Small children can have some quite irrational fears. When I was a small child, I was no exception.
For example, when I was about four, I never liked to go upstairs without first turning on the landing light. This was not out of some belief that I might trip and fall in the darkness. No, it was because if I ventured upstairs in the dark, I might be attacked by Cuddles, the furry orange monkey created by Keith Harris.
See what I mean? Totally irrational, not to mention slightly loopy.
In a similar vein, I never liked to use cassette decks on the grounds that the tape might snarl and startle me. Personally, I blame this on my Dad for buying cheap cassettes from Boots.
Back in the day, I was also a big fan of The Kenny Everett Show on Radio 2 (what do you mean, "that explains something"? How dare you...). However, I never "got" the genius of his BBC television show until many years later (i.e. until I reached twenty-six).
One aspect of the show which I used to shield my eyes from were the Maurice Mimer segments; Cuddly Ken's homage to Marcel Marceau, complete with magic marker. Again, a totally irrational fear of a bizarrely-dressed scouser who could draw things that came alive.
Actually, maybe that one isn't completely irrational after all.
(Oh, and the significance of "Wachet Auf"? Well, this was the theme tune to said Maurice Mimer sketches, albeit in heavily-synthesised form.)
Sunday, 29 April 2007
Monday, 16 April 2007
Johnnie Taylor: What About My Love?
Less knowledgeable readers will only know this tune as being sampled on Lola’s Theme; for me, it brings back memories of the golden age of commercial radio.
Weekend radio in the Chester area during the mid nineties was fantastic for fans of soul and jazz. GWR and Capital had only just started their great conquest of the commercial sector, The Guardian was still only a newspaper and not a media empire, and there was still room in the world of commercial radio for those of us with less mainstream tastes.
It would all kick off at 10 pm on Friday when, on 100.4 FM, the immortal Greg Edwards would hit the airwaves of Jazz FM with his three-hour extravaganza of jazzy soul, funky disco and mellow ballads known as The Bridge.
Saturday was more or less barren – well, one had to have time to catch the football results – until seven o’clock in the evening, when Tony Blackburn’s Big Soul Night would start on Jazz FM. Don’t laugh. Seriously, in the early days this was a good programme. It was more-or-less eighties dominated, and it was my first introduction to acts such as The Limit, Windjammer, Freeez, and all of those other names from the UK jazz-funk scene.
Sunday, however, was the business end. The legendary Bury-born, Tottenham-supporting soul DJ known as Richard Searling would commence ceremonies on Jazz FM at 10 am for four hours, celebrating soul music old and new. The show would always end with the now-famous Cellar Full of Soul segment, which was my first introduction to the concept of northern soul.
Five hours and several reams of homework later, the radio would be back on, though tuned to 103.4 – this was (and still is) the home of Wrexham-based Marcher Sound. From seven until ten it would also be the home of Cestrian DJ Ray Rose, whose Sunday Night Experience promised “soul and R ‘n’ B for grown-ups”. He was spot on there. This is the show I remember with the most fondness, as it represents the soundtrack to my later teenage years.
Finally, back on Jazz FM at ten o’clock, the unmistakeable tones of Take 6 would herald the start of Fusion Flavours. This four-hour segment, hosted by Steve Quirke, was unashamedly smooth jazz-based, but nevertheless proved that smooth jazz could be a credible format in its own right, and was fit for more than accompanying the test card.
Most of this has, sadly, now gone, or has been shifted around the schedules so much as to have lost its original lustre. Consolidation and commercial orthodoxy has destroyed much of what made commercial radio – and local radio in particular – so good. Although we now have access to an unbelievably huge range of specialist radio channels via satellite television, DAB and the internet, somehow it just is not the same as anticipating tuning in to ones favourite programmes once per week.
I guess you can’t go back…
Weekend radio in the Chester area during the mid nineties was fantastic for fans of soul and jazz. GWR and Capital had only just started their great conquest of the commercial sector, The Guardian was still only a newspaper and not a media empire, and there was still room in the world of commercial radio for those of us with less mainstream tastes.
It would all kick off at 10 pm on Friday when, on 100.4 FM, the immortal Greg Edwards would hit the airwaves of Jazz FM with his three-hour extravaganza of jazzy soul, funky disco and mellow ballads known as The Bridge.
Saturday was more or less barren – well, one had to have time to catch the football results – until seven o’clock in the evening, when Tony Blackburn’s Big Soul Night would start on Jazz FM. Don’t laugh. Seriously, in the early days this was a good programme. It was more-or-less eighties dominated, and it was my first introduction to acts such as The Limit, Windjammer, Freeez, and all of those other names from the UK jazz-funk scene.
Sunday, however, was the business end. The legendary Bury-born, Tottenham-supporting soul DJ known as Richard Searling would commence ceremonies on Jazz FM at 10 am for four hours, celebrating soul music old and new. The show would always end with the now-famous Cellar Full of Soul segment, which was my first introduction to the concept of northern soul.
Five hours and several reams of homework later, the radio would be back on, though tuned to 103.4 – this was (and still is) the home of Wrexham-based Marcher Sound. From seven until ten it would also be the home of Cestrian DJ Ray Rose, whose Sunday Night Experience promised “soul and R ‘n’ B for grown-ups”. He was spot on there. This is the show I remember with the most fondness, as it represents the soundtrack to my later teenage years.
Finally, back on Jazz FM at ten o’clock, the unmistakeable tones of Take 6 would herald the start of Fusion Flavours. This four-hour segment, hosted by Steve Quirke, was unashamedly smooth jazz-based, but nevertheless proved that smooth jazz could be a credible format in its own right, and was fit for more than accompanying the test card.
Most of this has, sadly, now gone, or has been shifted around the schedules so much as to have lost its original lustre. Consolidation and commercial orthodoxy has destroyed much of what made commercial radio – and local radio in particular – so good. Although we now have access to an unbelievably huge range of specialist radio channels via satellite television, DAB and the internet, somehow it just is not the same as anticipating tuning in to ones favourite programmes once per week.
I guess you can’t go back…
Saturday, 17 February 2007
Sade: Smooth Operator
I'm a bit of a fan of soul and jazz; looking back, I suspect that this is the song that started it all.My earliest memories of growing up in Flintshire in the early eighties involve an awful lot of rain. Leaden skies were the norm back then, it seems. That possibly explains why I feel quite comfortable and secure in dreary weather.
It was on one of those dismal, rainy afternoons in 1984 that I first heard this song. I was sat on the back seat of my parents' car, a rust-coloured Vauxhall Viva HC, constructed a short way up the road in Ellesmere Port. I recall being fascinated by this style of music that I had never encountered before. After all, up until that point, the sum total of my musical knowledge consisted of Neil Diamond, Showaddywaddy, and the theme tune to Postman Pat.
However, being a four-year-old, my listening skills were - quite understandably - not exactly up to scratch. It would be another seven years before I realised that Ms Adu was not singing about a "smooth umbrella".
Nevertheless, the seeds were firmly planted within my subconscious mind. Whilst it would be another ten years before they germinated, it is fair to say that, these days, my jazz and soul receptors are in full bloom.
Life has never sounded sweeter.
Saturday, 13 January 2007
The Foundations: (Build Me Up) Buttercup
Two words: The. Bop.
Back in my student days - which, right at this moment, seem like the dim and distant past - I obtained a first class honours degree in educational studies with science education and qualified teacher status.
I chose, as my base for four years' concerted study, the University of Exeter. Because I was an education student, this meant studying and living on the smaller St Luke's campus on the Heavitree Road, as opposed to the sprawling expanse of the main campus on the north side of the city.
This made me a fully fledged, thoroughbred Lukie. There existed, at the time, a kind of good-natured social animosity between us Lukies and those students based on the main campus, whom we referred to as Jifs. If I remember correctly, the name 'Jif' is a reference to the main campus' resident night club, the Lemon Grove (or Lemmy, as it was almost universally known. No long-haired heavy metal jokes here, please).
Due to its slightly isolated location, its compact stature, and the slightly irreverent student body, St Luke's developed a social scene of its own. Central to the weekly calendar at St Luke's for many years was The Bop, possibly the most naff club evening ever devised. The music was cheesy, the surroundings cavernous and dull, and the fluorescent lighting had an uncanny tendency to pick out the odd fleck of soap powder on your otherwise impeccably clean shirt.
But we Lukies loved The Bop. It was ours. Who cared if it was several degrees less stylish than Dwayne Dibley? What mattered was that you were there with good company and that you enjoyed yourself.
Sadly, towards the end of my course, attendances at The Bop plummeted. This was not helped by the decision to move the event from its traditional Friday slot to Saturday evenings, thus overlapping with the Lemmy - which was also well frequented by Lukies.
More often than not, Buttercup would be the last song of the evening at The Bop. So, whenever I hear that song, I think back to the hundreds - if not thousands - of Lukies over the years who experienced this unique institution. Here's to you all.
Altogether now: "I would rather be a Lukie than a Jif; I would rather be a Lukie than a Jif..."
Back in my student days - which, right at this moment, seem like the dim and distant past - I obtained a first class honours degree in educational studies with science education and qualified teacher status.
I chose, as my base for four years' concerted study, the University of Exeter. Because I was an education student, this meant studying and living on the smaller St Luke's campus on the Heavitree Road, as opposed to the sprawling expanse of the main campus on the north side of the city.
This made me a fully fledged, thoroughbred Lukie. There existed, at the time, a kind of good-natured social animosity between us Lukies and those students based on the main campus, whom we referred to as Jifs. If I remember correctly, the name 'Jif' is a reference to the main campus' resident night club, the Lemon Grove (or Lemmy, as it was almost universally known. No long-haired heavy metal jokes here, please).
Due to its slightly isolated location, its compact stature, and the slightly irreverent student body, St Luke's developed a social scene of its own. Central to the weekly calendar at St Luke's for many years was The Bop, possibly the most naff club evening ever devised. The music was cheesy, the surroundings cavernous and dull, and the fluorescent lighting had an uncanny tendency to pick out the odd fleck of soap powder on your otherwise impeccably clean shirt.
But we Lukies loved The Bop. It was ours. Who cared if it was several degrees less stylish than Dwayne Dibley? What mattered was that you were there with good company and that you enjoyed yourself.
Sadly, towards the end of my course, attendances at The Bop plummeted. This was not helped by the decision to move the event from its traditional Friday slot to Saturday evenings, thus overlapping with the Lemmy - which was also well frequented by Lukies.
More often than not, Buttercup would be the last song of the evening at The Bop. So, whenever I hear that song, I think back to the hundreds - if not thousands - of Lukies over the years who experienced this unique institution. Here's to you all.
Altogether now: "I would rather be a Lukie than a Jif; I would rather be a Lukie than a Jif..."
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