Do you have a question you've been dying to ask Rod? If so, send it to
info@rodclements.com. Responses will be posted
here on a regular basis, depending on Rod's time, availability and how long it takes him to think
of a sensible answer.
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Walking Blues was originally written and performed by Robert Johnson in the 1930s, and covered by the Paul Butterfield Blues Band on their second album East West (1966?). The Zappa song was Big Leg Emma, one of the few single releases by the Mothers of Invention, which being a tongue-in-cheek 12 bar blues, lent itself to our style at the time. Both songs featured regularly in the Downtown Faction repertoire and survived into the early days of Lindisfarne.The BBC sessions gave us a chance to play things which were either impractical to play live or didn't quite fit with the live setlist. Dream Within A Dream was a song I wrote in the Brethren/Rex Folk Club days, and will be reviving for the forthcoming One Track Mind re-release. Psalm to a Secret is an Alan song which I recall only from its title - possibly Alan performed it solo. Where The Action Is is a great Si Cowe song which should have been on a JTL album.
I have no recollection of any of the others, except of course Battle of New Orleans, which was re-enacted periodically over the years (mostly by JTL2) and has long been a mainstay of Billy Mitchell's after-hours repertoire.
Rod, was it you playing the fiddle on the studio version of We Can Make It? - Tom
Cunningham
Not me but Stuart Hardy. My contribution was limited to guitar. Stuart subsequently formed a duo with Jed Grimes (formerly of Pacamax), and their album The Rocky Shore contained a version of Any Way The Wind Blows.
In the interview you mention that Nigel and yourself have the same taste in reading matter. Being
an avid reader (mainly fiction), I'm curious as to what that taste is, if it’s not being too
intrusive? - Andy
The list of books I want to read grows faster than I can keep up with it, and there’s nothing
like a good tour to help me catch up. I read Snow Falling... and a collection of Paul
Theroux’s miscellanea while I was in the States with Lindisfarne Acoustic. I also read
poetry from time to time, and keep returning to Keats, W.B.Yeats and Robert
Graves in particular.
Not intrusive at all, Andy, fair question. I read quite a bit of modern fiction, though maybe not
totally bang up-to-date. I've recently enjoyed David Guterson’s Snow Falling on Cedars
(recommended by Nigel); E. Annie Proulx’s Accordion Crimes and Walter Mosley’s
RL’s Dream, both with strong music themes; Graham Swift’s Last Orders and
Waterland (the latter also from Nigel, tremendous stuff); two Jonathan Coes,
What a Carve Up and House of Sleep (haven't got round to The Rotters’ Club
yet); the excellent English Passengers by Matthew Kneale; and The Life of Pi
by Yann Martel. I'd strongly recommend all these to anyone who hasn't read them. Likewise
for those so inclined, Rosebud, David Thomson’s excellent life of Orson Welles
(which is where I came across the story of Hattie).
Was Meet Me on the Corner ever part of the
Brethren set? - Tom Cunningham
No, Brethren never played it. For some reason, it took a while to get into the set. I
remember rehearsing it, with the original Lindisfarne lineup, at a club called
The Factory in the West End of London when somebody came in and told us that
Jimi Hendrix had died.
What's a baritone guitar? I'd never heard of one before. - Tom Cunningham
It's a longer than normal guitar, tuned a fourth lower than usual (B.E.A.D.F#.B, bottom to top).
For Nigel's album Brimstone & Blue, I just put bass strings
on a standard Telecaster and tuned it thus, but we all liked it so much I subsequently bought a
black Danelectro Baritone, purpose-built with long-scale neck - as heard on
Unfinished Business. This guitar later appeared on several
tracks on Odd Man Out and will in due course be featured in
the Guitar Gallery.
We were at the Rock, Maltby (26.10.07) and thought the gig
was excellent… what was the 6-string guitar Dave was playing? - Nick Andrew
The white, odd-shaped guitar Dave plays is an Airline from about 1965. It's USA-made, from the
Valco factory in Chicago which also made the electric National and Supro guitars, which
(like the Airline) have fibreglass bodies. They made the Airline range for the Montgomery
Ward catalogue company. I bought the Airline from Music Ground in Doncaster about 20
years ago, but Dave ended up using it a lot more than me, so I sold it to him! Airlines have
emerged from obscurity to be very collectable, since Jack White
of White Stripes fame started using one. I’ll be featuring this guitar in the
Guitar Gallery in the next few months.
I was wondering what bass you used during your time with
Lindisfarne? I know on the
Old Grey Whistle Test,
you seem to be using some sort of modified Precision bass, have you any info about it? Your tone
on some of the Lindisfarne albums is beautiful, I'd like to
know how I can get close to such a tone myself! - Daniel McCormack
After that '61 Precision I played Rickenbacker, Gretsch, Fender,
Music Man, Squier, and Overwater basses, as well as a mysterious copy of a
scroll-head Ampeg.
I got closest to the tone I was always trying to achieve on the old '61 Precision. It had serial
no. 63325 and I bought it second-hand in London for about £80 in 1968. It would be worth
thousands now. It was originally salmon pink, quite chipped & worn when I got it, and after I'd
had it a few months I stripped the paint off back to the wood, as was in vogue at the time
(inspired by John McVie of John Mayall's Bluesbreakers & later Fleetwood Mac)
- solid guitars were not sold in natural finish then. Not long after that, I saw Joe Cocker's
Grease Band with Chris Stainton on bass (before he changed to piano) and was astounded
to see him playing a bass much the same as mine - but with no frets! So I prised the frets out of
mine with a screwdriver, filled up the slots with plastic wood and sanded and polished the
fingerboard. This is definitely NOT recommended, but somehow it worked, and the fretless sound
became a bit of a trademark for me. I also removed part of the scratchplate and stained the body
in a dark oak colour. So that's how the bass was when I did those recordings and appeared with it
on OGWT.
However, it wasn't particularly easy to play and by this time I fancied something different, so I
got a Rickenbacker and had it converted to fretless. Though I used it through
Jack The Lad and for a short while after, it wasn't a great success and I was soon back to
a Fender - an off-the-peg fretless Precision, the one on the front page of the
website Discography section (1975).
In the meantime, I had left Jack The Lad and their new bass player asked if he could
borrow my old '61, which I had had re-fretted. While they had it, it got stolen and I never saw
it again.
So the morals of the story are:
1. Tone is all-important - it sounds like you know that already.
During my time with Lindisfarne I used a number of basses, but the one you're referring to
(as seen on OGWT) was a '61 Fender Precision, the one I used on the first two albums
(Nicely Out Of Tune and Fog On The
Tyne), and on the title track of Dingly Dell (the
rest of that album was played on a Rickenbacker).
2. Sod's law says: the harder it is to play, the better it sounds.
3. There are lots of good basses, but you can't go wrong with an old Precision.
4. Don't lend it to anybody else.
Sorry to trouble you. Is there any chance of you putting up the lyrics of Fast Lane Driver (from the first Jack The Lad album, It's Jack The Lad)? I've been listening to the LP for years and I play the tape in the van. I can wing most of it, but there's a rather instrumentally-overloaded bit where I can't get anywhere close. - Julian Flood
FAST LANE DRIVER
Hitch hiker, let me give you a ride, I can see you’re going my way
I know now I’ve reached the end of the road my fate must take
Well I came out like a hero on my wings of burning steel
Hitch hiker, now I’ve told you enough, and you’re where you asked to be
(Words & music: Rod Clements 1973)
I'm trying to picture you singing along with this as you’re driving your van – should we be worried? Anyway, if you promise to be careful, here goes:
I got a feeling that I don’t have long but I’ve still got things to say
For though I look so handsome in my shiny car I’m not as lucky as I seem
I’ve been staring at the midday sun & now I’m driving in a dream
And my brakes are worn & thin, and my reactions are too slow
But before the black crows take me home, I’d like someone to know
How it feels at the wheel in the dream of the fast lane driver
I can feel it hanging over me for the first false move I make
And then the road is reeling in the clear blue sky, and a sudden flash of burning light
And the ghostly faces trying to tell me everything’s all right
And the Sunday drivers twist their necks to see what price is paid
And the black crow cocks his head to see the sacrifice well made
Take a lesson from the fate of the fast lane driver
But now I see I’m flesh and blood like anyone
And if destiny must take me, let me slide beneath her wheels
Or would I wake to see my blood spilt in the sun
Just think you’re lucky that you’re on your way, and that you’ll see no more of me
Unless you travel down this road again and you see the blue lights play
And the highway spread with diamonds, and a smoky plume of grey
I’ll be laid out on the shoulder with a white sheet on my face
And the crows will scrape the ground and leave a curse upon the place
Say a prayer for the soul of the fast lane driver
Say a prayer for the soul of the fast lane driver
Rod was interviewed recently (March 2008) by Catherine Lydon,
a BA History student at the University of Sunderland, as research for her final year dissertation
on The Rise of Popular Music in the North East between 1950-1975. Her questions and Rod's
answers are reproduced below.
1. Was there anything distinctive about the North East music scene
when you were growing up and later on when you were in Lindisfarne
?
To some extent the North East music scene of the early sixties lagged behind the wider national
scene. The influence of groups like the Beatles and Stones - both musically and in
terms of style and image – took a while to filter through. Many bands, particularly those who
played the working men's club circuit, retained the hairstyles and dress codes of the Shadows
& the late 50s rock'n'roll era, even into the mid 60s. Once or twice I was asked to put on a
sparkly jacket when doing dep. jobs for those bands.
2. If you mean clubs as in contemporary music venues – as opposed to working men's clubs – the
main one was of course the Club Agogo in Newcastle. There was also the Quay Club,
the Downbeat (in the early 60s, a bit before my time) and the Mayfair Ballroom.
Further afield there was the 45 Club in Whitley Bay and El Cubana in Sunderland;
I'm sure there were many others I've forgotten. Then there was the Bailey's night club
circuit with venues in Newcastle, South Shields and Stockton that I recall, who used to book
young rock bands or 'beat groups' sometimes. And, of course, one shouldn't ignore the working
men's club circuit, which although it was very much a separate world with its own rules, still
supplemented most bands' date sheets and provided invaluable experience.
3.Promoters like Dave Wood, who ran Impulse Studio in Wallsend, managed Alan Hull
and pioneered mobile discos in the area, and Joe Robertson, whose interests were in
property and bars – they joint-managed Lindisfarne at the very beginning. Bill Keith,
who had the Quay Club. Agents like Ivan Birchall, who provided the bread-and-butter
gigs like the working men's clubs, and Tappy Wright, who used to be The Animals'
road manager. Later, Barry Mackay, who had record & instrument shops, promoted gigs and
became Lindisfarne's manager in the late 70s.
4.
As far as I remember, in the late 60s, £10 - £15 would be considered
quite a good fee for a local band in a local gig. By the time the agency commission, the petrol
and other bills had been paid, we'd probably end up with about £1 each, but beer was only about
10p a pint back then.
5.
This varied considerably depending on the night of the week and the type
of venue. Weekends were always busy in both the rock venues and the working men's clubs. I'd say
audiences of 100+ were not unusual.
6.
My influences were almost exclusively from outside the region – that was
the point! I began listening to American-influenced guitar music, Duane Eddy, The
Ventures, The Shadows (unaware until later that Hank & Bruce were from Newcastle) -
then when the 60s got going, the Beatles, Stones, Kinks – then blues (both
country and urban Chicago style), Dylan and songwriting. Of course, there were others
around me with the same interests, and we gravitated towards and influenced each other. We were
proud of the fact that The Animals, who were a few years older than us, came from our area
and played music we liked, even though we thought their image was a bit old-fashioned (see
question 1). The Junco Partners were the successors to The Animals, taking over their
residency at the Club Agogo, and we used to go and watch them – they had the best rhythm section
around, and I briefly had the honour of standing in for the bass player for a couple of gigs
while he was on holiday (no, I didn't have to wear a sparkly jacket). I once saw the Newcastle
poet Tom Pickard give a performance where he was accompanied by two guys
playing open-tuned acoustic guitars droning away while he declaimed his poetry; that made a big
impression on me. Our other regional influences, if you can call them that, were seeing national
and international touring artists at the Club Agogo and elsewhere.
7.
In my earliest days, the early 60s, it was Elvis-style crooners backed
by guitar bands with sparkly jackets. Then the same bands tried to jump on the beat-group
bandwagon. I was part of a slightly younger crowd who got into blues having checked out where
the Stones and Kinks got their early material from. Blues was the in thing for a while in the
mid-to-late 60s among people who were looking for something a bit different from the mainstream
and were drawn to its authenticity and what we interpreted as its rejection of commerciality.
That scene fragmented into bands doing Tamla and soul covers on the one hand, and Free-type
proto-heavy rock bands on the other. Running in the background all the time was the working men's
club circuit with its insatiable appetite for chart hits, standards and old-fashioned
entertainment, which provided a counterbalance to our artistic aspirations.
8.
In my late teens I was part of a group of friends drawn mainly from
school and my local area but bound together more closely by our shared interest in music. It was
actually more than a shared interest – it was a passion or an obsession, and the degree to which
you felt it determined your position at the centre or the periphery of the group. This was partly
our standard youthful rebellion phase, but it was given focus and meaning by our attraction to
music that turned convention on its head and seemed to offer a different set of values to live
by. It would be impossible to overstate the importance of the cultural shift that was
kick-started by the Beatles and the music that followed and then overtook them, how that linked
with the earlier 'beat' movement and its rejection of bourgeois values, its connection with
Dylan, the folk-protest movement and all that followed. We felt part of all this and we felt that
all over the country and beyond there were groups of like-minded people like ourselves. Playing
music gave a focus to all this and provided a conduit which brought more people into our circle,
and we would also keep seeing the same faces at gigs we went to and get to know them as well. I
think we probably did have a 'look', though it wasn’t something conscious or slavishly followed,
rather a rejection of fashion and commercial trends – we didn't think much of Carnaby Street, for
instance. If anything it was more of an updated beatnik look like Dylan or the early Beatles –
donkey jackets, black jeans, black polo-neck or cord shirt, Converse boots, long hair (but not
that long, yet) – that's how we fancied ourselves, anyway.
9.
All of the above, and the music itself. From first hearing guitar music, I wanted to be involved,
and as I followed the musical connections I found all these social ramifications appearing as
well. The blues appealed to me particularly strongly because – as well as its direct musical
appeal - it was perceived as the music of a disenfranchised underclass, it was the antithesis of
formal European music, it dealt in universal truths, and it provided access to a direct emotional
spontaneity that most conventionally brought up British white kids didn't otherwise have.
10.
See above. I'm still trying to be a successful artist, and it means the
same to me now.
11.
Later on, as we started doing or own thing and making progress, we lost touch with the local
scene and moved to London for a while. When we came back the club Agogo was Agonegone, along
with most of that scene. Discos, changes in popular taste, TV, and the commercialisation of the
counterculture all played their part in the demise of that national club circuit which had so
benefited bands like Lindisfarne up until the early 70s. A later generation of young bands would
find their own live circuit, but for a while in the late 70s and 80s, things were pretty
desperate.
As I’ve indicated above, the music scene was spread across a variety of
venues ranging from the 'rock' gigs to the more conventional nightclub and working men's club
circuits. Recording opportunities were limited to making demos, either at Dave Wood's
Impulse Studio in Wallsend or Mortonsound in Newcastle; if you wanted to make a
real record, you had to go to London. Gigs like the Club Agogo and the Mayfair provided great
opportunities to see bands. The first band I went to see at the Club Agogo was the Alex Harvey
Soul Band; later I saw John Mayall's Blues Breakers (several times, twice with Eric
Clapton and later Peter Green and Mick Taylor), Cream (twice),
Zoot Money, Geno Washington… the second time I went to see John Mayall's Blues
Breakers they were late arriving. We were told they’d broken down at Scotch Corner. I didn't even
know where Scotch Corner was (I’d find out soon enough). When they arrived they had to carry
their gear through the waiting crowd and I remember Clapton with his coat on carrying a guitar
and amp pushing his way through. The Club Agogo had two separate rooms, the Young Set (soft
drinks only) and the Jazz Lounge (which was licensed), and every band that played there had to do
an early show in the Young Set, then carry all their gear through to the Jazz Lounge for a late
set. Tommy Finlay the bouncer used to part the audience so the band could get through, and
nobody got in Tommy's way.
12.
I was fortunate enough to grow up in a fairly well-off middle class household where the only
difficulty I faced was parental opposition to my musical ambitions. My parents eventually
conceded that if I got a degree I could go off and do what I liked, which is what I did. But I
was aware that my wider social environment was a conservative, class-conscious society which
offered a narrow range of pre-ordained options, and the music I discovered was a window onto a
whole new world and at the same time, a passport into it.
13.
I was away from the North East from 1970 to 1976, so wasn't really aware
of what was happening in the region. As I said above, I think that period saw a decline in the
number of smaller venues. If the local music scene grew then, I must have missed it.
14.
My attitude was shaped by the influences I outlined above: a
conventional background on the one hand, the escape from it that music offered on the other. You
couldn't have both; it really was running away to join the circus - working in 'the music
business' was not then seen as a career option in the way that it's seen now. You couldn't study
it at college & if you could, I probably would have wanted to do something else. I never had any
doubt that I was making the right decision and I was not surprised that it took me where it
did.
15.
I would say that both youth culture and popular culture, as concepts,
were in their infancy in the 60s. Popular culture was moving from the cinema to TV and there
wasn't much 'youth-oriented programming' in either medium. So programmes like Ready Steady
Go! were hugely important to us as a chance to see top bands playing live, and even watch
visiting U.S. bluesmen like John Lee Hooker backed by John Mayall's Blues Breakers. There
were other occasional gems like the 1965 Dylan concerts on BBC2. After programmes like these we'd
all be talking about them the next day. One of the places we hung out was the Calypso
coffee bar on Tynemouth Front Street where we played the jukebox and thought we were the bee's
knees. I suppose to that extent, the TV influenced us, as did the jukebox and going to gigs, and
we influenced each other in sharing our opinions. Later when we started playing around pubs and
clubs, we found that there was quite a healthy folk music scene bubbling away as well, and became
another outlet as somewhere we could go and play unplugged.
16.
I'd have to say that fashions in the North East lagged behind in the
early days, just as the music did as I said in answer to your first question. I used to regularly
buy the national music weeklies like the NME and Melody Maker and study them avidly, so I knew
what was happening in London and nationally. If you took your cues from the bands in those papers
and dressed accordingly, you got some pretty funny looks from the folks of North Shields and the
other small towns around – but that, of course, was one of the ways we picked one another out and
gravitated together. It was a bit different in Newcastle where, being a city, people were more
fashion-conscious. There weren't the tribes back then, though – they came later. There were a few
sharp-dressed mods but most people my age were pretty casual, a sort of mix of art
student-cum-rocker. Later there were a few touches of hippiedom but that didn't really catch on
here. But I remember coming back one time and all the lads seemed to have long straggly hair and
beards and army greatcoats or parkas. However, I think the Toon has always been ahead of the rest
of the North East and now it holds its own with anywhere in the country, if not the world. But
when it comes to fashion you're probably better off asking somebody else.
Hi Rod, Do you have any plans to record a studio album as Rod Clements
and The Ghosts of Electricity, or are the Ghosts strictly a 'live' band? Also, do you
plan on visiting South Wales again at any point, as I was disappointed that your last visit to
the area was cancelled a few months ago? Thanks, Mick Fisher
Well, the Ghosts of Electricity are Dave, Ian and Paul, who have together already made sterling contributions as the core band on both my post-Lindisfarne studio albums, and I hope they'll be able to do it again in the future. However, both those albums have also featured performances from several non-Ghosts and I wouldn’t want to deny myself that opportunity if I felt the new songs would benefit from it.I do hope very much to be returning to South Wales soon, either solo or with the Ghosts, though I can't say when at the moment. I know I keep saying this, but your best bet is to keep checking the website.
I'm not old enough to have been around when Lindisfarne first began
(I'm only 17) but I play in a buskers' night in a pub where I first heard
Meet Me on the Corner and Lady
Eleanor, now two of my favourite songs. After hearing them I bought the final concert
DVD from the Opera House in 2003 and absolutely loved it. I just want to ask, what are your
favourite memories from your time with Lindisfarne either from the Alan
Hull / Ray Jackson days or from the
Billy Mitchell / Dave Hull-Denholm days? - Craig Johnson
Blimey, now you're asking. So many memories, and such a long time ago. My favourites from the early days would have to include our first gigs away from Tyneside, on trips to Devon in the summers of the late 60s… touring the USA and Australia… and the first comeback gig at Newcastle City Hall, in December 1976, had an atmosphere no-one who was there could ever forget. Later, touring the US with Lindisfarne Acoustic and playing in the open air at the Musikfest in Bethlehem, PA, and on Michael Jonathon's Woodsongs live radio show in Lexington, KY… fortunately we have records & DVDs to keep the old memories alive for us, while we go out & make some new ones. Remember tomorrow!
Prior to the re-design of the site, you had an item about a song called Ol'
Bill or Tell Ol' Bill. I think it set out the lyrics and also
contained Rod's take on the song's origins. I was privileged to be present at one of the few Rod
solo concerts to include the song. Any chance of repeating the details? Kind regards, Mike Nixon
Quite a few people have asked me where I found this song. I first heard it sung by Eric Bibb when I supported him in Glasgow in 1998, and it's on the CD I bought from him afterwards & got him to sign for me (not something I often do). He's sung it since on a couple of other occasions when I've supported him. The CD, which I recommend, is called Spirit & the Blues (Opus 19401) and is available from www.ericbibb.com. Eric is an interesting character as well as a great performer. His father Leon was a close friend of Dylan's in Greenwich Village in the early 60s. Eric was based in Sweden and playing with Swedish musicians (including an excellent slide player called Goran Wennerbrandt) when I first saw him. He tours regularly and is well worth catching. The song is called Tell Ol' Bill and it's credited on the CD as 'trad/adapted by E. Bibb'. In a note, Eric tells us: 'When I was eleven I had a record by folk singer Bob Gibson that included an unforgettable song called Tell Ol' Bill...' Nigel Stonier told me he'd heard the song on a record by the doyenne of American folk music, Odetta. If you google the title now, you'll find that most of the references are to a newish (2005) Bob Dylan song of the same name, but bearing no relation to this one other than the title and a single use, well into the song, of the line 'Tell Ol' Bill when he comes home'. The authorship of Tell Ol' Bill is unknown, and it's obviously a very old song – I've always imagined it to be set in the early 20th century, not far from St James's Infirmary. I've seen an older version than this (including some words we wouldn't sing nowadays) in a book of American folk songs edited by John & Alan Lomax. Like all the best traditional songs, it's been worn smooth by being passed through so many hands. I think some of the narrative detail has rubbed off with the rough edges, and what's left is all the more intriguing for it. When I first heard Eric sing it 10 years ago it stopped me in my tracks, and it's kept growing on me ever since. Sometimes when I'm attracted to a song and take it apart to work out the chords and learn the lyrics, some of its charm and mystery evaporates; this has never happened with Tell Ol' Bill – in fact, I found it so memorable that I never had to make the effort to sit down & learn it. To me, this story has the ring of truth about it, combining closely-observed detail (the gate, the bread, the boots) with tantalising suggestion - just what was Bill getting up to with the downtown girls? Whom did he upset, what line did he cross? The genius who first told this story may be lost to history, but ol' Bill will be around a long time yet.Tell ol' Bill when he comes home in the morning
Tell ol' Bill when he comes home
Tell ol' Bill when he comes home
To leave them downtown girls alone
In the morning, so soonNow, Bill left home by the alley gate in the evening
Bill left home by the alley gate
Bill left home by the alley gate
Ol' Sal said, 'Bill, now don’t you be late'
In the morning, so soonNow, Bill’s sweet wife was baking bread in the morning
Bill's sweet wife was baking bread
Bill's sweet wife was baking bread
When she found out that Bill was dead
In the morning, so soonShe said, 'Oh no, no, this cannot be
Oh no, no, no, this cannot be
Oh no, no, this cannot be
They killed my Bill in the third degree'
In the morning, so soonAnd they brought Bill home in a hurryup wagon in the morning
They brought Bill home in a hurryup wagon
And they brought Bill home in a hurryup wagon
And poor ol' Bill, his boots were draggin'
In the morning, so soonTell ol' Bill when he comes home in the morning
Tell ol' Bill when he comes home
Tell ol' Bill when he comes home
To leave them downtown girls alone
In the morning, so soon
While we're at it, could I put in a request for the lost third verse of
Freedom Square? - Tom Cunningham
The third verse of Freedom Square (which was omitted from the 2002 Lindisfarne version as recorded on Promenade) goes like this:Now folks think it's a funny sight to see
What a poor boy will get up to when he's free
But they can laugh at me & I won't care
Cos me I know, I'm gonna see my good girl there
And I'll grab her by the hand
And in that promised land
We'll all walk together and go dancing in the square
We'll sing our fathers' songs, there'll be freedom in the air
We'll plant a seed and maybe it'll grow
So please, captain, let me goAnd that's right, that's right, I'm going down to Freedom Square
That's right, that's right, that's right
And that's right, that's right, I'm going to meet my people there
That's right, that's right, that's right
Hello Rod. Over the last four years or so, your catalogue of solo work has increased.
Understandably, your live performances have concentrated on these songs, not only to promote and
enjoy them but also, I guess, to put a bit of distance between you and the confining Lindisfarne
heritage. Do you think you'll ever again find space in a set for some of your earlier songs? I am thinking in particular of Lindisfarne recordings that never became live set regulars - such
as The Things I Should Have Said,
Don't Ask Me and
When Friday Comes Along - and also your contribution to
Jack The Lad. I remember that you included
Plain Dealing in the Leather Launderette tour,
but others such as Fast Lane Driver well deserve an airing.
As does your 'number one or two song' From My Window, an
absolute gem. It would be a pity to consign these to the past. Thanks, Stuart Grant.
There's no particular overriding reason why I've been neglecting these songs and in fact, now you mention them, I might have another look at them. The main criteria for whether a song gets into the solo set are: (1) Do I still believe in it? & (2) Can I play it convincingly on my own? For example, it took me a long time to work out a way to play Why Can't I Be Satisfied? as a solo piece. Without making any rash promises, I'd have thought Plain Dealing or Don't Ask Me could be revived quite easily. Fast Lane Driver, When Friday Comes Along and The Things I Should Have Said are possibly a bit long and wordy to work solo, and maybe need a band treatment to add variety and dynamics, but I won’t know till I sit down & try them. And who knows, maybe the world is ready for From My Window at last! At least I can assure you that there's no agenda concerning the Lindisfarne heritage or anything else that stands between me & performing my own songs – it's just that sometimes my enthusiasm for a new song (or a rediscovered old one) can relegate others to the back burner for a while.
You've probably been asked a million times, is there any likelihood that Lindisfarne will tour
again? Preferably in the near future. I have been to thousands of live shows and play in a couple
of bands myself, but I can honestly say that the Lindisfarne shows (especially the acoustic ones)
were among the very best if not the very best times. I am not alone in wanting to see and hear
the band again, judging from the various web forums. So how about another final tour? Quo have
one every year! Kind regards, Steve Ayers
Whether a band calling itself Lindisfarne ever tours again is not for me to say. What I can say is that if it does, I will not be part of it - Lindisfarne is finished as far as I'm concerned. To my mind, the true spirit of the band is best seen & heard on the early records and recorded performances (and sometimes on the later ones too), and is there to be enjoyed for as long as there is something to play them on. It's always gratifying to hear a regular gig-goer and a musician like yourself express their appreciation, and there will always be a small and vocal hardcore of fans hoping for a reunion, but let's face it, the Lindisfarne reunion started in 1976 and lasted over a quarter of a century. My musical inclinations and aspirations remain much the same as when I first started playing, and I like to think that elements of the genuine Lindisfarne spirit are more likely to be found in the old and new music that we (and others) make as individuals than in a reunion cobbled together for sentimental or financial reasons. (So that's a no, sorry!)
Rod, you must have supported and been supported by a lot of great acts in your time. Which ones
were most memorable? Tom Cunningham
In the early days of Lindisfarne, we supported – among others – the Beach Boys, the Kinks and Frank Zappa; and acts that supported us included Genesis, Chris Rea and Chas & Dave – each of whom brought their own unique style to the party. But of all the other artists I've shared a bill with, there are two that particularly stand out.When I was a student in Durham in the late 60s, I was the Social Secretary at my college, and one of my jobs was to book the bands for various dances and functions during my year of office. My own band, the Downtown Faction, somehow used to find itself playing the support slots quite frequently. On one occasion I took a chance on booking a band from London that nobody in Durham had ever heard of, but I'd read enough about them in the music press to convince me that at least I'd enjoy them. They were called Fairport Convention and they cost us £60. They were a very different band from the English folk-festival institution they have since become - they played songs by Dylan, Leonard Cohen, and Joni Mitchell, along with a few of their own, mostly by their stunning young guitarist Richard Thompson; there was an altogether much more contemporary vibe about the band then. They had just recruited a young singer called Sandy Denny, who sang most of the set with her back to the audience – in retrospect, I think it must have been one of her first gigs with the band. They played an outstanding version (prominently featuring Richard's guitar) of the Paul Butterfield Band instrumental East-West – a lengthy workout with which, as Butterfield fans ourselves, we were already familiar, and which confirmed our growing conviction that these were kindred spirits. Anyone who has a copy of Fairport's 1969 album What We Did On Our Holidays will know what the band looked like back then from the photo on the back– it's almost exactly how they looked that night in Durham. They even had the dog with them, though he wasn't on stage as he is in the picture – he stayed in my room, which served as the band's dressing room (though it wasn't big enough for them all to get into at once).
The other one was thirty years later, in 1998, when Fraser Speirs and I supported Eric Bibb. Eric sat flanked by his dobro player on one side and mandolinist on the other, delivering a beautifully nuanced, supremely heartfelt performance of what was practically his signature song, Needed Time, which held everybody in the room spellbound… and this was only the soundcheck, there were only half a dozen of us there to hear it, and the setting was the grey, echoing cavern of Glasgow's Fruitmarket on a weekday afternoon with the city bustling about its daily business just outside. These people really mean it, I thought. The set that Eric and his friends delivered that night was as powerful, uplifting and sensitive as anything I've heard before or since, and got me thinking about how much can be done by three people sitting on chairs playing acoustic instruments.
I read somewhere that you played bass on a single called Magic Morning
Sun by a group called Darien Spirit, and that
Charlie Harcourt played on Rock Your
Soul by the same group. Can you throw any light on this? - Martin Hall
Darien Spirit was a Scottish duo, a couple of songwriting chaps, who signed to Charisma in the early 70s. Their name was a reference to the ill-fated attempt to found a Scottish colony in Central America (Darien) in the 17th century (and I will refrain from any facetious comparisons between these otherwise unconnected projects). I did indeed play on a single for them, but I think it was Rock Your Soul because the title is familiar and I vaguely remember the chorus. I have no recollection of the session, but if Charlie had been there I think I'd have remembered. I don't remember Magic Morning Sun at all. Perhaps Charlie played on that one? (He was around in those days, even prior to Lindisfarne Mk II, as he was a member of Jackson Heights.) All I remember is meeting two nice guys over a convivial pub lunch and going to rehearse at their house in north London a few days prior to recording.
I chanced upon a mention of the Alan Parsons Project having
recorded a single Dr Tarr & Professor Fether/
A Dream Within A Dream (Charisma CB293). The latter has no
connection with your own composition, does it? – Geoff Styche
I've never heard this track but if it was a cover of my song I'm sure I'd have heard about it, as all the parties concerned were on Charisma at the time. I checked the Alan Parsons Project website, however, and found that this piece and several others were inspired by the work of Edgar Allan Poe, who wrote a poem with the same title. I wrote my song around the time I was first knocking around with Alan Hull, whose fascination with Poe is well known. I was already familiar with Poe's work and remember discussing it with Alan, so perhaps the title came up in conversation and sparked the song. Poe's original poem and my song are on the same theme, the difficulty of distinguishing between dream and reality.The singles referred to here and in the previous question can all be found in an exhaustive list of every Charisma single known to man (and a few more besides) at:
In the sleeve notes to Stamping Ground, you described it as a
collection of songs or ideas that had been in your head for years, and were prised or prompted
out by Nigel Stonier. Good for Nigel! Since then, you've introduced us to two very early songs
that had been finished long ago but never saw the light of the recording studio
(A Dream Within A Dream and
Blues For A Dying Season). Recently we've heard about a more
recent song that never made it onto record (a contender for
Here Comes the Neighbourhood apparently) called
The Fire Next Time. I don't recall ever hearing this. What
happened to it? Do you have any plans to record it? You must have a store of other material,
which never made it onto a Lindisfarne album. Are we likely to see/hear any more hidden
treasures? - Stuart Grant
The Fire Next Time was a Clements/Stonier composition that was rejected by the band at an early stage in the rehearsals for Here Comes the Neighbourhood. The title comes from a couplet heard in several old gospel & folk songs (see under Carter Family, Ralph Stanley, Blind Boys of Alabama etc.):'God gave Noah the rainbow sign
No more water, the fire next time'It was also used by James Baldwin as the title for his seminal 1963 book of essays on race relations. The song was full of apocalyptic imagery and was felt to be perhaps a little too extreme for the job in hand. In fact, I don't think the lyrics were ever finished properly – we had more than a full song's worth, but hadn't decided on a final version – so it was left as 'work in progress'. I might have another look at it one day when I'm feeling apocalyptic.
I don't think there are any more 'hidden treasures' in the vaults, though I always have unfinished songs lying around which may or may not see the light of day eventually.
Is Meet Me On The Corner about buying drugs, specifically
LSD? I've thought this since about 1974, but my cousin disagrees with me! - Ian Cusack
Your cousin's right. I have never bought or taken LSD. I've often been asked (probably once a week since 1971, actually) whether Meet Me On The Corner is about drugs and I'm glad to have the opportunity to set the record straight once and for all. The truth is that though it could be about drugs if you want it to be, that would be only one very narrow interpretation and shouldn't exclude anything that can take you out of your jaded self to a better place - music, stories, art, travel, or even just dreams.
On a song such as Marshall Riley's Army, did Alan present you
with the bass line as he wanted you to play it, or say 'Here's the song' and leave you to come up
with something? – Tom Cunningham
Almost invariably the latter. Part of being a bass player (or indeed anybody else in a band) is to come up with a part that enhances the song. Every singer-songwriter I've ever worked with has been much the same in that respect – they've written the words, the tune and the chords and they want the other players to dress it up or realise their vision by using skills they themselves don't have. It doesn't only apply to bass-playing: I also provided the fiddle tune for Marshall Riley (and for the middle of Fog On The Tyne), Jacka came up with the mandolin line for Lady Eleanor, and so on. It's a collaborative process. At the recording stage, there is often further input from the producer – in fact, the whole arrangement might get re-jigged.There are only two exceptions to the above rule of thumb. One is when the song is written round a bass riff. The other is when the songwriter is himself a bass-player and cannot help sometimes having preconceived ideas, in which case he would be very lucky to have as creative and co-operative a player as Ian Thomson to work with. Actually I've only ever given Ian one specific pre-written part to play and that was Black Rain. Sometimes we've collaborated over a part but most of the time I've been very happy to let him come up with whatever he likes, as others have been with me.
In a 1975 interview, Ralph McTell described you as 'a lovely
bass player… who plays bass; no frustrated lead guitar'. How would you have liked to respond to
Ralph? 'Wait and see', maybe? Having played other instruments on record since the beginning, and
bearing in mind Ralph's testament to your professionalism, were you ever frustrated at being seen
only as a bass player, or were you flattered that you could provide something that other
musicians wanted? - Stuart Grant
I'd have taken Ralph's remark as a nice compliment from someone I always found easy and inspiring to work with, and I was glad to be able to play a supporting role to him and others. I don't think I'd have said 'wait and see', because I didn't know then! The 'frustrated lead guitar' thing stems from the 'worst guitarist in the band' tag that bass players have always had to endure, and the fact that some of them thought that by showing off they could prove how well they could play. The essence of good bass playing is to underpin and enhance the song, so even if a very simple part was all that was required, that was enough for me. I knew, and most people who knew me knew, that I could also play guitar so I didn't have anything to prove. Good bass playing often goes unnoticed, and the same goes for the player, and consequently it can seem a thankless task sometimes. It helps if you respect and admire the person you're backing and it can become a chore if you don't, but you always have professional responsibilities to the artist, the audience and yourself. I never really lost my enthusiasm for the bass, but by the time we got to making Amigos, my guitar playing had become an integral part of the songs I was contributing and it was time to make a change.
Can you tell me what bass guitars you still own? And is it likely that we'll ever see/hear you
play bass or fiddle again? - Bob Turnpenney
I have only one bass left from the Lindisfarne days and that's the Overwater RC Custom I played on Dance Your Life Away (1986) and C'mon Everybody (1987). I took it back to the Overwater factory in Carlisle last year to get a bit of work done and it's still there, but fortunately I'm in no more of a hurry to get it back than they are to finish it. I've recently acquired a couple of Teisco basses and a couple of vintage Japanese cheapies like the ones Ian plays, so I've enough to keep me occupied. As for whether you'll see me playing the bass or the fiddle again (and I take it you mean in public), I wouldn't rule it out, but don't hold your breath or anything.
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