Discussion in 'music, bands, clubs & festies' started by trashpony, Jan 24, 2018.
This is fucking great - thanks for posting.
that looks srsly great but ...
This upload is unavailable in your country
due to licensing restrictions
Which planet are you listening from?
I can dropbox it for you if you'd like to pm an email address....or another way. I'll have to check how big the original file is.
probably. it's a huge chunk of music that spans virtually the whole career and the first thing I dug out when I heard the news and wanted to play a lot of the fall.
It has many, many high points from all periods but also includes their cover of 'Jungle Rock' which is probably the worst thing they ever commited to tape.
So 'best of' maybe not quite, but as a handy Fall guide and primer - bang on I reckon
Wetransfer is good for big stuff. 2GB free.
This is quite fun:
Unfortunately the D.O.S.E. remix on the b-side, which is by far the best version, doesn't seem to be online at all...
I nearly added this on my mixcloud....it might go on the tribute part 2
can't swear to it, but I think it's on this old PROD mix made for some now long lost reason re: The Fall's general greatness.
It has at least a couple of tunes shared with Nanker's show oddly enough, considering how much there is to choose from
(Wipe That Sound, Sparta FC) maybe more
I'll double check later if I have time . ..
*eta* it's plug myself in with D.O.S.E. not the Inch remix . . .
IIRC Mixcloud has different licensing in the US where if there are too many tracks by the same artists it doesnt allow it as Mixcloud has a radio type license, and playing tracks from the same artists breaches that and moves it into album territory...something like that
I recommend using Opera as a Browser and switching the VPN to make it look like you are in Europe
Have you got the full thing? D.O.S.E. version ftw. Can supply if not
That would be cool. Yes please.
Clearly I'm just a cheap ripper-offer.....
Listened to that again today. Thanks.
Thanks for doing that. Made me think that if the rest of the tracks on that Ed Blaney lp had been up to the standard of them two it would have been rather good.
This, from Kay Carroll, is perfect:
"It's been a long couple of days now since the news of the shocking death of The Smith... my head forever spinning with triggers, travels, and lyrics. So much so that I have felt compelled to say something that would be both anecdotal and amusing, but not surprisingly, I struggled to find some stories that would encompass both of them at the same time. He was, to me, quite simply an enigma. I have thought of many stories over those seven or so years we spent together, as his friend, his lover, cohort, and manager of The Fall. Some very personal reminiscences, some totally Fall business and/or combinations of both, and although most of them started off as really interesting and amusing, they would however end up making me angry and pissed off. It is the nature of the beast I suppose. So for the prevention, I think, for my sanity, and his dignity, it feels appropriate to tell of the last meeting Mark and I had, and it’s the word Serendipity that springs to mind...
I was visiting England for three weeks in the summer of 2011. I’d been thinking of trying to make contact with him once I got to Manchester. I still had some unresolved issues with him that I wanted to address, but had been warned by more than a few people that he had become quite the recluse, and tended not to answer his calls; both phone and door. So I thought, ah well screw it,why bother? The day after I had arrived, I was showing my daughter and now ex- husband around Prestwich village. We had just come out of a thrift store near the Foresters. I turned around, and there at the bus stop, six feet away stood himself. My family went off in a different direction, so I walked over to him, and with that iconic plastic shopping bag in hand, I said "Hiya Mark." I think I kind of stunned him a little at first. It had been some time since we last met (New York 86). He said "I thought you were living in America." I said "I still am." “What you doing here then?" he said. "Oh I decided to come back and kill you." I said with a straight face, and held the comment there for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. He laughed too, but it was obvious to me, he still wasn't sure. Anyway we exchanged some pleasantries. He said he was off to Berlin in a couple of days but would be back in two weeks and to give him a ring, and we could meet up then. I asked, and he gave me his phone number as the bus was fast approaching. He got on it, shouting "Call!" and he was gone.
Two weeks later, my US family returned back to the States so I could spend the last week or so with my UK family and friends. Time to give Mark a call. Of course I got voice mail. I left a message and not surprisingly, no response. I did that another couple of times over the next 2 days and pondered to myself, “Maybe I really have come back to kill him.” Finally I decided to hell with it and moseyed over to his house in Sedgley Park and knocked on his door. There was a rustling of the blinds at the side of the bay window. I knocked again, but still nobody came to the door. I opened the letter box and shouted “I know you're in there ya daft sod! Open the bloody door!” His voice echoed back, and he came out with some crazy ramblings on why he couldn't open the door, and our conversation continued through the letterbox. So after a few more choice comments from me, I angrily retorted back through the letterbox "OK have a good life!! and walked away. Over the years, in retrospect, I have found myself laughing out loud every time I think of our letterbox meeting. Anyway, that day, a little pissed off, I just shook it off, got on the bus and went back to the village. I thought I would drop by The Foresters to see if any old friends were in there. I had just stepped inside the lounge, through the back door, when my cell phone went off. It was Mark. "Sorry about that. Wanna meet at the Woodthorpe on Friday?” So we did.
It was a beautiful summer evening, and there he was, sat outside on the patio of the Woodthorpe. Pint in hand, as though he had been waiting there for years. Nothing seemed to have changed.We looked at each other. He stood up. We smiled and hugged. He offered to buy me a drink, but I wasn't sure how he would react after I told him I had been in sobriety since 2006, (still am). As per usual, Mark surprised me. He didn't say a word. No put downs. No smart arsed comments. Nothing. He just offered to buy me a non alcoholic drink and a few more after that, and those momentary thoughts, previously of killing him, just drifted away.
We talked about his dad, especially knowing this pub was his dads local, and who had since passed away. If you knew Mark, you knew his dad, the apple didn't fall far from the tree. I asked, and we talked about his mum and his sisters who he loved a lot, and of course the freakin music biz, which was spoken by us both, with its usual passion and chagrin. He seemed even more disillusioned than ever. Obviously due to the arrival of the internet, with its downloads, copyright infringements, and such. We spoke of and reminded ourselves, with lots of laughter of "what happened to…” conversations, and of all of those characters, both friends and foes, who had drifted in and out of our lives all those years ago.We also spoke of the ones who were with him now, and his plans, and ideas and of course those sardonic perceptions of his. It felt like time had just stood still for me. I got my issues resolved, and I flashed back to remembering the love, the magic, and intensity of just being together. Before I left, I thanked him for getting me involved, as well as other things including becoming the manager of The Fall, even though I knew he had some ulterior motives.We laughed at the way in which he had finally coerced me into the “job” by saying "You can be like, Faye Dunaway in Network.” Mmmm, I think I got close, but I think I was a little more sensitive, and had softer edges than Diana Christensen.
There were no regrets from each of us, and we told each other. So, I called a cab, and told him I wouldn't have missed it for the world, and how amazing things seem to have worked out. "Great seeing you Kay" he said. "Same here, Mark.” I offered him a ride when the cab arrived, but he said "No, I like to walk". It was the last thing he said to me and then we laughed again. One final hug and kiss. The exorcism was over.
He was supposed to come to New York with The Fall this February. My friend Katy, who rescued me back in Boston when I walked away from the band in 83, had tickets lined up for us, and I was going to fly out,but it got cancelled due to his poor health.
You were a complex character my friend. Unwavering, a brilliant writer of prose and poetry. A visionary. You perceived things that not many people could see, let alone wanted to see.You were at times so funny and loving, and yet could be so infuriating, hard arsed, and yes cruel, but you also knew how to turn on the charm and reset the bar, and it changed people, and for me, it was for the better. There was nobody quite like you MES. A true Northern soul, and I felt this world change when you left on the 24th. The old paradigm just shattered into a thousand pieces. Poof! Gone! So now it’s time to create a new one, and I know you would want that, in whatever form it came in. In fact you would insist upon it. So my old friend, farewell. You gave it everything you had babe, and more. And for myself I thank you for all those wake up calls, and to also listening to mine too.
With love and kick ass always your friend K xxx"
Ah yes. That's wonderful.
A bust doorbell sound and the door broken down
A doorbell sound and the door broken down
They rang and rang but I never went down
And now they're putting me away but I'll be back someday
'Ghost in My House' was filmed in the Woodthorpe mentioned above.
Mark in his hunting gear.
Same as wings maybe?
A combination of being immature on certain fronts as a teen, school friends who didnt really like music, then friends who liked the wrong sort of music, means that I often only discover great stuff when someone notable dies.
And so it is the case with the Fall. I'm really enjoying what I've heard so far, love the repetition. I like albums, so any tips for which albums to focus on first would be appreciated. So far I've only listened to Dragnet and I Am Kurious Oranj. I've not studied the history much either, are there any albums that make heavy use of electronic music?
Levitation more than some others, maybe? And generally the mid 80s to early 90s stuff is less guitar-led.
Graham did a great show here.
(can't find link)
MARK E. SMITH
(5th March 1957 – 24th January 2018)
It is with immeasurable sadness that I write of the passing of Mark E. Smith.
Mark was a singer, a wit, an original thinker and a truly visionary artist. And, like all visionary artists, the quality and scope of his work cannot even be approximated by others. I considered myself very fortunate to have been able to call him a friend.
My very first live encounter with The Fall was in October 1978 at the age of 14. It was sublime. They were playing at a Rock Against Racism benefit gig at a tiny club called Kelly’s in Manchester. The thing that immediately struck me was the group’s down to earth appearance and low key demeanor.
Punk, for all its talk of being a ground zero roots rebellion, still contained strong elements of show business. The majority of punk performances involved the bands projecting themselves into the audience’s fantasies via striking poses and jumping around in eye-catching outfits and sometimes make up. For instance, The Clash - often thought of as a group of natural and authentic rebels - had clearly choreographed their stage moves and designed their stage clothes (costumes) to have maximum impact.
With The Fall however, there wasn’t even a hint of show business. It seemed like direct communication. As they shambled onto stage, looking like a bunch of teenagers who’d just been thrown out of some grubby youth club, there was a very noticeable sense of ‘Take it or leave it. We know it’s good. You either get it or you don’t’.
Every song seemed to inhabit its own strange world. And I was fascinated by Mark’s between song banter. It was like there was no difference between him singing and him talking. Sometimes he made elliptical statements, sometimes he’d be describing what was happening on stage, but everything he said sounded enigmatic and quotable.
It was the song ‘Repetition’ which truly convinced me I had stumbled into the presence of genius. A hymn to ‘The three Rs; Repetition, Repetition, Repetition’, the track is five minutes of slow moving psychosis, a sonic statement of intent, which the lyrics describe as having been created for ‘All you daughters and sons who are sick of fancy music.’
After that I became a devotee. I saw The Fall as often as I could. Over the years I’ve seen them more than any other band. Somewhere north of 40 gigs – although I know men half my age who have seen them over a hundred times. I’ve seen a handful of so-so gigs and one dreadful one. But more often than not I’ve been transported by a man and a group who no matter how much they experimented always remained in touch with the primal excitements of rock and roll.
After my conversion at the age of 14 I tried to convince several of my school friends of the importance of band. Nobody else really got it. Some of them thought I was joking. Some of them seemed actively hostile towards the group. But the phrase I heard uttered the most often was “It’s too weird for me”.
The Fall are still a difficult band to defend to those who don’t get it. Because well, The Fall are a difficult band. Although they’ve produced their fair share of songs with hooks and catchy riffs, they are, at root, exponents of a singular brand of art rock. They follow their own path and it’s not always easy to tag along. Their music can frequently be abrasive, repetitious, atonal and sometimes deliberately downright ugly.
11 years ago, when I was writing the third series of ‘Ideal’ there was a scene where a mentally disturbed Christian builder has a vision of Jesus. But I didn’t imagine Jesus with a beard and flowing robes. I wanted him to look like some guy you might meet down the pub. Suddenly it became obvious who had to play the role…
I wasn’t sure whether it was a good omen or not, but when the clapper board was lifted into shot for the first take of Mark’s scene playing Jesus, miraculously it turned out to be slate number 666.
Mark was clearly out of his comfort zone but in the end he delivered a subtle and funny performance. The on screen result - Mark bathed in a golden glow, giving foul mouthed godly instructions, soundtracked by the strange celestial music of Coil - is the highlight of the third series. And it’s definitely my proudest TV achievement.
After that, to my scarcely concealed glee, Mark and I stayed in touch and became friends. We even collaborated together and wrote a horror film script. Sometimes his enthusiasm for the project would take me by surprise. On one occasion my landline rang at 2:30 in the morning. I answered it, expecting the worst. Expecting to be told a loved one is ill and that I need to go directly to some hospital or other. However, it was Mark. He’d just flown back from doing some gigs in Portugal and whilst on the plane had had “some pretty good ideas for the script”. I grabbed my notebook and pen and wiped the sleep from my eyes.
Sadly however, when we completed the screenplay every production company we showed it to told us “it’s too weird for me”.
The last time I saw Mark was on the 12th of November. I visited him in Prestwich, where he was recuperating after a course of chemo. He looked so skinny and careworn. But he was in remarkably good spirits. Although we talked a little about his illness, Mark was full of plans for the future. A week-long residency in Brooklyn, more recording and an idea for a documentary.
He’d been watching lots of DVDs and had recently enjoyed ‘The Greasy Strangler’ as well as revisiting Lindsay Anderson’s wonderful ‘Britannia Hospital’. He also said how disappointed he’d been with 'Electric Dreams' the TV series of Philip K. Dick adaptations, targeting the glossy title sequence in particular; “It’s like they’re trying to get you to join Nat West!” But most of all, we laughed. Mark was one of the funniest men I’ve ever known. The fact that you never knew where the humour was going to come from or what the target might be made his company all the more exhilarating.
As I rode in the taxi on the way back to Manchester, my cheeks were aching from laughing. Yet I was also well aware that this would probably be the last time I would ever see him.
I cannot begin to count the ways his work has influenced my own. I cannot begin to ponder on a cultural landscape without him. His legacy is enormous. His absence is bloody awful.
“Ours is not to look back, Ours is to continue the craic”
Red Lion - half a mile across Prestwich.
Good lad - there'll be people on bikes outside now.
If I only learnt one thing after watching interviews with him on youtube to try to cure my utter ignorance in the wake of his death, it was just how insanely quick-witted, sharp and hilarious he was. God I wish we'd had his barbed contributions on a variety of u75 threads, imagine the level of slaughter he could have dished out whilst making it seem effortless.
Separate names with a comma.