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Where have all the flowers gone?
Feb. 13th, 2006 08:34 amI transferred another video tape to DVD yesterday. Well, that isn't true; I just transferred a couple of programmes. The old recordings of Frasier, Friends, Cheers and the like can, I fear, head to the bin.
The two programmes that I did shift over were "Message of Love", a film of the 1970 Isle of Wight pop festival, and "Pennis Pops Out", remarkable for being the only TV appearance I know of where Pete Wylie is backed by Mick Jones (once of the Clash, later the producer of the Libertines, and currently under investigation for alleged heroin abuse, I understand). I'm sure that there are other TV clips out there, but I haven't seen them.
"Message Of Love" was an excellent film of a festival, focusing as much on the backstage shenanigans as on the music. They say that Monterey was where the hippie dream died, but in the UK it was probably the Isle of Wight Festival. Already the serious druggies of the 1960s counterculture were showing signs that their brains were well on the way to being completely fried (one guy wandered up onto the stage, looking not a little like Charles Manson, intent on talking to Joni Mitchell, whom he later claimed was a good friend of his, solely on the grounds that he knew the lyrics to her songs).
And the idealistic "entrepreneur" Ricki Farr struggled with the rather boring point that, despite the idealism, lots of people organizing the gig wanted to get paid, and lots of people coming to the gig didn't see why they should pay anything.
This led to Kris Kristofferson attempting to play while rampaging hordes at the gates battered at a corrugated iron fence. Eventually he walked off.
Keen observers of the programme might notice that the vast majority of those who saw no reason to pay weren't from England, let alone the Isle of Wight. Old-timers at ManorCon will record the days of French and Swedish groups arriving, apparently intent on spending no more than five quid between them for the entire weekend. Never at the bar, six to a room, and heavens knows what for food, as they played Diplomacy game after Diplomacy game. Well, if that's your idea of fun.
Similarly, many of the "non-payers" at the IOW festival seemed to be from the continental mainland. Why did this irritate me? I don't know.
++++
The sideburned Pete Wylie, in the 1995 incarnation Wah! Now!, performed a couple of tracks, including Story of the Blues, and showed that he really was one of the great lost talents of late 1970s Liverpool. That he can be less famous than talentless fuck Pete Burns, who was of the same generation and origins, shows the power of loud dress and botoxed lips compared with innate talent.
Which reminds me, did I tell you about the dealer in the Wynn who had just had her face botoxed before coming on shift? It was almost farcical. She was actually incapable of moving her face, meaning that everything she said made it seem as if she were at a ventriloquist audition, but that she had forgotten to bring her dummy.
++++
Rewatching the third series of Homicide, Life on the Streets, just confirms that this was perhaps the finest police series ever made. Last night's episode featured the 14-year-old who popped another kid in a bowling alley, but assumed that he would be let off, because he shot the wrong kid. "Man, that don't count. When am I goin' home?"
Drama, humour, brilliant acting,great plotting, and a superb soundtrack. What more can you want?
The two programmes that I did shift over were "Message of Love", a film of the 1970 Isle of Wight pop festival, and "Pennis Pops Out", remarkable for being the only TV appearance I know of where Pete Wylie is backed by Mick Jones (once of the Clash, later the producer of the Libertines, and currently under investigation for alleged heroin abuse, I understand). I'm sure that there are other TV clips out there, but I haven't seen them.
"Message Of Love" was an excellent film of a festival, focusing as much on the backstage shenanigans as on the music. They say that Monterey was where the hippie dream died, but in the UK it was probably the Isle of Wight Festival. Already the serious druggies of the 1960s counterculture were showing signs that their brains were well on the way to being completely fried (one guy wandered up onto the stage, looking not a little like Charles Manson, intent on talking to Joni Mitchell, whom he later claimed was a good friend of his, solely on the grounds that he knew the lyrics to her songs).
And the idealistic "entrepreneur" Ricki Farr struggled with the rather boring point that, despite the idealism, lots of people organizing the gig wanted to get paid, and lots of people coming to the gig didn't see why they should pay anything.
This led to Kris Kristofferson attempting to play while rampaging hordes at the gates battered at a corrugated iron fence. Eventually he walked off.
Keen observers of the programme might notice that the vast majority of those who saw no reason to pay weren't from England, let alone the Isle of Wight. Old-timers at ManorCon will record the days of French and Swedish groups arriving, apparently intent on spending no more than five quid between them for the entire weekend. Never at the bar, six to a room, and heavens knows what for food, as they played Diplomacy game after Diplomacy game. Well, if that's your idea of fun.
Similarly, many of the "non-payers" at the IOW festival seemed to be from the continental mainland. Why did this irritate me? I don't know.
++++
The sideburned Pete Wylie, in the 1995 incarnation Wah! Now!, performed a couple of tracks, including Story of the Blues, and showed that he really was one of the great lost talents of late 1970s Liverpool. That he can be less famous than talentless fuck Pete Burns, who was of the same generation and origins, shows the power of loud dress and botoxed lips compared with innate talent.
Which reminds me, did I tell you about the dealer in the Wynn who had just had her face botoxed before coming on shift? It was almost farcical. She was actually incapable of moving her face, meaning that everything she said made it seem as if she were at a ventriloquist audition, but that she had forgotten to bring her dummy.
++++
Rewatching the third series of Homicide, Life on the Streets, just confirms that this was perhaps the finest police series ever made. Last night's episode featured the 14-year-old who popped another kid in a bowling alley, but assumed that he would be let off, because he shot the wrong kid. "Man, that don't count. When am I goin' home?"
Drama, humour, brilliant acting,great plotting, and a superb soundtrack. What more can you want?
