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Tuesday, January 20, 2004

I Keep Singing the Same Old Song

I keep hearing snatches of African music on the TV or radio and everytime I do I find myself really enjoying it. Tonight it was Malian Kora music. The Kora is a harp-like instrument and the guy playing it was the 23rd generation of his family to master it. The sounds coming out of it were almost Celtic with a Blues sensibility and they were sublime.. It's amazing that such ancient noises can still trigger a response, although let's not forget that this music travelled to the Americas on British, French and Portuguese slave ships where it was augmented by the folk musics of Europe before landing in the Liverpools, Bristols and Londons of the UK. Some connection is inevitable.

So a few samples need to be acquired via t'internet. Ali farke Toure, Youssou N'Dour and Baba Maal for starters I think. Anyone got any other suggestions ?




Dearest finally returned to work today and I finally returned to Shanks's Pony to get me to my place of toil. Completely and utterly knackered I was. So much so that I couldn't face my public for a good 30 minutes. At least the Xmas pounds will soon be scattered hither and thither.

Although I might get a taxi tomorrow.




BBC 4 came up trumps again later this evening. A pleasantly nostalgic hour or two was spent in an investigation into Prog Rock. The rostrum camera hovered over album covers so familiar I could almost smell them. Middle-aged men still hankering after *relevance* were interviewed. The petty wars, back-stabbing and ambition still fresh in the memories of some but long forgotten and forgiven in others. The clothing was still slightly outlandish and, remarkably, only Rick Wakeman had any grey hair to speak of ;-)

I didn't like John Peel's sneering assertions that he's always thought it was a load of bollox that attracted middle-class grammar school boys though. I remember Mr Peel (before he became the institution he is today) championing the likes of King Crimson.

Methinks you doth protest too much John. It doesn't become you. Accept your past and blame it on the fact that, although you weren't grammar school boy, you were certainly middle-class.

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