Far High Dark And Wide

When a man such as I finds his wandering eye caught by an album calling itself Music Of The Future, it is very unlikely that he will pass it by without a quick look.

And when a man such as I finds out that the Music Of The Future is a collection of works by Desmond Leslie, released on the quite frankly marvellous Trunk label, it is very unlikely that he will return home without it nestling quietly in his man-bag.

And when a man such as I reads the creators commentary accompanying a suite of space sound, whilst it carries him through the greatest of unknowable worlds, it is very unlikely that he’ll be able to keep it to himself for very much longer.

Music From The Voids Of Outer Space

This is a fairly descriptive work. Opening with ASTEROIDS we appear to journey through, and leave behind, that ruined part of the Solar System, known as “The Asteroid Belt”. We are told musically of the loneliness and desolation of this great ring of cosmic debris and fractured bodies that lies between the orbits of Jupiter and Mars where, (according to Bode’s law) there should be another planet. The belt is either the ruins of a world that got too smart and blew itself up or the embryo beginnings of a future globe. In any case it is not a pleasant place; far high dark and wide.

Desmond Leslie – Asteroid Belt

MERCURY fleet messenger of the Gods is represented in his hurrying by the rhythmic interblending of a humming top (Harrods) and a motor horn (Morris Oxford 1951) and was completed in 1956. It is followed by a recent work originally called “Atoms of Heavy Hydrogen Seeking Fission”, but now renamed, “Comet in Aquarius”.

Desmond Leslie – Mercury, Fleet Messenger Of The Gods

COMET IN AQUARIUS. Comets I believe are the pulsing spermatoza of space, darting on their eccentric orbits seeking new “world eggs” to fertilise. Immensely intangible and tenuous, they come and go, and perhaps one in a million finds a mate and brings forth new worlds as old suns fade and galaxies die. The uneven broken patterns suggest its uneven wanderings. This is a “watery comet” of the Aquarian Age. If it succeeds I should not mind being reborn with it.

Desmond Leslie – Comet In Aquarious

THE WAR HORNS OF MARS. A study in cyclopean blocks of sound – dark red brazen bulges. It should be played with treble and bass lift in the middle passages. Repairs to the ceiling are easily effected with a “Do-it-yourself-Apres-Musique-Concrete-Kit”.

Desmond Leslie – The Warhorns Of Mars

SATURN. The inscrutable blue planet. The great Pendulum of Chronos with its deep cosmic beat, the sudden intrusion of its many satellites. A vast ringed sphere gyrating through the ether, holding the balancing arms of Absolute Justice. A beautiful planet but a disturbing one.

Desmond Leslie – Saturn-Chronos


For more on the life of Desmond Leslie, which shames us all for its expanse and inspiration, have a look at this.

For more on the life of Trunk, which shames us all for its inspiration and passion, have a look at this.





006. The Clint Boon Experience – This Is How It Feels (Space Opera)


Tiny Dancer

Under The Covers. Again.

Indulge me if you will as I return to the covers subject, or ‘Versions Ranking Over Original Music’ as I will henceforth call it, because VROOM is a cool acronym.

I recently came across 801 Live, a live album recorded way back in the hot, hot summer of ’76. 801 consisted of Phil Manzanera of Roxy Music, Brian Eno (formerly of the same) and a bunch of their extremely talented mates. It’s all a bit legendary because they only played 3 gigs – the third of which, at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, was the only one to be recorded. And thank the Lord it was, because it’s one of those gigs that makes you wish you had a time machine.

It’s basically a mish-mash of Manzanera and Eno solo tunes, but played tight ‘n’ funky baby with plenty of guitar madness thrown in for good measure. Check out Diamond Head for some sweet, sweet moods.

But to return to the VROOM – track 2 is a cover of the psychedelic classic Tomorrow Never Knows by The Beatles. Now, I don’t want to say it’s better than the original, because like punching the Queen that is simply not done – but I reckon it definitely rocks more. Take a listen and decide for yourself. Enjoy.

801 - Diamond Head (Live)

801 - T.N.K. (Live)


Crisp Debris

Cardiff Houseshare Available – No Smokers, No Plants, No Spies

Voice Of The Seven Woods does not live in an opium den, and does not listen to Led Zeppelin. He’s quite firm about this. And rightly so.

He’s also not a New Zealand born former British MI6 officer who was imprisoned in 1997 for breaking the Official Secrets Act. I’m not sure how he feels about that, he hasn’t said.

This is because Voice Of The Seven Woods probably lives in a perfectly nice semi-detatched in Cardiff with Baris Manco and Mick Head, listening to Nuggets box sets, Neu! and Pentangle, and not spying on anyone particularly interesting.

As is often the way with shared accommodation, he may not always get on with all of his housemates, but as is seldom the way with housemates, he makes things work by getting them all to sit around in the communal living room, and do a ‘jam’.

He’s very much in charge though, obviously.

Voice Of The Seven Woods – The Fire In My Head

Voice Of The Seven Woods – Return From Byzantium

Listen to more at one of them there old fashioned Myspace things, and buy his wares from his very own shop, or from Mr. Votel’s label of the hidden joys.


Tiny Dancer

One For All You Justice Yeldham Fans

Back in the heady days of 1996, Damon Albarn was toiling away in Iceland writing songs for an album with Blur that would be precision-tooled to slay the Britpop beast.

Although instrumental in the creation and promotion of the ‘genre’, by this point he had lost all control, as Be Here Now sped its way to becoming one of the fastest-returned albums of all time.

Their next album, he had decided, would be influenced by all that lo-fi American punk nonsense Graham Coxon had been listening to, and would reposition Blur once more as the land’s premier forward-thinking art-punk bastards.

Blur bassist Alex James did what all good bassists do, and ignored all that for one final slice of Britpop pie. As part of Me Me Me with Stephen "No Longer Tin-Tin" Duffy and Justin Welch of Elastica, James co-wrote a trio of songs to soundtrack a Damien Hirst exhibition that generated enough interest to warrant a single release.

Albarn took particular umbrage at the sight of his bassist giving a cheeky wink and a helping hand to the wheezing creature he was trying to kill, but James, doing what all good bassists do, went ahead anyway.

The embodiment of a particularly jaunty day doing nothing in particular, Hanging Around is a triumph of nonsensical lyrics, that oompah thing that Blur didn't actually do as much as detractors would have you believe and a melody that redefines the term nursery rhyme.

Me Me Me - Hanging Around

It's b-side was even more banal, and to and to a young man in Erith dreaming of the stars, even better.

Me Me Me - Tabitha's Island


Casanova Cox

A Tapestry Of Rich And Royal Hue

When I was a child I was brought up in the ways of Elvis. My father, God bless him, was besotted with the man and for a time I was too. I think my father’s proudest day was the occasion when he took me to a Convention at the age of ten and I was interviewed by BBC Breakfast news, much to the amusement of my classmates; footage of which no doubt still exists and shall be thrown back in my face the day I am elected President of the World.

The songs of my childhood were Elvis songs. My dad used to sing me to sleep with them. There were pictures of him around the house and you couldn’t open a drawer or a cupboard without coming across some piece of memorabilia or other; the crowning glory of which was a six foot tall tapestry featuring Elvis in singing stance wearing his white suit. God knows how much it must have cost my father, both in financial terms and my mother’s tears; but suffice is to say I had to put myself through university.

By the time I was ten I had seen more Elvis films than any other kind. I thought he must have been the biggest movie star in the world. I remember seeing lists of all time great films and sitting there baffled that there was no G I Blues, Fun In Acapulco or, my own personal favourite, Frankie And Johnny. How could this Citizen Kane film be any good if it didn’t feature a golden tanned god of a man sporting an impossible quiff and seducing big busted women with a pair of maracas? The answer, of course, is it couldn’t.

Writing this on the 30th anniversary of his death, just 51 short days after I was born, I look back fondly on those early days. It was only during my teens that it became something of a source of embarrassment and I denied him three times before the cockerel crowed. Throughout the 90s people quoted from Public Enemy’s Fight The Power:

Elvis was a hero to most
But he never meant shit to me you see

And that became the generally accepted view and I pretended to ascribe to it. "What do you mean my father keeps an Elvis tapestry in his room? Nonsense, there is nothing in there but a stack of homoerotic pornography, his gimp suit and twelve dead bodies and I’ll fight any boy who says otherwise!"

Nowadays I can proudly wear my Elvis teeshirt to any occasion and often get admiring comments about it, and I hope one day to inherit the tapestry although I suspect my father will wish to be wrapped in it before he is buried.

I think people have finally come around and realised that Elvis is not the joke that his legion of impersonators, the obsessives, the conspiracy theorists and images from the fat Vegas years had turned him into. He was the King of Rock n Roll and we shall never see his like again.

Elvis Presley - Guitar Man

Elvis Presley - Long Black Limousine


Ricky Stardust

Metal Guru Madness

The famous Belgian surrealist painter Rene Magritte painted this picture in 1968. It’s called simply ‘16th September - Moon and Tree’.

The odd thing is that in 1977 the king of glam rock Marc Bolan died when the car he was travelling in crashed into a tree – on 16th September. The phase of the moon and time shown in the painting – shortly before dawn – are also the same as at the fateful crash.

Strangely, Marc died because he was in the passenger seat of the car (the driver was his girlfriend Gloria Jones of Tainted Love fame) and he took the full force of the collision. He was the passenger because, despite his famous love of cars (many of his songs mention cars – especially Cadillacs and he owned a Rolls Royce), he had never learned to drive.

It is also almost certain that Marc had viewed the painting in The Louvre as he visited the gallery on a previous tour of France...

It’s all just too spooky for me so let’s just listen to Telegram Sam instead. And remember – Rock On.


Crisp Debris

Beware The Transatlantic Feedback

Everyone loves The Monks. This is a fact. I’m a Monk, you’re a Monk, we’re all Monks. They said so themselves, so it must be true. Right? Hmm.

As Debris and Stardust will tell you, I’m a cautious man. I’m not prone to the flippancy of a whim, the impulse of a moment, or the faith of the assumption. And in that, it would appear I’m not alone.

Some of us need to be sure. Some of us need to make a documentary, which tells the story of then and today. And more of us need to bring together an album from the four corners of our earth, to make sure the documentary gets to where it needs to go.

So, do not ridicule the caution.

Without it we wouldn’t have, amongst others, The Fall sounding like they might actually be enjoying themselves at last with a pop at Higgle-Dy Piggle-Dy, or Alec Empire asking Brother Burger to sermonise again on a modern day Monk Time.

And we wouldn’t have, amongst others, Mense Reents coaxing a hypnotised confession out of Blast Off!, or Faust in pact with said Brother Burger to sound a bit like Primal Scream round about XTRMNTR time.

So, do not ridicule the caution. Instead, buy the album, watch the film wherever you can, and make sure we’re all Monks after all, just like the good Brother said.

Mense Reents – Minimal Monk

Faust / Gary Burger – Beware (The Transatlantic Feedback)


Tiny Dancer

Under The Covers

Continuing Ricky Stardust's thread regarding 'Cover Versions That Equal Or Better The Original' - there's something funny going on here.

Despite The Specials being one of the most genius bands ever, I was reminded of a second cover of one of their tunes that is better than the original - It Doesn't Make it Alright covered by Stiff Little Fingers.

Use the handy linky thingies below to compare and contrast, compare and contrast.

The Specials - It Doesn't Make It Alright

Stiff Little Fingers - It Doesn't Make It Alright


Crisp Debris

Euro Riddims And Ting

When I’m feeling down, I like to cheer myself up by remembering that there’s a band out there somewhere called 77 who heroically defy the rules of dub reggae by:

a) forgetting to play dub most of the time and playing ambient instead; and

b) coming from ‘Poland’.

Check out the excellent Afterbeat label website for more ‘Polish dub’ download action – I recommend Youthman Steppa’s Occupation, and am especially enjoying the fact that he plays ‘in duo with his friend Mr.Connard’.

Of course, when discussing dub it’s the law to mention King Tubby and as such I’ve included a Tubby track called Morpheus Special.

Listen to the cunning way that he takes a perfectly promising soul bass line, then cuts 70% of the notes out after 12 seconds, and puts enough echo on to confuse a dolphin instead. Brilliant.

77 – [T_2]

King Tubby – Morpheus Special


Crisp Debris