Music in the 80's

While I write, I'm listening to Southern Sun by Boy & Bear, a tune I heard on BBC 6Music about five minutes ago and subsequently downloaded to my iPod. By comparison, in 1985, there was a song I'd heard on an episode of 'Moonlighting', the American detective show starring Cybill Shepherd and Bruce Willis. I wasn't too sure what it was so I wrote a letter to Annie Nightingale who had a request show on BBC Radio 1 on Sunday evenings and I tried to describe as best I could what the song sounded like. A week or two later, she read out my letter on the show and played me said song. Sympathy For The Devil by The Rolling Stones. That was how I discovered music in the 80's.

It is not overstating the case to say how important Annie Nightingale's show was to me in the 80's.  It was my ritual every Sunday night, once the chart show was over, to lay on my bed, usually in semi or pitch darkness, with the glow of the tuner on my hi-fi the only light in the room, listening to her playing music that opened up my mind to the possibilities of other worlds and sounds beyond what was played on Top Of The Pops or Radio 1. Don't get me wrong, I was a regular and avid watcher of TOTP, but to hear artists like The Cocteau Twins, Joni Mitchell and Led Zeppelin being played, well it was too exciting for words.

TV also had a big part to play in my discovery of music. In 1982, Channel 4 was launched and with it a music programme featuring presenters who, to an impressionable teenager like me, were unbelievably cool because they tripped over their words and swore on live television. The Tube, broadcast live on Friday evenings from Newcastle-Upon-Tyne was ground-breaking television and paved the way for shows of a similar ilk, such as The Word. Jools Holland, Paula Yates and Muriel Gray were witty, stylish and cool. Then there was The Old Grey Whistle Test on BBC2 with presenters like Bob Harris, John Peel and Mark Ellen. Not as cool perhaps, but no less important.  And I was always deeply envious that I didn't live in the North West so I could watch Tony Wilson on Granada Tonight. Another ground-breaker.

Television continues to produce shows profiling new music. Later with Jools Holland is a great show to discover some amazing new artists. And Channel 4 and BBC4 produce some quality late-night output. But it's fair to say that television's role in launching new music is not as vital as it once was.

Because now we have the internet.

It has never been easier to gain access to an incredible stockpile of music than it is now. Anyone born after say, 1985, doesn't know what it was to try to find music that was a bit more interesting than the normal chart fodder. Now it is literally at your fingertips with sites like MySpace, Spotify, LastFM, iTunes, Facebook, Bandcamp etc. The list is pretty endless.  And then there are the thousands of digital and internet radio stations out there.

These days, I find most of my music through BBC 6Music and Twitter. 6Music is my new Annie Nightingale.  The DJ's care about the music they play, a vast majority of them are or were musicians themselves. You can hear the joy in their voices when they play a song they love or when they share a new album with their listeners.

Twitter is also an amazing resource for discovering new music. There are people I follow who are musicians, who work in the industry, who write about music and then there are those who just love music in all its forms and with whom I can have great conversations and share recommendations. You can even talk to (or stalk) your favourite bands and DJs about music.

You can also just wave your smartphone in the general direction of a piece of music and an app will tell you what the song is!  How incredible is that?

Festival No 6

A festival like no other in a place like no other.

A Centenary

My grandmother was born on 12 February, 1913.  Had she lived, 2013 would have been her 100th birthday. Born in Bury, Lancashire to Richard and Clara Royles, Grandma, also called Clara but known as Clare, was the youngest of eight children. She died in 1988, two days after her 75th birthday and her death had a profound, shattering effect on my life. I still miss her. 

I remember going to Lancashire on holiday during the hot summer of 1976 to visit my relatives, Grandma’s brothers and sisters, who were, by then, quite advanced in years. There was the formidable Aunty Florrie, an Amazonian woman with the temperament to match, married to the mild-mannered Uncle Billy, who wore leather driving gloves and drove an Austin Maxi; the gentle and sweet-natured Aunty Emily, with her little round glasses and kindly, smiling face; and the mysterious Uncle George who I met only once before he died. He was bed-ridden and I was ushered into his room to see him in hushed silence and told not to disturb him. There is a photo of me somewhere, standing in front of Uncle Billy’s car in white knee socks and a sun-dress my mother had made, my long, blonde hair tied with ribbons and my eyes squinting against the sun. 

I spent most Friday nights at my Grandma’s, sleeping over in a big double bed with cold, cotton sheets filled with hot-water bottles that would burn your feet, in a house with no central heating. In the winter, ice would form on the inside of the windows and the pipes would freeze. I had a grey, overnight case I used to pack with my nightie and slippers and Bruin, my polar bear, a gift from Grandma and Granddad’s trip to Norway.  On Saturdays we caught the double-decker bus into town and went for lunch in one of my Grandma’s favourite restaurants; either Crombie’s for fish and chips, served with bread and butter and a pot of tea, or The Blue Lagoon where my Grandma would have moussaka and I’d have liver and bacon. Grandma would leave a coin under the saucer as a tip. It made me feel terribly grown-up.

There are little things I remember. The way the skin on the back of her hands use to crinkle like fine tissue paper. The way she called her corset her ‘stays’ and would ask me to help ‘button her up’.  I loved the way she brought out her best cups when the insurance man came and served him Mellow Birds coffee and Abbey Crunch biscuits. I loved her freshly baked scones hot from the oven dripping in melted butter, and her Yorkshire puddings that seemed to defy gravity. She kept the butter in a dish by the fire that would melt into a golden pool.

I loved bringing out her jewellery and playing with it. She had button box I used to love playing with. I’d sink my hand into the mounds of buttons and spend hours sorting them into colours and sizes.

I loved climbing into bed with her on a Saturday morning to keep warm before heading downstairs to light the temperamental grill on the gas oven to grill the bacon for sandwiches.

I loved her black and white television set with the buttons you had to press really hard to change channels and the uncomfortable 1950s sofa with the lumps in. I loved the roaring coal fire in the living room, the heat of which would burn your shins and turn your face pink, and the brass candlesticks on the mantelpiece where she used to hide my pocket money - 50p a week.  Such lovely memories. Happy 100th birthday, Grandma.

New year, new job

For the past eight months I’ve been enjoying a career break. I left my job at a cancer charity in April 2012 and spent the next three months travelling through SE Asia, Australia and New Zealand, arriving home in late summer just in time for the Olympics and Paralympics.

After the initial excitement of being able to enjoy an impromptu semi-retirement wore off, I realised I needed to start looking for another job. After seven years in my previous job, I was more than a little apprehensive about starting somewhere new. Having commuted to London from the north-east for the best part of five years, I knew the decision I’d made to base myself back in the north-east might be challenging, given the comparative lack of job opportunities in the North compared to those in the south-east. I had also limited myself to only looking for jobs in certain employment sectors, specifically the third or not-for-profit sector, public and higher education sectors. 

I was fortunate, then, to land a job on the first attempt. A job at a university in the north-east, one I had eyed with curiosity but ultimately disregarded when it was first advertised in September but one I embraced with a renewed vigour when it was re-advertised in November. By early December I had interviewed for and been offered the job, with a start date of 7 January.

And so, the sojourn is over.  Time to put my travelling head away and put on my business head. But first, time to enjoy a few more days of being a lady of leisure... 

Singapore

After 47 days travelling through five countries we arrived in Singapore, our final destination of the tour. We were tired and subdued. For many it was the end of travelling and a chance to go home and sleep in their own bed. For others, including me, it marked the end of one stage of travelling and the start of another. But for all of us it also meant goodbye. It was our last night and we were determined to go out with a bang.

Arriving in Singapore mid afternoon, we dropped off our bags at the hotel and, as had become habit now, I opted out of the orientation walk. Instead my room-mate and I headed to the Peace Food Centre and had a Chinese buffet lunch and a wander round the immediate area, including Singapore's own Little India.

We'd arranged to meet up at 5pm in the hotel reception in our best bibs and tuckers. For the girls it meant frocks on. For the boys it meant whatever was in their rucksack that wasn't a pair of shorts, a vest-top or flip-flops. We were off to the most famous hotel in Singapore, Raffles Hotel. We took taxis to avoid arriving in a sweat-induced puddle. Raffles was as impressive as its reputation would have you believe. We felt like royalty wandering around the verandas in our frocks and button-down shirts. Making our way to the famous Long Bar we ordered our Singapore Slings and got down to the serious business of peanut-eating, abiding by the tradition of throwing the shells on the floor. It felt like the perfect conclusion to seven weeks of travelling. The gang was all together, celebrating our last night together.

A couple of Singapore Slings later and with a somewhat depleted bank balance we left Raffles, heading for the bar at the Fairmount Hotel where the views over the city were said to be spectacular. Unfortunately for us there was a big Bollywood star in town, his presence being announced by the screams coming from the crowd at the hotel's entrance. He'd also booked the bar for a private party. Despite some of our gang trying to blag their way in, it wasn't our lucky night. The bar was off limits. Instead, we decamped to the basement bar of the hotel where we spent an extremely enjoyable few hours drinking cocktails or in my case, bottles of Veuve Cliquot champagne. They were on offer at $99 (Singapore dollars) a bottle. Becs and I bought one each which we shared between us. At this stage, we had thrown caution and thrift to the wind. It was our last night and we were on a blow-out.

Somewhat sozzled and with party heads firmly on, we left the bar in search of somewhere where we could dance. Asking around we were directed to a bar where a live band was doing decent cover versions of popular songs. But more importantly, you could dance to it. And the atmosphere was top notch. And people were up for partying. We danced and danced. One band finished, another came on and still we danced. We sang along to the songs at the tops of our voices. Some of us had photos taken with the band. Some of us danced with the locals. Another band came on and still we danced. In the early hours of the morning, the first of the group started to drift off. By 3am I, along with Becs and Kelly-Anne had drifted off too. We left the others to dance. We'd been in the bar dancing for so long we hadn't realised it was pouring down outside. We stood in the torrential downpour trying to hail a taxi. Finally one came. We got soaked just getting into the cab. We crashed into bed, damp, still a bit pissed, but with fond memories of our last night in Singapore.

Next morning after only a few hours sleep and with champagne headaches, we headed off, after breakfast, to do the hop-off, hop-on city tour. Tiredness and sadness were setting in. We took in the sights, including the hotel with the ship on top of it, the waterfront and Chinatown areas but we knew in a few hours we'd be saying goodbye. Some were staying on in Singapore for a few more days before heading home or to their next travel destination. I was leaving that evening for Australia.

We wandered back to the hotel. Picking up our bags from storage, we ordered a taxi to the airport and said our final goodbyes. We befriended people on Facebook, swapped numbers and made plans to meet up in the future. Then we were hugging and heading out to the airport. Maybe even shedding a few tears.

And with that my travels in South East Asia were over and, although I still had more travelling to look forward to in Australia, New Zealand and Hong Kong, I couldn't even begin to describe what an incredible time I had had. I met some fantastic people, both fellow travellers on the tour and local people in whichever country we happened to be in. I saw some of the world's most amazing sights. I did things I'd never done before. I had a wonderful time.

Highlights include watching the sun rise over Angkor Wat, sailing in Halong Bay and the Mekong Delta in Vietnam. Drinks in Kuala Lumpur with the Petronas towers as our backdrop. Getting caught in a tropical rainstorm in Phnom Penh and wading our way out. Bamboo rafting in Chiang Mai. The food and night markets at Luang Prabang. Drinking Singapore Slings at Raffles and dancing the night away. I could go on.

Off all the countries we visited Cambodia and Laos were my favourites. They stole my heart, though Vietnam and Malaysia were both very special too. Thailand was something of a disappointment, though parts of northern Thailand were quite charming. But every country and every new sensation had been a wonderful experience. It truly had been the trip of a lifetime.

So to Nat, Catherine, Cat, Lee, Jamie, Peter, Karlie, Steve, Becs, Kelly-Anne, Sarah, Jackie, Lauren, RoAnne, Ida, Dale, Sarah, Fleur, Drew, Paul, Dave, Warren, Chris, Roseanne and Brian, thanks for friendship, your companionship and for being amazing. Chuck Norris!

I wondered what lay in store for me next. I had another seven weeks of travelling ahead of me. I was headed first to Melbourne before heading off on a three week whistle-stop tour around Australia, before heading to New Zealand for three weeks then heading home via Hong Kong. I was a little weary of travelling, but this time it was under my own steam and I was travelling by myself so I could pretty much please myself. I looked forward to the change in scenery and pace.

Malaka, Malaysia

After a rare but no less welcome lie-in and a slightly later start than usual, we left KL at around 11am to catch the bus to Malaka, our last port of call in Malaysia. Spirits were sagging in the group. We had three days of the tour left. We were tired. We'd become a little frustrated with our tour leader. Malaka turned out to be a much-needed antidote.

Steeped in history, a former port of some significance in the Portuguese empire, later colonised by the British, Malaka or Malacca, is a fascinating town. The old town, that is. The bus station and 'modern' quarter less so. But the streets around Jonker Street with their exotic mix of Chinese, Indian and Portuguese were charming. It reminded many of us of Hoi An in Vietnam.

We were staying in an old merchant house converted to a hotel. Shortly after arriving we convened for a briefing and then for a walk through the town. Although quite touristy, with many shops selling souvenirs and handicrafts, and subsequently quite busy, it was an easy town to get around. The heat was another matter entirely. Like Penang, the heat was challenging to say the least. Temperatures in the mid to high thirties with added humidity.

Walk over, we headed back to the hotel and found ourselves a little local hangout, The Geographer's Cafe, that became our home from home and preferred drinking hole for the next couple of days. We bought buckets of beer and ate some inspired vegetarian dishes including tempeh and fried bean curd skin, which tasted better than it sounds. We drank into the night. As some drifted back to the hotel, others including me, went off in search of karaoke. Karaoke in SE Asia seems to involve more than just singing. In many of the places we'd been, Vietnam in particular, it seemed to be a euphemism for a place to pick up women. So it was in Malaysia too.

Googling 'karaoke Malaka' we found one such bar and made our way there. It was a precondition that we had to buy beer to sign up so beer duly purchased and songs selected, we warbled our way through songs that had by now become old favourites, American Pie and Piano Man. We passed the microphone around and sang to our hearts content. Then, because we weren't buying beer, the songs came to an end. Chinese pop songs were now being sung by the other clientele in the bar, mostly men, being entertained by the female 'hostesses'. But we were happy, we'd had our karaoke fix. We headed back to the hotel.

Next day I went for a wander and took in a bit more of the architecture and feel of Malaka. I retraced my steps to the waterfront, looking at the replica Portuguese sailing ship moored in the dock, past the market selling food, souvenirs and assorted 'tat' to lure in unsuspecting tourists. I stopped briefly at the request of an Indian family to have my photograph taken with them. I walked past the bicycle-rickshaw drivers whose brightly coloured, elaborated decorated vehicles pedalled past carrying tourists on a tour of the city, music blaring. I smiled as a middle-aged Indian couple went past on one such rickshaw, while heavy rock music blared out. Somehow the combination of the two just seemed wrong.

I wandered round the Mall, finally drifting back to the Geographer's where others from the group had stopped for lunch. Later that evening we returned to the Geographer's for dinner, drinks and some impromptu karaoke with the live musician who was playing there that night. Finally we drifted off to the hotel to pack rucksacks and get ready for another early start.

Our final stop on the tour was just around the corner. Tomorrow we'd be in Singapore, saying goodbye to people who had become like family over the preceding seven weeks. We were determined to go out with a bang. And go out with a bang we did.