Whistle Down the Wind (vinyl version)

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Whistle Down the Wind 7a

I wanted to name my blog ‘Whistle Down the Wind’ after the film with Alan Bates and Hayley Mills, so this song was always going to get in here somewhere.

I’ve been sorting out a lot of old records over the last few weeks on and off. Vinyl is a lovely thing, as are proper record sleeves. It’s the only format where you can really appreciate the effort that has gone into the design, with picture labels and the ritual of really sitting down to listen. Some records come out of the box and have gone sour, vinegar of the era in sound and design, and they fizz and burn out like a match of memory. But some keep shining, like these from 1983/1984.

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The photography is windswept and melancholy, and the typography as spare and crisp as you’d want. Probably this was partly to move Nick Heyward away from the bright and, um, breezy (sorry) pop star mania of Haircut One Hundred. It’s fascinating to read him saying 30 years later*, “I was the happiest man in the world, and also the saddest. That’s what the single Fantastic Day was all about. You’re really up, then really down again. Happy one day, crying the next… I was really melancholy. I couldn’t see anything else, which is why I was writing songs like The Day It Rained Forever.”

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Looking at all his records, there’s a particular brand of indie-ish whimsical Englishness, blown in from the 1960s in a bright and Beatle-ish balloon. And if the rest of his 80s albums were swamped and lost in glossy 80s pop production, there are still excellent songs here and there like Traffic in Fleet Street from albums with evocative titles like Postcards from Home or I Love You Avenue.

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Doing the triple retro thing again… 50s, 80s, 2010s… a Daydreaming in Albion Award deserved for Nick Heyward I think.

Ten years after Whistle Down the Wind he was finally able to make an album of proper jangling guitar pop in From Monday to Sunday. The song Kite brought some fresh recognition in America, and French/US band Ivy late covered it on their album Guestroom.

Here’s the video for Whistle Down the Wind (with some great scenery for landscape fetishists)…

….and following it Kite, which is a perfect sunny day in Ambrosia.

*Quote from 2011, The Beaver: LSE paper

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Off to Ambrosia with Billy Liar

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Tom Courtenay as Billy Liar (1963)

Is Billy Liar really 50 years old? It’s one of the key sixties films catching Britain at a time of transition, mirrored by Billy’s dreams of escape from small town doldrums to something more ‘swinging’. In the early 1990s there was a wonderful BBC weekly retrospective of the era, with all the key films beautifully introduced and the icons interviewed.

Julie Christie and Tom Courtenay

Julie Christie and Tom Courtenay, 1964

Back then you could still wander London and feel the spirit/myth of the locations (there was a kind of indie ’90s is 60s upside down’ thing at the time). The ephemera had lived on in 1980s youth with The Smiths and their legendary sleeve artwork and videos; I remember my oldest brother bringing home the records which introduced Terence Stamp, Rita Tushingham, Pat Phoenix, Yootha Joyce, Alain Delon, Viv Nicolson, The Family Way – a long line of the spirits of an age.

The Smiths Covers

I was wondering to someone about the unselfconscious types who in my childhood bicycled everywhere in wing-framed glasses and tweed overcoats with faces ‘washed bright with carbolic soap’ (a phrase I got from my grandma). Where did they go? It seemed every second of their lives was spent doing quiet practical things. They didn’t need excitement. I thought it was punk that changed things. I was corrected – of course it was the sixties (I was too young to remember: a moment to cherish).

And now in the 21st century it seems people want these culturally marginalised types back, or at least to know they are there in the background, unfazed by the digital age. We even have lots of cake-making, village fete TV. The Sex Pistols’ ‘God Save the Queen’ has backfired and in Brand Britain for tourists today it has no hint of irony, just as John Lydon now advertises butter.

This clip from Billy Liar is pure perfection in articulating a yearning for ‘something more’. It’s about the stuff that fuels the best bands, and a particular type of indie pop where edited if not imaginary worlds are held fleetingly in bubbles. Here too is Julie Christie in one of her earliest roles, and probably quite revolutionary in not being squashed into a perfectly made-up fifties ideal. The Yorkshire (Bradford) setting is familiar from my own family and I defy anyone not to want to be on that 12.05 train in 1963.

Elsewhere on WordPress I found this essay The Romance of Grime which celebrates and pinpoints the spirit of the British kitchen sink drama and is well worth a read.

Scenes from the 1950s – the art of triple retro

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Graphics by Hans Riebesehl from a beautifully designed tour guide to Hamburg, Germany which dates from around 1956. It’s fascinating to see an original that could be equally at home today, or in the mid-eighties, when this kind of font was hand-in-glove with the rebirth of black and white photography.

Does that mean we’re living in a triple retro age? The fifties are everywhere again, just as they were in the eighties.

Maybe James Dean would have been less troubled in 1955 if he’d known his immortality was assured, safe in the knowledge that every thirty years the vampire of cool would pick him up on its radar.

More images from Hamburg 1956…

Perfected poise: all eyes on the roulette wheel…

…from a time when the future was sunlit open spaces, sleek lines and a widescreen perspective: the motorway to modern.

The poster map that opens out is clever and quirky – a giant magnifying glass homes in on Hamburg, while the surrounds are peppered with ways to see the sights in the journey to a bright new world.

The easy listening sounds of Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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He went, like one that hath been stunne’d

And is of sense forlorn:

A sadder and a wiser man

He rose the morrow morn.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Here’s a small cinematic gem of a music video – an autumn afternoon of pale sunlight, the air perhaps smoky with bonfires, and the trees open up onto some easterly, estuaried coast… where some bloke sits absorbed in his copy of the Ancient Mariner, studiously ignoring the society beauty in a ballgown to his left, singing away by herself to the rocks. This is not rocks and roll.

Described by the band themselves as a cross between the theme from Midnight Cowboy and the signature tune from Last of the Summer Wine, ‘Forever Blue’ could have been written by Burt Bacharach and scored by Jimmy Webb (of Wichita Lineman fame and various easy listening favourites) to make it a hit from 1968 that never was.

It’s actually from 1989, and was scored by Jimmy Webb, for Swing Out Sister’s LP Kaleidoscope World, a defiant reclamation of easy listening that echoed the panoramic split-screen world of the film The Thomas Crown Affair and vintage Martini adverts. Back then I used to think it sat uneasily next to my Smiths and New Order records but recently Swing Out Sister performed Morrissey’s ‘This Charming Man’, in French, and seem perfect bedfellows.

Swing Out Sister are playing at this year’s Vintage Festival at Boughton House, Northamptonshire, alongside Nouvelle Vague and Saint Etienne on July 15th.

Oh, just discovered someone’s already blogged a bit of an appreciation of Swing Out Sister, and this song in particular.

It turns out this video was filmed in the Quantocks, another path on this blog that by accident ends up towards Somerset and Exmoor – so nothing easterly or estuaried about it… The church is All Saints at Aisholt; the pub is the Carew Arms at Crowcombe; and the road at the beginning is at Holford Combe. And that explains the Coleridge connection too, as he lived nearby. The coastal scenes may be around Kilve.