It's all over for another year, the days are short and dark and my mind has been wandering again, as have my hands, all over the Photoshop effects menu. Time for something pointless and ridiculous to fill the late gloomy hours when there is little else of value to be achieved apart from eating another chocolate liqueur and instantly regretting it.
If you've been here for a couple of past 'mystery lovechild' posts you'll know the premise: What might the secret offspring, born to a famous but unlikely set of musical parents, look like?
Previously we've had, for instance, John Lydon and Joni Mitchell, whose curious 'lovechild' turned out like this:
I gather that DNA testing kits were given as Christmas presents by millions of people this year. But why go to all the trouble of spitting into a test tube when you can see the evidence of the genes right here in black and white?
I'd love to know who you suspect might be responsible for the conception of the characters below. No rush - the results will be confirmed some time next year (i.e. next week!)
I love Andy Warhol's illustrations for Christmas cards that were commissioned by Tiffany & Co. during the late '50s up to 1962. Much like his gorgeous inky jazz album covers, I find their simplicity and freshness really charming.
You can’t keep a good song down, that’s what I used to
think. However, having heard a few ruined by having all the guts taken
out and incorporating a simpering female vocal to soundtrack an advert, I’ve changed my mind about
that statement.
But this isn’t one of those songs.I haven’t yet heard a
bad version, and hope I never will.
Here are four renditions of 'Leaving Here' and, I hope you’ll
agree, they’re all excellent.
THE BIRDS
As it happens, I heard these four versions in the wrong order.The first time I came across 'Leaving Here' was on a mini-album of tracks by British r’n’b group The Birds released
on Edsel in the mid-80s.I'd never heard of the Birds before then (only the Byrds) and had been unaware that a certain Ronnie Wood played guitar for them before his time with the
Faces and the Stones. There's loads that can be said about Ronnie but I'll offer something a bit more random.... it's about a jacket. Whenever I think of Ronnie, I think of my friend H and how jealous I
am of an item of clothing she owns (and sometimes wears).It’s
a gorgeous slim-fitting, striped boating jacket that used to belong to Mr Wood
himself!It came into her possession
through a friend of hers who just happened to be married to Ron’s brother Art, and it looks a bit like this...
She lets me stroke it from time to time.
Alongside Ron Wood in the Birds line-up was vocalist Ali Mackenzie. Some years ago I was lucky enough to enjoy the brilliant Small Faces tribute band, The Small
Fakers, perform the whole of 'Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake' (complete with Stanley
Unwin’s nephew there, narrating the relevant bits) at the 100 Club. As the night drew to a close,Ali Mackenzie joined them on stage to give us a few extra numbers by the
Birds, including this song.It was as
close as we were going to get to the real thing (both Small Faces and Birds) and
I loved every minute.
MOTORHEAD
Some time after discovering the Birds’ version and thinking it was their song, I must have heard it by Motorhead, although I’m not even sure I put two and
two together at the time and certainly didn't know of its true origin.
Motorhead transcended boundaries when it came to musical
genres, didn’t they? Research tells me they recorded this
in December 1976 and it was due to be released as a single by Stiff Records, but
they were still under contract to United Artists at the time who prevented its
release (in spite of UA’s refusal to issue Motorhead’s debut album).So it didn’t make it as single at the time,
although it did turn up on the eponymous Motorhead album on the Chiswick label the
following year.
I missed out on
seeing Motorhead in 1978 when they played our local venue; I was only 14 and they were far too hairy and scary. My sister went, though, and said it was
so loud she thought her ears were going to bleed. At least Mr SDS and I did once wave to Lemmy
across a street in Notting Hill (and he waved back, bless him!)
EDDIE HOLLAND
Eventually, I got to listen to the original! Eddie Holland released it in
1963. Eddie was of course one third of the Holland-Dozier-Holland song-writing and production team responsible for many Motown hits. A far better informed friend of mine who knows his '60s soul introduced me to it, and it's great to hear the purity and power of the song's first appearance complete with brass, having only heard others' versions first.
THE STRYPES
And finally, I heard a much more recent version when highly revered and incredibly young Irish band The Strypes, who had a penchant for the retro sound of bands such as the Yardbirds and Dr Feelgood, recorded it for their 2012 EP 'Young Gifted And Blue'. They were all still in their teens, but the song itself, by that time nearly forty years old, suits them perfectly. I found out in the course of writing this post that only a few weeks ago they announced that they were breaking up. I guess they just packed in so much at such a tender age and I'm not sure where else was left for them to go, so I can understand and respect them for that.
Before I finish here, an honourable mention should also go to the Who who recorded an excellent cover, just as you'd expect.
So, I just have to hope no-one comes along and spoils it now... I don't think a soft tinkly piano version with a withering sing-song vocal would really cut it.
Sometimes a seemingly simple walk down to the local shop can be more stressful than expected. I have a feeling that what I'm about to tell you is something both male and
female readers will identify with from time to time.This, of course, isn’t the first time it’s happened to me.
So, it wasn’t until I had got to what must have been exactly
half way there this afternoon that it started.The riding up.My knickers - you don't need detail, just know they're not a thong - had ridden up one cheek in a very irritating fashion, and then with
every further step it just continued to get worse, of course.Pinned against my skin by tight jeans there was no
way they were going to ride down again of their own accord and settle back against their assigned place just above the natural slope of cheek-base/thigh-top interface.
So, I did that thing I think we all do (please tell me you do.) I’ve got a thigh-length coat on so as I’m
walking I (very swiftly and surreptitiously) slip my hand under the hem and slide it around
behind, then nip down inside the back of my jeans to do a bit of high-speed furtive sortage,
having checked there are no pedestrians in my immediate vicinity, whilst
continuing to walk and appear as nonchalant as possible. Would anyone from a window, or any passing cars
notice?I’ve no idea what this little manoevre
looks like from the outside, as I've never tried it in front of a mirror. Possibly
like getting something out of a back pocket.Or possibly like someone actually putting their hand down inside the back of
their trousers whilst trying to appear not to.
Ah, that’s better, I think, as I reposition everything - snug
and sorted.For about three steps.Then the seam rebels once more.Up it goes.Up. Up again and I can’t think
about anything else.I try the sneaky
you-can’t-see-what’s-going-on-under-my-coat move again but this time it just
makes it worse and causes a bit of cutting in in a place you don’t want to know
about. It’s further to go home than to
continue; I’m going to have to get to the shop and linger around the vegetable
aisle like this.I persevere, crazily preoccupied
by what’s going on with my pants.
The point of me waffling on about this nonsense is simple – wouldn’t it just be
brilliant if we could treat our private underwear malfunctions just as we do a
stone in the shoe?You feel that little
piece of grit pressing into your foot and what do you do? – you stop, put your
bag down, stick your opposite arm out to balance, or preferably use it to prop
yourself against a wall, cock your leg and remove the shoe, shake it, express surprise at how
tiny the offending object was (it felt huge!), put your shoe back on, swivel your foot about a
bit on the pavement to check it’s stone-free and then continue on your way. It's all very public and nobody cares. Similarly with the slipping bra-strap. So I would like to
advocate the same tolerance of occasional open-air knicker adjustment. Only when absolutely necessary, of course. A quick drop of the trousers, sort yourself
out, do yourself back up and on your way, instead of all this secret faffing
about.I suspect that anyone who saw me
knew exactly what I was doing anyway...
I was very excited to order a new book: something particularly
special in these circles as it happens because it’s been created and compiled by one of our fellow
bloggers, Martin.Not only that but it
also contains a story written by him - and not
only that but it also includes a contribution from yet another talented writer in the blogging community, Rol.I’m full of admiration
and delighted for them both and
couldn’t wait to read their creative writing, as well as all the others. I do like a good short story, plus it’s for a
worthy cause, more info here.
So – book duly ordered from Amazon last week.Package was due to arrive next day by 8pm, said the email and the tracking info.Excellent!
It didn’t arrive when they said it would, I
don’t know why.But never mind, a little
message explained there’d been a problem and it should come later this week
instead.
But then when it did, there was
no-one in, so the postman had to take it back to the sorting office. A bit of a pain in the arse picking it up as I couldn't get up there straight away, but eventually Mr SDS managed to fit it in to another journey he was making and here it is at last.
Only the package didn't feel much like it had a book in it. I've opened it up to find….
...Two tubes of Bulgarian irritative dermatitis ointment, well of course!
Just one more reason why I don’t trust Amazon to take over
the world.
