Jingle Jangle Mourning

I’d like to dedicate this blog to Alex Neilson; drummer, singer, bon viveur and folk polymath with such outstanding groups as: Trembling Bells, Death Shanties, Crying Lion and now his solo vehicle Alex Rex. The week his new album Vermilion was released to rapturous acclaim, just after Record Store Day 2017 had seen Trembling Bells’ wonderful take on The Auld Triangle appear on 10.” Tragically, this is also the week  Alex’s younger brother Alastair has tragically passed away. I never had the pleasure of meeting Alastair, but I know, respect and admire his cantankerous, clever, funny, articulate brother and I send my deepest condolences to Alex and the family at this sad time.

The last time I saw Alex was back in early March, when he got me a guest list spot to see Shirley Collins at The Sage. It hadn’t been on my agenda to see this gig, partly as it was only days after Fairport at the same venue, but also because, and I hope I don’t sound like a heretic saying this, I don’t particularly love what Shirley Collins does. I find her style of mannered delivery charming when it’s The Copper Family sounding like pre Victorian versions of The Archers, but I prefer my female singers with a touch of red meat and blood about them; like Anne Briggs for instance. That said, Shirley is 83 and I’m rather unlikely to see her again, so it was an event to experience, very sparsely attended I have to say, rather than a gig. This was reinforced by the fact it was a straight run through of her 2016 album Lodestar; pleasant and intriguing in a Wiccan way (other than the daft hat the bloke on hurdy gurdy was wearing), but never truly compelling.  I don’t have the album and I don’t intend to buy it, but I did get the Fledgling Records repressing of 1964’s Shirley Sings Irish on Record Store Day, which includes a fairly mediocre stab at She Moves through the Fair, but a thoroughly excellent Dennis O’Reilly.

Reflecting on The Sage performance, while it was important to see Shirley, I was genuinely glad to be there as it gave me a chance to hear Alasdair Roberts in the flesh for the first time ever. What a voice this bloke has; it’s to my eternal shame I’ve missed out on his work to date, especially with a certain ginger-haired, badly shirted drummer from Leeds in the band. That error will be put right soon. Alasdair Roberts takes the first verse on The Auld Triangle, which is an ensemble piece so great I fancy it will become our era’s equivalent to The Last Waltz version of I Shall Be Released, despite the fact that Mike Heron (seen at the Shirley Collins gig incidentally) doesn’t appear to know the song when he contributes a verse. Typically, Alex ends the piece with a glorious flourish and the b-side acts as an appetizer for Vermilion with a pair of tracks by Alex Rex; The Gift of Weeping is Richard and Mimi Farina reimagined, while When You Have A Hammer (Everything’s A Nail) is perhaps the best pastiche of Nick Cave I’ve heard since the Inca Babies hung up their crimpers. I don’t physically own Vermilion as yet, though it is on order, but if the rest is as great as the quirky to unhinged eccentricities of Song to Dora and The Screaming Cathedral, it is going to be a classic. Whisper it also; Trembling Bells have recorded their next album Dungeness, which is out in the autumn.

Meanwhile, British Sea Power are back with an absolute bang on Let The Dancers Inherit The Party. No more brass bands or ethereal film music, this slab of uncompromising noise proves they still like rock music. Obviously the singles Bad Bohemian and International space Station are hewn from the same rock of ages that produced the anthems that still bring the house down live, but there are moments of fragile, introspective beauty, such as the charming closer Alone Piano indicates. They didn’t play it live at a sold-out Riverside in early April; instead, it was full on assault turned up to 11, with every one of the crowd pleasers there, apart from Lately. We had 2 bears, crowd surfing and fancy dress space suits, but it was the heartfelt humanity of Waving Flags that did it all for me. How on earth could we ever have imagined when that joyous hymn to social inclusivity was released that we’ve have been facing the ignoble evil of Brexit? It truly makes your heart weep, while BSP still make it soar.

Sadly one gig I missed out on was The Wedding Present at Stockton at the end of March. Somehow I didn’t realise the venue’s capacity was so small and the tickets had gone before I stirred. Never mind, there’s George Best at The Academy in early June to perk things up, not to mention a pair of Weddoes releases, old and new. I picked up Hit Parade 1 for 20p in a charity shop and it’s good to have the first 6 releases from 1992’s singles collection together in one place. Go Go Dancer and Silver Shorts are the Gedge numbers that appeal, while Falling is the best of the covers, as it’s such a radical reimagining of the original. Sadly, Cattle and Cane is still as awful as it was a quarter of a century back. Of course David Gedge is a regular contributor to Record Store Day and this year The Wedding Present produced the Home Internationals EP; four instrumentals, three new and Wales from last year’s Going Going. Unlike the frankly ludicrous Welsh language release the other year, this is an essential purchase; Scotland comes in like a lamb on piano and goes out like a lion with guitars. Northern Ireland seems like any number of midplaced, 7/10 numbers that pepper albums across their career, but it changes to Big Black with toothache halfway through. Simon Armitage provides narration on the thoughtful England, before we’re back on familiar territory with Wales. I was highly impressed with this release I must say.

The last record to be purchased was by another band I didn’t see on Teesside, not having a lift to their April 20^th show in Stockton; Wire, whose continued furrow of latter-day creativity saw realease of Silver / Lead, which harks back to the corrosive aural cruelty of 2015’s self-titled album, rather than last year’s relatively gentle Nocturnal Koreans. Strangely for wire, the vocals are pushed forward, so you can hear the words possibly for the first time since Chairs Missing, not that it makes them any more comprehensible than when they’re muffled. Musically, the band may not be as confrontationally arty as they once were, but the repetitive rhythms and walls of fuzz gives it a slower, more melancholy feel, but as enigmatic as ever. Diamond Cups and A Short Elevated Period are some of the most accessible numbers they’ve done in years. The latter song archly includes a catchy chorus right at the end. Wire can play pop, if they want to, but only on their own terms.

As regards the printed matter, I’ve upped the pitiful ante slightly; I finally got round to reading Sandy McNair’s Moonshine on Leith, a typically anarchic look at the Hibees finally ending the 114 year wait for the Scottish Cup last May. Rather typically, I managed to read it in the window between the Cabbage clinching the Championship title and bowing out of the cup to Aberdeen. A great, drink-sodden ramble through the highways and byways of the Scottish second tier, ending with the elation of David Gray’s winner at Hampden, it’s like all of Sandy’s books; an acquired taste, but an intoxicating one.

The next book I picked was the Waterstone’s Guide to Irish Books; another 50p purchase from Tynemouth Market. It’s a cross between a text book and an encyclopaedia. In effect it is a one-stop reference for the different elements of Irish writing in an easy-to-use format,. The guide includes both fiction and non-fiction and, in sections such as poetry and travel, history and art, it aims to be a tool for use by readers whose tastes are as varied as the writing the guide contains. Basic information about the authors and their works has been provided as well as bibliographic information which will enable the reader to find books more easily. Criteria for inclusion in the guide have been simple; books should be by Irish writers and about Irish subject matter.

Staying with the auld sod, this old sod has just finished Toby Harnden’s hagiographic absolution of the conduct of the British in South Armagh from the plantation to the present; Bandit Country.  Harnden cites the geography of the area as being an unwelcome feature for the Colonial marauders to manage. The term "Bandit Country" was a mainstream British media construct, specifically used to describe the liberated zones, created by the Provisional IRA's campaign in South Armagh, during the 40 year conflict with the British Army, commonly referred to as 'the Troubles.'

Harnden constructs a picture of the area as being particularly lawless, prone to violence and a place apart, which is fairly typical of the British Colonial mentality, when dealing with Irish Republican areas, failing to comprehend why the 'Queen's Writ' is not warmly received in much of Ireland, for very real historical reasons.

The author chronicles Provisional IRA operations which had their origins in South Armagh, including the cripplingly, massive London Docklands bomb and the innovative nature of those actions. Harnden's sources in the British security forces admit they feared and grudgingly respected the South Armagh Provisional IRA's ingenuity and ruthless determination. He provides numerous accounts from former serving members of the British army and RUC, confirming that due to the level of threat from the Provisional IRA in South Armagh, they only left the likes of the heavily fortified Crossmaglen barracks by helicopter and even the garbage bins had to be emptied by the same method.

Harnden's book is a very readable account and has become a bookcase essential for anyone with an interest in the centuries old, Anglo-Irish conflict or even those who have an interest in counter-insurgency matters, in general. Harnden's work is well researched and at 400 plus pages it should keep the reader well interested for a day or two, even if you grind your teeth at his ingrained British sympathies.