the sound of music

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode thirty four: your autumn of tomorrow.

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 17:51:00 +0000

from across the rooftops of my derelict and sometimes troubled mind i can see the horizon, and the horizon is grey. i asked joe what he thought i could fill this space with this week, he harangued me with fifty billion greys of pure, untreated negativity. no turn was left unstoned, every social irriitant was touched on, from council tax to the endless recession, all covered with a big thick layer of grey. joe's nineteen, what his problem? surely when you're nineteen every day is pretty much disneyland, an endless succession of fascinating events to go wooooh! and aaaaah! at at every available opportunity. maybe not, it's some time i myself was nineteen, and if i take the rose coloured spex off for a moment, i can see myself as an awkward, hyper-active soul with too much on his mind. all coated with a thick layer of grey. i guess the world in which we lived -in 1981- was slightly more overcast, the early daze of thatcher, pre-falklands, was a bleak and unloved terrain, waiting for the next ice age or for the bomb to finally drop, whichever came first. but it never felt that bad, maybe we resigned ourselves to our fate early doors, set out our stall and parked a bus across the goalmouth of misery. nothing goes in, nothing goes out. if that's not the case, it's one fuck of an analogy. the media's to blame, of course. in 1981 we may have been perfectly aware of the grey and chose to ignore or do nothing about it. in joe's world of media saturation, every last insignificance is ground to powder by a voracious rolling juggernaut that never lets a thing go away, in a very 1981 way, the news today will be the movies of tomorrow. a great philosopher once wrote 'so, when i can only see the grey, of a very sad and lonely day. that's when i, softly sigh.' don't fight it, feel it. immerse yourself in the grey. shapeshift, become a part of what everybody is trying to escape. a window of sunshine is all well and good but the same sunshine will fry your mind, there's gotta be a little rain. sometimes. treat yourself to the seasons, buck your own trend, the grey is a temporary situation that is very much maligned and misunderstood. be good to yourself, you deserve the other side of the coin, every day of your life. and most of all we can't let the sunshine nazis win. this week: it's been a long time comin', but a change gonna come. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. rapper's delight.....sugarhill gang. new moon rising (yacht remix).....wolfmother. watch her ride.....jefferson airplane. aidy's girl's a computer.....darkstar. soul makossa.....manu dibango. from the underworld.....the herd. jela.....cold pumas. israel.....siouxsie & the banshees. check yourself.....the intruders. lights out.....jerry byrne. have you seen my baby?.....the flamin' groovies. freaks for the festival.....rahsaan roland kirk. olympians.....fuck buttons. rainbow chaser.....nirvana. assembled in liverpool by bernard and sike. same as it ever was. audio duck. quack. happy birthday, sike, sir. x thirty odd years, man and boy, i still love gaye advert. x x x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode thirty three: absolutely nothing! say it again.

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 02:20:00 +0000

anthem for doomed youth - wilfred owen (1893-1918) What passing bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons. No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; And bugles calling for them from sad shires. What candles may be held to speed them all? Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes. The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds. TOO MANY YOUNG PEOPLE ARE DYING AND NOBODY SEEMS THAT ARSED. DO WHATEVER YOU CAN, WHEREVER YOU CAN. HISTORY WILL JUDGE US ON WHAT WE DID TO STOP THIS SENSELESS SLAUGHTER. STOP THE WAR! www.stopwar.org.uk this week: we are the world, we are the children. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. tv eye.....the stooges. willie & the hand-jive.....rinder & lewis. clap beep boom.....dorian concept. july july july.....billy paul. party time (extended mix).....the heptones. lonesome george.....yeti lane. konk party.....konk. blue rondo a la turk.....dave brubeck quartet. so watcha sayin'?.....epmd. killing time.....moon duo. why are we sleeping?.....the soft machine. not made for love (leo zero remix).....metronomy. private plane.....thomas leer. efusculated by bernie connor. refirtled by sike o' delick. bespoke audio types. give peace a chance.x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode thirty two: the things that dreams are made of(part one).

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 15:35:00 +0000

To imagine a modern world without the guitar is akin to imagining a world without one its major components. It is such a huge part of the entertainment industry that to remove it from the equation would pretty much bring about its complete collapse. Although it has been around in various forms for some 4,000 years it is in the last 100 years that it has established itself as the cornerstone of modern music. Its ability to alter its sound from a gentle bird like chirrup to the apocalyptic wind of torturous destruction sets it miles apart from even its nearest competitor. Its adoption as one of the construction tools of the American dream coincided with the birth of the modern recording and entertainment industries. It offered low cost, portable accompaniment to every style of music imaginable, but where it really came in to its own was the instrument of the folk singing troubadour. From there it took off skyward and remains in orbit today. It was there calling the tunes at the Little Big Horn, the Somme, Woodstock and the fall of the Berlin Wall; it will no doubt still be here after the smouldering ash of the apocalypse has blown away to create the soundtrack to the new new-world. Songs About Plucking We,ve become so engorged in this non-stop, politically unstable, nearly-new century that the blight and often challenging circumstances of the last one seem like a distant, fading dream. It’s hard to believe the cold war ever existed, apart from a few comical remnants –lead-lined bunkers, checkpoint Charlie etc- dotted about the globe there’s little long lasting physical evidence to suggest it existed. Having said that, there’s still enough nuclear weapons in existence to destroy our entire solar system a zillion times over, but until Iran starts allegedly rattling its provocative sabre it’s pretty much assure that they will remain in their collective holsters out the way of very itchy fingers. The long arduous road that was the 20th century produced many advantages and benefits, many of which we hold dear to our hearts in this heathen, godless world we inhabit today. Despite the international turmoil and unrest great things were extracted from the social and political mess that permeated every strand of the accepted world order. A lot of what we take for granted was struggled and fought for by our mothers and fathers so that we wouldn’t have to. The defeat of fascism and the tyranny of the third reich was, without doubt one of the single greatest achievements of the past few hundred years. The cost at which it came is still a sobering thought over sixty years later; the carving up of sovereign lines still causing consternation in some quarters even as I write. It produced a world so unstable that for over forty years we were held over the barrel of global annihilation and systematically butt fucked for a laugh by both sides in this sorry disagreement. Every day. Then, as if by magic one side in the argument decided that their point of view was somewhat flawed, that they may have been wrong for the previous seventy years and the concept of all out mutually assured destruction was wrapped up and put in a box for a number of years while we all pretended to love each other. The trauma and untreated wounds of ww2 produced a very different peace-time, in Europe the battle scars ran deep and wide, vast areas were laid waste and millions displaced creating the one of the largest mass migrations of humans in history. Conversely in America it was boom-time, the fruits of the war creating an economic miracle and boosting a burgeoning economy. Whilst Europe smouldered in the wreckage, Americans partied like it was 1949 and ushered in a new age of prosperity placing themselves at the top of the super power tree and the chief inspector in the new world police. And so America exported its new shiny culture to the world, tons of stuff, stuff that appeared rich, exotic and unattainable to the starving, food rationed, war-weary Europeans. Along with atom bomb, bubblegum, Marilyn Monroe and household appliances, one of the most enduring and exciting was the concept of popular music as we know it today. There had always been popular music of course, but post-war American music had a different set of rules and a whole new look. Some of this so-called music was unlike anything else that had ever existed, it was sexy, ambiguous, morally corrupt and potentially dangerous, and, through the better distribution of gramophone records, if you knew where to look, it was available. The expansion of the post-war American economy meant that young people had access to amounts of money and leisure time that would have been unthinkable to their parents, money spent with reckless abandon. The big star of this new wave of music was the guitar; relatively cheap, portable and, compared to other instruments, relatively easy to play at beginner level. The guitar had been waiting in the wings for almost a century for its spot, and in the post war years it saw the curtain raised and was pushed out to begin its eternal moment in the spotlight. As accompaniment to the urban noise of America’s great industrial expansion the guitar in its acoustic form had pretty much soundtracked the growing prosperity and poverty and unrest from the Mississippi delta to the production lines of Detroit simultaneously. Played in church, cottonfield and gin-juke, it revolutionised the way people listened to music, played music and thought about music. Along with the atom bomb and the misuse of LSD, the guitar and its electric sibling were the greatest developments of the last century affecting more people’s lives directly or indirectly than any other cultural force. The far reaching effects of these very disparate items touched lives in a way that nothing previously had ever done. In the guitar it gave those on either side of America’s deeply segregated lines the chance to glimpse over the hedge into their neighbour’s backyard and see –maybe for the first time- that they were not that unlike, no matter what the preacher man said. Elvis Presley would never have happened sitting at a piano, no way. Part of Elvis’ instant appeal was his dubious relationship with his guitar. The guitar was used as a prop to stun his audience, a metaphor for his raging torrent of sexuality that fifties America was just not ready for. Take the guitar out of the equation and he could be just another crooner, Perry Como, Al Martino. Armed to the teeth with the most beautiful voice in Christendom and acoustic guitar he single-handedly dismantles the pent-up frustration of young white America and turns it into an incendiary stage act that not only changes the music biz forever, but in doing so ushers in a radical change in the way the young behave, think, walk, talk and live. Forever. Thank god. But people had done it before, of course, but these musicians were the wrong colour in prosperous, 1950’s Apartheid USA. In the juke joints, jazz clubs and honky-tonks guitarists had been blowing up a storm for decades playing ‘race music’ to a predominantly black audience. This was a mutually exclusive industry to the white bread schmaltz of Tin Pan Alley, guitarists like T-Bone Walker, Lightning Hopkins and to a lesser extent Chet Atkins were stars within their own community, very rarely given the opportunity of crossing over into the world of real showbiz, national television and multi-million sales. The rise of the popularity of the guitar came with electrification of this once humble instrument. The advent of the electric guitar from the late 40’s onwards charted one of the most celebrated examples of musical artistry of the last couple of centuries. Virtuosos who once played but could never be heard were picked up at the back of the hall, on the far side of the bar, outside your church, anywhere. Amplification brought with it a whole new generation of players who could work a fretboard and have their artistry heard. It was a boomtime, coupled with advances in recording technology it afforded musicians the luxury of approaching their craft in a completely different way. The new instruments sounded different, looked different and had instant appeal to the myriad of blues guitarists who’d made the journey from their rural southern homes to the ear-splitting, industrial conurbations of Michigan and Illinois. It made sense, unless you plug in, ain’t nobody gonna hear you play on the noise polluted streets of Chicago, it was that simple. Within a few years of its introduction the electric guitar was a mainstay of virtually every band on the ever-growing circuit, it had encouraged a new generation of musicians to pick it up and use it a radically different way to what was accepted a decade earlier. It was loud, aggressive and a radical departure from the accepted norm and unbeknownst to the universe it was about to blow the world right open. The rush of musicians in the 1950’s held up the electric guitar as a symbol of the new freedom, a portable party that could be set up just about anywhere with a mains supply. The bursting banks of the rhythm ’n’ blues/rock ‘n’ roll deluge churned out such a welter of supremely gifted and soon to be highly influential not only in their immediate environment but the world over. From Memphis to Liverpool, Soweto to Melbourne a whole new breed of prodigiously talented –mainly- young men came out of the woodwork to alter the industry’s perception of what entertainment really meant and claim the future as their own. Names that in certain places are household names today, sonic pioneers like Cliff Gallup, Muddy Waters, Eddie Cochran and Hubert Sumlin became the inspiration for the next generation of music fans to take the seeds and spores of rock ‘n’ roll and in turn create a new music that within a decade would as far removed in style from Rock Around The Clock than anybody on the planet would ever have imagined. The mania travelled a great distance in a very short time, the same instrument that had been used by the likes of Gene Autry to serenade America through the depression would forty years later be used by Jimi Hendrix as an instrument of sexual torture to terrify the known world and introduce a new wave of moral panic. And if Magic Sam was the starting point for Jimi’s pyrotechnics, then he himself would be the launch pad for musicians like Glenn Branca who fifteen years after Hendrix would create electric guitar orchestras playing dangerously loud music (?) and trying to destroy buildings in a crumbling New York City through sound alone. The guitar is such an integral part of modern life and culture it would be hard to imagine a world in which it had not existed. Without the romantic –and sometimes dangerous- allure of the humble guitar John Lennon would never have met Paul McCartney, and that is just one example of its incalculable contribution to our lives. We are all only too aware of the impact guitar based music and musicians have had on our lives since Heartbreak Hotel, Scotty Moore himself being a master of a trillon different styles, often on one record. Less than ten years after Elvis had parachuted into our lives and invented youth culture, graffiti appearing around London was declaring ‘Clapton Is God’, this example of youthful fanaticism was just one indication of how far the guitar and its music and musicians had come, from its rural share cropper roots to the white middle-class suburbs of Surrey. We now know that Eric Clapton isn’t god, he’s just a bloke. Bo Diddley is god, he’s a proper deity. to be continued................ an expanded version of this note appears on the viper label release, 'hot guitars.' www.the-viper-label.co.uk this week: we found we know too much about knowing too much. too soon. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. misty blue......dorothy moore. seventy-two nations.....dadawah. nanny goat dub......king tubby/larry marshall. back street luv......curved air. tell that girl to shut up......holly & the italians. and the hazt sea.....cymbals eat guitars. it is what it is.....rhythim is rhythim. due matrosen......liliput. blessa......toro y moi. flying saucers rock'n'roll.....billy lee riley & the little green men. mustelmia.....vladislav delay. where were you?.....mekons. sally go round the roses.....the jaynettes. cockroach......rubberrom. ghost town......kode 9 & the space ape. hand carved from the finest audio imaginable by bernie & sike. the bespokers you love.

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode thirty one: i love the dead.

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 05:29:00 +0000

death sells, but who's buying? we all are. there's nothing that keeps a legend more alive than death, in life we are susceptible to all manner of pitfalls and unforeseen developments. in music in can be irreparable irritations like crap album sales or periods of creative jelly, where despite your previously unblemished track record in lightweight pop your fans and admirersare left bewildered and cold by your four disc drum and bass odyssey. it happens all the time, they never learn, and this is where death comes in very handy. along with sales flying through the roof your drum and bass odyssey is reappraised and becomes the misunderstood masterpiece you always knew it should be. it's terribly sad that death is used in such a cynical and unfeeling fashion, it's bad enough that a person has died, the grief, the sense of loss and all that goes with that, but to have that death ruthlessly exploited for money and very little else, is shocking. the death of john lennon in december 1980 for me, salvaged the beatles legend and legacy from the almost certain passage of time. the death of lennon turned the beatles from the biggest pop group ever into the mythgical status they possess today. the whole reusrgence of liverpool as a city is based on the beatles industry; the capital of culture, urban regeneration, liverpool one, all a by-product of the beatles industry. if mark chapman had never murdered john lennon we would not have any beatles industry, therefore, do we not owe chapman a small debt of gratitiude? it may be inadvertent and unsayable but it's nontheless the truth. even closer to my heart, music i truly love like joy division has been subject to this same cynical treatment. no matter how much i love joy division i'm intelligent enough to understand that had they made a third album that may have not been that good, got bad reviews and didn't sell very well they would probably been consigned to the same early eighties-indie rock box as such heavyweights as the au pairs or spizz. and i'm glad that joy division is an ever changing, continually moving rock juggernaut, i'm glad their music hasn't been forgotten. but my, what a price to pay for that immortality. as we hover ever closer towards the xmas xtampede we should keep that nice bloke, michael jacson close to our hearts. the cinema release of a rehearsal video for his one million london shows is a prime example of how low the industry will stoop to keep our heroes name alive, the television campaign itself is an homage to a dead michael as we've never seen him before. or something. with the beatles remaster and rockband programme set to hit its stride over the coming weeks, expect some of our deadest pop stars ever to be among the highest earners in entertainment for next year. along with the ghost of kurt cobain who regularly features in the top five highest rock earners, it really is gonna be a bumper year for stiffs of every genre, a dead pop star for all the family. it really should be worth noting that sales do increase incrementally following your fave pop stars untimely demise, a statistic that hopefully will not have gone un-noticed by some of our more eagle-eued agents and managers. it can scoop a dwindling career out of the gutter and into the upper reaches of the top forty. one recent case that sprung to mind was that of robbie williams. four years out of the limelight, unfathomable last album, tales of ordinary madness, the robster ticked all the boxes. so rather than hold him up for the ritual humiliation and embarassment of his x-factor 'comeback', his managers could have done worse than drive him to the chateau marmont, given him an armful of various narcotics. funeral in hello, greatest hits/remixes package, tv special, newly discovered material, bob's yer uncle. sit back and watch the cash roll in. it happens all the time. this week: we know where we are, we just can't find ourselves. in a way. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. ace of spades.....link wray. hilly fields.....nick nicely. sweet sweet lovin'.....the platters. the ides.....fryars. the devil made me do it......paris. 45:33 (prins thomas diskomiks)......lcd soundsystem. dazed and confused.....jake holmes. conform to the rhythm.....material. nsokoto.....the very best. i've been lonely for so long.....frederick knight. it's boring/you can live anywhere you want.....yacht. sleepymouth.....volcano choir. dancing in outer space.....atmosfear. super good parts 1 & 2.....myra barnes. the sound of music xmas thang, friday december 18 at the baltic fleet in liverpool's colourful docklands. tickets are free but limited, so get yer wants in now. leave a message here, on my facebook page or at bernieville@hotmail.co.uk. first come, first served. ta. made once again in the usual way by the magnificent mr. bernard and his trusty cohort, fabulous lord sike. the bespokest of audio people. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode thirty: something heavy, something light. something to set your soul alight.

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 13:28:00 +0000

over the past seven days during my casual stroll through what's become known as blitzgate -well it is round here- i have been asked the same question on a number of occassions, it goes a little something like this: rather than just blab on about the things you don't like, what about the things you do like? i thought about this for minutes and the conclusion i came to was completely predictable. i'm not exactly sure what i do like, but i'm 110 % certain what i don't like. it's always been that way, the good things are so few and far between that it shoiuld be relatively easy to place them in a list in order of preference, with star grading and spread sheet potential. of course it isn't that simple, in order to list the things that i like i have to stick my own head above the parapet and leave myself open to the criticism and ridicule that other mere mortals have to live with every day. the crippling embarassment that can reduce the hardest soul to a great wobbly jelly by sheer virtue of wearing the wrong shoes or liking the wrong record, just doesn't happen to me. none of this afflicts me anymore, as i write -and think at the same time- i can't imagine a single thing that i don't like. the issue we had last week over spandau ballet was not whether i liked them or not, it's just that they are so utterly rubbish i can't see what there is to like, they just typify more than two thirds of the history of music, a scintilla of style and not an iota of substance. possibly like this text you are reading now. the preposterous notion of the style police is a great tool to establish yourself and your boundaries during your teenage years, it should be noted that they should be retired from your life a soon as you are capable of making informed, taseful decisions in your early twenties. other than my obvious bent for music and its myriad forms, i find as i get older the things i really like become harder to find. that dosn't stop me looking though. having established sometime in the early sixties that i have one foot nailed to everton football club and the fanatical devotion that goes with it, i set about on an endless search for similar things that would shake my tree in every bit the same way. there's not much point in sort of half-liking something, cherry picking the best features to call your own and leaving the unwanted remains for the dog. throw yourself into anything you like, headlong, mercilessly. absorb every last minute detail into your life, no matter whether it's subutteo or subpop, it's there for you and i to immerse ourselves in, wade in the water, get our feet wet. take in the highs and the lows and don't spare the horses. i believe in the power of love and very little else. my definition shifts from day to day and is never the same twice, but it's mine and only i know how to work it, if it breaks down only i can sort it out, my spiritual screwdriver at the ready. it pretty much covers any positive thought i want to say and any situation i may find myself in. i can see the good in everybody except bono, sting, lou reed and phil collins because deep down i really think that they are intrinsically evil. see what i mean? after several hundred meaningless words the nearest i can come to commiting myself to positivity is to highlight the extreme negativity i feel for some people i don't know and have never met. in a panic to find a fitting description of the way i feel, i once described myself to one of the most beautiful people i've ever met as a 'text-book no-conformist.' once again, i rest my case your worships.... this week: we re-shook the etch-a-sketch of life and came up with a masterpiece. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. 25 or 6 to 4.....chicago. weak for me.....nite jewel. ain't gonna bump no more (with no big fat woman).....joe tex. c'mon.....freddy fresh. i'm that alley.....sweat.x. don d lion.....don drummond. stranger to stability (len faki x break mix)......dustin zahn. everybody......american spring. final solution.....pere ubu. dnt fk sgr.....daedalus. rock a doodle doo......linda lewis. dusseldorf.....la dusseldorf. born out of time.....the new christs. wild thing.....senator bobby. thanks to sir brian barnard for the gift from australia. i welled-up in the post office. i thank you from the bottom of my heart.x x twisted and deluded by bernie connor, straightened out and nailed down by magic sike, the bespoke audio people. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode twenty nine 'i know this much is true'.

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 17:58:00 +0000

where were we? i was up to me ears in modern concepts when i got an email that both shocked and repulsed me at the same time. in last sunday's observer monthly, one david johnson pitched an idea that left me speechless and quivering with fear. this is the idea: new romantics/blitz kids and the novelty pop act, spandau ballet were the cornerstone of everything that subsequently followed in both pop and fashion. simples. here was i blissfully operating under the complete misapprehension that the 'stars' of 1979 were her pigness, margaret thatcher and that celebrated northern comic, mr ian curtis. imagine my surprise, nae my shock when i discovered on;ly yesterday that the true stars of 1979 were rusty egan and gary kemp. gary fuckin kemp. the jist of the article was so alien to anybody with the most basic grasp of pop culture, all the monumental musical and social events pale into insignificance when compared to the events that went on at blitz. we've been down this road before, people putting themselves at the epicentre of some mythical occassion that may or may not have existed, thrusting themselves and their close group of friends into the roles of kings, queens, governors and subjects in their camelot of the modern age. it's very prevalent these days, we see it all the time. maybe it was always thus, it seems like history is more of a business in the here and now and the communication age gives us a platform in which to recount works of fiction as though it were truth. maybe it's alwayd happened, maybe the big thing is that we've never considered ourselves to be part of history. there's nothing wrong per se with being a star in your own mind, on the contrary, it is a noble and laudable position for a young person to adopt. try to project that stardom onto the real world and yer gonna come a cropper. there are very few exceptions, but the fertile mind of robert elms and the ugly world of gary fuckin kemp are not them, you have to see it for what it really, really is. the new romantic thingy was an amusing footnote to the post-punk flare-up. a retirement home for those who thought punk was having twenty four hour access to the dressing-up box and a new pair of crimping irons. to inflate it to a state of national importance is laughable, the thought of the sterile, vaccuous spandau ballet being the vanguard of anything other than hair-gel and kilt-wearing is a truly terrifying thing. with claws, sharp teeth and wearing a tablecloth. it's hysterical in a way only delusion can be; you poor fucker, quit preening and open your eyes. the early years of the thatcher regime were some of the most fertile and productive in musical history, the changes that were forced upon the youth of great britain were so swingeing and detrimental that for a huge of the idle unskilled labour market, creating a racket in your own image was the only escape from ther tyranny of mass uneployment and social stagnation. the blitz kids contributed zero to any of this, the scene was facile and meaningless and involved a bunch of about 50 yout' dolled-up like pantomime dames in a wine-bar in covent garden. meanwhile, in the real world, music was changing a more rapid pace than at any time since the mid-sixties, and that seemed like centuries to go. i turned 18 into a universe inhabited by the future of music, death disco, she's lost control, typical girls, all night party, music that would define and shape the next thirty years. blitz provided fade to grey, chant no.1 and do you reall want to hurt me? it was that friggin' good. i rest my case your worships. but i was a teenager in a lonely outpost called liverpool at the time. what the fuck would i know? thanks to jo for the inspiration...........to be continued. x this week: in the otherwhere, our window of sunshine is jammed wide open. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. disguises.....the who. wet look.....joy orbison. carry me back to old morocco. was (not was). pull the wires from the wall.....the delgados. two wires.....vowels. the selecter.....the selecter. i'll say forever my love.....jimmy ruffin. delta sun bottleneck stomp (chemical brothers mix).....mercury rev. don't turn it off (brennan green mix)......40 thieves feat. qzen. the dog, the dog, he's at it again.....caravan. wake.....the antlers. time has come today.....the chambers brothers. producated and audiolised by mr. bernard & his esteemed cohort, the admirable lord sike, the bespoke audio people. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode twenty eight: although my eyes were open, they might just as well been closed.

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 15:13:00 +0000

start. nothing to be going on with. then. once again. as if by magic. a host. of golden stars. many known. unknown. some just shapeless forms. out of the dark. a man named harry. not a fruit. in sight. only the promised. land. otherwhere. small hoods. guzzlin. laughin. i saw. dancin. girls. tone sounded. too confused. he said. better times. just beyond. that door. that wall. that thing. you do. i laughed. laughed. laughed. stopped. looked. bad case. of the slow. death. in perilous straits. the slow. burn. corn. for all. today. keeep everything. open. and. post me another. this is. hardcore. if yer wanna. include the puddings. mudd people. stay off. tomorrow. but someone. has to. run. out of power. vet everything. you find. with kindness. in me phone. is a shout. and. me phone. is about. to sum up. the feelings. just thought. you blew out. you blown out. you. blue. of course. still. has to run. rainiest. part of all. has to see. you. find. the right. word. ever. horse water. pencil. led. glory or. something. like love. stop. this week: everything changed colour and the birds came back to feed. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. it's a happening thing.....peanut butter conspiracy. 54b (rune lindbaek remix).....mudd. smokin' pot makes me not want to kill myself.....stardeath & white dwarfs. listen to the band.....the monkees. disco stomp.....hamilton bohannon. song song.....kutmah. rock and roll doctor.....little feat. pop muzik.....m. walking alone at night.....vivian girls. just be good to me.....sos band. bangarang.....stranger cole & lester sterling. fog machine.....the fresh & onlys. come go with me....del-vikings. it's different for girls.....joe jackson. i'm ready for love.....martha & the vandellas. lucifer went to church.....afrobutt. dream baby dream.....suicide. made in the traditional way with the finest organic ingredients by bernie & sike. the bespoke audio people.

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode twenty seven: this must be the place.

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 10:23:00 +0000

I For many years I have come to see the Mersey as the grand shaman, the wise and spiritual conduit that looks over and protects the good people it serves. Unlike other great sages and seers this one has a built in fallibility, a non-too-proud ability to take its eye off the job in hand, let the land figure out for itself what to do and leave our destiny to whatever will be. It has brought my friends, neighbours and ancestors long periods of incredible good fortune and social stability, it brought people, millions of people, lost and searching for the answer, hopeful that its next twist and turn would lead them to the exact spot they want to be. Millions found that spot, they knew exactly where to look and it was precisely where it was meant to be. Yet millions couldn’t find the spot at all, they had no idea where it was and despite all their best efforts and intentions they were clearly looking in the wrong place. For these lost souls it provided a new home, Liverpool became their new world, for better or for worse it was Shangri-la in reverse, a dark, cold impoverished hell-hole of sea farers and disease. These are the ghosts and fabric of this city, this is why we are what we are, we can analyse it to death, following social trends and historical data but we shall remain a mongrel horde begat by scoundrels and no-goodniks. We didn’t build this city on rock’n’roll, we didn’t build this city at all, this city was built on hard labour and broken dreams and the heart of this shattered hope was the river itself. And what it has deemed fitting and good it has provided in abundance, and as history attests everything it has provided it has taken away. In double quick time. It is a story of both monumental triumph and equal despair writ large and played out for the known world to see. II I lived for many years with a woman who was born and brought up in Birmingham, land-locked and a million miles from the sea. She moved to Liverpool to study art in the early eighties and never left, we lived together for fifteen years and over the years I come to understand there is a fundamental difference between those raised on the coast and those who have no affinity with a close proximity to water. Over a long period of time she slowly shook off her landlubber persona and adopted the mindset of the coastal resident, extending her horizons and views to a more global, wallow in the whole wide world point of view. The difference of course, is the light and space on the coast, it adds a perspective and dimension of large distances and open space to your view that doesn’t exist in more claustrophobic inland areas. On the coast you can gaze out into the great unknown and feed your fertile imagination, everything that doesn’t exist on your own doorstep is accessible, it’s just beyond the horizon and if you have the wherewithal to project yourself upon the world, then it’s a simple place to begin. Everything is there to help you on your way and on a clear day you can see forever. What Birmingham has is an intricate, and thankfully restored, network of canals, a 19th century spaghetti junction that supplied and fuelled the industrial revolution inland, dragging the modern age kicking and screaming through England’s central heart. However, held up against the awesome power and history of this mighty stretch of water there is no comparison. There is no spiritual and romantic connection with an intricate network of canals, the feeling of freedom and the ability to travel to the parts of the globe that only exist in the furthest recesses of your imagination is a characteristic of every major port and the river that serves it. Wanderlust permeates the soul, the curiosity of what is beyond ‘just over there’ is too much for these people to live with, something has to be done to stop these itchy feet and burning souls from consuming the very life-force of these people and the terrifying spectre boredom and never having been there. III Like billions of other people raised in this city I was fascinated and drawn to the river from a very early age, from very young I could hear the fog-horns on the ships negotiating the bad weather while I was lying in bed. To a child this has magnetic, hypnotic qualities, and to a child of my age it still had a whiff of romance and adventure, the feint possibility of other places and a different way of life. Maybe not thousands and thousands of miles away, maybe just around the next topographic corner, so to speak. It bestows upon you an overwhelming feeling that something else is out there, that there is much, much more to life than this dark, satanic urban sprawl. If you are gifted with the massive burden of a vivid imagination –and if you are prepared to put the hours in- the Mersey can and will take you wherever you want to go. Often without leaving the comfort of your own mind. IV Despite being 70 miles long and very, very real the Mersey has this mythical air about it, the history, the industry, the people all loom large in a legend so grand that as a work of fiction it would seem far-fetched and unbelievable. It is entrenched into the psyche of its bankside inhabitants in a way other waterways are not. Its history is entrenched into the psyche of the entire nation in a way others are not. As the gateway to the empire it was the stopping point between the east and the new world, the road of hope and aspiration where the dreams of the modern world are discussed, realised, bought, discarded and shattered. In that order. The millions of hopeful émigrés that passed through created a new metropolitan city, the second city of the empire, affluent and bustling with trade. It became one the building blocks in the dubious explosion of capitalism and created a system of haves and have-nots in Liverpool that existed and ate away at the fibre of its society until as recently as the 1990’s. On the other side of its dubious commercial coin was its part in the trafficking and sustained misery of millions of unsuspecting émigrés, namely the slaves of west Africa, bound and exchanged for magic beans their tortured new lives were bought and sold on the exchanges of Liverpool’s waterfront. The brutalised spirits of these wretched, uprooted and terrified people shall haunt this city and all who sail in her for an eternity. What did we build this city on? May we have mercy on their unfortunate souls. Liverpool inadvertently created affluence for the empire that had no trickle down effect on its citizens, the social degradation caused by rampant unchecked capitalism cut a swathe through history from the mid 19th century to the present day. Apart from a brief afternoon in the sunshine caused by The Beatles forty odd years ago, the nation conveniently forgot about the city and its wondrous river. The idle river became a metaphor for all that was wrong with our ailing society, as the Mersey died on its arse, so the nation crumbled around it. Changes in commercial practices in every department of life saw the end of its triumphant dominance of British shipping, the container became king of the seas and the Mersey’s narrow inlet became too small by a mile for modern freight carriage. Gradually –although the disappearance was more like the batting if an eyelid- the river ground to a halt and the once mighty docks and buildings fell into disrepair and dereliction that symbolised not only the colossal fall from grace Merseyside experienced but the erosion of the nation itself. What had once been the majestic, all encompassing springboard to another world and untold wealth was languishing in the doldrums of economic blight and a changing world that didn’t care and had in effect turned its back in a time of great need. V I have referred to the Mersey serving Liverpool, being its catalyst, social provider and spiritual mentor. Liverpool is the be all and end all of the Mersey, yes, it has two banks and as we said earlier it stretches for 70 miles so therefore other towns and villages crop up along its route. If it hadn’t have been for Liverpool and it’s position on the river I wouldn’t be writing this piece now. Wirral is a strange place, despite being nearer to my house than Goodison Park –as the crow flies- it remains without doubt one of the most mysterious places in most Liverpudlians lives. I have no idea of its layout, geography or inhabitants and other than getting on and off a train I have no idea how to get there. This may sound like classic metropolitan snobbery but there really is no need to have that sort of information. By and large the vast majority of those on this side never have to cross the river and by and large don’t. I know many people –myself included- who are infinitely more familiar with the streets of London or New York than what is on the other side of the water. There is a definite feeling that it is ‘our river’ that very occasionally we let other children have a look at. If they are really lucky and we are feeling benevolent we will let them hold it for a while. But it’s ours, and it always will be. this piece may have been previously published by caughtbytheriver.com this week: i believe that i'm on the right track. i'm gonna keep on steppin', never lookin' back. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. catch.....the cure. the rock.....delakota. dance with the devil.....cozy powell. sk1-the damager.....neil landstrumm. money in my pocket (extended version).....dennis brown. beginning the hours.....gareth williams. sunshine motel.....richard t. bear. this momentary......delphic. journey to satchidananda.....alice coltrane. love on a mountain top.....robert knight. fit together (cosmo mix).....spektrum. scorpio red.....the holy mackerel. faster than light.....the mirror. a night in new york.....elbow bones & the racketeers. at last i am free.....robert wyatt. made up and reassembled by bernie and sike. the bespoke audio people. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode twenty six: i just don't know what to do with myself.

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 05:02:00 +0000

now hear this! i was gonna write this really brilliant piece about apathy but i couldn't be arsed. every time me fingers hit the keys i feel like i should take a couple of hours off to recover, the recoil and shockwaves that surge through me body are too much to take. if i could go asleep i would. it is the middle of the afternoon. i-really-can't-be-bothered is not the best head space to be in when confronted with a deadline and an audience baying for blood. or red hot pop music, whichever comes first. i've tried really hard in the last couple of days to raise meself from this horrid torpor i've arrived in but nothing, but nothing seems to work. i've turned staring out of the window into an olympic sport and channel hopping on a tv i'm not watching into a fine art. the actual physical act of writing this is sapping the life out of me. and there appears to be nothing i can do about it. apparently. i have a half baked yet brilliant pice of writing about 1979 that needs about three paragraphs to finish, yet in languishes somewhere in another window awaitng my attention that may never happen. i seem to have a lot on me mind but apart from the obvious things i can't see what's freaking me out so much. maybe it's the time of year, or maybe it's the time of man but it feels like the entire universe could grind to a halt and i wouldn't be that arsed at the moment. i don't feel waywardly depressed or desperately unhappy, a mere smidgin of both seems to have infected my normally sunny disposition and rendered me a bit down in the serotonin basement, a hobbit with a face like a smacked arse, chewing a wasp. i'm not banking on keeping this up for too long -i don't wanna imply i can switch this on and off at will- any longer than this week would be dangerous, if i'm not back in happy valley by monday it could be a trip to the quacks to feel the all encompassing cushion of medical attention. the next time you read this page i will have turned the corner onto happiness drive and be strolling hand in hand with mirth and laughter. honest, just you wait and see. at least we have a plethora of popular music at hand. this week: we tried everything. it didn't work. again. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. the hustle.....van mccoy & the soul city symphony. that lucky old sun.....frankie laine. the tenure itch.....the pains of being pure at heart. bug in the bassbin.....innerzone orchestra. san francisco girls.....fever tree. spaghetti circus.....still going. all the pilgrims.....the brute chorus. you're lying.....linx. billy porter.....mick ronson. in violet.....health. dance sucker (francois kevorkian mix).....set the tone. life, the unsuspecting captive.....michael nesmith. mojo rising.....rontrent. it'll never be over for me.....baby washington. electronic frogs kissed by bernie and sike. the bespoke audio people. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode twenty five: we want the world and we want it now!

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 17:17:00 +0000

i got involved in a heated debate with some slightly elderly gentlemen recently who were bemoaning the fact that all modern music was shit. i argued to the contrary, i believe modern music is in perfect rude health. granted, the top 40 may be abyssmal, but then it's always seemed to be that way. you don't realise what you have till it's gone and been replaced by something even more shoddy and decidedly inferior. there's never been a better time to be into music, everything is there at your fingertips, the only deciding factor being how much you want in your life. never mind the instant access we have via file sharing and downloads, in the real world of hard copy and actual sales nothing ever gets deleted. the reissues and 'oldies' market are booming -inasmuch as any aspect of the record business booms these days. record labels and enthusiasts have realised that there is just enough oddball completists out there to warrant a second -or often third- time around for even the most obscure and long dead of releases. but it easn't always thus, in the early eighties when i got into buying records in earnest many of the albums now deemed irreplaceable classics had been deleted for many years. last night the sike and i were discussing this, he told me he'd bought the first few mothers of invention albums for a quid each on a market stall at a time when they were not available through their record companies. it's hard to believe in the here and now that there was ever a time when any of frank zappa's catalogue was not available, it seems unfeasible, just plain daft. the same record label had kept the first three velvet underground albums in print but deleted the zappas. strange. similarly the works of huge selling acts like traffic, sly & the family stone, the byrds, the supremes and even the monkees were consigned to the second hand store of life where they became the seeds of what we now call the record collector market. everything gets reissued these days, there's a label or outlet for every taste and style of music imaginable, it's seems a logical thing to do. there always was a demand for these things, when i first held a copy of making time by the creation in my grubby little teenage mitts it was barely fifteen years old, yet the creation were like some mythical beast that may or may not have existed, a footnote to the end of the london mod thing and the charge towards something more colourful. back in the here and now the creation are rightly lauded as one of the great british groups of all time with tons of fan-sites dedicated to their short but bright career. but it was a hard slog, you had to hang on in there. thanks to reissue powerhouses like kent, edsel and bam caruso the cream of the british mod and soul thing became readily available to buy, take home and adore, their output reflecting the growing appetite for all things gone and passed by. in reissuing these long gone nuggets and rubble a floodgate was opened in which certain music fans found their niche, immersed themselves in the genre of their choice and stayed there in a past that never existed. in a way this may seem naive, yet these nerdy types opened the door for us to enjoy whatever music we want, whenever we want. the arse fell out of the collector market for a while, but so what? what it gave was the freedom to appreciate the music we love at a price we could understand. in order to see what's happening in the present it can really help to see what was going on onn the past. but, and it's a big but, with pop music the best place to be is the future, be at the centre of its evolution and you'll never feel alone or neglected. pop music didn't die the day the clash split up, no sir bob. pop music is an ever changing, self-generating organism that stops for no man. just because a certain sound is not the epicentre of your universe doesn't mean it isn't valid, or worse, doesn't exist. there are millions of hours of music available for us to consume as i write this, how you choose to deal with that is up to yourself, if you don't like the music you hear in your daily life, un-plug the jukebox, and do yourself a favour. the greatest record you've never heard is just around the corner, it just depends where you're looking and listening. same as it ever was. this week: we turned up the sunshine. metaphorically of course. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. supernature.....cerrone. if i were a fish.....mum. turn the heater on.....keith hudson. i'm so young.....the students. concrete jungle.....silkie. i can't make a friend.....the vagrants. no body (levon vincent remix).....jori hulkkonen. stoned out of my mind.....the chi-lites. map ref. 41n 93w.....wire. ....you too.....fontan. cowgirl in the sand.....neil young. chased down the street, taunted and trapped inside a box by bernie and sike. the bespoke aduio people. again. x image: pork chop hill (slight return) by tim whittaker. c.1983.

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode twenty four: this is tomorrow calling.

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 18:38:00 +0000

just when you thought it was safe to back into the futhest recesses of your mind......over the last few days i've been reminded of how cruel and uncertain life can be, the ever presents and certainties that make up our daily lives can be brushed to one side in a single act of unfathomable horror. that horror however can be catalyst that spurs you on to a brighter, moire rewarding day. in my case the unfathomable horror of the last week has been that i know all the words to cliff richard's bachelor boy. and it doesn't stop there, no sir, not at all. while i busy myself at work the radio is essential, of course. i have difficulty listening to pop music radio, the music is fine, it's the inane ramblings of the presenters that can be a challenge. therefore there's only so much of the world service you can take, once you've familiarised yourself with the irregularities of the afghani election or obama's healthcare nightmare there's very little else to shout about. as a stark alternative i have the station that plays everlasting love every twenty minutes banging away in the background. the upshot of this is you're showered with both the absolute glories and the abnsolute demons of post-war pop. in a perfect world services like this would be subscriber only, require a pin number and be kept out of the way of children and more impressionable adults like myself. imagine you surprise on a blitering sunny day you discover that far from being the hard-man of leftfield pop, you are a lackey of the corporate oldies market, a slave to the opening bars of silence is golden, whoring yourself minute by minute as you realise you can sing along to every word of mr. blue sky as though jeff lynne occupies the sacred ground you may have reserved in your life for joy division, king tubby or the residents. and i really don't mind physical by olivia newton john, it's all encompassing blandness can be a warm place to hide away from the pressures of daily life. similarly when you're in love with a beautiful woman by dr hook can be the audio comfort blanket your daily routine screams out for in times of stress and will beat neu's negativland into a cocked hat in the feelgood stakes. but bachelor boy..........? i really can't stress enough how strange this can make you feel, discovering you have one foot in the future and the other firmly entrenched in the top 40 of september 1980 is a whole new direction to take. i love the beige feeling you get from oldies radio, the presenters sort of fade away into the background after the first sentence and all you get is the title of the record and which holiday camp is hosting their end of year sixties spectacular. which is nice. and, if it means that it eradicates the need for george lamb, jo whiley and jonathan ross it can only be good thing, yes? did i ever tell you i once had a dream about jo whiley? oh no...oh no...oh no... this week: we picked ourselves up and started again. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. tainted dub.....soft cell. fiya...... tUne-YaRdS. will you miss me?....woody guthrie. open my eyes.....nazz. the trip.....paul murphy. cash (money).....prince charles & the city beat band. cool operator.....delroy wilson. rushing to paradise (walkin' these streets).....house of house. walkin' up a one-way street.....willie tee. i'll follow you down.....slaughter joe. patterns 1.....moritz von oswald trio. thank you to alll the people who have left such kind words following the tragic death of my good friend jake brockman last week. i'm both amazed and touched by the warmth and love that has been shown my way, paticularly from people i don't really know. i'm very moved and consider it an honour to include you as my friends. x sugar, spice, all things nice, rats, snails, puppy dog's tails. all mixed together with a dead dog's eye by bernie connor and the sikester. the bespoke audio people. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode twenty three: he was a friend of mine.

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 11:22:00 +0000

my good friend jake brockman has died in the course of his adventures. he was the most beautiful caring and optimistic person i ever met. people like jake gave us all hope, he lit up the world he was put on to live. i first met jake in 1980, gary dwyer (the teardrop explodes drummer) and myself were tripping on acid and weedling our way round liverpool city centre looking for something to do. we eventually ended up in the zoo records office in chicago buildings, just around the corner from probe. inside we encountered the bills drummond and butt plus this pixie like thing with long straggly hair and a long straggly beard, decked out in an raf greatcoat and sitting on a table cross-legged. this turned out to be jake who cut a rather strange figure in liverpool in 1980 looking like that. realising instantly that me and daddio were tripping our tits off he picked up an acoustic guitar and began serenading us with these very wonderful made-up songs that defused a con fused and psychedelic situation. that was the beginning of lifelong friendship with this most gentle, caring, loving soul on the planet. not long after his arrival in liverpool he became roadie, keyboard player and general factotum to echo & the bunnymen, completely indispensible and more a part of the band than thge musicians and the music they made. from this lofty position grew his friendship with pete de freitas, they took on the world as a psychedelic dangermouse and penfold, two poshers with a arrid thirst for life and all that could offer them. there's was a world of italian motorcycles, hand-made leather shoes and the finest marijuana avauilable to humans, every moment spent with them was like an eternity on planet whack. a knockabout series of high laughs, startling conversation and to be honest, a dazzling insight to how the other half lives. enter whittaker. their adoption of former deaf school drummer, tim whittaker as lysergic guru and artist in residence was a master-stroke. tim brought to the table an earthy lancashire witticism that was desperately needed to prevent them from becoming a modern day jeeves and wooster. this unholy trinity designed the course of my life in my early twenties; music, philosophy, fine art and the concept of the ever changing world were constantly hovering in the air around our heads and the explosion of thought that was contextualised for me by jake and put into a language we could all understand. i never learned to do anything practical at all, when he used to live round the corner he did everything for me, putting up shelves, building the children's bunk-beds, hell i even called him once to ask him to change a lightbulb for me. he came and did it, of course he did, that's what sort of beautiful cat he was, nothing was ever too much. he dircted me over the phone on how to change a washer on the bathroom tap, when it was glaringly obvious that i was woefully inept at even that, he came round and did it himself. beautiful. when pete died in 1989 and when tim died in 1996 jake was a lost but rock solid soul to cling to. he took it all in his stride and in his philosophical way he put our hearts and minds at ease. as i write this, i wish he was here to make us all feel a little more secure, we could certainly do with it. and right here, right now i can't believe that all three have gone, a chapter in liverpool's cultural history closed forever. hopefully in the otherworld somewhere the divine thunderbolt corps are rearing for their reunion gig. good luck, chaps. i can't really think of anything more magnanimous to say, jake was a good friend, someone i thought would outlive us all by sheer beauty and determination. his spirit and his smiling face will live with me forever, i'm glad it'll never go away. he really was a friend of mine and shall miss him for all time. and man, that feels bad. my love goes out to his wife, sally and everybody who ever came into contact with him, their lives will be better for it. love, man.x x x this week: we lost our co-pilot, navigator and captain of the ship. all at once. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. be my baby.....vanessa paradis. cloud nine.....mongo santamaria. the missionary.....josef k. part 2.....the gaslamp killer. clara-bella.....the jodimars. the race part one.....african head charge. the roll off characteristics (of history in the making).....cornershop. happy birthday.....spacelex. the oogum boogum song.....brenton wood. sweet and dandy.....the maytals. if you're looking for a way out.....tindersticks. the presence.....crispy ambulance. techno dread.....2562. borstal breakout.....sham 69. put together with a heavy heart by bernie & sike. the bespoke audio people. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode twenty two: all the love in the world.

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 18:42:00 +0000

the nature of pop journalism and indeed the nature of pop music itself throws up some wild and ludicrous claims and suppositions. one has to just think back to the legend that is 'clapton is god' to realise how soft arsed som claims can be. clapton is/was nver god, he's just a fella that plays electric guitar. david bowie is god. he wrote drive-in saturday. a recent nme article claimed that blur are the most influemtial british band of the modern age, based on nothing more substantial than they were playing in london that week and the journo responsible was probably on the guest list. an excercise in mutual back-scratching that had got clearly out of control. but surely it transcends guest lists and soft-soap of pluggers and pr types. these statements are crass and self-serving. great if you like blur, it might make you feel like part of an exclusive club that vindicates everything you've ever believed in. blur really aren't the most influential band of the modern age, the statement relayed to myself suggested that they were supposed to be the most influential british band since the beatles, which if it hadn't been so hilarious could have been possibly libellous. a casual glance around the web could find no evidence of this outrageous boast, although in all fairness i didn't look very hard. the very notion that soneone could think that, let alone write it with a straight face is both brave and foolhardy in equal amounts. but then, the modern age? when does that start and finish? the last year? the last decade or the last half an hour? the distance between blur and the beatles is about twenty years, which may not seem that far if you're in your late forties, but will seem unfathomable if you are 22. i know this might sound like another outlandish claim but there are still people who read every word of the nme and think it's the gospel truth. really. the school of thought that puts blur in such a lofty position completely airbrushes david bowie, punk and all its bastard offspring, roxy music and the acid house explosion, to name but a few, out of the equation. reallly. it's not an age thing, no sir, it's about listening to music, the context of its time and how it's perceived in the here and now. if there are people out there who espouse these views then what they should realise is that british pop in all its myriad forms is multi-faceted, beautiful work of art that deserves better respect than pitching the ridiculous against the sublime. blur's work is derivitive of the previous thirty years of british pop, surely that makes the groups they attemted to imitate (small faces, wire, the solo works of eno) equally, if not more influential. the only thing i can suggest is that it must have been a very slow day at nme towers or the overwhelming desire for a guest list for the gig caused an irrational outbust of superlatives. either that or the person responsible had never heard any british music made before 1990, that is the more distinct possibility. based on the same princilple didn't they vote the smiths as the most influntial band of all time? or something. both earth shattering and amusing. positively hysterical. this week: we realised what was going on but did nowt about it. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. in the basement.....etta james & sugar pie de santo. kerosene.....big black. wind it up.....mark pritchard & om mas keith. bedroom mazurka.....augustus pablo & fay. hot smoke and sassafras.....bubble puppy. two weeks.....grizzly bear. don't make me wait (larry levan mix).....peech boys. see my baby jive.....wizzard. spiders (kidsmoke)....wilco. scene thru the eye of a lens.....family. no fear.....photonz. the true one.....gene clark. millions like us.....purple hearts. heavy cross.....the gossip. washed, ironed and folded by bernie connor and sike. the bespoke audio people. x to the memory of the colossus that was george mckay. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode twenty one: i ain't no fortunate son.

Wed, 19 Aug 2009 16:13:00 +0000

i think liverpool's a wonderful place to be. sometimes. there have been moments in the past milennia that have been some of the most wonderful and rewarding experiences imaginable, conversely yhere have been moments of soul crushing disappointment and murdrous bad vibes. inner city life. writ large. i think liverpool's a wonderful pkace to be. sometimes, because it's where i have spent the most time and therefore think i know trhe place and the people like the back of me hand. in actuality i know very little of liverpool, if it's off the 82 bus route i'm pretty scuppered, the north end might as well be on mars. which it probably is. this much i know though, sometimes the good people of this city can make that dreary old corpse of a town spring back into life, put on a display of love and good will that breaks the bank of love. last saturday night, the mighty atom that is pete bentham put on a loud rock'n'roll experience in the clubhouse at the tennis club in sefton park. twice the size of my living room, packed to the rafters with the beautiful young people this nation tends to forget exists, it was a celebration of everything that is good and creative about this town. five live acts, me playing records and a trillion ton of love and good vibes all squashed into a room not big enough to house a full-sized snooker table. so far out and lovely i haven't really came down, it was like taking drugs for the first time. possibly. i never go out anymore, it terrifies me the world that exists beyond the golden triangle of my front door, the local shop and work. i used to go out an awful lot of course, i have fond memories of just that thing. i don't wanna sound like me grandad but the event on saturday reminded me of just how well some very usual things work in unusual places. liverpool has a tradition of gigs in unusual -and often miniscule- venues. the bunnymen were always game forthis, at the height of what can be best described as bunnymanua, they placed themselves in venues as tiny as the monroe on duke st and cafe berlin on bold st. both gigs were oversubscribed a a hundredfold, a health and safety nightmare waiting to happen. what i loved about these events is the way they bonded disparate souls in a very intimate environment and forged a sense of unity amongst the participants. i'm sure these epoch making events happen in every city, town and hamlet across the nation. it would be really shit if it only happened in liverpool. we can't be that fortunate, other young 'uns elsewhere must have brilliant yet, unlikely ideas. it seems like the central ethos of punk. or something. this week: we stood high and proud. the best was/is yet to come. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. natural high (global communications remix).....warp 69. summer (the first time).....bobby goldsboro. all the little things (that make life worth living).....andrew weatherall. ruins.....the laughing windows. my soul.....clifton chenier. walls of jericho.....cabaret voltaire. stranded in the jungle.....the cadets. feel it!....coco steel & love bomb. somebody to love.....the great society. i dub.....king midas sound. bubble wrap.....electric man. overnight sensation.....the raspberries. WARNING! this site may be shit. if you are having difficulty downloading this podcast, right click on where it says 'download this episode', scroll to 'save as' and save it where you see fit. ta. x made to measure by connor & sike, the bespoke audio people. with love. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode twenty: looks like we made it!

Wed, 12 Aug 2009 14:51:00 +0000

we really have come an awfully long way, y'know? i never ever thought for a single moment that i would still be doing this almost six months later. i thought at best i would give up admirably following a heavy spate of consumer apathy around episode ten. yet the response has been overwhelming and almost universally positive. the only real negative, if you can call it that followed episode two -i think- at 4.03 am anonymous said....shit. even then me and weezle took it as a compliment, you know you've arrived when the backlash begins. every little tiny bit has been boss, even when sike and i took almost twelve hours spread over two nights to do his first show. the end result being so ace what's the point in wallowing in pain. i know i say this all the time but it really does blow me away weekly the kind words and generous response i get from you lot out there. it's a huge part of what we do, like i said, if i thought nobody was listening i c ertainly wouldn't be arsed putting meself through this rigorous deadline schedule. ask anyone i've ever written for, deadlines are not something i feel comfortable with. this somehow, works on a different level. i really would like to thank you all individually, in a big way because your reactions have kept the sound of music going, it's the reason i do what i do, without you i'm nothing etc. i don't do the praise thing very well, it's the catholic in me, really i no more worthy than say, algae. or something. i had a trillion things to say but they have fled my mind like lord lucan on shergar. what i would like to say is thanks for tuning in every week, let's keep it going, a special thanks is reserved for the good people at when skies are grey magazine and webpages who have tirelessly promoted what we do to anyone who'll listen, often to their own detriment. to the untold amount of souls i have made contact with again through the miracle of these pages. it's good to have you all in me life again. to all of you, the sound of music is just an absract theory. it's people that give it its life force. thanks. bernie. x if we're still here at christmas we will be close to episode forty. and that would be fun. here's to it. this week; we lively upped ourselves. and we don't feel bad. no sir! WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. that beating rhythm.....richard temple. everything's gone green.....new order. white spider.....a mountain of one. roots train.....junior murvin & dillinger. baby blue.....the chocolate watchband. don't let it die.....hurricane smith. to london.....faltydl. the green green grass of home.....jerry lee lewis. spanish stroll.....mink deville. don't send nobody else.....ace spectrum. theme from den haan.....den haan. buzzin' fly.....tim buckley. faust 72.....dynastie crisis. different but the same.....superthriller. mr big mouth.....tunde williams & africa 70. i love you all, you make bernard a happy chap. and that can only be a good thing, huh? produced and directed by bernie connor. additional production and remix by sike o' delic. possibly. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode nineteen: i'm going to egypt to be a pyramid.

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 17:43:00 +0000

and, there we were in one place. a generation lost in space. a couple of days ago i had a concrete, witty and erudite 500 words to regale you with this week. but sometimes circumstances dictate your mood and the sad events of the last few days here in liverpool following the tragic death of andy parle have taken the acid out of me barbs and left pondering me own mortality yet again. i had this definite riff on the miracle of the perfect imperfect being. bizarro is such a thing, being suoerman's negative alter-ego if such a thing really exists. whatever superman is and can do bizarro can do the direct opposite. and, kryptonite doesn't kill him, it merely makes him stronger. the gist of it was something along the lines of the sound of music being the perfect imperfect music broadcast. whatever conventional music programming is and purports to be is the direct diametric opposite of the wonderful thing we have going here. he's good-bad, but he's not evil. i like this idea, and really i would love to expand on this incredible scientific theory, but like i said recent events round here have almost knocked the stuffing of me creative streak. i wll come back to this at a later date when my muse returns from its journey to the back of beyond. i hope this doesn't in any way deter your musical enjoyment this week, and i'm sorry for the downy nature of this text but in the last couple of weeks three people i had an awful lot of time for have gone from my life forever. i can put it down to the time of life but it doesn't make it easier. sometimes chirpy-chirpy-cheep-cheep seems inappropriate. will be in a much better humour next week for our 20th edition. velcro yourself to those that you love and tell them you love them every day. it's food and drink for the soul. thanks everyone. back next week in an effervescent mood. x this week: we give many thanks for very small mercies. again. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. yesterday has gone.....little anthony & the imperials. i heard it through the grapevine.....creedence clearwater revival. die welt.....waler wegmuller. boy 1904.....jonsi & alex. defecting grey.....the pretty things. jumping with mr. lee.....val bennett. veronica's veil (erol alkan's extended rework).....fan death. where is my mind?....the pixies. deliver me (diskjokke & vinny villbass diskomix).....lil' wolf. the state i am in.....belle & sebastian. 1974.....steve kotey & max essa. how does it feel?....slade. made up as he went along by bernie. given hope and direction by sike. again. to the memory of andy parle. rest now. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode eighteen: murder on the dancefloor.

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 03:32:00 +0000

so, alex curran (mrs stevie g-lad) claims liverpool is a dangerous place to be at night? with groups of inebriated young men pepared to repeatedly attack a hitherto unknown disc jockey for not playing phil collins, then i'm not surprised she thinks it's a bit hairy. phil collins, phil, bloody collins. i like 'stevie g-lad's' style though. here is a wealthy, successful young athlete prepared to chuck it all in and potentially spend the next twelve months at her majesty's pleasure all for his unswerving devotion to phil collins. in one way you've got to admire the beaut, although somewhere aloing the line i think he go his convictions a wee bit twisted. the perceived school of thought suggests that if you believe in something so passionately you may be prepared to die for it. in stevie g-lad's case he loves phil collins so much he thought it was worth someone else dying for his cause. but phil collins, phil fuckin' collins as a soul who has spent an awful long time at the coalface of disc-jockeying i can sympathise and understand how when large volumes of alcohol and drugs enter the fray some people's usually impeccable taste goes out the window. i have been harangued and threatened for not complying to some of the most bizarre requests in the history of music. and i hate to say it, but some women are the worst, working on a heady brew of strong booze, poor taste and bad ideas they will get right down, in yer face and scream at you because you don't like the same music as they do and are therefore not carrying every great record they've ever heard. teflon stevie g-lad, the nugget that he is, despite being one of the 'crown jewels of english football', thinks he has the will and skill to play music to a packed bar based purely on the fact that he's stevie g-lad. again, as a dj you get this a lot. again, and unfortunately in my experience it's usually pissed women. once booze and bugle has kicked in the overwhelming spirit of empowerment overtakes them and they need to hear young hearts run free or woe betide. in stevie g-lad's case it was phil bleedin' collins. i shouldn't really be surprised, footballers are notorious for their poor taste in music. dating back to tne late sixties i can recall reading the profiles of my heroes in the now defunct shoot, only to be amazed that tese hip young things worshipped not at the altar of the jefferson airplane or the temptations but barbra streisand and andy williams. and worse. stevie g-lad is simply conforming to a historical trend by having apalling taste in music. the judge when he inevitably acquitted the philsters biggest fan said something to the effect of walikng from this court with his character unblemished. i don't know, for me having yourself exposed as the sort of phil collins fanatic who is prepared to maim in order to hear the music you want is a blemish most of the known universe would rather live down. if anyone knows stevie g-lad, point him in the direction of this podcast for some corrective therapy. it won't work. but it'd be fun trying. this week: we tore up the greatest art of the 20th century then called it our own. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. don't split it.....subway sect intriguing feathered creatures.....pepe bradock. masterpiece.....the temptations. lullaby for robert.....al usher. mr. soul.....the everly brothers. sex bomb....flipper. lasaron highway.....meanderthals. different drum.....stone pony. everybody but me(diskjokke remix).....lykke li. she's building something out of me.....forest fire. snipers in the street.....singers & players. tears of rage.....the band. invented and directed by bernie. realised in the nick of time by sike or delia. sorry it's late, things happened. honest. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode seventeen: the good humor man, he sees everything.

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 02:32:00 +0000

………………..then they imploded. Just at the point where they should have morphed into the greatest pop/rock band of their age, Love were to be found slugging it out with hard drugs and personal demons while the young pretenders picked up the crown, polished it down, glued it to their heads, where it remains to this day. The keys to the magic kingdom were there for Arthur Lee to take, Jac Holzman handed them Jim Morrison, he seemed like a safer bet at the time. In spite of all this, the album that Lee and Love had just released on Holzman’s Elektra records (Forever Changes) would be one of the most popular and enduring of all the so-called ‘underground’ records of the late 20th century, casting a giant shadow over everything Arthur did right up until his death in august 2006. LAUGH LAUGH, I ALMOST DIED……………………… Once Mr Tambourine Man had broken and The Byrds elevated onto a global platform the scene on the strip looked for another house band to play minstrels to the new court of youth freedom. Arthur Lee and his newly formed band of pistolleros fitted that bill perfectly: young, adventurous, uneasy on the eye and sporting two over-sized African-Americans which would have been unthinkable in most other states, Love began to gain attention as the new sound of LA’s burning young hipster set. They took over a lot of the gigs vacated by The Byrds, they took most of their audience too, the freak children of Ben Frank’s diner shifting their attention to the newly crowned kings of the ‘heads’. They even took their guitar roadie, Bryan McLean who brought a sense of stability and waspish good looks to the most challenging band of the day. And therein Love flourished, like flowers in the sunshine, their adventures on Sunset strip became notorious must-see events attracting the attention of every band, musician and industry exec that passed through, and eventually scoring them a deal with Elektra records in late ’65. Elektra was an odd choice of home for Lee and his cohorts, the label was the voicebox of the Greenwich Village folk revival scoring reasonably good attention and minor hits with Judy Collins, Phil Ochs and the hugely influential Fred Neil. For a time it looked like Love would follow McGuinn, Crosby and co out of the Whiskey-a-go-go and into the world of tripping with the Beatles and number one records, this sort of success was possible and possibly just around the corner. Maybe for other bands, not for love though. Love’s first offering, a punked-up cover of Bacharach and David’s My Little Red book (a song from the Woody Allen vehicle What’s New Pussycat?) was a reasonable success for a debut by a band who recorded for a label that did folk and very little else. Their debut album, released in early 1966 is a masterpiece of snot-nosed, sneering punk-rock in the truest sense of the phrase jam-packed, wall to wall with wayward spirit within Arthur Lee that held out so much potential for the oncoming watershed in popular music. Every track glistens with a double dose of California sunshine, a zillion miles away from the breezy comfort of the Byrds debut album, it’s bittersweet yet brash, fuck you attitude would be a template that Arthur would use to destroy a promising career on more than one occasion. The year 1966 was a good place to be for Arthur and Love, the success of their first album was on the surface ‘the shape of things to come’, in the actuality 1966 brought about the gradual disintegration of the perfect imperfect pop band. From their lofty communal home The Castle (once the home of the great Bela Lugosi) the group detached themselves from the rest of the rapidly expanding LA music scene. Despite all the danger and lunacy surrounding them they managed to score a top 40 hit in the wondrous, snarling punk of Seven and Seven Is, a thrashing high-volume, 100 miles an hour…………. which was galloping up the charts while the band themselves were trying their damnedest to scupper any attempt to make them the household names their record company and fans thought they should be. Their second album Da Capo was released in the autumn of that year underlining their credentials as fine purveyors of dark, twisted pop music; bright on the surface, twisted and uninviting as the surface was scratched away. The entire side two was taken over by a long meandering studio jam called Revelations, originally from a riff they would paly on live, keeping it happening for extraordinary lengths of time on stage. If that would seem like a pointer for te direction the band would follow then what actually did follow raised the stakes in modern pop music so high that even in this relatively new century musicians are still trying to make that creative leap to be on a par with where Love found themselves in early 1967. Forever Changes created the mould of deranged psychedelic pop and smashed it into a trillion pieces ensuring its originality and sonic beauty would outlive almost all the major protagonists, Holzman, Morrison and undoubtedly ourselves as it carries the torch of peerless, beautifully crafted art way into this century and probably the next. The bright California sunshine still shines out of every note and hook, it’s all encompassing appeal being one of its major advantages over most of its peers. It has redefined pop music to mean something very different from its original intention. Though it toys with the accepted structure of pop, its dark, sneering underbelly takes it somewhere that any music had not been to in 1967 and few have returned to since. It became an instant classic among the underground set, in a year that saw the album as a genuine art-form peek its head above the parapet for the first time Forever Changes was one of the true stand-out offerings in a world of mediocrity, over-hype and, what Eric Clapton called ‘Peter, Paul and Mary with an electric guitar’. It was, of course, a different universe, the pop business that had been re-invented, then ruthlessly exploited by what the Americans called the British Invasion groups had flowered into a deluge waiting to happen. Artists were for the first time seeing the potential of their ‘career’ beyond the three minute chart-stab and beginning to imagine themselves as real musicians a light year away from those purveyors of restrictive chart fodder -in the same way jazz players saw themselves as the new virtuosi- expressing their feelings through the new medium of rock music. Similarly record companies were keen as mustard to ruthlessly exploit this new found freedom, more album sales=healthier balance sheets. It was as simple and as cynical as that unfortunately. Released into the political and social carnage that followed the summer of love, Forever changes sticks out like a sore, festering thumb. Its peers and contemporaries on the album charts were preparing for a decade of improvisation and soloing that would render the whole scene redundant and pointless and reduce the music to the level of young men wanking off on stage. Unlike their jazz counterparts rock musicians were restricted by their over reliance on 4/4 rhythm and the extended solos they purveyed were often executed by musicians with very little experience of improvisation per se. None of these bothersome features rear their ugly head on Forever Changes, it is a master class in sonic adventure, brevity and a stunning ability to create songs (beautiful songs) that melted the heart of a lost generation. What it gave to the world was an utterly unique take on the psychedelic vision, colours, light and shade streaming from every note and lyric, the radio friendly arrangements which were more in tune with the work of loungemeister Ray Coniff than their contemporaries The Buffalo Springfield or The Doors. Upon its release in the UK it went top five early in 1968, for any other act of the day it would have been a pre-cursor to a glowing, hugely successful career taking in millions of sales and arses on seats. But this was Love, and before the album was even completed their drugs of choice had altered radically and was beginning to render the band unworkable and a liability to all but themselves. HEAVINESS WAS………………………… In spite of industry cynicism, a group that didn’t actually exist, and every other barrier that faces a young musician in the early stages of a life long drug dependency, the sheer unashamed beauty and cosmic otherness of the record reached out to a generation that was dying to be touched in a positive way. The production and genius song writing accosted the listener by the throat, the bright, spacious, rolling sound transfixing young ears and enticing them into a false comfort zone before they were assailed by the uneasy subject matter of the lyrics. Not for Arthur or Bryan McLean were the trappings and themes of the counter culture, the feeling of uneasiness and paranoia swarms all over Forever Changes, the burning sunshine in the music and production offsetting the dark areas the lyrics dealt with. This was no sugar-coated pill for an easy fix to your troubles like Sgt Pepper or Surrealistic Pillow, in one of the most grandiose statements in music to date the overall effect was of ill-will wrapped up in promise and optimism. Back door subversion of the greatest kind, rubbing shoulders very uneasily with the bright colours and new school of thinking. The disintegration of the band was sure to follow suit, there was a follow up album tentatively titled Gethsemane mooted for a 1968 release but only the scorching 45 Your Mind And We Belong Together coupled with the wayward Laughing Stock surfaced. Bryan McLean had quit and it seemed Love and their haywire lifestyle were destined for the bargain bucket of life, flapping around in the water with one fin and no rudder for guidance. In spite of all this Forever Changes became the counter culture masterpiece it never set out be, indeed the sales of the album increased into the new decade opening up that psychotic, narcotic drenched sound to a new generation of listeners. In Liverpool it became the bible of modern music, every music fan worth their salt gravitated towards its enticing, comfy feel, turning on a new breed of musicians who, spurred on by the freedom and experimentation of punk had begun to look beyond the horizon of the three chord thrash. THIS IS WHERE I CAME IN…… You can’t understate the effect Forever Changes had on late 70’s Liverpool, it was the soundtrack to a thousand Sunday morning come-downs, moments of utter bliss and love. It contained the vital elements for survival in a city where the youth had been let down so badly that they founded their own society from outside the perceived norm. The alienation, paranoia and frustration within the album reflected the life most of these chemically altered young ‘uns were living and spoke directly to them in a language they could understand. This was our post-punk happening, it seemed an obvious direct line to follow too, not just for me and my mates but for disenfranchised youth the nation over. Up in Glasgow Alan Horne started his Postcard label with a small roster of bands that would exude the influence of Forever Changes in everything they did, and turned a passing interest into thousands of sales when it became glaringly obvious that it wasn’t just Liverpool and Glasgow that was so absolutely enthralled by this piece of unbridled beauty but in villages and hamlets all over the country children were citing it as the most influential recording of their lives. Conversely, while his music and lyrics were playing the role of salvation to an abandoned generation, Arthur himself was struggling with the down side of drug dependency and faced a very uncertain future. The Rhino Records Best of Love selection was met to rapturous applause in both the US and UK, but for Arthur himself it appeared to be just another lost victim of late 60’s excess, a bright talent snuffed out by chemicals, ego and bad, bad direction. All the influence in the world don’t pay no bills, Lee was out of the frame and stranded helpless on the rocks. In more ways than one. Again. If the 80’s proved a difficult decade for Arthur those who picked up his baton and run were rewarded with commercial success beyond their imaginations. Bands like Echo & The Bunnymen, Everything But The Girl and Aztec Camera tore up the top forty with music that had been lifted directly from Forever Changes and remoulded in their own image. The album itself was regularly cited in the music press as one of the top ten albums of all time, rightly rubbing shoulders with Pet Sounds and Revolver as those in the new positions of power sought to elevate it to its rightful highs. As far as I’m aware nobody championed Arthur and Love’s music in quite the same way as Michael and John Head, tirelessly and without concern for their own personal safety they immersed themselves into emulating the feel and song writimg techniques displayed by Lee and McLean on the first three albums. With their bands the Pale Fountains and Shack, the Head brothers fashioned themselves into almost a Love tribute band, the all pervasive sound of drug-fuelled California being alive and unwell in pretty much everything they did. And in turn the Head brothers were very good to Arthur, along with teir tireless promotion of his music asnd his band, in a …….of life imitating art they also became Love for two a few nights in 1992 when a narcotically challenged Arthur Lee made his first visit to the UK since 1970 and set Liverpool ablaze with a feeling of the second coming. The performance, which the Viper label preserved for posterity (Viper cd 003, pop pickers) is one of the all time great Liverpool music events. Aside from Michael and John Head, the pick-up ‘Love’ featured the cream of young Liverpool musicians who turned out for the evening –like the entire audience- in full hero worship mode, in absolute awe to be in the presence of this colossus who had shaped their lives in such a huge way. Arthur declared this show to be one of the greatest of his life, the love in the room that night could have saved a thousand worlds. Arthur said he’d be back, we had no idea it would take so long. A resurgence in fortunes was surely just around the corner and while Arthur was not in the best shape the love from this new generation of fans and the re-interest in his music was a positive step in the right direction. This was all small beer, in 1996 Lee was sentenced to twelve years in prison for illegal possession of a firearm under California’s draconian ‘three strikes and your out’ laws. While incarcerated both Bryan Mclean and original Love bassist Ken Forssi died and the often cited Love reunion with them. Arthur truly had dropped out the drop-outs. Five and half years in prison can do strange things to a man, in Arthur Lee’s case it straightened him out a little and he re-found god, which in turn gave him a new found strength. Within months of his 2001 release Arthur was once again touring and playing the psychedelic high-priest this time with a more permanent ‘Love’ line-up in the shape of California popsters, Baby Lemonade. During this tour he returned to the scene of his previous triumph in Liverpool, almost ten tears to the day Arthur took to the stage at Nation (now the home of super-club Cream) and once more blew away his audience with a set so electric and urgent. After the show I ventured into the dressing room, ostensibly to have him sign the sleeve notes I had written for Viper cd 003. As I stood in the presence of this great man who had done so much to make my younger years as confused as possible I became tongue tied for the first time in my life; deathly silent. When I met him I was amazed at how gentle and caring he was –none of this seemed visible in 1992- he chatted to me about this and that, life in prison, the price of fish, scanning the room in bemusement at the hero worship taking up every square inch. Then, you know what Arthur Lee said to me? He said, ‘will you let go of my hand’. Actually, he never said it me, he said it to Michael Head. He said, ‘Michael, can you ask your friend to let go of my hand, please?’ Completely awe-struck and unbeknownst to me I’d been shaking his hand and glaring up at him for about ten minutes, not a very comforting prospect if you’re Arthur Lee. on august 3rd 2006 arthur Lee passed away in Memphis Tennessee, the place of his birth some 61 years previous. He left behind a staggering body of work, even if he’d only made the first three Love albums it would have been infinitely more than most musicians would achieve in a thousand million careers. There is a light that shines on the universe that beams directly from the soul of Arthur Lee, a truly monumental human being. I met him, I spoke to him, I got his autograph on my living room wall. I feel very honoured indeed. Rest in peace Arthur, Liverpool misses you so much. Love from Bernie. X an edited version of this text forms the sleeve notes for ARTHUR LEE: FOREVER CHANGES LIVE IN LIVERPOOL 2003. released soon on the viper label. this week: we stood up against the searing heat, gasping for our collective breath. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. masterblaster (turn it up).....joint venture. velvet.....the big pink. it's a rainy day.....faust. herb vendor.....horse mouth. where there's a will......the pop group. got you on my mind.....cookie & the cupcakes. sweet child of mine.....akasha. ensonique.....seventeen evergreen. can you get to that?....funkadelic. i'm five years ahead of my time.....the third bardo. no way down.....air france. ooh child.....the five stairsteps. schwester.....einstellung. did you see her eyes?....the illusion. hastily prepared and directed by connor. shaped with patience and attention to detail by the sike. ta. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode sixteen: summer dreams, burst at the seams.

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 02:48:00 +0000

i had to ask our joe if the top forty still existed the other week. i wasn't being arsey or facetious, i genuinely didn't know if it was still the nation's favourite rundown. i suppose as you get older, things like the top forty, which for many years had operated on the very outskirts of my peripheral vision, lose their purpose and disappear from view altogether. i don't wanna get all 'weren't spangles brilliant' on yer arse, but despite there being tons and tons more stuff around these days, some of the things that were once the most precious get moved to the back by sheer virtue of their own lack of staying power. they get replaced by' power stuff', with longevity and meaning and focus. and that. in a world much smaller, the top forty was one of the three wise men that called the shots on your daily life, an essential part of your existence that was there for a million different reasons, at a million different times. whilst listening to the radio station that plays 'everlasting love' every forty minutes, i was dazzled by the summer hits of 1974 and '75. there are few things that i have ever experienced that are anywhere near as as good as rock your baby by george mcrae, from the opening drum machine to the final crescendo of beautiful falsetto, everything in between is pure heaven. and this is what happens. as we grow up and our minds and tastes become more sophisticateed, we allow ourselves ideas and opinions that put us in a certain space and a certain time. often, in order to maintain our personal space and time we allow the style police to keep an eye on what we like and more pertinently, what we don't like. and, because that time and space is so precious we forego the things we love, often casually admiring them from afar and vowing that the contents of your time and space are more important. and this has to happen. we have to make crass, ridiculous decisions and statements to keep our time and space looking inviting and right. the events of 1976/77 saw this taken to a ludicrous extreme, rendering not only the sacred top forty pointless and obsolete but huge tracts of other cultures and media, many of which have taken decades to grab back our attention. some of the best pop music ever made was deemed inappropriate and an enemy of the state during the punk wars, most of it rightly so but some of it is so utterly brilliant that no amount of posturing can eradicate that. the top forty of the mid seventies was a miraculous beautiful place that just so happened to coincide with my accidental induction into a stalinist purge on all things bright and beautiful. it has taken me 33 years to write this. see what i mean? this week: we welcomed the new golden dawn. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. walk on the wild side parts 1&2.....elmer bernstein/jimmy smith. kosmos (bonus beats).....paul weller. better scream.....wah! heat. k-jee.....the nite-liters. hold the line.....major lazer ft lexx & santogold. guillotine.....the lea shores. question.....the moody blues. reasonable sensible......akwaaba. green door.....wynder k. frog. take the skinheads bowling.....camper van beethoven. walking on thin ice.....yoko ono. i heard wonders.....david holmes. hello or goodbye.....tyrnaround. produced and directed by bernie connor. made very real indeed by sike kupp-stares. dedicated to the memory of steve cox and james klass. lots of love. r.i.p.

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' . a break in transmission.

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 11:59:00 +0000

the sound of music has gone to france. back next week with all the usual thrills and spills. until then, here's some music.

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode fifteen: one day in your life.

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 04:11:00 +0000

the king is dead. long live the king. the news of the death of michael jackson produced the usual sickening media scrum frenzied for any information or tittle-tattle that might keep their viewers and readers nailed for the foreseeable future while every last insignificant detail is pursued till like michael himself is, limp, lifeless and no longer necessary. aside from the initial shock at losing one of the most famous and instantly recognisable people on earth, the reporting took sedonds to lapse in to a mawkish, voyeuristic bunfight that kept the rolling news services and a trillion websites going way past the dawn. apart from the omg! factor the one salient point trying to be weedled out of the talking heads was 'what about those allegations?' those allegations. michael jackson was one of the most villified people on the planet these last few years, his inability to confirm or deny aspects of his sexuality and personal life led to a huge raft of scurrilous yarns being told and retold with embelishments like chinese whispers till we ended up with what we talked about here on these pages the other week: the gospel truth. even as his slippers were probably still warm people i know were bombarding facebook with messages along the lines of 'he's a fuckin' peedo, never mind the music'. utterly incredible, a forty year career at the very toppermost of the poppermost tree casually swept aside in order to castigate a dead man for being ambiguous and not like us. siigmund freud said that the adult is a mirror reflection of the child that came before, to that end the unworldly adult that michael jackson was is perfectly understandable, any child that is treated as little more than a performing monkey and brow-beaten for perfection by his own father will no doubt grow to be a little screwed up. the need to live his lost childhood at any cost has been one opf the key issues the world finds so strange about michael jackson. in the real world however, i shall remember him as one of the true great, creative artists of the twentieth century. sure, his music's gone off the boil in more recent years, but who can sustain a non-stop hit machine for near five decades and touch gold every time? very few, if any. ostensibly, the music he made when he was still a young black man (by this, i go right up to bad) will stand the test of time and still being blogged and analysed long after us cynical cunts have been worm food for centuries. many years ago my then girlfriend and i were high as kites on lsd and joanne was having a particularly wobbly time. the great tim o'shea entered the fray clutching a carrier bag of 7" singles, i told him what was happening and without hesitating he produced a copy of 'got to be there' from the bag, placed it on the turntable and turned it up loud. the sweetness and beauty in michael's juvenile voice disarmed a potentially dangerous situation and turned the evening into one of the most lovely i ever spent in my entire life. thanks tim, but foremost, thank you michael. you changed my life. i'll never forget the miracle of that song and that moment. lots of love, from bernie. x this week: we swapped one rascal for another and caught the final whiff of molly sugden's pussy. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. hello hooray.....judy collins. been caught stealing (12" version).....jane's addiction. she put the hurt on me.....prince la la. gigantes.....tortoise do the standing still.....the table. sync jam.....levon vincent. ku klux klan.....steel pulse. waltz for a pig.....graham bond organisation. rockchester.....fats comet. baby what you wabt me to do?.....jimmy reed. moth.....burial & four tet. crimson and clover.....tommy james & the shondells. save ny soul.....wimple winch. xam.....subway. cosmic dancer.....t.rex. rolled into little balls by sir bern, straightened out and given a bloody good looking at by sike kupp-stares. paul lordan won the quiz. answers next week.

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode fourteen: leaving on a jet-plane.

Wed, 24 Jun 2009 00:00:00 +0000

i've known from the very get-go that this would happen. in his defence he was brutally honest, he told me he was leaving for pastures new at the end of june. i thought he was full of shit, everybody i've ever known has been leaving for pastures new at the end of june for the last thirty years or so. it must be a weather thing. or some thing. at this juncture i would like to say a resounding and unconditional thank you to weezle mcweezler for his invaluable contribution to this podcast over the last fourteen weeks. absolutely effing priceless! little over three months ago, robin jackson had a brilliant idea in the garden of sudley house, the ancestral pile of the famous and influential holt family, now a gallery and ornate garden. the brilliant idea was this: "you should do a radio show on the internet, it'd be really good and if only we listened to it, it would still be ace just because it's there." or words to that effect. when people say things like that to me i tend to ignore them and hope they'll go away. remember, i am one of life's great lazy bastards and hitherto don't let anything get in the way of my easy life and/or countdown. this brilliant idea may very well have gone to the wall had i not stumbled upon weezle looking longingly in a tattoo studio window. i told him the gist of robin jackson's brilliant idea, he picked up my ball and ran with it. he so fast and far i couldn't keep up, i had to concede, we were gonna have to act on robin jackson's brillliant idea. so we did. fourteen weeks later we're still on-line every week, never missing a beat and nearly always on time. if you listen to this nonsense regularly, you'll notice that i'm constantly amazed by the reaction i receive to this, the amount of love shown can be disproportionate to the amount of work i put in. and the work i put in can never over-shadow the hard work and effort and time weezle has put in to make these broadcasts entertaining and listenable from the raw materials i pass on to him. i myself, marvel at his skills in turning potential shite into base metal into gold, and for that i will be eternally grateful. it really was one of my favourite fortuitous meetings ever, bumping into weezle like that, he had the software, know-how and the will to get it started asap and get this show soaring skywards. i'll miss his presence here every monday, and even though i have a new 'knob-twiddler' beginning next week -the incomparable and more than capable, sike upstairs- the first stage of the sound of music has flashed by in the batting of an eyelid and has proved a success we never could have imagined and the weezle is every bit as responsible as i am. thank you weezle, without you it would never have existed. there would be just silence. this week: we lost a weezler and gained a sike. or something. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. beach baby.....first class. city for sale (beat pharmacy dub).....floppy sounds. skunk (sonically speaking).....mc5 life's a gas (dub).....black mustang/kerrier district. melody.....serge gainsbourg. bring on the love (why can't we be friends again).....gloria jones. with a little help from my friends.....chris clark. robot eyes.....chicken lips presents 'zeefungk'. big gay heart.....the lemonheads. washing machine.....mr fingers. let's stick together.....wilbert harrison. when the levee breaks.....led zeppelin. don't let the sun catch you crying.....gerry & the pacemakers. presented in abstract form by mr bernard connor. deconstructed to tiny bits and reassmbled with all the zeal of a five year old child by weezle von weezlestein. for the last time. welcome sike upstairs. he shall lead us into future battles. long may he reign.

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' . episode thirteen: questions & answers. honesty. lies.

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 05:00:00 +0000

in the true absence of anything tuly worthwhile to report, i give you the sound of music summer trainspotters quiz. one point per question, the one who gets the most is the winner. simple. 1. which beatle sings lead on their version of roll over beethoven? 2. memphis studio associated with big star, among others? 3. sandra goodrich? 4. on which label did television's little johnny jewel first appear? 5. first band to play the hacienda? 6. produced three feet high and rising? 7. john wetton, john gustaffson, graham simpson? 8. 051 236 7881? 9. mosscrop, terrell, topping, kerr? 10. produced the damned's music for pleasure? 11. october 3 1938- april 17 1960? 12. previously tear gas, plus one? 13. lee perry's studio? 14. chester burnett? 15. second album called II & III? 16. label founded by the jesus & mary chain's manager? 17. wrote when the levee breaks? 18. december 12 1915 - may 14 1998? 19. plays drums on bobby fuller four's i fought the law? 20. wood, kefford, burton, wayne, bevan? 21. karoli, czukay, liebezeit, scmidt? 22. dexys debut 45? 23. rolling stones single, b-side dandelion? 24. lead guitarist in love sculpture? 25. osbourne ruddock? 26. the kraftwerk album after computer world? 27. replaced david ruffin? 28. rupie edwards' top five dub? 29. excerpt from a......(1967)? 30. 444 grove st, san francisco, ca.? 31. from which film is my little red book taken? 32. holidays in the sun b-side? 33. the boys next door became....? 34. sings on sugar sugar by the archies? 35. fred cash, sam gooden, leroy hutson? 36. clive powell? 37. clash city rockers b-side? 38. "this is the hand, the hand that takes.....here come the planes? 39. eugene craddock? 40. dr feelgood's 1976 live album? 41. played drums in traffic? 42. replaced by jean terrell? 43. mallinder, watson, kirk? 44. cummins, colvin, hyman, erdelyi? 45. previously the warlocks? 46. bruce smith played drums with which post punk legends? 47." i drunk a jar of coffee, then i took some of these?" 48. shelley, moore, gordon, renaldo? 49. lovin' spoonful label? 50. bowie's two 1977 albums? answers to bernieville@hotmail.co.uk closing date is 22 06 09. winner will receive a special sound of music gift to treasure and enjoy. good luck. try not to use the internet, it somewhat defeats the object. anyone who gets them all right will be disqualified. this week: we asked all the questions, shadowy operatives have the answers. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. angels and devils.....echo & the bunnymen. hey joe.....the make-up. in orbit.....joy lovejoy. sta-press and crombie (featuring lord holte).....rhythm doctor. i walk on gilded splinters......dr john. tone-bank jungle.....holy fuck. father's name is dad.....fire. wrong 'em boyo.....the rulers. i see the want-to in your eyes.....conway twitty. soul searchin'.....the electric flag. human fly.....the cramps. pills.....black affair. anti-orgasm.....sonic youth. him or me(what's it gonna be?)......paul revere & the raiders. beach point pleasant.....ducktails. you don't miss your water......william bell. quiz set by bernie. also, re-arrangeing the simple things in life and making them complex was by bernie too. weezle-pie forced the issue with a reasonable 17 off the last over. a decent knock. love. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode twelve: you can't beat people up and have them say i love you.

Mon, 08 Jun 2009 08:09:00 +0000

so, the uneasy on the eye challenge that is nick griffin has been duly elected to represent me, my family and an awful lot of those that i know, in the european parliament. what does that say about us as a people? it says that if you repeat something, however untrue or inane, for long enough, it becomes the gospel truth. and everybody believes it. in recent years a lot of credence has been paid to the idiotic notion that the white man is losing his identity. or something. precisely what identity they have to be eroded is never clear. if anybody wants to erode my identity, they're more than welcome. i am a white man and believe me my identity and those of the white people i know is nothing worth shouting about. i, as white man, don't think it's a crime to absorb the culture and diversity of human life around us. i think, that the majority of white peoiple whether they realise it or not, cling to this notion of this anglo-saxon prodestant warrior race that conquered the world and saved the savages from themselves. the trouble of course began when we let these 'savages' lay down their lives for the mother country in two world wars then have the audacity to come here looking for work. this is the gospel truth, honest to god. not everybody thinks like i do, i always say to people that just because you're not like that, don't assume for a moment that everybody's not like that. and so forth. the british national party -to give them their full title, bnp sounds cosy and quiaint- triumphed in the streets where i live because white people believe in the honest to god truth that finally, after decades of rumour and conjecture johnny foreigner is actually here, fucking our children and taking our houses and jobs. that's the gospel truth. i hope everybody found the irony in a party that has such issues with foreigners in their own country now sits in a parliament designed to bring europe together and rid itself of the tyranny of fascism forever, completely surrounded by the sort of people theywould rather leave on the platform at calais when the white eurostar liner heads blighty bound for the final time before they brick up the tunnel. people perpetuate myths because they have a vested interest, hitler was swept to power in 1933 because he told the german people the gospel tuth. the german people thought their identity had been eroded because somebody told them so. it was the gospel truth. see how easy it is? this week: the sun machine is coming down and we're gonna have a party. whoa-oh! WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. the trip.....kim fowley. dark bubbles.....black moth super rainbow. three piece suit and thing.....trinity. precious.....the jam. to last.....losoul. lady eleanor.....lindisfarne. night of the hunter (prins thomas remix).....tussle. michel angelo.....the 23rd turnoff seaside special.....jah wobble. ain't no big thing.....the radiants. deluxe (immer weider).....harmonia. more news from nowhere.....nick cave & the bad seeds. made up as he went along by mr. bernard. relived for the purpose of evidence and in the prresence of an eminent lawyer by weezle weezler-weezlestein. thanks. x photograph by simon loftus. ta. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode eleven: we mean it, maaaaan!

Wed, 03 Jun 2009 16:35:00 +0000

there were technical problems, fuckin' big technical problems. in the back of the cab, flying at high speed, the weezle began to prod me. it stunned me out of me lovely, deranged moment, i was the count of monte cristo, spoon in hand desperately digging from tokyo to liverpool. once we had checked in we decided to investigate the local culture, dead fish, ankle socks, expensive imports. this man, him said "we don't have what you need, look somewhere else." the pair of us, eyes like saucers, heads like teacups found solace in the bassline from 96 tears, it was pumping out of the door of a car occupied by the smallest beautiful woman on earth. she uttered something to me, i ignored her, i was dazzled by her beauty. she shouted at the weezle, in japanese she said "you loooking in the wrong place, what you need is not here. leads and things. get your shit together, man." as the early stages of extreme hunger began to set in i was reminded of the dead fish. and something ghastly we'd seen in a window in kuala lumpur. i asked weezle if he rememebered what it was, he just shrugged and fixed his hair. even though he was a mere inches away i could hear his distant voice blending in with the traffic and lights, and, barely make out what he was saying. what he was saying was this "kok, we gotta get hold of this thing and get out of here. i know other places where the aliens are more like the people, do you remember?" for my sins, i couldn't remember a fuckin' thing, and as i raised my head he had wired up a stereo and was standing with three discs in his hand, they were: the misunderstood, thelonius monk, king tubby. just before the bathroom door imploded into a trillion technicolor polka dots the opening strains of i can take you to the sun forced themselves into my mind and played metaphoric spoons with everything i ever knew. the weezle said that back in kuala lumpur, we won ten grand in a bet on the fa cup final but in the confusion and panic of the moment we'd shook down the bookie and unless we were very lucky every eagle-eyed policebloke from jakarta to just about everywhere will be in our back pockets and after what we have. and what we need. once we got rid of the people in the doorway and i'd prized my face away from the window we began to record the voice links. weezle was taken aback, as i openeed my mouth a voice let fly. weezle said it wasn't my voice. i wasn't suprised, i had told him a long time ago that it was only a matter of time before they swapped everybody's voice. probably when they're asleep. we kept on going , i was becoming rather fond of the new sound from my open mouth and, i could see an end in sight. it was in stunning high definition, but it was shit. weezle thought so, i thought so, the visitor from another floor thought so. we left all the sounds in the room, the big one was: razzmatazz by quincy jones. that sounds about right. and the only thing we could think, see, imagine or be was scrawled across the hotel room above the bed, it read: THE SOUND OF MUSIC MUST BE BUILT. yeah, man. right. this week: never stuck for words, basking in the glory of nothing. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. shortnin' bread.....the ready men. three button hand me down.....the faces. great stone.....king tubby & the soul syndicate. you're in my eyes (discosong).....jarvis cocker. spacer.....sheila b. devotion. where you go i go too.....lindstrom. brave awakening.....terry reid. step by step.....joe simon. frozen orange juice.....peter sarstedt. frightened into submission by bernie connor, counselled and encouraged to live a normal life by mr. weezle weezler. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode ten: nil satis nisi optimum.

Tue, 26 May 2009 16:24:00 +0000

in the mad rush to get this week's show recorded and thus the more challenging job of actually getting into your minds, i forgot to mention the fa cup final. it's fourteen years since everton were last in a final and since then the nature of the game has changed so much. the fa cup in itself is contantly being held-up, scrutinised and shown to have been devalued by those with an interest in more lucrative matters. for me the fa cup is still a fantastic cup competition, and while it doesn't have the allure of playing barcelona or juventus every few weeks, for the other 88 clubs in english football it is still a mountain worth climbing. because it's there. everton's route to the final this year has been enough to swell your heart, having taken on liverpool, boro, villa, the other shite and the mighty macclesfield town, we find ourselves on the cusp of a monumental day. to win the fa cup this season would be a massive vindication of eevrything david moyes has done for the club. his epithet about 'the people's club' has seemed to ring true in recent weeks, everywhere the buzz has been electric, evertonians basking in the full glory of truly worthwhile season. i'm fully aware that if you can afford the luxury of champions' league success then the fa cup final may seem a minor distraction, what it means to a club like everton and their........diehard supporters is the first real opportunity to lay our hands on some much deserved silverware. if awards were dished out for effort and enthusiasm then everton, and in turn their fanatical supporters would be teetering on the top of a league of their own. we are where we are through hard work, dilligence and eye-popping management skills and if we had the sort of bread that gets fittered away on garbage at the top end of the prem, then who knows where and when we would be. last week i posted an interview with mr. moyes on facebook which prompted an horrific slanging match between 'bitter' lfc-wallahs and meself, i don't want this to happen here. let's just allow us as hard-working, genuinely put-upon supporters to have our moment in the sunshine. win or lose it means a lot to us as evertonians. but to win, that would put the icing and the cherry on the cake. don't take my word for it, here's what some friends and family said... "This is massive for us. Despite the obscene amounts of finance pumped into the game these days Everton and their fans have proved beyond all doubt this season that a pile of passion can still prove itself to be worth WELL more than a pile of money." - Mr Weezle Weezler. "for david moyes to win manager of the year for a third time without actually laying is hands on any silver is a monumental feat for both club and manager. we don't man city's trillions we just need a bit more to be able to compete. we'll use this saturday as a springboard for something much greater. but then, can you imagine anything greater than this? COYB" - Captain Cumberland -the blue & white kid. "As yet an other febrile and pulsating season reaches Its' inevitable mind shuddering climax and the hyperbole machine of fate starts spitting copper bolts...now is surely the right time to take stock of Everton's performances this term as pissed up befuddled journalists used to say (will this do? Etc). After a summer of watching spaces and coyly making overtures towards the likes of Joao Moutinho and Stephane M'Bbia, the blues belatedly broke the club's transfer record on Maroune Fellaini a gangly Afroed Belgian who had impressed against our lovable neighbours in a "Champions" League outing in August for Standard Liege who then promptly dumped Everton out of the UEFA cup, early doors as they say. The Mexican Stand Off of Moyes’ contract wrangle in the autumn dovetailed with some poor results for the blues which featured such highlights as home tonkings from the likes of Blackburn (Twice!) Portsmouth and Roffa's champions elect. Later in the autumn following on from a spirited 1-1 draw to Man Utd, injuries began to spasmodically hinder the manager’s selection plans. Firstly Yakubu and Vaughan then Saha and subsequently Arteta all fell by the wayside as Jagielka was thankfully now playing next to a revitalised Joleon Lescott, who seemed to score a dramatic late equaliser versus the Villa before that Ashley Young joined the likes of Garrincha, Pele and Maradona in the pantheon of football greats by slotting in at the death for the much fancied Midlanders. A siege mentality was adopted following the harrowing Villa game, which proved to be the catalyst for an inspired run of away victories augmented by a corking last !0 minute cameo from Balsa boy Louis Saha versus the former Thames Ironworks. The injury to Joseph Yobo cemented the pairing of Lescott and Jagielka and enabled the partnership between the scary voiced Steven Pienaar and former Camberwick Green left back Leighton Baines to flourish as did Everton’s home form post Christmas. The FA cup run started with a professional display against those plucky silk men Macclesfield town and has included to date: 2 games against LPL, and seismic clashes against Villa and er.. Boro before THAT semi against galactic champions Man Utd and their flaccid penalty kicks So Everton find them selves cast as underdogs pitted against that Nouveau Riche Behemoth that is the current incarnation of Chelsea in Saturday’s FA cup final (coverage starts with Cup Final pages from Ceefax at 4.50 am). The Blues have exceeded expectations all season and have held the expensively assembled Londoners twice already this season. There is no shortage of confidence in the team at the minute and victory would surely be the glace cherry on what has been an exceedingly good season for The Toffees all round. Hang on! It’s getting far too hot for cake metaphors as the late Richard Harris may have said if he was still with us. Madames et Monsieurs. Let the vinegar strokes commence." -our tone -a sage for our times, knows his onions. this week: we shall dare to dream. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. dream scene.....george harrison. sound.....james fences.....phoenix. life's a beach.....studio. ice cream man.....the clover goin' against your mind.....built to spill. friendship train.....gladts knight & the pips. private armies.....vivien goldman. angel eyes (extended remix).....roxy music. in fine style.....dennis alcapone. say you don't mind.....denny laine. back-street.....edwin starr. dot org green consumer.....diamond watch wrists. the plan was hatched beneath the light of a forty-watt bulb by mr bernard and dragged kicking and screaming into the daylight by weezle weezler. EVERTON FOR THE CUP.

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode nine: the dreadnought of chicanery.

Tue, 26 May 2009 00:00:00 +0000

this much i don't know............ut! as i write, the toaster has blown up. when i was 14 i loved 10cc. and the who. odd choices. click, clack. click, click, click. clack. click clack. i have on ocassions relaxed in the safety of my own delusions. after years of analysis by people only marginally more intelligent than myself it has been decided in a rather arbitrary way that 'i saw her standing there' by the beatles IS the best track one, side one ever. think about it. i'm not quite me dad but technology has me on the ropes at times. the last seven days have been a challenge, to be honest. it freaks the living shit out of me when things don't work, being me there's only so many things i can do. once i get past the overwhelming desire to curl up into a ball and cry, my next port of call is to break whatever it is that isn't doing what it should be. in the case of my computer, it's an expensive piece of digital hardware that people other than meself rely on, so that's out of the question. the birds feeding at my living room window are becoming some of my best friends. we have a robin this week. previously there were just tits. this does not make me st. francis of assisi. last week when i was in london i discovered that trafalgar square has two fountains. can you believe that? i have no idea where the other one came from. i truly believe that ritchie manic is alive and well and living in australia. i also believe ritchie manic is dead and not living at all. if we are all going to hell in a hand-cart i wanna be hanging off the front as it begins its descent. i once for a fleeting momeny thought 'cars' by gary numan was a 'boss tune'. i soon realised the error of my ways and reverted to my 'numan is evil' stance where i remain to this day. thank god. i can see for miles. and miles. and miles. and miles. if sir david charnock rushes to my rescue he shall be dubbed the king of the internet by her majesty the queen. don't forget to leave comments, they prove invaluable when i need my ego massaging. this week: how can a man take such hard times and live. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. rock 'n' roll/nightclubbing.....the human league. 1517.....the whitest boy alive. i'm gonna make you mine.....the shadows of knight. cheating and lying.....the silvertones. frankenstein.....brain donor. 007, a fantasy bond theme.....barry adamson. sho' nuff (got a good thing).....jj jackson. action packed.....ronnie dee. midnight rabbit.....golden bug. take your soul.....the sahara all-stars of jos. pandora's golden heebie-jeebies.....the association. walked all night.....charlie booker. septeber gurls.....big star. electric bird.....georges vert. low spark of high-heel boys.....traffic. torn up into confetti sized pices and cast to the wind by bernie connor, hurriedly picked up and re-assembled with all the love, due care and attention of a new parent by the weezle. vootie!

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode eight: two separate gorillas

Tue, 26 May 2009 11:30:00 +0000

i have on occassion known to be wrong, i know you might find that hard to believe but it does show that i am human and feel the same things as you mere mortals. again, apparently the specials are the hottest ticket in town, they are not as i said a bunch of fiftysomething geezers shuffling around the stage like trenchfoot victims. they are instead spritely fortysomethings with all the energy and zeal of an amphetamine convert. again, it just goes to show how wrong you can be. i draw these conclusions based on what? and following a long train journey today this is the theory i came up with: watching musicians from my youth perform their greatest hits for oodles of cash irks me because it reminds me of my own mortality and how utterly short a time we have on the carpet that flows beneath us. because we only have a finite amount of time and space in which to coloour our canvas accordingly you must tirelessly strive for new experiences and watching the heroes of your youth whoring themselves in middle-age is counter to this untried and not b=very well thought through point of view. or something. on the other side of the coin, alternative tv are playing in london this saturday (look to the stars for details) and i would have very much like to have been there. so once more my half-cocked theory falls to the ground. but i would say that, wouldn't i? this week: star trek, maybe. imax, maybe. star trek + imax= copmplete winner. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. wading through a ventilator.....the soft boys. weekend condition (scotty coats & wes the mess mix).....free blood do yourself a favor.....stevie wonder. the northern song.....the superimposers. aftermath (single version).....cowboys international. that's the way god planned it.....billy preston. what's up now, man?.....hockey. angel baby.....rosie & the originals. my favourite game.....the cardigans. box of rain.....the grateful dead. marcus garvey.....big youth. the visitors.....abba. roll, bus roll.....jeffrey lewis & the junkyard. live from the opium den (david holmes main mix).....justin warfield. if you are reading this early friday, i apologise for the brevity of this text. it's been a busy week and i haven't had a chance to write anything at all. i will pad it out over the weekend and make my salient point somewhat more coherent. thanks for your patience and support. x abandoned on a disused bomb-site by bernie connor. picked up, re-assembled and loved back to life by the weezler.

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode seven: the kingdom of heaven is within.

Wed, 06 May 2009 08:00:00 +0000

one of the things that irks me, you and everybody we know is the way culturally important things get hijacked by those who weren't there and feel the urge to illuminate themselves in a much brighter light. in the last year or so some class one bollocks has been written and said about the liverpool nightclub eric's, a sewer infested cellar that itself shone with all the energy of a 40 watt bulb in the late 70's. in the rush to proclaim proximity to pete burns or ian broudie, self-styled social commentators put themselves at the epicentre of the blast, moments after detonation in the melee of liverpool's year zero, all smoking and fried. i find it breathtaking that this goes on, for me eric's was a rather unpleasant at times nightclub where the pistols and the clash played for buttons and much later in history became the social and cultural phenomenon we worship today. what gets overlooked nearly every time is the role that probe records played in liverpool's year zero. probe really was the siren that called the wayward and the restless towards the rocks of punk, a freak show of unimaginable proportions played out every day in the public theatre with a different cast and support crew. those believers who were way too young for even the eric's matinee found solace and kindred spirit up the steps and into the scary beyond..... and then there's this: check this out, if probe had not been there i would not be having this conversation with you. if geoff davies -the true, unsung catalyst of liverpool music- had never opened probe in 1971 the whole musical landscape and education of liverpool might have been radically different. somebody else may have come along and opened an independent record shop at some time -which other people much later did- but it was the attitude of the staff and availabilty of obscure music which did for probe. we have geoff to thank for an awful lot, he is possibly the most influntial figure in liverpool music by sheer virtue of the fact he opened that shop and worked tirelessly to turn on young impressionable heads to the most wondrous music ever made at that time. think about it, without probe the dark ages of the 70's would have been a great deal darker, the musical landscape a little more insular. i'm deadly serious about this, geoff should be recognised by the city burghers as the man who did it, fuck the beatles, merseybeat and all that, it ceased to be liverpool music the day they all signed to emi. liverpool loves honoring those who don't even deserve to be talked about, no marks who feather their own nest, geoff davies is a true liverpool legend, someone whom we all owe a debt of gratitude in some way or other. when probe conveniently moved to its central premises in button st in 1976 it heralded in the new age where it worked in tandem with eric's, being the city's sole supplier of the radical new music that was going on just around the corner. its influence cannot be understated, i met an awful lot of the people i still call friends flicking through the racks in probe, indeed a lot of the people i know who will be reading these words will have first made my acquaintance in there. and of course, the best thing about it is that it was a record shop, in an age when a record shop could have that dramatic and positive effect on young people's lives. it seems inconceivable now, in an age where parcel force delivers everything we buy and record shops don't seem to exist at all any more. one by one they tumble like archaic dominoes, some of the biggest names in independent music retail have fallen in the last year, yet probe remains open, probably due to some pact with satan or his off-line equivalent. maybe the reason that it remains open is that the city just can't let go of the most influential musical institution it ever had. say your own personal thanks to geoff and his legacy. visit www.probeplus.co.uk buy stuff and leave him a lovely message. this week: i imploded at the finishing line. weezle almost died laughing. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. born for a purpose.....dr. alimantado. shopping bag.....clinic. when i was young.....eric burdon & the animals. beasley street.....john cooper clarke. always like this....bombay bicycle club. hurt by love.....inez & charlie foxx. the love i lost.....theo parrish. chapter 8 seashore and horizon.....cornelius. inaugural trams.....suoer furry animals. oui oui.....pulsallama. vision's the first.....high places. music for my mother.....funkadelic. tricky tricky.....royksopp. soul power.....derek martin. left in the garden as an ugly frog by bernie connor and turned into a handsome prince by sir weezle the gallant. x

bernie connor presents 'the sound of music' episode six: pull the wool over your own eyes.

Sat, 09 May 2009 08:00:00 +0000

every week i struggle to find interesting things to say on this page (you might beg to differ). i make mental notes of everything that passes through my head from wednesday to tuesday hoping to deliver THAT piece of earth shattering text you've been waiting for all your life. by tuesday it's fair enough to assume that i've completely forgotten everything i ever wanted to say and that wonderful piece of insightful, informative text gives way to the insane ramblings of a madman. turned up to eleven. again. start all over again. our imminent collective death from swine-flu looks like it could be fun, nothing like a good pandemic to frighten the world's population into blind panic, alarm and despondency, giving way to more traditional paranoia and fear. the distance from mexico to merrie england is negligible as the germ flies and we could all be tucked-up in the advanced stages of rigor-mortis before the last blossom has fallen from the trees. and a sthe world health organisation creaks under the sheer weight of a terrified planet desperate for their dwindling fix of anti-viral 'stuff', far away from the shores of lake geneva we know of a thing so beautiful and pure, so life altering and the only thing on this earth to rid us of 99% germs AND all known diseases. brothers and sisters, stand in line and roll up your sleeve. you are about to be dosed with......THE SOUND OF MUSIC. form an orderly queue. but keep away from people. the sound of music WILL keep us alive. don't die just yet, there's so much more to come. this week: my heart goes out to phil jagielka and his crushing injury. may he return a million times the warrior he was this time last week. WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC. sock it to me baby!.....mitch ryder & the detroit wheels. alcoholics unanimous.....art brut. eleven.....oasis (omar-s & shadow ray). get up and boogie.....silver convention. i can't stand it.....the specials. i don't want to talk about it.....crazy horse. disco devil.....lee perry japanese punk.....the rotters. genesis.....goth-trad. new face in hell.....the fall. yer gonna need somebody on yer bond.....captain beefheart & his magic band. blackout.....l'il louis & the world. can't really do any thing about the track listing now, the genie's out the bottle now and you can't keep everyone happy, so i'll just please meself. i didn't want a track listing in the first place, but if i took it away now it would confuse the shit out of y'all. you'll just have to sort it out amongst yourselves. so there. x and so it goes..............and so forth. made by bernie connor. produced with due care and attention by the weezle.