"Not only were the gods not such big fans, but nor were feminists, right wingers, the media, anti-drugs campaigners, non-smokers and a whole host of others who, in Hicks’ eyes, proved that 'people suck'." Did I ever mention that Bill Hicks is my God? It's all in the words above for Triple J...
Showing posts with label JMag. Show all posts
Showing posts with label JMag. Show all posts
Friday, 1 April 2011
Feature: "Hicks And Drugs And Rock And Roll" (Triple J)
"Not only were the gods not such big fans, but nor were feminists, right wingers, the media, anti-drugs campaigners, non-smokers and a whole host of others who, in Hicks’ eyes, proved that 'people suck'." Did I ever mention that Bill Hicks is my God? It's all in the words above for Triple J...
Monday, 11 October 2010
Feature: "Video Nasties" (JMag)
It was M.I.A.'s 'Born Free' that highlighted just how the new breed of music videos tries to get our attention, something I already looked at for Intelligent Life. Australia's JMag asked me to investigate the new phenomenon of Music Video Nasties a little further. Click the pic to read more...
"If you want your band to be seen, break a few taboos with your next video clip..."
Feature: "Video Nasties" (JMag)
Saturday, 18 September 2010
Feature: "More Than You Can Chew" (JMag)
A trip to Iceland's western fjords nearly ends in disaster and my head in the toilet bowl. Want to know why? "We’re about to eat puffin. Puffin and sheep’s head. And whale. Whale blubber, it looks like. And dried fish." But that wasn't all. Click the pic - which may or may not be me - to find out what else was on the menu...
Feature: "More Than You Can Chew" (JMag)
Monday, 1 October 2007
Feature: Lee Hazlewood Obituary (JMag)
LEAVING SUGAR TOWN
From the 109th floor of The Stratosphere the view of Las Vegas is overwhelming. The city spreads across the desert valley, hemmed in by mountains, glittering and sparkling with the promises of glamour and wealth that lure forty million people a year to this oversized fun park. Out there in the shadows, however, in the darker suburbs beyond the airport, was where you’d have found Lee Hazlewood. It was where he and I, as his manager, would sit discussing plans while he refused to give in to the kidney cancer that was slowly killing him. Almost to the end we would sit in his lounge, the TV volume normally up, discussing reissue strategies, the possible DVD release of films he made in Sweden in the 1970s, the book he wanted me to write with him – entitled Famous People I Have Met, Most of Whom Are Dead, But It Wasn’t My Fault – and more importantly laughing about the extraordinary life he’d led.
Lee loved life, but this didn’t make him afraid of death. In fact, there was little that Lee was afraid of. Throughout his career he’d done things exactly as he wanted and had few regrets. He had a fearsome reputation as a difficult man to get along with, but for some reason he took me into his world and revealed a heart as big as the tumbleweed wastelands that his songs sometimes inhabited.
When he died on August 4th 2007 it’s unlikely he would have expected the rush of tributes from the world’s media, musicians and a legion of fans that spanned generations. Throughout his career the gravel-voiced moustachioed maverick largely avoided the limelight, which is why even now his name may be unfamiliar. But he helped invent pop music as we know it, and it’s typical of life that it is only in death that he is being recognised for his achievements.
Had Hazlewood not hooked up with Nancy Sinatra and scored global hits as the subversive writer and producer of songs like ‘These Boots Were Made For Walking’ (“sing it like a 14 year old who goes with truck drivers” he allegedly told her), ‘Some Velvet Morning’ (the most unlikely and erotic song ever to make the US Top 40) and ‘Sugartown’ (about kids dosing lumps of sugar with acid), he would still have earned a significant entry in the history books. But Hazlewood wasn’t interested in fame. He’d actually ‘retired’ in the mid 1960s citing the “British Invasion” of the US – led by The Beatles – as the perfect reason to quit and sit by his LA pool, swatting bugs and drinking Chivas Regal.
He’d reckoned without his neighbour Jimmy Bowen, however, a Reprise Records bigwig who invited Lee out for dinner one evening. The meal was cooked by Mama Sinatra and, over spaghetti, Frank Sinatra casually thanked Lee for his forthcoming collaboration with Nancy. It was news to Lee, as he loved to remind me. But even he, obstinate as he was, couldn’t say no to “the Chairman of the Board”.
So he agreed to test the water with a single – ‘So Long Babe’ – whose humble success he triumphantly followed with the chart-topping, quasi-feminist anthem ‘Boots’. He continued by producing Frank Sinatra’s unforgettable duet with Nancy, ‘Somethin’ Stupid’, provided Dean Martin with the classic ‘Houston’, and then in 1970, just as he could have cashed in on his growing reputation, disappeared to Sweden. By then he’d released solo records and enjoyed success duetting with Nancy a number of times, even releasing two albums together. But it was time to step away from the bright lights again, and despite releasing a number of low key but tremendous LPs over the next decades his international career was seemingly over.
In the 1990s, though, a new generation started to discover his music. His songs had often been covered by other acts, but what made this different was that now they were from the so-called ‘alternative’ scene. Sonic Youth’s Steve Shelley finally turned the growing admiration into a fanfare by persuading him to allow the reissue of a selection of solo albums. Hazlewood at last recognised that he had what he laughingly described as “addicts”. These people religiously tracked down his out of print vinyl albums on which his rumbling whisky-soaked voice delivered uniquely poetic, sentimental and witty lyrics that made his friend, Johnny Cash, seem no more profound than Jessica Simpson (who of course covered ‘Boots’ for the recent Dukes Of Hazzard movie.)
Delighted at the response, he released a collection of demos, For Every Solution There’s A Problem, and toured Europe in its wake. Then, despite being diagnosed with cancer, he headed off to studios around the world to make what he himself declared would be his “last album”, the characteristically eclectic and brilliant Cake Or Death. No one ever got away with telling him what to do and so his swansong features not only the brassy anti-war song ‘Baghdad Knights’ and a string-laden farewell entitled ‘T.O.M. (The Old Man)’, but also a duet with his grand daughter and another song performed by his best friend Tommy Parsons. It was one hell of a way to say goodbye.
Days before Lee’s final birthday we sat together listening to some of his rarest albums. As he recalled songs that he’d not heard for years he turned to me and said, quite simply, almost surprised, “You know what? I quite like me.” At his typically low-key party there was no glitz and the only cameras flashing were those of his friends, but those there are unlikely ever to forget his final performance with Nancy Sinatra, who sat on the arm of his chair as they sang their hit ‘Jackson’ together one last time.
He died peacefully in his darkened lounge on a Saturday evening a few weeks later. Within days, however, the spotlight was once again shining on him. There was nothing more he could do to hide. If you missed him when he was alive, you’re going to miss him even more now he’s gone.
Timeline
9 July 1929: Born in Mannford, Oklahoma
1955: Worked as DJ in Phoenix and set up the Viv label, scoring his first hit as producer a year later with Sanford Clark’s ‘The Fool’
1958: Perfected the “twang” with his friend Duane Eddy, using a grain tank as an echo chamber to create the sound that helped define rock ‘n’ roll. Secured hit after hit after hit
1963: Releases his first solo album, Trouble Is A Lonesome Town, originally recorded as demos for other artists. The N.S.V.I.P.s followed a year later
1966: Teams up with Nancy Sinatra and producers her first global hit, ‘These Boots Were Made For Walking’. Success continues for five more years and sees them record two seminal Nancy & Lee albums
1967: His label LHI releases the first album by influential Cosmic American musician Gram Parsons (with The International Submarine Band)
1970: Moves to Sweden. Releases a number of rare but cult albums and also stars in a number of films
1995: After lengthy retirement teams up again with Nancy Sinatra to tour the US to support release of duets compilation, Fairytales & Fantasies
1999: Sonic Youth’s Steve Shelley reissues a number of classic solo albums. Sells out London’s Royal Festival Hall, his first ever British solo show
2006: Now diagnosed with kidney cancer, releases his final album Cake Or Death
4 August 2007: Dies peacefully at home. The tributes start to arrive
Feature: Lee Hazlewood Obituary (JMag)
Sunday, 1 July 2007
Feature: Oberbaumbrücke Wasserschlacht, Berlin (JMag)
BE SURE TO WEAR CAULIFLOWERS IN YOUR HAIR
A couple of years ago I got caught up in a riot on Berlin’s Oberbaumbrücke. It’s a medieval styled bridge joining Friedrichshain and Kreuzberg which are two rival districts once separated by the Berlin Wall. As things kicked off I realised the whole thing was far from spontaneous: these folk had spent days, if not weeks, preparing weapons for the battle. I watched in amazement as people with faces masked by scarves stormed across the bridge. Smoke billowed over their heads from a fire at the further end of the bridge. Missiles flew through the air, slamming into bodies indiscriminately: children, women, men, everyone was hit. The sound of screams and the stench were overwhelming. I’d never seen anything like this at all.
Press and TV cameramen pushed kids out of the way for the best pictures. I tried to get into the thick of it all to take shots of my own – I figured I had a responsibility as a fearless journalist to get stuck in, no matter how intense the fighting. But I soon found myself pushed back repeatedly as Friedrichshain launched another assault. Punks with mohicans chased mercilessly after the more conservatively dressed and overwhelmed Kreuzbergers, their weapons catching the sunlight, bloodcurdling screams bursting from their lungs. It was like watching Mad Max meets Braveheart.
Meanwhile the police stood by, simply watching. They were rather enjoying the spectacle. In fact they had arguably the best view of what was happening. You got the feeling they were itching to get stuck in. But they couldn’t. Because this was the Oberbaumbrücke Wasserschlacht, an annual event in which these two rival Berlin districts try to settle their rivalry by – to keep a short story short since it doesn’t need to be any longer – saving up all their organic garbage and lobbing it at each other. Their weapons are, quite simply, rotten fruit and vegetables: rotten fruit and vegetables which absolutely stink.
‘Rioters’ held their noses as they took aim before throwing lethal weapons like overripe cucumbers and rotten eggs into the air. People dressed in waterproofs, or at the very least plastic bags, emerged from the chaos covered in stinking, partially decomposed food. White t-shirts were streaked Technicolor yellow, green, brown and red. One dreadlocked woman passed me with half a melon on her head as a helmet. I considered adopting similar armour. As she gave me a thumbs up a mouldy orange bounced off my trousers.
The screaming all round, meanwhile, came from kids squealing with delight as putrid tomatoes and strawberries struck them. Their parents gritted their teeth from a distance, grimacing at the stains. You couldn’t blame them.
When Friedrichshain finally took the bridge I slid home through slushy streets. My clothes were like battle scars: I had orange peel in my hair and a decomposing onion wrapped in my shoelaces. There was an aura around me that seemed to be attracting flies and mosquitoes. All through Kreuzberg the streets were full of casualties, people with dried tomato seeds stuck to their faces and cauliflower in their hair. They trailed a faint line of slime on the tarmac behind them.
But, as they popped open their bottles of Berliner beer and limped wearily to their homes, they all knew that they’d done everything that could have been expected of them: they’d saved their overripe fruit, separated their rotting vegetables from the rest of the rubbish, and though – as Kreuzbergers – they had been defeated by the more anarchic Friedrichshainers, they’d given it their best shot. They’d be back next year, and next time they’d have bigger and better weapons. Mangos. Avocados. Melons. They might be a bit soft, those Kreuzbergers, but they’d got better supermarkets…
Feature: Oberbaumbrücke Wasserschlacht, Berlin (JMag)
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