It was amazing to think how old the footage was, from late 90’s and a program featuring Happy Mondays. The funniest thing of all was it has been screened numerous times over the years as an ‘educational program.’ Information Technology was the title of the show though Lord knows how Happy Mondays made it in to a BBC educational show!. Having written a book about the lessons I learned from rock and roll strangely enough The Mondays were absent. It was pleasantly funny to see the recorded interview between myself and Factory Records supremo the late Tony Wilson where I was a bit pissed off at the Mondays constant absentiesm when it came to radio interviews. Then I wondered why on earth did I ever even attempt at getting the Mondays any interviews. As lovable as they were they were usually so wrecked they couldn’t speak anyway and having to go and collect them to take them to radio interviews was hardly my easiest promo task. Ah they don’t make pop combos like that anymore. A totally wonderful band  but no suprise they never won anything at The Brits. they didn’t have a ‘Best band from  another planet’ category. Best International artist didn’t cover the galaxy.

Maybe the Mondays were the last of the great bands, part of a pedigree of bands that work in a totally unique, unconventional manner. What they were had just as much to do with being with a label like Factory. No other label would have been able to allow them to develop in to what they became, they wouldn’t have had the patience and they would have tired of their antics and dumped them. It’s the exact same scenario as A and M Records and EMI, they had no idea what to do with The Sex Pistols so they let them go. They are both bands who know what they are doing and need a label to support them but to leave them to their own ‘artistic’ devices bizarre as they may seem. Both acts worked because of Factory and because of Virgin and because their A and R people understood they were a little different from everyone else. Thank God.

Book should be out soon, even quicker if I get round to replacing my laptop and a spot of writing in more exotic places than my kitchen.

So here as a sprightly baby of fifteen years old did I get to meet the great Led Zeppelin…

I had tickets to see Led Zeppelin which my friend Ken had bought. They were playing the Free Trade Hall, June 1969 and I could barely contain myself with the excitement. Led Zeppelin in my home town just prior to world domination and I had a seat so near the front I could watch every Jimmy Page grimace and every Robert Plant gyration. I could smell the sweat off Bonzo as he thrashed his drums like a maniac. John Paul Jones’ bass lines went up my leg and in to my belly. This was something else, this was rock heaven. If the bass got so heavy and made me sick at least it was rock puke.

After the show we waited around and asked the old bloke in the foyer (I think they call them security now) if we could take a couple of posters down from the wall. He politely agreed and there we stood with two glorious Zeppelin posters, the one with the orange Zeppelin on the cover.

They didn’t sell merchandise back then so this glorious poster I had before me was set to become a major rarity and worth a small fortune. I got divorced, from wife and poster and the rest is history, or it could have been. Farewell my retirement fund.

We sneaked back in to the empty auditorium and watched as the roadies packed up the equipment. Now this was rock and roll, this was serious. The Marshall speaker stacks were huge, I would have done anything to touch them, even if one could just fall over and land on me. Oh for the blood of Zeppelin.

Suddenly out of nowhere Robert Plant appeared, leant down and nodded at us, ‘Want me to sign those fellahs?’ he asked. Dumb question Robbo, I kept calm secretly wanting to make him feel the pop star. No sooner were we staring at his autograph with deep admiration of the task completed than he waved us to the stage door. Now he wanted to see if we would like to meet the other guys.

I looked at Ken, he looked at me, we looked at Robert (by now he was Robert) I shuffled and wriggled in my Levis to make sure nothing I had expected was going on down there.

Is this for real? I pinched myself, it hurt. This was for real so why couldn’t I believe it? We had been summoned by royal appointment, His Royal Highness, the right honorable Robert Fucking Plant! If the dog had bollock then this was it!!

Led Zeppelin wanted to see us, no one else in the crowd, just us! And never have I EVER used so many exclamation marks in one paragraph! This had to be one of the twelve dreams of Dr Sardonicus, My Dreams of Milk and Honey, The Greatest Story Ever Told.

And I’m not done yet, I will conclude this fab day next time round.

The cable guy, Verizon Fios guy to be exact appeared with new router, a tweak here, an extra box there and we are back on. I log on and there before me a bunch of e-mails from my old cohorts at Island Records with the header ‘John Martyn 1948 to 2009′ and the inevitable news that he has died. Maybe some of you here in America might not have heard of him but John was a giant, I’d like to say a gentle giant and at times he was, at other times a ferocious beast. Sadly at times the demon alcohol took over and he was erratic and scary. Whichever John Martyn turned up he was always a total genius, a brilliant guitarist and a fantastic songwriter. If you don’t know him you’ll know Eric Clapton, Phil Collins, Dave Gimour and others who played with him or recorded his songs and their versions of ‘Sweet little mystery’ and ‘May you never’ John Martyn’s songs were timeless songs. Sadly another one gone who seemed to be around as long as you had been into music and collecting records.

John Martyn had many music biz friends who were also fans,he was very much admired. A rare talent and another one who won’t ever be replaced. Like many others I am saddened by his loss yet not totally suprised, he ravaged his body and it just eventually gave up. Just a few years ago he had a leg amputated and though not entirely sure this may have been alcohol abuse related. He joked about it. His cause of death was cited as pneumonia, how much of anymore could his body have taken, his immune system must have packed up years ago.

John Martyn had demons but a sensitivity in his songwriting that you don’t often see. ‘Some keep diaries’ he said.’I write songs.’ Chris Blackwell, the guy who first signed him was a good friend and originally could not release his ‘Grace and Danger’ album as he found it too upsetting, he had known John and Beverley both. John pleaded with him as it as a carthatic release for him, he needed it .Chris eventually obliged. It was a moving piece of music and as always with John Martyn it cut straight from the heart. Nothing about John Martyn was ever safe, yet always sacred.

I worked with him in the seventies and eighties. He made me laugh and he made me cry. He would go in to a radio station and leave us all gasping for breath with some mindblowing guitar and another time he would sit outside in my car refusing to move and refusing to let me take him in for a pre arranged interview. Another time he announced he didn’t want to do anything in Scotland and wanted to go see his dad who still lived there in Glasgow. Testing times for an embryonic plugger. How do you explain to someone sat in reception that your artist will not budge. How can you answer ‘Why’? And if I was to confront him and tell him not to be silly I was terrified of the consequences, I put up and shut up. Driving him in my car once from one radio station to another his accent changed, we hit Glasgow and he became Glasweigen! We did the interview and he wanted a drink, it was 10-30am and I was petrified. Working with John Martyn could be hard but at other times wonderful. He could be so warm and friendly too, delighted to see you.

I remember once when he played Manchester Polytechnic, he walked out on stage blind drunk clad in great coat, slided his guitar alongside his amp took two steps to the side and promptly puked up. Once over he dragged his shirt sleeve across his mouth, took two steps forward and took off in to song like nothing had ever happened! Some hapless character, mop in hand slipped on to the stage having been assigned puke retival duties. The set was blistering.

John Martyn is now gone but won’t be forgotten. Along with Bob Marley and Robert Palmer the mainstay of early Island is disappearing but with it too come fond memories of what made this the greatest label ever, the people. Memories too of Martyn’s press officer for so many years who dealt with his erratic behaviour so well, the much loved Rob Partridge who slowly slipped away and left us just before Christmas.

For all of us who were there so many things remind us of all the good times we shared. It takes every kinda people.

Don’t worry ’bout a thing. Eevery little thing gonna be alright.

I don’t see anything in Tampa filling the gap, bit like the dentist I went to so maybe I should do a show focusing on the new blend of bands coming throught the UK. I have plenty of friends who would be only too willing to help so maybe we should give it a go and see what happens. There’s a cool local station here called WMNF which has a wide variety of shows so maybe they’ll be interested, we’ll give it a whirl and if they say no then we’ll think again, and still do it. I have to admit it would be a gas tapping in to some old pals in the UK and searching for some of the best bands, and I’m positive they would be grateful for some action over here.

I started a group on Facebook a few months ago, The Last Radio Programme mainly so I could recollect some stories from back in the day and blog about them. I was reminded of some funny episodes, I think every time I turned up it was potentially a funny episode anyway! I always thought when Mark Radcliffe went off to London to work for Radio One and I inherited his radio territitory, i.e. the gap he left, that if it lasted 3 months and I brought the station tumbling down then it would be a laugh and at least I could include it in my resume.  But twelve and a half years must have meant I got something right. I remember I was the only plugger who could guarantee people at least one play!

Radio has changed radically but the diffence between traditional and the rest is vast. There must be a place for me to float in radio ocean, after all my last tune on my last show was Neil Young’s ‘I’m the ocean’ Float on, Tone.

Sally worked at Granada for a good few years and was there 30 years ago when I managed to get a bunch of Irish kiddies a nice little break. I have to admire them for booking U2 way ahead of anyone else around the time ‘I will follow’ came out. Back then U2 were only getting interviews on specialist radio shows so it was very bold on Granada’s part to stick their necks out and book them, especially on a kid’s show. Not only did they get on TV but the show was broadcast nationally.

Looking back at that footage nowadays is incredible and yet so few web sites even list it. We know it exists, we were there. U2 looked so young but then again so did I !!! They were always so grateful for every opportunity, very humble and lapped up the chance to meet the media.They were the perfect band to get on radio or television…you got them on and they did the rest. They made a plugger’s job easy. I’ll get blasted here from Sal if I’m wrong but the show was ‘Get it together’ presented by one of the world’s most famous owls, ‘Ollie Beak.’ The show’s producer was Muriel Young, a lovely lady who sadly passed away a few years ago but someone who I can still picture vividly. She came out of an era in television, the 60’s where some of the most amazing bands passed through their doors. I missed that one professionally (yes, too young!) but still had my radio and TV there to give me the most amazing education.

Television back in the 70’s , especially music television which was where I was hovering was littered with the best bunch of people you could ever hope to meet. I made some great friends there. If you loved music and worked in television you were allowed to work on music programmes. Whoever thought up that recipe deserves a medal, music people for music televsion. Then again the same could be said of record pluggers, we loved music so all day you were exchanging stories, talking about great new records that had come out, booking bands on to shows, doing the work and having great fun at the same time. TV researchers trusted you and no matter how much I wanted to get my bands on to TV I prided myself on never trying to force stuff on them that clearly wasn’t right for the show. There were other places to book other bands so why even try to get an act on a show that wouldn’t be right for their audience anyway, what’s the point?

And so to Bickershaw. Just pick it up as I go along that’s what I’m attempting to do! If you’re still confused then just scroll back and read the original blog. I think if I’m not mistaken it was the first festival I ever went to but I’ll have to check back with my old mate and fellow gig follower Kenny and see if The Buxton Festival at the Pavilion Gardens(yes in Buxton) came before Bickershaw. That one was an all nighter, that much I do remember. Stuck in the middle of a row and desperate for a pee was also a lasting memory as well as The Edgar Broughton Band doing Wasa Wasa. I’ll be back to that one once I can recollect the complete bill.

Anyone who went to Bickershaw will always remember The Grateful Dead. They came on after midnight and played for around 4 to 5 hours. As dawn came up over a sodden Wigan they played a wonderful version of Dark Star. It what adds the magic to Wigan, it’s what gives it it’s romance.

As previously mentioned the festival lost 30,000 pounds which was an enormous amount of money back then, well hardly petty cash now. In fact it equates to around a half a million pounds now and needless to say they didn’t organize another. The security too was hopeless with around one third of the 60,000 crowd coming in over the fences effectively making it a free festival. Except of course for the mugs who paid.

Donovan was on, Country Joe, Hawkwind, The Incredible String Band,The Kinks who were were all pissed, Cheech and Chong, Dr John and a whole bunch of others.If you’d seen the bill on a poster it wouldn’t have looked out of place in San Francisco but to think of all places Wigan had attracted some of the cream of the Flower children was bizarre. Not that Lemmy had ever seen a flower, then or since. At the time Family were one of my favourite bands and one of the main reasons I went. Roger Chapman was an amazing front man to watch and songs like Weaver’s Answer brought out the best in him. I didn’t know this until I looked up some facts on the internet but Joe Strummer and Elvis Costello were also in the crowd that weekend and Strummer quotes it as the best festival he ever went to. Also my old pal Mick Middles, writer and journalist from my old home town of Manchester was in attendance so I’m going to call him as no doubt his recollections of Bickershaw are bound to be better than mine. That should ensure that I can at least finally box off this little episode.

People used to love to pin up posters on their walls idolizing their heroes, they loved what they did and they could never get enough. They looked forward to what they were going to do next, they were loyal. It what being a fan was, supporting their favorite pop stars careers and always being interested in what they were up to.

The music business loved stars too and not just for the money they made from them either. They knew how to create stars , knew how to deal with them and most importantly they knew how to get the best out of them. They understood what was needed to be a great act and they were prepared to persevere. The music industry and the artist grew up side by side, you couldn’t have one without the other. Now most artists are left to grow in spite of the industry! If success comes then it’ll be more down to their work ehthic and doing it for themselves.

They have more patience and they have greater belief in themselves and are in it for the long haul. Record companies are the shorter than short haul, they want it now and if it doesn’t come they don’t want to know.

I was about to wax lyrically about the demise of the star, where he, she, they went. Who was responsible and why it was ever allowed to happen. Rock n’ roll was everything, it invented the dogs bollocks, dogs had no bollocks before rock and roll. I grew up with heroes and I want them back.

When you got in to music it was enough to reach out and want to touch any part of it. I admired the bands and the artists making the music and I wanted to be them. But I was crap and when I realised there was no chance of being one, hey no worries I was still just as happy. It was the music that was keeping my attention and keeping me happy.

I was deliriously happy, content to just be a fan but I got lucky and got to work behind the scenes but still I never lost the fan in me. No matter what happened to the business and the people buying the music it never lost my attention. Sadly though today you can read as much about the mess it’s in as you can about any artist.

I still want my heroes though. Music created stars, stars had dreams and we had dreams too. Music had so much to do with everything you did, where you went, who you went there with, who you dated and who you hated. Now I know why I never kept a diary, I didn’t need to, I could trace most major events in my life to what records were released! I know what music was played at my wedding(s) what I was listening to at school and each year I was listening to it, at college where I was when I first heared Dylan, Bowie, Hendrix, Led Zeppelin. Talk to me about David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust tour in the 70’s at the Hardrock in Manchester and I’m there. I can tell you where I stood, who I went with, who I saw there and how I even got there. I’m there!…and even weirder from someone with a self confessed lousy memory. I can even tell you how I lost it.

There’s a lot more ranting here methinks. I need to get my soapbox and return to this but right now I need to forget about the heady days of rock and roll and empty the dishwasher.

When the Christmas period came the industry would gleefully rub it’s hands together. Time to repackage the hell out of anything and everything. They relished the prospect, they knew the public had no option and would have to spend. They loved music and the music business loved their money.

It was a dream come true, pennies from heaven. If sales dipped a little in the summer then this would more than compensate. It was never ‘will Christmas be good?’ Just how good. Normally there would be at least one major act with a new release scheduled, sometimes they would even hold back a release until the last quarter just to maximize sales. TV advertising, deals with bands and less royalties to pay out, no recording costs, sling in an unreleased track so the fan base would have to buy it. How to get as much as possible from as many people and as quickly as possible. Happy Christmas! If they were still unsure then there was the record token market ensuring Christmas didn’t end until the end of January. Record shops never needed to have sales in January, there were still people ready to buy.

The Greatest Hits became the Best of, then the Very best of. All we need to do is move the track listing around, give it another title and we’ll be OK. How many of the same album by major artists are out there? Marketing people gone wild. What happened to the integrity of the artist? Yes there would be a requirement to deliver a greatest hits in their deal, but three, four, five of them ??  And all the same record just packaged in a different way.I can understand a different sleeve for a different market but the same record with a different sleeve several times over?

Maybe it just became a greedy business. Greed creating greed. The greed hasn’t gone, it’s just the desperation that has set in.

When I used to pull my van up outside a shop sometimes I couldn’t get in the back of it, the booze was piled higher than the records! I’d have to shift a few crates of wine to find any albums to sell! When I was negotiating the Snake Pass, a very hairy route that crossed the hills between Manchester and Sheffield I could hear the constant rattle of bottles in the back. It got so loud I’d have to turn the car stereo up, if I drove through a little town like Glossop and there were road works and a less than level road surface people would stop and stare. My van was sign written, ‘Transatlantic Records’ and yet passing through their hamlet was the sound of a Mercedes milk float, it just didn’t add up! Nice bit of respite for an otherwise sleepy town where nothing really happened. I would try and pass through the same time each Tuesday so the natives could be out on time to greet me.

The retailers too would rush out and welcome me like I was the messiah, the booze messiah. ‘Great I was just going to go to the off license but here’s my boy’ They would order a box of this album, a box of that album and then they’d be asking what they needed for ‘Pack A’ or ‘Pack B’ or the much coveted ‘Pack C’ which would require no further visits to the off license for another couple of weeks at least, or realistically until my next visit. I’m sure off licenses must have hated me back then, I’m quite suprised they didn’t start to stock the Transatlantic catalogue. ‘Here buy a crate of ale and get a free album.