John Lennon's house in Liverpool
I am a restless collector, always trying to sniff out the next Great Thing.
I've never been one to dwell on past music, to cling to tunes which summon memories, though there'd be plenty.
I ought to listen to Elfyn and Walton's shows on Radio Wales every Saturday, but Match of the Day takes precedence.
Though the other week I did so and wasn't disappointed : caught a Merthyr blues singer for the first time, Bryony Sier, singing from the depths of the Troedyrhiw Delta and it got me reaching for the ol' blues harp, key of E.
For once, I didn't care about the American accent : what a voice and what guitar! The River Taff turned Mississippi in an instant.
Sier is yet another talent to emerge from Merthyr, this town threatening to become not just the new Newport (circa Cwl Cymru), but maybe Liverpool.
The Taff beats to very different rhythms of course, like seasons on the river : from jazzy Kizzy, bluesy Byrony, reggae reggae sauce of Upbeat Sneakers, full beam of the Moonbirds and snarl of Pretty Vicious.
And so many more ( what happened to that compilation album, 'APPNIN'?).
So it was with excitement but no great desire to be bathed in nostalgia that we embarked on the FabFour taxi tour of the 'Pool.
We prepared in the car beforehand, listening to a few of the classics like 'Penny Lane', 'Eleanor Rigby' and a live 'I wanna hold your hand' accompanied by screams.
I was a 60s child who grew up with the Beatles, Kinks, Who and Stones.
While those others were important, my devotion to the Beatles never faltered.
Although the rebellious types went for Jagger, I always thought he was a bit of a poser and was never into all that dancing.
Early days we'd sing and play along with tennis racket guitars and my first ever single was......'Apache' by The Shadows!
My first album ( they were a luxury then) was 'Abbey Road' and when I used to sing to all three of my children when they were small, the Beatles made up most of my 'sitting list'.
With my first proper girlfriend we'd try out snogging marathons to the Beatles ( for me) and Small Faces (for her). The two most popular accompaniments to 'tonsil tennis' being 'Baby You're A Rich Man' and Itchycoo Park'.
When 'A Hard Day's Night' was released I was staying with grandparents in Aberystwyth and watched it on four consecutive nights.
Every new single was greeted with wonder and my first ever article was published in the school magazine, a review of Magical Mystery Tour.
Myself and my sister would sing along to the likes of 'Fool on the Hill' and 'Nowhere Man'; a devotee of Bach, it was the only pop she enjoyed.
Years after, when I'd discovered so much more music to enthrall, I still opened my ears to their aftermath : Harrison's remarkable 'All Things Must Pass', Lennon's 'Some Time in New York City' with its sheer ambition and political daring and Yoko Ono's much underrated songs.
It seems strange and fitting that my youngest ( who used to listen to a singles compilation in the car) should now embrace them, especially after her visit to the Beatles Story museum on Albert Docks.
Although they've become big business for Liverpool's tourist trade, the FabFour taxi tour is not a rip off.
We did the short one : well over 2 hours in a black taxi called Michelle, who is the belle of driver Gareth who introduced himself with 'Ydych chi'n siarad Cymraeg?' and then asked, in English, if we wanted the tour in Welsh.
Not sure what the scouse is for 'bullshit artist'!
Gareth was totally ace like......with a gift of the gab and a wikipedia knowledge of the band.
He'd obviously done a PhD in Beatlesology on the uni of the streets, with a thesis on Pete Best and the sacked drummer enigma.
Unfortunately, we missed Ringo's house due to a 'friggin' cycle race', but took in Paul's, John's, George's as well as all the sights on Penny Lane (even though some of them were elsewhere......Paul took liberties!) ; Strawberry Field orphans' home and Eleanor Rigby's gravestone.
I wanted to visit the holes in Blackburn, Lancashire but couldn't get a word in and that may well be included in a longer tour.
Gareth was full of interesting tales and particularly enjoyed debunking myths and stressing the importance of the Casbah rather than Cavern.
His story about Ravi Shankar commenting on George's sitar-playing on 'Norwegian Wood' was funny: the Indian master was scathing but went on to teach Harrison a great deal about playing that instrument.
He never glamourised the Fab Four and notably with Lennon, you could tell he was horrified by his bullying nature in those formative years.
For all that, Lennon's the one I most admire : he was never maudlin, became an international peace campaigner and embraced the avant garde influences of his second wife Yoko.
I also identify with his dysfunctional upbringing.
I empathize completely with that teenager who had no real father figure and whose mother rejected him.
Our guide Gareth liked to stress that Lennon was the most middle-class of them ( 'no working-class hero'), yet does it make that song any less valid?
When I think of someone like ex-Liverpool footballer Howard Gayle, the first black player to play for Liverpool and a working-class scouser, the words ring out truthfully - 'A working-class hero is something to be'.
Gayle recently rejected an MBE, explaining that it was a protest against the treatment of Liverpool fans in the Hillsborough Enquiry and also against the very idea of the British Empire, with its links with slavery( echoes of Zephaniah there).
Surely Lennon was singing about the likes of him, rather than trying to create a myth about himself?
Gareth dropped us at Albert Dock and a shop full of pricey plaques, posters and all manner of memorabilia.
Yet it's the songs which keep coming back and I recalled 'Baby You're A Rich Man' for the first time in years and the words -
' You keep all your money in a big brown bag inside a zoo'
.......and music to kiss to !
LENNON AT THE DOORSTEP
He turned up at her door,
wayward, wild, waspish,
a slick of slashback hair,
clutching his best mate Guitar.
A gasp, smile and a start,
she knew that nose, sharp eyes
squinting as they dragged her back
to 'our kid' given away, unwanted.
Not so distant, their Mimi
who'd done her job ; upright
and warning him from the wrong sort,
Council house scallies, orphans of Strawberry Field.
She took him in like a big sister
(too meny others called her 'muvver'),
let them rock before the Casbah,
loud and laughing and long.
He found a family of brothers,
newborn language of song :
music exploding a dynamite temper,
words pointed as the pick of his tongue.
I've never been one to dwell on past music, to cling to tunes which summon memories, though there'd be plenty.
I ought to listen to Elfyn and Walton's shows on Radio Wales every Saturday, but Match of the Day takes precedence.
Though the other week I did so and wasn't disappointed : caught a Merthyr blues singer for the first time, Bryony Sier, singing from the depths of the Troedyrhiw Delta and it got me reaching for the ol' blues harp, key of E.
For once, I didn't care about the American accent : what a voice and what guitar! The River Taff turned Mississippi in an instant.
Sier is yet another talent to emerge from Merthyr, this town threatening to become not just the new Newport (circa Cwl Cymru), but maybe Liverpool.
The Taff beats to very different rhythms of course, like seasons on the river : from jazzy Kizzy, bluesy Byrony, reggae reggae sauce of Upbeat Sneakers, full beam of the Moonbirds and snarl of Pretty Vicious.
And so many more ( what happened to that compilation album, 'APPNIN'?).
So it was with excitement but no great desire to be bathed in nostalgia that we embarked on the FabFour taxi tour of the 'Pool.
We prepared in the car beforehand, listening to a few of the classics like 'Penny Lane', 'Eleanor Rigby' and a live 'I wanna hold your hand' accompanied by screams.
I was a 60s child who grew up with the Beatles, Kinks, Who and Stones.
While those others were important, my devotion to the Beatles never faltered.
Although the rebellious types went for Jagger, I always thought he was a bit of a poser and was never into all that dancing.
Early days we'd sing and play along with tennis racket guitars and my first ever single was......'Apache' by The Shadows!
My first album ( they were a luxury then) was 'Abbey Road' and when I used to sing to all three of my children when they were small, the Beatles made up most of my 'sitting list'.
With my first proper girlfriend we'd try out snogging marathons to the Beatles ( for me) and Small Faces (for her). The two most popular accompaniments to 'tonsil tennis' being 'Baby You're A Rich Man' and Itchycoo Park'.
When 'A Hard Day's Night' was released I was staying with grandparents in Aberystwyth and watched it on four consecutive nights.
Every new single was greeted with wonder and my first ever article was published in the school magazine, a review of Magical Mystery Tour.
Myself and my sister would sing along to the likes of 'Fool on the Hill' and 'Nowhere Man'; a devotee of Bach, it was the only pop she enjoyed.
Years after, when I'd discovered so much more music to enthrall, I still opened my ears to their aftermath : Harrison's remarkable 'All Things Must Pass', Lennon's 'Some Time in New York City' with its sheer ambition and political daring and Yoko Ono's much underrated songs.
It seems strange and fitting that my youngest ( who used to listen to a singles compilation in the car) should now embrace them, especially after her visit to the Beatles Story museum on Albert Docks.
Although they've become big business for Liverpool's tourist trade, the FabFour taxi tour is not a rip off.
We did the short one : well over 2 hours in a black taxi called Michelle, who is the belle of driver Gareth who introduced himself with 'Ydych chi'n siarad Cymraeg?' and then asked, in English, if we wanted the tour in Welsh.
Not sure what the scouse is for 'bullshit artist'!
Gareth was totally ace like......with a gift of the gab and a wikipedia knowledge of the band.
He'd obviously done a PhD in Beatlesology on the uni of the streets, with a thesis on Pete Best and the sacked drummer enigma.
Unfortunately, we missed Ringo's house due to a 'friggin' cycle race', but took in Paul's, John's, George's as well as all the sights on Penny Lane (even though some of them were elsewhere......Paul took liberties!) ; Strawberry Field orphans' home and Eleanor Rigby's gravestone.
I wanted to visit the holes in Blackburn, Lancashire but couldn't get a word in and that may well be included in a longer tour.
Gareth was full of interesting tales and particularly enjoyed debunking myths and stressing the importance of the Casbah rather than Cavern.
His story about Ravi Shankar commenting on George's sitar-playing on 'Norwegian Wood' was funny: the Indian master was scathing but went on to teach Harrison a great deal about playing that instrument.
He never glamourised the Fab Four and notably with Lennon, you could tell he was horrified by his bullying nature in those formative years.
For all that, Lennon's the one I most admire : he was never maudlin, became an international peace campaigner and embraced the avant garde influences of his second wife Yoko.
I also identify with his dysfunctional upbringing.
I empathize completely with that teenager who had no real father figure and whose mother rejected him.
Our guide Gareth liked to stress that Lennon was the most middle-class of them ( 'no working-class hero'), yet does it make that song any less valid?
When I think of someone like ex-Liverpool footballer Howard Gayle, the first black player to play for Liverpool and a working-class scouser, the words ring out truthfully - 'A working-class hero is something to be'.
Gayle recently rejected an MBE, explaining that it was a protest against the treatment of Liverpool fans in the Hillsborough Enquiry and also against the very idea of the British Empire, with its links with slavery( echoes of Zephaniah there).
Surely Lennon was singing about the likes of him, rather than trying to create a myth about himself?
Gareth dropped us at Albert Dock and a shop full of pricey plaques, posters and all manner of memorabilia.
Yet it's the songs which keep coming back and I recalled 'Baby You're A Rich Man' for the first time in years and the words -
' You keep all your money in a big brown bag inside a zoo'
.......and music to kiss to !
LENNON AT THE DOORSTEP
He turned up at her door,
wayward, wild, waspish,
a slick of slashback hair,
clutching his best mate Guitar.
A gasp, smile and a start,
she knew that nose, sharp eyes
squinting as they dragged her back
to 'our kid' given away, unwanted.
Not so distant, their Mimi
who'd done her job ; upright
and warning him from the wrong sort,
Council house scallies, orphans of Strawberry Field.
She took him in like a big sister
(too meny others called her 'muvver'),
let them rock before the Casbah,
loud and laughing and long.
He found a family of brothers,
newborn language of song :
music exploding a dynamite temper,
words pointed as the pick of his tongue.
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