Super Mayfield

I'm sitting in a bar with the unmistakable – and most welcome – opening bars of Curtis Mayfield's 'Superfly' cutting through the Muzakal mix.

As this year draws to a close in which we are remembering so many musical greats who have been taken from us, maybe we should also find time to recall Mayfield, a genius who died in 1999 at the age of 57, nine years after being almost totally paralysed when lighting equipment fell on him.

He was a beautiful singer, an innovative songwriter and a great musician. And his legacy runs through so much of what followed, including the work of many of those famous names who died in 2016.

If you haven't already... listen to him.

Wham!

Foolish of me to think that Rick Parfitt was the last rock star to be taken in 2016... The death of George Michael comes as a much greater shock – and constitutes the loss of a great musical talent, who managed to go from boy-band whimsy to seriously good singer/songwriter.

If you're a well-known musician, take care between now and New Year... We keep thinking it's all over... But maybe it isn't...

Down, Down...

Just when you thought 2016 couldn't take away another rock star... Rick Parfitt of Status Quo is gone.

The Quo were formidably good at what they did... but it wasn't really for me, and I never saw them live.

But many musicians rated and respected them – including, maybe surprisingly, John Lydon, who perhaps saw something punkish in the Quo's refusal to ever do anything but stick to basics and go for the lowest common denominator.

This year of the wins of Brexit and Trump and the losses of Bowie, Cohen and Prince (and many more) has been bloody awful. I dare to think that 2017 has to be better – rather than a case of down, down deeper and down.

Indebted To Datta

One of the lessons of Billy Ward's "Inside Out", mentioned in a recent post, is for drummers to be open to inspiration from all sources – and all kinds of players, not just drummers.

Unlooked-for inspiration came to me this week from sarod-player Soumik Datta whom I was fortunate enough to see in concert at London's Cadogan Hall as part of a stirring ensemble paying tribute to the words and music of Rabindranath Tagore.

Datta is one of those musicians who is utterly at one with his instrument, possessed of a facility that enables him to express himself totally, and which seems to result in great joy – for him and for those who hear him.

Prior to the Tagore concert, we were treated to a preview of an episode from a future TV series Tuning 2 You in which Datta (filmed by his brother Souvid) travels across India to meet and play with the sub-continent's "lost musicians" – the traditional local players who will never be famous but who are the lifeblood of their communities.

The film itself also provided endless musical inspiration – plus the clear message that music is at its best when it is played by those who are devoted to it and for whom there is no life without it.

As Greg Lake, who died recently, put it: "The greatest music is made for love, not money."

A Matter Of Death And Death

I only ever had one conversation with AA Gill – the recently deceased Sunday Times journalist – and, considering his ascerbic, and sometimes downright nasty, style of writing, he seemed remarkably pleasant and polite.

But there's no getting away from the fact that this was someone who admitted he shot a baboon to find out what it felt like to kill someone. And then wrote about it. Made it into another deliberately provocative article.

Some deaths you can mourn. Some you can't.

Drumming Without Your Kit

I've been away... I'm back. And I haven't been drumming for a while, following the successful release and launch of the Unison Bends' album 'Liquor And Iron' at the end of November. As forecast, it was a night to remember, particularly as the amazing Alex Patterson graced the album launch with her vocals.

So no drumming for a week or two, apart from in my head. Which leads on perfectly to 'Inside Out', the brilliantly challenging book by drummer Billy Ward that does exactly what it says: explores the mental aspects of drumming.

Apart from making the oft-neglected point that drummers are musicians and have brains, Ward also looks with great honesty at the fact we are also human and beset with all sorts of failings.

There are almost no drum exercises in this book – it's all about you, your musicianship, your strengths and weaknesses, and how you get the best out of yourself in any situation.

When I get back to the practice studio, I know I'm going to be a better drummer – just from reading this collection of perceptive essays.

It Is Unusual

It's been pointed out that my earlier post about Tom Jones gave him a bit of an easy ride, since his brilliant autobiography manages to have no mention at all of sex with hundreds of groupies and paints a picture of a lifelong happy marriage based on true love.Which seems slightly odd.

Whatever the truth is, Jones looks unlikely to supply it now. I apologise for my naivety.

That's The Way To Say Goodbye

Russ Payne and Unison Bends shared the bill with Leonard Cohen at the weekend – courtesy of DJ Paul Mansell and Marlow FM radio. Paul – who has a John-Peelish quality about him – invited us to play a 'live' set from our new album 'Liquor and Iron' on his eclectic Magic Bus show.

But with Cohen having just departed, it was inevitable that Paul would lace the programme with some of his greatest songs So we kind of alternated.

When Paul took some time to enlarge on the genesis of the Cohen classic 'Suzanne', I was inevitably reminded of my first year at university in London; I lived in a hall of residence with cardboard-thin walls and a neighbour who had just one album, 'The Songs Of Leonard Cohen', which he played through the night. I more or less knew 'Suzanne' off by heart.

On the odd occasions when I saw my Cohen-obsessed fellow student, he looked wan and miserable. Perhaps no great surprise there. Cohen at that time had a reputation for being relentlessly doomy, but he went on to show he was at his best when combining darkness with light, and gloom with a wicked humour. At that, he proved to be the master.

Jones The Storyteller

If you think of Tom Jones, you probably think of him as a singer. Having just read his autobiography, 'Over The Top And Back', I now think of him as a great storyteller.

It doesn't read like a ghostwritten account but like the man himself recounting his remarkable life in a completely authentic voice.

He also shows incredible self-awareness, detailing his faults, failures and mistakes as well as his often unbelievable turns of good fortune.

It's also worth mentioning that he seems to have enormous respect for drummers (appreciating how they can make or break the sound of a band) and for songwriters.

As Bill Haley once said, Jones "out-Elvised Elvis". And he also lived to tell the tale – brilliantly.

Things Have Not Changed

As Beyonce and Bruce skip to the side of Clinton, and Ted Nugent grabs his crotch for Trump, it's refreshing that there is no likelihood of Bob "I've lived through a lot of presidents" Dylan getting involved with any of them.

It's best put by Andrew Kirell in his look at Dylan's refusal to be goaded into taking sides in a Rolling Stone interview that spent an inordinate amount of time asking him about Barack Obama.

Kirell writes: "His reluctance to play the game should serve as inspiration for those of us who feel disillusioned with a two-party system that has become, at its core, a competition amongst used car salesmen. 

"Platitudes are exchanged, harsh words are spewed, the promise of 'reform' is parroted over and over again, but nothing ever really changes. And if it does, it’s not because some politician in a big office made it so. Dylan understands that."

Dream Gig

It seems that some rock 'n' roll dreams do come true... Alex KP, the remarkable singer-songwriter, mentioned on this blog in the summer, was not only persuaded to add her spine-tingling voice to tracks on our new Russ Payne and Unison Bends album, 'Liquor And Iron', but she has agreed to perform with the band at our 'live' album launch in Brighton on November 26.

It promises to be the most exciting gig that the band has done. I wouldn't want to miss it.

Softness In The Machine

Interesting reading the official Robert Wyatt biography to find that this one-time highly individual drummer and latterly remarkable singer has long been plagued by feelings of musical inadequacy and anxiety dreams of the onstage shit hitting the fan.

Maybe he's just particularly honest in owning up to it... Since there are many more musicians who experience such worries...

Wyatt was there from the beginning with The Soft Machine – named after the William Burroughs novel of the same name – and he probably appreciates as much as anyone that this reference to the human body as a soft machine is apt. The human machine can do amazing things, but its software is often vulnerable.

Even though 'Different Every Time' is an occasionally hagiographic 'authorised' book, it does not shy away from the vulnerabilities of this particular soft musical machine. And it's an excellent read.

At last...

I've been away... I'm back.

And what better way to write a new post than to hail Bob Dylan's being awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature - at long last!

The carping from those who don't get it has already started... but as the Poet Laureate of Rock 'N' Roll pointed out some time ago, something is happening and they don't know what it is.

Those who know and love Dylan and his work  - and know what it has meant to them on this long journey from the Sixties to here - will get it and will be overjoyed.

Rich Men's Blues

I love Eric Clapton's guitar playing. He is likely to be the greatest guitarist ever to pass through here... But tickets have just gone on sale for his Albert Hall concerts in May 2017. And the cheapest are £100 each, with a £12 booking fee per ticket.

The £12 booking fee per ticket actually seems more out of order than the £100 for a cheap seat.

So to echo my comments about Buddy Guy recently, I'm sorry but I'm not prepared to pay that much. And how many young blues fans who should see Eric before he goes are going to be able to pay that amount?

I confess I paid over £300 a ticket (from criminal touts) to see Cream's reunion at the Albert Hall (although a lot less to see their first farewell there in 1968). But that was to see Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker as well as Eric.

With Bruce dead and Baker in a bad way, Clapton raking in yet more money seems to stick in the craw – even though he richly deserves to be rich.

Let's not forget that Cream (i.e. Bruce and Baker) made him much bigger than John Mayall's Bluesbreakers ever did. A benefit night for Mr Baker might haver persuaded me to part with £112.

But as it is, I hope all those rich old men enjoy their outing to the Albert Hall.

Just The Type

It has been 'revealed' that Lady Gaga writes her lyrics on a typewriter. One wonders why. Everybody used to, of course. Bob Dylan turned out most of his early masterpieces with a typewriter and a stream of cigarettes. Just like reporters did in the old days when I first joined a newspaper.

The discipline of the typewriter is that you have to try to get things right without starting again too many times, otherwise you create a mess – either on the page or in the wastebin or on the floor.

All those screwed up bits of paper used to be used in the movies to show how hard the writer was working – or how hard the writing process was.

Perhaps Gaga also sits surrounded by balls of discarded paper to illustrate the intensity of her creative processes.

And maybe also typewritten lyrics are not a bad investment for the future – since they'll be around to be sold to collectors in a few years' time, and far more of a genuine historical musical document than a computer printout.

Brown Shoes (Still) Don't Make It

A report by the Social Mobility Commission, quoted by the BBC, suggests that candidates who wear brown shoes to interviews tend not to get the job. People who get hired tend to be those "who fit in".

Loud ties and ill-fitting suits also have much the same effect as brown shoes, apparently. 

This is hardly news. Frank Zappa observed, at some length, on the Mothers of Invention 1967 album "Absolutely Free" that "Brown Shoes Don't Make It". Anyone who has heard that early Zappa magnum opus on the ills of society would hardly need the Social Mobility Commission, whatever that is, to tell them that brown shoes don't make it...

Albert, Bob And Frankie Lee

A chap who handed me a small piece of paper outside the Albert Hall during Bob Dylan's most recent performances there turned out to go by the name of Frankie Lee – not Judas Priest, but Frankie Lee – and when I contacted him later, he turned out to be a purveyor of high-quality bootlegs.

Not your official Bootleg Series bootlegs – real bootlegs – and they seem to be so extensive that I could probably buy enough to give me listening material for what remains of my life.

After being slightly troubled by the morality of acquiring Dylan material that somehow has been sneaked away from recording studio and concert hall desks, with presumably no money finding its way to the artist, I succumbed to the temptation of ordering 'After The Empire' – allegedly the missing link between 'Empire Burlesque' and 'Knocked Out Loaded', both much panned albums but both also containing real gems.

It does not disappoint. It's raw Dylan in the studio, playing with and exploring songs that, as far as I know, have surfaced nowhere else.

It's a mark of the man's genius that even his musings, sketchings and jam sessions produce songs that no one else could come close to in terms of feel, intensity and passion.

Oh, Frankie, what have you started?

Drummer's Farewell

Sad to see that 'Drummer' magazine has just put out its final issue. It was often alone in presenting some intelligent coverage of drummers and drumming, with 'Rhythm' tending to concentrate on metal and speed, and even the once dependably serious 'Modern Drummer' starting to move in a similar direction.

The best thing in the final issue, apart from the general feeling of optimism and encouragement from the editor and her team, was an interview with Jon Hiseman, a truly remarkable musician and, judging by this and other interviews, a really good and caring human being.

The first drum kit I ever got close to and, in fact, helped to set up was Jon Hiseman's. His roadie let me into an early Colosseum gig for free on condition that I helped with the gear. A no brainer. From that first time I saw Hiseman play – right up close – I was impressed equally by his technique and his passion.

The Hiseman interview is by the excellent journalist Brent Keefe, also a drummer of course, and currently on tour with The Carpenters Show. When I met him recently, Brent recommended trying 'Drumhead' magazine, so I'm hoping that will be a worthy substitute for 'Drummer'.

Tools Of The Trades

Only just seen this picture which was snatched at the Levellers' Metway Studios in Brighton, during the recording of the Unison Bends album 'Liquor And Iron'. This and more are on the UBs' website. 

It's the only time I think I've been captured with the tools of both my trades to hand – the one for writing and the one for playing.

The laptop and the drums. I can't imagine life without them both!

Honest John

After John Densmore's 'Riders On The Storm', here's another essential rock book I should have read already and have only just got round to... and another honest John.

In 'Anger is An Energy' John Lydon certainly talks a good book. 'A paradiddle is what a drummer practises,' he explains. 'Every drummer I know, they're always in a corner going, 'Paradiddle, paradiddle, paradiddle', tapping their knees. 'As on so much else, he's right, of course. 

But he is particularly interesting when he gets to Ginger Baker (who, along with Tony Williams, played on Public Image Ltd's album 'Album').

'Look at what that fella did with drumming!' says Lydon. 'That's from the bombed-out part of London, that one, right? And in the 70s he's off to Africa to live with Fela Kuti before anybody even knew what that place was offering! He was straight into it...'

So right. Long before the discovery of so-called world music, Mr Baker had been there, done it and come back inspired.

Road Casualty

It's reported that Adele has had to cancel tour dates due to illness, telling fans that she has pushed herself too hard. Her tour started in February and is due to end in November. One UK national newspaper said that it was "not surprising", given the length of the tour.

Adele was born in 1988. That's the year that Bob Dylan started his so-called Never Ending Tour and he's been on the road pretty much ever since. That's 28 years.

Storm Trooper

I don't know why it took me so long, but I finally got around to reading 'Riders On The Storm', drummer John Densmore's account of his time with the Doors.

The Doors were an amazing band on so many levels and remain so. As I said in my previous post on the death of Ray Manzarek, they were way out ahead of the Beatles and the Stones.

If ever proof were needed of the skill, intelligence, thoughtfulness and passion of the drummer, Densmore's book is exactly that. And if you want sex, drugs and rock'n'roll, they're all there too.

Densmore's ability to use the drums to respond to other instruments but, above all, to Jim Morrison's words and almost complete unpredictability on stage continue to inspire me, and no doubt countless other players.

Complimentary Medicine

There were a couple of nice moments for me during the recent Unison Bends recording sessions at the Levellers' Metway Studios in Brighton – oh ok, ego-stroking moments.

One came in the control room when engineer Jake Rousham was playing back one of our tracks from the first day. "Do I hear Ginger Baker?" he asked, nodding towards my drumming.

"Yes, I'm channelling him from his deathbed," I said, extremely pleased at what I took to be a compliment, but knowing that I will always be many miles behind Mr Baker. *

Then, on the final day, I had to overdub a few bars of harmonica  on an epic Russ Payne song with a touch of the Westerns about it. I only did one take and wasn't at all happy with it.

"Can I do it again?" I asked.

"No, it's good," said Russ.

"I don't think so..." I began to argue.

"It's very Bob," said Jake.

And that was the end of that discussion. I was more than happy.

* For the record, Mr Baker isn't on his deathbed. According to his website, he's had heart surgery and is recovering and may even play drums again.

Seeing A Star

Photo by JACK PASCO

One of the highlights of the recent Unison Bends album sessions in Brighton was getting out into the city after 10-hour days in the studio and checking out the local music scene.

A night out at the Greys pub proved revelatory. Four singer/songwriters were on the bill, and each of them was excellent: interesting songs, great voices and out-of-the-ordinary instrumentation.

But one stood out so far ahead of the others that it was almost unreal. Alex KP sings her truly original material accompanied by her own immaculate guitar and the beautiful playing of her cellist. But what stunned the place into complete attentive silence was her voice, an instrument of passion that leaps from sweet to gruffly bluesy in an instant or two.

She is in the same league as John Martyn and Joni Mitchell (while not being a copy of either one). In short: she is a star.

The Full Kit

Not more drum porn... but the view that I had for three days at the most excellent Metway Studios in Brighton which is owned by the Levellers.

I had the privilege of playing drums for the new album, Liquor And Iron, by Russ Payne and Unison Bends... and working with engineer Jake Rousham, whose CV includes the likes of Nick Cave, Fatboy Slim, Roger Daltrey and Wilko Johnson.

I think we made some great music... and yes, I did have the chance to set up and play the full kit – a pleasure that is so often denied in the small venues that we tend to play.

The Brighton sessions were memorable in many ways and I'll write more about this soon...

Porn Again

We've all done it. Drummers, that is. All looked longingly at those beautiful kits – often the ones that we can't quite afford and that we wouldn't have room to store anyway.

I already have the perfect kit for me: a DW Collector's Series in pure white (well, almost, give or take a few scrapes and scratches from gigging).

So why – when Wembley Music Centre emails me with pictures of all the latest DW kits to arrive at its London store – do I sit and start salivating over them? This is drum pornography, of course. We just like looking at pictures of these wonderful objects, even though we can't have them, and, in truth, we don't need them.

But if you're interested in percussion pornography, check out DW drum kits at the Wembley Music Centre. And if you actually want to own one of these great kits, hand-made in California, you'd better get on it. Prices for British buyers can only go up, thanks to all those good folk who voted for Brexit.

Meanwhile, Back At The Shack

I've realised that I'm often singing the praises of various rehearsal studios dotted about the UK but I haven't perhaps said enough to record my appreciation of the one nearest to me, in south London: Drumshack.

I have used Drumshack's rehearsal room more times than I can calculate, and it has been invaluable in keeping me playing and getting me ready for gigs and recordings.

Up until recently, it has to be said, it was in a dingy and slightly damp basement – but with an excellent full practice kit, including cymbals, sticks and even a double kick pedal.

Now, with the opening of a new additional shop over the road from its headquarters, Drumshack has a non-dingy, non-damp, non-basement practice room – and, still at £7 an hour, it's fantastic value.

Oh, and the Drumshack staff really do know their stuff when it comes to talking about gear – as they are all drummers. What else do you want?

Found In Translation

How do you find the words to encompass what it's like to be playing in a band? The mixture of continual hard work, hours of travel, dodgy accommodation and occasional moments of joy?

Difficult. But what must be a bit of automatic translation from French to English on the website of jazz guitarist Nitcho Reinhardt (yes, relation) seems to have done it perfectly. So, I hope Nitcho doesn't mind my reproducing it here...

"Our domain, it is the music necessarily, the repetitions (rehearsals), the recordings, the concerts, the musical oxen, the jazz... But also, the compositions, the improvisation, the smiles, the grimaces, the kilometers by car, the plane (Yes we put ourselves in it), the train, the luxurious hotels, the room (chamber) with a single bed for three, the accommodations (hostings) at the inhabitant, or sometimes in the car, the meals shared with the organizers, between artists, sanswichs if we have the good ticket, the autographs, the photographers, the bulbs at the end of fingers, fans, the admirers and the admirers, people who say that it is too strong, the applauses, the festivals... In brief, musician's life, rich in meetings and in exchanges! The life which! Then, wherever you are, whoever you are, if you share these values and what our music affects (touches) your heart, speak about us around you!"

Says it all...

Give Us A Break

The old joke about a drummer being someone who hangs around with musicians is not really that funny. And you'd think it would have been made obsolete by now, as a result of the remarkable musicianship of so many drummers in all fields of music.

But BBC online has just featured a report with the byline of business reporter Ed Butler that starts off: "The British musician and drummer Sudha Kheterpal..."

Is he insulting drummers deliberately? Or is he subconsciously or totally unknowingly simply revealing ignorance and prejudice?

For the record Sudha Kheterpal (who has played with Faithless, the Spice Girls and Kylie Minogue) has created a percussive device that also creates energy. Goodness! A successful drummer... and she has a brain! Whatever next?

Stiwdio Time

I've been away... I'm back...

There are not many real constants in life... but one seems to be the availability of a small room containing a large drumkit.

Taking a break in North Wales for a couple of weeks and with the prospect of a gig in Bristol at the end of the fortnight, I needed to practise. But where? I was on the island of Anglesey. Not exactly remote, but not exactly the centre of the musical universe either.

I need not have worried. Stiwdio was at hand (well, just over the water, in a village near Bangor).

I booked in and after quite a few three-point turns finally found my way into the back streets of Rachub and a little recording and rehearsal studio completely hidden away beneath an equally little house.

Three hours' playing made me a lot better equipped to play a gig two days' later... and, even on a near-perfect holiday, it also gave me, as always, some time and some freedom.

Thanks, Stiwdio.

Paying Tribute

The main point about tribute bands is that they tend to make money. They're easy to sell and easy to explain and the punters seem to love them. Who wants or needs original music? Or, in fact, music? The tribute band is not so much about music as about nostalgia – for an era you lived through, or for an era you wish you could have lived through. 

I once enquired about playing with an established Eagles tribute band – yes, I admit I did fancy the gigs and the money, and I confess that I really admire the Eagles – and was told that every drum break would have to be note for note the same as on the original records, because the audience would notice if it wasn't. It sounded a terribly sad experience for musicians and audience alike. Trainspotting would be more interesting.

A band called the Fab Beatles are due to play the album Revolver in full at a gig in Brighton to mark the record's 50th anniversary. I'm sure they are a wonderful band but the point of all this seems elusive. If you want to listen to Revolver (the first album I bought, and to my mind, better than its follow-up), listen to Revolver.

The only possible point of covering someone else's song is to bring something new and different to it. Tribute bands, on the whole, do the complete opposite. But that, of course, is what a lot of people want.

Don't Rust In Peace

It is not unknown for drummers to say they hope to die on stage – literally, rather than metaphorically. Because we want to keep playing to the end.

But the reality of death on stage has just taken Nick Menza at the relatively young age of 51. A player since the age of two, he was best loved as the drummer with Megadeth in their heyday.

I can't pretend to be a Megadeth fan, but I really like Menza's no-nonsense and very physical approach to playing the kit. And I am envious of his nifty double-kick-pedal work. Check out his drumming and mourn the loss of a full-on player.

Voice Of A Fallen Angel

The late-night drive back to London from playing a gig in Brighton was the perfect opportunity to listen to Bob Dylan's latest album, 'Fallen Angels'.

What a wonderful piece of work and – like everything he's done – it's something that no one else could pull off. For an ageing troubadour to take these ancient songs and make them fresh and full of timeless meaning is more than a small miracle.

This is part two of 'Shadows In The Night', pretty much just as 'World Gone Wrong' was part two of 'Good As I Been To You' – another couple of albums when he took a kind of sabbatical (enforced possibly by writer's block) and turned a whole load of old songs into, in effect, new Dylan songs.

Great as Bob's singing is on 'Fallen Angels', what really stands out on this album is how damn good his band are on every track. And, as ever, the appetite is whetted for what comes next – whatever that may be.

Underground, Overground

Is this what we went through the Sixties for? It's difficult to decide whether the sleeve of Atom Heart Mother being adorned with the Queen's head and stuck on a stamp is a win or a lose.

This is the conundrum posed by a new set of official UK postage stamps dedicated to Pink Floyd.

The Floyd once appeared to be the epitome of the counterculture. Have they now been fully subsumed by the establishment? Or have they simply made a mockery of it?

On balance, maybe we should just smile and move on.

A set of Sex Pistols stamps next? With Johnny Rotten alongside the Queen's head...

School Of Schlock

'School Of Rock' is a great film – and one of the best rock 'n' roll movies ever. It was too much to hope that it might be left as just that.

Today tickets are being offered for the 'School Of Rock - The Musical' on stage in London. A musical version of a perfect musical film? But wait. It gets worse. It's by Andrew Lloyd Webber.

I am old enough to remember the release of the 'Jesus Christ Superstar' album and its being talked about as a 'rock opera'. It was neither an opera nor rock music.

With 'Superstar' and everything that followed, in among the padding there was usually a memorable show tune. But Lloyd Webber must be a contender for the man least likely to ever have any kind of connection with the spirit of rock.

Simon Sings

Mentioning Paul Simon in the previous post, I'm afraid that I didn't think to explain who he was.

Thanks, then, to an email today from Eventim, advertising tickets for Simon's upcoming UK tour and explaining: "Paul Simon is an American singer, songwriter and guitarist."

Is it me? Or is there something odd about someone at a ticket agency feeling the need to introduce Paul Simon – and with these words?

Borderline Genius

I'm glad they found the "missing" Sinead O'Connor. I'm sure I'm not the only one who has been worried about her.

And I'd been listening to her beautiful singing just a few days before her Prince/Arsenio Hall comments caused such a furore.

She's almost as good at causing uproar as she is at moving you to tears with her voice.

I had been revisiting Willie Nelson's 'Across The Borderline' album from 1993 – his finest work and one of the best albums ever.

Sinead performed an emotional duet with him on a version of Peter Gabriel's 'Don't Give Up', the track being recorded just the day after she had been more or less booed off stage at the Bob Dylan 30th Anniversary gig – because, just before that, she had torn up a photograph of the Pope on TV in protest at the Catholic church's handling of child abuse.

(What supposed Dylan fans were doing booing someone for making a legitimate protest is something of a puzzle – although Dylan 'fans' have, of course, not been unknown to boo Bob Dylan on a number of occasions.)

Dylan, inevitably, has a presence on 'Across The Borderline', joining in on 'Heartland' which he co-wrote with Willie. And Nelson also throws in a great reading of Dylan's 'What Was It You Wanted'.

With additional contributions from Bonnie Raitt and Paul Simon, every track on this album is a masterpiece, and Sinead, a voice crying against the wilderness, provides one of its very finest moments.

Oh Yes! It's Another Bob Dylan Book

John Bauldie and Patrick Humphries once wrote a book called 'Oh No! Not Another Bob Dylan Book'. It's one of the few Bob Dylan books I haven't read.

Among the best are 'Dylan's Visions Of Sin' by Christopher Ricks... and, of course, 'Chronicles Volume One' by, er, Bob Dylan. (What about Volume Two? Is it rolling, Bob?)

But I must now also recommend 'Dylan Disc By Disc' by Jon Bream, which does exactly what it says on the cover. It's a fresh critical analysis of every studio album the man has done, from 'Bob Dylan' to 'Shadows In The Night'. But, typically, it is about to become out of date because Dylan is releasing 'Fallen Angels' later this month.

'Disc By Disc' features not only informed and intelligent discussions about every one of the albums from assorted line-ups of critics, but it also features great pictures of the man in his many incarnations.

It really is essential reading.

Words Fail...

It's always a joy to visit Kew Gardens in London – even on a holiday weekend like this one.

There is so much beauty there, and it is impossible to put it into words.

They also have music at Kew in the summer. The schedule of concerts for 2016 is as follows:

Simply Red, Will Young, Bjorn Again, Jools Holland, the Corrs and the Gipsy Kings.

Oh well... Kew still has a great line-up of trees...

Whole Lotta Love And Theft

It's not entirely surprising that it's being claimed someone who wrote the basis of the music for a Led Zeppelin song was not onboard the Zep.

It's alleged that a significant part of 'Stairway To Heaven' was lifted from a song by Spirit.

There are fine lines between inspiration, paying tribute and stealing. Bob Dylan knowingly entitled an album which seemed to borrow musically and lyrically from a variety of sources 'Love And Theft'.

But he didn't credit Muddy Waters for his own take on 'Rollin' and Tumblin'' – although on a later album he did feel obliged to credit Willie Dixon for the Chicago blues riffing of 'My Wife's Home Town'.

Led Zep have previously been found out for lifting chunks of their classic 'Whole Lotta Love' from elsewhere. And one of their best-known vehicles, 'The Lemon Song', with its single-entendre stuff about squeezing lemons, was obviously taken from Robert Johnson's 'Travelling Riverside Blues'.

But then, where did Johnson get it from?

A line in a Summerley/Derbyshire song by our old band Shark Dentists, called 'Murakami's Blues', included the line 'All the lonely people, where do they all come from?' If it had become a major hit (it hasn't yet), then Paul McCartney might have complained to us... although the words have a different melody to that of 'Eleanor Rigby' and were deliberately used in this tribute to author Haruki Murakami to reference the importance that he has always placed on music and lyrics (as well as cats, sheep, wells and bizarre sex).

I'm not a devotee of Led Zeppelin (although whenever Russ Payne and Unison Bends play our version of 'Since I've Been Loving You', it always seems to go down rather well) nor am I a fan of 'Stairway To Heaven'.

The best version I ever heard of it was when I saw Frank Zappa do an epic and apparently amiable version of it on stage... then topping off the climax with the da-da-da-diddy-da-da-daaaah line from'Teddy Bears' Picnic'...

That seemed to say everything there was to say about 'Stairway'... whoever wrote it.

Experienced Again

In an age when so many museums and exhibitions seem to feel the need to dumb down and/or succumb to commercial pressures, it was a much more than pleasant surprise to visit the new Hendrix museum in central London.

Based in Jimi's old flat in Brook Street, it has the right balance of information, music and relevant artefacts.

The high points are his old acoustic on which he worked on most of his classics, including his iconoclastic version of Bob Dylan's 'All Along The Watchtower'; audio clips of him in the studio; and the reconstruction of his tastefully exotic bedroom.

Most of the furnishings are brilliantly sourced substitutes, but the mirror over the fireplace is the one that was there originally. And there is something decidedly spooky about looking into a mirror that you know Hendrix also looked into.

Then there is his record collection, perhaps the best mirror of all of the man. Everything he had is catalogued here, and in some cases there are the original album sleeves too. Above all, Hendrix was a blues man – the evidence here is in countless records by Lightning Hopkins, plus Howlin' Wolf, Robert Johnson, and the classic Albert King record 'Live Wire/Blues Power'. He also had, not surprisingly, pretty much everything by Dylan.

I bought my copy of 'Are You Experienced' in Paris in 1967 and so managed to get the psychedelic Barclay sleeve (below), rather than the extremely straight UK version. It was nice to find that Hendrix, too, had the French version in his collection rather than the English one, and that his was here on display.

It was also touching to find that when Jimi discovered that Handel had lived in the same building, he went down to the local record store and got a couple of the man's albums to check him out. The sleeves of those are here too – as is the Handel museum, next door.

Book to see them both - you will not be disappointed.

Between Rock And A Small Place

Talking of Bob Dylan… and there are often not many more interesting things to do… I've been reading 'Small Town Talk' the irresistible account by Barney Hoskins of Woodstock (the town, not the festival) in the era of Dylan and The Band.

The book has, inevitably, a lot of drugs and a reasonable amount of sex… but not so much rock 'n' roll. Hoskins emphasises the point that Dylan, The Band, The Basement Tapes and the music that flowed on from them had little to do with the loud excesses of rock and the prevailing spirit of the time.

They were hip, not hippie, and they were artists, not rock stars. The same applied to Van Morrison, Jimi Hendrix and John Martyn, who also had their Woodstock moments and inspirations.

Every one of these great creative artists gets a flaws-and-all portrait from Hoskins, as does the awesome/awful svengali Albert Grossman, and also the town of Woodstock itself – which went the way of all Edens and ended up as a tourist attraction.

Bob And Mavis

It's good to see that Bob Dylan and Mavis Staples will be hitting the road together on a tour of the States later this year.

They've known each other for more than 50 years – and Bob is said to have proposed to her early on, only to be turned down.

That never ended their mutual admiration – and there's a lovely duet by them which closes the excellent album "Gotta Serve Somebody - the Gospel Songs of Bob Dylan".

And Mavis's latterday blues/soul/gospel albums have sounded rather like Dylan without Dylan actually being present.

The two of them on the same stage is bound to be a powerful experience for those lucky enough to be there.

In the current era of formulaic, passionless and gutless songs and singing, Dylan and Staples are on another plane, almost another planet. When we lose them, the music really will be dead.

Free Spirit

A lot of rock stars kill themselves by accident. Only a few do it purposefully. Keith Emerson appears to have been one of the latter.

He is destined to be a remembered as a 'prog rock legend' – when perhaps he should simply be hailed as a great musician, and a great and free spirit.

Before the juggernaut of ELP took to the road, Emerson had long paid his dues on the club circuit and found fame as the keyboard player with The Nice.

He added a little spice to his solos by throwing knives into his keyboard and amps. And The Nice stirred things up in the States with their own (wildly superior) version of Bernstein's 'America', particularly when Emerson decided to burn the US flag on stage.

I recall seeing Emerson and his knives at a free concert in London's Hyde Park in an era when the music represented a counterculture – rather than being a willing and greedy part of the establishment.

Emerson was his own man – to the end. That's how he should be remembered.

Ride On

I spent some time yesterday playing ride cymbal… two ride cymbals to be precise. One the new Bosphorus Antique Series model (pictured above) and one my old faithful Istanbul model.

I'd been semi-seduced by the sight and sound of the Bosphorus on a visit to the excellent Drumshack in south London. It's a beautiful and clever piece of work and has a variety of lovely, dry sounds. In short, I quite fancied it.

I thought it might cut through the high volume of the Unison Bends band better than my Istanbul. So I took my own ride into the store, set them both up and tried them out against each other.

What this proved was that they were two different instruments, and what I could have with one, I couldn't have with the other. And in terms of volume, they were about the same.

My decision was to stick with what I have. And at the gig tonight, I will appreciate my old ride cymbal having found that it stood up so well to the new kid on the block.

Ginger

In answer to the previous post's question: what are we rehearsing for?

The response today is: because we are bloody lucky to be able to play.

The following terrible, if not unsurprising, news is on Ginger Baker's website: "Just seen doctor… big shock… no more gigs for this old drummer… everything is off… of all things I never thought it would be my heart…"

See my other previous post for how I feel about this curmudgeonly genius of the drums.

It's only through practice that we reach our real potential. Long ago Ginger used to do his seven hours a day or whatever, playing the rudiments until they were absorbed into his body. And that gave him the vocabulary to speak with a unique musical voice.

When you heard Ginger… you knew it was Ginger and no one else.

I don't know how he has lived this long… and played so brilliantly and been such an inspiration to so many.

If it's not too late, I wish him health… and peace.

Practise, Practise, Practise...

Bassist Bill Keller and I tried to book a studio in Brighton for a Unison Bends rhythm section rehearsal - and gave up after the third one we tried was fully booked. And this was early evening and midweek.

There are obviously a lot of bands in Brighton. But it's more or less the same story everywhere. Unless you book well in advance, you won't get a rehearsal space.

So where are all these bands playing – apart from in rehearsal rooms? Are they actually gigging or just rehearsing?

The number of venues booking bands seems to be shrinking – and the number of bands seems to be increasing. It's always been tough to get gigs, but now it's getting even tougher.

You could be forgiven for asking: what are we all rehearsing for?

Final Edition

The Independent is dead. Long live The Independent online?

The Independent was launched as a radical, politically independent newspaper in the UK in 1986. That it survived for 30 years – and through many years of its imminent demise being forecast – is quite an achievement.

The current proprietor has portrayed its demise as part of a pioneering leap forward into the new world of online publishing. Newspaper journalists, on the whole, see it as a deeply sad bereavement.

Dumbing down appears to be the way ahead online – a glance at the Daily Mail online, The Telegraph online, and even The Independent online or the BBC online should make that fairly clear.

Lists, trivia and a paucity of in-depth coverage seem to be what is required. And in the case of the Mail Online, prurient droolings over female 'celebrities' showing their tits and arses. This is the new journalism.

I am glad to say that I freelanced at The Independent for several years in the 1990s, and also again over the past three years. With grateful thanks to fate, I will be in its office on the night we put together its last edition, and say goodbye to a journalistic era that began with idealism and ended with pragmatism – and a sense of dread.

Death On Mars

Sometimes some space is a good thing… now the hoo-ha over David Bowie has died down a little, maybe it's possible to reflect a bit more clearly.
Neil McCormick from The Daily Telegraph may well have reflected quite a bit after his review of 'Blackstar' which drew the conclusion: "It suggests that, like a modern day Lazarus of pop, Bowie is well and truly back from beyond."
Kitty Empire, who got it similarly wrong, used the whole of a piece in The Observer this weekend to make her excuses in full.
'Blackstar', with the advantage of hindsight, is so obviously a grim farewell to mortality, but few people knew what was coming, so it's not entirely surprising that they got it so wrong.
My own feelings about – and memories of – Bowie are fairly straightforward. I loved 'Hunky Dory' and I loved the fact that you couldn't go into my local bar in the early 1970s without 'Life On Mars' blasting out of the jukebox – the perfect soundtrack for that time.
 I never liked the 'Ziggy Stardust' and 'Aladdin Sane' albums that much. 'Young Americans' was a wonderful return to form. And I'm afraid, for me, that's just about it.
I only saw him once on stage – with Queen – and he was truly remarkable. Bowie was a great musician, and a great performer with great presence – and  a great appetite for sex, drugs and rock 'n roll, and maybe he willingly paid the price for that. 
Now he's gone, 'Life On Mars' still says it all, I reckon.

Groovy Writer

There are so many drum tuition books, and, perhaps surprisingly, so many good drum tuition books. But of the good ones there are only a few that score on the word content as well as the music.

One of these rarities is 'Groove Alchemy' by Stanton Moore. It's a fantastic analysis of the great grooves created by some of the funkiest drummers, with lots and lots of beats lovingly transcribed.

But, as with Royal Hartigan's 'West African Rhythms for Drumset' which I mentioned in a recent post, you get not just marvellous music to play but also an articulate, passionate and clearly written guide to the subject.

Stanton Moore, like Hartigan, has done a great service to drummers… and also helped make it clear that good drumming and a sharp intelligence go hand in hand.

Buddy, Can You Spare £63?

I love Buddy Guy. He was one of the first truly electric bluesmen that I ever listened to. He was a wild and crazy showman, as well as an amazing guitar player. He was Hendrix before Hendrix. Seeing Buddy in concert, you could see where Jimi got some of his stuff from.

Unlike most of the great bluesmen, he is still alive, still recording and still gigging. But he is as likely these days to be singing about the realities of old age as he is about love and loss.

I was overjoyed when I saw that he would be appearing in London later this year – until I found that the cost of sitting in the stalls would be £63.

I'm sorry but that's too much money. Of course, Clapton and Bonamassa have gone the same way, and it costs a fortune to see these blues masters now. But if you're a young person struggling to live in London on a meagre wage, you'd best not be a blues fan. This music is for the old and well-off.

Those who really have the blues can't afford to go to blues gigs like this.

I'm lucky. I could afford to shell out £63 to see Buddy Guy. But I won't. On principle. Someone somewhere is charging too much

Forty Second Street

A musician told me this week that he could tell whether someone was a good drummer within 40 seconds of their starting to play.

It initially seemed a slightly odd claim. But the same day I went  to see a friend give a piano recital, never having seen him play before.

I think it was not much more than five seconds, easily less than 10 seconds into Bach's Partita No 1 in B Flat Major that I realised he really could play – and it was going to be a memorable performance.

So maybe 40 seconds is more than enough to make a judgment. And, I suppose, more than enough if the music is not so good...

When Two Become One

I don't know Joel Rothman. But I do like him. He's produced a wealth of drumming tuition books over the years, and I regret that I have only just discovered him.

I'm currently working my way through one of his Duet Yourself books – a series of etudes that can be played by two drummers, but which actually make more sense as duets between your hands and your feet.

He delights in playing with odd time signatures and moving from one to another – something that resonates with my own modest attempts in this field with my Moving Target piece – and some of his etudes are just beautifully written as well as mathematically pleasing.

Apparently, he has also spent time as a comedian – which may or may not explain one of his other tuition titles: 'Hardest Drum Book Ever Written – Five Way Coordination With Four Limbs'.

Ok, Joel, I'll get to that at some point...