If Music Be The Food of Love...

With the release of the second Stags' CD Boroman writes below;

If Music Be The Food of Love………….

Play on…………As the critics are savaging the latest musical abomination from the Stags, it is time to mull over that eternal question what does music mean to you? I remember Arturo (Baron of the Bass) asking me, in the Fat Cat, how did I get into music, or, when he had listened to the CD, why? He’s obviously a man with a passion for music as I know is Serge the “Phsyco Killer”. I’m sure many other Porcos and Stags share the same feeling but I thought I’d try and answer Arturos’ question more fully.

For me having an Irish father helped. Though he didn’t play he sang Irish folk songs after a few ales which was often. He also, rather weirdly, took a liking to the blues guitar of Roy Buchanan (highly recommended) in his 80’s – that’s dad not Roy. Coming from a large family also helped.

One of my sisters saw Led Zeppelin at the Bath Festival in 1970, and married a guitarist. I remember seeing albums lying around like “Safe As Milk” by Captain Beefheart and “Forever Changes” by Love and they seemed so exotic. My oldest sister saw The Beatles and Rolling Stones in the 60’s and my next eldest brother was one of the UK’s foremost collectors of Jimi Hendrix Bootleg Recordings.

My first taste of Hendrix was not “Are You Experienced” or “Axis: Bold As Love” but a bootleg of the complete Isle Of Wight show – his last in the UK. With this background I was encouraged to find my own route to musical nirvana. Hendrix was taken by “our kid” so the first albums I bought were “Live in Europe” by Rory Gallagher and “Free at Last” by Free (lead singer Paul Rodgers is a Boroman too) Most of the 70’s up to around 78 were spent on albums and gigs.

I remember seeing Van Morrison, Ry Cooder and Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band at Newcastle City Hall in the same week. I took a bit of a break during the Punk Wars – still think it was mostly a con – me and Fenners have this discussion every time we go to Pontevedra.

I got into Reggae mainly because it was still acceptable to have guitar solos! I’ve continued my passion with the purchase of 1,000’s of CD’s and by going to many, many gigs, even ventured abroad – saw Bob Dylan in Barcelona in 2000. Being an ace “ligger” I’ve also met quite a few of my heroes at gigs including B.B. King & Buddy Guy. We became quite friendly with Drive By Truckers, seeing them on many occasions. They let us tape the shows through their own mixing desk and lead singer Patterson Hood gave my mate a guitar pick with “Fuck You” on it. Which was nice……

However, the magic really happened when I finally learned to play the guitar in about 2004. I had not attempted this before as I injured a little finger playing American Football – that’s another story – and thought that would prevent any attempt at emulating Mike Bloomfield.

My mate taught me to play the basics of blues slide guitar. 300 versions of “Little Red Rooster ” later and I was off. I now own a number of guitars which is more than the number of chords I know.

I’ve got a Stratocaster, a Telecaster, Metal Fronted “Hutchins”, a Tokai which has been altered to the same spec as Neil Young’s “Blackie” an Epiphone Les Paul Sunburst with “Peter Green” Pick Ups, a Taylor “Big Baby” acoustic and a Resonator guitar for slide – see I sound like a guitar nerd already!

So when you are listening to the noise assailing your ears from the AG Cup CD’s remember this, it may be shit but it’s from the heart.

So let’s hear from all you muso’s on what it means for you to be able to tell a Rickenbacker from a Gretch, a 335 from Firebird, who can name the Bass player with Jefferson Airplane and lead singer with 13th Foor Elevators and say who played the guitar solo on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” from the Beatles White Album without the use of Google. Play on brothers…………

And Every Shepherd Tells His Tale Under The Hawthorn In The Dale

Suprimid la Anglogalician Cup,chillan los de siempre.Nos molesta su existencia,argumentan. Agrede nuestro modo de vida, añaden intranquilos.
En vano.
No impediréis que haya almas destinadas al veneno de Os Porcos Bravos,el veneno de los Sheffield Stags,al veneno que fuere,veneno de cerveza negra,veneno de la lectura,veneno del pub inglés,veneno de la tasca galega,veneno de aislamiento colectivo,veneno de los coitos repetidos,veneno de la fortaleza enraizada en el alma,veneno de cualquier alcohol a granel,veneno del tabaco,veneno de la yerba recién cortada,veneno de la manada reunida para la gresca en Sheffield,veneno de aquella mañana resacosa en Pontevedra,veneno del mar en la mirada.
Hay almas perdidas e incurables para el resto de la sociedad.Quitadles este recurso de locura competitiva; quitadles la amarga esperanza servida en una pinta de bitter y sólo tendréis hombres sin miedo; quitadles las brétemas atlánticas de Galizalbión, e inventarán otras mil formas, absolutamente desesperadas y lucidas para volver a la carga.
Aquí y siempre.