I promise that this is the only time that I will post a picture of a cat on my blog!
This is what you see coming out of Victoria tube station – the side entrance/exit. With fortuitous London taxi in foreground – well I did wait for it to be in the picture…
Close up.
So, two days on, how’s that Group of Death looking? The Todesgruppe as the Germans call it. Love those compound nouns.
England find themselves in Group D, with Uruguay, Italy and Costa Rica. With their first game, against Italy, to be played in the sweltering Amazonian heat and humidity – is that laying it on thick enough? – of Manaus, a city most of us had never heard of until Roy Hodgson started worrying about it recently.
Our expectations were low anyway. But after the draw, the feeling was that advancing out of the group was well nigh impossible. Especially with that heat and humidity. You see, heat and humidity does not suit the basic English game, which involves hopeful passes which often don’t reach the intended target. That means running around a lot trying to get the ball back, making fearsome tackles etc. This is fine in the temperate climes of the British Isles. It is not recommended in the heat and humidity of Brazil, especially Manaus.
We are then worried about Uruguay because they have Luis Suarez and Edinson Cavani. And Italy, with the master footballing quarterback, Andrea Pirlo, and the wacky but brilliant Mario Balotelli. We haven’t bothered to worry about Costa Rica yet, but we will…
So we are not even going to get out of the group… or are we? Uruguay only came fifth in South American qualifying and had to enter a play off with Jordan. (Jordan? It’s FIFA’s bizarre scheme where a South American team plays a team from “Asia” – basically everything that doesn’t fit into Europe (including the old Soviet Union states), Africa and the Americas – for a place in the finals.) Italy were were unbeaten in their qualifying group, and we know how good they are in World Cups. But Pirlo, the magician, is well into his thirties, and is going to find the heat and humidity as difficult as will Stevie Gerrard.
So it’s not out of the question that if Roy picks a youthful team, with players who have grown up with foreign stars, playing a close passing game, leavened with a bit of experience – Stevie Gerrard and Ashley Cole, maybe Gareth Barry who is playing so well for Everton, Frank Lampard on the bench – we could nick a 0-0 with Italy, sneak a lucky win over Uruguay and then polish it off with a nervous victory over Costa Rica. Then the story gets better, because in the 16, we’d be playing teams from Group C: Colombia, Greece, Ivory Coast, Japan. All decent teams, but beatable.
Then we’ll lose in the quarter finals, probably on penalties. Because we do.
So all is not despair, though I am looking on the bright side. Rationally, I think we’ll be very lucky to get out of the group. Roy will resign or be sacked and we’ll dream again of Jose Mourinho, unless it really has gone horribly wrong for him at Chelsea.
And if we get knocked out early, we can all start supporting Belgium. They have as many Premier League stars as England. Vincent Kompany, Eden Hazard, Romeleu Lukaku, Christian Benteke, Kevin Mirallas, Marouane Fellaini (shame he’s not still at Everton), Jan Vertonghen, Thomas Vermaelen, Simon Mignolet, Mousa Dembele, Nacer Chadli, and who knows, even Man Utd’s wonder boy Adnan Januzaj.
As for this Group of Death thing, does Group D really take the accolade? I don’t think so. Group G: Germany, Portugal, USA, Ghana, is probably the toughest. German journalists are calling it the Hammergruppe – a tough nut to crack. But the Germans will crack it, en route to at least a semi final, I’m sure. Group B is pretty tasty too: Spain, Holland, Chile and Australia. Because Brazil is in Group A, this means that one of Brazil, Spain and Holland cannot advance beyond the 16. If nothing else, this shows that the draw – incomprehensible though it was, watching a screen with the sound turned down – wasn’t fiddled. Brazil, the home nation, will face a serious risk of being knocked out in the last 16.
As it happens, I think they will probably win the World Cup. A blossoming team, with home advantage. Argentina will be serious threats, and from Europe, Spain and Germany are most likely to be the main contenders, though you never know with Holland. And there’s just a chance that Belgium could surprise everyone.
Spain should be the favourites from Europe, but I just wonder whether this generation of great players has peaked. Whereas Germany’s are on the up: younger, more vibrant. But that heat and humidity will play a big part. The South Americans will be favoured.
Brazil it will be.
The cathedral hanging on in there…
It’s been coming but still just as sad.
A true inspiration to us all.
I said this on Twitter, for what it is worth…
A man who suffered for his beliefs, but forgave and reconciled when he had power. Saved his country. A hero and example.
And in the eighties we had a song for him.
Last week my friend Paul and I went up to the East End to see Danny and the Champions of the World in Leytonstone Working Men’s club. Intimate and very good value on the beer front! The evening was organised by What’s Cookin’, who put on events which are free on entry. You buy your drinks and a float goes round which you can put money in to, to pay the musicians. I think it’s rather admirable and hope the bands on the night got a decent pay out. Because they were superb.
Proceedings kicked off with a band called the Suburban Dirts. I didn’t know them beforehand, but I really liked their bluesy Americana. It was sung beautifully by front man John Wheatley. They had a lot in common with Danny and the Champs. They have an album out, which I bought that evening. It’s called “A Tiny Little Island In The Big Bad Sea”. Worth checking out if you like this kind of music. It took me back a bit to the great memories of the late seventies, when the likes of Graham Parker and the Rumour, Nick Lowe and Elvis Costello had their country rock moments. For their last song, the band played The Band. “The Weight”. It worked perfectly.
Danny of the Champs is Danny George Wilson, once the front man of one of my favourite bands of the 2000s, Grand Drive. You can see my blog on the wonders of Grand Drive if you’re interested. Danny’s moved on from the sound of Grand Drive, though that love of what we call country rock is still there. He’s developed a rich sound which combines country rock with soul, the sound of Bruce Springsteen/ Southside Johnny and Van Morrison. Not derivative, just inspired by these greats.
The latest album, “Stay True” is a wonderful combination of Van, Bruce and The Faces (in acoustic mode) to my ears. On record it’s good. Live it was awesome. Rock’n’roll at its best.
It was great being in such an intimate venue. We sat a table a few yards from the band, drinking our San Miguels. You couldn’t help but feel a real connection with the music, with the band.
I just wallowed in the music. So full of soul, rock’n’roll. A celebration. The band was excellent. Watching them so close, I was in awe of their musicianship. The guitarist, Paul Lush, was superb. He got the chance to perform an amazing Neil Young-style extended workout on ‘The Colonel And The King”, a track about Elvis Presley from the previous album, “Hearts and Arrows”. The saxophonist, Geoff Widdowson, added that feel of Southside Johnny and did a magnificent walk around the audience towards the end (I’m not sure what the track was, but it was great!).
There are some tracks which I can name, like old favourite “Henry The Van” and new ones like “Never Stop Building That Old Space Rocket” and “Other Days”. But it was all wonderful. Something about the quality of the music and the intimacy of the venue which made this one of the most enjoyable concerts I’ve been to in a long time.
You can’t beat rock’n’roll… live.
If you get a chance to see Danny and the Champs, take it!
Last Tuesday, at lunch time in the freezing cold, outside the office there were some ballet dancers. Why, I don’t know….
Somewhere in the West Country…
Scary!
The house is in Chalford, near Stroud in Gloucestershire. It’s called Skaiteshill, or Ballinger House, take your pick. It dates from the early 19th century. Stayed there with some friends this weekend.
I went to the Roundhouse in Chalk Farm, last night, with my mate Paul, for a wonderful exercise in nostalgia. Television. The makers of “Marquee Moon” , one of the all time great albums (No 27 in my recent Top 100). New York new wave, 1977. Fronted by Tom Verlaine.
Tom, along with Fred Smith on bass and Billy Ficca on drums, remain from the original band. Tom was always the face of Television, except perhaps in the very early days, when Richard Hell was in the band. He’s in his sixties now but looked in good shape, dressed in black (of course). The hair has thinned and, disconcertingly, this reminded me of Sven Goran Eriksson, the Swedish one time England football manager. I tried to put that out of my mind!
The concert began with a bang: “Venus” and “Elevation” from “Marquee Moon”. Two of my three favourite Television songs! (The third’s a bit obvious).
I fell into the arms Of Venus de Milo….
Interestingly though, the other guitarist, a man in a cowboy hat, with a big country beard played most of the intricate, soaring guitar. And extremely well too. His name was Jimmy Rip. This pattern continued on most of the “Marquee Moon” songs… until the finale.
And the great thing was that every song from “Marquee Moon” was played. Not in order, like Bruce did with “Darkness On The Edge Of Town” at Wembley, earlier this year, but all were present and correct. There were some engrossing diversions too, including a haunting and lengthy rendition of one of Television’s earliest songs, “Little Jimmy Jewel”.
There was something gripping in the way the concert built to its climax. “Torn Curtain” was as nervy as ever, although Tom had to skip some of the frailest high notes, the tears in the chorus. “See No Evil” was frantic, punchy. Things slowed down for an eerie, droning workout which I didn’t know, but which the amazing Setlist.fm tells me was called “Persia”. This was the moment when Tom really took up the lead guitar duties. Warming up. “Guiding Light” was lovely, with an almost country feel to the guitar, courtesy of Jimmy Rip. And then, of course, “Marquee Moon” itself. How could it be anything else? From the moment that almost-reggae scratched riff started, it was totally captivating. And you realised why Tom gave Jimmy the lead on most of the earlier songs. He was saving himself for an utterly extraordinary solo workout on “Marquee Moon”. If you’re familiar with the tune, you’ll know how, halfway through, it launches into a rumbling, steadily building guitar solo, with that chopping rhythm still lurking menacingly in the background. Well, Tom lurched into the solo and then kept going for how long? Ten, fifteen minutes? I lost track of time, totally absorbed in the sound and the vision. Every part of the fretboard explored, fluid, dark, uplifting. Another of the great rock’n’roll moments in my concert-going life, the second this year, after Bruce. One of my favourite tracks of all time bent, stretched, discombobulated and finally brought down to earth with gentle care. Just amazing.
That was the last song of the main set. I thought that might be it. Television might be too cool to do an encore. But no, they came back to do an absolutely rocking version of “Friction”, with Tom again taking lead guitar duties. And then, bizarrely, a rather conventional blues number. The fans would have liked “Foxhole”, from the second album, “Adventure”. But hey, we got the whole of “Marquee Moon”, who’s complaining?
I have Paul to thank for suggesting this concert a week or so ago. It was both nostalgia and something new. The guitar playing of Tom Verlaine and Johnny Rip was a magnificent, fraught, inspiring journey in sound.
Right now I think “Marquee Moon” might be moving up my 100, back into the top ten where it always belonged!
I even bought a £20 T shirt – from the Australian tour, as I discovered after I’d bought it – which I shall hardly ever wear. But it felt like the right thing to do.
I couldn’t get a really clear photo, especially as the lighting was quite subdued. But as ever, the tricks of the light and taking off the flash give you some interesting images. Hope you agree!
So this was the big one. Always is. The chance for England to measure themselves against the best team in the rugby world. Not World Cup winners that often, strangely enough. But usually the best. The All Blacks.
The game marked the 100th cap for Dan Carter, best fly half in the world. Who knows how many he would have won without the injuries of recent years. And, in keeping with that theme, he was forced off after 25 minutes.
Last year, in an extraordinary aberration, England raised their game to new heights and won the match 38-21. Could that be repeated? Somehow I didn’t feel it could, but I did feel England would give a good account of themselves, after the ups and downs of the games against Australia and Argentina (both won, incidentally).
And they did – while losing, 22 points to 30.
The game started badly for England. The ABs scored within a couple of minutes, when after a well contested lineout, the Kiwi No 8, Kieran Read, about to be forced into touch, somehow passed the ball to winger Julian Savea, who stormed through what remained of England’s defence. A classic example of New Zealand’s skill and clinical finishing, the moment an opportunity appears.
It got worse for England. After 17 minutes, New Zealand prop Owen Franks broke through England’s defence, sparking a move which led to Kieran Read scoring in the right corner. England were 17-3 down and it looked like they just couldn’t cope with the pace and precision of the All Blacks’ game.
But then they turned it round. The catalyst was a penalty that captain Chris Robshaw decided to kick to touch for a lineout near the NZ try line. A good call. It roused the crowd and led to a siege of the New Zealand line that went through three penalties and a disallowed try (no-one, even the television match official (TMO) could see the ball in the melee for that one) before England finally scuffed over for a try by Joe Launchbury. That was TMO’d too, but got the nod. The pressure and the score led to a shift of momentum. It was now with England, and by half time the score was 16-20. Game on!
The second half began with more England pressure, trying to punch through the centre of New Zealand’s defence. The pressure earned a couple of penalties, converted by Owen Farrell (100% on the day). England went ahead, 22-20.
And then the momentum shifted back to the All Blacks again. Maybe they were stung by going behind. Maybe England relaxed slightly having gone ahead (your mentality will change when you’ve reached your primary goal). Maybe the substitutions that tend to start at around 60 minutes made a difference. In fact, it’s not maybe. I think the crucial change was the enforced one for England: hooker Dylan Hartley coming off at 50 minutes, injured, Tom Youngs replacing him. Now Tom is a fine player – played for the Lions in the summer. But his lineout throwing isn’t as good as Hartley’s. This had been one of the strengths of England’s game, gave them a lot of possession. Suddenly they lost three on their own throws. Expected possession forfeited. Thrown onto the defensive. Uncertainty creeps in.
I think this was the pivotal moment of the game, and New Zealand exploited it brilliantly. Another try from Savea, brought about by some of that unexpected possession, with a superb offload from Ma’a Nonu releasing him.
The game died a bit after that. England lost their belief that they could win. The All Blacks closed things down. Game over. 30-22 to the ABs. Deserved, but a close run thing.
So, a good performance by England, but not quite good enough, against the best in the world. The forwards can hold their heads up – they were magnificent, and caused New Zealand all sorts of problems. Launchbury and Courtney Lawes in the second row were immense. Courtney’s learnt to channel his energy into the right places. The backs tackled well, and Billy Twelvetrees and Mike Brown made some good yards; but the fluency of passing that you need to cut up a top class international defence wasn’t quite there. Just look at the three New Zealand tries to see how it is done.
The backs not quite matching the forwards isn’t a new problem for England. It’s been there pretty much all the time I’ve been watching England, the only exception being the team under Clive Woodward in the run up to the 2003 World Cup, which we won. There’s a lot of young talent now, but still some work to do.
As for the Quins boys, Chris Robshaw led from the front as ever, through the Autumn series. Hard to fault. Mike Brown was superb at full back: catching everything, making more yards than anyone with his sharp breaks, tackling like a demon, totally up for it. Joe Marler, in the front row, was on a learning curve, but was outstanding against the All Blacks, part of the brilliant forward effort and punching holes in their defence. Danny Care didn’t get much of a look in. Third choice right now. Harsh, but he’ll just have to lead Quins to Premiership glory!
Chris took a hit on his eye during the game. Didn’t stop him.
Photo from Google Images. Getty.
The Autumn internationals aren’t over yet, although they are for England. Ireland play New Zealand next weekend. If they are as bad as they were last night against Australia – losing 15-32, but lucky to get away with that – then they will get absolutely stuffed. But I suspect they’ll regroup. Too much class in the team to be that bad two weeks in a row?
I’ve just been watching an excellent BBC documentary on Jimi Hendrix, part of the “Imagine” cultural series. As ever, when you watch anything about Hendrix, you are reminded what an extraordinary guitarist he was. No, not just extraordinary… revolutionary. He was rooted in the blues, but played with a wildness and imagination, and a oneness with self, that I don’t think anyone else has ever matched. Not even Jimmy Page, or Eric Clapton, or Neil Young, or Brian May, or Jeff Beck, or Robin Trower, or Bill Nelson (those last two, two of my favourites from the seventies who modelled themselves on Hendrix) or Prince, to name a few.
He died in 1970, at age 27. Drugs of some sort. What a tragedy and waste. You wonder where he would have headed musically had he stayed alive. I can’t believe he would have just gone around playing greatest hits. I have a feeling he would have found his way into some radical jazz thing, teaming up with the likes of Miles Davis. In a musical place where improvisation, pushing the boundaries, was the essence. And by now he’d have been exploring the outer reaches of electronic music, fusing it with guitar.
Wow, what would have it sounded like?
Well, what he did to the American national anthem at the Woodstock festival in 1969 gives a hint. This is a truly extraordinary and daring performance. Can you imagine the reaction? Some would have loved it, others would have regarded as an affront to the nation. To me, when I first saw it, I just thought, what an amazing, visceral performance. The tune ripped apart, reconstructed, the music a howl of despair, anger, love. Vietnam surely there in the background. A ball of confusion made real. Like an abstract, or Cubist painting. The thing called reality stripped down and reassembled.
A magnificent noise.
Here’s a video, courtesy of YouTube. In a way, it works best when you just listen to a recording. That way your imagination flows, unimpeded. But watching does allow you to appreciate the guitar genius too.
