In the week where a zoo banned monkeys from eating bananas, and in which more of the people we idolised – actually, make that ‘loathed’ – in the 70s went on trial 40 years too late to stop the rot, we’ve been hard at work trying to get an issue of the magazine out of the door. Being strong, powerful kind of guys, we’re going to keep at it until it surrenders like Donna Summer when faced with the prospect of a debut hit. In the mag next month, The Smiths, sorry, wrong link, I meant The Smiths. Plus a prog spectacular: Emerson, Lake & Palmer, Groundhogs, and John McLaughlin; there’s the story of Suicide, and we get stuck in The Ruts; we hear from Mark Lanegan and there’s the opportunity to buy our latest rare vinyl find from Deena Webster. Plus all the other obsessive-compulsive stuff, including a fantastic collection from the continent that had us all drooling into our absorbent terry towelling bibs for older folk. It’s out on 30 January – sooner if you subscribe. I don’t know how we fit it all in. Cue Sid James joke…
After all that hard graft, we need to unwind a bit. And while the Deena Webster record is a lovely 60s way to chill out, as part of our promise to our long-term health made in a foolish moment known as the new year, we’ve resolved to make more serious efforts to relax. Hence we’ve enrolled on a course to help us do just that: it comes with a cassette, which you can see here. On a personal level, I’ve decided to take up the guitar again following my massive success throughout the 70s. It’s taken me a little while to get back up to speed, but as you can see, my tour of Russia has been going really well. (It’s worth watching this one right through to the end.) I’m hoping to make it as far as joining The Worst Band In The World.
Er… that’s about it for this week. Thank you for reading this and for ssupporting Record Collector, the magazine that’s serious about music… except in this newsletter intro.
Have a great week.