LED ZEPPELIN - LED ZEPPELIN 2

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LED ZEPPELIN

2

Aloha! And it’s a balmy hail, but not farewell, to you, daring adventurer, from Drunken Vinyls, aka DrunkenVinyls or DeeVees for short, from us here at DVHQ. You: bold seeker of all that is lost, here you are, probably by accident, weeping salt tears and shaking a woeful countenance at all we have so wantonly wasted in the name of progress.

We share your pain and every so often are wont to play a vinyl record before throwing it away in the dustbin of history. Our aim is to catalogue every vinyl record from ‘A’ to ‘Z’ before we die for posterity – and that’s 26 records! It helps if you join us which is why we urge you to play along with us, set up your decks, get the disc and drink one can of ale or its alcoholic equivalent as each track strokes past like the sweeping hand of Billy the road sweeper; he who cleans the kerbs near where we live.

So put aside the trappings of this mediocre century for a little while – do not text, LOL or PYSL, repent you of your Blueberry and put aside setting up that Facebook tribute site for just a couple more hours.

L

LED ZEPPELIN

2

Setting Up Time

Setting up your decks is extremely irritating when, like us, you are old and your eyesight is so poor you cannot see which cable gets pushed into which socket, or, indeed which bit to twiddle with. The people in our lives frequently complain about this but we assure them the longer it takes, the better it is. We will, we assert, get down to the business presently. And what business it shall be too! So, as the dusk draws in and you fiddle and twiddle uncertainly to get maximum pleasure, we cast a look backwards to recent events in history that will help us contextualise the drunken vinylness even further.

Football has been in the news this week, something we clearly know very little about because one of us is stupid enough to follow Charlton Athletic. So to get with the programme we watched Chelsea against Liverpool and it was fun with a capital Fun!

Our favourite footballer was a small chap, Craig he may have been called, in a bright red shirt. Whenever we saw him, his little invidious eyes were screwed and scowling, watering with envy, his mouth turned down into a sneer more permanent than that carved into a stone Moses by Michelangelo; a dour man whose main contribution to the football game was running very fast, barging into an opponent, knocking him over and then jabbering furiously, craning his neck to peer upwards at with simmering resentment, from his perspective, the toweringly tall referee. Every so often, the crowd in red would cheer his altercations on by singing a monotonous dirge accompanied by poorly choreographed handclaps. It was great.

Clearly a talented debater, we wonder what our Craig would have said to cartoon villain of the week, Sepp Blatter?

Cultural Primer: In the late twentieth and early twenty first century, satirical popular artists from Holland invented Sepp Blatter, an ancient and strangely Dickensian caricature hailing from Switzerland. The character, as drawn by the cartoonists, claimed to like football. In fact, History has noted that he didn’t really know very much about the game at all which is why every time he voiced an opinion in popular cartoon strip ‘Roy of the Rangers’ it was usually very silly indeed. Up there with the likes of Dick Dastardly, Mutley and the Hooded Claw (aka Sylvester Sweetley) this loveable old duffer had to be pulped when he unwittingly annoyed and received death threats from some religious fundamentalists by claiming that ‘football was bigger than Christ’ in Daily Express strip no.325 ‘If Jesus Came to Earth, He’d be a Charlton Fan’.

Sepp Blatter – a caricature notorious for the sporting gaffes attributed to him. These have been affectionately dubbed ‘BlatterBalls’ by a vaguely amused public. Amongst the best of a good bunch are these:

• Women should wear tighter shorts and swap shirts at the end of each game so the crowd can see their plunging bras – this would improve television ratings for the women’s game.
• It’s good for footballers to have extra marital affairs if they come from Italy.
• Racism will be solved with a simple handshake between players at the end of a game.

The character came a cropper, however, when he uttered the following ill advised statement: I’m more popular than Jesus now; I don't know which will go first — penalties or Christianity. Jesus was all right on the wing, but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It's them on the ball that ruins it for me.

Several hundred fatwas were issued almost immediately and in the Deep South of the United States, Blatter’s best selling comedy LPs ‘A Hard Day’s Blatt’ and ‘Rubber Blatter’ were hurled onto huge pyres by furious fans and burnt long into the night; a reaction against Blattermania. Which, incidentally, is why none are available today.

A  historical footnote, zany prankster Sepp Blatter was quietly retired from the popular newspaper strip and indeed the football strip and is now an out of work cartoon character.

And speaking of work or lack of it, we were very perturbed and somewhat upset to witness another phenomenon of ‘Cash Strapped Britain’: yoof unemployment has gone over the million mark. Why? We cannot say. But we can help. If you are a yoof or no fixed employment you could do worse than to try our easy to fill out ‘Help Yourself to a Job’ sample yoof job application form. Simply circle the answer that most ‘applies’ to you and see whether you are ‘Fit For Work’!

Drunken Vinyls Presents:

The ‘Are YOU Employable? FIT FOR WORK’ Job application Form

L

LED ZEPPELIN

2

What’s The Story?

Today’s back-story is a long and complicated tale of twisted metal and flaming cloth. ‘You’ll go down like a lead balloon!’ Legend has it that these words were spoken to Robert Plant and Jimmy Page before the inaugural performance of Heavy Metal super group Led Zeppelin prior to their taking the stage to begin the most thrilling ride of the super seventies. It is said, by those who witnessed the portentous power of that night, that as they mounted the stage, the world did shiver and tremble, so mighty was the noise and screams of “Planty! Planty! Planty!”

But how did they get there? What strange and mystical forces were behind the colossus that became Led Zeppelin?

In order to untangle the warp and weft, it is necessary to go back to the nineteen seventies (probably). Imagine, if you will, a much younger Robert Plant, Bob for short, or indeed Bobby, named for Wolverhampton Wanderers football hero Stan ‘Bobby’ Cullis. There he is gazing skywards with his Great Aunty Blodwen from Welsh Wales, looking up at the mighty Zeppelin, straining like some huge black dog battling with gravity against its temporary moorings; berthed in the glamour port of Llanelli prior to its round Wales trip via Dunstable, Bedfordshire.

Young Bobby Plant pensively strokes his bearded chin. ‘Hmmm. Black Dog. Like a Black Dog.’

As Bobby makes to run up the angled steps leading towards the cabin with the confidence of only the very young, Great Aunty Blodwen takes hold of his shoulders firmly. ‘No, look you, boyo,” she cries, ‘That leads to the outdoor, look you. You cannot be going in through the outdoor, can you, boyo?”

‘Yeeess’, thinks young Bobby, ‘In Through the Outdoor.’ And the beard gets another firm stroking and the long flowing blonde locks are tossed in a manner just short of studied haughtiness.

Once aboard the Zeppelin, in flight and on course for Dunstable, Bedfordshire via Brecon, Oswestry and Ross on Wye, young Bobby Page  looks around the crowded bar and observation deck. Although too young to drink or smoke yet, his mind races with the possibilities. He listens as the in-flight attendant speaks of life jackets, flames and emergency exits before skipping lightly to more pleasant prospects: ‘Welcome to our tour of the important Welsh motorway junctions of Britain. We will be travelling at a height of ten feet above ground level and cruising at a speed of seven knots. Just beneath us: Junction 32 of the M1. Observe if you will that it is a partially unrolled cloverleaf or parclo for short.’

Over in the corner, he observes, with the keenness of a poet, two groups of strangely attired peoples, distinctly confrontational, involved in some drunken face off that young Plant barely understands. But his keen mind grasps just enough – the brightly coloured ones in their primary reds, yellows and blues square up to those dressed in duller, more functionally military costumes. And he strains to hear as the bearded, Asiatic almost alien one speaks with belligerence:

‘Frankly, I never liked Earthers.’ He opines in a soft impertinent drawl. ‘They remind me of Regulan blood worms. No. I just remembered. There is one Earthman who doesn't remind me of a Regulan blood worm. That's Kirk. A swaggering, overbearing, tin-plated dictator with delusions of godhood.’

Bobby is on the cusp of a manly snigger at the other’s rudeness but notices that the tension is building up almost imperceptibly and quickly stifles it. It looks as though the one in the brightest red tunic is about to fight. His fist is balled. He looks dazed and confused at the communication breakdown. And the two groups are right beside a giant lever marked with the legend in giant sans serif red capital letters. ‘Emergency Zeppelin Crashing Switch!! Do Not Push Under Any Circumstances! You Will Cause A CRASH!’

‘Of course, I see it all now, dazed and confused, communication breakdown. There isn’t a whole lot of love between these groups of people. No sir.’ And young Bobby Plant smiles with the vision.

‘Of course, I'd say that Captain Kirk deserves his ship. We like the Enterprise. We, really really do. That sagging old rust bucket is designed like a garbage scow. Half the quadrant knows it,’ grins the swaggering bearded Asiatic with the lumpy forehead, knowing that his words are hitting home and twisting the red shirted one like shards of glass.

And in response these words, he finally speaks, with reserved resentment and grim intent. ‘Laddie, don't you think you should rephrase that?’ He mutters, raising the clenched fist with threat and purpose.

‘You're right, I should. I didn't mean to say that the Enterprise should be hauling garbage. I meant to say that it should be hauled away as garbage,’ opines the lumpy one with a sneering chuckle at his comrades. And, with that, all hell breaks loose as the first punch is thrown. Young Bobby is seized with panic as a previously unseen light orchestra in the corner of the bar strikes up a comical slapstick ‘bar brawl in outer space’ number. Fists are thrown. Chairs are broken. Glasses are smashed on heads. As a flying body sprawls akimbo against it, the giant emergency lever is pressed to the ‘Crash the Zeppelin’ position!’

Great Aunty Blodwen seizes young Bobby by the hand as the Zeppelin spirals helplessly out of control, diving from its altitude of nine feet, heading straight for the newly opened M42, Birmingham section. ‘We’re going to crash, we’re going to crash!’ screams Bob, in terror, ‘And we’re heading for some comedy Germans from last week’s blog entry!  They appear to be hitting the motorway with hammers and recording the tone on what can only be described as portable tape cassette recorders!’

‘Yes, look you, boyo, if we cop an ear, we can perchance listen to their comical discourse, look you, boyo,’ screams Blodwen, pitching from side to side like some monstrous harpooned Welsh whale. A giant Moby Dick of a woman she points her brass ear trumpet downwards the unsuspecting electrosynthpop outfit.

Ralph: Look Florian I am hitting zee motorway with zee hammer just so.

Florian: Yes mein chum, a semitone higher than zee one on zee newly opened M1 autostrada from last week.

Ralph: But where is Hans?

Florian: Hans? On zee end of mein arms.

Ralph: You Dummkopff. I am laughing like zee drain. I wet myself. You possess zee gut sense of zee humour mein pal.

Florian: Yes. Zee fun fun fun on zee autobahn.

Ralph: (in Panic) Donner und blitzen! Achtung! Achtung! Und Zeppellin is now improbably heading directly for us. We will never complete zee experiment!

Florian: Nooooooo! It eez a wreck of twisted metal and flaming cloth! Vot is and vot should never be! Like und giant Moby Dick! Und trombonist is descending towards us like undgiant hearing trumpet! Aaaargh!

Ralph: On no, I am being covered in zee burning cloth! The twisted metal is, even now, ruining our experiment! Zee road is covered in a comedy brass band!

Suffice it to say it all ends happily – how? We do not know and now we return to the recent past imperfect. “Planty! Planty! Planty!” scream the crowd as he bounds onto the stage. Where did they get their inspiration? Who can say? It’s all a part of history now.

THE NOT QUITE TEN COMMANDMENTS OF DRUNKEN VINYLS

1. Thou shalt play both sides of the record in their entirety
2. Thou shalt drink one can of Fosters or its alcohol equivalent per song
3. Thou shalt record ramblings as they occur to thee for the duration of the running time
4. Thou shalt edit out the swearing the next day
5. Thou shalt not suffer a Blueberry user to live

All set up, are we? Well get into your hot air balloons because it’s finally time to rise above it all and let the music commence with:

L

LED ZEPPELIN

2

Sponsored by Carling Black Label, This week’s surprisingly good beer accompaniment.

Side One

Can 1.            "Whole Lotta Love" 

Searching for inspiration, as we have said, Page and Plant looked no further than popular television show Top of the Pops for their first tune, shamelessly stealing the chord progression and chugging rhythms in order to provide them with an instantly recognisable hook. Now we’re really lying. It was the other way around….the vinyl crackles and splutters like fat on the hob. The blues changes and licks chug along, mixed nice and low, to emphasise Plant’s voice, almost falsetto. As you will know, so famous is the song, the instruments drop out to be replaced with a Bonham solo, all high hat and bossa nova on the bongos whilst Plant screams love and groans in the background like some ironically loveless banshee. The lyrics are best described as humpingly dirty: ‘Every inch of my love, way down inside’ that’s filthy, that is, and not something we would ever endorse, here at the Towers. He’s very sure of himself, in any case, she might turn him down. Thank heavens that’s over, we are very jealous indeed and haven’t heard as many orgasms since we inadvertently listened to ‘Love to Love You Baby’ by Donna Summer. “I keep a coolly baby?” What’s that all about, then? Is love making some kind of drug? We DON’T think so, Bobby.

Can 2.            "What Is and What Should Never Be"             

After the last track reaches its climax and screams to a halt, this is pleasingly low key and provides an excellent contrast. It’s mainly a funky bass line with acoustic mixed very low down – until the chorus – wherein all hell is let loose. What’s particularly pleasing is the superb use of stereo on this track – it pans across from speaker to speaker – you will only get this on the original vinyl. We never did really find out what should never be, but we don’t care.

Can 3.            "The Lemon Song"          

This song references taking something that is like a lemon and then squeezing it until it’s empty and seedless. We are neither clever enough or possess the motivation to find out just what the object is. We doubt that it’s Jif. It’s probably something very dirty and filthy like our mamas told us not to touch. An ominous grinding axe in an ascending scale double tracked with the bass while Plant maintains a high horizontal vocal. He should have listened – to whom we cannot be sure – perhaps the eponymous lemon itself? Lemons can be worth listening to, we remember a Sandie Shaw record about a lemon tree: very pretty. But before our witless ramblings on (ha ha) finish, a complete change of tempo upwards and Page’s guitar replaces Plant in a virtuoso performance the like of which you rarely hear these days. You notice how each instrument is foregrounded, now it’s the turn of Jones on bass as he threatens to overwhelm the maestro himself. It’s so alive, this song. ‘It’s alive!’ You don’t fool us, that bass is using blues changes, they may be disguised but they’re down on this killing floor, we tells you.

Can 4.            "Thank You"          

An overblown and over produced ballad, but you’ve got to have one. Brilliant. Little ‘Beatles’ touches everywhere. The chord changes are like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. A love paean. Play it to your lover. We think you’ll like the results. Today your world, it smiles. A great false ending, too.

Side Two

Can 5.            "Heartbreaker"      

‘The way you call me another man’s name when I try to make love to you.’ And who hasn’t had that happen to them, eh gentlemen? Why we remember quite clearly back in 1972 we was trying to make love to some person or other, it’s a bit of a blur now, to be honest, but we’re fairly she screeched ‘Stanley! Stanley! There are two men trying to make love to me, sort it out will you?” Although that might have been us watching ‘Carry on at Your Convenience’ This record is full of menacing, ascending chord sequences and this one is GRINTASTIC, despite the terrifying subject matter – a woman who’s only purpose in life is to break hearts – but, and this is crucial, man – she’s been found out and she must repent her of her wicked ways. And we fellers, for we are included in this track, come one, come all, we fellers, we are warned. Ten years have gone by, and now she is back. Bloody women.

Can 6.            "Living Loving Maid (She's Just a Woman)"             

‘Alimony, alimony paying your bills’ We’ll tell you something, when we were young we looked up that word to try to understand the song. That’s education, that is – not like your hip hop crap of today, though. Drum and Bass? Shite. Dub Step? Don’t make us laugh. Music required effort between musician and listener. Lost. All is lost. This music is fantastic by the way. Great segue – which is appropriate because this is ‘Heartbreaker’ part two but, in a neat twist, from the lovely lady’s perspective. Ladies. Lovely ladies. A traditional up tempo rocker with call and response from the guitar. Buy this record, we command you!

Can 7.            "Ramble On"          

We are now a little pissed, though, and this seems to be something to do with the execrable ‘Lord of the Rings’. Did you see the third film? Shite. It ended. And then it ended again for another half an hour. If you ignore the narrative of the song, which seems to be some bloke wandering around looking for a made up girl in some made up country called Mordington, the musicianship is simply exquisite. Acoustic guitar rises and descends accompanied by bongos again and Plant’s vocals, for once, are restrained as appropriate.

Can 8.            "Moby Dick" 

Captain Ahab has a lot to answer for. We suspect that Moby Dick is a hymn to the father, we can’t be sure. The great white whale was even pursued by Captain Kirk in ‘The Wrath of Khan’, you know? We think that Moby Dick is a thinly disguised symbol for wanting your father’s respect. We never did. Every LP has a Moby Dick, you know, and this is it. If drums are your thing, you’ll dig the dick, if not, be patient, be calm. It’ll be over soon enough. CDs and downloads? This is the track you wouldn’t bother with – but it’s there, it exists and it’s part of the LP, so be cool. Dig the dick, man, dig the dick.

Can 9.            "Bring It On Home"           

We don’t think this is John Peel’s theme tune, he wouldn’t be so uncool as to have a Led Zeppelin track, but it sure as hell sounds like it, though. Fantastic track, this is way back in the blues of the deep south somewhere, even the mouth organ and the ‘watch out, watch out’ which we’ve heard somewhere  - a Clapton LP probably. Then, as is so often the case, electric replaces acoustic and the band explode into a three chord descending riff. God knows what it’s about, when it’s this good, you don’t care.

Another brilliant LP – we really have struck pay dirt recently.

What Have We Learnt Tonight?

As we mourn the passing of a week a brand new one is born and carried upon eagle’s wings, racing towards us with all the inevitability of a new gaffe from the mouth of FIFA president Sepp Blatter. Some would say that women do need to wear tighter shorts in order to engender more appreciation of the passing game and swap shirts at the end of a match, but not us, dear me no. We abhor the idea as we would abhor a rat in me kitchen what are you gonna do? Similarly we fear for the future of our yoof of today in that unless they learn more eye contact and less text contact, more ‘hello, how are you?’ and less, ‘Yo, diss is de way mon, ‘ow is you doing, bro?’ they may well find themselves having to spend even more time setting up Facebook tribute sites in order to while away the passing hours. Still, hell ain’t a bad place to me. We know. We read it on the back of an AC/DC LP cover. But then we can read.

до свидания

A DRUNKEN VINYLS CRAP PRODUCTION

KRAFTWERK: AUTOBAHN

K

KRAFTWERK

AUTOBAHN

A warm welcome, bold voyager, to Drunken Vinyls, aka DrunkenVinyls or DeeVees for short, from here at DVHQ. You have inadvertently walked into the most happening place in town – for here do we get out those delicious pitch black slabs of precious plastic and give them one last spin before throwing them into the skip. 

Revisiting the past is painful, because it reminds us of opportunities lost or the willful vandalism of a better history by the uncaring public. ‘Buy the fake and sell what’s real’, the clarion call of hip eighties super-group Buggles is most appropriate here. We despair each week, get drunk and then come out the other side refreshed and rejuvenated having been absolved of all sins; you with your PMSL, Blueberries, sexting and Real California Housewives. Actually one of us is quite jealous of the sexting.

Of course, all this vinyl playing is just a pathetic attempt to rediscover our youth. We repent us of our fury that we did not grow up to be pop stars but ended up here instead, raging, raging against the dying of the light. One of us admits to this and I’ll let him take up the story:

“Well y’see, it was many years ago now, many years since what I got me heart broken in two. I knew I couldn’t do the high parts, you see, but I was all right on the low notes, so I’d learnt all the words to ‘S Club Party’ ready for me big break. The low words. “There ain’t no party like an S Club Party; There ain’t no party like an S Club Party,” I’d repeat, over and over again. I even wrote it on me hand. ‘Scuse me while I get me hanky. Anyhow I wrote them a letter and started rehearsing ‘Don’t stop moving to the funky funky beat’ really low, like, I mean you couldn’t get more low than my voice, you really couldn’t; I said if you changed your name to S Club 8, I could get in and just stand at the back a bit, unobtrusive like, it would be my big break. Like Jim Davidson. But not really him, you know? But they never got back to me – and I’d already told my mates that I was in. Then, and this really pisses me off, they changed it to S Club 8 anyway, but without ME.”

This and many other stories of heart break will be available in our new book: “It’s Not About the Technics, You Know?”

Having said that – are YOU set up? No? Well get a wiggle on, won’t you, we want to crack open a bottle of rum.

K

KRAFTWERK

AUTOBAHN

Setting Up Time

Where would we be without motorways, eh? I’ll tell you where. Probably in a tail back on the A458 near Chipping Sodbury.

Cultural Primer: Motorways were invented by German visionary Klaus Von Cockhoodenpuller in 1882. They were giant highways in the sky and thus painted blue by multi coloured artists and were initially utilised to convey all manner of goods by horse and cart. In 1969 they were immortalized by Baron Pony VonTrapp in the song ‘You are M16 going on M17’ in the well loved musical ‘The Sound of Trams’. Vastly different today, the blue has remained nevertheless, in a tribute to a bygone age.

Despite being a wonderful invention, it will surprise you to know that Motorways get very depressed – due to the fact that they have many enemies here in Great Britain. It will further surprise you to learn that, unusually, we here at DeeVees consider the enemies of the motorways our enemies too. As Lieutenant Commander Worf was wont to say: ‘Drink not with thine enemy’ or ‘Mine enemy’s enemy is mine friend’. Unusual because, as regular readers will attest, our mission here is to roll back the future to a happier, more innocent time, before Blueberries, texting and PMSL became appropriate language for a Parliamentarian. But we’ve witnessed ‘Swampy’

Yes, ‘Swampy’. The self proclaimed eco-warrior who chained himself to trees and buried himself in vast underground earthenware chamber pots in order to prevent the great M3 unification project across Twyford Down – home to a rare species of moth, butterfly or some such. He would claim to be an eco-warrior; most would assert that he was an ego-twat and that the only ‘eco’ that interested him was the ‘eco’ made by the sound of his own self important, monotonous and affected voice as it boomed around his do it yourself burial mound, threatening, but alas failing, to cause some fatal subsidence. If Swampy still exists, we would gamble good British pounds that he is, even now, using the M3 in a large Range Rover, illegally texting dribbling drivel to ‘British Hip Hop Artist and Guru to a Generation Reveal’ on his Blueberry on his way to help his new best chums outside St Paul’s.

Some British schoolchildren at the time had the presence of mind to compose a cutting and satirical playground chant in his honour thus: “Swampy Swampy you’re so cool; Swampy Swampy with your large digging tool. Swampy Swampy with stupid hair; If your trench falls in you’ll have no air.” Unfortunately it is alleged that Reveal, failing to see the irony and hailing it as a great piece of work, turned it into a charity rap single to raise money for threatened bats. Available on Spotify for months, the money literally dribbled in.

With a resigned sigh, it would appear that all our lives we have been beleaguered with endless groups of protesters chaining themselves to pubic, sorry public - we meant public, institutions. There were those green ham women that chained themselves to some missiles somewhere or other, those bloody fishermen endlessly jumping up and down blowing whistles and waving flags who shout ‘we are proud, we are proud’ once a year near where we live, incommoding the innocent bystanders; and now, the very latest turds on the waterpipe, so to speak, are those wretched squatters who’ve pitched some tents near a cathedral in London. It strikes us that all these people have something in common: they are able to do this whilst most of us are at work. Have you noticed that, people? Have you? 

Furthermore the jolly campers at Camp Pou claim to be in opposition to something. They’re not terribly sure what it is – but they are sure they are against something – most probably some damp, urine sodden canvas, we think, judging from the liberal amounts of soiled toilet tissue they chuck around with gay abandon. No, we lie, they are against capitalism. Capitalism. Oh certainly they are. But do they know what it means? Well, to be sure, of course they do – which is why they spend infinite amounts of time debating it in Starbucks over a skinny-latte-moccachino before taking a golden arches McDump in the adjacent burger outlet.

Bastards.

Anyway, if they ever got their heads from out of their arses, they’d realise that Britain is in terminal decline - and in no small measure due to their apathetic squatting activities. But not us. We don't sit around admiring the contents of our handkerchiefs and congratulating ourselves on a jolly good sneeze. So fear not, Great Britain, we here at DVHQ have ridden to your rescue once again. As is our usual practice we are replete with rather splendid money making ideas to help you out of the slough of despond and back up to the 'cresta' of a wave. Oh, it’s frothy man, it really is.

Here’s your friend and ours, Noel Edmonds, with details of how you can make more money than you can eat!

BUILD YOUR OWN MOTORWAY SERVICES AND COIN IT IN!!!

K

KRAFTWERK

AUTOBAHN

What’s The Story?

It’s a long story and thus requires a précis. German Kraut Rockers, Kraftwerk (which means factory) (someone told us that, it may well not be true) (Although maybe that’s where Factory record label came from), pioneers in electronic synthesiser pop (syntheepop for short) (or electrosynth) had been watching the expansion of the British motorway system for some time now and had noticed that each motorway, when struck precisely with a hammer and recorded on a portable cassette recorder, had a slightly different note, the frequency sometimes modulating up or down by as much as a semitone or even more:

Ralf: Ja vol, mein Florian. Have you the hammer implement?
Florian: Yes mein chum, I have placed it so.
Ralf: But where is Helmut?
Florian: On my head, Ralf, mein altum kumpel
Ralf: Ziss is a very funny joke mein pal, I laugh like ze schnellzug
Florian: Yes we possess a gut zense of zee humour.
Ralf: Observe ze process, Florian. I hit the tarmac just so.

Florian: Yes, Ralf, ziss is most interesting, mein old chum

Ralf: You must now record eet with precision Florian.

Florian: I am now holding zee portable microphone so, Ralf, mein pal.

Ralf: Incredible

Florian: Yes, mein chum, a semitone higher zan zee M2 at Farthing Corner

Ralf: We must record ziss process so.

Florian: Achtung, achtung. A new section of zee M1 has now opened today.

Ralf: Donner und blitzen. We must go there unmittelbar, Florian mein chum.

So it came to pass, with thanks to our fine German pioneers, a new genre was born – Tarmac-rock – and its greatest recording was the unsurpassable ‘Autobahn’. There were of course, other notable records inspired by the precision striking of motorways with a hammer:

 THE NOT QUITE TEN COMMANDMENTS OF DRUNKEN VINYLS

1. Thou shalt play both sides of the record in their entirety
2. Thou shalt drink one can of Fosters or its alcohol equivalent per song
3. Thou shalt record ramblings as they occur to thee for the duration of the running time
4. Thou shalt edit out the swearing the next day
5. Thou shalt not suffer a Blueberry user to live

All set up, are we? Well hit the road, Jack, with your toffee hammer, because we’re ready to break rocks!

K

KRAFTWERK

AUTOBAHN

Side One

"Autobahn"

Well, twenty two minutes of conceptual heaven begins with a car starting as arranged for synthesiser and toilet. Then a dalek turns up and repeats ‘Autobahn’ a few times. A bass line synthesiser repeats a very regular – almost precisely programmed – too precise, perhaps – line. The melody rises and falls and reproduces a Doppler effect whilst someone chants ‘Fun fun fun on the Autobahn’ at least we think that’s what it is. It’s in German.

In the second movement, presaged by another Doppler effect, the tempo picks up and some manic flautist – well not really a flautist, a faux flautist of the electronic trouser type, rises and falls like a seabird pecking idly at a motorway service station dustbin. Ah, we see what they did there.

Still quite a bit to go, we notice. Press on, Jeeves.

We’re at the third movement now, but it’s a repeat of the first: ‘Fun fun fun on the Autobahn’ again. We can’t really tell what Florian is singing, if he had any consideration, he could have provided some sort of universal translator with the record, but no. Not a bit of it

Doppler effect – this can only mean another movement, the melody has dropped out now but the dalek, happily, is back. This really consists of simulated farting noises, like cars and parping horns and a repetitive bass synth. Gastrically quite humorous, surprisingly. Did we say surprisingly? Sorry. Not much in the way of a lyric – we long for the dalek, yearn for him, ache for him. Instead, here comes more passing wind.

We await the fifth movement with keen anticipation. Here it comes. Ah. Sadly it’s the first movement again and here it is now: ‘Fun fun fun on the Autobahn, Fun fun fun on the Autobahn’ – but – wait! The driver is tuning in some sort of a radio and ‘Fun fun fun on the Autobahn’ is at once louder and yet quieter, like mysterious voices drifting in and out on the ether, on, as they say, the airwaves. Need a drink.

Doppler effect: Must mean movement six, the ‘Fun fun fun on the Autobahn’ has slowed to a nauseating crawl, now – are they in a traffic jam? If they turned to Luxembourg 208, they might pick up ‘Plastic Bertrand’ singing ‘Ca Plank Pour Moi!’ Hurray. Well what do you know? The tempo is going up, up, up! I think we’re in for a German climax anytime soon – actually this bit is reminiscent of ‘On The Run’ by Pink Floyd – except, except it’s the endless ‘Fun fun fun on the Autobahn’ reminding us that we’d quite like to have some fun too.

Oh well, 22 minutes of barmy German madness comes to its conclusion. I wonder what awaits on the other side?

Side Two

"Kometenmelodie 1"

Unpromising start at best – a strange soundscape that reminds of nothing so much as Space 1999 with Barbara Bain and Martin Landau. We remember one where – for no good reason – they all became cavemen and started singing songs around a camp fire. Then there were some talking trees called ‘We are the Rules of Luton’. Every so often, these three pine trees would turn up and shout at Commander Koenig ‘Obey the Rules of Luton’. Why? We cannot say. He should have cut them down with a mighty bow-saw and be done with it. Or question them about their origins – bloody Luton. Have you been there? This is very trying indeed.

"Kometenmelodie 2"

Well there wasn’t much ‘melodie’ in the last song – consisting, as it did, of some irritating and repetitive whistling. But this one is a bit nicer, just ever so slightly, very Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. We’re very happy to notice that this side seems a lot shorter than the other one, too. The synthesiser continue to rise and fall in various scales, like the scales of a fish newly escaped from our favourite shop and yours – Macfisheries.

"Mitternacht"

This song alludes to mittens, as you may notice from its title, when translated into English; it reads ‘Mittens Night’. Useful advice on a cold evening, too. We recommend that you get yours attached to some string and thread them through the sleeves of your duffle coat, too. That way you will never lose them and they will always remain of use. The music, too, is bleak and cold – like somebody precisely hitting a motorway with a mallet, subsequently recording it on a cheap device and then double tracking it. No, we’ll tell you what it sounds like, it is like some kid hitting the lower keys of a piano randomly whilst pressing the loud pedal with their right foot then turning to a beamingly proud parent as if to say ‘Am I not clever?’ ‘No’ ‘You are Devo’.

"Morgenspaziergang"

Ah-ha! The finale, great, some randomly recorded radio feedback to vaguly resemble bird song. Well perhaps – the seagulls have returned with a vengeance to take their place at the top of the tree. So exciting is this that we spent most of it on the toilet like some protestors outside St Paul’s. Allow us to throw the soiled tissue in the direction of a passing padre, if you will.

Bastards. Utter bastards.

What Have We Learnt Tonight?

Another record done, another vinyl nearer to the end of our lives, another one skipped – as in put in the. Well, to be fair, it didn’t skip, it played most beautifully. And what have we learnt today? Motorways are your friends. They just want to meet you, take you home and love you. There aren’t enough of them. We want more of those friendly blue lines on our maps. And service stations are great, aren’t they? We particularly like the cheap tents and England Football paraphernalia that choke up their forecourts and – while the petrol may be a little more expensive therein, it’s a small price to pay, isn’t it?

Oh and never change your lover in the middle of the night. Night, all!

THE JAM - ALL MOD CONS

J

The Jam

All Mod Cons

Let’s get back to basics, shall we?

At our hearts, in our hearts, of our hearts….no,no,no. This simply won’t do at all. Start again.

We were founded way back in the mists of time, last weekend in fact or possibly even further than that, with the important brief to provide a true record of times that are now lost to us way back in the mists of time. Damn we’ve done it again, tangled up in tautological knots. Press on. Press on.

You are reading what will be a serious scientific study; an important body of work that casts a look back to the lost arts of a forgotten, better time and looks at the mess we’re in now because of all that we’ve wilfully let go like spoilt children.

You think we’re wrong?

Well, damn it, your children don’t know any important things anymore, such as:

• A record has a groove on each side that is basically an elongated spiral and the darker lines are where you put the needle or stylus on.
• You used to be able to get chewing tobacco made out of spit, sugar and coconut in packets called ‘Old Jamaica Chewee’
• At one time, ring pulls from cans had detachable metal saucers which could be flicked and used as handy but lethal eye gouging weapons during combat with your classroom opponents
• How to read or write

That’s where we come in – we’re ‘Happy to Help’.

Cultural Primer: ‘Happy to Help’ was a slogan frequently proffered by the customer care departments of certain retail outlets, garages and commercial centres in the twentieth century generally displayed on cheerfully coloured pieces of card at the customer’s eye level. It was fact later realised by many to be a misprint and should actually have read ‘Piss off you moaning bastard’.

Yes, we at Drunken Vinyls are happy to help you get alternatively warm, fuzzy and maudlin, by playing all the vinyl records known to mankind, starting at A and ending at Z, as a misty eyed soundtrack to the crappy mess we’re in today in the hope that these notes will be found by some future species of human which we lovingly christen ‘future-kind’. We may have nicked that off Doctor Who, can’t be sure. It gives us no pleasure, and, to soften the blow, we have to drink to each track as it lives one last time then dies forever in our memory.

Today we reach the letter J. In a strange Play School ‘through the round window’ kind of way, we could only find one record that began with the requisite symbol and that was ‘Rash! Jimmy Porker’s Sizzlin’ Hits’. We weren’t absolutely delighted, so we bussed in some obscure act called The Jam and got them to bash out a few quick numbers.

Setting up Time

Setting your decks up is a painstaking process that requires several wires, twiddles and insertions, so whilst you do this, we now cast a look back to the last week (or so). And WHAT a week! (or so)(it has been).

Not. In fact we’ve been rather underwhelmed by the meltdown in Europe – just another indication of ‘A bomb, A bomb, A bomb: Apocalypse’ so we shrug with a weary sigh. George Papandopolis, Angela Marble and Nicky Sarcastic. Who? ‘Up Yours Delors’ we say, and take it with a triple snail and frog legged baguette.

This reminds us of a classic Les Dawson joke we once heard: ‘Waiter, waiter, have you got frog’s legs?’ ‘Ah, oui monsieur.’ ‘Well hop over the bar and get me a cheese sandwich.’ Disregarding the fact that this joke is perfectly hilarious on its own – we did laugh in the seventies, our laughter often compared to a rich and warm sauce-anglaise, anti European naturally, but never construed as tart, like some bitter burnt French caramelised crème brulee tossed contemptuously onto the table by the aforementioned waiter in the joke – but you could add to that joke and extend it into a damn fine cutting edge Eurosceptic routine with reasonable ease, we think, and it could earn you a pretty penny in these acerbically astringent times.

‘HAPPY TO HELP’ YOU EARN A LIVING

THE ‘BE YOUR OWN TOP COMEDIAN’ SECTION

DrunkenVinyls gives you; free of charge, a comedian routine to help you ‘be a comedian’ for use in entertaining large crowds in pubs. In order to help you ‘be a comedian’ simply read the lines marked ‘You’ and prepare as follows.

You will need:

• One microphone
• One tall wobbly stool
• One humorous comedy accoutrement from the following list: feather duster, megaphone, pointed stick, tin of ‘Dubbin’, used tube of warts remover
• Some people
• A hat for money collection

When ready, put large stool in middle of any crowded Friday night pub, climb atop and ask for quiet. When the requisite silence is achieved, affect a comedy voice – Yorkshire accents, or high pitched squeaks are reasonably effective and proceed with a ‘Wa-HAY!’

You: Feather dusters / Warts remover /Tins of Dubbin / Megaphones / Pointed sticks (delete as appropriate) what that all about, eh? Eh? (pause for laughter / wave comedy accoutrement at people). The other day I went into the shop for a………(insert chosen comedy accoutrement here) and I was told by the assistant I was in…the wrong shop! She said ‘You need the feather duster / warts remover / Dubbin / Megaphone / Pointed stick (delete as appropriate) shop down by MacFisheries on the corner.’ Eh? I said ‘Are you European? Wouldn’t have happened in my day. Eh? (Pause for applause to die down) Europeans, what’s that all about, eh? Eurozone. Eurozone? More like Poo-rozone. That’s what I think, Eh? This wouldn’t have happened in my day, I can tell you. (Pause to wait as St John’s ambulance members treat several aneurysm related heart attacks) Euros. What’s that all about, eh?  More like Poo-ros, that’s what I say. Am I right? Am I? Solidarity sister! Frogs legs. What’s that all about, eh? What’s wrong with a cheese sandwich, eh? ‘Would you like Camembert? Would you? No I wouldn’t Meester French frog swallowing baguette munching Monsieur Sarcozy. Up yours, Delors.

Collect handsome amounts of lose change in aforementioned hat and retire.

Next Week: ‘Be Your Own Bus Conductor’

The Jam

All Mod Cons

What’s The Story?

Basingstoke. Cold, forbidding; post war grey concrete roads intersect incomprehensibly on bleak corners like some black and white M.C. Esher print and torn poster corners flap forlornly in the biting icy winds around tired looking lamp posts unable to cast more than a slight orange hue. It is 1976 and Basingstoke is not a place to visit without a very good reason.

Which is why we find ourselves, instead, at Woking. Woking had recently won ‘Nicest Town at Tea-time’ in the May ‘Monthly Nice Town’ awards, sponsored by Cassio Digital Watches (motto: we love ten to two) and was on its uppers. Residents of Woking would find themselves smilingly whistling happy tunes and carelessly tossing michaelmas daisies and snap dragons at each other without a care in the world and would sigh if a breeze would lift a tress or ribbon.

All this was to change, however, terribly and suddenly.

In Mrs Buckler’s house, Mrs Foxton and Mrs Buckler had worked terribly hard all day to produce a selection of home made fruit preserves and were sitting back, looking forward to the Woking Fruit Festival later that afternoon. As Maud Buckler lit her third Woodbine of the day and pushed the ashtray across to her close friend ‘Foxy’, she smiled happily as her son, Rick, pressed the kitchen door open, dressed in his school blazer and cap.

“Hi, Ricky, what are you up to today?” She enquired of her rosy cheeked offspring.

“Oh, hi Mum, hi Mrs Foxton, gosh you look nice,” Blushed Rick, somewhat tongue tied, “Me and Bruce are off to Woolworths to meet David Watts. We’ve just been watching Top of the Pops with Ed Stewart. He’s so groovy! We’ve saved up enough pocket money to buy Paul Nicholas’ latest smash hit 45 ‘Dancing with the Captain’ and Bruce thinks he might have enough to get a Tina Charles poster, too!”

“Goodness, boys, eh, how lovely!” exclaimed Mrs Foxton, exhaling luxuriously, “Well you two behave and don’t get into any trouble, will you?”

Like two guilty schoolboys, Rick and Bruce scurried off in the direction of town, avoiding snap dragons and daisies with practiced ease. As they approached the high street Woolworth’s, a frown crossed the face of Rick like a cloud across the sun on a summer’s day. He nudged Bruce sharply in the ribs. “Look, Bruce, it’s that Paul Weller.”

Bruce scowled. “Our mums have told us to have nothing to do with him,” he muttered, “And he’s right outside Woolworths.”

“Yes, he’s not even wearing his school blazer or cap,” added Rick, horrified, “He’s sporting a ‘Ruby Flipper Sucks’ badge, too!”

“Yes. But to be fair they do suck a bit. Legs and Co are a breath of fresh air after those recent anodyne displays of choreography, I must say.”

“Must you?” asked Rick, irritated by his friend’s new found opinionated posture and his surprisingly mature vocabulary for someone of his age. “Oh no. He’s coming over.” With a sneer upon his sullen, surly face, Weller was indeed, ‘coming over’ and Rick caught himself shivering with ill accustomed fright as the bigger boy casually sauntered up and adopted a threatening stance. He was eating chips from newspaper, chips with curry sauce and he was spooning it mouthwards with wooden forked tongue implement. Curry sauce? That was new. Dangerous, too. Rick had heard of curry sauce, bought over in the sixties by the Maharishi; beloved of those demi-devils The Beatles and he also knew and feared the hallucinations such foreign foodstuffs could bring.

“Want a chip?” sneered Weller, evilly.

“We don’t eat chips, Paul,” mumbled Bruce, equally horrified. “My mum calls them the spawn of the devil. And they’ve got polyunsaturated cholesterol, too.”

“Polyfuckingwhat? Eat the chips!” leered Weller, stabbing Rick’s eye with a hot fried potato and adopting an uncouth cockney patois reminiscent of yet to be born hip hop artist and guru to a generation named Reveal. “Cause if you don’t, I will do to you what I done unto David Watts.”

“What?” trembled Buckler, longing for the jammy aroma and warmth of his mother’s bosoms.

“Nah, Watts!” screamed Weller, his mouth full of hot potato. He smelled horribly of exotic spices. “I done him up like a kipper, him with his untamed wit and his hairs on his chest.”

Foxton’s eyes widened in terror. “But he is the head boy of our school. He is so gay and fancy free. He took his exams and passed the lot!”

“I’m the Daddy now! Fuck him!” screamed Weller. “Eat the chips. Eat them! They taste of pubs and wormwood scrubs and too many right wing political meetings, these do.” Hesitantly and with hot tears running down their young cheeks, Bruce and Ricky partook of the curry sauce and chips. They were actually pretty tasty and with relieved smiles the two boys were soon yumming them up. Bruce, remembering his newly found mature vocabulary was soon opining just so: “I say, Weller, old chap, these are pretty darn tasty. I never really liked that David Watts anyway, he was a bit effete for my taste. Can we be friends with you instead?”

“Yes, come back to ours, Paul, and meet our mums. They’ve made some lovely jam for us,” added Rick, sensing the end of the anecdote approaching.

“OK lads,” laughed Weller, clapping them both on the shoulders, “The only thing is: I don’t like jam!”

Howling uncontrollably, like pub comedians recently in possession of some free new ‘be a pub comedian’ material, the three new amigos left Tina Charles behind, to be a footnote of history and sung their way towards a new future thus to the tune of Sloop John B:

“We fucking hate jam, we fucking hate jaa-aa-am, we are the Jam boys, we fucking hate jam.”

That’s entertainment. As they say.

THE NOT QUITE TEN COMMANDMENTS OF DRUNKEN VINYLS

1. Thou shalt play both sides of the record in their entirety
2. Thou shalt drink one can of Fosters or its alcohol equivalent per song
3. Thou shalt record ramblings as they occur to thee for the duration of the running time
4. Thou shalt edit out the swearing the next day
5. Thou shalt not suffer a Blueberry user to live

All set up, are we? Well nail your flip flops to the floor because it’s time for lift off with Ayshea!

J

The Jam

All Mod Cons

Side One

"All Mod Cons"

Strap yourself in, Great Britain, an LP from a time when records could do one armed press-ups and still have energy enough to flip themselves over with a contemptuous two fingers at the Prime Minister. So it goes. And here we have sharp power chords, triplets, and a rasping bass and Weller’s jamtastic sneering vocals kick off this sensational first half. Artistic freedom: do what you want. This is crazy – the M1 of records, heading south from Leeds to London in under 45 minutes. And it’s all over as soon as it begins. How NOT to outstay your welcome.

"To Be Someone (Didn't We Have a Nice Time)"

Well, now, a year or two before ‘Start’, this is clearly Paul McCartney’s bass from Taxman and then – as from a time when music was really great, the power chords simply dissolve like Alka Seltzer. And the lyrics: - echoes of a time when Britain was still Great Britain.

"Mr. Clean"

This one starts hesitantly, very low key, as when you press the soft pedal on your grand piano. We like the way that Paul updates Ray Davies’ penchant for creating characters to inhabit songscapes – of course the best, yet to come, is on the flip side of this very vinyl. This is an LP that builds. A minor sequence introduces the underbelly of our society, Ray Davies sang about Plastic Men and Mr Pleasant – how is Mrs Pleasant? Did you know she’s been screwing around with a nice young man? Well, did you? But Weller, in his great period, sings about ‘fucking up your life’ – it’s ambiguous to the listener, though – does he like Mr Clean. Well, does he? I do. Being clean is a good thing. Make sure you wash all those hard to reach bits. I didn’t I regret it now.

"David Watts"

Ok. From faux Davies to real Davies inside the space of a heartbeat. Well love both versions, but really like the way The Jam reinforce the drive of the song by all instruments reinforcing the beat and tune by tracking each other – probably improves on the original which was a bit fey – still you’ve got to like the Kinks when they ARE fey – such as Autumn Almanac – ‘I like my football on a Saturday, roast beef on Sunday – alright!’. Ray lives near us you know. We thought we might march up and down his road singing ‘Waterloo Sunset’ loudly to see if we could elicit a reaction. Then we thought again.

"English Rose"

The haunting sounds of the London docks from a time before they’d been turned into flats and apartments for the rich, when Great Britain still had something to export. Weller plays squeaky acoustic that evokes the Knights Templar or the Banghra Knights; we love them both anyway. Up there with Yesterday. Which was probably deliberate. Or not.

"In the Crowd"

From The Beatles to The Who – but this only makes us remember just how great music can be when it tries to spruce itself up and put on a whistle and flute. Fantastic. The guitar chords release the tension perfectly and descend chromatically; you just grin. Don’t tell me…I’m a pinball wizard. There has to be a twist. Oh no – it’s echoes now, hang on we detect a soupçon of Stone Roses and Oasis and backwards guitar circa Revolver. Oh John Lennon – what did you do? A sweet reference to ‘Away from the Numbers’, too. OK we’re getting terribly drunkily now, a sonic wash soundscape concludes a simply brilliant Side One. Buy this record, it will save your soul!!

Side Two

"Billy Hunt"

Billy Hunt, Billy Hunt, Billy, Billy, Billy!! Brilliant – this is the new Jam – looking forward to ‘Sound Affects’ and ‘Setting Sons’ – it’s almost ‘Going Underground’: no one pushes Billy Hunt around, so we’re going underground – cracking handclaps and what do you call it when the electric guitars slide into that feedback noisy thing that makes you want to throw yourself into the moshpit? Great title, All Mod Cons, too. As in – faux mods? Who cares when the music is this good, this had to be a trigger for fantastic Britflick ‘Quadrophenia’, Leslie Ash, Phil Daniels, Brighton Beach – we are the mods, we are the mods, we are we are we are we are the mods!

"It's Too Bad"

No! The chords from ‘She Loves You’ and why bloody not? A fantastic song – we are running out of superlatives – we’ll never do a better record than this on DeeVees. Short, beautiful. This is a masterpiece. Quite – masterful.

"Fly"

Immediately you is thinking “Oh, no, flies, I hate flies, they always seem to know when you get a two day old lasagne from the fridge that’s vaguely going off but you’re damn sure you’re going to eat it anyway. Still, notwithstanding that, this turns out to be nothing about flies or mouldy food – instead it has enough different movements in the space of a couple of minutes to be almost prog-rock – in fact it seems a bit ‘Yours is No Disgrace’ – we may have said earlier that this LP builds – and so it goes.

"The Place I Love"

Is obviously Camden Market - a terrific day out? “Camden Market, a terrific day out!” (Elton John, 1974)

"'A' Bomb in Wardour Street"

Favourite track. Why? Could it be that we used to lust after a girl in Roxy Night Club, Union Street, Plymouth, she loved The Jam, back in 1978, she could not keep but dancing if this track or ‘That’s Entertainment’ would come on, so slim and beautiful – we never found out her name but we would dance a bit near to her and follow her moves in that peculiar New Romantic style of those times. Great song: two/two cow bells and a thriftily shuffled couple of chords – subject? Who knows? Apocalypse. That’s about it. But in a good way.

"Down in the Tube Station at Midnight"

The grey dirty steps – can we add anything to the reams already written? The last song predicts apocalypse, this is sadly prescient of where we are now. Good, though – as you know. If you’ve never heard this, then give up and go back, back to your echoing voids, back to your empty existence. Fantastic!

What Have We Learnt Tonight?

So we come to the end. If you’ve read this far we salute you here at DVHQ. We are happy – it’s been an odd week. Jimmy Savile passed on, you know, one of our heroes and it’s bonfire night, too. We’re not sure Jimmy would have really liked The Jam, but he used to do a show on Radio 1, Sunday, looking at old top tens, and we remember him liking The Who.

Sir Jimmy Savile, legend. We salute you.