F*** Me, It's Freddie!

FMIF as Mr. Rockbottom in the otherwise woeful 'Never Too Young To Rock'. At least he looks like he's enjoying himself, love him.

Never Too Young To Rock

How can one describe ‘Never Too Young To Rock’ without using the term ‘rubbish’? Actually, let’s just get it out of the way: it’s rubbish. That said, it’s not offensive, just shoddy and cheap and scruffy and worn out, the perfect snapshot of Britain in 1975, in fact.

For all that, the story is set in the near future, and provides a dystopian vision of a world that looks and feels and smells exactly the same apart from the fact that pop music is now banned. One man (Peter Denyer: thick gypsy Dennis out of ‘Please Sir!’; nerdish Ralph from ‘Dear John’) wants to challenge this, and so sets out in a ‘group detector van’ to locate bands for a concert that will prove to the powers that be that they are wrong and that pop is mindless fun. Yes, you’re right, it’s ‘It’s Trad, Dad!’ with moonboots on.

Interestingly, the detector van is driven by Freddie Jones - yep, our Freddie Jones. I honestly don’t know what his character represents, but he has a fair amount of fun with the role and it’s nice to see him enjoying himself under what must have been difficult circumstances for him. 

As you might have already guessed, the film exists purely as a way to present lots of performances from the country’s most popular groups (or at least the most popular groups who would agree to appear in something like this) so we get Mud, The Rubettes, The Glitter Band and Bob Kerr’s Whoopee Band (no, me neither, but they're in 'Side By Side' as well). With the exception of the up and coming Midge Ure fronted Slik (who immediately came and went), these are old lag’s bands, made up of men who had been knocking about the music scene since the sixties and finally found success in a period where standards weren’t quite so high. Mud are an undemanding but likeable enough group, for instance, but three of them look like a plasterers on their way to a Bill Haley concert (the fourth, Rob Davis, takes gender bending to a level Bowie could only dream of); The Glitter Band, no doubt traumatised by what they have seen while on the road with The Leader, just look indescribably weary, and all the Bacofoil and mascara in the world can’t disguise their exhaustion and disgust as they unconvincingly pump their fists to one of their repetitive and clumsy hits. These are the damned.  

The finale, in which all the groups unite after a triumphant concert to sing a simplistic ditty (about never being too young to rock) is just awful in its arms around shoulders, leg kicking bonhomie, and, much like the end of ‘Side By Side’ shows just how old fashioned these glittery hipsters are. Tatty, tacky, and best tolerated in the company of friends and a crate, no, two crates, of Bass.  

If you wish to do that now, by the way, you can watch the whole thing on You Tube here. Good luck, especially as the person who put it there seems to be the world's biggest Gary Glitter fan.

Side By Side

'Side By Side' is pretty poor, a collection of unsubtly stuck together bits of comic schtick and hoary old music hall routines interspersed with terrible music from the very worst the 1975 UK pop industry had to offer (yes, Kenny, I do mean you). That said, it's unpretentious and silly and, although I can't say that it has its moments, it doesn't make me want to smash the telly in with a platform boot.

It stars dear old Terry-Thomas (not long off retirement due to ill health) and future Ronald McDonald Billy Boyle as rivals who own adjacent clubs, one variety, one 'rock'. When a jobsworth copper (Frank 'Captain Peacock' Thornton) reports them for various infringements, an ancient town charter is unearthed that states the town should only have one place of entertainment, so the rivals have to prove which club is the best and should have their licence renewed . I'm not going to say any more, as the plot takes third place to broad humour, slapstick and, yes, fucking Kenny - twice - so I'll skip about an hour and say it all works out in the end, as a riot knocks down the dividing wall between the two establishments and they learn to live 'side by side'. Yep, and that story took two people to write.

The music is uniformly terrible, and although its nice to see Mud drummer Dave Mount in an acting role, it's never explained why he spends most of his time working in a shitty club under an assumed name, even when Mud turn up and he starts playing the drums for them. The best bit is a strip tease and bullwhip display from sexy Jennifer Guy, and even that is ruined by the presence of Barry Humphries, who genuinely makes my skin crawl (especially here when he blacks up and sings a song about a 'chocolate covered c**n').

So, not great, but what can you expect from a film starring Stephanie 'I Was Born With A Smile On My Face' De Sykes. Altogether now: 'la la la la la la la, la la la la la la la la la', etc. Still smiling?

The Sweet Life

The Sweet were still pretty big in 1974 but, even as they appeared in the BBC documentary 'All that Glitters' celebrating their success, they were already beginning their slow descent from the toppermost of the poppermost to yesterday's news.

The group come over rather well (with the exception of bassist Steve Priest who reminds me of a less funny Jim Davidson, if you can imagine such a thing): thoughtful, earnest, honest - and with no illusions that their fame will, ultimately, be anything more than fleeting.

It's worth catching the rest of the show if you can, especially for more storming live footage that demonstrates just how good the band were at their peak.

Too High

Pop music is a lot of fun when it is done well, bringing a smile to the face, a warmth to the cockles, a spring to the step or a lump to the throat depending on the tone. But pop music is very rarely profound: the confines of the two to four minute radio friendly hit template generally preclude philosophical debate and, as a result, very few pop records have actively contributed to a wider understanding of the nature of existence: it’s just not something they do.

There are always exceptions to any rule, however, and the exception can often be from an unlikely source. The Sweet had charged up and down the charts in the early seventies in a platform heeled frenzy of alliteration and sexual innuendo, all set to a thumping glam rock beat. Songs like ‘Little Willy’ and ‘Wig Wam Bam’ did very little to push forward man’s knowledge of himself and his surroundings, and although classic tracks like ‘Teenage Rampage’ and ‘Blockbuster’ tapped into the prevailing climate of radical politics and violent civil uprising, the focus was on action rather than ideology. After their peak period of activity, however, when hits were harder to come by and the band were older, wiser and bearded, they wrote and recorded ‘Love Is Like Oxygen’ (1978), one of my favourite songs, and one of the deepest pop records ever made.

‘Love Is Like Oxygen’ is a song that sums up thousands of years of accumulated knowledge about human emotion in three simple but piquant lines:

‘Love is like oxygen: you get too much you get too high;

not enough and you’re gonna die’

…and sets this lyrical gold to a powerful mix of crunching rock guitar, mutant disco and sweeping analogue synthesisers to create a musical track of highs, lows and plateaus that perfectly complement this important message. I must admit to be slightly less enthused about the verses, which are a little slow and seem permanently on the verge of pan pipes, but the chorus is magnificent and scientifically accurate (another rarity in pop) and I am not ashamed to admit that I have used electrickery to loop it and often listen to it for 10-15 minutes at a time, creating a motorik rock groove that is almost terrifying in its relentless truth.

The Ivor Novello award nominated record was The Sweet’s last Top Ten hit, and they split shortly afterwards. Sadly, singer Brian Connolly died in 1997 in an abject state, a chronic alcoholic wrecked by numerous heart attacks; their excellent drummer Mick Tucker passed away in 2002. It’s my nature to end on the downbeat. Sorry. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some heavy pondering to do. Where did I put that Sweet loop?

Oh, and given the date, no, this is not a piss take, just a slightly gilded lily. 

The British Private Press

This is Jasper. Yes, they have awful hair, now let's move on. Jasper have a core trio of drums, bass and guitar, and a couple of multi instrumentalists who provide keyboards, additional guitar and a pretty tidy horn section. They all sing. Their LP is a cut above many private press albums, featuring some  interesting and well arranged covers and three self penned tracks, although they're not particularly good. A tight little band, a bit glam, bit pop, bit disco, their occasionally camp album is well worth fifty new pence of anyone's hard earned.

Here's a medley of the sort of stuff which I'll bet used to go down a storm in the caravan clubs, holiday camps and miners socials they played in. It could never really be described as cool, but it certainly has something. This was recorded in Huddersfield on an undisclosed date, but I'm guessing early 1978.

Cockhead

Alvin Stardust takes time off from his declining pop career to dish out road safety advice. He always reminds me of the family friend who you avoid at a party, not because he's creepy, but because he's just so full of shit.

What Goes On? What To Do There?

Stupendous live performance of one of my favourite songs, 'In Every Dream Home A Heartache'. There is no more sinister and vivid song in the Roxy Music back catalogue, or indeed in any back catalogue.

Eno is still in the band at this point and can be seen here doing a little Richard III dance and encouraging Phil Manzanera during the hairy one's amazing guitar solo. This - band - rocks.

A Mantle Most Fine

'Psalm' was apparently the first song that Bryan Ferry ever wrote, but it had to wait until the third Roxy Music LP 'Stranded' before making it onto vinyl.

This live version, as performed on the German Musikladen show in 1973, lacks the Welsh Male Voice Choir of the studio recording, but slowly settles into an amazing groove. Bryan pulls his usual faces, but seems to be enjoying himself. I particularly like it when someone off camera throws him a tambourine and the revivalist / snake oil salesman look is completed.

Throwaway Lines Often Ring True

I like Roxy Music. At their best, they were one of the most inventive groups that ever stalked a stage; at their worst, they are absolutely ridiculous, and I like that too. There’s still something very contemporary about them, perhaps because they consciously set out to make 21st century music when they started some forty years ago.

'Out of The Blue' is one of their most complex and enigmatic songs, with some interesting violin and oboe interjections and a tight, insidious rhythm that prefigures their later excursions into Eurodisco. Oh, and nice 'tache, Bryan.

Tip For The Top

Finally, a halfway decent record on 'Marc'. Bolan knew Radio Stars lead singer Andy Ellison well, having been in pop art group John's Children with him for all of four months in 1967.

John's Children never had a hit single, but were famous for two things, the violence and aggression of their stage show and their musical ineptitude. When Punk started to make an impact, Ellison thought his time had come. It hadn't, but it was worth a go.

Take It From Les

Remember him this way: Mud's Les Gray in 1976, as part of the 'Children's Heroes' series of road safety public information films. 

Triers

Yet more from the cultural landfill site that is ‘Marc’.

This time his guests are Mud, Mud, glorious Mud, dressed like lorry drivers at a Beach Boys concert and doing their best to have a laugh as they promote their latest single ‘Just Try A Little Tenderness’. They needn’t have bothered: it wasn’t a hit and they never had another.

I'm not saying anything about the semi-naked kid in the introductory segment. If I'm honest, I don't know what to say.

I Had To Flop

Another extract from Marc Bolan's 1977 TV show 'Marc', this time featuring expressive no hit wonder Denis Conly, ably supported by Marc's dance troupe, Heart Throb.

Forevermore

Marc Bolan may not have been pushing any musical boundaries in 1977, but he hadn't entirely lost it as evidenced by this frenetic and entertaining cover of the 1958 Jody Reynolds hit 'Endless Sleep', a death disc where no actual death occurs. Good stuff, and ten times better than the Verne Brothers.

I Confess

Awful cash in single from Robin Askwith, as promoted on the 'Marc' show broadcast on 14th September, 1977. Marc died two days later.

There was always something brutish about Robin Askwith and this song and performance gives us an indication of what it might be like if a chimpanzee released a record but is nowhere near as funny. Nice of Marc to briefly mention Robin's latest X rated film to the thousands of children watching, particularly as he has positioned a trophy between his legs to represent an erect penis.

Scream, That's Your Dream

"It's so real, it remoulds you". Canal boat in tunnel omitted.

Dandy In The Afterlife

Marc Bolan died on September 16th 1977, two weeks before his thirtieth birthday. This is going to sound awful but, at the time, I was glad. Why? Well, because for several weeks before his fatal Mini crash I had been greatly troubled by a recurring nightmare where Marc was pursuing me around a canal boat as it made its way slowly through a tunnel. After he died, the bad dream went away. In hindsight, it's easy to see the root of the unease as a conflation of my incipient claustrophobia and my regular and nervous viewing of Bolan's ITV music show 'Marc'.

'Marc' may have been a kids TV show, but it was the most exposure Bolan had enjoyed for some time and he went all out to make the most of it. That said, it's pretty poor, and Marc is terrifying in it. Tiny, skinny, pale, whispery, narcissistic and in a selection of revealing trousers, I now realise, of course, that he's just camping it up but I still think he's an incredibly androgynous and ambiguous figure to be in charge of entertaining children, especially as he seems lost in a private reverie most of the time, a mocking and lacivious look on his elfin face. Perhaps most disturbing to a young mind was that the last two episodes were broadcast posthumously, one a mere four days after his death.

The music is fairly average, too. I'm not a massive T Rex fan by any means, but I do listen to them and understand the pop appeal of their best stuff. Here, Marc mixes new and banal material with pre-re-recorded sludgy pub rock versions of his greatest hits to underwhelming effect and his guests, carefully picked never to outshine the underperforming star, are, for the most part, either forgettable, regrettable or unforgivable.

I have several clips I intend to share with you but, first off, do you remember one of Marc's very early hits, 'Oh Deborah, you look like a zebra'? Yeah, that one, the whimsical, quirky acoustic number with hippy dippy charm and an interesting time signature. Well, watch it die.

Here's an example of one of the guest bands on the show, most of which sank without trace. Sub Bay City Rollers band Rosetta Stone's main claim to fame was that they featured Ian Mitchell, a baby faced guitarist from Northern Ireland who had been in the actual Bay City Rollers for seven troubled months. Ian Mitchell's main claim to fame is that his brother Tony wallpapered my front room.

More soon, same Marc time, same Marc channel.