Category: Music

Celebrating The Life Of…Roy Castle

What do you want out of life? What is success? The answer’s are much clearer once you are told life’s just about over. The simple, loving, caring things then score heavily, and the greed, selfishness and ego become millstones.’

‘What do you want out of life? What is success? The answer’s are much clearer once you are told life’s just about over. The simple, loving, caring things then score heavily, and the greed, selfishness and ego become millstones.’ – Roy Castle

Roy Castle was born 31st August 1932, in Holmfirth, near Huddersfield. His mum had always wanted to go into show business and saw Roy as her second chance by proxy. At the age of three, he was singing in concerts. When he was twelve, he toured with a variety group, and at one venue, was paid in marmite sandwhiches. At fourteen, he did regular bookings at The Queen’s Theatre, Cleveleys, near Blackpool.

Impressed by Frank Sinatra, Roy became a ballad singer. He joined a musical trio, playing trumpet and high hat cymbal with the Ramble Band Wagon.

He got his own five minute solo spot with Jimmy Clitheroe and two spots with Jimmy James playing the Singing Skunk Trapper for eleven weeks.

He worked on the same bill as Dickie Valentine and was offered a seven minute solo and a four minute duet with Dickie in a show called ‘Saturday Spectacular.’

After that, doors began to open and he was offered a spot in a two week variety bill at the Prince Of Wales Theatre in the West End. Soon he was mixing with the cream of the British entertainment industry of the time, including Eartha Kitt, Pat Boone, Harry Seacombe, Bruce Forsyth, Max Bygraves and Norman Wisdom.

His impressions of Elvis’s three chord trick along with gyrating hips, made the Duke of Edinburgh laugh out loud. He said that this was the moment which catapulted him to the big time. He was asked to do an encore, to The Queen, The Duke and the audience. He was besieged by journalists afterwards, and by Eartha Kitt, who planted a kiss on his cheek.

Landcroft House: People You Didn't Know Were Great Mates With Roy Castle From Record Breakers: 1

He was booked for another T.V series and revue show, also for a summer season with Tommy Cooper and panto with Harry Seacombe. He got an invitation to go to New York and guest on the Garry Moore Show, ‘playing trumpet with a little bit of comedy.’ He was to appear on the show forty two times.

Back home, Eric Morecambe, set him up on a date with a young lady called Fiona, who was to become his wife. He began his family. First up, a son called Daniel, with Eric Morecambe as godfather.

He spend the next few years, booked up with dates, either in England, or the U.S.A, from nightclubs near Sheffield, to nine weeks on Broadway starring in Pickwick.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GY91ty2sxIU&list=FLN8aHC2lQSUpNAvIdqvFo3w&index=250

Fiona had two more children and Roy starred in his one and only ‘Carry On Film’, ‘Carry On Up the Kyber‘

He took bookings on cruise ships, and after another child, Fiona battled with post natal depression. Roy was working away so much, which led to problems within the marriage. He developed a drinking problem and the couple were close to splitting up but they became Christians and they found that their marriage was also saved.

It was 25 years ago today that Roy... - Roy Castle Lung Cancer Foundation | Facebook

Roy said, ‘I have met people who say, ‘I’ve been too wicked, too stupid. God would never accept me. Wrong.’

‘A genuine desire to turn away from evil and selfishness, and all the other garbage on offer, is accepted with open arms.’

Fiona and Roy got back on track and harmony returned to the family. He battled the booze for a while but was finally able to give it up. He said, ‘I can now identify with all the other people who found themselves struggling with addiction and sympathize with anyone going through the trauma of drying out.’

His career meanwhile went from strength to strength. He was on Blue Peter regulary and claims to be the only person on a live show, to have been bitten by Shep, during the performance.

At that time, Alan Russell was looking for a presenter for a new show for Children’s T.V. Someone who was a jack of all trades and didn’t mind looking a fool. He instantly turned to Roy. His words, not mine!

In 1972, the first ever Guinness Book of Records aired. Roy experienced many strange record breakers in this series, including someone singing in a bath in Times Square for hours on end, to cherry spitting championships. He broke several records on his own show, including one at Blackpool Tower.

Daniel, his eldest son, suffered a serious fall off a cliff when he was fifteen, and fell into a coma. Roy prayed with his church fervently and held night vigils. Daniel came out of his coma and made a full recovery. What Roy hadn’t known beforehand, was that a huge Christian gathering called Greenbelt, sixteen thousand in all, had prayed for Daniel.

Roy appeared in a play at the Shaftesbury Theatre in a play called ‘Big Bad Mouse’, replacing Eric Sykes, while also doing panto and summer season at the Palladium. He also replaced Michael Crawford, taking over the lead in ‘Billy’ at Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Then onto starring in a musical called Mr. Polly in 1977. Roy also performed in ‘Singing in the Rain’ at the Palladium, alongside Tommy Steele, notching up 896 performances over two years.

In January 1992, Roy started to get terrible migraines and felt like he was suffocating. He was given a brain scan. After a battery of tests, he saw a radiologist and had a chest x ray. The doctor asked him if he smoked. ‘Never,’ Roy replied, but he had worked most of his life, in a lot of very smoky atmospheres. Then the doctor muttered, ‘Big in America now, passive smoking.’ After a bronchoscopy, it was revealed there were extremely virulent cancer cells known as oat cells in his lungs. The doctor concluded that he had a classic example of what was known as passive smoking, an inhalation of other people’s smoke.

When he wasn’t ill from the chemotherapy, Roy kept doing charity work, and in June 1992, he was voted ‘Man Of The Year’ receiving an award from the institute of entertainment and Arts Management for ‘Outstanding Service to the Entertainment Industry’. Also, there was an award from ASH and the British Heart Foundation for his ‘Outstanding Achievement in the Campaign Against Smoking’

The Royal Association for Disability and Rehabilitation were holding their ‘People of the Year Award’ and Roy was a nominee but he had a bit of a dilemma. Baroness Thatcher would be at the event and she had signed with Philip Morris, the tobacco magnates, for which she would receive a great deal of money. Roy didn’t want to meet her, in his current circumstances, and he thought a confrontation would be selfish and spoil the event, so when it came time to meet and greet with the former Prime Minister, he ducked out of the line and lost himself in the crowd.

The headlines the next day screamed, ‘Roy Castle Snubs Margaret Thatcher’

He received an OBE from the Queen the following February.

He was baptized on Sunday 20th March, under duress! He said he didn’t like rituals just to please other people and felt that he and God ‘had a perfectly good understanding without making a public display’, but the baptism turned out to be ‘beautifully simple’.

And just to reiterate, because it’s important, ‘What do you want out of life? What is success? The answer’s are much clearer once you are told life’s just about over. The simple, loving, caring things then score heavily, and the greed, selfishness and ego become millstones.’

Remembering Roy - Roy Castle Lung Cancer Foundation

Roy had an amazing sense of humour and was self depreciating. He said, ‘They say that when you’re dying, your life flashes by in front of your eyes. I’ve had to rewind mine three times. I feel I’m taking longer to die then James Cagney on the cathedral steps.’

Roy didn’t live long enough to see his autobiography published.

In January 1994, Roy lent his name to an appeal to raise funds for the world’s first centre of Excellence to research lung cancer. His widow, Fiona, took up where he left off, in order that future generations should not suffer the effects of this terrible disease. She said his final words on the BBC TV programme ‘Fighting Back’ will continue to ring in her ears. ‘Don’t whine-laugh!’

Celebrating the life of…Harry Chapin

Who is this man? If it wasn’t for Star Trek, I might never know

What has a Star Trek Next Generation novel got to do with me writing a celebration of Harry Chapin’s life? Well, there is a connection but I’ll tell you later. For now, I want to talk about the man himself, Harry Chapin, a folk singer born in Brooklyn, New York in 1942. He started out wanting to be a documentary maker and for a while, he did just that. He was even nominated for an Academy Award for directing a boxing documentary called ‘Legendary Champions‘ in 1965.

He soon turned his attention to music, at first teaming up to play and sing with his brothers and dad and then performing on the nightclub circuit. He was discovered by Elecktra Records, where he won the first multi million dollar recording contract in a bidding war between major producers.

His first album, ‘Heads and Tails’ was a world world success. He followed this up with 10 more studio albums over the years and released 14 singles. His best known songs are probably ‘Taxi‘, his first single, and ‘Cat’s In The Cradle,’ a story about a father not having enough time for his son. The son grows up, becomes a father and makes the same mistake. Harry, by this time, was married with two children and three stepchildren. Harry’s wife wrote the lyrics as a warning to him. His father hadn’t been around much and now it looked like he would repeat history. Harry put a melody to the words and that’s how the song came about.

By the end of the seventies, Chapin was one of the highest paid musicians, and yet, he was never very popular with music critics. They didn’t like his music and they didn’t like the unconventional way he put a song together, perhaps it wasn’t the standard accepted way, whatever that is.

His social activism began in the mid seventies.

‘He saw poverty and hunger as an insult to America’

Harry’s daughter, Jen

He co-founded the organisation World Hunger Year, now WhyHunger. More than half of his concerts were benefits. He donated a third of his paid concerts to charity too. He often performed alone, just with a guitar to keep costs down. His widow, Sandy says, ‘He was supporting 17 relatives, 14 associations, 7 foundations and 82 charities.’

On the way to perform at a free concert, aged just 38, he was involved in a car crash, which resulted in his death. He was post humously awarded the Congressional Gold Medal for his tireless involvement in social issues, particularly the issue of hunger, world wide and in America. He is recognised as a key member of the Presidential Commission on World Hunger. He was the inspiration for USA For Africa and Hands Across America.

A Hungerthon was held to benefit Harry’s World Hunger League, highlighting the severity of hunger in America, in New York City and in the tri state area. After his death, the Hungerthon continued. At the the Live Aid concert, held in Philadelphia, in 1985, Kenny Loggins was presented with the first ‘Harry Chapin Award’ for his work in fighting hunger in America.

The Harry Chapin Foundation continues with his widow as chairperson.

And now, Star Trek, where’s the connection and do you really care, probably not, but I find it strange how seemingly unconnected things come together in delightful ways. If it wasn’t for the Star Trek Next Generation novel ‘Power Hungry’ which is about emergency famine relief, needed for the planet Thiopa, I wouldn’t even know who Harry Chapin is, let alone be writing about him. Ignorance isn’t always bliss. The writer, Howard Weinstein had dedicated the forward/introduction to Harry Chapin. I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t know of him before that but after reading about his life, I felt compelled to celebrate it.

Quote Of The Week

‘Music really is the international language. All the places I’ve been to in the world are divided by language, idealogy, religion, etc, but music unites us all. It’s quite spectacular really, music’s extraordinary power to heal, to help, in a very real sense.’

Cured- Lol Tolhurst

The Cure

Whatever Happened To Tom Waits?

Tom Waits

When I was 12 I was mostly listening to Barry Manilow and Bette Midler, while my brother, who was a year older was listening to Visage,The Eurythmics, Talk Talk, Prince, Depeche Mode, Thomas Dolby, Kate Bush, XTC and very briefly, Tom Waits. I could understand most of his choices and could happily listen to them all but Tom Waits? I think my brother bought the single that came out in ’83 called ‘In The Neighbourhood.’ I remember thinking who is this crazed tramp with a voice like a dying chainsaw and music that was frankly terrifying to me at the time. I remember being afraid, very afraid.

Of course, things have changed. I’m not so easily frightened for a start and it’s funny that the things that scared us when we were younger, grow tame in the cold light of maturity. The allure of my brothers favourite bands began to wane by the late eighties, and Tom’s music never seemed to raise its salivating jaws again, until now. Instead of a gravelly voiced Mr Hyde, I now hear a honey voiced Dr. Jekyll.

I don’t know what made me suddenly tune into him but over three decades later, I am finally appreciating his music. This big bad wolf turned into a Labrador puppy before my very eyes. I didn’t realise how good he was and maybe I wasn’t ready for him before. He’s an acquired taste, a bit like Barry Manilow really, a cross between root beer, wasabi, yeast extract spread and stout. He’s not for the faint hearted, lukewarm he isn’t. I just listened to his entire back catalogue this bleak January and enjoyed every minute. He’s got me through the worst (hopefully) of this winter and debilitation through common cold and flu viruses and the isolation that can bring. Even his jazz bits I like because there’s enough blues to drown any jazz that gets any ideas above its station. He’s been accused of being a folk artist too but not a stereotypical one. His music seems to be a mish-mash of a lot of music styles, leaving out all the ones I don’t like. It’s difficult to describe as I’m still sort of getting my head around his music, after hearing sixteen of his albums in two weeks but there’s a lot of blues in there. He’s been going for so long now and always been under my radar. Where has he been all my life? Where have I been? Maybe some primaeval self defence mechanism kept me away from him all these years after the stir he gave me. Ah, well, I’m found him now, or rather rediscovered him and that’s all that matters.

Born in ’49 to schoolteacher parents, who separated in Tom’s childhood, he graduated from college proficient in piano and guitar, and worked as a doorman and a Coast Guard for a time. He was sleeping in his car when his first album came out in 1973 entitled ‘Closing Time’. It has an innocence about it, sounds a bit Country & Western (for him)! His earlier albums are more conventional and his voice is not so rusty. I heard it was cigarettes and drink that did the damage.

I really like the ‘Swordfishtrombones’ album and his live album ‘NightHawks At The Diner’ and ‘Real Gone.’ I like them all.

He’s released sixteen studio albums to date, his most recent being ‘Bad As Me’ released in 2011. He has, within the last couple of years, lost a court battle against the successful French musical theatre and circus production, ‘On Acheve Bien les Anges’, who he claims have used his songs without permission.

Not only is he a prolific singer songwriter and musician, he is also an actor and has appeared in many movies. He has also recently been offered a role in a series called ‘Citizen’ on HULU network but it appears to have shelved.

He’s still around and appears to be going from strength to strength and doesn’t intend to slow down anytime soon. Meanwhile, I feel like I’ve just discovered a treasure chest, a musical salve in these short, dark days, a banquet of nuts that will keep this squirrel happy until early spring…and hopefully beyond.

Whatever Happened To Barry Manilow?

Gorgeous Barry

I’m a Barry Manilow fan. There, I’ve said it. Do you want to make something of it? Would you like to take it outside?

I’m defensive, it’s true but ONLY Barry Manilow fans know what it’s like to be a Barry Manilow fan. For instance, if you were really into him in the eighties, you may as well have put a target on your front and back and said ‘I like Barry Manilow’ and you’d have been like a porcupine within seconds and no mistake. I was nearly beaten up for liking him at school and was sometimes actually physically attacked at his concerts at age 13 and 14 by other fans for accidentally getting in the way of their view of Barry. ‘Move bitch!’ Whack. So, physical violence was being offered whichever way I turned. Ah, those were the days.

It’s fine and dandy to be a Manilow fan these days, for the most part. Where I came from and the time I came from, it never was. We all know what it’s like to be hated, bullied and ridiculed because of the music/bands/singers we’re into but it really was a different ball game when it came to Barry. It was seriously UNCOOL to be into him or his music in the British northern town I came from. So uncool as to be offensive. So uncool as to evoke physical violence. Now, if Barry can evoke such polarization, he must be seriously cool. Who wants to be lukewarm?

In the ‘backlash-seventies’ eighties, it was hell to be into Barry Manilow. At a time when drainpipe trousers were in, it seemed as if Barry was still wearing flares, but people were still wearing flares in 82. I think I may have been, but it wasn’t a choice, it wasn’t voluntary flare wearing by any stretch. To my shame, I do have my shallow moments, and I do remember wincing at his pink flares back then, but by about 1984, no more flares. He was flare free.

Being into him now, is no big deal, because he’s seventy something and people have gotten tired of criticizing him, or perhaps gotten too old to care. He should have been accepted decades ago when he was a relatively young man. When I say young, I mean forty, when he’d been in the music business for twenty years already. and famous for about ten. He came to fame and fortune late, at around thirty. He remembers the moment when he got famous. It was when Mandy went to No. 1 in the charts, which would have been around 1974. He’d already paid his dues by then. He wasn’t an overnight success. He was seasoned even then. The Americans accepted him a bit more, not just because he was home grown but because they appreciated him! He also did well in Japan (but who doesn’t) and other European countries. In Britain, he was something of a cult. He was loved, or loathed and there was no in between. The loathers were obsessed, they protested far too much. It’s like that whole thing going on with online trolls. If you don’t like it then don’t watch the video etc. but people still watch and comment. The critics were usually white, middle class males. The hatred and jealousy back then was palpable and distressing for people who really liked his music.

When I was fifteen, I discovered punk music and Bowie, but it didn’t lessen my liking for Barry’s music. I went to one of his concerts with a blue, green and pink buzz cut, eyes like a raccoon on speed and a P.V.C mini with chains and studs. I swear he stared at me for the longest time when the lights went up. He was trying to work out what I was. Then, he smiled at me. My finest moment.

I was so fed up of people telling me that I couldn’t be into Barry, Bowie and The Sex Pistols at the same time. I didn’t know what to say or how to explain it but I felt lonely and isolated because no-one else felt it was possible to be into two different genres at the same time. It’s almost like we’re not multi dimensional, or we haven’t got an imagination, or we’re just one trick ponies. ‘I’m a metal head and I will always be a metal head’ scenario. Actually, I do know people like that (metal heads who are only ever going to be metal heads) and good luck to them but where did this thing come from where people have to be one dimensional, either just into this, or just into that? It’s not good to mix the labels up. It confuses people. It was nice when John Lydon said he liked Barry. Well, not liked him exactly but respected him for being authentic. He never tries to be anything he’s not, said John. It could be seen as a back handed compliment to some, but Lydon’s like that. That seems to be a quality that is being more valued in in this current climate. It’s become so refreshing to see authenticity, that sometimes it’s become a quality that is valued before others, despite the nature of the beast. How many fascist dictators have been ‘authentic’, probably all of them. They don’t beat about the bush about what they want or what they are, yet, that doesn’t lessen their evil much.

Back to the point, I never needed or wanted John’s respect or admiration or even acceptance and visa versa. I didn’t like the prejudice on either side, as Barry demonstrated by once making a joke about punks. He said, ‘I can’t imagine running my fingers through some girls green hair.’ Well, that hurt me a little because I had green hair at the time, but it all worked out well in the end because Barry didn’t like girls that much. I liked Rotten and his music, yet I liked Barry. However it was nice that the Prince Of Punk finally acknowledged one of the best songwriters of our time.

Now, I have the perfect come back, for the ‘you can’t be into this music and that music at the same time, it’s just not possible!’ I say, ‘I recognise and appreciate a good songwriter/musician when I see one and that pans across genres.’ But as luck would have it, I’ve never been asked that age old question since I’ve had a good answer to it. Or maybe it’s because people aren’t as antagonistic in middle age. When you’re a teenager, people are always trying to rub you up the wrong way. Or maybe it just feels like that, or maybe it’s because youngsters are overly sensitive, or because they’re young.

I’m not going to make this post a springboard for all of Barry’s singles, albums, records, music awards, specials, concerts and life time achievements. That would be boring. I mean if you’re not a fan, it wouldn’t mean anything. Even though I’ve just spent ten minutes uselessly fawning about him. And that’s ten minutes you will never get back.

And you don’t want to turn it into twenty minutes more because he has so many singles, albums, recordings to get through…and you would think I’m being sycophantic, but I will say this, unless you’ve investigated an artist fully, listened to at least two of their albums, and not their ‘Greatest Hits’, you’re not really in a position to have an full bodied and unbiased opinion regarding them. And who in their right mind is going to listen to two albums of every singer/band they come across? I mean there really isn’t the time. When people are asked to name Barry’s records, they can only mention five or so, the usual suspects, they usually can’t get it up to ten, yet Barry has recorded/written/and composed hundreds of songs.

Barry got me through so much early teenage angst, probably stopped me from committing suicide and The Sex Pistols definitely stopped me from going bat crazy and committing suicide. I love all these things out there that stop people from committing suicide. What does that mean, when a person’s creative works stops another person from committing suicide? That must mean there is something beautiful, hopeful and miraculous in their works?

Well, for me, punk music AND Barry Manilow were incredibly instrumental in my life and inspired me in my creative life beyond anything I thought was possible. Music has its uses and it doesn’t have to be uniform. We don’t know the value of our creative input. We think it blows away in the wind, but it really doesn’t, can’t. Music, words, painting, dancing, performing…we don’t know the effect it has. It has a domino effect that is far reaching. And before we start judging others on their musical preferences, perhaps we should take a look at how peoples music choices make them feel and how it helps their life, gives them joy, happiness, inspiration, makes them want to live, gives them hope. I’m not going to list Barry’s musical accomplishments or give endless links, because if you want him, you will find him. Maybe you’ll check him out with a fresh eye, or say, it’s not for me. Don’t curb your enthusiasm, just curb your prejudices.

Sometimes we believe our own creative works means nothing to other people. How dare we? How presumptuous. Our ego tell us, in a weird ‘about turn’ that we are worthless, that no-one will want to read, or be interested in what we write, or make, paint, or create. We apply that UNCOOLNESS in our lives every day. So when you wake up and write things that you think are uncool and no-one else will want to read, or dress in a certain way, or you feel like a freak, or a misfit and nothing you say seems to come out right. Don’t apologise any more, for anything you write, paint, create, for the way you dress or the awkward way you interact with people… no more sorry, okay?

And what’s this got to do with Barry Manilow?

He made me feel I belonged. It’s the Ugly Duckling Scenario and he’s been there, and it’s in so many of the songs he wrote/writes. Like Bowie, Barry was writing songs about alienation, as well as the love songs he is well known for. He has recorded songs about estranged father and son relationships, suicidal housewives, prostitution, pimps, showgirls, murder, infidelity, celebrity meltdown, and just general meltdown. He even wrote a song about a conspiracy theory.  Bermuda Triangle. Not many musicians can say they’ve done that, not even Weird Al Yankovic.

Even when Barry does write love songs, he usually likes to have a fly in the ointment, something to shake it up. One of his anthems to Geekdom and Alienation is All The Time, an ode to the underdog, to ‘losers’ the world over. We listened, we empathised, we gained comfort.

All The Time

So, I haven’t actually answered the question. Whatever Happened To Barry Manilow?

Barry was earning a living writing music well before he was famous. He wrote scores for musical plays in the sixties and wrote jingles for commercials in the seventies for acne creams and band aids and  home insurance. Instant glamour. He has also written commercials for Japanese companies.

He worked with Bette Midler at the Continental Baths in the early seventies. That’s when he got his big break, when she let him do a solo spot on one of her tours.

Whatever Happened To Barry Manilow? Nothing. He’s still here. He is still going strong. Still talented. Still wowing audiences. Still making music. He has concert dates, in London, booked as far in the future as Sept 2018, so… this is a guy who is not slowing down any time soon. Maybe we should take a leaf from his book. Optimism, enthusiasm and a lack of presumption. This boy’s gonna go far.

 

Celebrating The Life Of…Falco

Falco casual

If anyone remembers Falco, it will usually be for the wrong reasons, either for being known as a one hit wonder, or for dying relatively young and tragically.

Some people must have found the one hit wonder, ‘Rock Me Amadeus‘ annoying, as it made its way into a Top Ten Readers Poll of The Worst Songs Of The 80’s but it also got into VH1’s Top One Hundred Songs Of All Time, so, in complete contrast, others loved it and still do. Me included. I found it annoying at times, only for the fact that it stayed at number one for ages in the pop charts and I’ve never been one for the pop charts, or for songs staying at number one for too long. Both the pop charts and stubborn No.1’s are incredibly annoying. I found it even more irritating as a teenager, just like nails down a blackboard. Thankfully, now that I’m old, I don’t have to partake in any way, even passively.

‘Rock Me Amadeus’ was a number one hit in 1985 both the U.K and the United States and later in Canada in 86. It was originally recorded in German. He was the only artist, whose main language is German, to have a vocal number one in America. He is the biggest selling Austrian musician of all time, selling more than 20 million albums and 40 million singles.

‘Rock Me Amadeus’ was just a tiny slice of Falco’s life. And, he wasn’t even Falco really. His name was Johann Holzel and he was born in Vienna and rather pampered as a child. This was not surprising, as when his mother was pregnant with triplets, he was the only one that survived. He was given a baby grand for his fourth birthday and was something of a musical prodigy, auditioning for the Vienna Music Academy at the tender age of five and attending the Vienna Conservatoire at sixteen. He dropped out of that university through sheer frustration. Perhaps he felt he’d already outgrown them musically.

After a short stint in the Austrian army, he played bass in nightclubs where he was spotted and signed as Falco, the solo artist. His first release was Ganz Wein, then Der Kommissar, a catchy, quite disco-y, new wave but not corny tune. It did well in Europe and German speaking countries but hardly left a mark in the U.S and the U.K at the time. It looked like Falco was destined to spend his music career on the sidelines, until a group called ‘After The Fire’ covered it and American singer Laura Brannigan put out a tweaked version for her second album. These both ended up bringing a renewed interest in Falco’s original ditty and kick started his career all over again.

Falco formal wear

Some of his most prominent single releases include,  The Sound Of Musik, Jeanny and Out Of The Dark. Ten studio albums were released, two, posthumously.

My personal favourite is Push!Push! released not long before he died. It’s such a powerful, passionate and chaotic sounding track and great to dance to. Although, his music was very varied and he released many strong ballads, it hints at where he might have been going musically, before he left us.

There are accounts of his life in those last years, where he could hardly stand up during rehearsals, couldn’t even speak coherently, preferring instead the blissful blur that self medicating can often bring. He died in a traffic accident at age 40, his car colliding head on with a bus, in February 1998. Alcohol and cocaine were in his system at the time of the crash.

So what led him down that path? What leads anyone down there? I’ve been down there myself on some level, maybe still am. I’m always interested in that kind of thing. I’m saddened but interested or interested but saddened and I like to chew over the possible whys and wherefores of a situation. It probably won’t make it better but to understand and rationalise, even on a basic level , usually brings some sense of closure in my book.

He was reputed to be unlucky in love. This would seem to pan out, in the long run, as he discovered, through a paternity test, that his seven year old daughter wasn’t his daughter after all. The relationship with her became strained after that and he allegedly cut her out of his will. She even wrote a book about it called Falco War Mein Vater. (Falco Was My Father)

This may have been a breaking point, driving him deeper into the false sense of security that drink and drugs can bring.

He may have also had survivors guilt, being the only survivor out of triplets. It has been suggested that his earlier depressions were through wondering about the siblings he survived and that age old question, ‘Why Me?’

So, the perfectionism, the touch of genius and I don’t like to use that word lightly but I think there was a touch there. The discovery that his seven year old daughter wasn’t his and the whole survivors guilt issue. It was all a cocktail of issues, that took him to that other cocktail, of alcohol and cocaine. In his lyrical tribute to Mozart he writes,

‘He was a punk

And he lived in a huge city

It was Vienna, was Vienna

Where he did everything

He has debts because he drank

But all women loved him

He was a superstar

He was popular

He was so exalted

Because he had that certain appearance

He was a virtuoso

Was a rock idol

And everyone called:

Come on and rock me Amadeus’

from ‘Rock Me Amadeus’ by Falco & Rob & Ferdi Bollard

Falco Mozart

Perfectionism always brings its own particular problems. His fear of failure and of not livng up to his own expectations, as a former child progidy, would have been stressful enough, but he also knew he was extremely musically talented, just like that other troubled Austrian musician before him.

 

The James Dean Of Punk – Kirk Brandon

Tonight, I went to see Kirk Brandon in concert with Sam Sansbury (cello) AKoustik Live 2017 at Thornton Little Theatre. Kirk Brandon was lead singer and songwriter with eighties band Spear Of Destiny and Theatre Of Hate and, later, toured with the super group, Dead Men Walking, a group always in transit, always evolving, and has in the past included Glen Matlock from the Sex Pistols and Mike Peters from The Alarm, among others.

I got it in my head the other day, that Kirk Brandon is the James Dean of Punk. That’s just my opinion. I can’t call him the Godfather of Punk because that’s Iggy Pop and I can’t call him the Father of punk, because apparently that’s John Lydon. Some people say Malcom McClaren is the Father of punk, but if they do, they are seriously deluded. Actually, I have no idea who the Father of punk is.

I approached Kirk Brandon after the concert and presented him with the first page of a new blank book, announcing him as the James Dean of Punk and he laughed hard and said “Really?” and I said ‘Seriously.’ He signed his signature under the declaration and then I left without saying goodbye or thank you, or in fact, without saying anything, or even looking at him, which I regret, simply because it was rude.  In comparison, he was very sweet and friendly and open. I find it difficult to talk to strangers, but I can exchange papers with them. Those environments when the singer or band hangs backstage with the fans are stressful, false, uncomfortable and unnatural. I suppose it’s just the nature of the beast.

Kirk Brandon is always up for signing autographs, is not precious in the least and doesn’t mind if people take hundreds of photo’s/videos during the gigs. He is also a very talented singer/songwriter into the bargain and is now, literally in my book, the James Dean Of Punk Rock.

kirk brandon james dean

Wall To Wall Punks

Last Thursday started the long weekend of the Rebellion Punk Festival in Blackpool.

It was four days of the best and worst of punk rock music and all it entailed, mohican haircuts, rainbow and (these days) pastel hair colours, studs, tartan, bondage trousers, leather jackets, firm hold hairspray (actually, hairspray is a misnomer, soap, sugar and water and lemon curd are the only things that will make that mohican stand up straight and for a decent time. Maybe glue for the more hard core. Regardless, they all contribute to the The Viagra of the Hair World).

I was there myself, for as long as I could hold out, with a smidgen of blue hair, just to observe and take in the ambience, draped with enough chains and studs to weigh me down to the nearest pub or free live event.

I was never one to go around in a ‘pack’ of punks and could never understand why such an movement, geared to individualism and uniqueness, went around in tribal groups, like a bunch of sheep, all dressed the same, in identical leather jackets. I never had a friend who dressed like me, to help breed the hypocrisy of the uniform and the pack mentality. You’re either an individual or you’re not. You either go it alone or you don’t. As a lone punk, you become a paradox and a truth. As a teenage female punk walking down the street, alone, I would get heaps more abuse than say, a gang of gelled up juveniles with blonde mohawks doing the same thing. No friends to back you up you see, to snarl for you, as it were. The lone sheep is always going to be subject to violence and attack, whether they are a punk, or a hippie, or a metal head, or someone who is dressed in polyester jersey and unfashionable flares, or maybe even just a nice cardie.

Nothing changes. Last weekend, I hung out, around the punk festival, but not at the punk festival, with people who think punk is a) what Clint Eastwood would deem a criminal element b) a snotty nosed whipper-snapper, who needs to get some military training ASAP or c) a piece of wood gone rotten at one end.

To explain, I was, for at least one of those days, with mum and dad. Mum looks upon the whole spectacle quaintly and serenely, enjoys the vibrant tresses, ripped fishnets, Doc Martens and dangerous looking wristbands, says punk people make her happy. When dad heard he was going to be around when the event was in progress, he groaned in resignation, ‘Oh no, I’m 73, I’m too old for this. It’ll be wall to wall punks.’ I like that expression, ‘wall to wall punks’. And that’s what he said when I met and embraced him at the train station, in his suit, tie pin and cufflinks. He said to me, ‘It’s wall to wall punks and I think I’m the only person within three hundred yards wearing a tie.’

‘Now that’s punk.’ I said.

I never went around in a group of punks, a ‘group’ meaning more than one, but like the Greta Garbo of the Johnny Rotten world, I felt isolated at times, alienated. As we congregated, in the square by The Cedar Tavern pub, I thought, we may share the same conical stud belt and crazy colour pigments in our hair, but that’s where the similarity ends. I liked to watch them, as one may like to watch herds of multi coloured wildebeest thundering across the Serengeti that is the Winter Gardens. But I’m a wildebeest too, who has been separated from the herd. I thought I might appreciate, admire these music fans and even get some tips for future dressing, I thought I would enjoy the whole thing from a distance. I thought, punk never died, it just got more pastel.

But then, I changed my mind, the weekend happened…four days…and it was like the best holiday ever. I never got near the Winter Gardens and the actual festival, but it didn’t matter. There was another festival, going on, on the outside, and, on the inside of my mind.

It was all a lesson in social communication. I felt like I belonged. I thought, if I can feel authentic once, I can feel authentic again. I know I can be authentic. Next year, I might actually get a ticket, be a bit rebellious.

I would be happy if I could be punk every day, to dress punk every day and to somehow live it, perhaps with like-minded people. Theatre. Punk. Writing. Music. If I could just incorporate these four things into my life, every day of my life, for the rest of my life, I think I would be happy.

I think everyone has three or four things that will make them happy, if they were pumped in, at the right measure, balanced, varied, those three or four things, interests, hobbies, loves, passions. We all have them. I don’t think it’s just one thing any more. I used to think it was. For me, it was writing, but then, I had the punk passion and the acting passion and I realised it’s usually a combination of a few things and that combination is like a flower arrangement.
It’s the flower arrangement in the vase of the window sill of your life. And then, once we’ve sorted out that part of our lives, we might find the space, energy and incentive to actually do what we were meant to do.