The First Bird


My ankle went totally John Merrick The Elephant Man on me towards the end of last week. Not sure whether it was a sprain or bite or what but it was absolutely ginormus. I certainly couldn’t walk on the damn thing. Hope it’s not arthritis, inherited from Mum – completely happy to inherit anything from dear old Mum except for bosoms and that. Somebody at work suggested gout (gout!) but when we all crowded round Wikipedia I was relieved to discover that gouty inflammations are too painful even to wear socks or touch and it wasn’t like that. Anyway I hobbled about on Friday and almost boo-hoo’d getting back from work, half from pain and half from sheer frustration at the speeds everybody else was managing, as I hopped and hobbled my way along and up the platforms and stairs of the interchange at Piccadilly Circus. Cast a black cloud over the entire weekend but when I woke up on Monday it was fine, just in time for work again. Typical.

Oh hahaha. Grandad by Clive Dunn has just come on. 1971. These CDs of singles by year that I’m doing for my sister. I finished the 1980s finally a couple of weeks ago – good riddance, you bastard ‘80s – and went back to 1970 (5 discs). I am of course much happier there, in the decade of strikes and slackness and Man About The House. And breathtaking pop-musical diversity and innovation. Tamla and Stax and Trojan and early glam, prog, the singer-songwriters, the purest bubblegum, the novelty hits (Ernie!)… I like practically everything from 1971 (6 discs), although not really Grandad if truth be told. So sickly. I’m not sure Lou will thank me for it but it’s stuck right on the end of Disc 2 and therefore easily skip-able. And it was Number 1 and we did jointly own it and even buy it for our own granddad at the time and he’s dead now, so…

Actually, the tracks I selected for the set are so diverse that each disc has been a bit of a bugger to sequence. In particular getting Disc 1 into shape was agony. I ended up with this but if you think you can do better and want a shot feel free to leave it in the comments. I might even change mine - hate the way Elton crashes into Bob / Lee Perry’s Mr Brown. Knock yourself out.

01. We’ve Only Just Begun – The Carpenters
02. Wild World - Cat Stevens
03. My Sweet Lord – George Harrison
04. The Man Who Sold The World - David Bowie
05. I Feel The Earth Move – Carole King
06. It’s A Shame – The Detroit Spinners
07. Stoned Love – The Supremes
08. You’re Ready Now – Frankie Valli
09. The Pushbike Song – The Mixtures
10. What Have They Done To My Song, Ma? – Melanie
11. Me & Bobby McGee- Janis Joplin
12. Love Her Madly – The Doors
13. No Matter What – Badfinger
14. Black Skin Blue Eyed Boys – The Equals
15. Mr. Brown – Bob Marley
16. Your Song – Elton John
17. Another Day – Paul McCartney
18. I Think I Love You – The Partridge Family
19. Rupert – Jackie Lee
20. Resurrection Shuffle – Ashton, Gardiner & Dyke
21. Baby Jump – Mungo Jerry
22. Strange Kind Of Woman – Deep Purple


The covers are always the same. Four sleeves like this




It’s a solitary task, all this cutting and pasting and fact-checking and running up and down the stairs with armfuls of stuff, so I tend to do it in the early mornings before work and, at the weekend, before Fints rises. This morning (it’s Saturday) at around 6am I was just hitting my stride when I got an attack of the boo-hoos when Cat Stevens’s version of Morning Has Broken started up, just as it was turning light outside. I wouldn't describe myself as a religious person but it gets me every time, that beautiful, beautiful hymn. "Morning has broken like the first morning, blackbird has spoken like the first bird” – it’s true, isn’t it? Cat's voice, old Rick Wakeman's rollicking piano... I really cannot tell whether it makes me feel incredibly euphoric or utterly melancholic. It’s both at the same time, really. Anyway, the song ended and I could hear birds singing in the garden and I choose to believe they were yer actual blackbirds. Who knows, maybe I will end up a Jesus Freak and - "call me morbid, call me pale” if you like but - I’m so having MHB at my funeral. Hopefully that won’t be any time soon but you never know.

Pattie Boyd’s Wonderful Tonight autobiography is surprisingly good, or it is if you’re me and you can read about golden age rock stars and their faaaaaaaabulous entourages of displaced Eastenders and aristocrats, models, musicians, artists and groupies till the cows come home. I like to think it would have suited me, that kind of life. Guitars; English stately homes paid for with cash; Biba and Tramp's; Jamaica, the Bahamas and Barbados; chanting with the Krishna’s; buying up the same Armani suit in every colour; staying up all night. Terminally boring when the shower of mediocrities who pass for rock stars these days get up to similar, but the Beatles, the Stones, Cream and that lot were the first at it back then and it feels so much more innocent. I love it. Didn’t realise how much of an utter caner Eric Clapton was. It’s astonishing he’s still alive while the other famous husband, George Harrison, died so young.

Ooh sleaze. Rupaul’s Starrbooty film at the NFT on Wednesday night was the funniest, peppiest, sleaziest film I think I’ve ever seen, and that includes Pink Flamingos. Played relentlessly for laughs and with a cast comprised entirely of drag queens and porn stars I’d say it has the capability to offend just about everybody alive in the world today. Kicky. You see quite a lot of tits (big, fake, bouncy) and cocks (big, erect, bouncy) and there are echoes of Cleopatra Jones, Dallas and Dynasty, Charlie’s Angels… all the things drag queens love. Oh, and my viddies, he was there, in person, topping and tailing the film with an introductory speech and Q&A session. Huge blonde afro, totally svelte, bright white teeth, the longest legs… Flawless. He really does laugh all the time, too, and that’s kind of infectious. Alongside Dolly Parton and Michael Palin I suspect he is the good-est famous in the world today.

Music Week Awards on Thursday. Drinking on a school night really doesn’t agree with me and neither do late nights but I really enjoyed this for some reason. Usual cheering and boo-ing. Universal won a lot and I saw Jimmy and Eamonn and a fair few of my old Account Managers from the previous job. But the best thing, the absolute best thing, was I was standing outside on Park Lane waiting for my car home when I saw Peter Saville, who’d earlier accepted a posthumous award on behalf of Tony Wilson, walking in my direction, smoking a cigarette and looking exactly like you wish Bryan Ferry still looked but doesn’t. I don’t need to go on again about what Joy Division / Factory / The Hacienda have meant to me over the years but this fella was central to the whole story (and the hand behind some of my all-time favourite sleeve designs) and I just had to say something. So I gushed along the lines of "Peter, you absolutely made my night. I had no idea you were on” and, genuinely surprised, he smiled and said, ”Really?” and we exchanged a couple of words before he wafted off towards Mayfair in his long black coat. My car came and I jumped in still massively excited and, even though it was awfully late, rang Jelly and Fints and told them all about it.

Everyone rightly goes on about Blue Monday and the Hac posters and Unknown Pleasures but I also love the designs he did for Suede in the late-90s. If the job of a sleeve is to capture the essence of the music within, it doesn’t get much closer than this.