Billy Bragg & the Waiting Room
I think it’s fair to say that some of my selections didn’t go down especially well on this week’s Waiting Room. By which I mean they whinged like neglected stepchildren. Don’t like Billy Bragg, for fuck’s sake!
The Waiting Room, 5th March 2008
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This week I chose a couple of tracks by Honeytrap and The Sequins, two, as you know, of my favourite groups, before throwing in a little Billy Bragg and Mark Lanegan. The first two groups come from one of my favourite labels in the country, Tough Love Records, and the second two are old legends with new albums approaching.
Lanegan is releasing one with long-time collaborator Greg Dulli under the name of the Gutter Twins, and if I’m honest with you, I don’t think it’s very good. I love Lanegan’s solo work and his voice in particular – it’s like a simmering volcano – but a lot of his collaborative work leaves me cold.
Billy Bragg on the other hand is a bona fide legend. I certainly can understand why people take against him, and I will also admit that some of his recent stuff has been pretty weak, but on his game there’s no better lyricist and no better guitarist.
Lyrically, there’s no argument – his early work contained at least one line per song that every one of us who deals in words wishes he could have written. He may be direct and overtly political, which isn’t terribly cool nowadays, but in terms of his ability to turn everyday conversation into a single line that sums up a situation with wit and sympathy, there may actually be no-one better in all of music.
Musically, it’s a little different. DC and that Fisk character lay into his guitar playing, which is pretty distinctive. But it is also brilliant: emotive, evocative and raw. Now there may be questions of technical skill that I don’t have the knowledge to answer, but in terms of the whole point of music – making something both easy on the ear and emotionally communicative – he, at his height, was one of the best guitarists around.
I won’t deny that his approach has softened a lot in recent years, but back at his best there aren’t many people who could put so much anguish, so much sadness or, when needed, so much anger into guitar work that was actually quite basic.
He never played a lot of notes, he often wrote songs that were too high for his voice to actually reach, and nothing he did ever seemed that complicated, but ultimately Billy Bragg is one of deftest, most gifted songwriters we’ve had in this country.
So needless to say I was quite perturbed to hear DC and Fisk dishing out such disapproval for one of my all time favourite artists. And then I found out the following things. DC likes Prince and Mr. Fisk has yet to realise that the Happy fucking Mondays were a talentless shower of sub-literate pikeys. And then I felt okay about it after all…
It’s not with unbridled enthusiasm that I greet his new album though. England, Half English had redeeming features, but was pretty poor on the whole. William Bloke was similar, although it had a little more going for it. The one thing that gives me hope is the superb single he released in the meantime under the name of Johnny Clash, called The Old Clash Fan Fight Song. Old school Bragg, and offering a real glimmer of hope that this album might just be alright after all. It’s another album recorded with The Blokes, who I can quite frankly do without, but if you order early you get a bonus CD of all the album songs recorded by Billy by himself. Brilliant.
Billy Bragg – Old Clash Fan Fight Song
Billy Bragg – The Myth of Trust
Billy Bragg – St. Swithin’s Day
You never disappoint with your Billy posts. Thanks!
Nail, toad, Hammer interface correectly applied.
Any Billy Bragg makes me think of “Oppressive Chip Shop Regime” ala Bill Bailey and makes me snigger like a little girl. Sad but true !
I don’t think anyone who refers to himself as the Big-Nosed Bard of Barking would object to having the piss taken. Billy is funny though, and I can see how his style could rub people up the wrong way.
But if they had approached him from the right direction I reckon most of the people who hate him could have ended up liking his stuff an awful lot. He’s not all guitar bashed and one-dimensional political polemics. The love songs on Worker’s Playtime are gorgeous, and not at all facile. Some of the stuff on Taxman is the same. But his caricature is so embedded in his music I would imagine that once you take against it, it’s nigh impossible to ignore.
Actually, of course he wouldn’t object – the two of them are mates aren’t they.
Here’s the video for those interested. It’s called Unisex Chipshop and it’s a bit hilarious.
There was a post about it at TVV
http://thevinylvillain.blogspot.com/2008/02/heres-billy.html
It featured Bill and Billy performing it at Glasto.
I think that’s the video I posted above actually – it was just the first one in a YouTube search. JC and I are going to see Billy in Glasgow pretty soon actually – I really can’t wait.
when he was last touring he said that he’d thought of calling the boxset ‘A Lover SIngs’ because in fact right throughout his career the political stuff has been outnumbered and often put in the shade (and I say that although I’m someone who bloody loves the political stuff) by the love songs.l The ‘nothing but politics’ label is a caricature, and not a very honest one. Which is kind of what you’ve already said, but it’s worth repeating. He’s brilliant live, brilliant.
How can you not love the brilliant album title, “Talking with the Taxman about Poetry?”
Well Crash I think DC’s criticisms actually included the love songs. His phrase was, I believe, a “a fourteen-year-old trapped inside a forty-year-old’s body”. I can see where he’s coming from in some ways, but I still think it’s a pretty superficial judgment. I can name plenty of Billy songs where that particular criticism rings sort of true, but then again I can think of dozens where it’s not even close
I think it’s down to the emotional reaction really. Once you’ve taken against him I think it would be pretty difficult to undo it, unless a concerted campaign were undertaken by someone who played his least stereotypical stuff at vulnerable moments – ie drunk or stoned!
He was utterly brilliant at The Roundhouse on Tues – see my little snippet about it here.
The first time I saw Billy was in Camdentown in 1987…one of the best shows I’ve ever seen in my life. His local fans were wondering what a young yank was doing there, and had to explain a few of his Tory jokes to me at the time
My favorite is still Talking to the Taxman About Poetry. I’ve probably seen him a dozen times since then. I must admit though, I’m not so fussed about his newer material…it lacks the pure passion of his earlier stuff.
The Home Front still blows me away every time I hear it.
And I don’t know about passion, Wendy, but I don’t think there’s been much edge to the music for some years now.
I think it’s funny to hear about his lyrical genius – reminds me of how, when I saw him play a couple of years ago, he played “Greetings to the New Brunette,” and when he got to the line “I’m more impressionable when my cement is wet,” he said something along the lines of “still haven’t figured out what that one’s supposed to mean.” He also referred to himself as someone who’d spent too much time writing hopeless love songs when he was younger. At least he’s aware! I love Billy.
Not home, yet, but have managed some interweb access &, hoo boy. Sorry Toad, & all the Bragg acolytes, but he does fuck all to raise even the slightest interest. Poetry it may be, but I can’t get by the voice (that perma-cold nasal drone), or the clunking guitar (15yo in 48yo body, absolutely). He may well have written decent love songs but I have had to wait until people cover them for me to actually hear the music/lyric/song & appreciate them. Sorry folks, but he has no impact on me whatsoever. Prince, on the other hand, especially the early stuff, is fucking funky & you can dance like a spaz to it.
By the by, last night we saw the Bragg Man (with Suzi Quatro – right spelling?) queuing outside The Astoria for a Pete Burns “show”. Fuck’s that all about?
Pete fucking Burns? Jesus wept, now there’s someone we could all do without.
And DC mate, if you get pished enough you can dance like a spazz to anything!
Finally home – never again will I trust the other half of’s judgement & ride the £1 Mega Bus (or National Express) – broke down after the driver, a gobby/forcefully chatty lady, twatted the suspension over every dip, pothole, sleeping policeman & speed bump on the road & then had the gall to announce over the mic: “This was obviously designed by men so it’s no wonder we’re not going anywhere.” I do like it when an entire bus-load of tired & annoyed people collectively gasp a claustrophobic disapproval at such blatant mis-firing jocularity. Silly cow.
Anyway, Pete still selling himself on advertising promos with the words ‘you spin me round (like a record)’ fucking Burns! No idea what they were up to queuing for that pish.
These past few days have been a *ahem* celeb-spotting boon for the other half of’s lady-type: Pete Voss from Campag Velocet, (he now runs a Mighty Boosh-style retro-junk shop off Brick Lane, called I Dream Of Wires), Kele Okereke from Bloc Party, (who was descibed by the other half of’s lady-type as having “gloomy eyes”), Bragg & Quatro, Billy Childish, & someone off one of the X-Factor shows who I didn’t know at all but was told was “rather good, but bland”. High praise, indeed.
The Prince Edward Island gig was superb – totally commanded the place. I’m going to pass your details on so they can get you an EP (it’s on Baby Boom). I could have gone to see Celebrity Chimp, also, had I access to the net on Friday, but missed them/their message by about 2 hours. Bollox.
I’m back down to that there London Monday, then off to Germany on Wednesday until 18th – have one pre-record to cram in this evening/tomorrow & then back to normal thereafter.
Agree on the Happy Mondays front, though. Fisk does my head in with his baggy/Madchester obsession – in fact anything from that general geographic reference point circa 1985-1994. How he links a seemingly mundane conversation with, say, the Charlatans I’ll never fathom.