I have to share this one, even if it is something you don’t need. Remember way back to 09.09.09 when the big buzz was The Beatles Remasters finally coming out on CD? The other big news was an impending vinyl release, for all those retro groupies still clinging to the antiquated LP, or those who simply must own the catalogue in every medium available.

Well, there are those who will now tell you that the CD is dead, that the album is history and the future is in online streaming. They may even be right but there will always be those who demand more. And now we have the entire Beatles Remasters available on a tidy USB drive. Darryl from EMI first alerted me to this, and now I want one for the desk.

I read that the Remasters were actually completed around four years ago but the Beatles camp had decided to sit on the release until the preferred date this year. The limited edition USB package is obviously a more recent concept but no less desirable to a 21^st century, computer literate Beatles fan. And it features everything from the remastered stereo box: albums, pictures, mini-documentaries, all of it. This could not have been done four years ago but the once mighty 1gig USB stick is now, small change. This novel package is stored on a compact, 32gig apple core. Sweet.

http://www.everythingusb.com/the-beatles-stereo-usb-limited-edition-17961.html

USB drives are not only getting larger in storage capacity but sexier in their potential commercial application. If you happen to be a devoted fan of the humble USB, you may also enjoy some of the stranger things you may find at the above link. When I see some of the innovations that come up on the Everything USB site, I wish I owned a little shop devoted to all this crazy stuff. And on the counter, near the register, would sit a little green apple.

For those who may have followed a similar trajectory, growing up on a diet of Eric, Keith, Jimi, Duane and Frank, the electric guitar used to be king. There was something elevating in the work of great guitar players, and there was no shortage of them. Jimmy Page, Carlos Santana and Richie Blackmore are among the immediately obvious, but then, there was also Peter Green, Jeff Beck, Mick Taylor, Kim Simmons from Savoy Brown, Dave Mason and Steve Winwood from Traffic. For a brief period, Rock guitar and Blues guitar meant pretty much the same thing. Back in the day, great Blues guitarists roamed freely. Eric Clapton can probably take a bow for much of that.

Blues guitars may no longer be at the cultural vanguard but that doesn’t keep the avid from feeding the flame. When the new Tinsley Ellis album recently arrived I remembered his name from a couple of Alligator label compilations, but that was about it. His new album is called, ‘Speak No Evil’, and boasts an extreme close-up of Tinsley’s string-bending digits on the cover.

As soon as the music begins, those digits are flying up and down the neck of that guitar, bending, shredding and machine-gunning their way through the album’s dozen tracks. It is a furious and unrelenting display, with a wealth of flashy technique. Seriously, it almost invites lesser talents to retreat in embarrassment.

At times, Ellis might conjure images of a younger Eric Clapton, in his heady days with Cream, circa 1968. Elsewhere, it might evoke names like Albert Collins, Stevie Ray Vaughan, or Robin Trower. The songs are none too shabby either but I guess when you’re on the road as much as he is, you would want them to be this good.

If there is a downside to ‘Speak No Evil’, it’s that the other elements are so much in the shade of the guitar, they can come off sounding just a notch above serviceable. The rhythm section appears relegated to mere timekeepers behind Tinsley’s unrelenting guitar offensive. The inventiveness, of a potential Jack Bruce on bass or a Ginger Baker on drums, is simply not evident. Tinsley’s vocals seem mostly up to the task but are still not as commanding as that guitar. Though I find it no chore to listen to ‘Speak No Evil’ at the necessary volume, it can be tiring. Tinsley Ellis is not exactly economical with his notes but he sure knows how to fit ‘em all in. For those who miss the blistering Blues Rock of old, you’ll find five songs from ‘Speak No Evil’ on Tinsley’s MySpace page.  http://www.myspace.com/tinsleyellis.

And on the subject of guitarists, here’s another one I need to mention although, this time, coming from a different direction. I can confidently say that, until about a month ago, Verlon Thompson was a name I had never heard. But then I got to hear him play on a song that had me hooked from the beginning. The song is called “The Guitar” and it appears on a new album by the underappreciated, Guy Clark. Vernon is playing the beautiful acoustic licks behind Clark’s whiskey-soaked voice, as a brilliant story song unfolds about a musician, a pawnshop owner and an old beat-up guitar. I don’t want to spoil it for you by saying any more. Just check out the clip:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iHxOego2Sso

As a footnote, I’m including an alternate version of the song by Verlon Thompson alone. For my money, its the Guy Clark version that nails it but this is more for those who play the instrument, and don’t mind taking a closer look at Thompson’s skill.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_Lkg7GsKQQ

I’m glad that somewhere, songs of this quality are still being written, that people still care about the compositional craft, and that they play them this well, on real instruments. It almost sounds subversive. Incidentally, the Guy Clark album you can find this song on is called, ‘Somedays The Song Writes You’. The album is Guy Clark’s 11^th since 1975, and is literally falling through the cracks even as I write this, for all but his loyal following.

In the radioBrandon library there is an area devoted to Christmas music. It’s a bit whack, in some respects, especially given the fact that I am not a big fan of Christmas music. Its okay, I know I’m not alone. Christmas music is so northern hemisphere-centric it sounds kind of ludicrous to most Australians. All the singsong hubbub about snowmen, woolen mittens and roasting chestnuts on the open fire sounds quite alien to someone sweltering under a tin patio roof in the searing summer heat. Then, there are the performances themselves, by artists who will whip out an album’s worth of seasonal ditties in no time, running through the same old titles, in the same time-honoured, disingenuous tradition.

Obviously, there are the odd, inspired exceptions in the seasonal canon, like Enya’s take on “Silent Night”, sung in Gaelic. There is Louis Armstrong’s fabulous, “Zat You, Santa Claus?” but if pressed to pick any kind of favourite, it would most likely be, “Merry Christmas Baby” by Charles Brown.

So, not all Christmas music is the essence of soullessness itself – and I, am not completely a seasonal Grinch. This Christmas, at least, I’ll have one album I know I can play for the enjoyment of it, and not wince, in the slightest. I knew it was out already but we had not been supplied an advance copy of Bob Dylan’s new album, ‘Christmas In The Heart’. I’d been looking forward to it since reading about it a month ago. On Friday afternoon, Bill called up a track from the album on YouTube and before I knew it, Dylan’s singing of “Winter Wonderland” had insinuated itself as an earworm I couldn’t get out of my head. I made it my mission to go out and find a copy.

The kid at the counter wasn’t sure, but he thought there may have been a copy in the backroom, as none appeared to be in the racks. When he returned with my copy, I was surprised it was just over twenty bucks in price. The shrink-wrapped package contained the album and something that looked like a booklet but turned out to be a set of five Christmas cards featuring the album cover art, with envelopes included. Sweet touch, Bob. And let’s not forget the grassroots marketing aspect, as those cards start to go out in the mail, prolonging the awareness campaign. To top it all off, ‘Christmas In The Heart’ was made in support of a most admirable cause.

In the U.S.A. all royalties from the sale of the album will go toward feeding the homeless. As a result, it will guarantee that 4 million meals are provided this yuletide season, to 1.4 million people living in need. Furthermore, Dylan’s website has stated that royalties from all future sales of the album will be directed in perpetuity toward the Feeding America program. Here in Australia, royalties from the disc will be forwarded to the World Food Program. I feel good about my purchase already.

As to the music itself, it is delivered straight, and with an earnestness you won’t normally hear on records of this sort. Thankfully, the song selection is as diverse as the obscurities he might feature on his satellite radio program. Sprinkled among the more obvious titles like “Here Comes Santa Claus”, “Winter Wonderland” and “Silver Bells” are less familiar titles like “Must Be Santa” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTgqnXae2LQ and “Christmas Island”, the latter being popularized by the Andrews Sisters and, more recently, Leon Redbone.

As ever, there will be those who just will not get it and want to take Dylan to task (again) over his croaky vocals breaking all over their favourite classics. But, think about it, when has Bob not been criticized over the sound of his voice? After 47 albums, you would think it no longer an issue. For much of the rest of us, that voice could be singing the phone book and we would still queue for tickets.

Dylan’s band, featuring David Hidalgo of Los Lobos and guitarist, Phil Upchurch, swing through the fifteen Christmas songs with sweet precision and that wonderful unmade-bed of a voice is complimented by a sweet-as-it-comes seven-voice choir.

A lighthearted humour that imbues much of the proceedings even extends to the album’s artwork. In counterpoint to the traditional seasonal image on the front, the inside of the sleeve boasts a Santa-esque portrait of the greatest pin-up girl of them all, Bettie Page.

For many reasons, ‘Christmas In The Heart’ is worth throwing your money at. Not least of them, is to hear the beloved entertainer sing the opening to “O Come All Ye Faithful” in its original Latin.

Before Tuesday, I doubt I would have been moved to write about this, but music is a bit like fossicking for gemstones. If you turn over enough slippery rocks, you are bound to find something that sparkles. Well, I found something on Tuesday, and for several reasons, it caught me by surprise.

For starters, it was a live album – and you know how unremarkable those things can be. Also, it was by Kate Miller-Heidke, an artist I was already familiar with. Kate is from Brisbane, so I have managed to hear a few of her releases since her ‘Telegram’ EP arrived on the desk around four years ago. I remember having a tough time with female singers back then. So many of them shared that same annoying propensity towards vocal calisthenics, the Mariah-like squeak ‘n’ warble. (The trend has more recently given way to a fashionable reliance on the ‘Auto-Tune’ default, but that’s another story.)

Anyhoo, when I first heard the ‘Telegram’ EP, I was reminded of that Lene Lovich song, “Lucky Number”, and a much younger Kate Bush. The voice seemed to convey some novelty but beyond that, I just didn’t get it. I respected her pedigree, in the realm of ‘serious’ music, but transposing a classical training in operatic singing to the more secular world of Pop? Surely, it’s a career path fraught with some unique challenges. Convincing the punters you are more than a novelty, being merely the first.

For much of the time since then, Kate Miller-Heidke, to my ear, seemed little more than another quirky musical curiosity. Calling her last album ‘Curiouser’, then, was some sweet irony. I liked “The Last Day On Earth” from the outset, but couldn’t imagine it as a radio hit. But, what do I know? It finally snuck in through the back door, insinuating itself through being featured in a TV soap. Go figure. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B1dFmWZhSZM

Meanwhile, it was another song from ‘Curiouser’ that was copping all the attention, called, “Caught In The Crowd”. It won a very big international songwriting competition recently, as judged by people of some very considerable experience in the art. Maybe you heard about that. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ojoqHbPmzg

Nevertheless, when ‘Live At The Hi-Fi’ arrived in the mail, I saw a record company cash-in. Quick filler for the fans and recent converts, a strategy to maximize the current wave, and ride it into the Christmas quarter. Hell, why not? It’s just the business doing its gig, right? Well, not always. And that’s another reason why this album was such a surprise.

There is a Hi-Fi club in Brisbane but this collection was recorded at the Melbourne franchise, five months ago. The things that can deflate the live album experience are manifold and blissfully, none of them are apparent in this one-hour set. The audience was both enthusiastic, and respectful, at all the right moments. The setlist was balanced. The sound was exceptionally captured and the performance was first rate, from everyone in the room. And I can’t believe I haven’t even mentioned that voice yet.

Listening to ‘Live At The Hi-Fi’ made it quickly apparent just what I had been missing in the whole KM-H equation: the ‘Live’ aspect. By now, many who have seen Kate perform, will be familiar with what I mean, not least, my sister and brother-in-law, who were actually gushing about her last performance in Adelaide. Away from the studio constraints, in a live environment, that voice, unleashed, can reside somewhere between compelling and riveting, with occasional forays to the threshold of audible endurance.

The performance begins politely enough, but as proceedings unfold, so too, does its command over the crowd’s attention. The only thing that could make things go awry then, is the quality of the material, but that doesn’t disappoint either.

By the third song, “I Like You Better When You’re Not Around”, I’m hooked. The tune is cute but there’s no mistaking just who is calling the shots in this break-up. Halfway through “Politics In Space”, she lobs a verbal grenade toward my g-g-g-generation: “The Sixties were fifty years ago, y’know… GET OVER IT!” It’s true. Suddenly, I’m wishing all our youthful aspirants chasing music careers could be this savvy, this forthright, and this talented.

The set’s most dramatic moments, though, are saved for later, after the room has been lulled into the mood of a good night out. That’s when Kate pulls out the big guns in her vocal armoury, pitching notes high into the air like cluster bombs that can have you wondering about the actual tolerance of the human eardrum. It happens on a couple of songs but Kate is careful never to abuse her abilities. When the voice does come out, it is often like a spotlight against a wall of sound. The music needs to step up to meet a voice like this, and it does, the wailing guitars being an especially potent foil.

There’s humour too, with the decadent charm of what is alternatively known as “The Facebook Song” (if you haven’t yet heard it, I won’t spoil it for you here), and a surprise cover of Farnsey’s signature hit, “You’re The Voice”. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fv4WHNVBys4 The final bonus track on the disc turns out to be a version of Empire Of The Sun’s “Walking On A Dream”, another surprise, both intimate and quietly stunning in it’s radically stripped-back arrangement.

‘Live At The Hi-Fi’ is not really the cynical cash-in it might first appear. It’s a declaration that Kate Miller-Heidke is not only more than a novelty act, but also more than the studio manufactured, Auto-Tuned divas who can’t even cut it on stage. If Kate Miller-Heidke is not already considered a world-class performer, she surely, must be this close.

What a bloody marathon it’s been. Revisiting The Beatles’ catalogue has been like doing a thesis. There have been the remastered box sets in stereo and mono; a radio-special devoted to the occasion; the eight-disc collection of ‘The Barrett Tapes’, an especially enlightening collection of alternate takes, studio chatter, unreleased songs and demos; the final rooftop concert and, a couple of BBC-Radio documentaries as well. Did I miss anything?

Of course, the expected, did happen. Fans, (for the curious no longer exist), came out in sufficient numbers to push a number of Beatles albums back into the charts. Also, as expected, the main focus appears to have been on the stereo versions of those albums. Stereo, of course, has been the standard in recorded music since the late ‘60s but back when much of this material was recorded, mono was king. Earlier in the decade, Phil Spector would monitor recordings through a single speaker to assess how his latest creations would sound coming out of a transistor radio.

In the freshly expanded liner notes for Sgt. Pepper, for example, we learn that all four Beatles had stuck around for the album’s important mono mix, even making adjustments in the process, yet not one of them was involved (interested?) in the subsequent stereo mix. Elsewhere in the notes is the none-too-wild assertion that the mono albums are the most authentic representation of The Beatles’ true sound.

I was already aware that differences existed between formats. What I wasn’t aware of though, was the number of differences, and in some cases, versions, spread between mono and stereo versions.

Pointing them all out would be purely academic and of interest only to Beatles train-spotters, who probably know already. But the message is, do not underestimate the mono remasters, simply because mono is no longer sexy. Okay, so mono was never sexy but if you are old enough to remember hearing those records explode from the radio when they were first issued, then the mono discs may warrant some closer examination.

When I arrived at the ‘Help!’ album in the mono box, I thought, at first, there must have been some mistake. There were twice as many tracks on the disc as there ought to have been – and the same applied to ‘Rubber Soul’. Going back to those liner notes explained why. Having not been around for too much of the original stereo mixes on those two albums, George Martin thought it might be nice to include one for each of them, here, as a bit of a bonus. Completely surplus to requirement, of course, and yet, just another pleasant surprise.

One other thing about the mono box is the meticulous attention to detail paid in recreating the original album sleeves. Just like the LP releases, but in miniature. Whereas the stereo discs almost overcompensated, with their expanded sleeves, lavish booklets and DVD component, the mono versions are stunning in their beautiful simplicity. The White Album, for example, includes both the original foldout poster with the lyrics printed on the back and the four, individual portrait photos, as well. Same deal with ‘Sgt. Pepper’, which includes the sheet of Sgt. Pepper souvenir cutouts and (the thing that really nailed it for me), the paper inner sleeve, with its original pink-swirl design. Yet another oh-so subtle element, and one I’d all-but forgotten.

I can honestly say, I have never been so engrossed in a collection of monaural recordings since Phil Spector’s prized box set ‘Back To Mono’ came out in 1991.

Its now a month since the symbolic 09.09.09 release date for The Beatles Remasters and the dust is beginning to settle. The immediate aftermath saw a welcome return for The Beatles to the album charts, with ‘Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’, ‘The Beatles’ and ‘Abbey Road’ still there, this week. No doubt, the residual effect will be around somewhat longer.

Today is one month after the big event and, coincidentally, the 69^th anniversary of John Lennon’s birth. Makes me wonder what he might have made of it all. I’d like to think he would have claimed the impact of the occasion as being the real reason behind Oasis splitting up. I think Lennon would have been well pleased with the result. Yeah.

Alright. Enough already. I’ve been engrossed in a world of Beatles and Madmen, catching up with the quirky differences between The Beatles’ Mono and Stereo Remasters box sets, a bunch of unreleased alternate takes and demos, tracks from the famous rooftop concert (aped endlessly by others ever since), and watching the entire second season of Madmen on DVD. Some people may be happy that I can do this. Others have written to ask if I may be dead or, have possibly quit writing because the music business is just no longer worth talking about? They are kidding, of course. There is always something worth our attention out there. It is merely a case of finding it.

There’s nothing quite like discovering something new that actually reaches you from the first. For a moment, the act is like your own little secret. You tell your friends and, so long as your taste doesn’t completely suck, you get to share your new find with others. If the act goes large, your taste is validated but then, you have to share your appreciation with the world. Still, so long as the act remains true, you remain a fan.

At least, that’s the way it used to happen. It was all about the song, it’s truth, and how it magically connected with your own life. Used to be, when our artists could move us to action, urge us to dance, march, fight, or vote. Artists don’t seem to do that anymore but the fact is, they do. You just don’t find them floating in the mainstream. The artists are there, they just need a better way of getting their message out, over the dull, repetitive froth of the corporate evanescence factory.

So I keep listening, trolling through squillions of tunes, all in the hope of hearing a song like the one I did this week.

The song is called, “Try This At Home” by Englishman, Frank Turner and it comes from his album, ‘Poetry Of The Deed”. The song opens with the clicking of drumsticks and the kind of “Onetwothreefour!” that says there is no going back.

And then Frank Turner’s Punk sermon explodes in earnest:

“Let’s inherit the earth, because no one else is taking it/Come on, do your worst, before the moment’s passed.”

At just a breath over 1:50 in length, it iterates volumes. It points to the problem (the colour by numbers music preferred by record companies) and calls to the solution (kids learning to play an instrument and writing real songs). Frank Turner’s call to arms has an air of urgency to it that we have not heard since the early days of the Punk explosion. And, boy, does he mean it.

“Because there’s no such thing as Rock stars, there’s just people who play music/And some of them are just like us, and some of them are dicks/So quick, turn off your stereo, pick up that pen and paper/Yeah, you could do much better than some skinny, half-arsed, English Country singer”.

The beckoning to create is Turner’s rallying call to youth, to take music’s future into its own hands, and do something with it. Sure, the ‘tude may be Punk, but the delivery is truly joyful in it’s earnestness, and completely articulate. Sounding more Town Hall than Football Arena, this is the same Folk/Punk POV I learned from Billy Bragg and the late, Joe Strummer.

Oh, and did I happen to mention, it also has a brilliant chorus?

“Cos we write love songs in C, and we do politics in G/We sing songs about our friends in E minor/So, tear down the stars now, and pick up your guitars/ Come on folks, and try this at home.”

If you ever wondered why the music business chews it right now, it’s because there isn’t nearly enough music like this. Not specifically Punk by definition, but something that actually speaks to us about the present day and our collective concerns for the future. In a sea of evanescent Pop frippery, listening to ‘Poetry Of The Deed’ has been like a breath of fresh air.

http://www.myspace.com/frankturner

Some kind of day, it was. Yesterday, my morning began with listening to a two-disc sampler of tracks from the, now imminent, Beatles Remasters. It was a day I had looked forward to, just to discover whether all the gushing hyperbole, preceding this genuinely anticipated release, was true. My expectations were high, based mostly, on the wonderfully realized ‘Love’ album and the continuing association in the Beatles story, of Giles Martin, son of you-know-who.

With a generous 32 tracks to choose from, spanning The Beatles’ entire career, it was difficult to know where to begin. I thought I’d go for something obviously sonic, like “Rain”, “I Am The Walrus” or, “Come Together” but after scanning the list, I opted for something closer to the truth. I went for “Day Tripper”. For the opening riff, for that tambourine, for the lyric, and for it’s delivery, by the best in the business. It was a moment, and one I wanted to remember, like the first time we heard “Free As A Bird”, from the Anthology series. Radio doesn’t play it often enough, these days…

Anyhoo, in spite of having heard these songs, like, a gazillion times before (give or take), “Day Tripper” did come alive with an appreciable effervescence. That opening Harrison guitar riff had more dimension, for a start and McCartney’s bass, playing closely along with the insistent riff is more discernible. When the tambourine shimmers in, laying a carpet for Ringo’s late-starting motor, the improvement is already obvious. There is more apparent definition between instruments, and voices, too. Even on the tight harmonies.

The room sounds better as well, at times, as though I’m listening from the recording booth, if not the studio. Those of you who still own good stereo equipment will better appreciate nuance like this. It’s more like it was when we switched to HD viewing. While the image is the same, it’s just more real.

For some, a dissection of the first 30 seconds of a pop song might be a questionable blog topic, but not if you’re a Beatles fan. And besides, this is really an issue of sound quality, not content. The jury was in on that one long ago.

Steven Weinberg once said: “The more the universe seems comprehensible, the more it seems pointless” and the same might just apply to The Beatles oeuvre. What more don’t we know this music? Not much. There are many who will remain content with their original Beatles CDs (or vinyl), but I’m sure that many others, like myself, will be shelling out for either the mono, or stereo, Remasters box, if not both.

There is also good news for that dying breed of staunch defenders of vinyl. The Beatles Remasters will be issued in that format as well, although, you will have to wait just a little longer. The complete set is to be issued on 180gram vinyl, on the 14^th of November.

Of course, the new listening experience doesn’t change anything fundamental about the music itself, or mess with your individual memory of it. This is simply about getting just that little bit closer, to something inherently good.

It’s been a great time. My old buddy, Mocca, and his partner, Di, have been here for a holiday, from their hometown of Perth. Mocca and I go back, to around 1969, when we were at school together in far-flung Dampier, northwest W.A. Eventually, he relocated to Perth while I headed for the east coast, but we stayed in touch and it’s always good catching up. We reminisced about how, in 1972, we’d conned our boarding school into a special leave of absence so we could hitch hike a few hundred miles to the Ravenswood music festival where Billy Thorpe was headlining. The following year, we went to see the Stones. Musically, I’m guessing, we still have plenty in common.

Since revisiting the music from Woodstock, I’ve been returning to a bit more of the old stuff.

I heard a copy of Rory Gallagher’s performance at Reading in 1980. It was a show I would love to have seen.

I’d first discovered Rory Gallagher when he was in a band called Taste. Their 1970 album, ‘On The Boards’ arrived in the mail, from The Australian Record Club, no less, and I could barely wait to play it. I’d heard that this Irish Blues/Rock trio sounded like Cream, and I was big fan of that band.

The first encounter, however, failed to live up to my lofty expectations. I mean, I tried to like that album. But I simply, couldn’t. The vocals were not in the league of Jack Bruce, nor the songs. As a guitarist, Rory was certainly out there, but he was no Clapton. Worse still, there was a saxophone on a couple of the songs. It just didn’t seem right, and I resolved to put my interests elsewhere. The experience was not uncommon in that period of developing my musical preferences. Anyone who remembers bands like Rhinoceros, or Ginger Baker’s Airforce, will attest that not all bands of that ilk were necessarily, essential.

The next time I crossed paths with Rory was on the radio. From the other side of the country, I picked up a fractured signal of a show called “Room To Move” on the station then known as Double-J. The song was called “Walk On Hot Coals” and was from Rory’s live double album, ‘Irish Tour ‘74’. Even with the severely compromised reception, this was undeniably the kind of solo that would have writers reaching for a serious adjective.

Rory Gallagher was suddenly very interesting, and ‘Irish Tour ‘74’ was purchased before lunch, the following day. It seemed most fortunate then, when Rory came to Perth to play at His Majesty’s Theatre in 1975. I remember going alone because I didn’t know anyone who appeared to know that much about him. It was a great show, and I was mystified at it being less than a full house. Rory Gallagher had delivered on the promise of his convictions. As capable as he was of peeling off solos on his Strat, he was equally as expressive playing slide on his steel-bodied National Resonator, or mandolin. He made more great music before he died, fourteen years ago.

His acoustic take on “Western Plains (When I Was A Cowboy)” in front of the live crowd at the Reading performance was as masterful as his ability to communicate from the stage. It was great to hear something from him that was fresh to my ears. Rory could really play the Blues. Hearing him again was like catching up with an old friend. What a trooper.

Rory Gallagher was an honest and down to earth musician and an undeniably gifted player. He did not like flying and when touring, relied on anti-anxiety medication to get him to the faraway places. Anti-anxiety medication and alcohol. The combination did not ensure a long and healthy life, and he left us all too soon, some fourteen years ago. I never got to see him again but there will always be his recordings. They have become like old friends, too. He may have been a little short-changed, in terms of recognition, but I know I’m not the only one who remembers. So, here’s cheers then: To old friends.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8t_1vgh_X9w

“I Wonder Who” – from ‘ Irish Tour ‘74’

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxiEMpcI83E

“A Million Miles Away” – from ‘ Irish Tour ‘74’

On an unrelated matter, I wanted, at least, to acknowledge that this online version of the blog has just become a year old. The time went quickly and it seems I now have a few more old friends. To all those who bother, I tip my metaphoric hat, and say, “Thanks”.

You’d have to have been living under a rock to not be aware of the 40^th anniversary of the Woodstock Music and Art Fair. Its been popping up on TV screens everywhere. Only last month, we were recalling the 40^th anniversary of the moon landing, but 1969 was memorable for many things. Still to come, are the 40^th anniversary nods for the release of “Abbey Road”, the last great Beatles album (26^th of September), the debut of Monty Python’s Flying Circus (5^th of October), John Lennon returning his MBE, (25^th of November), and the psychological end of the 60s, at the Altamont Speedway (6^th of December).

One of the most important 40^th anniversaries this year, will fall on the 29^th of October. Not so much for what happened at the time, but more for the impact it has ultimately made on the world. The old media may not even bother to cover it but, if you notice every geek in town inexplicably foaming at the mouth, you will know its the 40^th anniversary of the first message being sent via the ARPANET, the precursor of the modern day internet. Intended, or otherwise, it denotes the single greatest gesture of democracy the planet has ever enjoyed. And it too, was a phenomenon born in the 60s.

In 1969, the idea of the ARPANET, if I’d even known about it, would have made no impression on a kid like me.  I was more concerned with being cool enough to impress Sandra Keogh and Julie Blanks, dealing with pimples and the implied glamour of underage drinking. The ARPANET? Not even close. The only kid in the world who might have noticed what happened on that day was Steve Jobs.

Woodstock, on the other hand, was a major point of discussion in the schoolyard and I can still recall my impatience in having to wait until the following year before I could hope to see the projected concert film. Like everyone else, I watched the traffic chaos on the TV news, and the antipathy of locals at having their towns overrun by the enormous hippie pilgrimage. Woodstock was very big news.

I owned the triple album long before I got to see the film. A tiny outpost like Dampier wasn’t exactly a priority for the distributors, so we had to wait. But by then, every song on those three albums, every guitar lick, every stage announcement, was burned into our collective consciousness. We all knew, from hearing those announcements, that guys like Pigpen were as important to the success of Woodstock as anyone. We knew about the idea of “breakfast in bed for 400,000”, and the hamburger guy whose stand burned down. We heard that, “If you think really hard, maybe we can stop this RAIN!” And, to this day, we are appraised to the wisdom of avoiding “the brown acid”.

Ten years on from Woodstock, and entrenched in my first job in commercial radio, I arranged with the local cinema to host a 10^th anniversary screening of that landmark documentary. I’ll confess, it was moderately successful, but hardly resembling a midnight screening of ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show’.

And now, another three decades on, the Woodstock movie still holds a certain fascination for me. Seeing Jimi filter the “Star Spangled Banner” through the then-torturous reality of Vietnam is still more indelible than that lighter fluid stunt he’d pulled two years earlier at Monterey Pop. And “Villanova Junction”, the brief piece that segued out of “Purple Haze” and completed the album’s edited medley, featured some of his most languidly sublime playing on record.

Seeing Santana blow the crowd away with that blistering take of “Soul Sacrifice” was nothing short of extraordinary. It was only in the 80s, when Carlos conceded that, due to a scheduling change, the band had been told to go on several hours earlier than expected, just as the mescaline was starting to kick in. By comparison, the performance made their earlier, studio version sound utterly tame. Suddenly, it made sense.

We all knew verbatim, the words to Country Joe’s, “I Feel Like I’m Fixin’ To Die Rag”, and I’ll bet his infamous “Fish Cheer” never sounded quite so committed. Nowhere else on record will you hear the voices of half a million people, repeatedly calling out, “FUCK!” in such glorious unanimity.

As we might have expected, it has since become fashionable for a younger generation to bag the 60s and its sense of idealism. But I know that their time will come as well, sometime around 2016, I figure, when the first batch of 21^st century-born teenagers find their voice.

Woodstock was a massive, historic symbol of the decade I am proud to have wasted my own youth in. That it happened 40 years ago this weekend, is simply testament to our endurance. Many of those we knew from that time have not survived to celebrate this anniversary. And as for those younger detractors, who cares? “I’m Going Home, ….by helicopter”.

Peace, and Music.

Back in the day when our culture was driven by music, we had the benefit of popular filters, like Countdown and a strong commercial radio environment, willing to distil it. These days, many of those avenues no longer exist, or have surrendered their relevance. What has not changed is that a great many independent musicians are working in Australia. Many have substance, and something to say. I am fortunate to hear a good deal of them. That’s how I came to discover ‘Going Home’ by FGHR, subject of the previous post.

Obviously, not all our Indie artists are quite as outstanding as FGHR, though, often enough, you can hear the promise of an artist in their earliest work. A problem exists though, for people who want to discover these musicians. It isn’t that easy.

Just so happens, that one of the enjoyable aspects of my real work is in the maintaining of a web site, intended to help alleviate that issue. The site is called OzTrax. It’s mission, to expose the best of our prolific Australian Independent music scene. If the idea of Indie conjures up the image of some lone, hippie, guitar-strummer, mumbling his new-age ruminations on the universe, you are missing the point. Independent music comes in all manner of styles. But unless you live in Sydney, or Perth, or …wherever, you may not even know these artists existed, before circumstances had starved them back into a day job.

At the OzTrax site, you will find all kinds of Indie performers, from all parts of the continent. Using Real or Windows Media players, you can stream songs on demand.

Blues fans, for example, would do well to start with Louis King’s song, “Elvis, Jesus and The Devil”. Louis King is better known around Sydney Blues clubs and his latest album is also his fifth.

http://www.abc.net.au/oztrax/stories/2626230.htm

On the other hand, Country fans might want to check out Perth band, The Howling Desperados and their mystical song, “You’re So Right Dave, Space Is Deep Dave”. These Desperados call their stuff, Counterfeit Country. I like their sense of humour, and their style.

http://www.abc.net.au/oztrax/stories/2618083.htm

Those who prefer Rockabilly should check out Brisbane revivalists, The Blue Cats. Apparently, beer plays a big part of their act, but these Cats, including a teacher and a podiatrist among them, are committed to the sound and style of another era when grease was the word. On “The Drinking Song”, The Blue Cats stagger into Jimmy Buffett’s neighbourhood.

http://www.abc.net.au/oztrax/stories/2593045.htm

Or, if you like to get your Funk on, try the song from Merenia Gillies, “Act Like You Love Me”. Merenia is another performer from Sydney but there are people who live there who may not be aware. These are the artists who show up on ‘RockWiz’ when you don’t have a clue who they are.

http://www.abc.net.au/oztrax/stories/2569380.htm

Fans of loud, strident Rock, might go for “Show The Way” by Fusillade, that band from central Queensland I have written about once before. Fusillade was a finalist in the recently held Rockon Music Awards, in Rockhampton in celebration of that region’s own wealth of unsigned talent.

http://www.abc.net.au/oztrax/stories/2629144.htm

The fields of Folk, Pop and Jazz are also represented at OzTrax, with the aforementioned FGHR and their instrumental, “Hornsby” being among the most recent additions.

http://www.abc.net.au/oztrax/stories/2646888.htm

It has taken a little while in surfing the various technical quirks but I didn’t want to start boasting until being pretty much up to speed and with no shortage of new material to choose from.

It may not be sexy in appearance but the OzTrax site is simple to navigate. Now, I just need those people interested in the Australian Indie scene to learn where it is. Revisit the site from time to time, and you will always find new and interesting sounds to sample from.

This, is my pledge..