Christmas Past

It's almost 2 years to the day that I last posted on this blog, in response to the news of the death of Captain Beefheart. In turn, that inspired my most prolific blog - a Historic Gig Guide, but it feels time to go back to this one. Maybe it's because I go to see less live music in the winter months, but I also consider and write about other subjects - I just haven't been sharing them in a blog. So Christmas is a time for reconnecting and reflecting. There are many ways to spend Christmas and I have had more than my fair share. In the tropics with my parents, back in the late 60s, we sweltered in equatorial heat as we recreated a traditional Christmas dinner in a house on stilts. In the early 70s I took home an unsuitable older boyfriend who wore a kaftan and a greatcoat through the Christmas meal. He did take off his hippy hat though. By the mid 70s I was married and I started many years of a two centre Christmas, travelling across the Pennines between my parents in Sheffield, and my in laws in Chester. Sometimes I was ill, coming down with the seasonal Christmas cold, and we would stay over. Other times we made a late journey home, fingers crossed that the old Ford Capri, Morris Traveller or Velocette motorbike, whatever the vehicle of the year was, would make it home. Late 70s and I was divorced. My boyfriend was Dutch and we celebrated St Nicholas on December 6th, leaving our shoes out for Saint Nick, his white horse and Black Peter. 1980 came and I was teaching English in Casablanca. My flat mate and I took off to the Canaries for Christmas. We were offered the use a town centre apartment in Santa Cruz de Tenerife by one of her former colleagues. Somewhere along the way, perhaps at the airport in Las Palmas, or on the ferry from Gran Canaria to Tenerife we met up with an American teacher. He joined us and organised a quick trip round the market, purchasing the last available chicken on Christmas Eve. We went to Midnight Mass in a beautiful Spanish cathedral. We drank absinthe cocktails in lively bars. We spent Christmas Day on a nudist beach, just outside the main port. The plump German tourists, slick with sun tan oil and breaded by sand, reminded us to go home and put the chicken on. Marriage and children followed, and once more I found myself travelling back and forth across the Pennines between parents and in laws. This time the car was a reliable Subaru estate. Sometimes the dog was carsick, and the children were home sick. Occasionally their roles reversed. Christmas only comes but once a year, and if I put my thinking cap on I can remember something of each one. Over recent years, and especially since I have been single, a lovely informality has developed, as my children gather round the kitchen table for our now traditional vegetarian Christmas dinner. Except it’s not quite as informal as I imagine. My easy going Christmas has become a tradition they cling to and expect! I still have an unfulfilled ambition for Christmas Day, inspired by a teenage friend who was the daughter of a Bishop in Manchester. As a family they spent Christmas Day serving dinners in the Salvation Army Hostel, and I fully intend to do something similar one Christmas Day soon.

Gimme dat harp boy

Sad to hear of the death of Captain Beefheart. It feels like my past is fast disappearing from this world.
In spite of his acknowledged influence, he was never a mainstream performer. Back in 1973 you were part of a elite minority if you liked him. Female fans were an even rarer breed. I was one of them. I had just joined Drive in Rock as a Rockette. Our manager Roger Eagle was a friend of Beefheart's - two men of similar age ( and build) united by their passion for the blues.
When Beefheart and the Magic Band came over to tour Clear Spot a group of us went over to Liverpool to see them with Roger. One thing led to another and after a night with Rockette Morton ( different days, different ways) the two of us went off to explore Liverpool, taking the ferry across the Mersey. As he saw me off on the train back to Manchester from Liverpool Lime Street he announced that his girlfriend was coming over from California that week, so that was the end of that.
However, thanks to Roger, my friend, fellow Rockette and fan Cathy and I still had reserved seats on the tour bus. I struck up a friendship with the tour manager Bill Shumow, and spent the rest of that English leg of the tour meeting up with him and the band.He was older than me , married with a family, and a really lovely companion. I knew he was someone special at the time, and many years later I read a tribute to him in Bill Harkleroad's (aka Zoot Horn Rollo) book about his Magic Band Days, so it wasn't just me who loved him! He came to visit On the 8th Day, where I worked then. We explored antique and junk shops wherever the tour went, and I had a beautiful enamelled butterfly brooch he bought me for many years. I had met the Broughton brothers and their families through another 8th Day contact, Brian Livingstone, and the Edgar Broughton Band were huge fans of Beefheart. I took Bill round to meet them, and he took a cassette of theirs back to Beefheart. We spent a great couple of days chasing round the Suffolk countryside trying to get hold of Honeyrose Special herbal cigarettes and John Peel. We managed to find the Honeyrose Special factory, and bought a supply for Beefheart. His wife Jan ( and they were still married when he died) was travelling with him - Art Tripp, Roy Estrada, a great crowd to be around - legends then and legends now. Beefheart gave Cathy a drawing, which she gave away in her rush to rid herself of material possessions when she joined an ashram! One of life's regrets. One of mine is that I never saw Bill Shumow again - I kept in touch with some friends of his from Leeds for a short time, when I went to University there later that year.
Amazing times - I can say I went on tour with Captain Beefheart. I still have my copy of Clear Spot, given to me then.
We will not see his like again.

Bridestones Revisited

On Saturday I visited the Bridestones near Congleton. A group of us met there, representing ( more or less) England, Ireland, Scotland and nearly Wales based on where we are living at the moment. It's an amazing place. An ancient burial place for a significant person. Linked with Ireland, Scotland, Anglesey and the Isle of Man in its structure and form. Pillaged by the Victorians for gothic rockeries in the garden of the adjoining house and in Tunstall Park. I hadn't visited since 1982, and as I arrived I could picture the photo taken there that day. When I got home I rummaged in the laundry basket full of random photos, literally hundreds of snaps, and of course found the one I could visualise.
As amazing as the stones are, the view on that crisp clear November day was stunning. We could see across Cheshire and Staffordshire, through the Midlands and over to Shropshire and Wales. When we climbed The Cloud, the beautifully named hill behind the stones we could see from Winter Hill, across the city centre of Manchester, picking out the Hilton Hotel tower, to Jodrell Bank, Alderley Edge,Mow Cop, Axe Edge, Hen Cloud,the Roaches, right across to Fiddlers Ferry power station and down to the Wrekin and the Shropshire Hills. A kingdom. A panorama in space and time for me - my past, present and no doubt future life in one view. From childhood memories of visits to Rivington Pike, to my old home, Manchester. Links to the book I had re-read this week - Alan Garner's Red Shift. My sister's house in Anglesey. My life on the day I visited in 1982, contrasted with my life now. Family trips to the Green Man festival, driving along the borders of England and Wales.
Quite a day and quite an experience for all of us - a sense of place. Far horizons. Who am I? Who was I? Why am I here?
I will never feel trapped in the Midlands again!

On The 8th Day 40th birthday celebration

On Saturday 4th September a group of people with 8th Day connections in common gathered together to celebrate 40 years of the shop. From the early days of New Brown St - now buried under the Arndale Centre in Manchester - through to the recently developed new building on Oxford Rd. Old friends, new friends, absent friends - in the end probably quite a random mix of those involved who had been in touch and could come to the party. It was wonderful for me to see some friends I haven't seen for many years - more than 30 in some cases - but who were such an important part of my teenage life and beyond. A few mysteries solved - who thought of the name for one. A first viewing of a piece of film from Granada's archives taken at New Brown St - all fake psychedelic camera effects! Lovely old photos from the 70s of lovely young people working there at the time. A real sense of pride, friendship, love for the ideals that created it and the people who continue to keep it going. Three of the five originals were there - the fourth has sadly died and the fifth lives abroad, so three out of five was great.A real affirmation of a different way of doing business, created by a crazy mix of luck and judgement over the decades. Long may it continue.

Green Man

I can't believe I haven't written for so long. A lot of water has flowed down the river since June. To bring things up to date I have spent some of today talking about my Hacienda days and the potential for music tourism in Manchester. It was great to have a chance to consider the possibilities.I was interviewed by someone I met on C.P.Lee's musical heritage guided walk there a few weeks ago. I have just got back from the Green Man festival in the Brecon Beacons - my family holiday with my 3 children. It's the fourth time we have been in 5 years. Glanusk Park in Crickhowell is a stunningly beautiful setting. It rained incessantly for most of the festival but there were some real highlights and inspirations in spite of the weather. We spent more time in the literature and cinema tents than sitting around on the grassy banks listening to music. Special moments included Trevor Lock dealing with child hecklers in the comedy tent, John Cooper Clarke, Lone Wolf, First Aid Kit, the spectacular Flaming Lips, Billy Bragg talking and singing, Laura Marling, and the magical Joanna Newsom. There was a real sense of a relationship between performers and audience - Billy Bragg, Wayne Coyne and Joanna Newsom all referred to the magic of the place and the people for them. I came away inspired to look for unusual books in charity shops ( Robin Ince), and to consider a list of songs to break your heart - Billy Bragg was asked for his and he came up with Tracks of my Tears and Little Feat's Long Distance Love.
And autumn seems to have arrived in Derbyshire.....

One of those weeks

The image is of one of the 3 fates holding the thread of life. I feel like I've been threaded along it at great speed this week.
Ups and downs, and then ups again at work as we plan for how we survive the cuts - arts provision for vulnerable people has its own vulnerabilities. Tuesday night was the opening night of Bert Broomhead's exhibition in Sheffield - I met his daughter, the image of her mother, the most significant teacher of my life. I also met old school friends - lots of memories and some very beautiful and fascinating paintings. Wednesday night took me to a special film night at Haddon Hall. After all the contemporary films made there, the manager had tracked down a copy of the silent film, made in Hollywood, with Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks.'Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall' rewrote history as we know it, but was a great historical (even hysterical, very slapstick in places) romantic comedy, with amazing sets clearly based on Haddon itself. The hero broke through the window of the room we were watching in at one point. Some of the scenes in the garden must have been filmed on location, but the theory is that they made faithful sets back in Hollywood for the interior scenes. On Thursday night Lester Simpson, who teaches our singing class in Bakewell, asked us to join with his Wirksworth choir for the launch of the new Coope, Boyes and Simpson CD. A great concert and a privilege to be involved. I also met Georgina Boyes ( selling the tickets) who is one of my heroes for her fantastic book on the history of the folk revival - The Imagined Village.
I have just got back from a concert organised by the Derbyshire Literature Festival - Mills and Chimneys - David Gibb and friends from Fleet Arts. A lovely experience - great songs, talented musicians - a real treat. And I met Berlie Doherty there, another hero, for her wonderful children's books set in Sheffield and Derbyshire.
Lots of ideas and inspiration - watch this space!

Morocco

Last night I went to see Jackson Browne at the City Hall in Sheffield. David Lindley played with him. Charlie and I had great seats. We hung round the stage door afterwards with a mix of middle aged men ( mostly) and women, and the occasional youngster like Charlie. Charlie chatted to him, and gave him his new vistaprint business card so Jackson could see him on myspace. Jackson and David had mentioned Martin Simpson. They were thrilled because they had had the opportunity to go round to his house in Sheffield and have lunch with him before the concert. Charlie and I saw Martin Simpson with John Boden at the Boardwalk a couple of weeks ago - a very memorable night.So I talked to Jackson about Martin Simpson.
When I got up this morning I remembered my friend Cathy in Casablanca - all those years ago - she came back from Essouira really excited to have sat next to Jackson Browne in a cafe there. I was always a little bit envious of that missed opportunity.
So on a rainy night in Sheffield - yes it did rain there briefly - I fulfilled a dream from almost 30 years ago.
I wore the bracelets I bought in Essouira last night - I still wear them on an almost daily basis.
Life does seem to be a spiral.