Mark E Smith: No More Mr Cranky

Mark E Smith is dead.  I was quite taken aback.

Thus The Fall is no more.  A band whose only constant was Smith, over a period of 40 years there were, at last count, 66 other members, a third of whom lasted less than a year.  Smith famously said "if it's me and your granny on bongos, it's The Fall".  Or, as a recent reviewer said, it's "Mark E Smith and whoever he's barking orders at".

The music was harsh, challenging, rambling, sometimes discordant, always distinctive, sometimes even pleasant.

One of the few bands I've seen in three different countries, I was fortunate not to see them when he had his back to the audience the whole time.  Apparently.  These days, the only albums I have of theirs are Bend Sinister, Infotainment Scam, Extricate, the A-Sides compilation and, hopefully still findable, Slates.  There's a lot to like if you persist, but my personal favourite is Domesday Pay-Off, a rejigged Bend Sinister that excludes Dktr Faustus and Bournemouth Runner, but adds singles There's a Ghost In My House and Hey! Luciani.  Look for the tracks R.O.D., Gross Chapel and Riddler.

My current album favourites are Slates, Bend Sinister and Extricate.  All have much to recommend, but there's so much catalog (31 studio albums) you'll always find something to like.

The cause of death has not been stated, but it's probably due to long years of drinking and smoking.  And crankiness, no doubt.  The above reviewer's characterisation of Smith/the Fall was:

"a shambolic artist whose astonishing productivity, creative restlessness, and utter disdain for the niceties of civil society know no bounds. This is Mark E. Smith’s lawn, and we’re all invited to get the fuck off of it."

Music Trivia: death of a Very Select Cohort

We should note the passing of a whole cohort in just the small end of this year.

Is your name Peter?  Did you release a single called You’re A Lady in 1972?  You wrote the song?  Well, the year’s not far out yet, but you’re already dead.

Peter Skellern?  His song was big at the time.  Slow, gentle, loads of sugary choir brass.  Died 17^th of February, 2017.

Peter Sarstedt?  He wrote and released one too.  Big flop, though.  For that crime, apparently fated to die slightly earlier: 8^th of January, 2017.

I guess Sarstedt’s legacy is more enduring though, even if his version was deservedly ignored.  Although both Peters only had 1 ½ hits, Sarstedt’s Where Do You Go To, My Lovely? was bigger, and arguably more enduring and endearing.

Sarstedt had a brother called Clive, who had a British hit in 1976 as Robin Sarstedt, with My Resistance Is Low.  Before that, Robin recorded as Clive Sands.  After that, he recorded as Clive Sarstedt (all of which begs a few questions…)  In between, the Sarstedt Brothers (with Rick aboard too) released a single, Chinese Restaurant (1973).  Also sank, so leaden that I haven’t even heard it myself.

But I digress.

If you’re Peter, and you released such a single at such a time, you’re dead already.  Of a brain-related ailment.  Both these Peters did.  Shows what happens if you get too close to that confluence of events.  Forty five years later it will get you, the hideous finger of fate - for those with a skerrick of superstition.

Barely worth noting, but Wikipedia claims the Sarstedt song is a cover of the Skellern song.  It’s not.  You may wish to correct it, but what does it matter in this post-fact world that Sarstedt’s release is, by comparison, a fake?

Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1927 - 2014)

The bright side of the death of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Colombian writer and Nobel Prize winner, is that it will stimulate interest in him and his works.

In reporting the event, the BBC read out the first sentence from his masterpiece One Hundred Years of Solitude:

"Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice".

But it's the last sentence of the book I remember... however, quoting it may be something of a spoiler - as would revealing the fate of the Colonel before the firing squad.  For me, the last moments of the book were an unanticipated but satisfying finale.  Read it yourself, you may not agree.

Although it's been seen as a historical allegory, Garcia Marquez says he actually wrote One Hundred Years of Solitude to leave a literary picture of his childhood, which "was spent in a large, very sad house with a sister who ate earth, a grandmother who prophesied the future, and countless relatives of the same name who never made much distinction between happiness and insanity".

From such springs the seeds of the "magical realism" genre of literature.

he also said that if he'd let the colonel in the story take power, he would have ended up writing The Autumn of the Patriarch instead - which, clearly, he did do later.  A worthy companion book.

The BBC also noted with a faint whiff of distaste that Garcia Marquez was friends with Fidel Castro.  Yes he was, and he defended the revolution despite what he termed the ups and downs he had with both Cuba and communists more generally.  His achievements on human rights have been downplayed, perhaps because the work he has done has been subtle, behind the scenes.

I include in the photo the book that for me most brings to mind the magic/realism of Garcia Marquez: The Mule's Foal, by Fotini Epanomitis, an Australian of Greek heritage who sadly never wrote another book.  Although grounded in a Greek village, its humour and surrealism sometimes threatens to overshadow Garcia Marquez.  Seek it out too.

2010 Obituaries: Solomon Burke, Joan Sutherland, and others

Notable departures in 2010:

Solomon Burke, 1960s US R'n'B singer: Notable for songs like Everybody Needs Somebody To Love and Shake Your Tailfeather.  Surprisingly, he held a record for the most US Top 40 singles without hitting the top 20 (see Joel Whitburn).  And he had a career revival a few years ago, with his star-studded Don't Give Up On Us album.  But his best legacy is his live shows.  In Sydney a few years ago, he didn't move from a centre-stage throne.  But he gave us a truly wonderful secular gospel experience, one of the best concerts I've ever been to - an inspiring demonstration of the spiritual unencumbered by religion.  He will not be forgotten for that.

Joan Sutherland,  Australian opera singer: some say one of the best of the 20th century.  I can't say I've taken enough time to appreciate her, but what little I've heard gives me some indication why she was so warmly regarded.


Richard Holbrooke: Abrasive US diplomat who was, nonetheless, widely praised for his intelligence and abilities.  A notable example of his success was peace in the Balkans.

Tony Curtis, US actor. A significant presence in the 1950s.  Of the films he appeared in, easily my favourite is the biting film noir Sweet Smell Of Success.  Seek it out.


Leslie Neilsen, Canadian-born Hollywood actor: has a successful later career in comedy films such as Naked Gun.  Others put the words into his mouth, but his straight delivery was his own: simply marvellous.


Teddy Pendergrass, 1970s US R'n'B singer: must get a mention for his so-soulful lead vocals on all the hits by Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, including  If You Don't Know Me By Now, The Love I Lost, and Wake Up Everybody.

Peter Graves: An icon of the 1960s tv series Mission Impossible.  It wouldn't be the same without his Jim Phelps.

Others that could round out a 10 include J D Salinger, Lena Horne, and Dennis Hopper.


One apparent demise in 2010 that will not be missed: people now seem to be saying twenty-ten, twenty-oh-nine, etc, instead of two-thousand-and-ten, two-thousand-and-nine.  Once again, I'm no longer out of step with the mainstream. :)

arrivederci Antonioni

Two down, 49,998 to go. Filmmakers beware!

First it was Bergman, now it's Michelangelo Antonioni. They were roughly contemporaries, although Bergman's influence on English language cinema was more indirect, whereas Antonioni made films in both England and the USA.

Blowup was filmed in England, with David Hemmings wandering listlessly through late 1960s London, observing without ultimately seeming to have much effect on anything. Fashion, murder, Yardbirds, Vanessa Redgrave undressed, and an invisible tennis game, and he's back where he started, perhaps wondering what he has achieved, apparently musing on what is real, what is not, and what can't be proved.

Zabriskie Point, set in the USA, was either too long ago or not sufficiently memorable for me, although I do recall a young couple wandering aimlessly around, then rolling in the sand. Then a house blew up. I might not be doing this film justice, but it's certainly not as high in the pantheon as Blowup, or a later film, The Passenger.

In that film, Jack Nicholson... wandered aimlessly throughout Spain. Languid, but harried.

Of the Antonioni films I've seen, the silent, lingering shot figured frequently. Unsurprisingly, one of his frequent themes is said to be a general purposelessness in the protagonist. Their ultimate effect is more of a mood than a plot, and they do that pretty well.

Blowup (titled from Hemmings' photographer who does greatly enlarge his pictures at one point, seeking answers that are ultimately withdrawn) was remade in the US as Blowout, a Hollywoodish admixture of Blowup and Chappaquiddick, focused on a tyre's blowout. The plot was given greater definition at the expense of mood and contemplation.

Which, to turn that last sentence around, is perhaps a reasonable approach to Antonioni's work.

Bye bye Bergman

Ingmar Bergman died today.

I've only seen a handful of this highly-influential director's films, but they are memorable, and densely-packed with imagery and allegory.

He himself was very interesting to listen to. At a film festival a few years ago, I saw a documentary interview with him (possibly Intermezzo), which was riveting, despite - or because of - the minimalist cinematic style, which consisted of little more than his talking head.

Of course, the films of his that I found most rewarding - and layered - were those around the late 50s to early 60s. Most notable, of course, was The Seventh Seal, in which a knight traversed a countryside at a time of severe plague. The scene in which the knight played a game of chess with death personified is one of the most memorable in the lexicon of cinema, oft-quoted - and -parodied.

Given my low tolerance for existentialism, that film is surprisingly captivating for me. One of the few that I could watch several times, to continue to extract nuance.

"I wonder if I'll end up like Bernie in his dream
A displaced person in some foreign border town
Waiting for a train part hope part myth
While the station changes hands
Or just sitting at home growing tenser with the times
Or like that guy in "The Seventh Seal"
Watching the newly dead dance across the hills..."

Bruce Cockburn, How I spent My Fall Vacation

World: If you've never heard the music of... Ali Farka Toure

I have to note the death of Ali Farka Toure. A musician from Mali in western Africa, his style of electric guitar - unique to my ear - was a very special blend of african and western.

He started with traditional Mali stringed instruments, but got a western guitar when he was 18. He was influenced by american blues and R&B music, such as Albert King and Otis Redding. He won two grammies in the past 10-odd years, the first a collaboration with Ry Cooder.

If I'd never heard anything more, I would still sing his praises on the basis of the first track I ever heard from him, the wonderfully sublime Karaw from 1992's The Source. As it is, I'm glad there's a lot more for me still to explore.

He was 66 or 69 when he died (depending on sources), and the mayor of his town.