Both of us / A review by Peter Daltrey
Some time ago I mentioned to the redoubtable Liz Williams via electronic-mail that although I only owned two or three Clifford T.Ward albums, I thought I`d probably heard the best of his work: from `Home Thoughts` to `Jackdaw,` from `A day to myself ` to `Wheelchair` and all stations inbetween.
Boy! Was I wrong! (And didn`t Liz enjoy the "I told you so!")
The second side -- we`re talking vinyl, of course -- of Clifford`s 1984 Philips album, `Both of us,` is one of the best collections of songs that I`ve ever heard on one disc, pop-pickers. And I`m a fan of `Sgt.Pepper` and `Abbey Road` and `Pet Sounds` and `Bookends` and `Blonde on Blonde.` So I hope you get the measure of my praise.
Let us look in some detail at this fine album.
From the flowing piano introduction of `Still not free,` we recognise immediately that we are in Clifford T.Ward country. And then that voice that we all love: "I want you to know that it`s working out all right. I ...
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~ An Appreciation ~
by Peter Daltrey
Considering my admiration for his work, it is somewhat ironic that as Clifford T.Ward`s recording career was beginning, my own was coming to an end. My band had struggled for eight years to achieve success. But success in the music business is measured in chart placings and by that criterion we had failed. In 1971 the band broke up and I fled from London to the ancient hills of Wiltshire.
Some, looking at Clifford T.Ward`s recording career, would consider that only one decent chart placing to his credit would also disqualify him from pop`s over-crowded Hall of Fame. Indeed, it is a meagre success compared with many other artists. But as one who would like to see the end of the Top Ten`s tyrannical hold over the music business, I would suggest that surveying the vast panorama of the CTW catalogue -- with its diversity of styles, its consistency of quality and its peaks of brilliance -- we are looking upon the work of one of Britain` ...
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It`s the edge of winter 1975.
Allen Ginsberg tramps across the dewy grass reading the stones. His diamond friend walks beside him; this is the crowned King of Gypsies. He wears a hat bedecked with dying flowers. His long, bony fingers are hidden in his empty pockets. The hirsute poet has come to pay his respects to an ex-lover, life-friend. The skinny king is here to acknowledge a debt long overdue.
They sit cross-legged on the grass, facing the stone that bears the legend: Ti Jean. Ginsberg squeezes his shoe-box harmonium and as the instrument wheezes he looks at Dylan and sings: "Ommmmmmm -- "
Jean-Louis Lebris De Kerouac was born on the 12th March 1922 in Lowell, Massachusetts. Neal Cassady was born on the 8th February 1926 in the back of a car as his parents drove through Salt Lake City. In the year of my own birth, 1946, the two men met and nothing was ever the same again.
At 24 Jack Kerouac was already an author, albeit of an unpublished manuscript. In the panora ...
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Fairfield Parlour / Isle of Wight Festival 1970
I suppose this story really began one foggy night in March `64. By that time I`d ditched the Rocker uniform of greasy leather jacket, greasy hair and unwashed greasy jeans. I was now kitted out in my new Mod uniform: voluminous US Army parka, Fred Perry shirt, orange dyed slacks that appeared to have had an argument with my spotless Hush Puppies -- and I was speeding towards Acton on my resprayed Lambretta 125. Sharp wasn`t the word for it; I was current fashion personified. Pete the Mod.
I`d been invited by a work colleague, Eddie Pumer -- he of the fake-suede driving coat with the fake fur collar -- to join his band. And so my life story began, crowing out Stones` covers and R `n B standards in youth clubs and dingy dives. We were The Sidekicks. But Ed and I soon found a passion for song-writing and we consigned to the musical waste bin the blues stuff and reinvented ourselves as The Key. We were driven, focused, we had a ...
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