I was recently reading the blogger Bob Lefsetz’s eloquent words extolling his love of music, particularly songs he heard when he was younger.  The songs that hit you the first time you heard them have become ingrained, standard, classic – as familiar as old gloves.  However, put them in context.  At the time, didn’t they seem exciting and dangerous?  Subversive, even.  When you listen to music, do you have it on in the background, when people are talking or doing the washing up?  That’s just hearing it.  For me, listening to music is focussing on it, drinking it in, relishing all the details.  It can be a solitary thing but, being the frustrated DJ that I am, I love turning people on to things they have not heard before.  If it’s good company, there’s a shared wonder of it, how those mysterious songs came into being – the groove, the production, the voice(s), the words, the surprises, and the arrangement.  The drummer!  No one interrupts.

The first time I heard Duane Eddy’s Peter Gunn I was twelve, on holiday at a funfair in Llandudno, standing alone in front of a huge jukebox, spellbound as the magical, bending, relentless riff was joined by the bass guitar pounding in like a steamroller.   Jukeboxes exaggerate the bass end.  I was mesmerized,  Changed my life, right then and there.  I couldn’t wait to hear it again and learn it.

The same with Apache by The Shadows; I was a year or so older and by this time we were living in The Oddfellows Arms in Pinner. On Saturday mornings I was obliged to work for my pocket money; clearing out the empties and re-stocking the shelves with heavy (for me) crates of beer that had to be heaved in from the shed outside.  About the only time you could hear pop music then was on a weekly two-hour show called Saturday Club, starting at ten and presented by Brian Matthew.  I can recall the exact moment – I was behind the public bar, there was a strong smell of stale cigarette smoke and the floor was sticky with spilt beer.  I was on my knees, stacking bottles and listening to Saturday Club coming from a radio on a high shelf above the door leading to the back (the last time I visited the place, four or five years ago, it was still there – different radio, of course).  The first strains of that haunting, soaring guitar sound struck me like lightening and tingled through my body.  I stood up and stared at the radio, out of which was coming this amazing, singing electric guitar.   Nothing else mattered, I surrendered to the music and stood transfixed.  In general, I was always straining to just hear the band, which was always obscured by the singer who ruled the mix.  Here was the band!  All by itself!  I drank in the details; the echo, the rhythm, the drums and bass, the mystery and magic of it all.  I wanted more.  It was over too soon.  Then it became number one and I heard it again and again, wherever possible.  The first time I saw a picture of them I was drawn in; the different characters, the glasses, Jet Harris. The Fenders!  So cool.   Look at this and see how it was, play it loud. I love the bit at the end where Jet Harris has a lit cigarette perched on his machine head and then oh so casually picks it up and has a drag, the collar of his leather jacket pulled up, looking mean, and then idly stubbing it out with a twist of his winklepicker boot.  I wanted to be him.

I could go on, maybe I will one day – Lonnie Donegan, Elvis, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, Buddy Holly, Eddie Cochran, Johnny Cash, the aforementioned Duane Eddy, Gene Vincent, and on and on… they’re all part of me.  And it was through them that I explored the roots, the blues and folk songs.   It is my good fortune that I was born at the right time.

I don’t know if you’re anything like me but sometimes, late at night when the house is sleeping, I spend some time at my computer, the conduit to the world, and idly go on a YouTube odyssey, making odd connections.  It’s amazing where you find yourself.  Here are a couple of recent treats I watched, if you’re interested in guitarists.

David Lindley

Larry Carlton and Robben Ford (The two best guitarists, EVER!)

But I digress; this is supposed to be a Christmas greeting. Personally and professionally it has been a momentous and rewarding year.  We finished the tour on a high note.  The musicians of the orchestra were an absolute joy to work with and I hope we can perform together again one day.   I raise a glass to our crew, the best there is.   Thank you to all who came to the concerts, I hope you enjoyed as much as I did.   2012 here we come.

A peaceful and Merry Christmas, Hanukkah, Whatever, to all.

Roger and out.

Good luck,

RG – December 2011