (1966)

Dolmen Music by Meredith Monk.

There is a lot of music I would never get to hear if I didn’t listen to BBC 6 Music.  My favourite presenter is Gideon Coe, but there are others who I like as well. Stuart Maconie has a show called The Freak Zone and one night recently he featured an album from 1981 called Dolmen Music by Meredith Monk. I had never heard of her before, but I thought it was some of the strangest music I had ever heard, so I looked on Wikipedia to learn more about her. Meredith Jane Monk (born November 20, 1942) is an American composer, performer, director, vocalist, filmmaker, and choreographer. In 2015, she was awarded the National Medal of Arts by President Barack Obama. Dolmen Music in 1981 was the first of 11 albums she has released on Manfred Eicher's record label ECM. NME named it as the 42nd best album of 1981. In 2017, NPR placed it at number 147 on its list of the 150 Greatest Albums Made by Women. I ordered the CD and it arrived last Saturday morning.

A Dolmen.

Why is it called Dolmen Music? I googled Dolmen and found out that a Dolmen is a type of single-chamber megalithic tomb, usually consisting of two or more vertical megaliths supporting a large flat horizontal capstone or "table". Most date from the early Neolithic (4000–3000 BC) and were sometimes covered with earth or smaller stones to form a tumulus. In the sleeve note booklet there is a photo of Meredith and her ensemble sitting in a circle of stones, so that might explain that. In the notes she explains that she tries to create with vocals, the abstract and emotional qualities that are used in creating a painting or dance. She does this in an ensemble of singers with various qualities in their voices. She said that she was exploring a particular Glottal sound. I did not know what that meant, so looked that up as well. It means sounds produced by the glottis which is the part of the larynx consisting of the vocal cords and the opening between them. It affects voice modulation through expansion or contraction.

Meredith Monk.

Basically, I would say that this is experimental abstract music to find out what the human voice is capable of expressing. If you are looking for traditional forms of music with melodies and songs, you will not find it here. The first four tracks, called Gotham Lullaby, Travelling, The Tale, and Biography are Meredith on voice and piano accompanied by Collin Walcott on percussion and violin, and Steve Lockwood piano on one track. Track 5 is Dolmen Music which is divided into six parts called Overture And Men’s Conclave, Wa Ohs, Rain, Pine Tree Lullaby, Calls, and Conclusion. It features the six voices of Andrea Goodman, Monica Soles, Julius Eastman, Robert Een, Paul Langland and Meredith Monk. The only accompaniment is the cello of Robert Een and Julius Eastman on percussion.

I imagine that it takes a lot of courage to create music like this. To explain your vision to other singers of what you are trying to achieve, and to rehearse it. This work pushes back the boundaries of what we think of as music. Don’t ask me what the music means. While listening I wrote down notes saying things like, minimalist folk music, aboriginal, primeval, ancient. In popular music I can hear possible similarities with people like Bjork, Laurie Anderson, or Joanna Newsom. If this work was a play, I think it would be written by Samuel Beckett. It is not music for the fainthearted. If you played it to a person of a nervous disposition, I think they might leave faster than you can say Trout Mask Replica. There are hardly any lyrics to grasp onto, apart from in The Tale where the voice says things like, I still have my hands, I still have my mind, I still have my money, I still have my telephone, Hello? Hello? Hello? 

The percussion often sounds like broken bottles and car horns with tamburas or didgeridoo type sounds.  Occasionally there are times of great beauty when you think of church music like plainsong, but then it becomes chaotic again. This work is the opposite of easy listening. I found it fascinating, and I am glad I discovered the work of Meredith Monk.                                                                                                                                            

On The Road In Morocco, 1974

It was 47 years ago, the summer of 1974, the year Abba won the Eurovision Song Contest, West Germany beat Holland in the World Cup Final, and the Watergate scandal was unfolding.  After months of work in the Brymbo and Shotton steelworks I had scraped enough money together to go to Morocco. The big day finally arrived. A gang of twelve left the York Road in Leeds one morning in a brand-new hired minibus. There was me and Penny, my brother Paul, Dave, Jacky & Bill, Leigh, Jill & Ron, Ann, Mike, and Terry. Most of us knew each other from college. 

Traffic queue at Ceuta.

We headed for Dover to catch the night ferry to Calais. This was the first time in my life I had set foot outside the UK, so even being in France and Spain was an exciting adventure. We drove all night and all the following day. I think Leigh and Mike did most of the driving. There was room for three to sit at the front on what we called the flight deck as we headed south towards Spain, listening to music on cassettes most of the time. I think Mike Oldfield and Pink Floyd were the popular choices. We crossed the Pyrenees and arrived in the town of San Sebastian in the Basque country. In a restaurant the twelve of us tried to explain to the waitress what we wanted. She didn’t speak English and none of us spoke Spanish. She walked away and hadn’t written anything down.

 "She is ignoring us because she doesn’t like the British", I spluttered angrily.

Within minutes she had returned laden with exactly everything all twelve of us had ordered. I could not believe it. The following day we had our first mishap when on a mountain road we were hit by another bus which nearly forced us off the road and into a ravine. One side of the vehicle was quite bashed in, so we drove to the nearest police station to report it for insurance reasons, but they were not interested and ignored us. Spain was still run by Franco in those days. We carried on through Bilbao, Burgos, Valladolid and Salamanca. Then we were stopped by two cops on motorbikes. They didn't speak English but handed us a card printed in English which they conveniently had on them. It said something like,

YOU HAVE TRANSGRESSED ONE OF THE TRAFFIC LAWS, YOU ARE FINED 600 PESETAS, UNLESS YOU PAY THIS FINE IMMEDIATELY YOUR VEHICLE WILL BE IMPOUNDED.                                                                                                                               

They must have just parked by the road and wait for vehicles with foreign number plates to come along. They were little more than licensed bandits. We had no choice but to give them their money and we drove on, heading south through Toledo, Cordoba, Seville, Jerez, and Cadiz. I liked Andalusia. We finally reached the port of Algerciras where I had another encounter with the police. I was strolling down the street dressed in only a pair of shorts and a cop told me put a shirt on, which I hurriedly did before he arrested me. That night we set sail for Africa. At dawn I stood on the deck and watched dolphins follow in the wake of the boat as we sailed towards Morocco. When we set foot on African soil it was disappointing to find that we were not yet in Morocco, but in the Spanish enclave of Ceuta. 

It took us sixteen hours to get through customs because fearing a coup the Moroccans were searching every single vehicle. Finally, that night we drove into Morocco and set up camp on the first beach we found. Within five minutes a man arrived who wanted to sell us some herbal stuff called Kif. He also started bartering to buy our big tent, but we wouldn't have it. I wandered off along the beach and lay on the sand staring at the sky. It was as black as ink but studded with thousands of stars. I had never seen such a starry night in all my life and every couple of minutes there would be a shower of shooting stars. I could see why the ancient Arabs were great astronomers. Every night in the desert they would have had nothing to do but study the sky.

The next day we visited the town of Tetouan where we paid one boy to guard the bus while another acted as guide. We moved to a camp site called Camp Africa near a town called Asilah where you could rent little huts with straw roofs which were nice and cool. They had a bar there where you could buy bottled beer called Stork or Bock. It was weak and barely worth drinking, so we gave up on it and drank Fanta instead. The cigarettes were awful, but cheap. Casa Sports were about tuppence for twenty. After resting up at Camp Africa for a while we headed along the coast road, reaching Casablanca which turned out not to be a romantic Humphrey Bogart type place, but a dirty industrial port and we did not hang about. We carried on south, finally reaching Essouira where we stayed for a while. Then we headed inland to Marrakech, the fabled city.

It was a place I had always wanted to visit, ever since reading about it as a kid. The Souk at night-time was interesting until Paul got us involved in an argument with a gang of angry people. Leigh had to sort out the argument.  Another unpleasant incident was when we went to the swimming pool one afternoon to cool off and the Moroccan boys went crazy at the sight of white women in bikinis. Apart from that, the Moroccan people were genuinely nice to us. We often got invited into their houses so they could practice their English. We had been told that we would be robbed in Morocco, but it only happened once, when an Englishman on our campsite stole our large tin of Nescafe. We left Marrakech and headed to Agadir through the mountains. That was an interesting journey through mountains inhabited by Berber tribe’s people. We discovered to our surprise that Agadir was a modern city because it had been flattened in an earthquake 11 years earlier and completely rebuilt.                                                                                                                                

On the campsite there we met two nurses from Edinburgh called Zibby and Eska who had flown into Agadir to check out the 'freak' scene. They were really silly. We also met some Americans who I think were draft dodgers and nice people. One night we were all huddled in a tent. Zibby was banging on about the freak scene and Dave said,

"Any minute now, the floor will open, and the pools of hell will pour out".

Zibby looked at Eska and said, "Come along now Eska, it's getting late, we should get back to the hotel". When they left we laughed our heads off. After Agadir we headed even further south until we were almost near the Spanish Sahara. The heat was becoming unbearable. One day there was a windstorm from the Sahara, the temperature was about 120 degrees Fahrenheit. Celtic types like me do not get tanned. I was suffering from sunburn with blisters as big as golf balls. I left my camera in the bus, just inside the windscreen and it melted into a mess of plastic with a glass lens floating in it. 

 We decided to try and find somewhere where it might be a bit cooler, and we camped near a small village called Diabat near Essaouira for a few days before slowly heading north. I will never forget one amusing incident when we were on the beach near the capital Rabat. Along the beach from us was a magnificent huge tent, more like a marquee. The family invited us to their tent for tea. They were a rich Moroccan family who were on holiday. The father worked for the Interior Ministry and was obviously a powerful figure. They wanted to hear a traditional English folksong. We did not know any and sat there scratching our heads until one of the Yorkshire people remembered 'On Ilkley Moor Ba T'at' (On Ilkley Moor Without A Hat). It was really surreal singing that on a beach in Morocco.

The journey home was quite uneventful. Dave had a funny incident in Spain. In a little village called Tarifa he met this Spanish girl and arranged a date with her that evening. He came back to camp disappointed because she had turned up with her uncle who had come along as chaperon. When we finally arrived back in England it looked pleasant and green after journeying through the barren landscape. We heard the news that Nixon had resigned. In Morocco we had forgotten all about what was happening in the outside world. In Canterbury we sat on a wall outside a chip shop and fish and chips never tasted so good after all that couscous and kebabs. Then we fancied a nice pint of beer and went to a pub.

"We are not serving you, how dare you come in here dressed like that, no hippies!”.                     

Suddenly I wished we were back in Morocco where we were treated like royalty. Anyway, we got home that evening. I was glad I was not the one who had to hand back the minibus because it was battered. That was the end of our adventure to Morocco in those far-flung days of 1974.