Not Difficult Music

Television seems so neat and tidy these days. With so many damn channels available, you’d think there'd be anarchy. But no. Every channel has a niche audience and a mandate, with carefully targeted programming to match. I sort of miss the 13-channel cable TV service that we had until the mid-‘80s. Every channel had to be all things to all people. They all had news, they all (even PBS) covered sports in some way. There weren't many shows to go around, and programmers sometimes had to draw from unusual sources to fill up the schedule. Now, with every special interest tucked away in its own channel and so many TV shows in production, the chance of coming across something completely surprising is a lot lower.

Here in Vancouver we pulled in a wonderful little station called KVOS on channel 12. Based in Bellingham just across the border, it primarily catered to Canadians. In its heyday, KVOS carried a lot of syndicated American programs (still does, actually), but when 10 PM rolled around, they packed up old Glory and unfurled the Union Jack. It was time to give Canadians heaping platefuls of the televisual equivalent of mushy peas and sausage rolls: old sitcoms like On the Buses and Man About the House, lowbrow sketch/variety shows like Benny Hill and Dave Allen at Large (I always thought Allen was ultra-cool, presiding with his whiskey and fags). In a slightly more upmarket vein, KVOS also gave us lots of Monty Python, Fawlty Towers, and—god bless them for all eternity—Not the Nine O’Clock News.

Not the Nine O’Clock News was a lot fresher than the other KVOS fare. The episodes were only a year or two old when they aired here. It was also skewed a lot younger—it felt like the next generation on from Python. Today it’s remembered as the place where Rowan Atkinson got his start before he went on to Blackadder and Mr. Bean. Even back then, it was clear he was the star in the cast, although the other three players were excellent themselves.

The show had a freewheeling format, interspersing studio sketches with fake news reports and film footage of royalty and politicians edited for maximum laughs. The only reliable segment was the closing song, where they would skewer some musical trend or artist. This was one of the strongest elements on the show—not only were the cast great singers and impressionists, the songs themselves were catchy as hell and offered an interesting insight into music at the turn of the ‘80s.

Here’s a rundown of my favourite NtNOCN songs.

It’s odd to think there was a time when Kate Bush was considered a lightweight flash-in-the-pan pop star. We should be so lucky today. This one’s a little mean-spirited, but Pamela Stephenson’s imitation is spot-on, as is the mangled arrangement of “Them Heavy People.”



Mainstream culture couldn’t help but overhear the rumblings of the NWOBHM as headbangers and rivetheads elbowed their way into pubs and festivals across the country. As with many satires of heavy metal, this isn’t a very good metal song—it's more like bad Status Quo. But it slightly predates “Bad News,” and there’s an exploding head.



Another thing about NtNOCN was that its naughtiness threshold was higher than anything else on TV at the time. The writing usually aimed higher, but any mention of “tits” or “shit” would send me howling. I never actually saw this song on the show; I heard it via one of the three NtNON albums the BBC released.



By the way, there is a significant Difficult Music angle to all this, as some of these songs (including the one above) were co-written by Chris Judge Smith, founding member of Van der Graaf Generator.

Is this ska? Two-tone? Whatever it is, it’s damn funny. Rowan Atkinson in fine form.



This song doesn’t seem intent on parodying any specific musician or style, but it does show how times have changed. To my knowledge, no fatwahs were issued as a result of this.



I don’t know what prompted this one. I can only guess that the CB radio fad arrived in England well after it had died in the U.S. Anyway, this song even features the truck driver’s gear change towards the end. It also inspired the second NtNOCN LP, Hedgehog Sandwich. 1:09 cracks me up every time, as does the line “you can listen to the wireless.” That’s some burly trucker’s tough-guy talk right there!



Like most great British shows, NtNOCN ran for only a few years (27 episodes) before its cast and writers dispersed. Atkinson, as I mentioned, went on to worldwide fame. Smith and Jones did their own show, Alas Smith & Jones, which was more quality sketch comedy in the NtNOCN style. Smith also directed The Tall Guy and Bean, amongst others. Pamela Stephenson joined the cast of SNL during one of its most turbulent periods, and made little impact. She’s now a clinical psychologist and still does television. First-season player and writer Chris Langham went on to do a ton of acting, writing and directing until some unfortunate, not funny at all, charges sidelined his career.

A lot of this material is available on The Best of Not the Nine O'Clock News, a two-DVD set from BBC Worldwide/A&E/New Video. It's a shame the original shows aren't available in North America, but this edited compilation hits most of the high points.

Tatsumaki: Voivod Japan 2008 DVD

When the final conflagration is extinguished, the only things to survive will be cockroaches and Voivod.
The Tatsumaki DVD demonstrates that Voivod can withstand any calamity and charge into new territory like the Korgull of old. My review is here at hellbound.ca.

IQ—Frequency (InsideOut/GEP)

IQ are a rare example of artistic redemption in the music industry. In 1985, IQ ruled the world—my world, at any rate. They’d just released The Wake, a glorious, cinematic album filled with sinister energy. Songs like “The Magic Roundabout” and “Widows Peak” bristled with drama. They should have been at least as big as Marillion, but a couple of factors held them back. One, they didn’t have a gigantic alcoholic Scotsman to work the press, and two, they were basically a DIY outfit. Marillion had EMI backing them almost from the get-go, so they got credit for spearheading the prog revival. IQ played the Marquee a lot, staying firmly within the EU. In Canada, if you lived near a really good import shop, you might have been able to find one of their records.

The Wake was a really impressive album, though, and by 1987, Peter Mensch and Cliff Burnstein were handling IQ’s affairs, scoring them a major deal on their label, Squawk. IQ looked set to start ruling the world beyond Kerrang! magazine and my bedroom. Unfortunately the album, Nomzamo, was a turd. Original singer Peter Nicholls was gone, and the music had been sanded down, stripped of all malevolence and polished to an electro-pop sheen—prog-lite that Patrick Bateman could have filed next to Invisible Touch. It went straight to the delete bins.

IQ eventually took control, dropped a couple members, reconnected with Nicholls, and formed their own record company, Giant Electric Pea, through which they released Ever in 1994. By this time, lonely hearted prog fans were starting to find each other through the internet, giving the rejuvenated IQ a worldwide fanbase. It helped that Ever was an excellent album, a return to the atmosphere-laden epics of their first couple releases. They’ve been going strong ever since, with new albums every few years.

Frequency finds IQ down a couple more original members—keyboardist Martin Orford has fled, dismayed by the "free music" culture, and drummer Paul Cook’s gone missing—but still making music that’s true to themselves and their legacy. Right from Frequency's opening riff, one of those signature IQ "duh duh duh" constructions, I can’t imagine any fan being disappointed with it. Orford’s replacement, Mark Westworth (Darwin's Radio), may have more of an overtly prog/rock style, but overall you’d be forgiven thinking no changes had occurred. The first three songs are the strongest. “Frequency” is heavy as IQ gets these days, an alternately delicate and powerful number. “Life Support” recalls their legendary b-side "Dans le Parc du Chateau Noir" with its quiet buildup and guitar-drenched release. Mike Holmes is still one of my favourite guitarists. His sinuous lead lines continue to dominate IQ's sound. Third song “Stronger Than Friction” is the album's apex, simultaneously epic and catchy. Nicholls has always been a master of melodies, and he delivers a corker of a chorus on this one.

The rest of Frequency flags a little. "The Province" shows some flashes of newfound heaviness and would have been one of the best songs on the album if they'd kept the energy up. Unfortunately, it saunters into a requisite faux "Supper's Ready" section that drags the song down. "Closer," a simpler song built around a chiming guitar figure, makes for a nice closer, though.

My copy comes with a bonus DVD of a live set in Holland 2007, well shot and with a set list drawn from their entire career (save that Squawk Records period) and featuring an early version of “Stronger than Friction.” They're not a hell-raising bunch of chaps on stage, but their sound and back wall projections are both exquisite.

Saxondale: Rage Hero

My friend Super Robertson introduced me to the notion of a “rage hero.” I’ve never had the term formally explained to me, but I take it to mean someone who’s not afraid to express the anger that we all feel from time to time—anger at the annoyances that can accumulate during a typical day: lousy service, pushy salespeople, navigating automated switchboards, international students, and so on. The rage hero says the things we’re too inhibited, for want of self-preservation, to say. We may be afraid to cause a fuss or spark a confrontation, but the rage hero has no such hangups. In the face of stupidity, hypocrisy, or insincerity, he’ll let loose and take one for the team.

Tommy Saxondale is a rage hero. The title character of Steve Coogan’s latest series is an ex-roadie who’s gotten off the tour bus and settled down in suburbia (Stevenage, to be exact). He’s now an exterminator, trapping vermin wherever they may roam. He does have anger management problems—exacerbated by thoughts of his ex-wife, banks, DJs, and animal rights protesters—for which he attends a men’s encounter group at the local library. Each episode opens at one of Tommy’s anger management sessions, where he inevitably disrupts the session by calling bullshit on the therapist, or mocking his fellow classmates and generally giving the impression that he’ll be going for counselling for some time to come.

So he can be a dick (and is frequently called out on it), but Saxondale is basically a happy guy. He loves his girlfriend Magz (Ruth Brown), proprietress of an anti-establishment t-shirt boutique, and he loves his Boss 351 ’72 Mustang. He seems to enjoy his work, even though he'll seize any chance to talk about his old life in the rock & roll circus. Coogan’s last TV character, mediocre chat show host Alan Partridge, was driven by unhappiness and self-doubt that revolved around his god-given right to a second series of “Knowing Me Knowing You With Alan Partridge.” However, Saxondale has no overwhelming drive to transform himself or his life. He's got more than enough self-assurance. His primary struggle is to keep a lid on his anger, and live a life free of idiots and the institutions that house, employ, or produce them.

One thing I like about Coogan's approach to his characters is how he defines them by their taste in music, movies, and culture in general. Alan Partridge admired Roger Moore, Wings (“the band The Beatles could have been”) and, of course, Abba. Saxondale lives and dies by the heavy rock of the ’70s, namechecking Ritchie Blackmore, Tull, and Brian Eno. And whereas Partridge’s über-middlebrow sensibilities were played for laughs and emphasized what a shell of a man he was, Tommy wears his tastes like a cloak of superiority. He’ll quote a Rush lyric at someone who threatens to shatter his integrity, or he’ll lecture his young charge Raymond on the finer points of Pink Floyd while out on a pest control job.

The humour on Saxondale is more gentle than the sometime excruciating travails of Alan Partridge. Perhaps resentful of his more popular character, Coogan heaped indignity and humiliation on Partridge over the course of three series. This time around, Coogan seems to genuinely like Saxondale and relishes simply having him interact with his nemeses in minor skirmishes during his daily rounds. One such annoyance is Vicky, the blonde, tanned receptionist at the pest control dispatch office, whose faux-chummy repartee is a machine-gun spray of thinly veiled insults that leave Tommy little with which to fire back. Where Partridge’s struggles encompassed his livelihood and, eventually, his sanity, Saxondale’s trials aren’t so severe. That’s not to the show’s detriment at all; it’s hilarious just to spend time in this guy’s company and watch him go off at whatever pests come his way.

This three-disc DVD set includes both seasons of this superb series plus your standard array of extras. Season one sees Coogan playing Saxondale with a moss-like fake beard and a twitchy demeanor. Each episode is named for the pest that he’s assigned to eradicate. In season two, Coogan tones down the facial ticks and sports a more convincing, if less comedic, beard. Perhaps in an effort to get away from the “pest of the week” premise, the second season introduces a few new characters to tear at Saxondale's hard-fought serenity, including Jonathan, a neighbour who plagues Tommy with petty residents’ association matters, and Keanu (also played by Coogan), a more realized version of an emo/junkie youth featured in series one. Having just finished watching all 13 episodes, I think I’ll watch ’em again. Saxondale’s my kind of guy, and long may he rage.

I watched American Idol for the first time last week. Sure, this show embodies evil in popular culture, and its producers, contestants, and audience should be castigated as the worshippers of Mammon that they are. But last week's episode was a salute to Queen, with the would-be Idols plundering the golden catalogue of Mercury/May/Deacon/Taylor for songs to massacre. I couldn’t miss that car wreck, could I?

The guy who sang a country-rock tainted version of “Fat Bottomed Girls” got voted off the island after the show. Good call, America.

Actually, all last week was Queen Week, with the Rodgers/May/Taylor "Queen Company" rock revue finishing their tour here in Vancouver. I didn't go, but I'm sure everyone had a good time. I also just picked up a Classic Albums DVD about the making of A Night at the Opera, an album that, when I was 12 or 13, I played until the vinyl was worn as thin as Bohemian Rhapsody's master tape. Because I've internalized that LP and taken those songs for granted for so long, the show contained some revelations. I'd never realized that "Sweet Lady" is in 3/4 time until Brian May demonstrated the riff in one of the DVD extras—the drums play it completely straight and mask the song's time signature. Clever. And May's explanation of "'39" really knocked me for a loop. He says it's about interplanetary time travellers, not emigrants from Europe going to the New World as I had always assumed. Guess my 12-year-old powers of interpretation were off, or I thought Rush had cornered the market on space opera stuff and didn't bother reading any of Queen's lyrics in the same light. Brian May, you are an extraordinary nerd and I salute you.

I haven't had cable for the past four years, so I've missed out on a lot of these Classic Albums shows. I don't mind being out of the loop too much. If I want to find out what's going on in mainstream culture, free TV can always offer me something, whether I want it or not. Locally, there's the Kool Countdown, a music video hit-parade roundup that fancylady and I end up watching with disturbing frequency on Thursday evenings. I think we can't look away for two reasons. 1) The show is based in Victoria, so it has that Island television low-budget CRTC-mandated local programming feel to it, as the host, the Garofalo-like Robin Farrell, touts whatever acts are playing the Save-On Foods Memorial Centre (Rob Thomas is coming!) between Madonna and James Blunt vids, and 2) Robin herself has a witty persona, enhanced by our suspicion that she hates all the music she presents on the show.