Seems to be such a long time

My occasional series on Pearl Jam tour posters has proved pretty occasional, all things considered. So, to remedy this (somehow, but don’t ask for details), I’ve decided to start up a second occasional series. This second series has the working title of “Alt rock bands from the early 90s that weren’t strictly speaking grunge as such, but included similarities to the grunge bands, be that in sound or attitude”. ARBFTE90sTWSSGASBISTTGBBTISOA for short. Guaranteed winner.*

No matter how cold the winter

On 4 March 1861, just shy of 156 years ago, Abraham Lincoln stood before the Capitol to deliver his first inaugural address. Seven southern states had recently seceded from the union, and the country faced imminent conflict. In a febrile, fissiparous atmosphere, Lincoln presented a clear-headed account of his determination to preserve, protect and defend the United States Constitution following his recently sworn oath as the 16th president, and concluded with an eloquent plea that conflict be avoided. The language might seem florid to modern ears, but there is no doubting Lincoln’s ability to combine a lucid message with a poetic ear.

I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.

Like a bird without a song

On the face of it, there’s seemingly little to connect Prince Rogers Nelson, whose tragic death at the age of 57 occurred on Thursday, with the Seattle grunge scene. Funky, funny, sexy, sensual, soulful, playful, vibrant, colourful; these may not be words that necessarily first spring to mind when thinking about grunge. For those who want to party like it’s 1999, an Alice in Chains gig might not be everyone’s first port of call.

Following yonder star

The image is, appropriately enough, a little blurry. It ought to be frayed round the edges too.

The middle of March bears witness to two regular celebratory events, neither connected to George Eliot: one designed to appeal to mathematicians; one to the Irish and all lovers of Guinness; and both to Guinness-loving mathematicians, or which there are probably quite a few.*

The magnolia blooms so sweet

Mark Lanegan rolled into town with his band earlier this month as part of his solo European tour, playing the Electric Ballroom in Camden.

In grunge terms Lanegan is probably best known as the lead singer of Screaming Trees, a band that brought a warm-toned, psychedelic-inflected spin to the burgeoning early 90s Seattle scene.

Forever in debt to your priceless advice

Father John Misty, whose brand spanking new album I Love You, Honeybear has deservedly been hoovering up the plaudits, released a cover of Nirvana’s ‘Heart-Shaped Box’ on Valentine’s Day last month.* It’s an elegiac take on the song, sparse and haunting; any meaningful cover has to find an alchemy between the vibe of the original song and the vibe of the artist covering it.**

Building the towers, belongs to the sky*

Have just returned from two weeks’ holiday, taking in the fresh – at times startlingly fresh – air of Purbeck (in Dorset? yes I’d heartily recommend it)**, and very pleasant it’s been to be away from work and the accompanying twice daily squash on the Piccadilly Line.

Instead: long country walks in the Purbeck countryside, many of them along the scenic and surprisingly hilly Dorset coastline; cream teas at the Worth Matravers tea room (a-ma-zing, if you’ll forgive the Craig Revel Horword-ism)***; squirrel watching on Brownsea Island; log fires in an old stonemason’s cottage; visiting Saxon and Norman churches.

A red squizzer, earlier.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sell the kids for food

Embed from Getty Images

Watching a world through a windshield, there’s no looking back. We’d left everything behind. … We had no idea that the next 16 days were going to change our world forever. But I remember pulling into the parking lot and thinking, ‘Really? This is Sound City?!’

With the release of the new Foo Fighters album, Sonic Highways, just round the corner,* I finally got round recently to watching Sound City, Dave Grohl’s 2013 documentary about the famed California recording studio.

Sound City is dear to Grohl’s heart: it’s where Nirvana recorded Nevermind back in May 1991, and the quote above is spoken by Grohl over the beginning of the documentary, as the camera shows a van replicating Nirvana’s road trip from Seattle down the west coast to Van Nuys in the San Fernando Valley.

I blow my load over the status quo

Idly watching tv the other day, I heard Queens of the Stone Age, ‘Smooth Sailing’ during an ad break, its jerky rhythms accompanying some lithe young things exhorting me with their improbable cool to buy a car, or some perfume, or maybe something else. Aftershave perhaps. Or some garden tools.

JOSH HOMME, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?

There’s one thing I wanna know

Straying from the usual grunge pathways, last week took me, at the kind invitation of my sister, down to Chelsea* Kew Gardens to see the evergreen Elvis Costello perform as part of the Kew the Music (ba-doom tish) festival.