Monday, July 31, 2023

Street Incredibility

These photos of wrestling legend Adrian Street (RIP) with his coal miner dad and workmates perfectly capture the dialectical relationship between glam and grime.






Jeremy Deller wrote an essay about these "revenge photographs", the top one in the batch above he's described as "the most important photograph taken in Britain after the war"

"In 1973, photographer Dennis Hutchinson was tasked with taking portraits of Adrian Street for a lengthy piece of editorial in the Sunday People newspaper. He had asked Street to suggest a location, and he said he wanted to be photographed in Wales, at the coal miner’s pit where he used to work as a teenager. He wanted to be shot with his father, who still worked there, and whom he hated.

"In fact, he hated all the people in the picture, hated the pit, hated the village. He told Hutchinson, “I want to show them what I’ve made of my life, what I’ve become since leaving Wales.” He’s wearing his European Champion middleweight belt, as though to say, “Look, you peasants, this is what I’ve made of myself. I don’t have to go down a mine every day.” He’s returned as a success; a sort of prodigal son in reverse. This was his calculated expression of his showbiz, glamorous life. He’d clearly thought about this photo for a long time, planned it for years. He’d been biding his time.

"The rather classical composition makes this photo resemble a Renaissance painting. When I first encountered it, on the cover of an album by the band Black Box Recorder (an album called England Made Me, which is ironic because the picture was taken in Wales) I found it shocking, but knew nothing about it. At a guess, I assumed it was a publicity image of a glam rock musician, taken at a coal mine. It took me back to my childhood, when the biggest things going on in the country seemed to be industrial strife and glam rock; and here, in the photo, were both. 


It was only when I saw it again, reproduced at a smaller size in grainy black and white in a book about wrestling, that I began to get a sense of what was really going on here. It had much less visual impact, but I now knew that it was not a photo of a musician, but of a wrestler, Adrian Street.

Street was always keenly interested in marketing himself, in him ‘as a brand’, as we’d put it now. He claims to have been one of the inspirations for the glam rock movement, and apparently he was acknowledged as such by Marc Bolan. Street saw a wrestling match as a kid and thought it was the thing for him; he liked the theatricality. Boxing also has an element of that, but wrestling is neigh on pure theatre. Street was a strong-willed child and he remained strong-willed: driven, egotistical, self-centred and self-aware. He would admit these things, these aren’t criticisms. His first professional wrestling match was in 1957 and from the early 1960s, he started bleaching his hair platinum blond, and wore increasingly outrageous clothes. Even though he was absolutely straight, he realised that his camp yet tough look would be more lucrative, because people would be more interested to see him wrestle. The more outrageous a character you were in the ring, the more successful you’d be. Even if you were a baddie – in wrestling these characters are called ‘heels’, who are ‘scripted’ by the promotors – people wanted to see you lose because they hated you. You got a reaction.

"I’ve gone through Adrian’s albums; he’s got a big archive and a lot of photographs are of him looking very dressed up in public places. He’s always ‘on’, always the wrestler, walking around and posing. This photograph is a way of asserting that persona. It’s Adrian showing the men back home what he’s made of his life after he left them. They had all said, “You’ll be back, because you won’t make it as a wrestler or as a bodybuilder. We’ll see you in a few months.” That was in the 1950s, and this photo is of his return, in the wary 1970s, having transformed into this exotic creature. The Sunday People would undoubtedly have had a circulation of millions, and this photo is how he wanted to be seen by the rest of the world.

"Street’s father looks quizzical here, and rather concerned. According to Adrian, there was no acceptance whatsoever. His dad made a point of pretending not to be impressed by anything. Adrian would take his parents on what were, in the 1970s, really fancy holidays, to places like Thailand, but his dad would feign indifference. They genuinely didn’t get on. To be as unusual looking as Adrian was, was not to be encouraged. Pit villages were very conservative environments. People with massive amounts of self belief, like Adrian Street, have always had to transform themselves and their lives. In that sense, his is a mythic story."

Deller also made a doc about Street called So Many Ways to Hurt You: The Life and Times of Adrian Street

 
The dialectical relationship between glam and grime - that reminded me of these bits from Billy Liar  I borrowed for the Roxy Music chapter 

The Roxy was the last splash of light before Stradhoughton petered out and the moors took over"

 “Lying in bed, I abandoned the facts again and was back in Ambrosia.” 
(the opening line - Billy Fisher putting off getting up and going to work at the undertakers;  Ambrosia the fantasy land in which he's a benign dictator)

I also have a quote from another BF - Bryan Ferry - whose dad actually worked in a colliery, looking after the pit ponies.

 “I rejected my parents in my mind...  I went through a period of resenting my parents because I wasn't born rich and I felt.... that my lot wasn't all that it should be. My parents are the nicest people you could possibly meet, but they're not the least bit intellectual. And I really resented that, too, at one time.”  

In the movie version, Billy Fisher reimagines his mam and dad as "mater and pater" - toffs from some Noel Coward drawing-room play. 

versus the frumpy facts of life 




BF on the popularity of Roxy in Cleveland and Detroit - "places like where I come from, a very hard area... They see [Roxy] as a means of escaping all that.

Adrian Street sometimes went by the name "Exotic" Adrian Street - exotic meaning literally "from outside", "not from these parts", "doesn't belong here"

Street, looking a bit Eno-in-Roxy






















Looks like he actually had a go at being a pop star


And had at least one tribute song written about him, this glammish-sounding droll memory of Street as seen "on the first colour telly / in our valley"










Friday, July 21, 2023

the personality collector

I take on the guises of different people I meet. I can switch accents in seconds of meeting someone. I’ve always found that I collect – I’m a collector. I’ve just always seemed to collect personalities" - David Bowie, speaking to Russell Harty, 1973. 



Bowie  - in '85, messin' about, having a giggle, during studio down time - by impersonating a series of archetypal Amuuurcan singers / non-singers, complete with some hokey lyrics  I assume are of his own devising

Have a guess who they are ... Answers to be revealed (or if you want to peek, go to the blog link immediately below). One of the artists I think gets two attempts, so that could be confusing.  

(via Ethan Hein who in above-mentioned blogpost is currently doing ongoing musicological analysis of various DB songs - after "Absolute Beginners", I'd like to see him have a go with "That's Motivation") 

I think this lark-about is also expressive of  

a/ Bowie's core conviction that all performance modes and personae are masks, theatrical contrivances, fake through and through

b/ his admiration for those who successfully perform realness, convincingly put across the illusion of naturalistic. 


Monday, July 17, 2023

humanly useless

I feel I pegged something in S+A when I noted the relative dearth of "humanly useful" songs in the Bowie uuurv. You can dance and you can singalong, and you can be fascinated by him and his journey - but how many can you actually relate to your own life? It's a very self-involved body o' work really, much of its effectiveness dependent on how invested you are in David Bowie in the first place.

An editor I once had claimed to have minimal time for popular music but averred that DB was self-evidently the most interesting man in pop. But what if you simply don't share that feeling? What songs are there that are like "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out" or "Jump" or "More Than A Feeling" or "Jack and Diane" - tunes that touch on something that everyone has felt at some point in their lives? 

There's "Heroes", for a coat of grandeur to drape around whatever you're doing (that's why it's big in weddings)

"Life On Mars?", if you're feeling crushed by mundanity. 

"Rebel Rebel," if you fancy yourself a bit. 

But an awful lot of it is about being David Bowie, about where David Bowie was in his life at that point. And few of us indeed are in the same boat as David Bowie.

There's also a lot of songs that relate not to Bowie being the most interesting man in pop, but the most interested man in pop - songs that reflect his cultural interests and tastes and obsessions. "Joe the Lion", etc. That's one place where I do identify with Bowie, at least in the abstract - in so far as having loads and loads of interests, mostly in a fairly scatterbrain way, with things that are nothing to do with me, really, beyond that rather distanced intrigue and fascination.  

But again, unless you happen to share Bowie's specific interests, what are you supposed to do with a song like "Joe the Lion"? 

People who go on about the greatness of "Station to Station" as a song - I always wonder what is it actually saying to them? What do they feel when they listen to it? It's a particularly chronic example of DB as "man interested in lots of things" -  here exacerbated by vast amounts of cocaine and the unmoored, unhealthy, borderline-insane lifestyle he was living in LA. He happened to be perusing books on magic and the occult, but when you're on coke, a piece of lint can be enthralling. 

Another category is the garbled or condensed mini-screenplay song or spooky / sci-fi short story with a beat  ("Drive-In Saturday", "The Man Who Sold the World", etc). These are fine as far as they go, I suppose. 

But in terms of stuff that actually affects me, it's the really abjectly depressed or paranoid, broken-up stuff - "Fame" and Low and "Ashes to Ashes". Here something achingly real cuts through the biographic specifics. 

Don't get me wrong, so much of it sounds simply glorious - "Suffragette City", "Golden Years', "Up the Hill Backwards", scores more - but yes, I rarely come away with a feeling as such. 

Wednesday, July 12, 2023

"cluttered, baroque drivel... sublimely pretentious"

 


From September 15 1990, Ian Gittins nimbly nails the case for Cockney Rebel.

"So awful it's awesome" is over-used but this is one instance where it really fits - the Harley Vision wobbles on a tightrope between genius and gauche - and a whole bunch of other G words including garish and grotesque


Sunday, July 9, 2023

s+a premonitions

 





















from Dec 2 1989 Melody Maker

Since then I've come to really rather enjoy Mud (mainly "Dynamite") and nearly revere Suzi Quatro (if only for "Can the Can,"  "In the Morning" and maybe "Primitive Love,"). Wizzard, though, still I find hard to stomach. 

An error but a deserving one - would that it were true! -  Alice Cooper did not of course run for President in 1972, he only made a promo video in which he pretended to be a candidate. And my arithmetic's a bit off - the "and I don't care" in "Elected" is only five years before "Pretty Vacant" 

Here's a slightly later premonition- a review of a similar VHS compilation of promos, but in this case all by the wunnerful Sweet

THE SWEET

Sweet's Ballroom Blitz

(Castle Hendring Video)

Melody Maker, 1990?

"SWEET'S BALLROOM BLITZ" attempts to rescue The Sweet from their longstanding reputation as mere 'pretty boy' puppets of Chinn and Chapman (the hit factory who wrote and produced their biggest chart singles). A noble aim, as The Sweet's role in the Glam Rock explosion is sorely under-rated, but one which this rather scrappy compilation only goes some of the way to achieving. 

There's too much of Sweet's lightest-weight material: the calypso crud of "Co Co", some deeply unfortunate, acoustic balladry, plus the moony "Love Is Like Oxygen", which has twilight-era Sweet coming on like understudies for Smokie. And the interview segments with 'the band today' tell us little, except that the guitarist has put on much weight and singer Brian Connolly seems to have been left with permanent delirium tremens from the years of alcohol abuse that eventually caused the groups' break-up.

Happily, "Ballroom Blitz" does include almost all Sweet's biggest and best hits (bar the unforgiveable absence of "Ballroom Blitz" itself). The Sweet were supreme exponents of a kind of vacant outrage: their sporting of make-up and Nazi chic was "unsubstantiated" by the dubious art-house trappings of Bowie and Roxy. Everything in a classic Sweet smash was there for effect alone, was purely and emptily sensationalist: the torrid, Four Seasons/Beach Boys multi-tracked harmonies, the streamlined pop-metal riffs, the ludicrous scenarios devised solely as a pretext for hysteria. "Blockbuster", with its sirens and "Great Rock'n'Roll Swindle" kettledrums, is a tour de force of fabricated mayhem, even though this particular performance sadly doesn't feature Steve Priest camping it up as Hitler in drag. "Fox

On The Run" and "Lies In Your Eyes" are typically torrid, plastic-punk put-downs of discarded girlfriends. "Hellraiser", by contrast, has The Sweet running scared of a voracious libertine whose "ultra-sonic eyes flash like hysterical danger signs/say, beware where you tread/or you'll go out of your head". "The Six Teens" is flamenco-flavoured, bubblegum psychedelia that asks cryptically: "where were you in '68?". But The Sweet's greatest moments are "Action" (self-written after the break with Chinnichap) and "Teenage Rampage". The latter is Chinnichap's finest slice of mock-apocalypse, boasting one the most ominous intro/outro's of all time, and lyrics like "at thirteen they were learning, but at fourteen they'll be burning". "Action" is The Sweet's "EMI", a massive V-sign to all the corporate parasites wanting their piece, and a blast of sonic insurgency that anticipates punk by two whole years.


Sunday, July 2, 2023

neo-glam 1 of ?

 















I was quite taken by No-Man - an approving nod in their direction, from a June 1993 singles column












































Now funnily enough 4 years earlier, back in 1989, in another singles column,  I had made a call for  - or at least toyed with the notion of - a rediscovery of art-rock art-I-fice, a renaissance of the valorously pretentious and effete:















































"Crap has not yet turned to gold; you'll have to wait for us to write all this up for you, Gavin, old man"

- hark at the self-conscious awareness of  the role of discourse in framing music, the sense that a transvaluation would need to be staged and set in motion, for us to hear all these vocal / lyrical / sonic / sartorial mannerisms as "cool" and even "enjoyable" again. And that transvaluation would be the shared work of critics and musicians (with the writers taking the lead)  

Supremely arrogant, this envisioning critics as unacknowledged legislators of Music, whose diktats would change taste in receptive minds. The power of rhetorical alchemy: the formerly "crap" transubstantiated into the new "gold".

What's funny is that first list of band names (from Bebop to Doctors of Madness via Van Der Graaf, Deaf School and SAHB) are groups I would not even have heard at that point. I knew the names and had a vague sense of reputations - what they stood for

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Going back to No-Man -  I never made the connection that half the core group is Steve Wilson as in Porcupine Tree and "remixer of renown" . So there's prog as well as glam in their art-pop, and it's very cleanly produced indeed.  



Liner note to Loveblows & Lovecries, penned by "Billy Baudelaire" (actually singer Tim Bowness) 


“Lovecry


The first thing you notice is the terrible beauty of it all.

The terrible rightness. The appetite.


Here at last is a group that appreciates extremes of

experience and expression. A group that prays to the hips

and lips of Presley’s rock’n’roll escapism as often as it

bathes in the poetry of Sartre’s poisoned Paris. A group

that likes to hurl its body at passing trains, stick its head

in fluffy clouds and roll naked in the dirt – all in the

same lunch break.


As taken by Manson’s whiskers as Bolan’s curls, No Man

is another crueller pop dream for another crueller

generation, charging through the idiot wind of 90’s new

age indolence, striking a balance between wisdom and folly, fact and

fancy, truth and its consequences.


No Man is a simple as a child’s fable and as complex as life itself.


A tetchy bastard with a healthy appetite and a nice line in

kitchen utensils, No Man likes good food.



Loveblows and Lovecries, a taste of heaven.


Eat Well!“


Via this site dedicated to the group (who are still an on-going project)













anti-theatricality + politics (the finale?)

A wise person once said: “When a clown moves into a palace, he doesn’t become a king. The palace becomes a circus.” Donald Trump is a clown....