50,000 watts out of mexico……
Out the window cars roll over, the undone streets so quickly…
I should hate James Apollo. He’s younger than me, is effortlessly debonair and my girlfriend has the hots for him. But damnit Mabel, this guy is just too good to allow my petty jealousy get in the way.
Born in Libertyville, Arkansas Apollo fled the coop at 16 and has been riding the range ever since. A 49er with no mine, Apollo writes of heartbreak, loss and desolation and couches his words in vaudeville velvet. He takes aesthetics seriously, does James and his records have a fine hand crafted feel to them, which is also transferred to his live show. I first saw him play at the Ryman auditorium of Europe: Darvel Town Hall. As he took to the stage I was aware that something different and unique was afoot. Not only did Apollo and his band look different, like a prom group dragged through a hedge backwards, but they sounded different. (So different I don’t have a cheap and dirty analogy) It was very dramatic, even cinematic with Apollo switching between a normal mic and a retro style one full of feedback. He dipped, bobbed, weaved and stamped his way through the then current album ‘Good Grief’ I snagged a copy of said album that night and have been hooked ever since.
Good Grief is a nightmarish tumble through the America of Steinbeck and Fante. Harking back to the Civil War with ‘The Alamo’ and ‘All the Pretty’ Apollo shows he aint your normal hack. The follow up ‘Hide Your Heart In a Hive’ built and expanded on this splintered vision, check out the video for my favourite track, ‘Bad Old Buzzard’, below. He has recently released an EP ‘Angels we have grown apart’ and will be back this way in early October
I’d like to say Glasgow has been kind to James Apollo, but other than providing some interesting road tales, Scotland’s premier city has been a lonely furrow for our hero. I detect a change in the air though, and hopefully Apollo will see a difference on his forthcoming tour.
Quincy and the punks
Wasn’t Quincy everyone’s favourite medical examiner?
He certainly was quite the man, noticing foul play where others didn’t, haranguing the police, arguing with his boss, solving the crime and hitting on the victim’s widow. Every episode.
In this clip Quincy gives the 911 to the scourge of society: punk rock kids. In return for trying to stop a girl being pushed into a codeine overdose, Quince feels the crowds wrath with several stock anarchic epithets aimed his way. How come they spat on Henry Rollins, but not the square in the sweater?
Dennis Wilson was cool as fuck
Above these stupid words is the 2nd coolest looking guy on an album cover ever ( I will brawl with anyone who says the boss on darkness on the edge of town isn’t the crown prince of cool)
It is the weather beaten, world weary fizzer of Dennis Wilson. A quick look into those eyes tells you this is a man who has been through a lot. The Inglewood boy was part of the Beach Boys along with his brothers Brian and Carl, but I’m not going to give you a potted history of that most famous of bands…
It was a BBC radio 2 documentary that hipped me to Dennis. The most headline grabbing period of his life was the association with Charles Manson. The Manson family moved in with a not entirely compliant Dennis and used his wealth for their own benefit. Not least for curing their rampant Clap. From what I can make out Dennis became increasingly wary of Manson and started to distance himself. Looks like the final straw was when Charlie sent Dennis a bullet…… Understandably Dennis was always affected by his relationship with the guy who turned out be one the most infamous figures of the 60’s.
‘Pacific Ocean Blue’ was his first solo album, released in 1977, and reissued in 2008. Whilst not having the notoriety of Brian’s lost/delayed ‘Smile’ it nonetheless is a fine piece of work. In todays media Brian hogs all the limelight, and perhaps fair enough, but I’m glad I was tuned into the tranny the night Dennis’ story was told. And what became of this bearded wild man? On december 28 1983, Dennis went swimming in the ocean at Marina Del Ray, and didn’t come back out.
They say I live a fast life. Maybe I just like a fast life. I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world. It won’t last forever, either. But the memories will.
T Model Ford is a crazy bastard
There can sometimes be an image of the bluesman being a kindly old gent who is a bit too partial to wreck the hoose juice, always down on his luck but generally satisfied with his poor lot in life.
Screw that, Claude.
T Model Ford plays filthy scuzz blues meant for drinkin’ dancin’ fuckin’ and fightin’ The 84 year old (or 85, he cant quite remember) ex trucker, ex farm hand and ex con (Murder. 10 years. Out in two, if you’re wondering) didn’t start playing till he turned 58 and started recording at 74, on fat possum records. By all accounts this hard livin’ pensioner still plays for hours outside his house and on Nelson Street, Greenville Mississippi. “People were rough on Nelson Street. I fought a couple of times up there, but I didn’t get whupped. I win!”
Check out his page at fat possum for details of the 5 releases so far. T Model reckons he’ll keep going till 110 years old, so there’s plenty of life left in the Old Taildragger yet!
Click Play to hear She Asked Me So I Told Her