Category: Archive

Anyone who has spent perhaps half an hour with me is probably aware of my love for Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, and would thus be privy to the knowledge that I admire greatly the songwriting talents of Bob Gaudio. As well as this, they would probably have also been an audience to my expressed love for the film/musical Jersey Boys. 

So, bearing all of that in mind, having shed the shackles of my final A Level exams, I toddled off with my mother to Hippodrome Casino in Leicester Square on my first outing as a free woman to attend the UK concert debut of Erich Bergen. VIP seating really meant VIP seating, as our table was practically touching the stage, spitting distance from the enticingly shiny Yamaha grand piano.

After a short wait, on walked the band, the pianist and long-term friend introducing the man himself. 6″3, Thunderbirds-esque hair in a blue sequin jacket, Bergen’s stage presence is unbelievable. My poor mother was on the receiving end of a small flap of fangirling before I finally calmed down, shut up and listened. I experienced his dry sarcasm and contagious laughter, personally apologising for Donald Trump on behalf of the American Embassy, before inviting a collective groan from the room upon the mention of “Bregsit”. Obviously, there was music; the first half was medleys on medleys, first New York-inspired, followed by Billy Joel. I have to say, one of the songs which stuck out most for me was a beautiful cover of Walking in Memphis – Erich is also a wonderful pianist, but he returned to center stage to perform various Four Seasons hits, and he’d obviously included my favourite, Cry For Me, because he’d heard I was coming.

Bergen is a born performer, and when I thought about the show a couple of days later, a lyric from an Air Supply song came to mind – yes I know, but I can’t help it if I’ve been subjected to Air Supply growing up – “every star in the sky is taking aim at your eye like a spotlight.” I suddenly realised that this line fitted part of the Hippodrome show to a T. Obviously it was the angle of the lights combined with my seating position, but you get the gist. Call me a romantic.

I had the opportunity to meet him after the show, and found that the same person who came across as confident yet so normal (re an amusing anecdote regarding a celebrity bowling tournament) onstage was unchanged off of it. Even taller up close though, nearly cricked my neck. Delightful nonetheless.

The reason for the Hippodrome show was also to promote Bergen’s new album, Never Give Up. The first track, Crazy Tonight (which was also performed at the Hippodrome), is such a feelgood, catchy song, rich in Four Seasons inspiration and that New York pizzazz which radiates from him. For that short moment, his contagious happiness and outlook on life, and certain moments which felt rather more personal than I thought they would, Erich Bergen provided a sense of comfort and reassurance in a loud, shouting world.

Plus, he spelt my name correctly. And he gave me a kiss. Any of you lot been kissed by Erich Bergen? Didn’t think so.

I woke up on the 8th January and groggily heard an announcement on my parents’ TV about the death of a celebrity. Asking them who’d died, still blinking the sleep from my eyes, my dad announced just one word – “Bowie.” Not so much a name, I’ve come to realize, but a word. A word which symbolized a pioneer of Glam Rock, an inspiration to an entire generation, an influence in the worlds of art, music and fashion alike. David Bowie’s track record is one which I always pictured as full of vibrancy, dynamism and colour. He honed the skill of evolution, creating and recreating time and time again, and rarely going wrong – how could he? Music has no rules; it has no boundaries, much as artists nowadays fail to realize as they steadily become carbon copies of one another – he played this to his advantage, shocking many and inspiring many more. I can’t possibly go into the entirety of his musical catalogue, and definitely can’t do it justice, but I’ve picked a few of my favourite Bowie songs to try and illustrate my point.

Space Oddity gives off an odd sense of foreboding to me. Combined with a theme of space travel that I equate with ELO, the music is very intricate, but gradually dissolves into disarray towards the end. It’s not an unpleasant sound, merely strange. If I were my age back in 1969 and I heard that song for the first time, it would certainly give me the sense that something big was to be expected from Bowie. Something which hadn’t been seen or heard before.

If I was ever asked to describe his music in one word, I guess I’d always say that it’s weird. Good Weird though, not Bad Weird. The closest I came when I was younger to thinking some of his work was Bad Weird was when I heard Life on Mars? This is probably the weirdest of all Bowie’s songs to me due to a combination of watching the music video and not being old enough to understand why he had florescent orange hair and bright blue eye shadow, and what on earth was he saying? I never understood the song, but it always came across as slightly intimidating to me. Perhaps because whenever I heard it, I knew that it was that song, that song which never made sense but gave off an eerie feeling of otherness, a surreal quality which I found slightly unnerving. It carries a weight, a status, it demands to be listened to. It’s a combination of melancholy and nostalgia, the rude realization that life isn’t how you expect it to be as a child, but that the life that you think could lead exists somewhere out there, the life you’re desperate to find but somehow can’t.

Starman is one of my two favourite Bowie songs. It’s the song I remember hearing most, the one I knew the most before any other. It’s also the song I listened to on repeat the day that he died, when a good friend sat next to me as I cried, and the meaning of the song suddenly took on a whole new dimension. The song itself is very well arranged, due to the extreme musical talent of Mick Ronson, but it’s always been difficult for me to escape the sadness I feel whenever I hear it, something which has only become more prominent after his death.

I realise this has been a bit soul-destroying so far, so the next song I picked was Fashion, purely because I love it and it’s so catchy. The snappy guitar riff was an appropriate introduction for Bowie’s next phase, one reflecting the animation and pizazz of the 80s. It’s also an accurate social commentary at the beginning of a decade which did pay such close attention to appearances. It’s not particularly deep or meaningful, but it’s difficult not to get the guitar riff stuck in your head.

Let’s Dance is probably the most-played Bowie song, at least in my experience. One particular line always stood out for me – “if you should fall into my arms/and tremble like a flower” – I’ve always thought that this particular line is very emotive, vivid in it’s imagery. The fact that it was conceived as a folk song before Nile Rogers got his hands on it is faintly hysterical though, just because I literally can’t imagine what that would sound like. The power of a guitar riff…

I love Absolute Beginners because it appears as less abstract and more of an Actual Song. The melody has always reminded me somewhat of the lines of Under Pressure – “This is our last dance…” versus “If our love could fly over mountains…” Combined with the haunting saxophone part, the song is quietly vulnerable – “I absolutely love you/But we’re absolute beginners/With eyes completely open/But nervous all the same”. However, the lyrics quickly replace caution with courage, emboldened by the support and love of that other person. Beginners demonstrates a more emotional side of Bowie’s writing, it’s more realistic in its sentiments. The song shows us a more human Bowie – not the superstar, not the alien, not the Starman, but the human.

The last song I chose to look at is Dancing in the Street, just because it’s absolutely terrible. That’s it. I’ve always found a certain charm in the track’s messiness and I’m fond of it, but overall I really can’t say with any seriousness that it’s actually good.

I’m merely scratching the surface with Bowie’s work. In a way, I feel like I’m not entitled to say any of this, to attempt to analyse his work, to pass judgement as I have done. I wasn’t alive at the height of his fame, I didn’t stand pressed against the edge of the stage at the final performance of Ziggy Stardust and I didn’t witness the rise of each and every new persona. However, as is the case with all music worth its salt, it’s never forgotten and acquires new fans as it continues along the road of musical history. I can only try and articulate my own thoughts and emotions of Bowie’s music from my own limited experience. But let me say this: I may not have been around at the time, but there is no mistaking the sheer impact I feel he had on the world, and my age does not, and will never diminish the impact I felt of his death. Bowie may have been weird, the weirdest artist I’ve ever come across, but definitely, definitely Good Weird.

My obsession with Def Leppard began with a fuzzy clip from In The Round In Your Face on a dusty VCR tape from the Cupboard of Forgotten Music Recordings. Saw a clip of Steve Clark playing his Firebird and I was a goner from there, and so began my second love affair with classic rock – nobody thought I could top the Bon Jovi obsession. They were wrong.

Let’s start with the most obvious one; Pour Some Sugar on Me could not have more dumb testosterone in it if it tried. The riff explodes in a fit of “I am man, I have loud guitar, listen to THIS.” This is helped along by the Man Grunt which furnishes the first verse. Everything about it is ridiculous and horny and stupid; it’s punchy and confident and the perfect strutting song, which is probably what enticed Floridian strippers in the late 80s. If I was a stripper, this would definitely be my song choice, which feels like a fitting accolade.

Love Bites is the one ballad on the album and does a good job of interweaving sex and intimacy (no mean feat for an 80s rock band). The lyrics highlight the power of sexuality in love and captures the emotion behind the lust. It’s an incredibly mature approach to a love song and sounds real, raw and emotional. This also comes through in the music – the long chords, slow tempo and minor key stretch out the deep sensuality of the track. The constant vibrato in the chorus played by Phil Collen is actually both him and Steve Clark playing simultaneously, as it was too difficult for one person to play singlehandedly, and the technique worked well to produce a unique, powerful resonance and a hauntingly beautiful song.

Armageddon It is another of those songs that evokes a sense of euphoria, from the verses studded with punchy guitar parts and ultimately building to a chorus which explodes in enough harmonized happiness to envelop even the most miserable of souls.

Think you might lose interest halfway through the B Side? Nope, you get smacked across with face with Run Riot, the most energetic filler I think I’ve ever heard on a record. The electricity of Run Riot is utterly contagious and completely exhausting to listen to, which doesn’t matter because then you have the calming serenity of the title track itself.

The moment the first bar of Hysteria hits, it’s impossible not to melt into a delirious puddle of relaxation. It’s something in the riff, the chord progression, the resonance – it’s so difficult not to fall in love with this song when it’s a song about falling in love. Not just falling in love, going mad with love. “Dream me off my feet” is just a great line and perfectly captures the feeling of dancing through the feeling of loving somebody, but also of completely surrendering to it.

Gods of War has always felt slightly separate from the rest of Hysteria. This album really has it all – strip club vs heartbreak, the restless impatience of youth and nuclear war! All the food groups. Gods of War is certainly topical for the period during which it was written, containing audios of ‘Maggie Thatcher, milk snatcher’ and the sounds of machine gun fire and falling bombs. Nearly a whole minute of anticipation before that bass kicks in, followed by one of the best riffs I reckon Steve Clark ever wrote. The last chorus culminates in a delicious Photograph-esque descending scale sung by Joe Elliott and it’s genuinely hard to quantify the sheer wall of power that is this song. No notes.

Hysteria is painstakingly well produced and worth the four-year hellfest that characterized its’ creation. The band themselves always say there’s something for everyone among the tracks – try to find somebody who doesn’t like even one song on the record. It’ll probably be Pour Some Sugar on Me, but that still counts.

Still not over the high from Bon Jovi the previous night, I was excited to see out the weekend back at Hyde Park with the Stones. 

Walking around BST is always a great experience. Everyone is always relaxed and happy, and on this occasion, drunk enough to take part in the Brazilian carnival which wove its way past the DJs and funfair rides.

The evening came and the crowd started to assemble. On strolled the Stones and, once settled, exploded into Start Me Up. All the hits followed – Paint It Black, Honky Tonk Women, Brown Sugar. Mick Taylor joined the band for Midnight Rambler, among others. The band still sound really tight, and it almost made you forget the bitterness at not being able to attend the free version of this exact experience in 1965.

The Stones don’t have anything left to prove. Jagger went to introduce everyone, only to see that they’d all disappeared – eventually, he located the others and had to pull Ronnie out from behind the amps because he and Keith had gone to have a smoke. The camaraderie seemed very much alive, and the finale was accompanied by a massive confetti explosion, a piece of which I’ve still got as a souvenir.  

I only recently got properly into Toto – I’ve grown up listening toRosanna and Africa, but it wasn’t until I heard Africa properly that I went away and found more of their songs. Suffice to say, I’m glad I did. I found many songs by them that I loved, but Stop Loving You stood out the most.

Joseph Williams’ voice is exceptional – I loved his singing even before I found out that he voiced adult Simba in Hakuna Matata, a fact that increased my general happiness by approximately 78%. Lyrically, I’ve always been caught between wondering if Stop Loving You is sweet or vaguely obsessive (“I won’t stop till I’m through loving you”) but even if it does ere on the creepier side, Williams, unlike Sting, manages to make it sound happy and not like he’s looking through your window with a telescope. This is probably my favourite Williams song, tied with Pamela, which, by the by, is possibly the snazziest take on a guilt trip I’ve ever heard (“don’t break this heart of mine, it may not heal this time”).

Another element to note is Toto’s legendary harmonies, exhibited on every track from Africa to I’ll Be Over You to Dying On My Feet. Stop Loving You is no exception, and combined with an irresistible hook, you basically end up with a beautifully intrinsic wall of vocal loveliness which will also have you dancing around the kitchen.

Perhaps the fact that each member was a well-respected session musician means that there is no shortage of songwriting talent in Toto; they’re one of those bands at whom I’m amazed at their unending originality, which is helped of course by the instrumentation. Guitarist Steve Lukather’s distortion is a perfect contrast to the soft keyboard sounds created by Paich. All of this is tied together by the world-class drumming of Jeff Porcaro, about whom I have many thoughts, the main one being that I simply worship his talent.

Stop Loving You is an amazing song, and I defy you to listen to it without smiling. Aside from anything else, Joseph Williams’s mullet in the music video is magnificent.

I was once watching a random music channel with my brother, and Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name came on. We sat watching the video, and my brother said “those videos just look like they were so much fun to make”. I was half listening to what he was saying and half transfixed by Jon Bon Jovi. Once I’d watched that video, I went away and researched the band and managed to find a video online made up of 5-second clips from every song recorded by Bon Jovi to the present day. I played that video every day religiously, learnt the order of those songs and wrote down the name of the ones I liked the most and thus began my obsession, quite literally overnight. I listened to little else for months, and one day, my dad asked me “what is it about that band in particular? What brought on this sudden overnight obsession?” – the answer lay somewhere in the combination of live videos, hooks and the hair.

Fast forward a year or two, and they’re still easily my favourite band (this is before I properly discovered Def Leppard – but more on that later), so when I heard that they were doing a world tour, I got a little bit excited. However, my hopes were crushed when there was no mention of a London date. For months, nothing. Just as I lost hope, Jon Bon Jovi appeared on TV stating that the band was to play the British Summer Time Festival in Hyde Park in the summer.

I managed to swing the afternoon off school to go to London early and get a good place. The atmosphere around Hyde Park was amazing – roasting day, and I nearly got heatstroke standing in the same spot for three hours, but I wasn’t losing pole position by the barrier. Then, the last opening act finished, and the long wait was over. David Bryan and Tico Torres appeared, followed by Richie Sambora. Then, finally, finally, on walked Jon Bon Jovi, in a bright red vest and holding an acoustic guitar. They opened with You Give Love a Bad Name and my life was complete. They went on to perform practically every song that they’d ever written post-Slippery, as well as performing tracks from their latest album, What About Now. Bad Medicine, Raise Your Hands, It’s My Life all preceded the encore, which everyone was waiting for. The lights went down, and there was a single spotlight. “We’ve got to hold on, to what we’ve got..doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not….” and the whole of Hyde Park went mad. There is nothing like being in a crowd of thousands of people screaming the chorus to Livin’ On a Prayer. 

Sometimes even now, I’ll listen to a Bon Jovi song and reflexively expect to hear another one, and I’ve since realised that it’s because I can still recite the order of the songs in that video.