Bostin

I went to see Wilko Johnson the other week. He had this support act on (rather good actually, bluesy rock 'n' roll and the bassist looked like Plug off of The Bash Street Kids and they manged to reference both Pendolino trains and the NEC into their lyrics), trouble is they didn't announce what they were called when they walked on stage. So, as they said a few perfunctory 'hellos' and asked if we were 'ready' I noticed a bit of an accent. 'Hello' I thought 'these chaps sound like they come from the West Midlands.' Now you have to be careful here because you'd logically assume that they're from Birmingham but there's no generic West Midlands accent, apparently. But I took the view that they were from Birmingham, so as they didn't give their name at the start of the gig in my head they were called Some Brummies. I think that's rather a good name, certainly better than their proper moniker, People's Republic of Mercia. Which got me to thinking of a name for the prog-metal-punk-psych-folk-new wave-electronica band I'd like to start and be the drummer of . Here's a few names I've been toying with :

• Dollop
• Trains That Won Wars
• English Electric Lightning
• Vitamin Q
• The Fighter Pilots
• The Biscuit Factory
• Hogarth Flyover
• Chocky's Children
• The Vulcanologists
• Blame Canada
• Tobes of Hades
• Das Boot
• Anywhere But Here
• Boffin's Island
• The Catering Front
• Two Day Hot Tub Event
• Shoplifting Shame
• Get to Falkirk!
• Bazookas
• Check the Chips
• Real Life Spy Thriller
• Potty Time
• Psychic Octopus

Any got legs?

Island life

I watched Oil City Confidential: The Dr Feelgood Story on telly the other night and have to say it's the best rock documentary I've ever seen. Dr Feelgood are ace. It even beats an old film about the Kursaal Flyers I saw years ago. Wilko Johnson's ace. Lee Brilleaux's ace. The Big Figure's ace. John B Sparkes is ace. In fact, Wilko Johnson could quite possibly have become my favourite person in the world. Ever. And I love the grubbiness of the other three; they look like the sort of blokes you'd find having it off (and in their case that's the right terminology) with the local bike over the bins behind a pub at chucking out time.
Anyway, if you didn't see it, then watch it here. Or lose out. The choice is yours. Who'd have thought there was romance in a rundown seaside town with a not-very-picturesque oil refinery? I'm just sorry I was born early enough to have seen them in there pomp. I'm sure Johnson would have hypnotised me for the duration of their set. And seeing them with The Blockheads in support would have been one hell of a night out.
Their best, I think:

A bunch of Stiffs

I see there was yet more cock-sucking of Factory Records on BBC4 last night. Don't get me wrong, I love a bit of New Order, but if there's a lesson in how not to run a record company, then that's it. Besides, they only produced three successful bands - two if Ian Curtis hadn't been such a selfish bastard. They made a good film about it though.
Anyway, one record company that's had the full BBC4 treatment (only the once, mark you. Not the annual one Factory gets) is Stiff Records. I can never understand why that record company is never mentioned in the same breath as those other greats: Tamla Motown, Island, Stax and Atlantic. It had the same 'music/artist first' ethos and family vibe of all those others.

In the spirit of Lazy You Tube embedding - which I haven't done much of in this blog - here's some of my favourite Stiff songs.
By the way, there's a great photo of Rush's Geddy Lee in an 'If it ain't Stiff it ain't worth a fuck' t-shirt, but I can't find it on the interweb.

I love Ian Dury. I've always fancied writing my own version of Reasons To Be Cheerful but never got past 'Master of Puppets/Beaker from The Muppets'



The greatest punk song ever.



Not strictly Stiff, but without Dr Feelgood, Stiff wouldn't have existed. Wilko Johnson is God.



If you hear this and don't want to dance, preferably whilst wearing a fez, then there are no egg custards for you at my house.



I always loved this record, but as a kid could never understand why he was in the kitchen at parties. The kitchen was where all the parents hung out, there was no jelly or musical statues in there.



A finer song about song about forbidden and hidden love is yet to be written. Much missed Chez Ambassador.



So many memories attached to this song. The greatest move The Wheatsheaf ever made was to put Pogues albums on their jukebox, this was always timed to come on at closing time on a Saturday, with their take on Dirty Old Town preceding it. I've spilt many drinks and smoked many gaspers to this one.