Tuesday 31st May
Last night I attended the latest Hammersmith Apollo show of Yngwie Malmsteen. It was an, er... interesting experience. Despite his website proudly boasting "the London Hammersmith show is now officially SOLD OUT!!!", the balcony was virtually empty. Malmsteen had apparently shed an impressive 40lbs pre-tour, but as somebody at his discussion board posted: "Yngwie looked a hell of a lot slimmer, but [was] certainly far from skinny!". Miaow!
From the outset I'll admit that I'm a fan of Malmsteen's songs, not the soloing and preening that always accompanies them. The almost two-hour set, which began with 'Rising Force' and wound up with Malmsteen violently trashing a guitar during 'I'll See The Light Tonight', was fairly well-chosen and delivered at the usual ear-piercing volume, the red lights of five of his own Marshall stacks occasionally blinking through the dry ice that flooded from the stage. As well as previewing a song ('Revolution') from the forthcoming 'Unleash The Fury' album, we got 'Masquerade', 'Don't Let It End', 'Far Beyond the Sun', 'I Am A Viking', 'Seventh Sign', 'Demon Driver', 'You Don't Remember, I'll Never Forget' and a version of Hendrix's 'Red House'. All were well worth hanging around for, but most were preceded (and in some instances followed by) the type of inane, ego-obsessed widdling that has made Yngwie hated by the critics and fawned over by fans and fellow musicians. Personally, I can stomach it in small doses, but was it really necessary for Malmsteen's singing to be louder than that of his lead vocalist, Dougie White? Is he really that insecure?! The wag to my right who risked life and limb by shouting "You're rubbish, get off" during a rare quiet moment had missed the point, but so did Malmsteen, who could've made the show far more enjoyable by at least looking up the words 'self restraint' in the dictionary beforehand.
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Saturday 28th May
You can't beat sleaze-glam-metal on a Friday night, and I'd been looking forward to seeing San Francisco's Vain again for the first time since their near-legendary 1989 support spot with Skid Row. A two-thirds full Mean Fiddler turned out to experience a feisty and colourful (though perhaps slightly short) 80-minute set. Though somewhat less hairy these days, Vain still entertain way more than most. Puzzlingly, the title track of '89's 'No Respect' album was overlooked, but we still heard a huge chunk of that record ('Secrets', 'Down For The Third Time', 'Who's Watching You', '1,000 Degrees', 'Beat The Bullet' and 'Ready'), plus some decent-sounding stuff from a brand new CD called 'On The Line'. Between them were some of the silliest song intros it had been my pleasure to hear for ages. The best was: "I wanna find an English girl and take her back to the States, just for her accent. It would be so cool to have an English girl say, 'Davy, would you like some bangers and mash?' each day when I get up." The first encore of AC/DC's 'Downpayment Blues' was another inspired moment. Don't leave it another 16 years next time, please...
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Thursday 26th May
There's bad news today. UFO have cancelled their appearance at Derby Rock & Blues on July 30. "Personal problems with the band" are to blame, according to the festival's website. Absolutely gutted. Hotel was booked and everything.
On a happier note, how kind of Martin Darvill, the manager of John Wetton and Geoffry Downes' 'Icon' project, to send me a personally autographed Japanese copy of the rather excellent album. And how appropriate that Mr Downes would inscribe the cover with the message: "To DL - only 10 mins from salvation" (referring, of course, to the last day of the footie season). Sigh... thanks so much for reminding me, mate.
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Wednesday 25th May
Yesterday morning was taken up by a press conference for Umbrello Records, a label launched by Chris Squire of Yes among others, and the alternative satellite TV station THAT TV. Squire's capacity for lateness has become legendary, so it was no surprise that Café Royal attendees sat around well past the 11am start time awaiting the bassist's arrival. With Yes taking some time off ("Jon wants to rest his voice", we learned), word had already crept out that Squire is taking the opportunity to reunite The Syn for an album and US tour. He formed The Syn as a 17-year-old back in 1965 with vocalist Stephen Nardelli. The track 'Cathedral Of Love' bodes well for a debut album that will be issued through Umbrello in time for an American tour that also co-stars Alan White's new band, cunningly called White, and a solo spot from Steve Howe. With Geoff Downes having joined White's band, the three acts will conclude each night by jamming together on 'Drama'-era material. The good news is that Squire revealed the tour will come to Britain after the US jaunt - in October to be precise. Trevor Horn turned up at the press conference, as did Geoff Downes, but there was no sign of the rumoured appearances from Jimmy Page or Bill Wyman (certainly before I left, anyway).
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Wednesday 24th May
Poor old Ginger of The Wildhearts, who's just posted an amazing and tragic diary entry at www.thewildhearts.com. It's way too long to dissect here, but if you care about Ginger or his band - who we must now assume are now well and truly defunct again - then you should take the time to read it. Ginger is his own worst enemy. Christ alone knows why a man of such intelligence would take a drug as dangerous as heroin. I hope he's able to pull his life together again, but it sounds like it'll be a rough ride.
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Sunday 22th May
There's a quite brilliant posting at the CPFC bulletin board (www.cpfc.org) from somebody who's mate bumped into Andy Johnson in the toilets at the Player Of The Year Dinner. Said friend gleefully texted on the details of the conversation. It went as follows:
Mate: "Andy, you going to West Bom?"
AJ: "Am I fuck." Magic!
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Saturday 21st May
Yesterday I took a trip to North London, and the house of Uriah Heep's Mick Box. I'm putting together some sleeve notes for a six-CD boxed set to be released later this year. Its contents will be awesome. Everything you've ever read about Mick is true: he does laugh more than just about anyone else I've ever met, and he has got more brilliant stories than most rock stars. He also collects guitars the way I stockpile crap vinyl albums (latest additions include Justin Hayward & Mike Batt's 'Live With The London Philharmonic' and a solo release from ex-Japan keyboard player Mick Karn called 'Dreams Of Reason Produce Monsters' - I'll get me coat!). After that it was a tube-ride to Shepperton Studios for an interview with ex-Whitesnake and current M3 guitarist Bernie Marsden and the launch party of a new DVD sound stage. In attendance besides Marsden was another of the nicest men in rock, Rick Wakeman, plus a highly inebriated Tony Clarkin and Al Barrow of Magnum. A lovely way to set up the weekend.
By the way, bugger all that magnanimous in defeat stuff about West Bromwich Albion. The Baggies have tendered a £2 million bid for Andy Johnson, with hapless dwarf donut Robert Earnshaw added as part exchange. After a team of paramedics had sewn up my sides, the full offensiness dawned. Choice responses at the CPFC Bulletin Board included: "Bryan Robson is back on the sauce, then", and "They wouldn't even get AJ's autograph for 2 million, let alone his goals." Too true.
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Friday 20th May
Now more than ever before, Europe have an image problem. Last night they played a frustrating gig at a half-full (or half-empty?) Astoria. Alas, Joey Tempest and chums are in denial of their past. I salute them for their bravery, but although their comeback material - 'Got To Have Faith', 'America', 'Hero', 'Wake Up Call', 'Flames' and the title track 'Start From The Dark' - is outstanding, modern hard rock in the Audioslave vein, few save the first few rows seemed to know it. And the reaction to Tempest's solo acoustic renditions of 'Open Your Heart' and 'Carrie' confirmed these were the songs the Astoria really wanted to hear. Golden oldies 'Seven Doors Hotel' and 'Wings Of Tomorrow' (from the first and second albums) also appeared largely unknown to a crowd that was still stuck defiantly in 1987. With just one song ('Girl From Lebanon') and a B-side ('Yesterday's News') culled from my all-time favourite Europe album, 1991's must-own 'Prisoners In Paradise', the Swedes even alienated those that got into them post-'The Final Countdown'. At least the rest of the set - which included 'Ready Or Not', 'Superstitious', 'Sign Of The Times', 'Rock The Night' and 'Cherokee', plus the inevitable '...Countdown' - hit the spot to perfection. But I headed home under the distinct impression that I'm unlikely to see Europe on stage again. I hope I'm wrong.
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Thursday 19th May
After such a downbeat week, it was fun to kick back at last night's Roadrunner Records Roadrage gig. Three excellent metal bands and a huge, fired-up crowd at the Garage. Still Remains aren't yet as good as their mighty debut album 'Of Love And Lunacy', but it's early days for the Michigan bruisers, whose performance was still worth a solid seven out of 10. Perhaps the best band of the evening, 3 Inches Of Blood really upped the stakes with some amazing old school-influenced hardcore, and even a song called 'Destroy The Orcs'. And as for headliners Trivium, how could a group that look so fresh behind the ears play with such confidence and ability? Their end-of-set covers were also pretty amazing; a great instrumental version of Maiden's 'The Trooper' (the crowd supplying vocals!), Metallica's 'Master Of Puppets' and a snippet of 'Walk' by Pantera. Awesome.
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Wednesday 18th May
One of my favourite web portals is the Soapbox area of www.brianmay.com, at which Queen guitarist May gets hot under the collar about a variety of issues. Given Brian's reputation as a slightly stuffy gentleman of rock, it's great to see him losing his rag. Among the latest bees to land in his bonnet is London's bid for the 2012 Olympics. "I'd like to know who's paying for all this advertising I see all around London, calling for us to 'Support the Bid' - why?" fumes May in an almost apoplectic posting that followed a tirade about London's Wembley Arena Pavilion. "Do I want the Olympics here? Hell no. Did anyone ask us, fellow Londoners, if we wanted this? I don't think so. [It's] another arrogance of the Ken Livingstone regime. How about instead, spending our money on building a decent venue for Rock music?" Go Bri... I'm with you all the way, mate! Let the Froggies have the Olympics, and pay for them (if they're not on strike that day, of course).
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Tuesday 17th May
I'm gradually coming to terms with last weekend's events. A little perspective was already arriving after the Southampton game. Chatting with my friend John Dryland, a Wimbledon fan, before the Soul SirkUS gig, I realised that at least I've still got a club to support. Later that week I saw a documentary about the Tsunami that made relegation from the Premiership seem pretty inconsequential. My own mother has been having health problems. These things make you get things in proportion.
Eagles midfielder Aki Riihilahti has also written an excellent article for The Times. It covers not only CPFC's return to the lower leagues, but the pain he felt at his grandfather's funeral. "Many times a picture came in my head that I would score the winning goal to keep us in the Barclays Premiership," wrote Riihilahti. "I was the hero. I had that picture again when I came on as a 90th minute substitute. It didn’t happen. I'd have done anything for us to stay up. I’ve been crying a lot since yesterday. Everyone will experience adversity, and meet grief and sorrow in life. You can look back, though, and see if you’ve given it your best go." Aki concludes proudly: "Palace will always bounce back. And God will bless my grandfather." Top man.
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Monday 16th May
Yesterday was yet another of those 'so near but yet so far' experiences that Palace fans have now become used to. Everyone - including myself - had expected Norwich, with their fate in their own hands and on a decent run of form, to scramble clear of the relegation trapdoor. Instead the Canaries capitulated, somewhat hilariously, by six goals to Fulham. I went to a bar in Beckenham to watch the Charlton-Palace game, and in the early stages it seemed possible that Dowie's men would achieve a priceless win. However, with the linesman napping, the home team scored a clearly offside goal with their sole attack of the first half. Dougie Freedman levelled and Andrew Johnson held his nerve to net a penalty (though the ref failed to send off the offending Charlton player for handball), and the Eagles seemed to have clawed their way back into mathematical safety. However, just like the previous week it was all to end in tears. With just eight minutes on the clock, cataclysmically bad defending from a set-piece allowed the home team to deliver a hammer blow (naturally, it was the player who should have been sent off that scored), and West Brom's dream of survival came true.
Although I despise their manager Bryan Robson (hatred is mandatory for all of a certain era that wore the smug Mancunian red), I bear the Baggies no ill will. They played well every time I watched them on TV, and except for Aki Riihilahti's late strike for Palace at the Hawthornes they certainly didn't leak stupid, crucial goals under pressure. I lost count of the times Palace's net rippled while the clock ticked down (Southampton home, Charlton away, Liverpool away... the list goes on. In fact, Dowie's men conceded no less than 18 goals between the 75th and 90th minutes during the season).
On the whole, however, Crystal Palace's efforts must be commended. Dismissed from the off by the pundits as relegation certainties, we took it right to the last match, playing much of the season with a teenager (Tom Soares) who earned £350 per week running our midfield. Despite buying nobody in the transfer window, we still beat Liverpool and matched Arsenal, Newcastle and Man United. And let us not forget that when Dowie took over, the Eagles were staring relegation to Division Two in the face. Iain deserves football's equivalent of a Sainthood for the way he has transformed the club's fortunes, and I'm already anticipating next season's display of Bouncebackability.
Oh yeah... to all those that emailed or texted, thanks for the messages of consolation. And to the industry 'colleague' (read: TWO-FACED TWAT) who sent a text saying: "ha ha ha ha ha" then tried to claim it went to the wrong recipient, you'll get yours some day. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and when least expected.
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Friday 13th May
You gotta love Iain Dowie. With so much hanging on Palace's last game of the season, his way of relieving the tension is to make the squad play cricket instead of football, even taking the liberty of despatching Andy Johnson's bowling to the boundary. “I hit a marvellous six,” Dowie proudly told reporters. “It was a poor delivery.” Those same press men asked whether the club are capable of staying up. His response: “We will. That’s what I believe. As a manager, I have to. I’m in Miracle On 34th Street. You’ve seen the film, that’s me. I believe in Father Christmas.” Whatever happens on Sunday, I'm proud of Iain and his staff and players. Back to the nail-biting.
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Thursday 12th May
A very happy birthday to my eldest son, Eddie. Eight years old today. Who'da thunk it?!
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Tuesday 10th May
Last night I was among a few hundred people to experience a so-so performance by melodic rock supergroup Soul SirkUS. Sadly, while the band's debut album, 'World Play', is a delight, their live show is mediocre. Jeff Scott Soto is a powerhouse vocalist and an engaging personaility, while Journey guitarist Neal Schon is of course nothing less than a living legend. However, the quartet's bizarre mixture of cover versions, extended jamming and superfluous solos - not to mention bassist Marco Mendoza's cringeworthy 'human beat box' impression - just didn't gel. Worse still, the lowly attendance and lukewarm reaction don't bode too well for the UK appearance(s?) that Schon has been promising as promotion for Journey's forthcoming 'Generations' album.
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Monday 9th May
Yesterday evening, still licking my wounds, I went to Koko (formerly the Camden Palace) to check out a Metal Hammer-sponsored gig by Testament. The legendary San Franciso thrashers had reunited their classic line-up, and the venue was absolutely packed to the rafters with screaming, beer-guzzling, devil horn-wielding, hairy loonies. The quintet's performance was little short of brilliant. As well as shooting a DVD of the event, Testament are apparently planning a new studio album; if they're able to recreate such mighty, timeless intensity on CD, they'll find themselves back in contention again.
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Sunday 8th May
In Crystal Palace I support a club that's gone up and down more time than Abi Titmus' cervix, but was still left distraught by yesterday's game against Southamtpon. We were effectively 90 seconds from safety before conceding an injury time equaliser. Having played well enough to take the three necessary points, led the game twice and been pegged back on both occassions, it felt like the proverbial kick in the teeth. The Selhurst fans can be proud of themselves - the atmosphere, especially at the start, was incredible. It's still mathemematically possible for us to stay up, but Norwich appear to be holding their nerve. All power to them; everyone believed they were down and they've worked hard to confound the sceptics. The only satisfying thing is that we'll probably take Southampton with us... what a ragbag team of thugs, misfits and misplaced egos. For them, relegation has been long overdue. So it's Luton and Hull instead of Liverpool and Highbury for both of us next year. For now I'll avoid the subject of whether Messrs Dowie and Johnson will be along for the ride. But at least we'll be able to get hold of tickets and avoid being charged £6.50 for a hotdog. We also get six easy points from Broken And Homeless Albion. Bring it on, pillowbiters.

After such a bitter blow, the hardest thing is to pick yourself up and carry on with everyday life. Even on a Sunday, I've got work to get on with and a gig to attend tonight. Previously in the face of such disappointment I've just gone out on a weekend-long bender. With kids and responsibilities that's now impossible. Being told it's "just a game" now makes me want to scream or lash out. But I can't. Yeah, I know it's an illogical reaction.

But here's the thing: In an hour or two, the Ling family are going to the Copers Cope Road training ground to cheer on our friend's son, Jamie O'Connell, who's playing in goal for Palace against the Southampton juniors. I will wear my red and blue stripes with pride. That's what being a true supporter is all about.
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Saturday 7th May
It's here... D-Day. Shit or get off the Goddamned pot, baybeeeeeeee! Truth told, I'm absolutely cacking myself. Win, lose or draw it's gotta be a night of 1,000 pints (with cherry brandy depthcharges). Fearing a bout of pre-match insomnia, I went to see Van Der Graaf Generator's reunion gig at Royal Festival Hall. Only kidding, they were amazing. Fans from 27 different countries had congregated to see the art-rock icons play their first full-length gig in almost 30 years. For two hours and 10 minuntes they took us to another musical dimension, leaving lucky ticket-holders in a mixture of raucous appreciation and hushed disblief. A wondrous evening.
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Friday 6th May
D-Day minus 24 hours. We have a 'new' Labour government. That they've been re-elected says more about the pitiful opposition than the faded credibility of Tony Blair. I almost didn't bother voting.
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Thursday 5th May
D-Day minus 48 hours. Went to the Underworld again last night for a gig by Finntroll, Naglfar and Amoral. The headliners were quite spellbinding; an extreme metal band German bierkeller oompah-oompah interludes and Captain Pugwash-style affectations. Songs sung in Swedish, too, but awesome all the same.
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Wednesday 4th May
It's now D-Day minus 72 hours. Last night I went to the Garage for my first live experience of Silver Sun, a band whose records I've enjoyed since 1997. Unfortunately, it wasn't completely satisfying. At their best, the four-piece sound like a glorious amalgam of Cheap Trick, The Wildhearts and the Pixies, with the harmonies of the Beach Boys added for good measure. They've got several of those songs, including a joyous finale of 'I'll See You Around'. However, they also have tunes that bore me rigid. And the problem won't go away. Two brand new songs were debuted; one magnificent ('See You In My Dreams'), the other an aural cul-de-sac which may have been called 'Warning Sign' that they had no business inflicting upon us.
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Tuesday 3rd May
Eeek... D-Day minus 96 hours. Here's another of those things that I thought I'd never, ever type... thank God for Arsenal! Last night the Gunners beat West Brom 2-0 in a game that the Baggies deserved at least a point from. It prevented the Midlanders from leapfrogging above Palace. If I hadn't heard all those disgusting rumours about Arsene Wenger, I'd have kissed the slimy Frenchman. Only on the cheek, mind. And with another male in the room.
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Monday 2nd May
The countdown to the Southampton game begins in earnest. It's now D-Day minus 120 hours, and already the tension is taking hold. In the evening I had a short chat on the phone with Sebastian Bach. Love him or hate him, what a funny guy. I was still laughing two hours later at some of the things he said.
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Sunday 1st May
Still rejoicing at the hard-earned point Palace took home from St James Park. It sets up a whopper of a game on Saturday. At home to Southampton - winner takes all. My nerves are completely shredded just thinking about it. Afterwards I went to the Mean Fiddler for a solo gig from Dream Theater's James LaBrie. Sadly, the venue was only around a third full - shocking when one considers DT's immense popularity - but the poor attendance didn't affect a gruelling yet fascinating two-hour show. Mixing Mullmuzzler material with tracks from his solo debut 'Elements Of Persuasion', LaBrie studiously ignored the Dream Theater catalogue but was in fine voice and backed by a highly proficient group.

On the train home I began delving into a Q magazine special on Ozzy Osbourne, kindly sent by my friend Mark Blake (who works for Q and put it together). It's a lively, thorough read that I'd recommend to any Ozzy/Black Sabbath fan. Aside from Ozzy offering an olive branch to his nemesis Ronnie James Dio ("I've had to apologise to a lot of people, maybe I should add Ronnie to the list"), the best bit so far is Osbourne's recollection of the time Sabbath played to a 90 per cent black audience, who'd been under the misapprehension they were negroes. I quote: "In between the songs you could hear a fly fart. This c**t shouts to me, 'Hey, Black Sabbath - you guys ain't black!' What do you say to that?" What indeed.

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