Tuesday Tunes 32: Into The Seventies

Having spent four weeks delving back into the Sixties I thought it was about time that I moved forward, though I still have so many Sixties songs I could have shared – another time, maybe. I’ve said a couple of times that towards the end of the Sixties I began the move towards buying albums instead of singles, and my Seventies choices will reflect that. However, to get us moving into that decade I thought I’d begin with a round up of some of my favourite singles. All of these were in my collection – three of the five on their respective albums, as befitted my growing maturity in purchasing habits. My list of singles currently stands at ten, so I’m dividing them over two weeks, and then we’ll move onto the albums.

Let’s get things off to a rousing start, shall we:

Status Quo are one of those bands who have been enormously popular here and in many other countries, but have never had any kind of hit record in the US, either albums or singles, as far as I know. I’ve never understood that, as I’d have thought that they were made for the US market, but I doubt the band is that bothered, as they have sold millions of records everywhere else. Their most recent release was last year, but sadly without Rick Parfitt, who plays rhythm guitar on this song – he died in 2016. This was their only UK #1 single, a peak that it reached in January 1975. The album that it came from – On The Level – was also a UK #1. Whenever I hear this song I’m taken back to my university days: around eight of us were in our communal kitchen playing air guitar to this, with lots of flowing long hair and head banging, when the cleaner walked in. Poor Stella – we all loved her to bits but I think this confirmed her belief that her ‘boys’ were all crazy!

Another classic rock song from this era next:

This was released in June 1970 and reached #2 in the UK charts, and #66 in the US. It is still Deep Purple’s highest UK chart placing for a single: although they were primarily an albums band they did have several further single hits, Strange Kind Of Woman, Fireball and Smoke On The Water (a US #4) being the best known. At the time of its release this wasn’t included on an album, but it did feature in 1995 on the 25th anniversary re-release of their breakthrough album In Rock. The song was written to promote In Rock, but the record company chose to leave it off the album: a common trick in those days, to get us to buy a single as well as an album!

My next selection also made it into the Seventies by the skin of its teeth, being first released as an album track in April 1970:

That was on Elton John’s eponymous second album, and was subsequently released as a single on 26 October 1970 (i.e. 50 years ago yesterday!), reaching the charts in January 1971: it peaked at #7 in the UK and at #8 in the US. Even after all this time I still think this is one of the most beautiful love songs ever written. It has such a haunting quality about it, and the whole album is superb. Unfortunately, that clip cuts out the piano intro, but I couldn’t find a better one: I definitely wasn’t going to share the live version in which Reg was dressed as Donald Duck!

I couldn’t really leave David Bowie out of my first Seventies collection, and he may well be appearing later, too. This is my favourite of all of his singles:

That was released in April 1972, reaching #10 in the UK and #65 in the US. I’ve written about it before, so I apologise if you feel like you’re seeing a repeat, but it is such a great song! That video is also notable for the remarkable sideburns sported by Trevor Bolder, the band’s bass player. I bought that on the album The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars, which was released in June 1972, just before I went to university: needless to say, the album went with me! The album peaked at #5 here, and also managed to sneak in at #75 the following year in the US – I’m not sure why it took so long, though.

I can’t find an official, original video for this week’s final song, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to make do with a fan’s ‘themed’ version, with lots of big cats:

The song was on Jethro Tull’s War Child album, which was released in 1974 and peaked at #14 here, though it fared better in the States, where it got to #2. As a single, this one reached #12 in the US and #4 in Canada, but did little outside North America. Even my purchase couldn’t propel it into the UK charts! Jethro Tull had a spell in the late Sixties and early Seventies during which they had a number of hit singles, including Living In The Past, The Witch’s Promise and Life’s A Long Song, but I think their days as a UK singles band were largely over by the time of this one, though they did have a few more hits in the US.

This first step into the Seventies seems to have flown by – rather like those intervening fifty years. I hope you’ve enjoyed this trawl through my record collection of that time – there is plenty more to come! In the meantime, stay safe and well and do as your government says – if you can work it out, that is.

See you next time 🤘

Icons And Lesser Icons

Three years ago, almost to the day, I published a post titled Starman on the death of one of my musical icons. As many of you have started following me since then you may not have seen this before, so I thought I’d share it again. At the time I had intended to write a piece honouring the memory of one of the true greats of rock music and in a way I did. But it developed into one of my occasional rants. Take a look to see why, and I’ll return after to explain why this has become relevant for me again:

“Over the past two days I’ve been doing what I expect many have been doing: I’ve been playing David Bowie songs and reminding myself just what made him such a special musician. I also spent a lot of Monday watching the TV news and the various tribute pieces that were being broadcast. Yesterday, once the print media had the chance to catch up, it was the newspapers’ turn. My newspaper of choice is The Times – coincidentally, also Bowie’s choice, according to their obituary, although I’m not sure how they knew that. Yesterday’s issue came in a lovely wraparound, which featured a portrait of him with a cigarette – an image that would have been commonplace until he gave up his 60 a day habit when his daughter Lexi was born. Inside, they reproduced the lyrics to three of his most famous songs – Space Oddity, Starman and Life On Mars  – together with some more pictures of him and the album sleeves. Tastefully done, I thought, and a fitting tribute. Turning to the paper itself, there were a further twelve pages of tribute and obituary and a news story on the front page which carried onto page 2. There was also a full cover picture on the Times2 section. As I read through this I began to feel something I wasn’t expecting after the loss of one of my musical heroes: I was getting annoyed.

This feeling had begun on Monday evening, as I watched a special 30 minute programme that had been slotted into the BBC1 schedule. On the whole, this was a far better effort than Sky News had managed earlier, but there was one part that really irked me: the BBC6 Music DJ Sean Keaveny having the audacity to talk over the famous video of the 1972 performance of Starman on Top Of The Pops. For those who weren’t around at the time, this performance is largely credited with making Bowie’s career: his only previous hit, Space Oddity, had been three years earlier and Starman itself hadn’t exactly taken the charts by storm until this appearance, after which it climbed into the Top Ten. The rest, as they say, is history. So what did Keaveny tell us while he was preventing us from watching the video? Did he mention its significance to Bowie’s career? No, he told us that because Bowie had declared himself to be bisexual the fact that he put his arm around Mick Ronson’s shoulder while they sang the chorus made this a trailblazing video for gay power. Nowhere, to my knowledge, is there on record any suggestion that Ronson – who was married once and fathered children with three different women – was gay or bisexual, so where did Keaveny get this idea from? I guess he must have been ‘in the know’ at the time, right? Er, no, not quite: he was born two months after the record was released, so he must have been quite a prodigy! Maybe the gay community can tell me that this is indeed true, but I didn’t need Keaveny talking about it all over the video. So here it his, without his act of destruction:

The second dose of annoyance was served up for me by Caitlin Moran. I am a big fan of her writing, which always amuses and entertains me whilst being thought-provoking. Her piece in yesterday’s paper was heavy with suggestion about how important this music and its era were in her teenage years, but she was born three years after Starman was a chart hit! Of course, I won’t deny that she could have been listening to the music as she was growing up, probably because her parents played it, but to try to appropriate the timeframe for this as being part of her own youth is, to my mind, at best disingenuous and at worst, dishonest.

Why is it that whenever a rock icon dies everyone has to take their piece of him or her? The Times even gave us a comment from Tony Blair, that well known musical expert and purveyor of truth. And the music critic Charles Shaar Murray telling us that other journalists used to refer to him as ‘Bowie’s representative on Earth.’ Funny, I thought that role was played by Tony Visconti, Bowie’s long time friend and record producer. Whether that is true or not, it illustrates my point. The death of an icon is important for all of us who were fans, not just for those who are being paid to go into print or on screen about it and feel the need to boost their credentials. He was our icon. We all have a part of him in our memory, and we don’t need the self-appointed steamrollering over that, claiming territorial rights over the deceased and telling us what we should be feeling or thinking. I won’t be reading any more, if I can resist the temptation. Well, not until the next icon departs……”

Little did I know it that early in the year, but 2016 turned out to be an annus horribilis with the passing of several of my favourites. Look back through my catalogue and you will find tributes to Glenn Frey, of the Eagles, who wrote the song which gives my blog its title, and Dave Swarbrick, of Fairport Convention who, along with Steeleye Span, were at the forefront of the English electric folk-rock genre. Then, to round the year off, came the sad news of the death of Leonard Cohen. All of these had been extremely significant to the development of my musical tastes, but only one provoked a rant. Why? The short answer is that the outpouring of grief for David Bowie wasn’t matched by the coverage given to the other three. They were all accorded a fairly full obituary in The Times which, back then, was my daily paper, but nothing like the coverage elsewhere that he received. I put that down to the fact that two of them weren’t British, so the innate parochialism of our media didn’t regard them as all that important, and Swarb was a folk musician so wasn’t considered to be of sufficient stature to merit much coverage. Sorry, my bunker mentality showed through a bit there! But the points I made in the piece about Bowie are still valid: I know that journalists and media commentators make their livings by hanging on to the coat tails of those who are far more talented and famous than they could ever hope to be, but I don’t need them to tell me what I should like, or feel, and I can certainly do without the blatant stupidity displayed by the likes of Sean Keaveny and Caitlin Moran!

It is probably the fact that I grew up listening to their music, but there have been other losses in the musical sphere which have been poignant for me, notably Tom Petty, whose passing I covered here. We have lost other greats in recent years: Aretha Franklin notable among them. Her death resulted in possibly the most ridiculous piece of coat tail hanging that we have ever seen:

In case you missed it at the time, those were the words of Donald Trump on the day Aretha died. Not quite the same as Tony Blair raising his head above the parapet to claim a deep and abiding love for Bowie but, in his own inimitable fashion, Trump was claiming the importance of an icon for himself – as a former ’employer’ after she sang at one of his casinos (before they went bankrupt), giving him the perceived right to claim that he knew her well. Somehow I doubt the veracity of that – but he doesn’t tell lots of lies, does he?

But what about the lesser lights of music, whose passing is barely noted by the media? Does that make the loss of them any less tragic? Where are the likes of Sean Keaveny and Caitlin Moran for them? Presumably they are making the decision not to bother, as no one will pay them for their opinions if many in the audience will be asking ‘who was that?’ about their subject. Yesterday, I learned of the passing of ‘Beard Guy.’ How many of you know who I mean? Mike Taylor, to give him his proper name, was a member of the Canadian band Walk Off The Earth (usually abbreviated to WOTE), who have had a fair amount of commercial success in their homeland but relatively little elsewhere – though they have a loyal following which enables them to tour worldwide.

Mike died in his sleep during the night of 29 December. He was 51, and had two children. Where was the mainstream coverage of this, outside Canada? Why did I need to be following the band on Facebook to hear this sad news? To his family, friends and fans this was no less upsetting, but I guess it all comes down to scale: far more people will have been affected by Bowie’s passing, and those of Tom Petty and Aretha Franklin, than by Dave Swarbrick or Beard Guy. I find that sad. Yes, I know that the bigger stars are more newsworthy, but don’t we all deserve to be remembered kindly for what we have done, especially when that has brought pleasure to many – but just not enough for the media to make money out of the passing of a lesser light? WOTE may not be the biggest band on the planet, but they have certainly made their mark. They first came to prominence in 2012 when they released a video of their version of Gotye’s Somebody That I Used To Know. This went viral, and has so far been viewed more than 185 million times, plus a further 12 million when shared by someone else. So, to redress the balance a little, here in Beard Guy’s honour is that video:

I wish he had been somebody that I used to know but, in a way, he was, as I’ve watched many of their videos multiple times and think of them as ‘friends’ whose sense of humour always brightens my day. Every passing is mourned by someone, and every individual is important. We shouldn’t need paid hacks to remind us of that. Take care of your loved ones.

RIP Mike.