I’ve got too many records – and I’m talking Vinyl here and that’s a F.A.C.T. Been collecting them since 1974. I didn’t have an income back then seeing as I was still at school so it was a slow start but as the unrelenting passage of time progressed, the mountain of vinyl grew. My parents were first to notice that my room was under siege from an ever expanding collection. Mother, in particular, was the most vocal - her main concern was that the wallpaper had started disappearing behind stacks of albums. Always albums by the way; I wasn’t a singles kind of guy. 

The music papers at the time were full of adverts, announcing the release of various exotic rock records that I could never hope to own simply because I couldn’t afford more than two a week…that was until I discovered that you could buy second hand albums in used stores. It was that discovery that really increased my consumption. Hitting all the right stores in London meant that - with what amounted to small change - I could afford to acquire the most obscure and exotic music. But the real mind blowing realisation was that, if I didn’t like the music I could then recycle them back to the store for credit notes allowing me to walk away with even more records.

When I found gainful employment, the habit kicked in big-time. Forget Heroin, the lure and desire for collecting music totally dwarfed that sort of addiction. For me, it was all about hearing the latest sounds, scoring records that nobody in my immediate circle had ever heard before or even seen. It felt good. I was the king of my world. It felt like a rocket ride to the stars. Hard rock, heavy metal, pop rock, progressive rock, psych rock, adult orientated rock, soft rock…I wanted it all and I made sure I got an almost permanent fix.

Meanwhile back in the bedroom I had big problems developing. Hastily erected shelving creaked above my head. Posters had to be taken down to make way for further shelf construction. Even the inner workings of the bed-base had been modified to accept a stash of vinyl. My parents organised an intervention of sorts. They sat me down and talked me through the consequences of my ‘habit’. They said it was not only ruining me but that it was destroying them and their house. I had to agree, to a point. They tabled a compromise. Father would purchase and erect a garden shed – a self contained timber outhouse of a size that would comfortably house the collection. This was worrying. Sheds don’t have heating and the weather in London for at least six months of the year, especially back in the seventies, was damp and cold. This could spell disaster but like any dutiful son sitting at the feet of his parents in the midst of a terrible dark expose, I agreed to agree. After all, I had no money (my pitiful savings had long been exhausted buying vinyl) with which to flounce off and build a new life.

The shed was built and the records were transferred to their new home. A low powered torch provided light during dark spells and I spent many a happy evening re categorizing stock; UK prog rock A-Z. Maple Leaf Mayhem bottom row. US hard rock in pride of place - dead center and top. The shed was full from the get-go and it wasn’t long before the bedroom started to accommodate further deposits. Ma and Pa pleaded with me to stop coming home with more records. Like a junkie I started to invent stories of how they came into my possession – a friend had given them to me. I found them in the dumpster. The store was giving them away free. I said all and anything to fend off the constant barrage of guilt.

It then got serious. I planned trips to the record stores based around departure and arrival times of my parents just so that they wouldn’t actually see goods enter the house. I’d hide records in the bush outside and wait for an appropriate moment to sneak out and retrieve them. I even bought a huge ‘Crombie’ style overcoat for the pure and simple reason that it provided excellent concealment with lining unstitched at appropriate places along the seams. The whole charade was doing my head in but I still kept up the pretence that nothing un towards was occurring. Of course they knew differently.

And then, like the great San Francisco earthquake, the inevitable happened…

One day the shed could take the strain no more and one end fell off. Records were strewn all over the lawn. Our cat sat on a copy of ‘Sad Wings Of Destiny’. My father went nuts. My mother had to lie down. It was the Mack Daddy of all catastrophes and it was the moment that convinced me to finally move out and find my own way in life. I salvaged what I could, which was a lot, boxed up and shipped out; me and my record collection at the gates of delirium. Of course it all worked out fine in the end but for one moment I thought my life, as I knew it, was over and out. In a strange way it had only just started…

I’ve been working on Rock Candy booklets today; Autograph and Cobra. Designer Cürt Evans has come up with some nice work using material supplied by both bands. Steve Plunkett (Autographs front man) in particular provided some great shots including stuff from the pre Autograph outfit Wolfgang. Cobra’s Jimi Jamison and Tommy Keiser both searched high and low for stuff – and came through. Also, I received some GREAT photos from Billy Steinberg to accompany the forth coming i-Ten reissue…watch the news page in the next week or so for release date details.

Perhaps this would be a good time to praise all the artists that have been the subject of Rock Candy releases. Most, if not all, have been more than accommodating in our requests for memorabilia and photographic evidence of their quest for gold and glory. In fact I can only think of one artist who was reluctant to get involved with a reissue. I won’t say who, as he eventually came on board and I think a lot of the initial reluctance was due to (bad) advice from a manager keen to flex biceps and talk the talk.

Tracking down some of these folks has proven to be an art in itself and erstwhile music journalist and friend Paul Suter has proven to be extremely helpful in this area. Paul, surprisingly, if you’ve ever experienced his rather relaxed personality, found employment in Los Angeles, until recently, as a Bounty Hunter with access to various interesting track and trace methods…and we don’t just mean a computer and a Google search engine either.

The delicious Karen Lawrence from hard rockers 1994 couldn’t believe our audacity when Paul came a knockin’ about the 1994 reissue (and yes, the second album is on our radar) but proved a real doll providing some great candid shots including rather pulse accelerating leather jump suit shots. Classic Rock’s Geoff Barton nearly choked on his morning cornflakes when they popped trough the Outlook Express mailbox.

Hats off to the boys from Money (the pre NWOBHM late seventies hard rockers) who came down to London from their native Birmingham to reconnect with myself and journalist Malcolm Dome. That album was one of my personal favourite RC reissues – it’s a record that I thought should have done so much more at the time of its original release.

It took a few phone calls and the smell of freshly hung meat but even Ted Nugent got on the blower to spill the beans on his ‘Scream Dream’ and ‘Weekend Warriors’ albums. Diving For Pearls front fella Danny Malone was also super cool – he gave his all in between studying as an art major up in Boston. Danny is married to an English girl and they both came over to London a couple of months back to visit the in laws which provided an excuse for us to get together. We sat for two hours talkin’ turkey, discussing our mutual love of Steve Marriott and Humble Pie together with the why’s, the wherefores and the I-Don’t-Mind-If -I-Do’s of DFP producer David Prater in full-on ‘creative’ mode. David, as talented as he is, is quite a live wire when it comes to twiddling the knobs and we both had marvellous stories to share. Danny is still writing songs but I fear his attention has turned to all things visual and colourful – a renaissance man no less.

Looking back I can’t think of one single artist that put the mockers on any of our releases. Even Lita Ford, once we tracked her down to a remote Caribbean island where she now lives with husband Jim Gillette, was dead keen to provide all the help health and beauty required. Talking of beauty, Romeo’s Daughter front gal Leigh Matty couldn’t have been a more engaging personality, genuinely thrilled about their album being resuscitated and reissued. The voice of rock Glen Hughes took a chunk out of his time to spill the beans on the Hughes/Thrall album (where art H/T ‘II’?) whilst Pat Thrall tweaked and trimmed the two bonus tracks into a fit-for-purpose state. Touch Man Mark Mangold hooked up with me in NYC earlier this year – we are actually long time friends from many years back – so that was a pleasant reconnect. Mark has a great sense of humour – something that I was unaware of until our latest dalliance.

Best of all though was finely connecting with someone from Mother’s Finest. I make no apologies for saying that MF are one of my favourite ever bands – a wonderfully talented unit that coulda and shoulda sold a lot more records first time around. I’d actually met singer Joyce Kennedy in 1989 at the Hollywood Palladium but only briefly – she’s one of my all time favourite singers – but, for some reason that night, I was literally tongue tied. This time around it was ultra cool bassist Wyzard who took our MF reissue project by the reigns. The Wyz, proved to be a super dude, delivering on every count – I even introduced him to the legendary Brian Brinkerhoff who promptly sequestered the Wyz in an LA studio to play bass on a blues album that Brian was making with Guitar Shorty. Apparently they all got on like a house on fire.

More recently, I’ve been working with Raging Slab’s Greg Strzempka who has proven to be something of a real treasure. We kicked around who was going to write the essay for the Slab reissue and it occurred to me that Greg might actually be the best person for the job. He didn’t let us down either…the essay is mind blowingly GREAT. Gregg’s ability to paint pictures with words is beyond comprehension. The story is full of true-grit tales from the front line and it’s astonishingly funny. In fact, I shall trailer some of the parts that didn’t make the cut over the next couple of days to give you a sense of what’s in store in final booklet. I told Gregg that he must stop all this rock ‘n’ roll malarkey immediately and turn his attention to publishing – the boy has one hell of a book in him and I’d be first in line to buy a copy.

The weekend looms. I shall be examining my record collection for any unplayed music and making lists amongst matters of a more domestic nature.

So where were we? Oh yes, on Sunday afternoon June 22nd 1975 you would have found myself and my school chum Brian Farmer, sitting on the steps of the Roundhouse (curiously they went up a flight rather than the current configuration walking down steps into the venue). We were joined by an older cousin of his from Devon who had been packed off to London in an effort to find suitable employment. He had very long hair (presumably the reason why he couldn’t find a job) and was dressed in faded Denim looking very much the part of an early seventies rocker – I suppose he was only about four or five years older than us, but somehow, in our world, he had assumed the role of an elder ‘rock god’ statesman. He didn’t speak much but whatever he did say had an air of chilling finality about it.

Early entry to the Roundhouse was all part of the event. With no seats it was essential that you got a good pitch but that didn’t mean getting to the front of the stage as the floor of the venue was graduated so, like at the cinema, the best place was about a third of the way back. And it was here that Thin Lizzy literally blew my socks clean off. I don’t know if it was this particular gig but they were totally on fire – the twin lead guitar attack of Robertson and Gorham had fully evolved and Lynott was on top of his game – wielding a huge and impressive Rickenbacker Stereo bass, sitting way up high, like a tooth pick.

Most importantly however, they looked like a gang. I’d never seen a band act and sound so unified. They were positively dangerous, though Phil always had a twinkle in his eye and Scott’s user friendly smile never left his face. Robbo, however, was a different kettle of fish altogether. A man on a mission would be a polite way of describing that concentrated look. I think he used to sit a teddy bear on his speaker stack but that would belie the razor blade glances.

The new material was heavier and far more streamlined than the previous time I’d seen them. I can remember ‘Fighting’ and ‘Suicide’ but the rest of the set went by like a blur; a full-on explosion of rage with two Les Paul guitars grinding out riff upon riffs like they had only just been invented. Lynott played a cool-as-cucumber leader, always in control and always holding the reigns of his two henchmen. Brian Downey? There was no better drummer around in those days and you can include Bonzo and Moon in that assessment. Of course, it was a monumental gig and one that sent shockwaves around London several days after. This was definitely the tipping point for the band, the moment when not only their fans realised that they were about to move up to the next level but also the rock press as well.

The Roundhouse gig, as it turned out, was a one-off show pencilled in and played whilst they were in the midst of recording the ‘Fighting album at Olympic studios in Barnes, south west London. Later that same year in September, when the album was released, they headed out on a full UK tour this time bringing their show to a bigger and more prestigious London venue; The New Victoria theatre located across the road from the mainline train station. A plush venue alright, with a balcony seating about 2,000 at a squeeze. I’d been there a couple of times before to see a few bands (the Atlanta Rhythm Section and, I think, Johnny Winter) but this was definitely the most exciting event the venue had ever hosted. John Peel was there too, sporting a duffle coat and looking suitably morose – I said hello to him in the foyer and he nodded back disapprovingly. I felt blessed.

Lizzy fielded two support bands that night; newly signed to Phonogram Birmingham based art rockers City Boy (featuring Mike Slamer) and prog men String Driven Thing. City Boy kicked off proceedings and came across as somewhat pretentious, a rudderless cross between 10cc and pop band Pilot. It was a far cry from the luscious AOR direction that they would later adopt. String Driven Thing had been working the college and university circuit for years but had just revamped their line-up and style switching from hoary old prog rock to a more streamlined hard rock direction. The problem, however, was that they continued to feature an electric violinist, long serving weirdy beardy Graham Smith (think Michael Evis but scarier), thus forever scuppering any chance of escaping the early seventies prog brigade. Amazingly, it must be said, they went down really well before Lizzy came on stage and ripped the place apart. If Lizzy had arrived at the Roundhouse then this show was a rocket ride to the Moon. I can’t tell you how great they were except to say that at this time no one could possibly touch them as a live band. They were that explosive and that impressive.

Of course, this brings us back to the recently released ‘UK Tour 1975’. A fine, if mildly flawed, document of a band on the precipice of greatness. People often point to the ‘Jailbreak’ album as the record that solidified Lizzy’s sound and reputation but I, along with a few other puritans, will always point to the ‘Fighting’ album as the record that really set Lizzy apart from the pack. ‘Fighting My Way Back’, ‘For Those Who Love To Live’, ‘Suicide’, ‘Wild One’ and ‘Rosalie’ are all classics in the Lizzy canon. However, my favourite track, and one never aired live, was ‘Kings Vengeance’, the precursor, if you will, to the swashbuckling style premiered on ‘Jailbreak’.

Tomorrow I go in search of further Rock Candy reissue booty and the next three UFO releases.

Be seeing you.

Been in Manchester for the last few days attending a music conference – In The City. Some interesting characters walking around the hotel lobby including, and I kid you not, Jonathan King, the erstwhile king of penitentiary pop. Also in attendance was Andrew Loog Oldham, the original manager of the Rolling Stones, the Beatles Press Officer and one of the founders of Immediate Records, the late sixties out-a-sight London based record label sporting the Nice and the Small Faces amongst a fair share of obscurities such as Duncan Browne and PP Arnold. Oldham was in fine form; very much a product of his era and sprouting plenty of catchy strap lines - it was like watching a mannicured mash-up of ‘A Clockwork Orange’ and ‘If’. Apart from entertaining us with a curious light green tweed jacket he refereed a conversation between label mogul Seymour Stein and record producer Richard Gotterer which was sort of like a scene out of the Odd Couple – highly entertaining and full of great stories from the sixties with Seymour insisting on singing lines from obscure doo-wop tracks.

On a more serious note, Just before leaving for Manchester, I bought the new Thin Lizzy CD ‘UK Tour ‘75’. Much has been made of this release in Thin Lizzy fan forums. Highly anticipated, the hype has been focussed on both sound quality and content so I was gagging to break the seal and stick it into the CD player. To be honest I was pretty disappointed with the recording quality; its quite harsh and treble – in fact, I think the mastering engineer forgot to dial in sufficient bottom end – either that or it wasn’t on the original masters. The song selection however is boss. A killer set list recorded at a crucial moment in the bands development.

I had seen them supporting Bachman Turner Overdrive at Hammersmith Odeon the year before (1974) and then headline the Roundhouse in London’s Camden town during the summer of ’75. The Roundhouse show was a significant development for Lizzy, it was their first prestigious headline gig in the Capitol and I can remember walking to the venue on a Sunday afternoon from my parent’s home – about 4 miles. In those days Sundays at the Roundhouse were extra special – they would open the doors late afternoon and it would always be a three band bill for a relatively cheap price. In fact, Mott The Hoople wrote a song about the venue – their last every single with the newly hired Mick Ronson on guitar titled ‘Saturday Gigs’.

The Roundhoue in those days was a decidedly grubbier venue than the recently re-opened and refurbished building you may have visited in the last couple of years. For a start, the stage was almost at the same level as the audience and the circular interior perimeter housed a number of stalls selling everything from Afghan Coats to second hand vinyl. And there was always a bloke called Jesus who specialised in freak-out idiot dancing whilst handing out pieces of fruit and nuts to anyone at arms length. He actually lived around the corner from my friend Charlie and would always insist, much to chaz’s annoyance, on walking with him to the station draped in bells and magic flute in hand. I still see him around town every now and again but these days I looks less like Jesus and more like Postman Pat. Somehow he used to be at every gig I ever went to in London – a permanent fixture on the scene and the coolest looking dude in the place or so we thought.

One of the support bands that night was an interesting gritty Welsh rock band called Good Habit. I recognised the singer straight away; a guy called Morty who was the same dude who used to play football in Queen Park with me and my friends – we didn’t realise that he was in a band. We all thought he was a tube driver or fish monger but that was indeed him up on stage belting out some pretty lean and mean hardish rock – an amazing voice actually, sort of like Family’s Roger Chapman. Good Habit was a name that we all recognised from the back of the Melody Maker as they seemed to play pub gigs pretty regularly but suddenly they disappeared. I thought they’d packed it in or gone back to Wales until I saw the same band on Top Of The Pops performing their lone hit ‘They Shoot Horses Don’t They’. The reason why I thought they’d split up was self evident – they’d changed their name to Racing Cars, signed to Chrysalis Records and cut some quality albums very much in the Streetwalkers/Family vibe. A wonderful group and recently reformed I believe with Morty still on vocals.

As for Lizzy….you’ll have to check in tomorrow for full details. All I will say is, it was one of those life changing moments, a really you should have been there kind of experience.

Strolled down to a rehearsal studio in Shepherds Bush, West London last night to hook up with an interesting band called the Whybirds. A group recommended by Guy Griffin of the Quire Boys. Guy and I have a long history working with a band that he formed during the late 90’s. The legendary Brian Brinkerhoff and I signed Guy’s band Glimmer to our production company and made a fabulous record with him in Los Angeles produced by the wonderfully exuberant Jim Wirt (pre success with Hoobastank and Incubus) in his studio located out in Santa Monica.

Sadly we couldn’t get the record signed to a major label – a sure fire sign of its quality and brilliance! Glimmer’s sound was very much a mash-up of old school early seventies glam, mid nineties Brit rock (think Oasis, the La’s) and prime-time power pop. At the time I remember saying to Brian that it was the proudest thing that I’d ever been involved in – I loved the album and Guy was such a compelling songwriter and front man that it broke our hearts when we encountered zero reaction from A&R folk.

Just when it looked like nothing would pan out an old colleague of mine at Atlantic Records, Frankie LaRocka got wind of the project. Prior to his A&R role at Atlantic, Frankie had a long and illustrious career as a top drummer – check out your collection of AOR albums, he’s all over the credits of several highly praised East Coast recordings including John Waite’s ‘Ignition’ (a Rock Candy Classic). Whilst at Atlantic, Frankie signed and worked with Dirty Looks, Silent Running and Mr Big, amongst many others, but left to join Columbia Records where he signed the Spin Doctors. By the late 90’s he’d set up his own label in NYC. He heard the Glimmer album and flipped out, signing it to his label. Sadly, Frankie’s initial enthusiasm wasn’t enough to overcome the many hurdles of the US music business where money talks and bullshit, well, bullshit walks. The album was lost in the mists of time where only Def Leppard’s Joe Elliott is still left raving about it. Of course Frankie would still be banging on about it to this day if his life wasn’t tragically cut short a couple of years back.

I should write about Frank as he was truly a GREAT character and one of the best A&R people around at the time. We had numerous wild times together in NYC, not wacky shit I might add, just unbelievably funny stuff. One time Frank bought Dirty Looks frontman Henrick to my office telling him that I was actually a journalist who’d ripped his album to shreds, so when he came in I was introduced as ‘Dave’ and Henrik was clearly revved up and ready to go off big time – Frankie had been winding him up about for half an hour beforehand and I could tell Henrick on edge. I kept remonstrating that I wasn’t the journalist but Frankie piled on the agony insisting to Henrik that I was just trying to squirm my way out. Somehow I managed to get Henrik to do a sort of 180 degree dance around the office (with Frankie grinning in the background) so that I was closest to the door, an escape route that I used at the first opportunity. It was such a successful wind up that Frankie couldn’t even convince Henrik that I wasn’t the guy after the whole thing had ended.

But back to the Whybirds. If you are at all interested in Alt-country rock then you’ll love these guys. They have it all; songs, musicianship and a sense of maturity that most acts of this kind can’t even comprehend. I’ve lost count of the amount of times that Q, Uncut or Word magazine has banged on about alt-country artists to hear music that sounds like its been recorded in bathroom by clueless embryonic singer/songwriters. These guys are the real deal – think Flying Burrito Brothers, Tom Petty and The Band (yes, ‘Up On Cripple Creek’ style). Better looking than the early Eagles and every inch as determined, you’ll be hearing more of these guys some time soon.

Apart from the never ending and it must be said thoroughly absorbing Rock Candy activity I’ve been working behind the scenes (or should that be Screens?) on another interesting project. Somehow, and don’t ask me how, I’ve managed to insert my tubby torso into the formation of a new label called Powerage formed by distribution company Plastic Head in association with Classic Rock magazine.

The idea was mooted some time ago during one of many conversations with CR’s publisher Chris Ingham, a solid hard rock fan and someone who, thank god, is always on the side of the artist – struggling or otherwise. The problem with the recording industry we felt is that most major record labels aren’t interested in signing or developing young artists who play in a style influenced by what we lovingly term classic rock.

There are exceptions of course, and these are few and far between, such as retro-stoners like Wolfmother, AC/DC misfits Airbourne and Allman Brothers lookalikes Black Stone Cherry but overall the labels tend to steer clear of anything that doesn’t have a funny haircut, singers that, er, can sing and bands that are actually proficient at their instruments.

So, wheels were set in motion to right this wrong and Powerage was born. Its no coincidence that the chosen name was taken from AC/DC’s monumental 1978 album – the hidden jewel in their vastly impressive crown. We all felt that with such a regal pedigree moniker would send out the right message: Rock Hard. Rock Loud. Rock Free. I’m sure Bon Scott would endorse such a concept and it is with that firm belief we got down to brass tacks and actually did some work to form the label.

My mission then is to scout for bands. We’re looking to sign and release records by acts that may not, under normal circumstances, get a chance to air their wears to Joe public in such salubrious company. So far we’ve gathered together a particularly attractive selection of acts to kick off proceedings spearheaded by retro grunge kings Lethargy. The Welsh boys first caused a rumpus around CR towers a couple of years back when senior citizen Deaf Barton was sent a copy of their self financed debut album – he nearly had a coronary listening to it and rightly announced that were definitely a band to watch. In fact it was Geoff who personally called me up and sang their praises – he was dead right, they were great. Dream Theater producer David Prater was also enamoured and flew to Wales to produce the new album at an enchanting residential facility in Pembrokeshire (all stone walls, hills, vales and rustic charm) – the results are truly terrific and incredibly powerful.

Also out at the same time as Lethargy is the debut album from a simply brilliant Canadian band called Pride Tiger. They sound like a cross between the White Stripes and Thin Lizzy with twin lead guitar gone wild. Its amazing to me that these guys have captured the Thin Lizzy vibe so brilliantly and yet do not come across as some cheap knock-off or tribute act. Log onto their MySpace page and have a listen – you’ll hear exactly what I mean. Then there’s Endeverafter from California, a Tip-Top melodic hard rock band cut from the same cloth as late eighties Aerosmith and, dare I say it, the CULT. It’s good. Make that VERY good. Finally we’ve the latest album by Viking Skull. Sure, the name evokes memories of dodgy mid eighties German thrash metal but the reality is astoundingly different – these guys are primo British hard rockers with built in NWOBHM influences from Maiden to MORE (remember them?) and all points in between including a doff of the cap to Judas Priest and AC/DC. Good solid dependable hard rock with an edge.

And there’s more… working on some new signings as we speak. Stay tuned.