Behind the wheels of steel.
Looks like I'm doing spinny things at Neon tonight.
In other news, there were a couple of quite nice articles in the Guardian this week. It used to have (by reputation, at least) the worst coverage of pop music among the broadsheets, but it seems to have picked up a lot since the days when a truly dunderheaded review of a Silverfish concert was the only thing ever to provoke me into writing them a letter (with "not for publication" on it, probably rather arrogantly). I think I first noticed this when they pulled of the coup of getting an interview with Nigel Blackwell.
Anyway, this week there was this article by Bernard Butler about playing guitar. Among other things, he says "I don't go into guitar shops often. They are notoriously full of arseholes." It's a good one. In the paper it had pictures of eight guitarists at the top. Only one was a woman, but that's probably something to moan about another time. Bert Jansch had an unidentifiable flat-top, Jack White something odd in red and white, Hendrix a Strat, Page a twin-neck Gibson . . . and the other four (Keef, Hynde, Marr and Butler himself) are all playing Telecasters. I wonder what happened to all those horrible poodlerock guitars with droopy pointy headstocks people bought so many of in the eighties? I know nevla owns a fair proportion of them, but where are the rest? I haven't seen an Ibanez Steve Vai in about ten years.
The other one was this piece about road songs, and looking for British ones in particular. I like it partly because it settles on Billy Bragg's version of Route 66 ("A13 - Trunk Road to the Sea") as the definitive example, and also mentions It's Immaterial's "Driving away from home", probably the best song about the M62 ever written.
In other news, there were a couple of quite nice articles in the Guardian this week. It used to have (by reputation, at least) the worst coverage of pop music among the broadsheets, but it seems to have picked up a lot since the days when a truly dunderheaded review of a Silverfish concert was the only thing ever to provoke me into writing them a letter (with "not for publication" on it, probably rather arrogantly). I think I first noticed this when they pulled of the coup of getting an interview with Nigel Blackwell.
Anyway, this week there was this article by Bernard Butler about playing guitar. Among other things, he says "I don't go into guitar shops often. They are notoriously full of arseholes." It's a good one. In the paper it had pictures of eight guitarists at the top. Only one was a woman, but that's probably something to moan about another time. Bert Jansch had an unidentifiable flat-top, Jack White something odd in red and white, Hendrix a Strat, Page a twin-neck Gibson . . . and the other four (Keef, Hynde, Marr and Butler himself) are all playing Telecasters. I wonder what happened to all those horrible poodlerock guitars with droopy pointy headstocks people bought so many of in the eighties? I know nevla owns a fair proportion of them, but where are the rest? I haven't seen an Ibanez Steve Vai in about ten years.
The other one was this piece about road songs, and looking for British ones in particular. I like it partly because it settles on Billy Bragg's version of Route 66 ("A13 - Trunk Road to the Sea") as the definitive example, and also mentions It's Immaterial's "Driving away from home", probably the best song about the M62 ever written.