- Music
- 06 Jan 04
Take a Bowie
I can still hear their taunts – “Clark’s talking through his arse again!”... “It’s not the ’70s anymore, Granddad!”... “I had my suspicions but now I know you’re a wanker!” As it was my mother saying it, that last one was particularly hurtful.
Despite the verbal brickbats – and actual bricks – that were thrown at me, the 40,000 copies of Permission To Land now residing in Irish record collections prove that my championing of The Darkness wasn’t just the product of senile dementia.
Contrary to their moniker, Justin Hawkins & Co. are a veritable beacon of light in the fight against whiny gits like Radiohead who treat being in a band as some form of penance. They’re oh, so right on with their anti-globalisation/capitalism rhetoric, but the last time I checked Amnesiac is still selling at full price in HMV. And I didn’t notice any discount for the unwaged last week when they packed 16,000 punters at €53 a pop into The Point. Rant, froth…
The Darkness weren’t the only ones showing them up for the Socialist Worker students they are, with Jet, Andrew WK, The Wildhearts, Ricky Warwick, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Outkast, Snow Patrol, The Raveonettes, Kings Of Leon and The Libertines all making records that made you feel like you were 13 again. Which was the age I was when I first saw David Bowie in 1976. The intervening years have been extremely kind to the Jones boy who bagged ‘Gig of the Year’ with his hit-strewn 27-song set last month in the aforementioned Point. Other old foagies that impressed were Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band at the RDS, Neil Young in Vicar St., Therapy? in the Milkweg and Paul McCartney in the Manchester Evening News Arena. I wouldn’t lay claim to being the world’s biggest Beatles fan, but meeting Macca before the gig and talking to him about ‘Let It Be’ was a memory that won’t easily be displaced from the Clark noggin. Another magical moment was being offered a chocolate chip cookie by Debbie Harry who, within striking distance of a bus pass or not, is still one of the most divine creatures on earth.
2003 wasn’t all joy and celebration, though, with the passing of Johnny Cash affecting me in a way that I hadn’t anticipated. I still find the ‘Hurt’ video almost too painful to watch but, God, what a last musical will and testament. More popular and influential when he died than at any other point in his career, The Man In Black will go down as a true American original.
It’s a shame it’s not a proper sport that more than five other countries play, but nevertheless I rather enjoyed seeing England roger Bruce Foreigner and return to Blighty with the Webb Ellis Trophy. The lost weekend that ensued begs the question: “How the fuck will I celebrate if their round ball counterparts are similarly triumphant in Portugal?” Scary. More pressingly my concerns are with Everton and their 50-year tenure in the top flight. Will this be the season that we finally fall through the Premiership trap-door? Is Wayne Rooney turning into Paul Gascoigne before our very eyes? It’s going to be a tense, ulcer-inducing six months.
On the plus side, The Darkness are hurtling inexorably towards the Christmas number one spot, The Kings of Leon are coming to town and Santa’s on his way from Lapland with my iPOD. I’ll be rather sorry to see 2003 go.
