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The Actual Music Thread

I met Pól Ó Braonáin of Clannad one night in Kehoe's Pub on Anne Street. He was in to meet my African/Irish pal for his monthly supply and we got to talking. I mentioned that the contrabass was by far my favourite instrument, but also one that I only ever got to play either in music stores or else in production studios for sessions. He said he had three in total: one that never left the studio (a very old Czech-built bass) and two others for road work. He was very open and informative about his set-up and when I mentioned that I found his style awesome he was surprised: he said he used contrabass because it melted into the background so easily, but I said that this only made it all the more attractive to my ear because you had to listen and dissect everything in the mix to really hear what the bass was doing. Flattery isn't my business so I didn't butter him up, still he was kind and open enough to ask for my number and email address that we might meet again and maybe even have a chance to play together.



After that, I dug even deeper into Clannad's material. I'd been a fan since my teenage years and loved jamming along to the earlier albums when they used Paul Moran on drums. Paul played with everyone, he was a go-to session player who could lay a few takes after one or two listens to the track. I caught him live many times with The Bogey Boys, Freddie White Band, and he also did regular clinics at McCullough-Piggott's music shop along Suffolk Street before they moved to a far smaller premises on Sth Gt George's Street. He played and endorsed Yamaha drums and used a 9000 Recording Series model for most of his sessions. He has a wonderful stroke, very gentle but also highly dynamic: he's a great listener and always played for the song rather than from the ego or his amazing sounding kit.

Sadly, Moran's time on the road with the globally touring 'Riverdance - The Show' resulted in him suffering severe ear damage due to the high volume of the stage rigs and he developed tinnitus which led to the end of his musical career. He sued Riverdance and won a measly €75,000 in compensation. Later he found other work as a cleaner at Bord Gais. Quite a severe blow, it led to severe depression which further debilitated his musical ability and proficiency.

He played on this one, which captivated me with its 6/8 rhythm as well as 'In A Lifetime' which also featured Bono from U2 on dual vocals.

Clannad: 'Thíos Fá'n Chósta'

 
Alri' there, Jimmah?

This one's for you: a little twelve-plus minute ditty to colour up your dull day.
Jambo, can you tell me what this piece does for you?
It's just music, it isn't a trick or a trap, just a simple question.
How does this make you feel, and think, and wonder?
What ARE these guys up to, in your esteemed opinion?
You can see they aren't reading their parts, right?
So where's it all coming from and where the fuck's it going?



In your opinion.
 
Mowl said:
Alri' there, Jimmah?
Click to expand...

:ROFLMAO:

(jimmy's reply to a simple question about music)

And there you have it, David. What did I tell you? Sneering contempt and a laughter emoji from Jimmy 'Duh Dunce' Dawson. Y'see, Jimmeh thinks that all high iq* persons prefer to listen to things like Cyndi Lauper, The Bangles, Oasis, and south Korean girlie-pop when winding down after a hard day's iq-ing on the intersnots, that right, Jimmah?

Jazz, to Jambo, is a sort of disturbing cacophony of chaos. If he was asked to describe it, he'd likely refer to Japanese noodles or spaghetti. He can't find the center, the string that holds all the elements together, so he sneers at it from all of his iq. It doesn't go: '1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4' so he thinks the lads must be fucking it up and not realizing he can't clap along like your average Oasis fan. There's no structure he can recognize (even though the structure is blatantly obvious) and there's no hook-line to sing along to while banging two empty Dutch Gold tins together like a wind-up monkey. The three-minute limit is another comforting element in Jambo's idea of what music really is, and in that format he can predict the various parts before they even happen, especially the outro - so he can sing and clap along like a happy seal.

See this image?



That's from Jambo's 'counter-jihad days' on the kid's site with all the video gaming and exciting news about new software you can get for free from any computer magazine down the newsagents. Jambo likes East 17. A cockney boy-band of men in their mid-to-late forties who don't just beat their girlfriends up, but batter the shite out of each other too. Like Liam and Noel, Jimmy's other two archangels. Sadly, East 17 didn't make the grade and the main songwriter went back to what he does best: laying roofing insulation out of the back of his white van all across London and out into the sticks.

Jambo admits things like this on other sites, thinking the Mowl won't spot it. When in fact, Mowl has so many tipsters and informers there isn't much I miss, even on the busiest of days like these. He's also been terminally exhausted by my absence. Starting threads and fearing my passing. Mad, eh? He's probably imagining what his life would be like without me. So while I've been working hard up the country into the wilds, he's been consoling himself listening to this sort of thing from said East 17:



Even this one has the sort of arrangement that comforts Jambo's depth of emotional response to music, it goes:

Intro
Verse (1)
Bridge
Chorus
Bridge
Verse (2)
Bridge
Middle 8
Bridge
Chorus
Fade.

The wonderful thing about formulaic pop is that like cement blocks, all parts are interchangeable. You can switch them around and it still sounds the same. You can double-up on some, while halving on others, and still the music's shite no matter what the fuck you do with it. Oasis are the classic example.

Three minutes max duration? Check
Hooky Chorus? Check
Five distinct parts à la the Beatles? Check
Clap-along factor? Check
Free poster of the boys in the single issue? Check
Ridiculous clothing to emphasize they're NOT Blur? Check
Not East 17 either? Check

And there you have it: low iq music from even lower iq cockney ruffians and full-time roofers, with some sugar on top from Cyndi Lopper and Le Bàngles. Jimmy hates jazz. It upsets him. Ruffles with his hair. The noodling is definitely just some muso having a stage wank. Having to think about what you're hearing is too much like hard work to JImmah, so he avoids the jazz club and department down his record store like the plague. Jimmy gets his records for free in Just Seventeen magazine every two weeks. The Bunty. Women's Way, English Vogue (French Vogue's way too confusing for him) and a few of those Sudoku booklets to while away the time spent queuing for his giro down the labour exchange.

You might think higher iq persons would orientate to something a bit deeper than singing along with 'Wonderwall' while hanging up new photographs of Noel and Liam, but you'd be wrong. Only half-wits listen to jazz, especially jazz played in bars of 13/8 with free-form noodling aplenty and no clappy-alongy bits for the high iq lads over by the stairs to the gent's toilets. The kind of twat who would, if he found himself in a jazz club, have to wait and see what everyone else does before copying them and pretending to be entertained.

Clapping for each solo from each player? Nope
Clapping at the start of the tune? Nope
Clapping after the sax player introduces himself? Nope
Clapping during the interval when someone accidentally plays 'Champagne Supernova' then flicks it off in a hurry? Check

You can't bring the cunt anywhere.




* small case for iq in this context, right Jambo?​
 
The level of practice and skill involved in being able to play the violin like this must be insane.


 
But again, this is pre-arranged/conducted music played off the page by well-experienced players, it doesn't have the same edge you find in jazz because every time the piece is played, it's been rehearsed and written down with no deviation allowed. Improvising is not a factor in orchestral music: every player, every instrument has their part to play, and the conductor is top-center of what the audience hears.

The Helsinki opera house does frequent free shows of upcoming new seasonal operas for everyone. Tickets are either free or else you can book in advance for a small fee to hear the orchestra playing in the concert hall, doing exactly what they'll be doing later on for ticket holders who arrive dressed for the evening. Except in the afternoon shows, not even the orchestra are dressed for a formal presentation: they instead show up in their civvies, sneakers, whatever they like. Same applies to the audience: you don't have to dress for the show but if you choose to, then you might well end up framed and hung on the walls in the public gallery outside in the lobby. Lots of people go for the dress-up option: they pick a theme, meet for lunch, drink some skumppa, and then take their seats for the show. 1930/40's style dress is a particular favourite: the ladies always look fabulous with the strings of pearls and silk dresses. Feathered hats, heels, and formal dances like The Charleston and traditional foxtrot/tango. Their male partners also dress in straw boaters and striped suits. It's a great idea because the general public deserves to enjoy what their taxes pay to produce: it's not like in Dublin where the state gouges the money out of the citizenry, then charges a blue mint for tickets so that the untermensch can't afford to attend. Same with Irish theater: you pay for it, they get to enjoy it, and you're not even remotely welcome.

It'd be like Jimmy D attending the opera with his earbuds blasting 'Wonderwall' while he sits staring at the orchestra pit with his jaw drooping down onto his chest like some second-hand Liam Gallagher in army fatigues. A tin of Dutch Gold in his hand, slurping away like like a pig in shit.

Jambo can't be drawn into a conversation about music: he already knows he's a low-brow three-minute formula-pop low iq rock'n'roller at heart.
The lowest possible denominator: the clap-along, sing-along, dress up in the same outfit as everyone else (bucket hats, anyone?) drinking imported lager.
I bet you his wake-up alarm is 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' by Cyndi Lumper.
 
It used to be that orchestral/ classical music was the preserve of the aristocracy and folk the tradition of the every day man. Vinyl and later physical / digital mediums have been the great leveller in that regard.

I always found it interesting how Welsh miners were such great opera singers while in neighbouring England the opera was associated with monocle-donning, top-hat wearing toffs.
 
David said:
It used to be that orchestral/ classical music was the preserve of the aristocracy and folk the tradition of the every day man. Vinyl and later physical / digital mediums have been the great leveller in that regard.
Click to expand...

Same applies regarding jazz and jazz clubs: riff-raff like Jimmy D hate the idea of being in the same room as a few geniuses and prodigies but not knowing how or why they're as out there as they are. Jimmy's happier at the local Friday night roller-skating disco.

David said:
I always found it interesting how Welsh miners were such great opera singers while in neighbouring England the opera was associated with monocle-donning, top-hat wearing toffs.
Click to expand...
 
It's ironic how Jazz and Classical players who spend years painstakingly honing their crafts recieve a tuppence for their efforts, while simplistic rubbish makes millionaires overnight.
 
Well, a lot of it is down to how you handle your game, really. I know lots of guys who by rights ought to be rich but instead are alcoholics and drug addicts. The business is jam-packed with them. After all, it is called The Music Business - capital b for business. Then there are the types who refuse to make any compromises at all.

Play a party gig? For money? Fuck that.

Grand - fuck it all you like - I'm in it for the money as much as anything else and am perfectly content to play party gigs, guest on other people's records, get hired in for albums, take touring contracts, whatever: if it pays well and I get to travel? No worries, I'm fully aboard. I put in my time at home in my Mam's old house from when I was twelve onward. By the time I was seventeen I was getting paid: back to school on Mondays with my pockets full and a grin on my chops that'd piss off a Cheshire cat.

Of course there are other gougers like the Gallagher brothers who don't even bother to hide the fact that they're copy-merchants.
The level of intellect required to enjoy something like that is around Jambo's iq level when he's drunk and doing well at the tiddlywanks.
 
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