August 24th/25th 1973

• “Went (hic!) to the (hic!) Carlsberg factory (hic!) with Dad – good! – got souvenirs.. 18 beermats”
• “Went to Holgers for the day – nufin’ much done except eat, drink, walk, eat, drink and eat”

Ah yes… the famous Carlsberg brewery. It is located  just half a mile or so outside Copenhagen’s city limits. Unlike many other beer tourism attractions (i.e The Guinness Brewery in Dublin) the Carlsberg brewery (more correctly named the ”The Jacobsen Brewhouse”) remains a fully working brewery, continuing to churn out some of the specialty beers the company (perhaps less famously) is responsible for.

For a 15-year-old who apparently has already discovered beer, a trip with my Dad to the brewery must have been a special event. I know I held onto many of those mentioned beermats for many years afterwards, only discarding them when the cardboard had rotted and broken down to such a degree that they were unusable.

Carlsberg was founded in 1847 by JC Jacobsen who pioneered the concepts of steam brewing, refrigeration techniques and the first propagation of a single yeast strain.  The first brew was poured on November 10th – co-incidentally my wife’s birthday – and Carlsberg beer has been enjoyed all over the world since.

In 1939, a staggering 55% of all the imported beer in the UK came from Carlsberg. Their famous – very strong – “Special Brew” was launched to commemorate a 1950 visit to Copenhagen by Winston Churchill.

It would be two years after my visit that the beer would launch its iconic “Probably the Best Lager in the World” slogan – voiced by Orson Welles – and another 19 before it controversially merged with English tea maker Tetley.

In 1973 there was one thing on my mind… the very end of the tour you take round the brewery.

Back then – unlike now when you get a 1 free beer token when you buy your admission ticket – each group were taken to a set of tables in a very stately room and told they could drink as much as they wanted from what was available in front of them. In the middle of the table there would be at least 6 bottles of every beer and soft drink they produced, from the regular Pilsner via the aforementioned Special Brew, and right up to the export-only “Elephant Blend”.

I’ll bet my Dad had a few (not too many) and I’ll bet I had a few (too many) that day, before snaffling away those beermats in my coat pockets.

—————————
Holger was my uncle, one of my grandmother’s many brothers. He was a somewhat misogynistbachelor who lived in a sizeable bungalow on the inner Danish coast in a tiny village called Sønderby. Getting there required the services of several buses, tube trains and overland connections from Denmark’s excellent public transportation system. (The system remains astonishing to this day, and I often dream of living in Denmark and not needing a car at all!). Upon arrival at Holger’s place we would – seemingly immediately – all chow down on a stunning selection of foods, beers and spirits he would have ‘brought in’ that very morning from a local store.

After lunch we would invariably take a stroll down to the shore, paddle our feet in the sea and then walk back for…. even more food and booze.

Sønderby North Church

Holger had a clever (and super intelligent) agreement with the local authorities in Sønderby regarding his property. Instead of having to pay property and land taxes every year he instead willed his home to the authority, the latter taking the (well judged) opinion that the value of the property would always be worth more than any unpaid taxes accrued over Holger’s lifetime.

This arrangement has always sat well with me as an idea and I trot it out to friends on a regular basis. It won’t appeal to families who would doubtless prefer to leave the house to their children, but for childless individuals/couples I think it is a perfect local taxation compromise.

August 23rd 1973

• “Went to tivoli, went on dodgems, not much kop. Nufin’ else done except eat, drink, eat, drink & eat”

Despite opening as early as the year 1843 Copenhagen’s Tivoli Gardens was not the world’s first ever “theme park”!

That accolade is actually held by Dyrehavsbakken (1669) - now known more simply as “Bakken” – in Klampenborg, also in Denmark.

However, Tivoli is the one which has survived the more admirably, retaining its past style and grace whilst always updating itself.

Tivoli’s founder, Georg Carstensen came up with the park’s concept after he twisted King Christian VIII’s arm advising him that “when the Danish people are amusing themselves they do not think about politics”. For his candidness Carstensen was rewarded with a 5-year charter to create the park just outside what was then the city of København (Copenhagen).

The park – which was eventually incoporated inside altered city limits, and now located directly opposite the town square  - included a variety of attractions right from the beginning; Oriental-style buildings, theatres, bandstands, restaurants, gardens and small mechanical rides. Small river walks were set up alongside man-made streams and small ponds, all lit up beautifully with coloured lanterns at night. Paddle boats were – and still are – a major draw for the city’s residents and visitors.

The pantomime theatre opened in 1874 and is perhaps one of the park’s most famous images, its original resplendent curtain – a huge peacock’s tail that folds open – still in full working order. On its stage the same Italian pantomimes that entertained folk back in the 19th century are performed on a regular basis, with the familiar characters of Cassander, Columbine, the Harlequin and the iconic Pierrot.

Whilst the basics of the park have remained relatively static over the years, Tivoli’s rides have (I suspect reluctantly) adpated to the times. However, the merry-go-rounds are still in abundance, as are the old-fashioned sideshow games. The park’s roller coaster – known as the Mountain Track – is one of the world’s oldest wooden examples, and whilst its speed and twists & turns are unlikely to scare today’s thrill-seekers it is nevertheless regarded by enthusiasts as a classic.

New rides have been added more recently, one of the latest being 2006’s Himmelskibet, an 80-metre high carousel offering fantastic views over the city.

All this in a mere 15 acres.

Needless to say, as a kid, any trip to Tivoli was a major event. Even for a kid of 15!

When I was even younger the scenic railway and the viking ride was always a hit, and I can also remember my grandfather (Morfar) taking me to one of the sideshows where you threw big heavy wooden balls (rather like baseballs) at piles of white household china stacked up at the back of the tent. He and I stood there for ages trying to unsuccessfully topple and shatter one of the piles before turning our attention to a new full dinner service the attendant had just put out. Morfar took out a saucer whilst I took out a side plate.

Evidently, not having had enough of the dodgy dodgems at Eastleigh fair I decided to chance my arm with the ones on offer at Tivoli, obviously deeming them sub-par.

Tivoli is usually only open in the summer months – April to September – so it was a very pleasant surprise for me and my wife when we visited Copenhagen one Christmas a few years ago. The park was open a few selected nights we were there, and although many of the rides were closed for maintenance, and the ponds etc were all frozen over, we were allowed to walk round its entirety. My wife was open-mouthed at how pretty it all was for the time of the year, whilst I silently held back the tears in remembrance of times gone by spent inside its walls with my late Grandmother, Grandfather and Mother.

August 22nd 1973

“Nufin’ much done all day except eat, drink, eat, drink and eat. Mormors berfday – gave her painting and went for a walk around shops – sweaty feet”

The Danes really DO like to eat.

Unlike most Americans – and many Brits – though they seem to savour the time they spend at the lunch or dinner table.

I lost count of the numbers of times we would go to Denmark as a family and be invited to gatherings where we would sit down and commence ‘eating’ at, say, 11am … but not end the meal until gone 5 or 6 in the afternoon/evening!

It’s not non-stop eating I hasten to add – I think my waistline would be even bigger than it is if that had been the case? – but more a seemingly endless series of courses interspersed with cigarette/cigar smoking, ribald gossip and general bonhomie.

Oh, and beer. Plenty of Carlsberg or Tuborg. Wine was (then) quite a rarity.

A supply of Danish “Akvavit” (schnapps) – translated as the “water of life” – was also always in hand with all diners expected to loudly ’skol’ their fellow guests and/or pay tribute to missing/lost family and friends by taking a sip or two.

It seems as if my Grandmother’s birthday was the perfect excuse for a good old time around a dinner table, followed by a wander round the neighbourhood… maybe followed by a necessary soaking of the feet in a bowl?!

August 20th/21st 1973

• “Woke up, got in taxi, got on train, got off train, got in taxi, got on train, got off train, got on boat”
• “Woke up, got off boat, got on train, got off train, got on boat, got off boat, got on train, got off train, got in taxi”

Thanks to a glitch at WordPress, this is the second time I have tried to write this post. My initial post was a free-flowing stream of consciousness concentrating on how, even though this 36+ hour journey from Eastleigh to Copenhagen was somewhat arduous, it was nevertheless quite exciting in its own special way.

I prosed eloquently about the trains, about the overnight boat journey on a Scandinavian Seaways ferry and went into somewhat minute detail about how the train would drive directly onto a ferry to cross the Baltic Sea between Germany and Denmark and how that little part of the journey was always – without exception – my most favourite experience of it all. I waxed lyrically about the food, the sights, the sounds and the smells.

Then, without warning WordPress lost it all, obliterating everything for no reason. In addition, in all the time I had been typing – well over two hours - WordPress did not do its usual incremental 5-minute back-up “save” process

Meaning I lost everything. Without trying to sound too grand, it was maybe some of the best writing I have done on this blog, matching specific memories (yes, rare) to a set of events I just knew readers would find interesting.

Sadly, I know all too well it’s a waste of time trying to recreate it. Any attempt would be tainted with anger and upset at what happened. So, instead I’ll merely expand a little on my diary’s entries about the travel itinerary necessary to leave home early one morning and arrive at my grandmother’s apartment in the early evening of the following day…

We would
• Get an early morning taxi from home to Eastleigh railway station (one of the rare times my Dad would spend £££’s on a taxi service)
• Catch a train from Eastleigh to London’s Waterloo station
• Get our second taxi of the day from Waterloo to London’s Liverpool Street station
• Catch the Boat train from Liverpool Street to Harwich
• Get on the overnight ferry – staying in a tiny 3-birth cabin – arriving at the Hook of Holland as the sun rose
• Get on the train for Copenhagen – which would travel through Holland (Rotterdam, Utrecht, Amersfoort, Deventer, Oldenzaal) and Germany (Oznabrück,  Bremen,  Hamburg,  Lübeck) reaching Puttgarden just after lunch
• The train would split into sections of 4 or 5 carriages and all the bits would be shunted onto a ferry for the (then) necessary crossing across the Baltic Sea
• The ferry would arrive in Rødby in Denmark 90 minutes later where the train would be hauled off the ferry, put back together and returned to its tracks for the rest of its journey (Naestved,  Hungsted,  Roskilde) to Copenhagen.
• The final taxi ride to take us from the (gorgeous) Copenhagen central station to my Mormor’s flat out on Amager Island.

To be honest, this post is so awfully dull in comparison to the one I intially composed I feel as if I should apologise for it. Sorry.

August 19th 1973

“Packed ready for ollyday”

Uh-oh…. European jaunt… incoming…

August 18th 1973

“Didn’t go to work. Finished mormor’s painting. went to get school stuff”

Woah!!!

I did a painting for my Mormor????

It wasn’t the Hawkwind one was it?

August 16th-17th 1973

• “Went in to change coat. Neil came up and back to his house and then on to fair. Valerie’s for meeting”
• “Went up Trevs, Gary came up and we went to the fair and spent sum more money”

I appeared to have spent a LOT of time – and money – at the fair this summer?!

Out of curiosity – and because the fair always comes to town when the festival is on – I checked to see if this year’s Eastleigh Carnival coincided with the time I was planning to be in England for my Dad’s 80th birthday next month.

It isn’t.

So, no dodgems for 51-year-old me then.

Poop!

August 15th 1973

“Went + bought coat – Dad didn’t like it. Went to fair wiv gary & Trev – smart fun on dodgems”

I wonder if Dad didn’t like the coat because HE paid for it?

I LOVED the dodgems – or to give them a far more colloquial English terms… bumper cars

It was always a weird set up back then. Unlike now, where customers seem to get into an ordered queue to spend some time whizzing round the oval circuit, back then it was a veritable free-for-all. People would lurk around the rink’s perimeter, identifying the ‘best’ dodgem car then running to it when everything stopped. The bigger ‘lads’ and grown-ups almost always gaining precedence over the weak and feeble looking. (Shyly raises hand). Woe betide any unfortunate couple who may decide stay in their car for a second trip round. If the new driver was bigger and burlier than you, you got out… and waited your turn (again) around the railings.

Once in the car, what a hoot it was. For a few minutes – and it was always just a few minutes – we would all be the worst drivers in the world, deliberately crashing (bumping – hence the name) into one another.

I have noticed that – in this more ’safety-conscious’ 21st Century – dodgem operators now try and and instill a set of rules, where drivers are supposed to all drive in the same direction round the circuit. There was NONE of this namby-pamby nonsense back in 1973 let me tell you! The intent then was to drive head-on into as many people as possible, dodgems whose bumpers ‘mounted’ one another conjuring extra kudos for the ‘attacking’ driver. This was mainly because it necessitated the ride’s operators to come out onto the dangerous rink and disentangle the cars, resulting in jeers, shouting and the exciting possibility of another car injuring them in the process.

Not that these guys ever got hit – at least as far as I saw. Instead, they adopted a somewhat cocky attitude, running across the track and hanging fearlessly onto the rear pole of the cars to (as was the case back then) collect the fare from each rider. It was a role I never wished to emulate, but captured perfectly by Ringo Starr in the 1973 movie “That’ll Be the Day” (which I am sure will make another appearance in these diary posts before the year is out)

I still like bumper cars. But these days I like watching kids play on them as much as riding them myself. (I think the seats have gotten smaller… *cough*)

The wife and I have whiled away many an hour at places like (the local to us) King’s Island theme park enjoying seeing young children initially bemused – then fascinated – by the idea of being able to bump into each other in their dodgem. Funnier though is when we espy a kid who really doesn’t ‘get’ it or is immediately intimidated by it. (I often wonder if these kids are then ’scarred for life’ in terms of ever driving a vehicle again?) It’s true that getting the hang of driving a dodgem car takes a little patience and skill – spinning the steering wheel quickly to get out of a blind corner for instance not immediately logical – but most kids get it eventually. Not so one little girl we saw a few years back. She got in the car, somehow managed to spin the wheel and then hold it in a manner which meant she spent her entire go merely circling backwards in one corner of the rink. She spent every minute of this bawling her head off, with parents (seemingly) nowhere to be seen. It may just have been five of the funniest real life moments I have ever witnessed. Yes, I might be evil.

August 14th 1973

“Bludy hot. Went to London for the day with Trev. Good larf. Saw Monotone amp – SMART!”

Blimey, England was in the midst of a heatwave! Two “bludy hot” days in a row.

We probably caught the train to London, each buying a simple ‘cheap day return’ ticket for travel from Eastleigh to Waterloo, the only restriction being you couldn’t arrive in the capital before 10am.

This was of course back in the days when train travel was easy and affordable, the entire network publicly-owned and maintained. Since Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher’s disgraceful splitting up and privatisation of Britain’s transportation system in the late 80’s/early 90’s, there is no such thing as “simple” train travel anymore. Now, over 100 different companies – all apparently run worse than British Rail ever was – control the network, with a completely different company owning – and (badly) maintaining the track the trains actually run on.

Buying a simple ticket for a train journey these days is an exercise in futility, the sheer number of options as enormous as the restrictions imposed by the plethora of companies all fighting for your business. A quick check suggests that the current cheapest fare for a round-trip train ride similar to the one I took in 1973 is £28.50 (almost $50) which is a ludicrous amount of money for a 60-minute journey.

I don’t know when train traveling fell off people’s radar in such a big way – resulting in these silly pricing levels to cover costs – but I’ll bet it coincides with Thatcher and the Tories decision to decimate the system all those years ago.

In London, I suspect Trev and I eschewed the regular tourist haunts and instead headed straight for the capital’s Tottenham Court Road. In the 50’s and early 60’s, the road found itself home to a peculiar concentration of shops all selling surplus post-war radios and electronics equipment. In the late 60’s and early 70’s many of the shops had switched to selling hi-fi equipment, running the gamut from high-end name-brand stuff to knock-off Japanese radios.

Then, hi-fi shops sat side-by-side down both sides of the street, each with its own particular kind of ‘dodgy salesman’ specially trained to lure unsuspecting tourists or naive buyers into splashing out on something that they either didn’t want or which would break down within days of purchase. A pretty damning reputation.

Trev & I knew of the reputation – most people who read the hi-fi magazines of the day knew – so it seemed unlikely we would be duped. But that wouldn’t have stopped us from visiting every single store from the Oxford Street end all the way north to the City of Westminster, doubtless ooh-ing and aah-ing at the equipment on offer.

Seeing the very name “Monotone” conjured up all kinds of synapse-busting memories for me. I remember this brand sowell – I’m sure I owned a black Monotone amp at some point? – but, strangely, a Google search reveals absolutely nothing whatsoever about it.

In retrospect though, you would think I would have had the intelligence to have certain levels of suspicion about a hi-fi manufacturer – specialising in stereo equipment – trading under the name Monotone, wouldn’t you?

August 13th 1973

“Bludy hot. Done Hawkwind painting + but then. Andy G came up in afternoon”

I mentioned a few days ago about my attempt at painting, conjuring up the lousy excuse that I didn’t have a camera to photograph my 1973 art all these 36 years later.

Well with a new (albeit refurbished) camera suitably snagged from Olympus Auctions , here’s part one of the twinned TRO artwork “but then” mentioned today…

I say “part one” because – yes – I was pretentious enough in the seventies to have imagined a PAIR of paintings. Unfortunately, the second in this ’series’ appears to have disappeared in the mists of time, a little upsetting as the two represented ‘before and after’ images of my painted ‘universe’. It showed some of the planets and solar systems seen here exploding in further flashes of gaudy poster paint.

Yes, poster paint. I was “old school”. Actually, I was too cheap to buy oil paint. Bit of a shame really, for – as can be seen from the photo – the artwork has not stood up to the multi-decade rigours of being thrown about in the back of closets and moving vans very well. The surface is all scratched to hell and the colours have started to deteriorate in several areas.

But its nice to still have as a reminder of when I was vaguely artistic.

The other “Hawkwind” painting I can remember, although it too appears to have been discarded along life’s journey. It was based on Barney Bubbles‘ logo for the band. I didn’t mention the name “hawkwind” but styled the double-headed – erm – “hawk” into something even more trippy in a splash of greens and reds.

One day it will appear on “Antiques Roadshow” as a multi-million pound ‘attic’ discovery.

Or not.

August 11th 1973

“Work + afterwards went with mum to fair. spent a lot”

Joe Stevens’ traveling funfair came to town once a year, always to tie in with the Eastleigh carnival. I have spoken about it before.

For me, what was interesting about this diary entry is my comment that I went with my Mum. As awful as it may sound I can’t really remember going anywhere with her by herself, mainly because I can’t imagine her confidence ever being strong enough to do so. I guess its because Dad & I spent so much of her later years always having to support her mentally and physically in whatever she did that one tends to forget the earlier – happier – times?

It never fails to make me feel very sad.

I do wonder what things we did together at the fair. I’ll wager – quite an apt thing to do under the circumstances – that Mum & I spent a lot in the sections of the fairs involved in one-armed bandits (British vernacular for slot machines) hoping for a row of triple cherries to roll round.

August 10th 1973

“Went up Dicks, back into E.Leigh & got hair done. Sent off radio quiz. After work went got Nigs h.phones for him”

I was thinking about headphones the other day.

Whilst I now spend a proportion of each day (at the gym) wearing the earbuds from my iPod, back in the early seventies I only rarely wore headphones.

About the only time I wore them was if I traveled in the car with my Mum & Dad – plugged into my little cassette recorder (and then not always, as I often preferred just sticking one ear over the speaker!) – or those rare occasions where I didn’t want to annoy them by playing ELP in my bedroom.

To be fair it was quite a rare occurence for me to play my music too loud – even if I I can remember my Mum complaining a few times - but if I did, it tended to be when my folks were out for the night visiting friends.

Later in the 70’s I wore headphones more regularly – for instance, when I DJ’d a show on Southampton University’s Radio Glen – but they have never sat entirely comfortable on me. They always felt too claustrophobic and made my ears sweat like a fountain… never pleasant.

I can’t be sure what I mean when I say went and got Nig’s h-phones for him, but if I had to guess it would be that I tripped to Comet or Currys – or somewhere – to either pick up a pair he’d ordered, or had maybe put in for repair. He listened to music on headphones a LOT more than me as I can remember his parents always had to go up to his bedroom to tell him I was on the phone wanting to talk to him.

Mine just shouted up the stairs when roles were reversed.

August 9th 1973

“Trev came up, played with Organ. Then went into E-leigh and bort t-shirt”

August 7th 1973

“Work all day – Nig got his stereo outfit”

I always seemed to have been beaten to the punch in the friendly battle of “getting new stuff”. I remember at the time we were both hankering for new stereo equipment on which to play our growing collection of music.

Nig just always appeared to get there quicker. Either he saved quicker than me or his folks helped him out.

Whatever, I am sure we both benefitted eventually, each getting something we could impress the other with.

August 6th 1973 (Pt III)

“Rained all day – went up Trev’s, borrowed… Tubular… “

[...cont]

Many people state that “this album” or “that album” changed their lives.

I can categorically state that Mike Oldfield’s “Tubular Bells” changed mine. In a roundabout way it MADE mine.

First released in May 1973 it carries the catalogue number V2001.

It was the first ever release on the then (very much) fledgling Virgin Records label, dreamt up by (then: dodgy entrepreneur, now: much-admired knight of the British realm) Richard Branson.

Sir Richard Branson and "friend". I think he's the one without the red boots?

The dyslexic privileged son of a barrister, Branson started selling cut price records from the boot of his car to music outlets across London in 1970. Then he progressed to selling them via mail order directly to the public, taking out huge ads in the pages of the major music papers like Melody Maker, New Musical Express and Sounds.

His actions in selling records at a discount – something that was, astonishingly, previously untested in Britain - began to undermine the legalities of  “retail price maintenance”, a government mechanism designed to protect UK manufacturers and distributors. Thanks to Branson most of its restrictions ended up being removed – although books remained on the statute until the 90’s…and always had to be sold at the price stated on the cover!

This mild flaunting of the law would be something that Branson would repeat from time to time in his career. Indeed in 1971 he was arrested and charged with selling records on which he had paid no import tax  – the result of a moderately successful scam in which he drove records out of the country (claiming back sales tax on the basis they were being exported) and then simply turning round on the other side of the English Channel and bringing them back into Britain without declaring them. Eventually caught, he ended up settling out-of-court with the Revenue, agreeing to pay back the taxes and a small fine.

With the success of the mail order company assured, Branson not only opened a little record shop on London’s Oxford Street (above a shoe store), but went into business with fellow entrepreneur Nik Powell (later to become a big name film producer) to start a record label, Virgin Records… so named because both were “virgins to business”.

Branson had already purchased a ‘country mansion’ in Oxfordshire, turning part of it into a luxurious recording studio – The Manor – which he leased out to bands and record labels.

Oldfield - he and Branson often used to compare beards

Mike Oldfield – one time folk singer and backing musician for (ex-Soft Machine member) Kevin Ayers – had been touting around a concept piece known as “Tubular Bells” for for some time. Every record label turned down the notion, deeming it to be something that “wouldn’t sell”.

By chance, Oldfield played extracts from the piece to a couple of the studio engineers at The Manor, who then informed Richard Branson about what they’d heard. Branson and Powell jumped at the chance to release Oldfield’s composition as the first record on their new label.

Not long after its release – following a bunch of, let’s say – ‘middling’ reviews in the music press – Radio 1’s influential DJ John Peel played the album in its entirety one night. And again a few night later. Sales started to occur.

However, despite those early seeds, I think it’s fair to say that had one of the themes from Tubular Bells not been used – to extraordinary dramatic effect – in director William Friedkin’s late-1973 horrorfest movie ”The Exorcist“, Richard Branson’s career (and mine!) could have turned out a little differently.

As it happened, Tubular Bells went onto be a huge seller, eventually reaching number 1 in the UK album chart in October 1974… but only, trivia fans may care to note, after his follow-up album “Hergest Ridge” had sold enough to reach the summit first!

It stayed in the UK chart for the next five years, peaked at Number 3 in the US Billboard chart and has sold an estimated 17 million copies worldwide since its release.

The album was recorded on a 16-track tape recorder – in a little over two weeks – at The Manor. Side One was recorded the week before anarchic musical comedy troupe The Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band were scheduled to be there, putting together their own new album for UA Records. This turned out to be somewhat fortuitous.

Vivian Stanshall: dysfunctional genius

One of the better remembered pieces from Tubular Bells is the introduction of the various instruments …
“grand piano…
reed & pipe organ…
glockenspiel…
bass guitar,
double speed guitar,
two slightly distorted guitars,
mandolin,
spanish guitar..
and introducing acoustic guitar…
plus…
tubular bells“
The Bonzo’s late – and ever so mightily GREAT – Vivian Stanshall was the master of ceremonies for this segment, and it was his contribution that  gave the project its eventual name. The way Stanshall intoned “plus… tubular bells” inspired Oldfield so much that he discarded his original title; “Opus 1” (and, more luckily, Branson’s even lamer idea of “Breakfast in Bed“)

Most people incorrectly say that Oldfield recorded the entire album himself, playing all the instruments then overdubbing the results. This is actually untrue. Not only was his sister Sally in the studio with him, there was a percussionist, as well as other musicians on the string basses and flutes. However, let’s just say that Oldfield and (producer) Tom Newman’s overdubbing and mixing of all the elements is most definitely a major part of this complex and intricate composition.

I liked/still like most of it. Even the bits that sound like bagpipes.

With this caveat… “The Sailors Hornpipe” that ended Side 2 is a traditional hornpipe melody first heard in the late 18th century. No, I’ve never known why he used it either, despite its distinctiveness. I invariably lifted the needle from the LP long before this segment reached my ears and I still hit ’stop’ at the appropriate moment whenever the album turns up on my iPod.

Oldfield’s “Tubular Bells” ended up to be a turning point for me… even if I had NO idea at the time.

The album ended up initially funding the Virgin Records empire, including Branson’s growth of his retail chain in the mid-70’s. If there had been no retail chain I would never have got that Saturday job at the Southampton store. Meaning I would not have become a full-time assistant, or an assistant manager, or a manager, or a megastore manager, or an area manager for the chain before 1980 rolled around. Meaning my career grounding would not have been in the music retail business, meaning I would not have opened my own CD store, meaning I would not have met my wife, nor have been able to eventually sell the business for a sum of money I now continue to live off.

In fact, if it wasn’t for “Tubular Bells” my entire life would have been completely different. If I ever meet Mike Oldfield (unlikely… I don’t move in ‘those’ circles anymore) I think I might just have to kiss him. On the lips. With tongue.

August 6th 1973 (Pt II)

“Rained all day – went up Trev’s, borrowed … In Rock….”

[...cont]

Deep Purple’s “In Rock” album, was notable at the time because it was the first album they released where every track was written by members of the band. Gone then are the cheesy Neil Diamond covers, replaced by ‘proper’ tunes.

But…

Sure, Ian Gillan still screams for all his worth, Blackmore’s guitar screeches accordingly and Jon Lord’s keyboard work nicely fills all the ’speaker centre’ gaps, but, to me, this has always felt like an uneven collection of songs.

I’ll be honest and say I have rarely made it through the whole of side 2, even though “Flight of the Rat” (mini drum solo from Ian Paice), “Into the Fire” (lovely fuzzy Hammond), “Living Wreck“ (nice riff, always seemed to have one note missing to me) and “Hard Lovin’ Man” are OK songs. Sadly, none of them gripped me (or anyone else?) as much as the cuts on Side 1.

“Speed King” is nothing short of an iconic Deep Purple song. It’s one of the few cuts that feels (to me, anyway) to encapsulate the band properly, each instrument – including Gillan’s (oft-out-of-tune) vocals -  alternately vying for your attention. The energy is almost relentless from start to finish. Check out the full version if you get a chance, but meanwhile here’s a You Tube video of the band performing it – somewhat cheesily – in a Granada TV studio in 1970. Not a patch on the studio version, but it still shows that vibrancy and completeness the band could possess from time to time.

Loon Pants

“Bloodsucker” is Ian Gillan’s moment in the spotlight. He evidently went into the studio that morning wearing the tightest loon pants he could find in his wardrobe. No one screams falsetto like Gillan when he’s got those pants one!

Then, to close down Side 1, there is the live favourite ”Child in Time“, a personal little guilty pleasure from that day to this, the perfect symmetry between the band member’s playing still managing to occasionally send the odd shiver up this elderly spine of mine. There is that weird break at about the 3:30 mark – which almost threatens to undermine the song – but they pick it up perfectly thereafter, the rhythm and pace (paice?) increasing nicely to the finale.

I need to say (repeat? – have I said this before?) that I never saw Deep Purple play live in concert. However, unlike not seeing the Moon-era Who for instance, I have no musical regrets in this regard. They’ve never appealed to me as a live act. For all my protestations that suggest the contrary, Ian Gillan’s vocals – especially that screaming he did – never sat entirely comfortably with me. They were just “one of the bands” who were “everywhere” at the time, and I suppose any teenager worth his salt felt somewhat obliged to listen to and appreciate their work somehow. Indeed, as these diaries have progressed I have found it MOST peculiar – and somewhat disconcerting – to discover Deep Purple’s name mentioned again and again. (Needless to say it has greatly amused a few of the friends I grew up with)

Tomorrow… Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells… serendipity ensues….

August 6th 1973 (Pt I)

“Rained all day – went up Trev’s, borrowed Tubular, In Rock, Birds of fire + Tonto’s”

I have written about Tonto’s Expanding Headband’s “Zero Time“  before.

Two out of the other three albums I borrowed on this day in 1973 require talking about at some length. So much so in fact that I plan to make this diary entry a “three parter”, doubtless a debatable practise for some readers… to whom I ap0logise in advance.

The one that – at least in my humble opinion – needs, by far, the smallest amount of time devoted to it is the Mahavishnu Orchestra’s “Birds of Fire”

Don’t get me wrong, I admire John McLaughlin and everything – especially the time he spent with the MIGHTY Miles Davis – and I admit he is an accomplished virtuoso guitarist. However, the material he did under the “Mahavishnu Orchestra” moniker was – for the best part – dull pretentious dreary rubbish. The pedigree is massive – fellow jazz greats Bily Cobham and Jan (”Miami Vice”) Hammer amongst the other band members – but the end result is 40 minutes of turgid nonsense.

I verified this a few weeks ago by pure coincidence. I discovered that – maybe for all the wrong reasons – I had a copy of the “Birds of Fire” CD loitering amongst my collection. I drove to the gym and back a few times listening to it in the car. It may be the reason I couldn’t WAIT to get to the gym?!

Tomorrow… find out everything you didn’t want to know about Deep Purple’s “In Rock”…

August 5th 1973

“Touched up painting. Nig came up in afternoon. Sold toy cars to Carol”

Like a lot of other British kids, I grew up collecting Corgi or Dinky toy cars.

All these years later, there’s really only two of them I can really remember owning.

The first was the ubiquitous Aston Martin DB5 – from the Bond films – something I have waxed lyrically about before.

The other was Corgi’s magnificent representation of a late 60’s Lincoln Continental Limousine…

… like many other toy cars it had opening doors, boots/bonnets (trunks/hoods for my American followers) and terrific detailing.

It’s real coup de grâce though was the rear seating area, which featured a tiny TV screen for the imaginary passengers. You could push a button and light it up, and it might just be my imagination at play here but was it also possible to change the images on the screens somehow? (I think it was)

I know this seems lame in today’s ‘electronic generation’, but to a kid in the late 60’s and early 70’s this was nothing short of ‘amazing’ and ‘impressive’

I loved that car. Same as I loved the DB5. However, as this teenager approached his 16th birthday, his tastes and interests – like all teenagers – were changing. Seems as though my loss was Carol’s son’s gain. Aaaaaargh!

August 4th 1973

“Work all day – Ward in BAD mood. Nig came up in evng. Done painting”

Hey, a boss in a bad mood?

In the best traditions of ‘karma’ and/or the philosophy of “pass it forward” I bet I got my own back later in my life when I ran my own businesses!

As for the painting, I can REMEMBER it!

(Pauses for regular readers to go “blimey flip!”)

The reason I can remember it is because…. well, I still have it! Around this time I painted an entire series of ’space/sci-fi’ canvasses – directly onto thin hardboard no less – which have somehow stayed with me and managed to survive several house moves, including my international one.

I would present the painting here, except we’re currently in a “no camera” predicament.

It sounds like a lousy excuse, but its true!

August 3rd 1973

“Roger came for me at 10 – said Ward wanted me to work all day – did so. Swapped my Scalextric for Bernard’s organ”

I will now pause whilst the more juvenile amongst you make up your own jokes…………

Done?

Good…..

Right, so having been denied an earlier opportunity to become a Scalextrix racing Car driver of some considerable note, it appears evident that my fascination for this toy had decreased considerably since early 1972.

So much so that I decided to trade it for our newer neighbour’s electric piano….. OK, OK… ‘organ’ (*tee hee*)

Bernard had a young kid – Jonathan I think his name was – making my Scalextric a good fit. I doubtless had dreams of becoming the next Jon Lord or Keith Emerson, so this organ was a good fit too.

Bernard’s *ahem* organ – as it will doubtless continue to be referred to – was something of a toy instrument really. When you turned it on, a huge fan sound ensued – a noise only quelled when you pushed down a key as the wind rushed across (presumably) some kind of reed. You could only play one key at a time.

I can neither confirm nor deny poking a few kitchen knives in between the keys as per Keith Emerson’s stage act, however I bet I mastered Smoke on the Water in double quick time