Pink Press Threat....

Issue 3 of "The Popular Side," Newcastle United's only fanzine, is out next Saturday against Leicester, price £1 at the time, or via PayPal to iancusack@blueyonder.co.uk for £2 paper copies & £1 PDFs. In advance of its launch I was asked, in my role as co-founder of this democratic old school, A5 magazine, to to answer a few questions by "The Football Pink," which can be found at http://footballpink.net/ Here are my answers to the questions posed -:

I've read both of the first two issues of The Popular Side and despite not being a Newcastle fan I've got to say that it's got some superb content. Issue 2 in particular is top quality. How hard was it to get it all started?

Surprisingly, it wasn’t that difficult at all to make the idea a reality. I’ve been involved with Newcastle United fanzines since 1989 when I first wrote for The Mag, as well as many other long-defunct publications, such as Dave Jameson’s marvellous Half Mag, Half Biscuit. In 2004, I moved on to write for Steve Wraith’s players inc, which became Toon Talk and latterly Number 9.  For the 2013/2014 season, I was involved with a few other writers from The Popular Side in the final 3 on-line; free to download editions of that latter publication, which didn’t work out how we hoped, sadly. That experience, which taught us we were writers and not designers, plus The Mag ceasing publication after 288 issues and 26 years, left NUFC fans without a fanzine. A conversation in the pub one Friday night during the World Cup with the co-founders Steve Hastie and Bill Corcoran, led us to the decision Newcastle could probably do with an A5 old school, no frills inky fanzine and the belief that between us we had enough mates and contacts to get a launch issue together. A dozen texts later and we’d a name for this venture, a cover design and an enthusiastic squad of writers, many of whom have written for a whole range of fan publications, both NUFC related and more general, such as Kriss Kngihts (aka Billy Furious), Neil Mitchell, Paul McIntosh and Chris Tait, former deputy editor of The Mag, who made the salient point that if you’re an electrician and the company you work for goes out of business, you don’t stop being an electrician; you look for another job.

Hence, we were able to find some of the very best Newcastle United supporting writers and give them a platform for their thoughts. Additionally, the magic of Twitter (we’re @PopularSisdeZine) has enabled us to subsequently form links with many other NUFC fans, who fight shy of the media stereotype of the thick Geordie by being erudite, articulate and perceptive, seeking in nuanced terms to tell the complicated truth about our club instead of mouthing simple lies. Some of these new writers, like Matt Charlton or Michael Atkinson, are geniuses, plain and simple.   Thus, in that sense the first issue wrote itself, once we’d decided on a publication date on August 17^th at the Man City home game. We had 28 pages and 17 writers. 

For issue 2, we encouraged a few others to put their thoughts on paper and were contacted by others keen to express opinions, meaning that in the end we had 40 pages and 21 writers, including 6 newly published ones. That’s pretty good value for a quid we feel. The problem, of course, is keeping the momentum going; the “difficult third album” scenario is upon us and it is up to us to source quality writers who can provide sensitive insights into the club.  We’re frankly not interested in rambling, badly-spelled tirades about the merits of Paul Dummett; stuff like that can stay on-line. 

You're a long time Newcastle fan but 'gave up' watching them regularly a few years back; why start a fanzine about them if your heart lies elsewhere these days?

While saying that my heart will always be with Newcastle United, I think I’ve partly answered that above; to me and many others it seems, the absence of a print fanzine devoted to NUFC was not just a crying shame, but a wrong that needed righting. To paraphrase Bobby Sands; everyone, active supporter or otherwise, has their own particular part to play.  While I’m not equating being involved in a fanzine with the struggle for self-determination in the north of Ireland, the point I’m making is that because I’ve been involved in writing for independent publications since the late 1970s and football specifically since the late 1980s, I know how to construct articles. Also, as I edit the programme at Newcastle Benfield in the Northern League, I know how to put a magazine together, even if it’s just a word document saved in PDF format. Consequently, I wanted to use my expertise to help give NUFC fans a voice. It isn’t an ego trip for me at all, as frankly I’m happy to take a back seat, proofing and subbing the pieces our writers submit; 26 years as an English lecturer makes you attuned to grammatical errors. 

Consequently, in issue 1 all I wrote was the editorial and in issue 2, I only contributed an article to enable us to get up to the magic total of 40 pages (PDFs have to be in multiples of 4 pages to print properly you see); otherwise I’d have had to pull someone’s contribution, which I’m firmly against. Not that we’d print any old tripe mind! To summarise I think my commitment to The Popular Side shows that  I adhere to the statement made by Tony Benn when he stood down as an MP,  saying he was leaving Westminster to devote more time to politics.

How do you see TPS developing in the next few editions? You're a no frills, low budget production that concentrates on writing quality. Any plans to develop it in other ways?

We set ourselves up as an old-school, A5, not for profit fanzine, with no website, no adverts and no merchandise as we’re not interested in having fellow fans fund our leisure choices. Issue 1 cost us £180 for 200 copies; we gave 20 away to contributors and sold out the rest, as well as shifting quite a few PDFs to turn a slight surplus. For issue 2, the printer kept it at 80p a copy, despite the extra pages and we had 300 done. It seems that was ambitious as we were left with 50 copies, as many on-line purchasers via Twitter, our one concession to the modern era, opted for the PDF. Consequently, our modest initial profit has offset a loss on issue 2, leaving us at our intended, ethical break-even point.  I think we’ll split the difference and go for a 250 print run next time.

Basically, we have no intention of changing our format; if we make any profit in the future, we may go for a glossy or colour cover, as much to highlight the superb work of our resident artist Michael Atkinson. The main thing we would like is to encourage new and different writers to contribute to subsequent editions. Ideologically, we are a loose collective of writers of equal parity of esteem, bound by an interest in Newcastle United; there’s no rigid, inflexible, dogmatic ideology set down by self-elected, supposedly charismatic autodidacts for “followers” to adhere to. If there were, I wouldn’t be involved. There are no bosses at this publication and there’s no list of philosophical commandments to follow, other than our obvious refusal to countenance the publication of anything discriminatory in any way. 

As we don’t know what the shelf life is for The Popular Side will be; we’re just enjoying the journey.  Having established our credentials among Newcastle United fans with the first 2 issues, by demonstrating our honourable intentions and the quality of our magazine, we would fondly hope to diversify our content to include work from a whole range of different contributors. We are acutely aware of having not published any female writers, or those from the Geordie diaspora, or supporters of other clubs with something to say, though we’re working on it. Frankly, anyone is welcome to contribute, providing they can write and adhere to deadlines. That latter point is the perennial moan of fanzine editors the world over; that and a lack of willing bodies to flog the thing on a match day. We’re no different in that respect, but the only thing that would get us to pack in would be a lack of volunteers prepared to do more than just submit their 1,000 words and wait for the contributor copy to hit the doormat, which takes us back to the Bobby Sands quotation I guess…

What are your thoughts on the current turmoil on and off the pitch at St. James' Park?

As stated above, The Popular Side has no party line, so this is a personal take. If I wanted it to, I could allow this answer to take up my every waking moment until the team next plays which would then probably require something of a rewrite in the light of subsequent events, so I’ll try to be concise. Basically, I’m not surprised. In my opinion, Pardew used all his privileges up at the end of the January 2013 transfer window when he was presented with a batch of potentially excellent signings that he has conspicuously failed to utilise in any meaningful way. As a result Debuchy came and went; Yanga Mbiwa is in the departure lounge; Haidara is scandalously out of the team, while Sissoko and Gouffran labour and toil, being played out of position. Similarly, summer 2014 saw the highly encouraging signings of Janmaat, Colback, Cabella, Riviere and the injured De Jong. These are good players who are woefully underachieving and the reason for that is simply because, being blunt, Pardew is an absolute clown; a vain, narcissistic, gauche, populist clown. However, he is only the symptom; Ashley’s toxic reign is the actual disease. Replacing Pardew with another malleable, useful idiot is as pointless an exercise as I could imagine. He may lose his job, or he may not; second guessing Ashley’s motives and strategy is a fruitless activity.

What would you like to see happen at the club (realistically)?

My personal mantra is this; whoever manages or plays for Newcastle United and wherever they finish in the table remains an utter irrelevance while Mike Ashley has possession of the club. We don’t need some mythical, benevolent Geordie billionaire to turn up and shower his largesse on the club, what we need is Ashley OUT and 100% Fan Ownership IN, though I’m prepared to accept 51% Fan Ownership as a transitional demand. Is this a dream? Yes. Is this attainable? Possibly. Is this realistic? I would like to think so. Politically, I am a supporter of the Socialist Party of Great Britain (and other companion parties of the World Socialist Movement). It has been the SPGB’s position since 1904 that the Labour Party are no different to all other capitalist parties and eventually people are coming round to our way of thinking, which is instructive when considering events up Barrack Road. It means, NUFC fans need to think long term; the club was formed in 1892, but Ashley has only been around since 2007. Before his disastrous ownership, there was Shepherd, Hall, McKeag, Westwood et al; none of that lot displayed loyalty to anything other than their own love of profits and dividends. As supporters, we cannot trust capitalists with the stewardship of our club. In an ideal world, through guilt or fan pressure, Ashley would give the club away, to the fans and the city, to be run as a non-profit institution for the whole region, with democratically elected structures and accountable executives subject to immediate recall. This may not happen in my lifetime, same as Socialism, but I believe it will one day, for the greater good of all humanity. The actual details of how it will occur show that the future is, as yet, unwritten. That realistic enough for you? I was going to say I’d like us to win a cup in my lifetime, but that’s a total impossibility.

Any plans to be an SJP regular again? What would it take?

Define regular… After packing in my season tickets a few years ago after my dad’s death, my son’s decision to play rugby (league not union!) on a Saturday and my own involvement with Percy Main Amateurs in the Northern Alliance and then Newcastle Benfield in the Northern League, not to mention still playing for Wallsend Winstons in the North East Over 40s League, I’ve got more than enough to do on a Saturday as it is without trooping up to SJP.

Frankly, I simply cannot conceive of a series of events that would stop me watching non-league football every weekend between now and the end of my days. So, the answer is probably no and nothing. That said, I’ve been to plenty of games since I packed in my season ticket; probably about half a dozen a season, generally when they’re on a Sunday. I’ve enjoyed most of them as well, other than the tedious whining of those around me who don’t appreciate the finer points of the game; if you’re used to watching the Northern League, then the Premier League at close quarters is a massive leap in standard, which means sometimes you’re obliged to just appreciate the quality of opposition play, rather than seeking to blame Williamson, Tiote or whoever for every opposition goal. When I know I can make a particular game, what I try to do is to buy tickets from fellow fans who are unable to go for whatever reason, as I’d rather they weren’t out of pocket, rather than give my money to the club.

This season, I’ve not seen the team at all, even on the telly as I don’t have Sky. I was disappointed when Hull got knocked out the Europa League because I would have gone to that one if it had been put back 24 hours. I’m planning on Everton on December 28^th and Burnley on 1^st January as my next two visits to SJP.  Although, as I’m now 50, I have to admit that the older I get the more intimate I like my pubs, gigs and football matches. Also, if pushed, I would have to admit that I find the politics of Newcastle United much more fascinating than actually watching the team play, whereas with the non-league game it is the exact opposite.

 Do you think the fanzine scene, like vinyl, is making a comeback and is now viewed as 'cool'?

I’m not sure if “cool” is the correct word, but there certainly appears to have been a significant renaissance in what will always be a niche area. As someone who loves obscure indie, post punk, folk and folk rock, I’m used to spending a lot of time in second hand shops and at markets leafing through stock, spending the last decade replacing vinyl I’d got rid over during the two decades previous. There is something ineffably magnificent and tactile about a record, a book or a fanzine that the digital equivalent can never hope to emulate. Of course, the quality has to be there; superb publications such as A Fine Lung (FC United of Manchester), Duck (Stoke City), Mudhutter (Wigan), West Stand Bogs (Barnsley), Stand (general) and your own magazine, have done their bit to ensure, often via social media, that there is a sustainable and loyal market, with the potential for growth, for well written publications. I’m not just saying that as all the fanzines mentioned have used my work either. In addition, it should be noted that fanzines aren’t just about football; my mate Joe England, the West Ham fan who was in issue 2, edits PUSH, a sold on the street literary fanzine, full of poems and short stories. He sells PUSH outside the Boleyn Ground to home and away fans; I think that’s an amazing development and something I personally would be very keen to develop, perhaps outside of the confines of The Popular Side.

As well as having sold out your first issue, what other feedback have you had on the fanzine?

Obviously we’re tiny; 200 copies of issue 1, then 250 copies of issue 2, including PDFs, made it into the public domain, so any feedback has tended, by definition, to be personally tailored. We’ve only had 1 negative comment; this fella Shaun, who’s a Whitley Bay fan from Jarrow with a residual support for Sunderland said of issue 1; “it’s crap; all about Newcastle.” Personally I think that says more about him than us, but no matter.

 Seriously, the only constructively critical comment we had was that, despite saying we would have no adverts in issue 1; the article by Billy Furious was a glorified press release for his new book. That’s something I agree with in retrospect. Everyone else has been highly complementary, though we don’t exactly have a high profile among the on-line community as yet.

What was the first fanzine you ever read?

As I’ve mentioned previously, I’m as much as music obsessive as I am football fan, which meant I was a voracious reader of late 70s publications such as Sniffin’ Glue and Temporary Hoarding that chronicled a post punk scene of gigs, squats and Peel sessions somewhat removed from my own teenage experiences growing up in Felling. As far as football fanzines are concerned, I was too young to be aware of Foul, which first came out when I was 8 in 1972, but I did find myself in the right place at the right time while living in North West London in 1986/1987, getting a very early copy of When Saturday Comes from Rough Trade in Notting Hill and falling in love with the concept. Back then I worked with two fellas Ed (a Wealdstone fan) and Steve (a QPR supporter); we’d take turns to watch their teams at home, or Newcastle if they were in the capital and I remember buying early editions of The Elmslie Ender and In the Loft. Before moving back to Newcastle, I had a year in Leeds, though I watched Bradford when I couldn’t see Newcastle and developed my enduring passion for City Gent. Consequently, moving back to Newcastle, I realized what The Mag would be about and so started my football writing career; 25 years later I still find the urge to write almost every day.

If Newcastle fans (or any other club's supporters) wish to get hold of a copy, how do they go about it (we thoroughly recommend it - Ed)?

Basically, through PayPal to iancusack@blueyonder.co.uk PDFs of issue 1 and 2 are available for £1 each, while paper copies of issue 2 cost £2 for UK to include P&P. We’d rather not send physical copies abroad because of the prohibitive cost of postage. If you include an extra £1 with an order for a paper copy, I’ll send you my book Village Voice about Percy Main Amateurs as well. If you want to buy a copy at a Newcastle home game, the Number 9 on Stowell Street, Tyneside Irish Centre on Gallowgate, before and after, or The Bodega on Westgate Road, after the game, are your best bets. You can keep in touch with us on Twitter via @PopularSideZine where we’ll announce whether issue 3 comes out for Leicester City on 18^th October. 

The Three Johns

Saturday 4th October; nostalgia... Over 40s away to Fiddlers Three at Heworth School, trip to lay flowers on Grandparents' grave in the cemetery and then Jarrow Roofing v Benfield, with their front pairing of Ex Benfield John Campbell and Ex Heaton Stan Jon Jon Wright. Well, that was the idea... Over 40s lost 3-1 after being 1-0 up with 15 to go and I was sub unused... The shop opposite The Swan at Heworth is now a shop, so no flowers... Jon Jon has gone back to the Stan and Benfield lost 1-0; meh... However, I did pen this article for the brilliant Jarrow Roofing programme, which had to be edited because of Jon Jon's transfer; so here's the uncut version, for posterity's sake...

As the UK economy continues to buckle under the death agonies of capitalism, the effects of the longest recession since the 1930s bite even the more privileged sections of society. The offspring of their white collar and professional classes find their degrees in the Sociology of the Mass Media from Doncaster Institute of Higher Education to be of less value than a book of Green Shield Stamps and so are forced to take mindless jobs in the 21^st century equivalent of workhouses; the Call Centre. Those who fight shy of the mind forged manacles of a desk in such dark satanic mills are forced to amble languidly across the globe, taking temporary jobs behind bars that they are temperamentally and linguistically ill-suited for. Such anti career choices are laughably known as a Gap Year, which is a concept that can be applied to non-league football.

Since their arrival in the Northern League in 2003, Newcastle Benfield have been my Northern League team. For six years, I watched them in conjunction with Newcastle United, where I held a season ticket from 1988 until 2009. Fairly obviously, the last half decade of attendance at SJP brought no pleasure whatsoever, unlike visits to Sam Smiths, or even trips to away games following the Walkergate Brazilians, as I styled them. I was at Dunston Fed on May Day 2007 to see an Alu Bangura goal win the Northern League Cup against Nissan. I travelled to Penrith in May 2009 to see Stephen Young’s late winner bring the Northern League title to Benfield, in the last game to be played at Southend Road and I saw the finest ever goalkeeping performance at this level by Andrew Grainger, also against Penrith, as the double was secured with a League Cup win over Penrith a fortnight after the league game. Benfield were my team and I was delighted to call myself a fan.

Then, suddenly, I hardly saw them for the next 4 years. In summer 2009 I accepted the offer of a place on the committee with Percy Main Amateurs in the Northern Alliance and thoroughly enjoyed my time with them, publishing a book about the 2009/2010 season, Village Voice. Despite my skillset being completely at variance to what was required at Purvis Park (I’m completely impractical, but good with words, when the Villagers needed someone to help keep the ground in good working order), I was happy enough to stay with PMA. 

However, things change and it is often time to move on, though I truly feel I’ve reached the end of my spiritual journey and my non-league wanderings are at a close. It is time to put down roots and I don’t intend to leave Benfield ever. That said, it’s always nice to catch up on old friends and former players, which is why I’m looking forward to seeing Roofing’s front two of John Campbell and Jon Jon Wright; the Three Johns as I call them, even if nobody else does.

While I never saw John Campbell at Heaton Stannington at all and only briefly and infrequently at Newcastle Benfield, I must say that he scored the best goal I’ve ever seen at Northern League level. A cold and bleak January afternoon in 2011; the 15^th it was, with Newcastle United inactive the day before a trip to Wearside for a 1-1 draw, back in the days when we didn’t lose to them. Percy Main were without a fixture and in search of entertainment, I came back home to endure a forbidding and unforgiving wind from the west that brutalised the hunched and round shouldered gathering of supporters, huddled in front of the clubhouse at Sam Smiths Park, all of whom seemingly querying the wisdom of leaving the comfort of their hearth for a contest such as this. The opposition were Billingham Synthonia, who were to finish 12^th in the league, while Benfield would end up in 4^th spot and win the League Cup against Spennymoor, courtesy of another incredible performance by Andrew Grainger.

That was the future; the reality was an attendance of 40, the lowest of the season and a third of the club’s average that year, who were warmed by the amazing finishing of that man Campbell. Midway through the first half Benfield had a corner on the right, attacking the bowling green end. The ball was headed away back towards the touchline, resulting in a touch and hit cross to near the edge of the area that grazed the head of a defender. Stood unmarked 25 yards out on the left, Campbell reacted instantly; with the ball still 3 feet off the ground, he launched a first time volley with indescribable pace that exploded into the top corner of the net. The proverbial postage stamp finish. I’ve never seen a ball hit that hard and that accurately, with such breathtaking technique, at our level. 

Typically enough, to prove that fairy tales don’t exist in sport the same as all other aspects of life, Synners grabbed a late, undeserved and scrappy equaliser to rob Benfield of 2 points. So what? Nobody seeing Frank Worthington’s goal of the season for Bolton Wanderers considers the fact Ipswich came back from a goal down to win at Burnden Park that day; everyone simply admires the skill involved, which is what I continue to do.

In contrast to my infrequent sightings of John Campbell, I saw 40 of Jonathan Wright’s goals for Heaton Stannington last season; some (many!) of them were spectacular, such as his hat trick against West Allotment, or stunning late winners against Whickham and Tow Law, but none matched Campbell’s amazing finish. Yet Jon Jon still has a record in my eyes, as he notched the best goal I’ve ever seen in the Northern Alliance, for Heaton Stannington, against Percy Main. March 2012, a month that ended gloriously with Newcastle toying with Liverpool in a 2-0 victory that saw Andy Carroll dragged off and Jose Enrique humiliated in goal, was unseasonably warm and dry; on St Patrick’s Day, the Villagers travelled to Grounsell Park. The bone dry pitch was bumpy and treacherous; with the Stan heading for the title and Percy Main in lower mid table, the fixture seemed to be a home banker, yet the surface was acting as a leveller.

Jon Jon had already missed an early penalty, awarded for handball, seeing his sidefoot effort roll a yard wide of the goal, with Rob Rodgerson going the wrong way. Just as frustration was creeping into the Stan mindset, Wright intervened with the decisive moment of the game, putting the ball in the net for the only goal. Tony Browell was a stalwart at the back for Percy Main for a decade or more; the rock at the heart of the defence and the very epitome of a club legend. Skilled and confident in the air, he rose to forcefully nod away a hopeful punt forwards from almost on the D. The ball went 30 yards forward and, just past the centre circle, the advancing Jon Jon honed in on the ball. Without allowing it to drop, he unleashed a venomous, low volley that reminded me of Shearer’s incredible finish against Everton back in 2002. Needless to say, Rodgerson was left immobile by the precision of a strike that Jon Jon has said is his favourite ever goal. As I say, it is the best I’ve ever seen in the Alliance.

So, here’s to John Campbell and Jon Jon Wright; two brilliant strikers who I fervently hope draw a blank today. Nothing personal lads, it’s just Benfield’s interests I have to put first.

Eyes & Ears IV

It seems appropriate for several reasons that I end September on the blog in the same way as I started it, with a cultural consumption blog as, somewhat unexpectedly; it has turned into a month of great acquisition, quantitatively as much as qualitatively.

Books:

Last time, I eulogised over Eamonn Sweeney’s The Road to Croker, which told of his experiences watching the 2003 football and hurling All Ireland Championships from start to finish, which I enjoyed as much as his two novels from the turn of the millennium, Waiting for the Healer and The Photograph. By the power of Amazon, I tracked down his first book; a celebration of his support for Sligo Rovers and, in many ways, I wish I hadn’t. What is clear from this book is that Sweeney was an early master of the cutting phrase and exact description that so enhances his later works. What he hadn’t learned was how to structure a book; There’s Only One Red Army is not meant to be a chronological account, but a thematic one. Sadly it seems poorly edited and repetitive, with certain anecdotes appearing in consecutive sections. A cursory glance on the Bit o’ Red’s homepage shows that there are errors in the history of the club as well but, as an account of an unapologetically heavy drinking early 20s League of Ireland fan touring the 27 counties (including Derry of course) on the batter, with the odd game to watch, it is a diverting, anachronistic account of the late 80s to early 90s pre Tiger Ireland, though quite how Sweeney reconciles his current role as a hurling expert for De Payper with the coruscating anti GAA bile this tome is suffused with, is another matter. One for completists only.

Another book out of Ireland, this time from the nice bit of Da Nortsoide, is Roddy Doyle’s latest collection of weekly duologues set in a Dublin pub between two world weary, cynical middle-aged men, who set the world to rights over a few jars. Another Two Pints is short, charming, funny, precise, accurate and abusive where it needs to be; setting the world to rights in the length of time it takes to sink a brace of black porter, Doyle has managed the art of finding an innovative way of communicating his paternalist, Socialist world view without didactic preaching to the converted. It also helps to remind the reader of how much happens in a short period of time in the world; death, loss, gain, politics, culture and sport. Nowhere can the death of Nelson Mandela and the failure of David Moyes be better discussed than in the pub; Roddy Doyle has done just that in this sparkling volume. A great, great read.

The final book I’ve read this month, which I did at a belt on account of how intriguing, nay beguiling, I found it, was Neil Young’s sort of autobiography, Waging Heavy Peace. Not for Neil is the simple structure of the conventional autobiography; instead we get stories of his early life in Canada, his time on first arriving in California with Buffalo Springfield, several of his major records and their genesis, as well as labyrinthine arguments with unsympathetic record company executives, interspersed with his family life. Young, at the time of writing, repeatedly mentions his deep and abiding love for his wife of 37 years; shame he’s recently filed for divorce from Pegi, but no matter. His love for his quadriplegic son Ben shines through every page and is a testament to what a good man Young, who gave up smoking weed after 45 years to write this book, can be. Also, his obsessions with big, classic cars and a desire to make them environmentally friendly, which has accounted for a huge portion of his earnings over the years, as well as his desire to produce a rival to MP3s and CDs that will produce the level of sound quality of final records, is laboriously detailed. Part family man, part geek, full time musical genius; Neil Young is as fine a man as he is a musician and this eccentric, digressive, almost rambling and painfully honest account of most of his life, is well worth a read.

Music:

No doubt influenced by Young’s book, my latest purchases at Tynemouth market saw me in a deeply nostalgic mood. While I’d never owned it in the past, I remember it being a staple of the collections of many friends in Sixth Form and University, so I knew most of the contents inside out; the triple album, double CD set Decade by Neil Young was a must have for the grand total of £2. It does everything the most recent Greatest Hits collection does, for the first ten years of Young’s career, and far more beside: Down by the River, Cinnamon Girl, Heart of Gold, Helpless, Powderfinger, Like a Hurricane and more. What else could a cyclist wish for as he ploughs up and down the Coast Road in semi darkness? A simply sublime collection and wonderful to get Long May You Run at last.

The same day, I spent another £3 on artefacts I had previously owned in the past, but whose disappearance from my life has been a source of regret for many years. Back in the summer of 1977, I don’t recall ever having heard The Velvet Underground or any other 60s American garage bands; however, I must have shown a propensity for this kind of musical heritage as the first time I heard Roadrunner by Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers, it made immediate sense, bridging the gap between Television’s Marquee Moon and (I Belong to the) Blank Generation by Richard Hell & The Voidoids. Amazingly, Pop-Inn records in Felling Square had it in stock, so I bought a copy, adoring both versions and playing it repeatedly. Sadly, somehow, I lost or sold or loaned it to someone and it never appeared in my possession again. Of course, I could easily have picked it up on an album or compilation over the years but, same as I.R.T. by Snatch that I acquired earlier this year, I only wanted the vinyl 7”. Seeing it in the market for a quid, I had to buy it. Happily, my memory wasn’t playing tricks and the song is as eccentric, adorable and life affirming today as it ever was. While I’ve no real love for much of Richman’s studied naiveté, this record assures his place among the greatest tracks of all time. Yes, it would have made it into my 50^th birthday top 100 songs.

Ever gone from elation to depression in 5 seconds? I did when I saw a stall selling Dylan’s John Wesley Harding album for £5 on original 60s vinyl; the torn and battered cover was no barrier to my purchase. However, checking the quality of the actual record, I was crestfallen to find a copy of Nashville Skyline inside; a record I already had and don’t like that much. Sadly, I moved on, remembering how I’d bought a semi-legal Spanish bootleg cassette of the album for 190 Pesetas, about a quid at the time, while on holiday in Benidorm at Easter 1976, aged 11. The questions of copyright infringement didn’t bother me as I found myself utterly knocked out by 12 songs of astonishing vitality; The Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest stunned me in its simplicity and lyrical imagination. Of course, this was a cassette and by the time I reached 16, it had been played to death and was almost unlistenable. The album is seen as minor treasure among Dylan’s 60s body of work, often overshadowed by the later release of The Basement Tapes. Luckily my disappointment was temporary, as the same stall that sold Decade and Roadrunner also had a CBS Nice Price CD of John Wesley Harding for £2. I bought it immediately and found, to my delight, the album to be as enjoyable as back in the day; certainly the title track is as fantastically constructed as I remember it, with some of my favourite drumming of all time. A true, joyful find.

Returning a week later to the same stall, I found a copy of the rare and much maligned final album by Lindisfarne’s second line up, Happy Daze. Unsurprisingly I suppose, since Ray Laidlaw and Rod Clements still live in the village, Tynemouth market is a fertile source of Lindisfarne material; I’ve picked up a couple of live albums from here in the past, but this one was a real curiosity and I had to part with £5 for it. After the acrimonious parting of the ways following the lukewarm reception of Dingly Dell, the Tynemouth trio (including Canada’s number 1 craft brewer Si Cowe) put Jack the Lad together, while Ray Jackson and Alan Hull regrouped in Lindisfarne II with a few other north east musicians. The resulting Roll on Ruby album, containing a litany of excellent pre written but previously unrecorded material, is as great as Nicely Out of Tune or Fog on the Tyne, with North Country Boy, Goodbye and Taking Care of Business among the band’s best ever songs. Sadly, it didn’t sell, so the band returned hastily to the studio to cut Happy Daze, which bombed and the group split early 1975, reforming almost 2 years later for the December 1976 Christmas Shows at the City Hall. And the rest is history... Laura, Ben and I are looking forward to Tuesday 23^rd December and this year’s Christmas gig… But what of Happy Daze? Well, it isn’t terrible, but it isn’t really Lindisfarne; it’s more straight ahead, soft rock. More Eagles than Dylan meets Fairport over a few beers and all the poorer for it. Tommy Duffy’s Tonight is a strong opener and Hull’s Dealer’s Choice is a highlight, but the set as a whole lacks coherence. A bit dull, but worthy and useful to plug a gap in my collection would be my verdict.

Back in August during my trip to Glasgow, I made a fruitless trip to a closed Volcanic Tongue records; a situation explained by an email sent a day later to tell me the shop was now shut and they were mail order only. Having used them for arcane, experimental product in the past, I kept this tradition up by purchasing a rather pleasing Velvet Underground oddity; a 1968 live recording from Boston, where the recording engineer had focussed almost exclusively on Lou Reed’s guitar. The resulting Legendary Guitar Amp Tape is the loudest ambient record I’ve ever heard and great it is too. There’s five effectively instrumental tracks on it, including cuts of two of my least favourite Velvets numbers, Jesus and Run Run Run, both of which sparkle on here, as do the ever fabulous Beginning to See the Light and Foggy Notion. It’s a fine addition to my collection and a superb curio, with a volume 2 promised including What Goes On, which will ensure I purchase that release. It wasn’t cheap at £21, but I like to support Volcanic Tongue as I approve of what they do.

I did buy one new album this month and it is an absolute beast. Shellac’s Dude Incredible is the best release of 2014, without question. I regret bitterly buying the CD and not the vinyl as the depth and power of the usual less than intricate post hardcore, post rock, post everything ultimate power trio Albini inspired in your face charge. From the opening notes of the title track, to the closing seconds of Surveyor, we are in the presence of genius. Uncompromising, difficult and deeply intolerant, Shellac are true originals; Dude Incredible is musically no different to 1997’s At Action Park (any other bands have albums named after Shankhouse’s ground?), but why should it be? The purity of sound, the strength of vision and accuracy of their venomous, bile-spitting lyrics, especially on the breath-taking Riding Bikes, mean that this is the most truly indispensable album of 2014.  Adorable, but in a very bad way.

This month I’ve managed 1 gig; Vic Godard on his annual visit to the Star and Shadow, possibly for the last time as the venue is closing in December. Vic has played up north about 10 times in recent years and I’ve been at every one. There have been 6 at the Star and Shadow, 2 at The Cluny and before that, a free gig on the Quayside on May Day 2005 as part of the Evolution Festival, which was the first time I’d seen him since 1978 supporting The Buzzcocks. The Quayside gig was also the very first live music Ben saw, aged 9 going on 10, so it was with great pride, I took him along to this gig on his last night in Newcastle before moving on to Leeds and the next part of his life as a History student.

As ever, the usual crowd were in attendance; Raga, Bill, Mala, Carl, Ant, Richard and Tony; blokes who I don’t think have missed a Vic gig in the last decade. As ever, it was the Star and Shadow so things were running a bit late, on account of traffic problems holding the bands up. Support The Fallen Leaves, including Bill from Band of Holy Joy on drums and Rob from the original Subway Sect, were damn good, in a kind of 60s garage, Billy Childish way and I’d be happy to see them again. However Vic, with the usual band, took it to another level. Having previously toured with 1978 Now, We Come as Aliens and his Northern Soul influenced crooning sets, available on the newly released 1979 Now which I failed to buy on the night but will get on line very soon, this was a glorious combination. Is there a more uproarious song than Holiday Hymn?  Sadly, the late running of show times meant Ben and I had to head at midnight after 14 numbers; we missed out on Chainsmoking, but the last song we heard, fittingly and wonderfully enough, was the simply unsurpassable Ambition. There could be no finer final number to draw the curtains on this part of Ben’s youth. I feel honoured to have been there.

So, what’s next? Well, The Pop Group in Leeds on Friday October 24^th looks likely, then British Sea Power at the Sage on October 26^th, The Wedding Present at The Cluny on November 10^th and the aforementioned Lindisfarne Christmas gig on December 23^rd. I’ll try and read a few books as well. Not to mention cocking an ear for the album from The Everlasting Yeah.

Fraternal Greetings

Issue #2 of Newcastle United's only fanzine, "The Popular Side," is out now. Price £2 (inc P&P) via PayPal to iancusack@blueyonder.co.uk it is a 40 page, A5, old school, not for profit publication with no adverts, no website, no merchandise & no inflexible dogmatic ideology. I'm delighted to say that this piece about Jack Colback's borther Callum is in the latest issue. Check it out; more details from @PopularSideZine -:

If I were asked to nominate the one thing that makes me most angry about the conduct of our support, I would opt for the blanket negativity towards any player who doesn’t play like Messi every game. Without even touching on the opprobrium visited on Yoan Gouffran from the corridor of hate, the contempt that Sissoko suffers among a gaudy sun-hatted section of our self-appointed “super fans” is caused by his inability to replicate his explosive debut performances against Villa and Chelsea in every game, while the abuse endured by Sami Ameobi and Paul Dummett, is simply unacceptable and yet another reason why I opt to watch their respective brothers Tomi and Marc turning out for Whitley Bay and West Allotment Celtic. Frankly, there’s a greater chance of me seeing Samuel Perez at Croft Park than his hermano Ayoze at SJP. It isn’t a new phenomenon to see the siblings of pro players plying their trade in the grassroots game; for example, the recently deceased Ronnie Beardsley had a distinguished career in the Northern Alliance, as did the penalty box predator, Callum Colback, who top scored at Percy Main Amateurs in the 2009/2010 season.

Having joined the Percy Main committee in July 2009, I was a zealous convert, regularly proselytising one of the finest non-league clubs in the region to all who’d listen, as The Villagers successfully gained promotion to the Northern Alliance Premier division and won the Pin Point Recruitment Combination Cup in my first season on board. These wonderful successes were helped along in no small measure by the goals of our top scorer Callum Colback, who’d arrived from Whitley Bay, by way of his hometown club Killingworth YPC. Those who know about Northern Alliance football in the first decade of the 21st century will tell you that while Ponteland United’s Harry Tulip was the best target man in the league, the most intelligent, incisive and lethal finisher was Callum Colback. Scoring goals was both instinctive and effortless for the lad and his signing was the first, major hint that Jason Ritchie was assembling a squad at Purvis Park that was likely to gain promotion.

It would be almost impossible to place a defined start point and finishing line on my journey of disenchantment with professional football, though the nearest I can find to a eureka moment to prove I’d breasted an imaginary tape would have been around 4.45 on Saturday 5^th February 2011. That was the day when Newcastle United recovered from 4-0 down at half time to Arsenal to claim a point in the supposed greatest comeback in Premier league history. More importantly, Tony Browell’s goal saw Percy Main Amateurs through to the final of the Northumberland FA Senior Benevolent Bowl after a 1-0 victory over Ponteland United at a packed Purvis Park. In the bar post match, as we watched events unfold at SJP on Final Score with mild interest, a mate of mine, paying his first visit to Purvis Park since our promotion noticed the absence of Callum from that day’s team and asked “who does Colback’s brother play for now?” My reply was “the Mackems.” I wasn’t trying to be funny or disingenuous. This response simply demonstrated my process of disengagement from the professional game was complete.

To be honest, I do love the Northern Alliance; it is the quintessential Geordie league as the 45 constituent clubs, apart from half a dozen up in Northumberland, are from the greater Tyneside area. Games kick off at 2.00 or 2.30, so getting into the bar at full time coincides with the business part of Saturday afternoon, as the scores start to come in. While a load of lads are concerned about their bets coming up, almost without exception, the players, officials and spectators involved in the 3 divisions follow Newcastle United. Any NUFC goal is loudly cheered and a win celebrated almost as much as their own side’s successes. It isn’t like that in the Northern League, for several reasons; geography, but also money. At that elevated level, players get paid, while in the Alliance, lads do it for a love of the game. That means sometimes they have to miss a game to work overtime or because of their shifts. However Callum, having done his A Levels at Tynemouth College, had a good job with regular hours and was always available to play, if we ignore the small matter of the 3 game ban imposed after a red card for foul and abusive language in a 3-0 away over Amble in the quarter final of the Minor Cup.

Callum made his debut for the Main with a praiseworthy shift in a 2-0 victory over Hebburn Reyrolle on 15^th August 2009, grabbing the opening goal and Man of the Match award. This game put down a marker for the standard of performance he would turn in on a regular basis throughout a season that was a personal triumph for him, during which he scored 21 goals from 26 appearances. The best of these was a free kick in the dying minutes of a home game against Wallington at the end of August. With the light fading, he placed the ball on the top left hand angle of the box, ran up and laced an unstoppable shot into the roof of the net, sealing a 2-0 home win. A magical moment. The only other league game Callum missed was a comfortable 2-0 home win over Northbank Carlisle on 26^th September, on account of the fact he’d gone to watch his brother play. At that time, Jack was on loan to Ipswich Town and the game, beamed live on BBC on Saturday team time, acted as a kind of final memorial for Sir Bobby Robson. Ipswich were managed at the time by an increasingly bizarre and unpredictable Roy Keane who, seeking to find a fresh challenge after his stint with the Mackems went down the pan, was rendered speechless as Newcastle ran out 4-0 winners. As devoted black and whites, the whole Colback family would have been delighted at the score, if sympathetic to Jack’s feelings. To be honest, Callum didn’t talk much about his brother, or the professional game in general. Indeed on Easter Monday 2010, as I sat in the Milburn Paddock enjoying our promotion party over Sheffield United, Callum texted me to say I’d made a mistake in my match report for Percy Main’s 4-4 versus Peterlee the previous Saturday, by failing to attribute the first goal to him.

Callum’s last game for Percy Main, and indeed final competitive Saturday fixture, was on May 29^th 2010 against Hebburn Reyrolle, the same opponents as his debut. Fresh off the plane from a foreign holiday with his brother, he played in a 1-0 victory in the Combination Cup Final. The week later we had our end of season do, which coincided with his engagement party. With impending nuptials and parenthood on the horizon, Callum made a brief visit to our do, but only long enough to collect his Goal of the Season trophy and announce his immediate retirement, explaining he had sensibly decided to put his family ahead of his playing career, though he still turns out now for Burradon on a Sunday morning and is banging in the goals by all accounts. Callum Colback was a truly great finisher in the Northern Alliance and I’ll remember his contribution to that special season with enormous fondness. I’d love to think his brother, who I rate very highly on the basis of his entire career, can provide equally happy memories in the future.

Read it in Books....

Those regular readers of my blog will no doubt remember my birthday post of my 50 favourite songs of the past 50 years, which ended up being a list of 100 songs as I couldn’t narrow them down enough. Well, in a similar vein, a request from my mate Paddy Robinson to list my 10 favourite books provoked a lengthy period of furrowed brows and intense contemplation. Unlike last time, I’ve decided to stick with 10 books, but with certain provisos; all of them are novels, 1 per author and they are listed in alphabetical author order. I’ve sought to contextualise each one, but not provide any kind of literary analysis.

Albert Camus – L’Etranger: not the first Camus book I read; that distinction goes to La Peste, but this tale of an individual who struggles to fit in with the world around him, captivated me immediately I read the first page. It was in late 1978 and I’d been made aware of The Cure’s Killing An Arab, but I read this before I heard the song. To this day I love the style of Mersault’s asides and his philosophical musings on an absurd word.

Roddy Doyle – The Van: All my life I’ve been a lover of books driven by characters rather than plots. I prefer people to stories and this superbly written account of two middle-aged, working class Dubs from da Nortsoide running a mobile chipper van during the 1990 World Cup is an absolute classic. In all seriousness, it has so much to say about the nature of friendship and masculinity as well.

James Ellroy – The Cold Six Thousand: I was first introduced to Ellroy in 1998, when I saw L.A. Confidential, which I found to be brilliantly plotted, if labyrinthine and peopled by incredible, amoral characters. Delving into Ellroy’s oeuvre, I found that the film was a simplified version and the massive books a fascinating, addictive insight into the seediest parts of American life. Of more importance than his gore fest police procedurals were the Underworld USA Trilogy that told of incredible malfeasance and astonishing conspiracies in the heart of the American state. The Cold Six Thousand, starting minutes after “Dallas” or “the hit,” as it’s known, is the most brutal, hard boiled and addictive of all Ellroy’s novel. An absolute masterpiece of crime faction.

Franz Kafka – The Trial: Moving on from Camus to Sartre, by way of Hesse, I came across Kafka in the early days of the hot summer of 1979. In my airless bedroom, I read with terror the story of Gregor Samsa in Metamorphosis, with utter incomprehension the events of The Castle and eventually found myself addicted to the gripping story of Josef K’s investigation and execution in The Trial, which remains my favourite Kafka book.

Cormac McCarthy – Suttree: I’d never read a word of McCarthy until 2007, when The Road became the novel everyone was talking about. I read it in a sitting and No Country For Old Men, both a brilliant book and a magnificent film, in the next few days. After that, I began to work my way through McCarthy’s collected works and in summer 2012, I read what I consider his finest work, the semi-autobiographical Suttree. In terms of character, place and time, it is unsurpassable in contemporary literature; perhaps one of the few books I’ve thought, around the halfway mark, that I simply didn’t want it to end. A glorious read and highly recommended.

David Peace – GB84: The greatest book of all time, in my opinion. An absolutely heart-breaking account of the doomed Miners’ Strike of 1984/1985 from an unapologetically left wing perspective, which avoids the sermonic, censorious pitfalls of the Liverpudlian Leninist tendency. Peace tells the story of the men involved, their families and communities and contrasts the noble struggle in which they are engaged with the evil machinations of the murderous state apparatus. It is an astonishing read and the book that has made me the angriest in my entire life. Utter genius.

Jean Paul Sartre – Nausea: I’d never understood what it meant to be bored, alienated or isolated, until I read this fascinating account of existential crisis, in the summer of 1980, only weeks after Sartre had died. A book that made me realise that not fitting in with the real world was a pretty good thing.

Eamonn Sweeney – Waiting for the Healer: I read this in the summer of 1998 when staying in an isolated cottage in Bonniconlon, County Mayo, musing over my own writing career. It is ostensibly a murder investigation meets buddy book set in the Irish midlands, but Sweeney’s excellent ear for dialogue and flair for description make it a stunning read. His later book The Photograph is also a brilliant read, but since then he has abandoned fiction for sports journalism and hurling in particular. A shame, as he displayed a rare and precocious talent. He also liked my work as well.

Alan Warner – Morvern Callar:  I read this in 1997, around the time I began to try and write fiction, finding it incredibly instructive. A male narrator writes in the first person as a female character, in a weird, dream like narrative based on the drug and drink sub culture of the isolated Scottish Highlands and the Balearic Islands. A fascinating bildungsroman that convinces and enthrals; unlike the dreadful follow-up These Demented Lands. I also adored The Sopranos, Warner’s tale of a teenage choir down from Oban for a competition in Edinburgh, which flopped because of an injudiciously chosen title.

Irvine Welsh – Glue: He has to be in here somewhere. It was a toss-up which of the novels got in, but in the end I plumped for the least famous of his Edinburgh male bonding books. It has the fewest comedic touches and an almost total absence of trademark grossness, but is all the better for it. A convincing and affectionate portrayal of the nature of Welsh’s major preoccupation; male concepts of friendship.

Of course, having completed this list, which doesn’t contain a single book I studied at university for either my BA or MA, another list jumped out at me of books I simply had to include. So here goes -:

Kingsley Amis – Lucky Jim: Hilarious from start to finish.

Iain Banks – The Wasp Factory: Bought it because of an interview in the NME in 1986 and loved it and every other one of his I’ve read.

Samuel Beckett – Murphy: Finally; a book I studied at university! A simply crazy and hilarious account of some of the most oddball characters ever created, with some truly memorable, side-splitting lines.

Charles Bukowski – Ham on Rye: While I much prefer his short stories, this fictionalised account of his early life with his psychopathic father (a cruel, shiny-faced bastard with bad breath) is, in my eyes, far preferable to the episodic Post Office and the misogynistic Women. Bukowski is, of course, more important for what he allowed writers to say than for the way he himself said those things.

James Kelman – A Disaffection: The novel begins Patrick Doyle was a teacher. Gradually he became sickened by it. That, and the fact he takes in Yoker Athletic v Glasgow Perthshire during the game, is more than enough to make it one of my favourite contemporary Scottish novels.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez – One Hundred Years of Solitude: I read this over a scorching Easter weekend in Bratislava in 2000 and was captivated by the incredible flights of narrative fancy Marquez concocts in this most magical of magical realist novels. The events relating to the history of Macondo touched a part of me that few books manage to do at such an elemental level. A joy to read.

Magnus Mills – The Restraint of Beasts: The only one on this list I don’t own. Loaned to me by my mate Paul Webb in Bratislava, this is the greatest example of the Marxist concept of a worker’s alienation from the means of production I could imagine. It is also incredibly funny and ridiculous in an absurd way. I love all his books. I wish he’d write another one.

Flann O’Brien – At Swim-Two Birds:  Another book from my university era and a glorious, uproarious read. Perhaps the best book about drinking I’ve ever read. Hilarious from start to finish and superbly intertwined with legends from Irish mythology. I love everything O’Nolan wrote, in all his guises.

Jeff Torrington – Swing Hammer Swing!: Another magnificent Scottish novel. The Gorbals is being pulled down for slum clearance and a whole litany of oddballs, drunks and eccentrics are going to be made homeless. What can they do to save their local area? I adored this novel when first coming across it in 1995.

Kurt Vonnegut – Slaughterhouse 5:  All of Vonnegut’s novels are a joy to read, but the madness of the imagination, and the real life tragedy behind this one, make it a simply stunning read. Deeply affecting.

Eyes & Ears III

Here we are again with another of my infrequent cultural round-ups, relating to what I’ve been reading, hearing and very occasionally, watching during the last while. As this bulletin includes the time I’ve been off work, I have understandably read more than in previous blogs, though one surprising innovation for this summer is that live music really took centre stage (pardon the pun), not particularly in a Festival setting either, with some superbly important gigs in the last few weeks. However, purchases of recorded music are at a very low level; indeed I think I’ve only availed myself of 6 new albums in 2014, though the new Shellac release is on the horizon.

Firstly though; television. Now as I’m fond of saying, other than news, football and the occasional police procedural I’m not a great watcher of the idiot box. An exception I made was Utopia in 2013; a taut, dystopian fantasy that combined excellent characterisation, superb dialogue and innovative filming. Just when I’d forgotten about it, series 2 came on our screens in July. I saw episode 1 and 2 on consecutive nights, and then promptly went on holiday and forgot about the remainder. Luckily Laura recorded them for me and I watched the last 4 together, including the closing episode in real time. The superb script continued, with historic conspiracy theories about Airey Neave, interwoven with unvarnished gore and a real sense of character development. The final episode that saw Wilson accepting the role of Mr Rabbit and the others seeing their fate resting on his subsequent actions was genuinely shocking and paves the way for a third series that I’m anticipating already. The sheer ordinariness of the characters’ previous lives and the humdrum reality of the settings are what make Utopia both creepy and memorable.

Books:

Years ago, I used to buy books on spec, regardless of my reading habits and stockpile them, reading them when I had the time, or inclination. Eventually, after finally clearing my bedside table of the to-do pile, five years after I moved into my house, I decided I would only buy or accept books when there was a reasonable prospect of reading them in the next few months. I’ve pretty much stuck to that, though Neil Young’s autobiography Waging Heavy Peace has sat on the night stand since Ben bought me it last Christmas. It’ll be tackled soon, I promise. To be fair, I didn’t buy the crime thriller Melting by Anna Davis, I simply picked it up from the IT suite at work on the last day of term, as it had lain there, presumably abandoned, for about 2 months. I can understand why.

It’s the story of professional con artists Jason and Fran, who induct Eileen to their clan and move from London to Manchester to Cardiff, running high end scams that always succeed. The risible plot premise becomes a minor detail as they move to Cardiff and Eileen becomes embroiled in a love affair with the trustafarian restaurateur they are trying to bleed dry. For a while you actually feel for Eileen as she wrestles with her conscience but, long before she escapes unscathed with a huge bag of foreign currency and a false passport, the mundane dialogue, implausible events, poorly drawn characters and leaden descriptions squeeze the life out the book. Ironically Anna Davis has packed in fiction to become a literary agent. I hope she can spot talent better than she could ever construct books.

Another person who abandoned fiction is the Irish writer Eamonn Sweeney, whose debut novel Waiting for the Healer caused me to write him a fan letter in 1998. I told him that never before had Longford, Edgeworthstown and Athlone been so memorably depicted in a tremendous account of family ties and mental disintegration in the drink-sodden Irish midlands.  He responded with gratitude and we exchanged correspondence and several of my stories, which he was most complimentary about. A couple of years later, I read his fictionalised account of post Treaty Irish politics, The Photograph, which I felt to be a more ambitious and less successful work, then he dropped under the publishing radar. Until I discovered he had reinvented himself as a GAA journalist, specialising in hurling. As he comes from Sligo any GAA devotee will find this amusing, but as his dad was from Kilkenny and Sweeney now resides in Cork, things do make sense.

Having seen the GAA round 4A football qualifiers in Tullamore in July and still holding fervent hope that my beloved Cork hurlers would win the Liam McCarthy this year, I began Sweeney’s The Road to Croker just in time for Tipp to smash the Rebels out of sight in the semi-final. I still read the book though and loved every page of his account of the 2003 season. His father dies, but Kilkenny win the hurling just days before his death and Tyrone beat Armagh in the first all Ulster (9 counties!!) final, making it both tragic and uplifting as Eamonn boozes and muses his way from Dungarvan to Newry and west Cork to Donegal, watching games and meeting the people who make the GAA what it is; the social and sporting glue that holds the country together in good times and in bad. This was a tremendous read and I’d recommend it without hesitation.

If you’ve got £2, Up Craig Dobson’s exhaustive account of West Allotment Celtic’s promotion to Northern League Division 1 in 2013/2014 is well worth a read. Written with both flair and balance, it is lavishly illustrated and innovatively designed, though I’d imagine the subject matter makes it a niche read. However Craig is now editing a football magazine about all NE teams, Northern Promise, that I’m writing for, which will hopefully bring his enthusiastic work to a wider audience.

Another niche read for me was Comrades; Inside the War of Independence by Annie Ryan, that I picked up from a newsagents for a couple of quid in Dalkey on a blisteringly hot afternoon when I’d only gone in for a Cornetto. Comrades is a series of first-hand accounts of the War of Independence told by the protagonists, often many years after the events. Ryan’s book draws on official witness statements taken in the late 1940s and only released to the public by the Irish Government in 2002, so divisive and contentious were many of the oral accounts. The events are described in a series of geographically distinct chapters and include a section on the significant role played by women throughout the conflict. The flying columns, the ambushes, the activities of the Black and Tans and the reprisals are all vividly outlined through the voices of the protagonists, who recollect their roles, great and small, in the struggle that ultimately led to the Treaty negotiations and the establishment of the Irish Free State. 95 years on from the Soloheadbeg Ambush, the legacy of the bitter struggle to establish the state is evocatively brought to life by the actual words those long dead men and women who were brave enough to take part.

Bravery and the importance of standing up for what one believes in are the absolute cornerstones of Mohsin Hamid’s wonderful novel The Reluctant Fundamentalist. The book, which reminded me so much of La Chute by Albert Camus, is the story of a young Muslim man's loves and losses, daubed against the backdrop of September 11^th. The narrator Changez is a young Pakistani graduate of Princeton who secures a top job on Wall Street and falls in love with a beautiful American woman. Events following the attack on the Twin Towers send Changez spiralling to the depths of a paranoid crisis of identity.

During the course of the novel, set during a return visit to Lahore, Changez tells this story to a mysterious American. He explains how he has struggled against the suspicions cast on him where, despite his achievements and ostensible 'Americanness', the colour of his skin is a veil implying 'terrorist.' As afternoon turns to evening on a busy Lahore street, Hamid cleverly brews an air of simmering distrust between Changez and his listener, subtly juxtaposing light and dark. The novel succeeds in wrapping an exploration of the straining relationship between East and West in a story which remains taut until the final pages. The roles of speaker and listener remain unnervingly elusive as the narrative ends with a strident note of unease.

There’s a similarly unhappy ending in The Big Midweek: Life Inside The Fallby Steve Hanley, which catalogues his 16 year career in my once favourite band with meticulous, chronological detail. Hanley, the reserved family man who always demurred to Mark E Smith’s violent, arrogant posturing tells the story of the band and not just of the frontman. It is a great read, by turns fascinating, amusing, uplifting and eventually, thoroughly depressing. Fall fans know the band were never the same after signing to Beggars Banquet after 1983’s Perverted By Language bar the occasional spike above the mediocre in Extricate, Infotainment Scan or Shiftwork. However, if the band creatively began to decline, as an entity The Fall ought to have died when Hanley followed enigmatic Craig Scanlon, irrepressible Marc Riley, the irascible Karl Burns and his studious younger brother Paul Hanley out the band. That said, the book did make me nostalgic and I had a great evening rediscovering such classics as Iceland, Garden and Paintwork. Whisper it quietly, I’m off visiting Ben in Leeds at the end of November at The Fall are playing Brudenell Social Club that night.

Music:

Obviously I’ve already blogged about Teenage Fanclub in Glasgow, so staying with the theme of outdoor music, the place to start is the north east summer festival season. Well, there’s not a lot for me to say; I didn’t get to the Ouseburn weekend as I’d not heard of any of the bands, then the Mouth of Tyne Festival was headed by Paul Weller so I wasn’t going anywhere near that, which only left the Americana weekend at The Sage. That clashed with Northumberland v Sussex on the Sunday and Benfield v Darlington on the Saturday, so I was only able to make it there for the opening afternoon, as I wasn’t prepared to lash out £30 to see the scarcely credible Steven Siegal Blues Band. First up were Shipcote & Friends who did their usual down home, folksy kitsch thing with washboards and banjos. Pleasant and diverting as ever, if not exactly creative. However, the great thing about Americana, or Summertyne Home Fries Stage, to use the proper name, is the chance to catch up with people, whether that’s John and the lasses over from Euskal Herria, Raga popping in on an extended lunch break or Ray from Lindisfarne wandering past, it doesn’t really matter. This year I had a really good chat with Alan the photographer, who I’ve known for almost 25 years but rarely get to see.

Friendly chat was a good diversion when former Hurrah frontman Paul Handyside took the stage; a Lyle Lovatt thin singer songwriter with dreams of being John Hiatt on Tyne, his serious tone was almost too sombre for the occasion. A small indoor venue in winter would suit his furrowed brow better than the wide open spaces of the lee of the Sage. Rosie & the Hips were a blessed relief, playing some obvious covers and derivative originals that gave the event a village fete in Georgia type feel. Tony Bengtsson was altogether more original, in terms of the composition of the songs played, and with his band they finally took the music played beyond the level of incidental music with a strong set of Irish influenced folk rock that I’d be happy to hear again, as I would Lesley Roley. A talented and engaging singer songwriter, she went up in my estimation by including 2 Joni Mitchell covers and was the only artist I took the time to congratulate when she’d finished her set. In fact, hers was the last set I saw in its entirety. I knew I’d be heading off before Archie Brown’s dated blues rock bluster ended proceedings, but the bluegrass by numbers of the curiously passionless Kentucky Cow Tippers had me heading home just after 5pm.  Despite the damp squib of an ending, it was an enjoyable day and I’m glad this free festival still takes place, but I can’t say I heard much, bar Lesley Roley, that really moved me.

So far 2014 has not been a vintage one in terms of collecting huge amounts of new releases. Thus far I’ve now got 6 new albums and 3 singles to speak of. I’ve also got 1 brilliant old single. As a secondary birthday present, Ben got me the Jamaican 7” of War in a Babylon by Max Romeo and the Upsetters, a song I’ve loved since I first heard it in 1977. The absolute lack of reggae on my 100 songs for my 50^th birthday would have been resolved if I’d had this slice of genius a couple of weeks earlier.  Next stop must be to finally plug that gap in my collection by getting King Tubby meets The Rockers Uptown.

The only new release I’ve purchased since I last blogged has been Crabs by Death Shanties, the “balls to the wall” free jazz combo lead by Alex Neilson of Trembling Bells on drums, aided by Sybren Renema on baritone saxophone and Lucy Stein on visuals. Admittedly this latter third of the outfit doesn’t come across as much on record as it does live, which I found out for myself during a tremendous show at The Bridge Hotel on August 5^th. Live Neilson and Renema combine to produce a dense, throbbing soup of wailing, primal aggression, while Stein utilises an OHP to display visceral slabs of colour that illustrate the sound for all synesthetics present. In the most part, the tracks are short, punching and utterly uncompromising. Live there are a few seconds rest between each piece, but on vinyl it all combines in one throbbing, breathless complaint of sheer brutal anger, which for some unaccountable reason I find both heartening and hilarious. One track they didn’t do live is the astonishing take on the old English folk song, O Where is St George, which includes Trembling Bells guitarist Mike Hastings, as well as Lucy Stein reading from D M Thomas’s chilling novel The White hotel. This is really special experimental stuff and evidence of the importance of the eclectic Mr Neilson in so much of what is good in contemporary music. Roll on 2015 and the promised Trembling Bells album.

This takes us to a trio of absolutely superb gigs over the summer; Midlake in Whitley Bay on July 10^th, British Sea Power with the NASUWT Brass Band in Durham on July 17^th and The Mekons at Cluny 2 on August 7^th. I first came across Midlake in 2007 at the time of Van Occupanther which I still love. Laura and I were lucky enough to see them at The Sage 2 back then, but missed out on The Courage of Others tour in 2010, when they played the smaller Cluny as the 250 tickets went in a day or so. This latter album was hailed as a masterpiece and I assented to this view at the time, but in retrospect I don’t feel it has lasted as well as Van Occupanther, sounding a little worthy and precious in comparison. Line-up changes meant their latest Antiphon hints at a slight change of direction, but only slight. Midlake remain the most skilled and authentic contemporary exponents of the varying sounds of 1968 to 1974, covering folk rock, country rock and now psychedelic prog rock with great gusto and guile.

Having only previously been to Whitley Bay Playhouse to see Charlie Chuck (it was empty) or for work events (always dull), I wasn’t sure how the place would play out as a rock venue. Well, I’m glad we took some surreptitious cans of ready mixed G&T as the bar shut at 8.30, at the very moment when the band took the stage, on account of the staff there looking as terrified as previous generations of suburban venue staff had when Rock Around the Clock in 1954 or the 1976 Anarchy in the UK tour hit town. Needless to say, Midlake drew an audience far removed from the slavering hell hounds North Tyneside Council had feared. Thankfully there was a crowd as I had worried, on account of the minimal publicity, that there wouldn’t be much of a turn out, but the place was 90% full and it was a superb show.

Drawing mainly on Antiphon and Van Occupanther the band gave an intense and accomplished account of themselves, barring an anti-climactic Young Bride. The highlights came towards the end when Roscoe gained a massive response, before the pretend encore (they seem at one with David Gedge on this) consisted, obviously, of an anthemic Head Home, but was prefaced by a version of I Shall Be Released that was better than the one from The Last Waltz. Midlake set the bar gloriously high in terms of summer gigs and I’m delighted that each successive band raised it.

The week after, British Sea Power’s gig at Durham Gala Theatre for the start of the International Brass Festival was an immediate sell out. Thankfully, I managed to secure a pair of tickets for Ben and I through Bill at work. A pleasant afternoon wander through the land of the Prince Bishops via a few beers and a meal in the Head of Steam saw us arriving at the venue in good time, as we’d been warned it would be a prompt start. That is putting it mildly as BSP, with no support, took the stage at 7.35 and the whole event was over by 9.10, with Ben and I catching the slightly delayed 9.22 train back to the Central. This made Whitley Bay Playhouse seem like a Haight Astbury happening in terms of event management, but the gig was even better.

I’ve never seen BSP in the same venue twice; Middlesbrough Empire, Newcastle University, The Tyne Theatre, Northumbria University and now here, the last 3 times with Ben. Every show has been different and every one a triumph. This run through their back catalogue with the NASUWT Brass Band was another classic evening, despite the band’s unaccountable and perverse need to end some gigs with When a Warm Wind Blows through the Grass immediately after Waving Flags had got energy levels up to the stratosphere. To be fair, this is only a minor quibble as the 15 songs benefitted from the beefing up provided by the authentic Durham pit band. Quite what the fellas in their neat uniforms thought of the usual 15 minute orgy of sound that was Lately, which is always my BSP highlight, though Lights out for Darker Skies and The Great Skua came close, was not reported. I’m really looking forward to seeing this lot again at The Sage on October 25^th, to discover if the brass section is even more vital after a few months gigging experience. It did make me wonder why rock bands don’t adopt a conductor, waving a baton and coaxing out ever greater performances from the musicians. Perhaps one day we’ll see that and I’d imagine BSP are one of the bands most likely to incorporate such a potential innovation.  Also, the Durham stage was too small for the bears and I want to see Ursos Actos treading the boards during Lately again before I die.

If British Sea Power had gone for extra recruits for their band, The Mekons had gone the opposite way and pared the whole thing down to essentials. In the absence of the unwilling Tom Greenhalgh, the most enduring band to come out of Headingley (are the Gang of Four the greatest? Possibly; certainly the most important) stripped themselves down to an acoustic outfit and brought along Chicago pal Robbie Fulks to play in front of a healthy gathering at The Cluny 2 on August 7^th. This was to have been my 50^th birthday lads night out celebration, but with Raga opting to see Penetration at the Three Tuns and Ben off to Boomtown Festival, the theme for the evening was I’ll have to Dance Then on my Own, which they didn’t play of course, but we did get a storming set drawn from the entire history of the band.

There was an understandable emphasis on much of the post reformation era C&W tinged material,  on account of their acoustic  set-up, but that was fine as it is some of their strongest material, with Ghosts of American Astronauts, (Sometimes I Feel Like) Fletcher Christian and Big Zombie being particular highlights. That said, the old timer in me was elated to hear The Building, which Jon did while Robbie Fulks changed a string for him, and a final encore of Where Were You? No Corporal Chalkie alas, but a hug from Jon Langford at the end made the whole evening, which was really well attended, a total triumph. Thanks to the Jumpin’ Hot Club for putting it on. I really hope Tom’s absence from the band isn’t the sign of a final fissure and that The Mekons get back together recording soon.

Well, that’s it for now. The autumn offers the prospect of gigs by Vic Godard (Star & Shadow final event on September 19th, as well as Ben and I’s last dad and lad gig before he heads off to Leeds Met to study History), British Sea Power at The Sage on October 26^th, The Wedding Present doing Watusi and Mini at The Cluny on November 10^th and Ray Jackson’s Lindisfarne at the City Hall on December 23^rd. In terms of recorded music, there’s the new Shellac album at last, as well as a special Velvet Underground Live 68 semi-official bootleg that I’ve got on order from Volcanic Tongue, which I’ve discovered is now mail order only (wish I’d learned that before my 4 mile hungover hike in Glasgow the other week). In terms of books, I’ve just banged in orders for  Roddy Doyle’s latest collection of his Two Pints duologes and Eamonn Sweeney’s book about Sligo Rovers. Then I’ll get round to Neil Young’s Waging Heavy Peace. Is it any wonder I don’t have time to watch television?