Sunday 31st August
Palace’s season remains shrouded in disappointment. My boy Eddie and I were chuffed to accept the kind offer of a lift to yesterday’s game at the Madejski Stadium from my new friend Sir Stephen Of Way (no relation to UFO’s four-stringed king of excess Peter). Music and footie chatter filled the sun-kissed path down the M4, and though the Eagles came back from behind to ACTUALLY SCORE A GOAL and then SEIZE THE LEAD, abysmal marking from set pieces ensured we succumbed by four goals to two. I thought perhaps a draw would’ve been a fairer outcome, but there’s no disputing the result printed in this morning’s newspaper, nor CPFC’s place in the table – third from bottom.
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Saturday 30th August
What a whirlwind of a week. Given the fact that Monday was a Bank Holiday and that I took the opportunity of a few days away from home with Mrs L and the Linglets, returning home late yesterday afternoon, I’m feeling pretty disorientated. It wasn’t until I got to Shepherds Bush for last night’s No-Man gig and saw people milling about outside the pubs that it dawned upon me it was a Friday evening!
A huge pile of mail awaited me in Catford. I’m still wading through it but was pleasantly surprised by Ross The Boss’ solo album ‘New Metal Leader’, a sticker proudly proclaiming it as “the best Manowar album since ‘Kings Of Metal’ [1988]”. Methinks Joey DeMaio might have a thing or two to say about such a claim. ‘Ghost In The Mirror’ by Shadowman, featuring FM’s Steve Overland and the Thunder rhythm section of Chris Childs and ’Arry James, is **really** ringing my bell, and despite every bone in my body telling me otherwise the same is also true of my early impressions of ‘The Cosmos Rocks’, by Queen + Paul Rodgers. Though it ended up growing on me I’d had doubts about the single, ‘C-Lebrity’, but the album actually has more than its fair share of outstanding tunes; I find myself punching the air every time I hear the terrific ‘We Believe’.
Porcupine Tree/Blackfield guitarist Steven Wilson and frontman Tim Bowness hadn’t played live as No-Man for 15 years and with a mooted tour for the year’s end being pulled due to “recording commitments”, it was no surprise that Bush Hall was packed to bursting point. With a seven-piece band, including an electric violinist, they easily reproduced the art-rock – I prefer the term ambient prog – of the studio. In attempting to describe No-Man’s sound, Wilson recently told me: “It still has a strong link to progressive rock, but it’s more about textures. It’s like my other bands, only with the rock element replaced by romance and ethereal qualities. And it doesn’t rock out at all!” But you know what? Despite the last part of that statement, it actually kinda **does** rock. With the music at its most rich and minimalistic, a song like ‘Carolina Skeletons’ freed up Wilson to play some soulfully effective, almost David Gilmour-esque bluesy licks, likewise ‘Slow It All Down’, another fragile song from the same album, 2001’s ‘Returning Jesus’, before signing off with a wondrously sinewy ‘Mixedtape’, from the just-released ‘Schoolyard Ghosts’. Things then spiraled off through the proverbial roof when violinist Ben Coleman joined the ensemble for an evocative and richly deserved encore of ‘Things Change’.
P.S. How exciting, Dan Reed has announced a UK tour. The most annoying thing is that his London date, at the Borderline on November 7, clashes with Black ‘N Blue’s show at the Astoria 2.
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Thursday 28th August
A few emails seem to suggest I’m not the only one whose appetite has been piqued by the Marseille reunion. People have written to ask whether, after almost three decades of silence, the originally Liverpool-based band are back together for good or just playing some shows to satisfying their own curiosity? It’s the latter option, I believe. Somebody wanted to know if there’s a website? Not so far as I know. And the line-up is the one that cut their first two albums, ‘Red, White And Slightly Blue’ (1978) and ‘Marseille’ (1979) - namely vocalist Paul Dale, lead guitarist Neil Buchanan, guitarist Andy Charters, bassist Steve Dinwoodie and drummer Keith Knowles - not the one responsible for the John Verity-produced ‘Touch The Night’ (1984). So now you know.
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Wednesday 27th August
It's been 24 hours of ups 'n' downs. Last nite Palace crashed out of the League Cup at Elland Road, thumped 4-0 by Leeds United, a club from a division below us. Given the ongoing goal famine I'd prepared myself for a defeat, but nowhere near as emphatic. Sky Sports News' allotted studio correspondent, Paul Merson, did such an abysmal job of covering the game, I thought that he'd gone back onto the bottle. At one point he even announced the Eagles were winning 3-0. Hello? HELLO??!! Anyone got a breathalyser?!?
Apart from the fact that he scored against us for the Arse so regularly, what Merson knows about Palace could be written on the back on a pinhead. Apparently our season turned to shit when "the lad went to Tottenham", he announced, lazily referring to John Bostock - a fringe player at Selhurst thus far, for all his fiscal value - without even having bothered to write down his name. Merson, you are a PRIZE WANKER! The only possible good thing to come of this calamitous and embarrassing defeat is the possibility that it might force Neil Warnock's hand in the transfer market. I pray there's substance to the rumours that a bid will be made for Blackburn's Jason Roberts before the window closes on Sunday nite.
Right. Temper tantrum over. Here's the good news. Marseille, one of the first bands that I ever saw back in the days of the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal, are making a comeback. A bit of an unlikely one, admittedly, but I'm **really** looking forward to checking them out at the Rock Garden in London on Monday nite... hopefully toasting the acquisition of Roberts at the same time. But I won't hold my breath.
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Tuesday 26th August
There’s no such thing as a Bank Holiday when you’re self-employed and over the extended weekend I managed to finish a two-page story for Metal Hammer, carve a big dent in a pile of previously unplayed promo CDs and, of course, join gazillions of TV viewers around the world in watching Jimmy Page help to close the Olympics. The sight of Jimmy puffing out his cheeks and throwing so much effort into a pre-recorded version of ‘Whole Lotta Love’ from the top of a London bus, accompanied by - ulp! - reality TV ‘star’ Leona Lewis, in a stadium full of people in Beijing, was surreal but completely unmissable. Helpfully, the organisers had also flown in an authentic bus stop, upon which the camera panned several times, in a bid to recreate a believable London street scene. What they forgot to add was a skipful of dogshit, some graffiti-strewn walls, somebody trying to sell The Big Issue (“It’s me last one, honest guv”) and that most attractive tourist magnet of all, a gang of knife-wielding, hoodie-wearing muggers, playing shit ‘music’ on their mobile phones at unbearably loud volume. Oh well, only four years before visitors to London 2012 get to experience the real thing for themselves.
P.S. Raven have just confirmed a gig at the Underworld in Camden on October 8. I’M THERE!
P.P.S. Just been listening to 'My Apocalypse', another track from Metallica's upcoming 'Death Magnetic' album. It's a return to balls-out thrash, even better than 'The Day That Never Comes'. Woo-hoo!
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Sunday 24th August
As I type it’s teeming with that fine but persistent rain that seems to soak you to the very skin; thank Gawd I resisted the temptation to check out Metallica at this year’s Reading Festival. On a less satisfactory note, following yesterday’s stalemate with bottom-of-the-table Burnley I’ve no idea where Crystal Palace’s first goal of the season is going to come from. This morning our record reads: played three, won nil, lost one, drawn two, with a modest points tally of two. Reduced to nine men after the sendings off of Scowcroft and Derry, the Eagles showed guts to lock out the visitors at yesterday’s game, and should have had at least one penalty, but from open play we are utterly dire. Unless a striker can be found to convert the handful of chances that are being carved out, this season we are doomed to mediocrity and probable relegation.
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Friday 22nd August
A streaming version of Metallica's new single has been posted online. In a whole different league to the execrable 'St Anger', 'The Day That Never Comes' is nowhere near as pitiful as some of the head-up-ass internet haters are claiming. It's a relief to hear some blistering lead guitar once more, but I must agree with an email observation made by my pal Malcolm Dome; the song it does seems to be "an excuse for Kirk Hammett to indulge in his Brian Tatler [Diamond Head] axe-hero fantasies." Given the alternative, I'm not complaining.
Researching a story on Alice Cooper I've been thumbing through some back issues of RAW Magazine. Was highly amused to stumble on some photos of myself with the members of Dare and Dave Murray. Was my hair ever really that red?! Jeez, how much follicle re-shading has all these years of supporting Crystal Palace inflicted upon me?
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Thursday 21st August
I’d been looking forward to yesterday evening’s planned drinks reception for the debut album from Pearl Aday, Meat Loaf’s daughter, which unbeknown to me got cancelled a few days ago (the lig, not the record!!). “That’s okay,” I told myself upon hearing the news, “I’ll stay home and watch the friendly game between England and the Czech Republic.” Only I realised the match could only been seen live on Setanta, which Ling Towers doesn’t subscribe to. So on a whim I decided to go and watch Palace’s reserves play those of Clowntown pathetic instead. Arrived just in time to see the players walk out onto the pitch, the loathed Shefki Kuqi sporting the number nine shirt and taking little time to remind me why I despise him so much. A very strong Eagles side that featured Dougie Freedman, Ben Watson, Paul Ifill and Jose Fonte had no problems in despatching the Clowns by three goals to one, the last scored with an overhead kick by the promising-looking Kieran Djilali. The England game, on the other hand, was horrifying. Defeat seemed likely until Joe Cole struck in the dying throes after a goalmouth scramble to level the score at 2-2, but the result flattered England and their keeper David ‘Calamity’ James. Mr Capello will **not** be happy when he reads this morning’s papers.
I, on the other hand, am chuffed beyond belief. A courier has just delivered a couple of copies of Black Sabbath’s ‘The Rules Of Hell’, a lavish five-disc box of the band’s years spent with Ronnie James Dio on vocals. Rhino Records commissioned four different writers to compose new essays about each album. I was thrilled to see my notes on ‘Heaven And Hell’, my old mate Steffan Chirazi having waxed lyrical over ‘Live Evil’, and Classic Rock/Metal Hammer publisher Chris Ingham enthusing over ‘Dehumanizer’ (for the record, Bryan Reesman covered ‘Mob Rules’). The individual albums don’t offer bonus material but by Christ the packaging is spectacular, fully befitting such iconic releases.
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Tuesday 19th August
At last. The new It Bites album, 'The Tall Ships', is here. Though Francis Dunnery doesn't play on it, it's as good as I had dared to hope it would be. A big thumbs up to John Mitchell for managing to recreate the band's signature sound. Haven't stopped playing the darned thing since it dropped onto the mat, and daresay I won't be doing so anytime soon.
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Monday 18th August
Phew, I arrived home from Bloodstock in the early hours of yesterday morning. The weather wasn't exactly kind, but some great bands played and (barring one major consideration) I was bowled over by the organisation and facilities at Catton Hall, the fans that attended, the convivial nature of the staff and the festival's immense potential. Sadly, we arrived too late to see Praying Mantis, who'd played at around midday on the Friday. In fact, I'd been on site for just a couple of hours before bumping into Blaze Bayley. Considering Bayley has called me a "crap journalist" and claimed that I'm trying to kill his career, even writing a song about me (no, it wasn't called 'Get In The Ling'!), there was the possibility that it might've got nasty. In the end it was plain awkward; he didn't want to talk to me, nor I him, but as we literally walked into one another a veneer of politeness seemed wholly appropriate, and I'm glad I was able to tell him that I hope his wife gets better soon.
I'd been asked to interview several artistes over the weekend, which made watching bands difficult. So if I missed anyone's favourite, my apologies; I was probably running around with a tape recorder in hand.
Soulfly and Helloween both turned in tremendous sets, but Opeth were the weekend's star attraction for yours truly. So it's a shame that a pitiful front of house sound rendered Mikael Åkerfeldt's singing all but inaudible for three quarters of their slot. Things finally came together for 'Wreath', and the show closed in fine style with the new album's 'Heir Apparent' and an encore of 'The Drapery Falls', but to say I was disappointed by the festival's anticipated highlight would be an understatement.
My beloved Palace lost 2-0 away at Preston on Saturday, which made me glad that I resisted the temptation to make the long haul to Deepdale.
The first band to really catch my attention were Swallow The Sun, a bunch of young Finns whose melodic doom is swathed in symphonic beauty. Napalm Death absolutely tore the place apart, despite the threat of a downpour finally becoming reality. As rainclouds turned to twilight, Iced Earth sent Bloodstock barmy. Truthfully, I preferred them with Tim 'Ripper' Owen on vocals, but they've certainly amassed a wondrous catalogue of songs. The need to eat and sink a few well-deserved shandies had taken over by the time headliners Dimmu Borgir arrived with a small mountain of pyrotechnics and a big attitude. Post-show, a posse of pissed-up Metal Hammer folk invaded a huge beer tent which offered the opportunity to drink a yard of ale whilst being 'serenaded' by metal karaoke contestants. As they didn't seem to have any FM, Styx or Boston, I kept my gob firmly shut though I must publicly register my admiration for Hammer editor Alex Milas, who showed excellent leadership qualities by sinking his ale without depositing any of it on the floor, unlike Velvet Revolver's gregarious PR man Duff Battye.
There was plenty of waiting around the following morning, as hangovers were nursed. Laying on my hotel room bed I laughed aloud at Fireworks magazine's review of Sweden Rock. Like myself, their representative Phil Ashcroft had been less than impressed by Poison. "By the time the band finished we were watching from the car," admitted Phil, adding: "I should have put the radio on and closed the windows." Harsh but fair!
Heaven's Basement were done by the time we arrived, which was annoying. However, the comedy buccaneer metal of Alestorm, who played a song that began with the words "Many years ago in a faraway land/I met an old man with a hook for a hand", was pretty amusing for a while and they went down unbelievably well with the crowd, many of whom had brought along Jolly Roger banners and waved plastic cutlasses in the sky. I enjoyed Grand Magus (as ever) and Mob Rules made an encouraging debut on UK soil, but with persistent showers causing mud to build up I was happy to be engaged in backstage interview duties. Talking of mud, the sound mix mysteriously improved on Saturday. Thankfully, it was almost acceptable by the time that Sunday came around. Not that the thoroughly unexceptional Over Kill were anything to write home about. Performing their last gig on UK soil, the reunited At The Gates were thoroughly awesome; well worth getting soaked to the skin and moshed upon to have witnessed. With a long drive home to London, the consensus was that we should leave before the end of headliners Nightwish. It was something of a wrench, as Anette Olzon now seems to have integrated perfectly into the band, who put on the most convincing display I've seen so far from their revamped line-up.
My verdict on Bloodstock as a first-time attendee? Well, it certainly made Download look pretty lamentable. If they put in a decent sound system next year then just watch it go from strength to strength.
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Friday 15th August
Don’t expect any updates for a few days, I’m off to see Opeth, Nightwish, At The Gates, Iced Earth, Napalm Death, Helloween and many more at the Bloodstock Festival.
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Thursday 14th August
“Good evening and welcome to… is it Dingbats? No, Dingwalls,” announced singer Harry Harrison. “We’re Witchfynde from Mansfield for those that might not be familiar with us - you fookin’ should be, we’ve been going for long enough.” Indeed, I first saw Witchfynde opening for Def Leppard at the Marquee Club, which should give you an indication. Still galvanised by guitarist Montalo, they did a darned good job as a warm-up act, including just one song, ‘Holy Ground’, from current album ‘Play It To Death’, and filling the rest of their 50 minutes with ‘Ready To Roll’, ‘Stagefright’, ‘Moon Magic’, ‘Getting’ Heavy’, ‘Cloak And Dagger’, ‘Leaving Nadir’, ‘Stab In The Back’ and the precious metal of ‘Give ’Em Hell’. I loved ’em!
The headline act was Diamond Head, who I must confess I’m starting to feel unfeasibly sorry for. As proud as I was to have seen Maiden laying waste to Twickenham, I felt equally gutted for guitarist Brian Tatler and company, who suffered yet another soul-destroyingly modest turnout of around 100 or so. Okay, Sean Harris no longer fronts the band but they still play most of their best songs (‘Sucking My Love’ a glaring omission), Nick Tart interpreting them with gusto. Featuring a wondrous Eastern-flavoured solo, ‘In The Heat Of The Night’ is still one of the most inventive heavy metal songs of all time, and I enjoyed the way they broke things up by injecting a slowed-down, riffed-up version of Peggy Lee’s ‘Fever’ into ‘Play It Loud’. Diamond Head really do deserve better than this. Here’s what they played: ‘Wild On The Streets’, ‘The Prince’, ‘This Planet And Me’, ‘Lightning To The Nations’, ‘Victim’, ‘To The Devil His Due’, ‘In The Heat Of The Night’, ‘Skin On Skin’, ‘Give It To Me’, Medley: ‘It’s Electric’/’Rock ‘N’ Roll Star’, ‘Mine All Mine’, ‘Helpless’ and ‘Am I Evil?’ with encores of: ‘Call Me’, Medley: ‘Play It Loud’/‘Fever’ and ‘Streets Of Gold’.
Before the show I sank a few vodka and Diet Cokes with my friends John Dryland and Dave Craig, the latter of whom had spent the afternoon at the funeral of late Marquee Club deejay Martin Ball (see July 29). We reminisced about great gigs we’d seen in the hallowed Wardour Street sweatbox, also over Ball’s catchphrases, which included: “C’mon, they can’t hear you in the dressing room - make more noise”. Another of these now seems especially apt; “Unfortunately, that’s where we’ve gotta leave it”. RIP Martin.
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Wednesday 13th August
Last night several Championship clubs were knocked out of the League Cup by lower league opposition, Clowntown Pathetic among them (at home to Yeovil - bwa-hahaha!). Luckily, Palace came back from a goal down against plucky Hereford United to ease into the Second Round. My boy Eddie and I were among a paltry crowd of 3,094 as impressive-looking newcomer John Oster, formerly of Everton and Reading, notched the winner early in the second half with what looked suspiciously more like a cross than an actual attempt at goal. But, hey, they all count.
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Tuesday 12th August
I enjoy watching gigs at the Barfly, a real hellhole of a venue in Camden. Last night I returned there for Holy Ghost Revival, a now London-based band from Seattle whose chaotic garage rock has been likened to Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Germs, Queen, Guns N’ Roses, The Darkness and the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I don’t necessarily agree with any of those reference points, but the show was pretty lively - perhaps a little too lively for its own good. It got off to a tremendous start with ‘Embrace The Hate’, the first single from the forthcoming album ‘Twilight Exit’. Conor Kiley is a marvellously engaging frontman, charging into the crowd to mosh furiously with unsuspecting punters, swinging the microphone around his head like a madman (whilst on the dancefloor!!) and generally inciting all sorts of mayhem. However, he’s so energised, and the sound mix was so intent upon emphasizing the quirkiness of his voice during a brief support slot, it was almost impossible to tell whether or not he can actually sing. Call me a stickler, but these things are important! After a liquid-throwing battle with the audience, the show ground to halt for five or six minutes whilst beer was strained from the keyboards. Then, after two more brief numbers, the band simply stopped playing, unplugged and exited stage left. No “thanks”, “goodnight”, “you’ve been a complete bunch of wankers” or anything - fascinating, but a bit like the performance itself, infuriating. No doubt I will see them again.
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Sunday 10th August
So much for the “ding-dong” of a game I predicted. In yesterday’s season-opener, Palace were woeful against a depleted Twatford side that I’m sure most of the division’s top dogs will have no trouble in steamrollering into submission. In fact, although the game ended 0-0 the visitors could and should have taken all three points. We need an experienced striker to feed off James Scowcroft’s knock-downs, and we need him **NOW**.
Anyway, as it’s a beautiful, sunny Sunday morning I’ve been veging-out in the garden again, skimming the latest issue of Led Zeppelin magazine Tight But Loose. As ever, there’s much good stuff to absorb, including the latest reunion tour speculation and a dissection of the almost 60-year-old Robert Plant’s 60 best vocal performances of all time (Percy reaches the big Six-Zero on 20th August), plus part two of Editor Dave Lewis’ press cuttings-through-the-years scrapbook, this time focusing on the years 1972-1975. I particularly enjoyed The Sun’s review of the ‘Physical Graffiti’ album, which in the words of their gobsmacked correspondent was described as: “four sides of raw brutality that would make a musical ensemble comprising Bad Company, Status Quo and the Rolling Stones sound like the Luton Girls’ Choir”.
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Saturday 9th August
What’s not to love about the opening day of the football season? Usually accompanied by shirtsleeves weather, the kick-off of another nine months of the beautiful game brings new hope, new players and this year a brand new kit - a return to the red and blue diagonal sash of the 1970s. Nice. At today’s home game the Eagles will face Twatford, a meritless minnow of a club with the grandest of delusions following a short stint in the top flight, managed by a self-important windbag who seems to believe every word of his own press. On paper it threatens to be a bit of a ding-dong. Neil Warnock predicts a mid-table finish for Palace in a tough-looking division. The bookies disagree; at 12/1, Ladbrokes maintain that only five teams (Brum, QP-Hahaha, Steve Coppell’s Reading, Derby and Sheff Utd) are wiser bets for the title. The greatest thing about supporting Crystal Palace is that it’s never, ever boring. More often than not we will be slugging it out at the top of which ever division we’re in or staring down the barrel of relegation. For me, though, it’s as much about the match-day experience as the result. The 90 minutes of pitch action are crucial, but so is the social aspect; supping with my long-suffering mates before and afterwards, dissecting the game and building things up for the next one. Couldn’t live without it, and would never, ever want to. COME ON YOU EAGLES!!!
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Friday 8th August
Though they kinda lost the plot towards the end of their career (circa 2003), I used to really like Reef. Saw the band many, many times from their earliest club appearances to the days as regulars in the UK Top 20 and mainstays of the festival circuit. So last night I happily accepted an invitation to check out Them Is Me, a relatively new combo formed by ex-singer Gary Stringer and bassist Jack Bessant. The location was hot 'n' intimate; the first of two shows at the Water Rats in London's King's Cross.
Considering I hadn't heard a note of their music beforehand, the band (completed by guitarist Jonas Jalhay and drummer Nathan Curran) really knocked me out. Playing at ear-syringing volume, Bessant's bass technique sounded more combative than ever, while Stringer's voice remains distinctive and powerful. 'Burning Through Black', 'Let The Sun' and the tongue-in-cheek 'Caveman Love' all retain many of Reef's organic qualities, but thrust them into darker, heavier areas. Not everything they played was great, but the band threw everything they had into the performance, Stringer often leaping down in the front rows of the audience, sometimes with Bessant, now sporting lavish facial foliage that any lighthouse keeper would envy, headbanging away at his side. The crowd response alone confirmed my suspicion that Them Is Me will soon be playing far, far bigger gigs.
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Thursday 7th August
Last night the rock ‘n’ roll gods failed to smile upon Nashville Pussy. Despite the fact that the Pussies were ‘special guests’ of a band I’ve no interest in (namely Reverend Horton Heat - rockabilly rubbish), I went along to the Astoria 2 anyway. After a solitary song, ‘Say Something Nasty’, which was curtailed as the power died, it felt as though that decision would be foolhardy. NP had been given an hour-long set, but after the backline went down they retired to the dressing room for 25 minutes, leaving their road crew changing amps, pointing fingers and shrugging their shoulders. By the time the band returned, their time-slot was almost done. Quite rightly, they were mightily pissed off. “This club should get its shit together,” fumed guitarist/singer Blaine Cartwright, “this would not happen anywhere in the States - not even in Indiana.” But you know what? The frustrating circumstances leant an extra feisty edge to material like ‘Piece Of Ass’ and ‘Go Motherfucker Go’, and a newie called ‘I’m So High I’ve Gotta Look Down To See The Sky’ from the forthcoming album, likely to be titled ‘From Hell To Texas’, was right on the money. “Fuck it,” roared Cartwright before roaring through a hot-wired, souped-up rendition of ‘Nutbush City Limits’, “we’re going overtime, they can drag my fat hillbilly ass off this stage!” That’s the spirit…
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Wednesday 6th August
After several months of dipping in and out, a few pages at a time, I've finally finished David Buckley's The Thrill Of It All, a hefty, hardback biography of Bryan Ferry and Roxy Music. I'm not exactly what you'd call a hardcore Roxy-ite, but I think I have just about all of their albums, also Ferry's solo stuff (most of them appropriated from Mrs L, or re-bought on her behalf at record fairs). Buckley has done a good, honest job of narrating their hit 'n' miss story. Largely misses, especially on Ferry's part. Some of those dodgy solo records of his were scarcely worth the quid or two that I shelled for 'em.
P.S. the Playlist, YouTube and Quotes sections have all been updated.
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Tuesday 5th August
There's a towering pile of DVDs by the side of my desk, including the three-disc set of 'When In Rome' by Genesis, Steelheart's 'Still Hard' and the Gong 'Unconvention' show from Amsterdam. I've **really** gotta put some time aside to sit down to watch 'em. Now there's another appealing-looking offering; 'Live At The Firefest IV' by the reunited Valentine. It comes with a whole slew of extras including a bonus live performance from Minneapolis in 1994 recorded during their reincarnation as Open Skyz and a backstage interview (that man Mr Reynolds again.). Hmmm, might just have to buy some popcorn and lock myself into my office for an all-nighter this coming weekend.
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Monday 4th August
Oh wow. the postie just delivered a wonderful surprise - 'On Earth As It Is In Heaven', the third album from US pomp-rock messiahs Angel, in re-mastered form and with a sleeve essay from my good buddy Dave Reynolds, plus track-by-track comments from singer Frank DiMino. Nice work by the fine folk at Lovember Records. Could the same treatment be administered to 'Angel' (1975) and 'Sinful' (1978) before too long? Shame that Geoff Barton leapt in to nab it for review in Classic Rock before I could lay claim.
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Sunday 3rd August
Darn those confounded foxes - for two reasons. First of all, on Friday night one of the flea-ridden things kept coming into our back garden and causing Bob the dog to bark loudly, repeatedly waking up the entire house (and probably the neighbours). Secondly, Leicester City - a club I will hate forever after they beat Palace by a fluke goal in the play-off final at Wembley - are nicknamed the Foxes. Still recovering from sleep deprivation, eldest lad Eddie and I were among the 1,993 diehards at Selhurst to watch the Eagles cross swords with the Foxes (of the blue-shirted variety). The game petered out at 1-1, a top-drawer Victor Moses strike cancelling out City's deserved first-half lead. The visitors have brought in some decent-looking players since being relegated last season and look too good for their division. Although Palace emerged undefeated from their pre-season commitments, it's plain that we will struggle to repeat last term's promotion ambitions without a striker to notch 15-20 goals.
PS. But on a positive note about foxes, I've just received a set of photos from UFO's headlining gig at the Downtown Alive Rocks The Fox festival which was held this weekend on the banks of the Fox River in Aurora, Illinois. UFO had traveled all the way back to Illinois for this single show, opening their set with 'Lights Out' to make it up to the fans who'd been disappointed by their shortened set at Chicago's House Of Blues in April. Judging by these pictures, their apology was gracefully accepted!
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Saturday 2nd August
I’m both amazed and intrigued by a feud that’s escalated between Def Leppard and Poison since the pair shared a bill at Sweden Rock (albeit on different days) earlier this summer. Leppard’s Joe Elliott started the furore, I believe, by castigating bands like Poison, Mötley Crüe and Winger for having “no substance in their music”. Bret Michaels responded by reminding Leppard that they had mimed on US TV, before Elliott pointed out that at least the Leps didn’t hide behind make-up and stage names. Wading into the war of words, Poison drummer Rikki Rocket then upped the stakes by retorting: “I’d be hurt if this were coming from John Lennon. It takes about one minute and 45 seconds to put on eyeliner. I suppose during that same time you were writing the next ‘Imagine’?" A few nights ago, Elliott reportedly fanned the flames during a gig by calling Rockett a “fucking idiot [who has] never seen a good band before”. Now at his MySpace page, Rikki has called Joe out (as the Americans like to say), declaring: “For fuck’s sake. Joe Elliott, king of the power mullet, at this point you need to shut the fuck up! No more talkin’ shit. I’ll give you a choice on how you go down. Arm bar, leg lock, shoulder lock, triangle, back choke or knock out. You pick! Let’s get it on!” Now **that’s** one fight I’d pay to see.