It's Only Blog 'n' Roll But I like It

Dockrad Records of Cardiff is having another burst of activity, releasing singles by Sweet Fontaine and Howl Griff this week... Amazingly I got hold of both copies by chance via an old address I lives in 7 years ago.
Dai (he of Dockrad) is never one to act spontaneously, so when I told him over 7 years ago that I've moved house (5 times since then!), he hasn't quite got round to updating his records. By what I thought was strange coincidence; the new Klaus Kinski single also showed up at that address, sent to me by Ankst Music. I emailed Emyr Ankst and he told me he got the address off, yes, you've guessed it; Dai Dockrad.
I digress... Sweet Fontaine's single Evermore is a punchy two minute 30 secs of US punk inspired TJs Newport stuff that wouldn't sound out of place on that label from South Wales that I can't for the life of me remember was called, but it used to release loads of obscure American punk albums.
Howl Griff are no strangers to my CD player and the new single Crash & Burn is not quite like it's Manics namesake, but has a poppy and almost country feel to it. Unoffensive, nice use of brass and easy to hum after one listen. The flipside is Bluebirds, not sure if it's a reference to Cardiff City's quest for Premiership football, maybe, and again, lovely production and easy on the ear. Not out of place on Radio 2 or 6 and thankfully, it'll never make daytime Radio One cos Howl Griff haven't been on X-Factor. Jesus! I hate that station and that show; although how can I say I hate something I NEVER listen to or watch...?
One thing you're guaranteed from Ankst is something different from the norm, be it the surplice clad bonkersness of Anne Matthews in the guise of Annalogue or those natives of the People's Republic of Rajasthan, Wendykurk. So if you put those two in a blender, added the diesel engine of a Vauxhall Chevette that had done over 150,ooo miles in reverse and then poured the lot down the pan, you may get an inkling of what Klaus Kinski sound like. Their new single Happiness Happiness is about sticking things in themselves and/or other beings; as are most of their songs. For this reason, I have a strange and definitely morbid fascination with all things Klaus Kinski, which is probably very unhealthy. The songs are as if the aforementioned contents of that blender have been splattered onto a wall in a Rhyl police cell on New Year's Day and then a class of 5 year old children have told to write about it... Believe me, this is probably true..!!
www.ankst.co.uk
www.myspace.com/recordiaudockradrecords

My Bloody Book

I’ve been writing the goddam thing for two years… yes, admittedly intermittantly! It seemed like a good idea at the time; collate all the info I have on all these bands that have breathed life (however briefly) into the music scene on the North Wales coast. Put it all into some semblance of order for your reading pleasure.What I didn’t realise was the amount of information I actually had, and the endless numbers of new avenues I opened up when I sought new info.The starting point was easy, and the bulk of significant events from 1976 to 2003 are done, edited and locked down - all 187 pages of it..!!! So I can guarantee you it’ll be a detailed, and hopefully good read.There have been a couple of notable absentees who have ignored requests for info or thoughts or contributions, so they may be misrepresented in the book; but I guess that’s perogative, and the vast majority of people have been extremely helpful as I tried to piece together their histories.
This Patch of Land has a publishing deal in place and I’ve promised myself to finish it as soon as possible…Coming to an Amazon bookstore near you next spring…!!!!!Maybe…

Sonisphere 2009

 

The weekend began for myself in my newly adopted home village of Trelawnyd; not really the epicentre of all things rock ‘n’ roll but quaint all the same. In fact, had I not been dragged kicking and screaming across this nation’s motorway network I’d have spent Saturday night across the road at my new neighbours’ house-warming party (I later learned they got through 150 burgers and 8lb of bacon..! Some party!). The Bethesda minibus picked me up, driven by a reluctant Tim who proceeded to cough swine flu over me throughout the 5 hour journey. A familiar whiff of earthly smoken goods reached my senses as the children in the back sparked up to make the journey a little more enjoyable, but I don’t need any of God’s gifts and soon found myself drifting beyond the ether.

With the A55, M56, M6 and M1 safely circumnavigated and the 8 of us carefully smuggled into the ‘family rooms’ at the Travelodge we made Dunstable a priority (for some reason) and sampled their finest Thai cuisine before hitting the town.

‘I think I really have got swine flu’ moaned Tim the next morning as he turned over onto his cold kebab.

Sonisphere 2009 - the first one. We arrived at Knebworth and realised our £70 tickets were completely redundant. Yep — we walked straight in through a hole in the fence. No security, no drama, just a big open invite for the cheapskate faithful.

It’s been a long summer and it’s only the first week of August. Sonisphere being the 7th maybe 8th Festival I’ve attended this year, and there’s still a couple more to do. Decided early on that 2009 would be one big festival, and why the hell not eh? What’s wrong with shaving 5 years off your life if that five years was going to be spent shitting your pants in an old people’s home?

Sonisphere wasn’t on my radar, Tim called me up in Prestatyn Football Club of all places and asked if I was up for it. 'Of course', I unwittingly replied, not really knowing what it was all about. Having sludged through the mud of Wakestock, some bright spark decided we would have the luxury of a hotel for this one, and the Travelodge on Junction 13 of the M1 Southbound was booked for 8 of us. Seemed a good idea at the time ’til we realised Knebworth was a £75 taxi ride away; at least there was safety in numbers!

We delighted in the trappings of downtown Dunstable for the first night, crashing back to the room at stupid o’clock and ensuring a stinking hangover would follow us around until we washed it away with a £3.80 pint of cider.

Let’s get something straght here, I don’t do all that ‘Let’s be fucking hearing you Knebworth’ and ‘Come on motherfuckers, let’s make some noise’ metal bollocks that these kids like, I’m just here for the crack.

Crystal Meth aside it’s the vibe I’ve got into rather than the music (this being my 3rd ‘rock’ festival of the year).

We wandered into the arena just in time to catch the dying strains of Buckcherry’s last song. Slightly gutting for Tim, but it was soon shaken off as the highlight, by a mile, was stumbling upon a group of outrageous Dutch buskers called Blaas of Glory — decked out like marching-band metal maniacs, blasting out heavy rock classics in a full-on oompah/cabaret/brass band style. Think Ace of Spades with trumpets and tuba swagger. They were hilarious, technically brilliant, and totally captivating. That performance alone made the trip worthwhile.

Me and Tim ditched the rest of the gang to go see Killing Joke, hoping for something raw and unpredictable. Unfortunately, they delivered a fairly disappointing greatest hits set — competent, but lacking the edge or intensity we’d hoped for.

The rest of the day was a blur of chatting to rock chicks, drifting between bands, soaking up the atmosphere, and people-watching — which was half the entertainment. Some great characters, some complete melts, but all part of the fabric. Saw Feeder (it was a good set, I knew many more song than I thought I did). Lamb Of God were ace, and a really scary moshpit! Also saw Machine Head and a bit of high school nostalgia from Saxon (Biff!).

We kept the drinking modest — not by choice, but because £3.80 a pint was absolute daylight robbery. That said, the music kept spirits high. Nine Inch Nails delivered a tight, industrially sharp set — Trent Reznor still has it. Then came the headliners: Metallica. Three hours of metal royalty. Impressive, yes, but three hours!! The crowd was so rammed we could not escape.

When it was all over, we just wanted to crash back at the Travelodge in Toddington — it was about 28 miles from Knebworth, but it might as well have been 200. No lifts, no buses, no one taking pity. We were properly stranded. In the end, we had to split a £72 taxi fare just to get back. Brutal.

Still, no regrets — not a bad way to blow a Sunday.

It was all too much for me in the end

You Fat Bastard

'...he's so fat he can't wipe his own arse!'
Well, not quite but I have piled on a few pounds in the last few months, probably a culmination of eating too much, drinking too much, changing jobs and less stress! I haven't exactly gone up a dress size, but I guess at 42 I should be keeping an eye on what goes in my mouth (steady now!). We did Download Festival last week (we being the fellowship of divorcees - seven years for me now!) and on the third day we staggered through the dust in the hot sun, extremely hungover, and one of the boys asked the question, 'Why do we do this to ourselves?'
And I quipped, 'Because we can!'
Nothing else was needed to be said. We do it because we can.
Download was on occasion a musical shock to the punk blood that throbs through my system, and I just about survived Def Leppard via means of a Jack Daniels drip. It was only fair to take Tim up on his suggestion that we accompanied him to this Rawk Festival, as he has endured many a thrashed out pure punk show over the years, which is no mean feat for a boy brought up on the likes of Whitesnake (yikes).
So what has my waistline gotta do with this? Well, not a lot really, it's more my health that causes a tad of concern, only because when you hit my age you start getting a little paranoid and think that any over doing it could leave you lying on a cold slab. Perhaps 4 days and 4 nights of drunken debauchery, eating shit and sleeping 4 hours in 24 on hard ground, coupled with crowd surfing to Faith No More and baking in the midday sun is for those younger than ourselves.
Ah fuck it - live fast, die tired....