I’ve done a few Bowie tribute DJ sets over the years, including when he was alive. But last weekend marked the fifth year since his passing – so I rolled out another five-hour DJ set.
I’ve already shared the setlist but figured you might want to have a listen to these tunes in this order.
Someone said there were too many omissions to mention. Well, dur, it’s a finite list… Read More
Thing 1
it’s not what got you to the dance, nor
how you move on the night – it’s about
track-selection, did you pick the right song?
Thing 2
writing isn’t about what you say, nor
how you say it – though it’s about voice
and selection, can you sing the right song?
In honour of it being five years since the release of Blackstar and David Bowie’s birthday and the weekend we mark five years since his death I decided to roll out some of my favourite Bowie songs again in a DJ set tribute. It’s Been Five Years…
Always a bit of fun – and pressure – trying to make a long evening out of one artist. What songs do you play? And when? What ones do you leave out knowing they’ll be asked for later, what ones do you slip in early to please the fans that came for a pint at the start? Etc…
Read More
I’ve long thought of Masterton as something of a shithole. Based almost entirely on the evidence gathered from walking around that dump. But that was then. Now, it’s okay. Visit the place – as I’ve done this year and last – with a kid or two in tow and you have the excellent Queen Elizabeth Park and within it the even more excellent miniature train ride.
We love the train. The whole family’s been on it. And by that I mean the dog as well. Dogs are welcome. There’s a Facebook page and apparently they post a few dog pics there eh. Lol. Read More
drive the flatlands of the country
with the radio on, the window down
and a sense of appreciation for all that
we have and all you’ll never truly know
trailing in the breeze behind you there.
It’s not a bad life, so often a great life –
and at its worst it’s a very good life.
With the radio on…
I’ve loved doing Sweetman Podcast for the last five years. And I hope to keep it going. It earns absolutely nothing and I rely on the goodwill of an editor/producer friend and of course the time that guests are willing to offer. It takes plenty of my time too of course – so it’s labour of love stuff. And I’m not for a second complaining. It’s made me even more obsessed with podcasts – listening to a great range by some of the hundred million other podcasters out there – and delivering a weekly episode has been a great deadline and discipline; one that is not without a certain anxiety at times. Read More
There’s no jesus – and you
have to know this.
Just the world’s
first – and worst – method actor
hanging around getting nailed, loafing
about in his sandals, spouting
wake-up wisdom to the
truly desperate and wounded-stupid.
But who are you going
to call out to, or for, when your
luck’s been beaten to a pulp? You’ve
never been to the church unless
there’s a wedding or arts festival
gig. But the first word – when you
guess you actually
need it – is sitting there on
the tip of your tongue, wafer-thin, you’ll
call it out in hope for whatever
his version of the best might be.
Sinead O’Connor singing
Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered –
that’s what did it. I mean, I was
a fan already – I loved those first
two records, the big hits and
the lesser-known album cuts. It all felt
so different – I remember
watching a late-night TV concert. Mesmerised
by what I could only then
see and hear as a kind of
very special madness.
It was thrilling. It was
almost scary how good she was.
I saw her sing Black Boys on Mopeds
and I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got
for the MTV unplugged show. Wonderful.
Amazing. So good. But I still think
the real magic was hearing jazz standards.
It showed me that she cared
as much as me,
and probably a whole lot more,
about the songs that had
been built long before us.
The songs that paved the way, built their
own cathedrals, created churches, kept us
congregating.
O’Connor’s third record is a collection of
standards and show tunes; the songs she
was raised on – and it’s beautiful. Her breath
was formed from these songs and you can feel
and hear it returning those tunes to life, filling
the lungs of dead songs to make them dance
once again.
Then to TV to promote the album
and changing her mind about a song,
she covers Bob Marley’s War instead,
takes its theme of anti-racism and bends it
to address the sexual abuse of children.
She holds a picture of the pope
as she says the word ‘evil’
and then tears it to pieces
on the cue of the tune ending.
She says “fight the real enemy”
in that fine Irish lilt.
It still takes my breath,
that room so full
with stunned silence.
She wasn’t wrong.
And the fight continues.
This weekend marks five years since the passing of David Bowie. To honour the legend (and the significance of it being Five Years!) I’ll be playing some my favourite Bowie songs and most of your favourites too this Saturday, January 9 at the San Fran bar in Wellington. From 5pm.
I’ll never forget the day i heard the news – I was out for an evening walk when the newspaper rang asking for a quick-fire, last-minute eulogy – which you can read in the link above. Read More
He had a real drinking problem: Two hands
and only one mouth! His was a thirst the likes
I’ve never seen. And it was impossible to keep
up, but you could nearly die just trying. It soon
became very, very trying indeed. And when a
5-litre bottle of whiskey arrived on the doorstep
one day (a prize from a raffle) he announced that
it was going to be his contribution to the rent
(I would have preferred some money). And then,
also, it would be rude not to open the rent-contribution
for a wee toast on that night. The wee toast turned, all
too quickly, into a giant baked loaf. And everyone
that entered the room had to take a shot. I went
to the movies, just to get out of the house. I think I
was even quite prepared to see something that starred
Rob Schneider.
Returning as late as I could, the house was a mess and
He was holding court in his rugby shorts. His elbow
propped on a makeshift bar, and big billows
of smoke to encapsulate the cliché of it all.
The downstairs neighbour didn’t want to attend but
was yelled at so often he felt he had to cross the threshold.
I wished he hadn’t. Not as much as he was about to wish
that though. Denied a shot and was told he was a faggot.
Shrugging, he said he was fine just to watch. Next thing
he was slugged in the side of the head, no reason of course.
Well, there was always a reason.
“Smart cunt, looking down on us for having a good time”.
I actually had to drag the slim weight of him, feet first,
to the door then carry him downstairs, apologising
with a newfound embarrassment as the gathered
downstairs housemates screamed at me needing
to know what was wrong with us (I couldn’t answer)
and that the police would be hearing about this, that
the landlord would also be getting a call.
I walked back upstairs. The weight of a cold new world
on my shoulders, the whiskey bottle on its side, a slug to
the side of its head had toppled it. No reason, of course.
He was dancing to the Curtis Mayfield I’d put on the stereo.
“You always know the tunes to chill me
right out” He said. Before I silently went to bed.
That was the start of the worst summer I ever had.
The rap visionary – one of the greatest MCs in the game – MF Doom has died. He was just 49. He passed away on October 31, his family grieving him in private before announcing the news just as 2021 started. Sad news for many of us waking up to a new year. In fact a very classy way for a family to mourn in private, to cope as best as can be with the bereavement while keeping the noise at bay. Sad news delivered belatedly.
MF Doom was one of my favourite rap vocalists; one of my favourites in hip-hop and in a lot of his work I believe he transcended the genre. Example: Madvillainy, the debut album by “Madvillain” a super-duo comprised of Doom and the producer Madlib is a cut’n’paste masterpiece that can be enjoyed as musical poetry, a new soul or jazz album as much as it is anything connected to rap. It’s simply great music for fans of great music – and one of my all time favourite records by anyone. Read More
There’s not much to say at this time of the year, the weather
is as you find it each day – the work is on hold, the books
are still piling up, the bad movies will never run out and the
dog likes a walk but isn’t (too) bothered if it’s not every day.
Not much to complain about – which isn’t so much a nice change
as a solid continuation. It makes the writing harder to get to and
tougher for it to cut through than before. But there’s a happiness
attached to that. The family re-bonding, the love carrying us.