It's All Over Now

 

I Don't Want To Know About Evil

 I saw more films in January than I saw in the whole of last year. Among them was 'Belfast', which I really enjoyed. My companion for the evening took a different view, complaining of a lack of realism. She even donned a metaphorical anorak and question the accuracy of the way that the buses were portrayed; for the record, I have no reason to believe that she has any particular knowledge of public transport in the Northern Ireland of the 1960s. For me the fact that the film was a view through the eyes of a nine year old meant that one wasn't meant to take certain things entirely literally: the unfeasible good looks of the parents; that a miscast Dame Judi Dench is at least a generation too old for the part; and, OK fair enough, the unlikelihood of the airport bus leaving from the end of their street (*). I also felt that the music of the genius that is Van Morrison added greatly, whereas she felt unable to look beyond the pandemic having led to him completing his journey from curmudgeon to dickhead. 

This dichotomy between the teller and the tale also came up when I recently saw Sarah Jane Morris in concert, as in the first set she concentrated on the songs of John Martyn. Martyn was a sublime practitioner of jazz tinged singer-songwriting; he was also an alcoholic drug-user well known for inflicting physical and mental cruelty, especially against the women in his life. Morris didn't avoid that aspect - she is personally close to some of Martyn's surviving family -  but chose to focus on interpretation of his soulful, and often sad, lyrics.

She was backed by distinguished guitarist Tony Rémy (who has played with Herbie Hancock and Jack Bruce amongst others) and, to my surprise, the wonderful Marcus Bonfanti. I've only come across him before in a blues context - he is a member of the current incarnation of Ten Years After - but he demonstrated that he has the jazz chops as well. In the second set they played a wider variety of music including fine covers of 'Imagine' and 'I Shall Be Released'. The song I think I enjoyed most was 'Piece of My Heart'. Mostly associated these days with Janis Joplin, it was first offered by Bert Berns (who co wrote it with Jerry Ragovoy) to Van Morrison, Berns being Morrison's producer at the time. Morrison declined it, probably grumpily; dickhead. 

Not at all grumpy was Sarah Jane Morris, whose between song monologues about acts she had worked with, activism, and karma added much to the gig,  which I very much enjoyed. In case you are wondering where you have heard that name and voice before, it was her that duetted with Jimmy Somerville on the Communards' 'Don't Leave Me This Way'. Here they are, lip-synching creatively:

Great hat.

* Although, as it happens, in real life the airport bus leaves from directly outside my front door.

PotCVpouri

 The Yarkshire Gamer has announced the end of the golden age of wargames blogs, although I can't help noticing that he did so via a wargames blog. Rest assured that this blog will continue its proud record of publishing top-notch, wargame-related stuff every single day and often even more frequently. And that, dear readers, is an aspiration rather than a promise.

So, I haven't been here for a while; what's been happening in my life? Not wargaming, that's for sure. I think I mentioned that I had bought a pressure washer. I have been dodging the showers and trying it out. I had never done any jet/pressure/power washing before and was interested to discover that it is a metaphor for life itself: everything is a complete mess and at the end you stand back and ask yourself "Is that all I've achieved?". 

On a brighter note, cultural activities have resumed. In my capacity as a man-about-town I was invited to a reception to mark the reopening of the Tetley Gallery in Leeds city centre, a very pleasant Art Deco building which was formerly the offices for the brewery. The current exhibition is by Mel Brimfield and is entitled "From This World, To That Which Is To Come", a quote from "The Pilgrim's Progress". The artist gave a talk, but as she did so whilst wearing a mask I am unable to tell you what she said. The piece above was singing to me whilst I was taking the photo (N.B. this is very different to the idea of it 'speaking to me', which it most certainly did not) and is, I believe, about the concept that our mental and emotional health would be better if we would only all help one another; amen to that. The best piece was a cartoon which suggested that the Adventures of Tintin were the delusions of a psychiatric in-patient, that Professor Calculus was his doctor, and that Snowy was in fact his pillow rather than his dog. All of which makes more sense than the books. 

I have also been to my first gig in over a year, the great Martin Simpson. I have of course seen him many times before, which I think helped to bridge that gap and make it seem like just another concert. Not so for him, I think. It was his first appearance in a long time and he said that it was impossible for him to express what it meant for him to be on stage again, "reminding myself of who I am" as he put it. He played the usual mix of originals, traditional songs and covers, including songs by: John Prine - sadly lost to Covid last year; Dylan - eighty in a couple of days; and this one from Robb Johnson - my old comrade from days gone by.

Suzi Quatro

Back in the 1970s it was possible to be viewed as a sex symbol despite sporting a haircut that was very much of its time and which would be considered a bit ridiculous today. But enough about me, you want to hear about Suzi Quatro.

I have been to see her speak at the Bradford Literature Festival, and she was as delightful as you would expect. I mentioned the other day that I am fond of hearing stories of first hand encounters with old bluesmen and I find that the same is also true of rock stars from the decade that fashion forgot; who of my age wouldn't want to hear about Phil Lynott's mum's guest house? Speaking of my contemporaries, a word of warning to you: apparently Ms Quatro has tired of middle aged men sharing reminiscences about her looking down on them from their bedroom walls - one can see her point.

The only singing was an impromptu snatch of "Subterranean Homesick Blues" when asked to name her favourite songwriter; rather it was an evening of reminiscences and reading of extracts from her books followed by questions from the audience. In spite of living in the UK for the best part of half a century she has retained enough of her Detroit upbringing to be completely confused by some of the Yorkshire accents thrown at her. In her defence, one question did include the most peculiar pronunciation of the phrase "Mama's Boy" that I've ever heard. There were about two hundred people there in the sweltering heat - she apologised for not wearing leathers and blamed the temperature - and to my surprise at least it was about half and half men and women. The concept of female empowerment featured strongly in remarks from the floor.

I didn't stay to buy a book and get it signed, but I was intrigued enough to think that I might try to pick up a cheap remaindered copy of her autobiography in due course; praise indeed.

Time is a jet plane

It's been a while since we had any Dylan:

Same Blues, Different Decade

"Do I want the Seventies to come back? No. The haircuts were terrible. Everyone stank. The food was awful." - Douglas Coupland

To which he could have added the clothes of course. But what about the music? I ask the question because I have been to see the Maas and Moody Band, who seem to share my views on the subject. Micky Moody (MM senior that is - MM junior is the drummer in the band and indeed in the clips below) was in Whitesnake and, before that, Juicy Lucy and so he was there. But while he might be a near contemporary of mine, Ali Maas is clearly somewhat younger; nevertheless her vocals fit right in. So, if you like female fronted, riff-driven, guitar-solo heavy, British blues rock of the sort that one might have seen at St Albans Civic Centre most Saturday nights forty years ago - and let's face it who doesn't - then look no further.

I'm not sure about the stand up bass though - I'm glad to say that had disappeared by the time that I saw them. Moody also told an amusing anecdote about playing at Batley Variety Club as part of Gene Pitney's band which involved Stan Boardman and some meat pies; you don't get that from Eric Clapton.

They finished with a cover of Dylan's 'Gotta Serve Somebody', and so shall we. This is by the marvellous Etta James:

Ersatz Eckmühl

We played the sort-of Eckmühl game last night. The good news is that it was enjoyable and met the aim of getting a game that neatly filled the three hours available. The bad news is that I didn't take any photos, that I have prepared neither maps nor OOBs and that we got some of the rules wrong. One cannot have everything.

To recap, this was scenario that I translated to C&C from an article in Miniature Wargames, with the specific intention of playing a game with victory conditions different to the normal C&C option of (mostly) aiming to destroy a certain target number of units, that number being the same for both sides. I think the consensus was that it worked OK, only slightly undermined by James' perverse interpretation of what was meant by 'the road'. As Gertrude Stein would have said had she been a wargamer "a road is a road is a road". So, I shall definitely give this method of generating a scenario another try.

We used Prussians to replace the Austrians that I don't have, but played them as Prussians with appropriate national characteristics. Apart from anything else that was because I have prepared laminated sheets with all those details on them, and - not having Austrian figures - haven't done one for them. As previously featured on the blog their forces included the 6th Hussars. Traditionalists will be pleased to note that they were destroyed without achieving anything, as all newly painted units should be.

The key rule that we got wrong was the one whereby Command Cards with stars on them - there is a proper name for these, but I forget it - allow extra March moves in the section in which they are played. This would have allowed the Franco-Bavarian attack to develop more quickly, although given that James didn't know what he was trying to achieve in the first place it's unlikely to have made a great deal of difference. There was also a certain degree of rule rustiness, reminiscent of the games of Pike & Shotte over the last couple of weeks; it seems to be getting more and more difficult to retain information as I slip into my dotage. I think that next time we might perhaps try a bit of a variant on the use of specific cards such as Bombard and Fire and Hold. I shall explain our thinking in due course.

Anyway, I'm off to vote, with neither hope nor expectation. As someone once said "You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows", a quote that is doubly apposite today.

Johnny Cool

It's the first day of spring and it's alternating here between snow and hail. Let's have another Chuck Berry cover to take our mind off things; I really don't know how I forgot this one last time:

Back in the seventies, as much as I loved the Steve Gibbons Band I always saw them as a pub band who got lucky. Forty years on I think I was right. They did Dylan as well:

Never Any Good

I have been to see Martin Simpson, whom I last saw four years ago. On that occasion he had a couple of accompanists - Andy Cutting on squeeze box if I remember rightly - although my blog post of the time is remarkably uninformative as to what he sang. Simpson, who is above all a brilliant guitarist (as an aside, he performed a couple of songs on the banjo and his versatility almost - almost - made me warm to that instrument), mostly performs interpretations of other people's songs with just a couple of his originals. Highlights for me were 'The Stranger Song', in tribute to Leonard Cohen, and what was apparently one of the English ballad forerunners to St James Infirmary Blues (much loved by your bloggist of course) segueing into Dylan's 'Blind Willie McTell', itself heavily influenced by the blues standard.

“But power and greed and corruptible seed

 Seem to be all that there is.”

As well as a poignant, politically charged and finger-pointing song about Aberfan and, more unexpectedly, 'Heartbreak Hotel' he covered Jackson C. Frank's classic 'Blues Run the Game'. Simpson is good value for patter between songs, mostly both educational and, where appropriate, amusing. I had previously been aware that Frank had been somewhat unlucky in life; what I hadn't appreciated was that the money which he used to record his sole, unsuccessful album came from compensation that he had received for being badly injured when the orphanage in which he spent his childhood had burned down. That is perhaps beyond bad luck as we would normally understand it.

 
Never Any Good is Simpson's biggest 'hit'. His father - the song's subject - was born in 1899 and was fifty four when Simpson was born. Simpson himself is sixty three and has an eleven year old daughter. My own daughters - ten years or so older than his - could never convince their teachers that they had a grandmother who had been evacuated as a child during the second world war (their classmate's parents typically being a couple of decades younger than me), but even I have trouble with the thought that there is in this country at the moment a primary school child whose grandfather was born during the reign of Queen Victoria and fought in the Great War.

Pot62pouri

In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.

- Pablo Neruda

I have had cause to look back at some of this blog's posts from the past; God hasn't the quality declined? Someone who's quality hasn't in any way gone down is Jools Holland, who I have been to see for the fifth or sixth time. Admittedly there isn't anything surprising or novel about it, but what he does, he does well. Other than it being the first occasion that I've seen them since the death of Rico Rodriguez, it was exactly the same and none the worse for that. The guests this time were Pauline Black and Arthur 'Gaps' Hendrickson of The Selecter.

They both sported excellent hats; Hendrickson's in particular causing much envy on my part. If you had asked me before to name a song by their band I would have struggled, but I recognised and enjoyed them when they were being played. The duo also took vocal duties on Prince Buster's 'Enjoy Yourself', a song which always heavily featured Rodriguez. Ruby Turner was, inevitably, the star of the show. Holland seems to put up remarkably well with being upstaged at his own gigs.

Anyway, sadly another great has left us. It's as a songwriter that I think Leon Russell will be remembered. Here are a couple of covers of his songs:

And here he is singing a song by someone else, Nobel laureate Bob Dylan to be precise; and it's a song that has a very real resonance after the other events of this week:

A classic study in homoerotic sadism

And so to the opera. From the title you will have deduced that it's Benjamin Brtitten, and you will be correct; Billy Budd to be precise. First let me say that musically it is superb. Opera North's male chorus get their chance to shine as the crew of H.M.S. Indomitable as their female counterparts did as nuns last week. The orchestra are, as ever, first rate and the cast, especially Roderick Williams in the lead role, sing gloriously. The stand out passage is that where Vere tells Budd of his fate; paradoxically, given that this is an opera, without any words being sung. The set is also striking, and actually conveys the atmosphere of a 74 gun ship of the line in the last decade of the eighteenth century. There are impressive bangs and flashes when the cannon are fired as the Indomitable seeks to close with the French ship it is chasing.

The problem is the story. Now, obviously if we are to start rejecting operas because of their plots then we won't have many (any?) left. But this is, I would suggest, both positively unpleasant and also ridiculous. For a view of the unpleasantness I can do no better than point you to an article written by James Fenton for the Guardian some years ago and from which the title quote comes. What is nonsensical is the significance that is attached to Budd's speech impediment. Now we've all known stammerers, we've all seen 'The King's Speech', we're all sympathetic to their plight. But I bet not one of us thinks that their frustration is a good excuse for killing someone, or that to do so is somehow consistent with being the epitome of goodness. This element was in the original novella by Melville; given how much else the writers changed they would have done well to junk that bit as well. (Another interesting take on the differences between book and opera can be found here.)

The libretto was, of course, co-written by E. M. Forster. The Nobel Prize for Literature is much in our minds at the moment, especially in the context of whether words set to music should count as literature. Forster was nominated for the Nobel thirteen times, but never won it. Interestingly the only other opera written based on the story of Billy Budd, by Ghedini and apparently never performed any more, had a libretto by Salvatore Quasimodo, the Italian Hermeticist poet who did, controversially, win the Nobel prize in 1959. When discussing Quasimodo, James Gardner wrote "There are two kinds of Nobel prize-winners in literature—those who honour that institution, and those who are honoured by it". I'm still not sure where Dylan fits in.

Ognuno sta solo cuor della terra
traffito da un raggio di sole:
ed è subito sera

I have dined with kings...

 "Having these colossal accolades and titles, they get in the way." - Bob Dylan

A Nobel prize for Dylan! Well, that has got to be worth a rare second posting of the day.

Life isn't like in the movies

Once upon a time, a king gave a feast. And there came the most beautiful princesses of the realm. Now, a soldier, who was standing guard, saw the king's daughter go by. She was the most beautiful one, and he immediately fell in love with her. But what could a poor soldier do when it came to the daughter of the king? Well, finally, one day, he managed to meet her, and he told her that he could no longer live without her. The princess was so impressed by his strong feelings that she said to the soldier: "If you can wait 100 days and 100 nights under my balcony, then at the end of it, I shall be yours." Damn! The soldier immediately went there and waited one day. And two days. And ten. And then twenty. And every evening, the princess looked out of her window, but he never moved. During rain, during wind, during snow, he was always there. The bird shat on his head, and the bees stung him, but he didn't budge. After ninety nights, he had become all dried up, all white, and the tears streamed from his eyes. He couldn't hold them back. He no longer had the strength to sleep. All that time, the princess watched him. And on the 99th night, the soldier stood up, took his chair, and went away.

Pot56pouri

I can't remember why I took up blogging in the first place, boredom presumably. Due to other boredom induced activities my life was disrupted somewhat shortly afterwards and writing the blog became a bit of vaguely creative light relief. It subsequently developed into a way of clandestinely communicating with an agent of mine currently operating undercover; I think the term is 'a sleeper'.  Now it's turning into a vehicle for my OCD, whereby nothing can really have happened to me unless I include it here despite the fact that even I'm not terribly interested in hearing about it. Should I resist this? Obviously. Will I resist this? Obviously not. Therefore before we can crack on with anything else - and I have a bit of hot wargaming action to report on - I need to get all this stuff off my chest. Here goes:

Music: I have seen Nick B. Hall and the Resurrection Men (previously lauded here for their belting cover of Senor, Tales of Yankee Power), Dr Bob and the Bluesmakers (as excellent as ever; Maria was in fine voice) and The Jar Family. I went to the last of these on spec and, let's be honest, because the venue reduced the price to a fiver. However, I must report that they were bloody superb, to the extent that in a rush of blood I bought two of their CDs afterwards. They're on a UK tour and I urge anyone who gets a chance to see them to take it. They describe themselves as folk/blues/psych and to me were a melange of Dylan/Lindisfarne/Traffic. Top stuff.

Theatre: Or possibly music again. I saw 'Woody Sez', a play-with-music come music-with-a-bit-of-acting. It's about Woody Guthrie and the facts of his life can't help but make the thing poignant. I enjoyed it and so did the rest of the sadly small audience.

Days out: I have been to Fountains Abbey with the younger Miss Epictetus and the dog; and I have been to the Otley Show with the elder Miss Epictetus and the dog. The dog, far from being grateful, has left muddy paw prints all across my living room carpet. It will not be invited anywhere by me again. I avoided losing my #newnotnew camera at the Otley Show by the simple and foolproof method of not taking it with me. I am unable once again therefore to bring you photographs of the Young Farmers Ladies Tug-of-War competition, which will be disappointing for any among you who like voluptuous women getting a sweat on.

Uhh, one, two, three, four...

'Jeremy Hunt, Jeremy Hunt

Can't think of a rhyme for Jeremy Hunt'

Still no wargaming, painting or anything remotely relevant to the purpose of the blog, but there has been yet more music. Live albums used to be all the rage. Think "Get Yer Ya Ya's Out", "Live at Leeds", "Live at Folsom Prison" or "Stupidity". Double live albums were particularly popular and I owned a few on vinyl. I think I'd have to go for Dylan's "Before the Flood" as my favourite, but being the age that I am Lynyrd Skynyrd's "One More from the Road" would also feature highly (I can't think about it without shouting out "Give me a T for Alabama"; possibly that's just me.). I even owned a Judas Priest double live album, although in my defence I won it in a raffle at a Bradford working man's club on my 8,000th birthday, never actually listened to it and long ago gave it to my ex-wife's sister's first husband. However, despite all that intimate association with the format, I've never been present at the recording of one - until now (1).

I have been to see the Jon Palmer Acoustic Band record a live album and very good it was too, a band that usually plays to a couple of dozen people in pubs relishing a sold out venue full of, let's face it, friends and family. But it was a great atmosphere, they played their brand of uptempo folk with passion and ability, and they were very rude about Jeremy Hunt and the rest of the 'posh boys talking bollocks'. What's not to like? Mostly JP's own compositions, but with an idiosyncratic cover of 'Dirty Old Town' and a moving one of 'Meet on the Ledge'. I look forward to the CD, a free copy of which was included in the ticket price.

(1) Like so much on this blog, that statement isn't actually true. I was in the audience when the Ramones recorded "It's Alive" - New Year's Eve 1977 at the Rainbow, Finsbury Park, and what a night that was. See if you can spot me. Gabba Gabba Hey.

The New Rock & Roll

I have been to a talk on the Battle of Towton given by Chris Murphy of the Towton Battlefield Society. It was informative and entertaining, and in particular was very strong on the context and personalities. Murphy is given to a colourful turn of phrase and I was taken both with his assertion that the Wars of the Roses is the new Rock & Roll and that Edward IV was Elvis. I was less convinced by the idea of Henry VI as Stephen Fry, but one can't have everything. He included a special section on local notable John, 9th Baron Clifford (the 'Flower of Craven' or ' Butcher Clifford' according to one's taste). Otley wasn't actually on Clifford's land, being owned by the Archdiocese of York, but he was the nearest big cheese. There is one obvious problem with focussing on the Flower/Butcher in a talk on Towton; as discussed on this very blog quite recently he died the day before. It probably didn't matter because the majority of the packed out hall - the sight of which prompted the bon mot about Rock & Roll - appeared to have only come to get away from Storm Desmond which was raging outside. As with the previous year's talk on Richard III - also a sell out, although against a background of snow that time - their grasp of what was going on appeared to be slim. There were no actively racist questions this time, but the first one to be asked, after two hours of bigging up the events of Palm Sunday 1461, "Isn't it true that the 28,000 casualties are a huge exaggeration, that it's all myth and that it wasn't a very important battle after all?" was unsurprisingly met with a curt "No!". In fact it is only modesty that prevents me from pointing out that for the second year running the only sensible question was asked by me.

The storm had abated sufficiently today for the annual Victorian Fayre; indeed it was about 15˚C warmer than last year when the reindeer were the only things looking at all comfortable. It's a big event with the entire centre of the town closed off and interesting to see how my great grandparents would have celebrated the time of year. I entered into the spirit of things by having a samosa.

The weekend also included a bit of old Rock & Roll with an excellent gig by Steve Phillips and the Rough Diamonds. Phillips, a long time friend and sometime bandmate of Mark Knopfler, is really a blues musician - his set included the usual list of McTell, Broonzy, Jefferson, Johnson, Waters, Wolf plus a couple of obscure Dylan covers - but he opened with Heartbreak Hotel, first made famous by that son of York, Edward Plantagenet.

Well, it's all right

Happy sixty-fifth birthday to Tom Petty. Here he is, featuring added Stevie Nicks for any of her fans who are reading this:

God it's so painful
Something that's so close
And still so far out of reach

And here he is with some other wannabes and hangers on:

Everybody's got somebody to lean on
Put your body next to mine, and dream on
 

Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall

                                      "They say, best men are moulded out of faults,
                                        And, for the most, become much more the better
                                        For being a little bad."

And so to the theatre. I have been to London yet again and it goes without saying that my journey was made significantly worse than it needed to be by the incompetence of Virgin East Coast, which resulted in me being so late that I missed a big chunk of why I went in the first place. However, I suspect that you're even more bored than I am with all that so I shall swiftly move on.

It was to the Globe that I went to forget my disdain for beardy Branson and to watch a very enjoyable production of Measure for Measure. This is obviously one of Shakespeare's dodgier plays (I believe that to be the term commonly used in literary criticism) and is perhaps difficult for modern audiences. It's very hard to understand the motivation of anyone among the leading characters (Mariana in particular needs her head examining), or to navigate the path the playwright is weaving through the hypocritical sexual morals of the time. As expected, the Globe - which I enjoy more and more each time that I visit it - takes full advantage of the comic potential with Elbow, Barnadine and Lucio all outstanding (and I do realise that the first two are played by the same actor). The performance was being filmed and I'd urge everyone to catch when it's released; you'll just have to hope they somehow edit out the noise of the helicopter circling during the big scene between Angelo and Isabella.

Bob Dylan wrote a song addressing the same dilemma as that which forms the heart of the plot of Measure for Measure. One of this blog's few readers is a Tom Russell fan - as well as being the world's champion thrower of ones at the wargames table - so here's a cover version by the man from God knows where:

How long must I keep my eyes glued to the door?

I went to see the Gerry McNeice band last night, but it turned out that those playing were actually Nick Hall and the Resurrection Men. Nick Hall is half of Plumhall and the Resurrection Men were basically McNeice on bass and his band's drummer. Rehearsals seemed to have been few, but nonetheless they were terrific. They did a lovely run through "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding" with Jon Palmer on guest backing vocals, but the standout was the best version of "Senor (Tales of Yankee Power)" that I have heard in a long time.


For all the song's obvious connotations of anti-imperialism I prefer to read it as a straight (albeit metaphorically described) explanation of a man's search for salvation through the love of a woman; a woman dark haired like a gypsy who having told him "this ain't a dream no more, this is the real thing",  and urged him to "forget me not" then disappears. Surely even wargamers can relate to that? Here's Willie Nelson and Calexico covering Dylan's classic.

I look pretty young, but I'm just backdated

I have been to see The Who, which would be another addition to the list of bands that I haven't seen for forty years as I was at one of their iconic Charlton gigs (1), except for the fact that I also saw them about twenty years ago touring Quadrophenia with P.J. Proby and Billy Idol. That last time they were supported by The Stereophonics and they went down the power trio route once again last night, the first set being by a band with possibly the worst name of all time - and I used to play in an outfit called 'Or Is It?' so I know whereof I speak. The Standard Lamps - no, really - were however rather good. I thought I detected elements of Grand Funk Railroad; although it's possible that my pre-gig curry had just been too spicy. What is undeniable is that they did a fine rendition of the Dylan song 'I Shall Be Released'. Whilst the song appeared on 'Music from Big Pink', 'The Basement Tapes', 'Before the Flood' and 'The Last Waltz' - fine versions all - I always associate it with the Tom Robinson Band. Their version was in the support of the claims to innocence of George Ince, famously fitted up by the police for The Barn Restaurant murder. Ince (2), you may remember had the rather unfortunate alibi - which he was understandably reluctant to use in court - that he had been in bed with Charlie Kray's wife at the time.

Anyway, back to The Who and the excellent concert. It was, as you would expect, mainly a run through their greatest hits - excluding My Generation oddly - and none the worse for that. Townshend's guitar playing has lasted the course better than Daltry's singing as they have aged, and the singer looked unhappy at certain points. I'm always intrigued to see what artists from my youth look like today. Daltry has morphed into Stephanie Cole while his colleague looks like nothing so much as John 'Geophysics' Gater of Time Team fame.These two surviving members occupied front of stage, but they were - and I mean this literally - joined in performing a couple of the songs by Keith Moon and John Entwistle - the latter appearing to deliver a lengthy bass solo during 5:15 - notwithstanding the undeniable fact that the other two are both dead. As Dr Johnson said under remarkably similar circumstances 'One is surprised to see it done at all, but frankly bass solos are always a pile of crap'. Pinnacle of the evening was 'Won't Get Fooled Again', but with a back catalogue like that every song is a highlight.

(1) I can't for the life of me remember which one. There are very good reasons - e.g. physical location - why I couldn't have been at either the 1974 or the 1976 concerts, but I definitely attended one of them. My 1970s have now started to mimic the 1960s in that only the fact that I can't remember anything proves that I was there.

(2) Not to be confused with George Davis; the only real similarity being that while both were not guilty neither were innocent.