THE CONCRETE ROUNDABOUT (TCR)

The Tastemaker by Tony King

Yet another rock n’ roll memoir along the lines of “Me and Elton flew out to Malibu, where we met up with Mick, Jerry, John and Yoko. We had a wonderful time, and everyone said how fantastic I was"

Tony King is a music biz’ mover and shaker. Starting back in the late 50's and working right up until the pandemic hit. I heard him on a couple of podcasts talking about this, and to be honest, the talking was far better than the reading. There was too much colossal name dropping, and an astonishing amount of saying how brilliant he was at everything.

A long term friend of Elton John, The Stones, The Beatles, that sort of thing. It's stuffed with tails of how he somehow managed to salvage a brilliant gig from the jaws of disaster. But once you've read it a couple of times it becomes a bit boring. There were a few vaguely interesting points, but far too few tou make it gripping.

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For those that like that sort of thing, that is the sort of thing they like.

This Is Memorial Device by David Keenan

Keenan’s work was recently described in The New Statesman as a new working-class avant-garde. Which is certainly one way to describe this stream of consciousness. Ostensibly a novel about a mythical band, Memorial Device, set in Airdrie of the early 80’s, but that’s doing it a tremendous injustice.

When I was growing up in a similar West Coast of Scotland town in the early 80’s, I must’ve done almost all the things the members and fans of Memorial Device did. Put gigs on, released home recorded albums of various local bands on cassette, put stupid art exhibitions on where no one turned up, ran a fanzine. Reading this was almost akin to reading a fictionalised account of my own life. It was extremely odd.

There’s little point in giving you a rundown of the plot, because there isn’t one. Just a series of so-called interviews with the Airdrie glitterati for a fanzine that ran to a single edition.To be honest, if you hadn't lived the lifestyle Keenan’s describing, I seriously doubt you have any idea what he’s going on about. And to be equally honest with you, reading this was like eating a bowl of muesli. You know it’s good for you, but you can’t wait until it’s finished so you can tuck into a bacon roll.

It’s one of those books that everyone says that you should read, so I did, but I won’t be reading it again.

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For those that like that sort of thing, that is the sort of thing they like.

The Storyteller: Tales of Life and Music by Dave Grohl

Dave’s a nice guy, and he’s written a nice book full of his adventures in music, Not an autobiography in the traditional sense, more a collection of extended anecdotes, albeit in a linear fashion.

Here’s Dave getting into punk courtesy of his cousin. Here’s Dave joining his favourite band in Scream. Before you know it he seems to have joined the biggest rock band in the world by accident. Talking of Nirvana, they don’t get much of a mention, and Cobian’s trials and tribulations, although mentioned, are dealt with pretty quickly. Novoselic is barely mentioned, and Courtney Love is completely absent. But I guess as he was only in Nirvana for three years, what can you expect?

After he forms Foo Fighters it falls into a rhythm of him disbelieving that he’s one of the biggest rock stars on the planet. He seems constantly surprised that fellow megastars actually know who he is, let alone would want to play with him.

It trundles along pretty much as you’d expect. He doesn't have a bad word to say about anyone, and his enthusiasm for music, his fellow band members, and especially his family, do him justice as rock’s nicest guy.

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For those that like that sort of thing, that is the sort of thing they like.

I'm back on John Wyndham.
'Trouble with Lichen' is very philosophical in how it deals with the issue of the ability of (some or all) humans to live to over 200.
I had forgotten how good it is.

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Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment

Day of the Triffids was one of our ‘O’ level English Lit compulsory texts back in 1981. It clearly has stood the test of time.

I really do think that a lot of his work has.
I intend to read 'Kraken' again which I only vaguely recall. Also Chocky - which I know I've read but can't remember at all.
There's some off the wall stuff in 'Jizzle' (short stories - if anyone is interested) too - won't surprise anyone to know I like that.....
Considering it was 60s stuff, it's damn good. It's a bit like a classic rock song. Unless you try really hard, it's difficult to f- up. That remake of 'cuckoos' with Keely Hawes worked really well.

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Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment

I Thought I Heard You Speak: Women At Factory Records by Audrey Golden

As anyone who knows me can attest, I’m obsessed with Factory Records. The sort of wanker who can tell you the catalogue number of the Love Will Tear Us Apart single (Fac 23). Name the two brothers in Section 25 (Vin & Larry Cassidy), know that Hacienda DJ Mike Pickering not only signed Happy Mondays, but that he was also a founding member of M People. And a million other pointless bits of info that are of absolutely no use whatsoever. So fair to say I thought I knew my stuff.

If someone were to ask me to name the movers and shakers around Factory, I could name all five directors. Give the names of the members of Joy Division, New Order, I can tell you Shaun Ryder’s dad’s name. However if someone were to ask me to name some notable women at Factory I could name Lindsay Reade, Gillian Gilbert, Cath Carroll, and at a push Fiona Allen (yes the comic actor, she worked the door at The Hacienda) but that’s it. So this hefty oral tome is long overdue.

Reading these accounts, first hand from almost all those involved, puts the involvement of women who almost single handedly ran the day to day nonsense that surrounded Factory up front. While Tony Wilson ponced around espousing situationist theory, someone had to run Dry Bar day to day. Order the drinks for The Hacienda. Become the licensee for the aforementioned super club. Run the office. Open the post. Not glamorous, and all done by women. Almost all of whom have been overshadowed by the men at Factory.

To give the many, many, contributors credit, almost all of them haven’t a bad word to say about their involvement on the greatest record label ever, with only a few seemingly holding a grudge. Most of them against Joy Division/New Order bassist Hooky for some reason. Can't imagine why!

It was a great institution Factory, and this is a fine addition to my Factory collection.

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For those that like that sort of thing, that is the sort of thing they like.

Coal Black Mornings by Brett Anderson

A searingly honest memoir from the Suede frontman. From his quite frankly bizarre upbringing in Haywards Heath, to getting signed to Nude. Indeed the very last page of this is him being late, as usual, to the Nude office as Suede get signed. This is where this ends, but he’s written a second volume detailing Suede’s glory years. That follow-up is certainly on my radar, as this book is quite simply outstanding.

If there’s one thing you could take from this, it's this. He’s never gotten over the love of his life leaving him for someone else. The love of his life is Justine Frischmann, front-woman of Britpop also ran’s Elastica. The someone else is Damon Albarn, whom Brett never mentions, ever. There’s a fantastic feature length documentary about Suede, The Insatiable Ones, where this incident is mentioned. What’s never mentioned however is Albarn. Safe to say there’s little love lost there. In actuality, it was Frischmann and Anderson who formed Suede, with her remaining a member well after she left him for the Parklife hitmaker. The band don’t start to form an identity until she’s asked to leave. Then, buckle up…

His upbringing is a thing of almost Dickensian wonder. If foraging for food with his art school mother whilst wearing home-made clothes, as his taxi driver father sits at home listening to classical music at ear splitting volume, could be considered wonderful.

His description of living in Notting Hill in the early 90’s, just as Suede are gaining some traction, is wonderfully evocative of the sleazy faded glamour that they so embraced.

It’s a good book this, and as you can imagine being the wonderful lyricist that he is, the prose is just what you’d expect.

Right, I’m going out this afternoon to track down the second volume.

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O Brother by John Niven

Niv' writes a memoir, and after reading it I can only say that I'm glad that I've had my life rather than his.

I'm not going to beat around the bush here, this is a brilliant book. Outstanding. It's not coming out until the end of August, but being as we're friends… I came home from the allotment yesterday lunchtime to find a copy on my doormat, and I've more or less spent today reading it. I just couldn't put it down.

As the title would suggest, it's a story of two brothers. Niv's younger brother Gary, or Shades as he was better know around Irvine, was what my mother would have termed a truly bad lot. Basically a head case that caused no end of trouble from the day he was born, right up until he took his own life at 42.

It's an incredibly brave story. He certainly doesn't hold back on his own demons. From walking out on his first wife and son, to leaving the music business virtually penniless, to a real low point of stealing loose change from his girlfriend's brother. I know him now. An extremely successful author and screenwriter. I knew him when we were young. I didn't like him, and he certainly didn't like me. I heard all the stories of his time as an A&R man, and fucking hated him even more. But the time in-between leaving London Records, and beginning to gain some traction as an author, not for me. However, the internet being what it is, and his close proximity to me, means that as late middle aged men, we've put childish things behind us, and I guess we're what you'd call pals, of a sort.

He tells this in tandem with his brother's story. Their own father had him marked out from an early stage "You'll end up in the Bar-L you". For our not Glaswegian readers, The Bar-L, Barlinnie. Scotland's most fearsome prison. And that's where he ends up. For drug dealing. It's a terrible story, as no matter what Niv', his mother, his sister, and a multitude of professionals try, he's beyond help.

Of course being Niven, it's laugh out loud funny. He had a white leather bikers jacket that caused much hilarity back in the early 80's. That's in there. His flirtation with leather trousers when he was in The Wishing Stones, and a load of others that I’d forgotten about. He really is an incredibly funny writer.

I'm meeting up with him in a couple of weeks time. He's doing a book tour to promote this, and to be honest I'm really looking forward to seeing him again. All the more so after reading this.

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I Wanna Be Yours by John Cooper Clarke

The tale of one man’s obsession with clothes, heroin, rock n’ roll, cocaine, 1930’s movies, and of course the spoken word, not necessarily in that order.

The good doctor, and greatest living poet, gives us a run through of his life. It got great reviews when it came out a couple of years ago, but this was the third time I tried reading it. Other books came along that I found more entertaining, so I gave this up and read them instead. There was something about it that didn’t grab me. When you think what he can do with words, I feel that’s a damning indictment. Don’t get me wrong, it was okay, but he spent so much time recalling his almost lifelong pursuit of heroin, that I felt that I’d acquired a habit by osmosis.

The other thing that disappointed me was that he spent so much time on his childhood, and subsequent time in bands, the aforementioned tedious junkie nonsense, and various other things that just weren’t interesting, that I was actually glad when I finished it so I can start something else. The ending seemed to come along all of a sudden. One minute he was working in a technical college, the next he was making adverts for Sugar Puffs, headlining the Royal Albert Hall, and touring the world with his sublime poetry.

I like him, and have seen him multiple times, but this was a disappointment. It helped me to read it in his ‘voice’ as it were, as a great factor of his appeal in his delivery. A friend of mine got this on an audiobook and thought it was brilliant. Perhaps I should’ve gone down that route.

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