Killing Joke: Love Like Blood @ 40

Look up ‘intense’ in the dictionary and you might just see a photo of Jaz Coleman.

One of the best bits of post-Lockdown ‘normality’ was walking into Fopp in Covent Garden and quite by chance seeing the erstwhile Killing Joke frontman/keyboardist doing a signing session in full make-up.

His band’s ‘Love Like Blood’ hit its peak position of #16 in the singles chart 40 years ago this month. It was their sole top 40 single of the 1980s and biggest hit to date, a brilliant highlight of that Goth/ post-punk sound/attitude.

But, in a decade full of literary pop music, the song has an interesting and surprising genesis. Recently, Coleman told Songfacts:

That was inspired by the author Yukio Mishima… It was his views on writing with your blood as an artist that really inspired me. It’s a metaphor for the commitment an artist must take to his art form. When I was reading ‘Spring Snow’, one of Mishima’s novels, I really couldn’t speak for 24 hours after reading that book – it hit me so hard. The song itself was a distillation of everything that we hold dear, and one must aspire to walk and talk what you write about in your songs – actually live it. That’s the other part of art, isn’t it? You can’t just be conceptual, writing songs. It’s the way you live your life as well. It’s as important as the way you play your instruments or the music you create…

Musically, it’s fascinating too, the late great Kevin ‘Geordie’ Walker’s doom-laden guitar (with a very odd tuning), scary keyboards (played by Coleman) and a powerful, influential groove – apparently no click track here. Attendant album Night Time was a hit too, featuring the single ‘Eighties’ which Nirvana ripped off for ‘Come As You Are’.

The real corker though was this live performance of ‘Love Like Blood’ from ‘The Tube’. Makes you hanker for a time when bands really meant it… No mucking about. Audiences too. Like to have been there.

 

Book Review: Whatever Happened To The C86 Kids? by Nige Tassell

In 1986, legendary mag NME issued a famous cassette compilation called C86.

Arguably it defined a musical generation, bringing together figureheads of the burgeoning British indie scene from Primal Scream to Bogshed, Stump to The Pastels.

The NME’s timing could hardly have been better – in 1986, ‘indie’ music was beginning to get a sound of its own, John Peel was entering his imperial phase as a Radio 1 presenter, the music press was right on board and independent labels were springing up all over the shop.

The cassette had a huge impact, but did it have an impact on the bands? And what are they up to these days? Nigel Tassell’s hugely enjoyable book tracks them all down and hears their stories. Some, like Half Man Half Biscuit, The Wedding Present, Primal Scream and Fuzzbox are still going strong, others, like The Soup Dragons and The Bodines burnt brightly for a few years. Other band members ended up as social workers, bike shop owners, solicitors, driving instructors.

The result is a friendly, mostly uplifting tome, a bit like one of those old VH1 ‘Bands Reunited’ shows in book form. A few themes emerge: the major labels sniffing around; Peel Sessions; the ‘name’ producer enlisted for that unsuccessful second album; Alan McGee/Creation Records. But this is not a tale of rampant egos and prima donnas – it’s all refreshingly low-key (with the possible exception of the chapter on Primal Scream) with a side order of provincial British history too.

Like or loathe the music on C86, this book also perfectly captures the never-to-be-repeated thrill of first getting together in the teenage bedroom and trying to write and rehearse songs. Inadvertently, it’s also a sad comment on the loss of music in pubs and clubs across this isle of noises.

Tassell’s brisk, chatty style may divide opinion, but it’s entirely appropriate for a mostly heartwarming companion piece to Giles Smith’s ‘Lost In Music’ and Nick Duerden’s ‘Exit Stage Left’, outlining the pros and cons of youthful musical obsession. Highly recommended.

Tassell discusses ‘Whatever Happened To The C86 Kids’ in this interview.

Phil Upchurch: Companions @ 40

There’s a good case that 1984 was Last Call for classic jazz/funk (soon to morph into the dreaded smooth jazz) just before the machines took over and albums like David Sanborn’s A Change Of Heart became de rigeur (but only for a few years – there was an ‘acoustic’ revival in the late 1980s…).

Phil Upchurch’s Companions got in just under the wire. The legendary Chess Records/George Benson sideman (he wrote classic ‘Six To Four’ from Breezin’) had recorded over ten solo albums before 1984, all showing off his significant guitar chops and arrangement smarts.

But Companions (currently not on any streaming platforms – c’mon Universal Music) appeared 40 years ago this month on Paladin, the short-lived British jazz/dance label founded by DJ Paul Murphy and distributed by Virgin. Labelmates included Working Week, Robert Wyatt and Annie Whitehead.

It’s a classic West Coast album and a classic guitar album too, in large part due to the appearance of Lenny Breau (who died in mysterious circumstances on 12 August 1984, just a few days after the recording), famous for his fluid lines and cascading false harmonics, who appears on three tracks and to whom the album is dedicated.

Percussion fans – this album’s for you. Every track features a cornucopia of shakers, cowbells, woodblocks and congas played by Michael Fisher and Steve Forman. Gerald Albright blows a storm on the brilliant ‘Mr T (BA’s Song)’, probably heard by yours truly on Robbie Vincent’s BBC London show back in the day, while Russell Ferrante and Rodney Franklin provide tasty Fender Rhodes and Nathan East some excellent bass.

But, as is normal for mid-1980s fusion albums, there are some dodgy tracks on Companions too – two poor ‘pop’ cover versions (‘Rosanna’ sounds out-of-tune throughout) and an undercooked Jimmy Witherspoon cameo on ‘CC Rider’. Elsewhere there are not-so-great vocals on two tracks by Mike Baker (future drummer/vocalist for Zawinul Syndicate/Whitney Houston?).

But in general Companions is pure comfort music and well worth seeking out, rich with interesting harmony, good grooves and superb guitar playing.

John Sessions (1953-2020)

It’s one of the great mysteries of pop culture, up there with who buys The Wire magazine and who goes to Snow Patrol gigs – why wasn’t comedian/actor John Sessions a bigger star (born John Marshall, he sadly died in 2020)?

Only very occasionally these days do you see something on TV that stops time. It happened to movingtheriver recently watching Sessions performing a monologue in the style of James Joyce on classic late-‘80s improv show ‘Whose Line Is It Anyway’ (RIP the brilliant Tony Slattery, by the way).

He also did a note-perfect impression of theatre director Peter Brook in the programme around the same time. No wonder he was one of David Brent’s comedy heroes.

It was a reminder of that period when comedy could be intelligent, educated, even ‘literary’, dammit. You weren’t terminally terrified of talking down to your audience. Performers like Sessions, Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie, Steve Martin and Robin Williams raised you up, made you want to learn more about their references, generally punched up rather than punched down.

He was born in 1953 to Scottish parents, and studied English Lit at university, then attended RADA and had early TV successes with ‘Porterhouse Blue’, ‘Spitting Image’ and Simon Gray’s ‘Common Pursuit’ play alongside Fry and Rik Mayall. Then, from my perspective as a casual fan, he seemed (a bit like Slattery) to slightly disappear.

He went to the States to co-star in a few dodgy American rom-coms such as ‘Sweet Revenge’ with Rosanna Arquette and Carrie Fisher, as well as a few movies directed by his RADA schoolmate Kenneth Branagh, but you wonder if he could have broken through to a much bigger audience – could he have played Chaplin in Richard Attenborough’s 1993 biopic? Could he have come to Woody Allen’s attention?

There were also some one-man shows on TV, ‘Stella Street’ in the mid-1990s (surely he does the best-ever impression of Al Pacino), and a whole host of guest appearances including ‘Outnumbered’. It’s always a pleasure to dip into Sessionsland.

Sun Ra Arkestra: Lights On A Satellite

One of the unexpected treats of last year was a new – and excellent – album from the Sun Ra Arkestra: Lights On A Satellite.

If you’re looking for an antidote to musical torpor, this could well be it. It draws on free jazz, classic big-band swing, spiritual jazz, gospel and light funk to create one of the most enjoyable collections of 2024.

Led by 100-year-old sax titan Marshall Allen, the Arkestra – celebrating the compositions of late, avant-garde legend Sun Ra, with a few other surprises thrown in – gathered at New York’s Power Station on 16 June 2024 under the jurisdiction of legendary engineer James Farber.

Notice is served by spellbinding opening title track which takes a simple chord sequence and then blows it to bits with a series of coruscating solos. One is then wrongfooted by the superbly played ‘traditional’ big-band melodies of ‘Dorothy’s Dance’ and ‘Big John’s Special’.

Vocals appear from time to time, most notably on the seriously strange cover of ‘Holiday For Strings’. Instrumentation frequently surprises, with snatches of harp, synth, violin and electric guitar sliding into the mix on occasion, such as on the wonderful ‘Tapestry From An Android’.

It is possible to stream the album but it’s worth forking out for the sumptuous gatefold CD or vinyl versions which come with a long essay and some excellent photos. And hey, while you’re at it, check out this excellent Don Letts-directed BBC doc about the remarkable Sun Ra. The first few minutes are worth the price of admission alone.

 

In Memoriam: movingtheriver salutes the fallen of 2024

Marlena Shaw

Dean Brown (guitarist with Billy Cobham, David Sanborn, Brecker Bros etc.)

Gena Rowlands

Larry Willis (pianist)

Frank Auerbach (painter)

Martial Solal (jazz pianist)

Annie Nightingale

Keith LeBlanc

Aston ‘Family Man’ Barrett (Wailers bassist)

Jim Beard (keyboard player with Mike Stern, Wayne Shorter, John McLaughlin)

Gary Grant (‘Seawind’ horn section trumpeter)

Palle Danielsson (bassist with Keith Jarrett, Jan Garbarek)

TM Stevens (bassist with James Brown, Pretenders, John McLaughlin, Miles Davis)

Sergio Mendes

Michael Jayston (actor)

Michael Cuscuna (jazz record executive/writer)

Charles Cyphers (‘Assault On Precinct’/’Halloween’/’The Fog’ actor)

Casey Benjamin (Robert Glasper Experiment multi-instrumentalist)

David Sanborn

Teri Garr

Richard Lewis

John Kelman (jazz writer)

Angela Bofill

Albert ‘Tootie’ Heath

Ed Mann (Frank Zappa percussionist)

Tom Fowler (Zappa bassist)

Dame Maggie Smith

Martin Mull

Herbie Flowers (Spiders/Sky/Lou Reed bassist)

Will Jennings (‘Higher Love’/’Street Life’/’One Day I’ll Fly Away’/’Didn’t We Almost Have It All’ lyricist)

M Emmet Walsh

Benny Golson

Kris Kristofferson

Libby Titus (singer/songwriter and wife of Donald Fagen)

Martin France (drummer with Kenny Wheeler, Loose Tubes, Human Chain etc.)

Nadia Cattouse (singer/songwriter and mother of Level 42’s Mike Lindup)

Quincy Jones

Paul Auster

Tyka Nelson (singer/songwriter and sister of Prince)

Cat Glover (‘Cat’ on Prince’s Sign ‘O’ The Times/Lovesexy tours/albums)

Cindy Morgan (‘Caddyshack’/’Tron’ actress)

Susan Backlinie (‘Jaws’ actress/gymnast)

Lou Donaldson

Roy Haynes

Roger Corman

Shelley Duvall

Peter Sinfield (King Crimson lyricist)

Diva Gray (vocalist with Chic, Steely Dan, David Sanborn, George Benson)

Bernard Hill

Zakir Hussain

Dan Morgenstern (jazz writer)

Jim Abrahams (‘Kentucky Fried Movie’/’Airplane’/’Police Squad’/’The Naked Gun’ writer/director)

Graham Thorpe (cricketer)

Robert Towne (‘Chinatown’/’The Last Detail’ screenwriter)

Alfa Anderson (vocalist with Chic, Diana Ross, Odyssey, Bryan Ferry)

Donald Sutherland

Eleanor Coppola (writer of the brilliant ‘Notes: The Making of “Apocalypse Now”’ and ex-wife of Francis)

Derek Underwood (cricketer)

Terry Griffiths (snooker player)

Ray Reardon (snooker player)

Wishing all of my readers a happy, healthy 2025, with loads of cash.

Book Review: A Platinum Producer’s Life In Music by Ted Templeman (as told to Greg Renoff)

You should never judge a person by their name.

movingtheriver assumed Ted Templeman – a favourite producer back in the day courtesy of his work with Van Halen, Little Feat, Doobie Brothers and more – was your typical seasoned/grizzled rock’n’roll journeyman.

But nothing could be further from the truth. Reading his enjoyable memoir (and looking at the cover), he turns out to be a mild-mannered jazz drumming prodigy turned pretty-boy frontman with late-‘60s baroque pop band Harpers Bizarre.

His story takes us from post-war Santa Cruz, California, to the upper echelons of the US music biz during boom time, when Templeman was a house producer for Warner Bros. (alongside Gary Katz, Michael Omartian, Jay Graydon and Lenny Waronker), becoming one of the wealthiest and best respected record execs of his era.

We learn about his youth studying the Cool School jazzers, then his pop band Harpers Bizarre gets signed by Warners and he’s mentored by Waronker, quickly learning what A&R actually means – choosing the right songs for the artist and assessing their commercial strengths and weaknesses. He also witnesses first-hand the weird action around the Doors, Beach Boys and Phil Spector.

But he quickly realises he’s not cut out for fronting a band, and moves on to being Warner Bros’s tape listener, hanging around Frank Sinatra sessions and getting the nod from Waronker to produce his pet project, the Doobie Brothers.

Then there are some fascinating sections on working with Van Morrison – he sees the frustrations of being a co-producer at first hand when they release the ‘wrong’ mix of ‘Tupelo Honey’. But he also sees Morrison’s more humorous side – during the recording of the live album It’s Too Late To Stop Now, Ted, sitting in the mobile studio outside The Rainbow, hears Van frequently saying, ‘Didja get that, Ted?’ into the mic between songs.

Templeman forges a long-term relationship with his engineer Donn Landee and starts working with Little Feat. He sparks a great friendship with their mainman Lowell George and is fascinated to find that he is a model airplane fan. But when pushed, Lowell claims he’s just learning about them so he he can fly in drugs from Mexico. He also learns a lot about drums working in Sunset Sound studio 1 with Richie Hayward.

Then there’s recording Carly Simon on Another Passenger, and her relationship with James Taylor, before Templeman first comes across Van Halen via a concert in Pasadena. They quickly become his second obsession, though he’s deeply unsure about Dave Lee Roth’s vocals and general attitude (the book is full of strikingly honest reflections, and he’s quick to admit when he’s wrong).

The main chunk of the book deals with recording Van Halen, from the classic debut to the painfully laboured 1984. He even confesses to initial scepticism about ‘Jump’, kvetching to Eddie: ‘I signed a heavy metal band’! But he somehow enlists Eddie to guest on rollerskating freak Nicolette Sheridan’s ‘Can’t Get Away From You’.

Templeman eventually becomes a great fan of Lee Roth, though advises him not to leave Van Halen and try to be a movie star (though still ends up producing Crazy From The Heat). He also worries about getting Sammy Hagar into VH, suggesting they change their name to Van Hagar, and refuses to produce 5150.

There’s an amusing meeting with Prince at Sunset Sound and the Purple One’s reaction to Templeman’s suggestion that Quincy Jones produce Purple Rain. And then there’s Allan Holdsworth, a Warner Bros. signing coming via Eddie Van Halen’s recommendation. Eddie and Templeman are contracted to co-produce Road Games, but Holdsworth refuses to allow them in the studio together while he’s recording! A baffled Eddie bows out, and then Holdsworth demands that a few tracks feature vocals against Templeman’s best advice (of course Allan has his own take on the Road Games debacle…).

The mild-mannered Michael McDonald is a regular character in the book, uncharacteristically going ballistic for not getting co-writing credit for Van Halen’s ‘I’ll Wait’. We learn about Aerosmith drummer Joey Kramer’s opinion of Templeman’s work on their comeback album Done With Mirrors, and Eric Clapton’s reaction to being told that his guitar tone sucks.

The last section of the book regards Templeman’s work on the ‘Wayne’s World’ soundtrack and then losing his job at Warners, leading to depression and alcoholism.

It’s one of those rare music books that takes you right into the process of trying to get quality, commercial performances from some of the biggest stars in the music business, and it’s full of good advice about producing/arranging and interesting musical/technical observations.

Sadly though, its message may fall on deaf ears these days when Pro Tools and bedroom recordings are all the rage, musicianship less so, but still it’s a fun, informative look at the peak of the studio scene. Highly recommended.

10 years of movingtheriver.com & The Future

It was ten years to the day that I published my inaugural articles for movingtheriver, pieces on Prefab Sprout, Marcus Miller/Miles Davis, Peter Gabriel , Keith LeBlanc, Prince and Level 42.

The site was a few years in the planning but really only became a reality during an enforced period of reclusion via illness.

Anyone who sets up a project as a labour of love knows how quickly it becomes both a lifeline and passion. Over the past ten years, it’s also been great fun sharing stories and opinions with readers, writers, musicians and bloggers alike.

I’m not sure what the future holds for the site. Substack and YouTube beckon and WordPress has its issues (some of you may have mistakenly been sent a test post by the WP backroom bods recently…).

But the keyword is enjoyment. So hope to see you in ten years…

Bill Bruford: The Comeback

Pop musicians make comebacks all the time – in jazz or jazz/rock, it’s almost unheard of.

Reading King Crimson/Yes/Genesis/Earthworks drum legend Bill Bruford’s fine autobiography, there was no doubt he’d had his fill of the music business when he officially retired from performance on 1 January 2009 (his last headlining gig took place the previous July).

Away from the kit, in recent years he’s achieved a PhD from the University of Surrey, curated an excellent YouTube channel and released the occasional reissue or compilation, the latest of which is The Best of Bill Bruford.

But, as they say in sporting circles, you’re a long time retired. So it’s thrilling to report that Bruford is making tentative steps back to public performance – in a recent interview he described his return to playing as ‘explosive, unexpected, and very sudden’.

He turned up at the John Wetton tribute gig last year, performing ‘Let’s Stick Together’ alongside Phil Manzanera and Chris Difford, and now he’s joined up with his old drum tech, German ex-pat guitarist Pete Roth, plus bassist (usually on acoustic but here on electric) Mike Pratt, for some low-key trio gigs.

His recent show at the 606 was the busiest your correspondent had seen Chelsea’s treasured jazz club for years. Roth’s website describes his music as ‘jazz without borders’, and it’s a pretty good summary – they generally avoid fusion clichés like the plague, sounding more like John Abercrombie’s organ trio than anything Bruford recorded with Allan Holdsworth.

His kit was a return to his youth – two tom-toms, angled snare, two cymbals. And he still has that prodigious, propulsive technique on the hi-hats and ride cymbal, even if his snare drum no longer particularly has that distinctive ‘clang’.

‘Billie’s Bounce’ featured Bruford’s trademark figures between the tom-toms and snare drum, and Roth’s organ patch and octave pedal were a novel touch. ‘How Insensitive’ developed from a freeform rubato opening into an Abercrombie-esque mood-jazz piece, though Pratt’s strident bass seemed a little out of place.

‘If Summer Had Its Ghosts’, first recorded by Bruford with Eddie Gomez and Ralph Towner, meshed odd-time fun with the blues, Roth’s guitar at its more Scofield-like. ‘Summertime’ came with a tricky vamp which Pratt and Roth rushed somewhat – never a problem for Bruford, while a section from Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 was a slowburn success. Meanwhile band composition ‘Trio of Five’ (or was it ‘Fun’?) was another attractive if a little harmonically inert, vamp-based piece in their favourite 5/4.

Though there were times when Bruford seems to have lost a little of the fluidity of old, it seems churlish to judge a performance thus when the performer and loyal crowd are having so much fun.

The trio play at the Oxford Spin club later this month, and for some other selected dates next year – don’t miss. What an unexpected pleasure to see Bruford back.

The Cult Movie Club: The Long Good Friday (1980)

Every post-1971 British crime movie has had ‘Get Carter’ and ‘Performance’ in its rearview mirror.

Made in summer 1979 but not released until 18 months later, ‘The Long Good Friday’ (original title: ‘The Paddy Factor’) has often been mentioned in the same breath as ‘Carter’. Is that justified?

Initially bankrolled by legendary impresario and producer Lew Grade, it was written by proper East Ender Barrie Keeffe (who reportedly knew Ronnie Kray), directed by Scotsman John Mackenzie and starred Brit acting ‘royalty’ Bob Hoskins and Helen Mirren.

When completed, the suits almost refused it a cinema run, deeming it too nasty, hoping to recut it and farm it out to television. A disgusted Mirren asked her friend Eric Idle to attend the premiere at the London Film Festival towards the end of 1980.

Idle was impressed and passed it on to his mate George Harrison, the main moneyman at newly-formed HandMade films. Harrison apparently loathed it but agreed it had hit potential. HandMade bought it for £700,000, funded by ‘Life Of Brian’ profits.

But how does ‘The Long Good Friday’ stack up in 2024? I watched the posh new 4K restoration – looks fabulous, but this film really belongs in a mid-’80s Cannon fleapit. With its casual racism/sexism/ableism and overlong dialogue scenes, it’s also now more redolent of ‘Sweeney!’, ‘The Squeeze’ and ‘Villiain’ than ‘Performance’ or ‘Get Carter’ – but is still fascinating and memorable.

There’s some real Brit nastiness, or ‘virtuoso viciousness’, as Pauline Kael called it in her ‘Carter’ review. Mackenzie comes up with three or four memorable set pieces (and a great final five minutes, apparently the first thing they shot, during which apparently the director drove the car and ‘fed’ Hoskins the entire plot of the film) which have given the movie legs. He also uses the London locations with some elan.

Keeffe comes up with some preposterously funny lines – ‘It’s like Belfast on a bad day!’ etc. – and Francis ‘Sky’ Monkman’s disco/prog/fusion score adds value. There’s also an amazing array of ‘Hey, it’s that guy/girl!’ actors, from Pierce Brosnan (whose swimming pool scene seems to have influenced Bronksi Beat’s ‘Smalltown Boy’ vid) to Gillian Taylforth.

Sadly though the key performance by Derek Thompson (Charlie in ‘Casualty’!) weighs the film down with its stoned insouciance and dodgy London accent (ironically, Thompson was born in Belfast).

And though some have compared Hoskins with Edward G Robinson and James Cagney (Keeffe apparently pictured a cockney Humphrey Bogart!), despite some amusing line readings these days he comes across more like Alan Sugar after a few too many espressos, whereas Michael Caine in ‘Carter’ had a kind of timeless, glacial rage.

Apparently under the influence of ‘Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels’, Empire magazine – astonishingly – voted ‘The Long Good Friday’ the #1 greatest British film in a 2000 poll. Hard to think it would get that accolade today. Still, it’s a fascinating snapshot of London on the brink of Thatcher’s decade, and a must-see for fans of 1980s cinema.

Further reading: ‘Very Naughty Boys’ by Robert Sellers