... that the Berlin Wall fell - the edifice which symbolised the Cold War and which had been erected in the summer of 1961, finally crumbled after 28 years, signalling the end of 44 years of Communist tyranny in Central and Eastern Europe.
Along with millions of viewers worldwide, I watched the TV news live - scarcely able to breathe or believe what was happening - showing events as they unfolded. As East Berliners climbed the Wall and started to rip chunks off it, I wondered how long it would be before the forces were sent in to quell the insurrection as they had done in Warsaw and Budapest in 1956 and Prague in 1968. But, it didn't happen. They were unchecked. This signalled the end of a thoroughly nasty chapter in Europe's history.
For me, the events had a bitter sweet irony. For years, as a child of Polish immigrants, I along with many others had long dreamt of this day and now it was here. Unfortunately, my father wasn't present to witness these events - he died a few weeks earlier - his own life had been changed out of all recognition by two World Wars. He was 7 when the first World War started and 11 when it ended, his education disrupted by the conflict. He was 32 when the second World War started, throwing a permanent spanner in the works for his life as an adult.
We were witnessing a peaceful revolution. The Nazis had controlled Central and Eastern Europe for nearly 6 years, the Communists for the next 44 years. Half a century of occupation. Two generations. Millions of people brought up in a totalitarian regime, ruled from the Centre (Moscow) with an iron fist by geriatric apparatchiks. A regime where there was only one party's name on the ballot paper. A regime where citizens of whichever People's Republic were encouraged to spy on and report on activities of their friends, neighbours, even loved ones, that could be considered to be against the interests of the State. A regime where, despite plentiful minerals, such as coal and iron, there was no food in the shops and people would queue for hours because they had heard a rumour there might be bananas for sale.
I cried and cried that night. In disbelief that this was actually happening. In sadness that my father was not here to witness this revolution. In joy, that, at long last, a new chapter of European history would commence, bringing a close to half a century of occupation and tyranny. I saluted the people who had died in that time, fighting against their oppressors.
Within weeks, politicians such as Thatcher were mouthing inane statements about how we should be careful, that the pace of this revolution needed to be moderated. Try telling that to nations under occupation for half a century, being given the whiff of freedom! Now, twenty years down the line, those countries are all part of a united Europe, an Economic Community, one where there has not been a war for half a century, sparing me and millions of others from the suffering my parents had had to endure.
Tonight, I raise a glass and salute all those who fell against their oppressors, those who lost their lives in pursuit of freedom and those whose lives were changed forever because they dared speak against the authorities. Alexander Dubcek, Vaclav Havel and Lech Walesa are names that people of my generation interested in European history will, no doubt, recognise. There were many others who were part of this process. This anniversary is of great significance to many people with the same ethnic roots as myself - Britain has not been occupied by a foreign power for nearly a millennium, so forgive my indulgence, it's rather special for me. It is an anniversary of the triumph of good against evil, of free speech against state control.
To freedom and peace.
Monday 9 November 2009
Friday 11 September 2009
Anoraksia strikes big time or Dateline Hilversum Wednesday 9th September
My slumbers on board the “Pride of Rotterdam” were interrupted with the message across the ship's tannoy system, saying that breakfast was about to be served. Yikes, it was only 4 hours ago that I made my way to bed. Hopefully, the shower would wake me up. It did, a bit anyway. Then it was off to the restaurant to get into gannet mode – there's something about a buffet that converts us into gluttons. Fruit juice, yes. Cereal, yes. Yes, I'll have eleventeen slices of toast. Oh and half a dozen cups of tea.
Before long, it was time to make my way to the car deck. As I was one of the last to get on, the same rule applied to getting off, sorry, disembarking, we're all nautical here! Then another queue to make your way through passport control. Do you get nervous, wondering whether Immigration will take exception to your beard or moustache? “You look like a Russian spy, you pig-dog!” Not to worry, “enjoy your trip”, he says, then waves me on.
Then, with the sat-nav warning me to drive on the right, I make my move. For a second, there's that moment of doubt, “is their right on the same side as ours?” But no time to dither. The previous night's internet search had decreed this would be a radio anorak day. First on the agenda is the Philips Museum in Eindhoven in the south of the Netherlands, then the Radio (Broadcasting) Museum further north in Hilversum.
So it's the Dutch motorway system – I'd forgotten how, once you get out of town you hit a motorway. Everything is motorway, motorway. The service stations are not the huge concrete monstrosities we have in the UK – they're much smaller affairs, with a load more character and soul. They seem to be dotted about every few miles, quite often individually owned, rather than by the corporate monoliths in the UK. By mid morning, it felt like mid afternoon – well, that's what happens when you breakfast at 6:30!
First pit-stop was Motel Gilze. A bit early in the day, so no-one was eating or drinking outside. Pop into the loos (20 cent honesty dish outside) then into the café. A delightful place with a mix of a few business folks conducting their commerce, a middle-aged group and a few tourists. Place my order for a “groote kopje koffie en een amandel brootje” (large cup of coffee and an almond pastry). The pastry is tasty. By God, that coffee will drag yer fillings out – the three cups in the pot seem to provide the necessary caffeine injection and in a short period of time, I'm feeling pretty refreshed and ready to resume the journey.
After about a hundred miles, the sat-nav finally tells me I've reached my destination, but I must have blinked a tad longer due to sleep deprivation, as I can't see it. I drive to the end of the street and round the corner before doing a turn in the road and retracing my steps. Then I see it, a narrow drive in between two businesses and a sign announcing Philips Museum.
Now you must be thinking what kind of nutter drives a hundred miles just to see a museum and one of electrical and electronic goods? C'est moi! To understand why, we need to turn the clock back the best part of 50 years. When we moved from Warrington to Manchester in 1952, my dad bought this superb Philips mains radio, a model BG514A, no less. Covering long, medium and short wave, this was my introduction to the wonderful world of radio. It had one of those green “magic eye” tuning indicators – the eye closed when you tuned into a station correctly – the fuller the eye, the stronger the signal. In addition to marking out the various broadcasting bands, the tuning dial listed all these exotic locations, Beromunster, Lille, Athlone, Allouis, Luxembourg and Hilversum – the latter was probably the first Dutch word I learned, the media city that houses all the big names in Dutch broadcasting. The second Dutch word I learned was probably Eindhoven, home of the massive Philips Electronics Industry combine.
The Museum traces the growth of the company, from its roots in making the new-fangled electric light-bulbs in 1891, through gramophones, radios and TVs, not forgetting specialised medical equipment, such as MRI scanners and the humble electric shaver. For an electronics buff like me, this was a fascinating journey down memory lane and reinforcing Philips tremendous name in the industry as an innovator - did you know it was Philips who invented the CD? There were countless exhibits tracking through the evolution of the company with the various products bringing it all to life.
One part of the exhibition is particularly poignant for me. They've devoted a small section to Eddie Startz, presenter of the “Happy Station”. I came across this programme, broadcast by Radio Nederland when I first got hooked on short-wave radio in 1962. It has the honour of being the longest running short-wave radio programme, running from 1928 to 1995 – Eddie presented the show from its inception up to the early 70s. He was my radio “uncle” - I wouldn't mind betting there were thousands of other “nephews and nieces” of his all over the world. He was knocking on a bit when I was a listener from 1962-70, but he had that knack of bridging cultures, nationalities and age gaps. I wrote to him a few times and each time got a nice reply and a mention on his show. A genial host who was a great ambassador for his country and is responsible for introducing me to things Dutch and to the Netherlands, my favourite European country. A true gentleman and a radio legend.
I am so pleased to have seen this exhibition.
Then it was time to set the sat-nav up for Hilversum, the Dutch media city, some 60 miles away for the Radio Museum. By now, it was mid-afternoon and I was hungry and thirsty. I found the street where the museum was located but decided to postpone that – a food pit-stop being the priority. So I made my way towards the centre of the town, aimlessly driving around, not knowing where I was or what I was looking for. Eventually, found a supermarket-linked underground car park. I should have taken the sat-nav out of the car and use it as a hand-held navigation device, but, being a newbie, that idea didn't occur to me. More aimless walking, getting more hot, sweaty, hungry, thirsty and irritable, until I went the other way and stumbled on a pedestrianised area with loads of cafés. By now, exhaustion was leading to indecision and more aimless wandering around. Then I saw a place that grabbed my eye, so went inside, liked the look of the place and the food on the menu – I proceed to order to be told that the kitchen didn't open until 5pm. It was now 3:30! B*gg*r!
So, it was a matter of traipsing round some more. I'm outside a café reading the menu, when I'm accosted by a young waitress. Maybe she's taking pity on a weary traveller, maybe she just wants me to spend my money there, but who cares? She's very helpful, asking me what type of things I like to eat. I ask what she'd recommend on the menu – she points to some items under the heading “italiaanse bol”. She tells me it's a sort of bun with a filling and recommends a beef bol with a spicy sauce. Sounds good! Done! I go inside and park my weary bum, ordering a BIG iced tea with LOADS of ice. By the time the food has arrived, I've already shifted one iced tea and need another. What can I say about the food? Absolutely divine. Tender beef in a spicy sauce inside this bol with some melted cheese. Wanna know more about bols? It's not advocaat but a seasoned crusty bun with a tasty filling. Never seen anything like this over in the UK, but next time you're in the Netherlands, go for it. Yummy, Yummy, Yummy!
Then, it's back to the car to find the Radio (Broadcasting) Museum. Well, this must rank as one of the most frustrating hours I have ever spent. Drove up and down the street it was supposed to be on, then I find numbers 121—131 are down this narrow drive. At the end, there are half a dozen buildings. No-one knows anything about the place. I rapidly run out of time and, in the end, give it up as a bad job. I am so disappointed as this was supposed to house broadcasting equipment from the very early days in the 1920s to the present day, (Postscript, looking this up further on the net, there are three different addresses listed on various websites – I guess the answer is to do your homework more thoroughly and maybe use the VVV – the Dutch Tourist Board).
By now, I am wiped out and decide to make my tracks towards the final destination of the day, the old Radio Veronica studios, now home to Hotel Lapershoek. I punch the details into the sat-nav and after driving what seemed like ages, the system tells me that I have reached my destination. Only problem is that there is nothing I recognise. Mind you, the one and only time I was there was in September 1973 with my best friend, Peter, when we visited the studios. I conclude I must have missed it and decide to turn around when it's safe – ah, there's a round about ahead, I'll turn round that. Hey!!!! Bingo!! There it is, on the corner. I have to say that I still don't recognise it, but it's definitely the place from photos I've seen on the net.
“Heb je en kamer voor eeen persoon?” (Have you a room for one). “Ja” is the answer. It's a top notch hotel - Hotel Lapershoek, so the tariff at €110 exclusive doesn't surprise me. Media City Hilversum as a location must also bump up the prices, as this is clearly a major conference location with a special block at the back of the hotel. On a nostalgic kick, I tell the receptionist about my previous visit to the place – yes, she knows about Radio Veronica, but tells me that she wasn't even born in 1973, LOL. The room is nice and comfortable, facing the road roundabout. Wi-fi is free downstairs in the lobby, but €15.95 in your room. A rip off really, but blow it, nothing like the convenience of the room, plus the laptop will need charging.
After freshening up, it's out for a meal – more of that later – then back to the room about 11ish to unwind and attack the internet!;-))))) After a while, I look at my watch and realise it's 12:45 and the bar shuts at 1:00. I bomb downstairs to find the liughts down low as the bar staff are having a drink. One of them tells me they're closed - “no bl**dy way you're closed at €110 a night” is the thought whizzing around my head. I tell him it says the bar closes at 1 and it's only 12:45. He realises his bluff is busted and asks for my order. I decide to continue my nostalgia kick by ordering a bacardi and coke - I'm told I'll have to drink it in my room. Well, that was my plan anyway. I retire back upstairs and toast my absent friend, Peter – how I wish I could tell him about me staying in Veronica's studios. We were oddballs together in life, hard duty anoraks - radio, music, films, photography, folk music, Scotland. We shared those interests. Alas, Peter died from cancer in 2001, aged 51 – we'd known each other for forty years from our start at Grammar School, even though we were never in the same class. Peter, this to you. Hardly a day goes by without me thinking of you. Wish you were here sharing these moments with me.
Alan in Hilversum reporting for Radio Veronica “een-negen-twee, goed idee” (192, good idea) – that was the station's strapline in the 60s, the reference to 192 being their wavelength.
Before long, it was time to make my way to the car deck. As I was one of the last to get on, the same rule applied to getting off, sorry, disembarking, we're all nautical here! Then another queue to make your way through passport control. Do you get nervous, wondering whether Immigration will take exception to your beard or moustache? “You look like a Russian spy, you pig-dog!” Not to worry, “enjoy your trip”, he says, then waves me on.
Then, with the sat-nav warning me to drive on the right, I make my move. For a second, there's that moment of doubt, “is their right on the same side as ours?” But no time to dither. The previous night's internet search had decreed this would be a radio anorak day. First on the agenda is the Philips Museum in Eindhoven in the south of the Netherlands, then the Radio (Broadcasting) Museum further north in Hilversum.
So it's the Dutch motorway system – I'd forgotten how, once you get out of town you hit a motorway. Everything is motorway, motorway. The service stations are not the huge concrete monstrosities we have in the UK – they're much smaller affairs, with a load more character and soul. They seem to be dotted about every few miles, quite often individually owned, rather than by the corporate monoliths in the UK. By mid morning, it felt like mid afternoon – well, that's what happens when you breakfast at 6:30!
First pit-stop was Motel Gilze. A bit early in the day, so no-one was eating or drinking outside. Pop into the loos (20 cent honesty dish outside) then into the café. A delightful place with a mix of a few business folks conducting their commerce, a middle-aged group and a few tourists. Place my order for a “groote kopje koffie en een amandel brootje” (large cup of coffee and an almond pastry). The pastry is tasty. By God, that coffee will drag yer fillings out – the three cups in the pot seem to provide the necessary caffeine injection and in a short period of time, I'm feeling pretty refreshed and ready to resume the journey.
After about a hundred miles, the sat-nav finally tells me I've reached my destination, but I must have blinked a tad longer due to sleep deprivation, as I can't see it. I drive to the end of the street and round the corner before doing a turn in the road and retracing my steps. Then I see it, a narrow drive in between two businesses and a sign announcing Philips Museum.
Now you must be thinking what kind of nutter drives a hundred miles just to see a museum and one of electrical and electronic goods? C'est moi! To understand why, we need to turn the clock back the best part of 50 years. When we moved from Warrington to Manchester in 1952, my dad bought this superb Philips mains radio, a model BG514A, no less. Covering long, medium and short wave, this was my introduction to the wonderful world of radio. It had one of those green “magic eye” tuning indicators – the eye closed when you tuned into a station correctly – the fuller the eye, the stronger the signal. In addition to marking out the various broadcasting bands, the tuning dial listed all these exotic locations, Beromunster, Lille, Athlone, Allouis, Luxembourg and Hilversum – the latter was probably the first Dutch word I learned, the media city that houses all the big names in Dutch broadcasting. The second Dutch word I learned was probably Eindhoven, home of the massive Philips Electronics Industry combine.
The Museum traces the growth of the company, from its roots in making the new-fangled electric light-bulbs in 1891, through gramophones, radios and TVs, not forgetting specialised medical equipment, such as MRI scanners and the humble electric shaver. For an electronics buff like me, this was a fascinating journey down memory lane and reinforcing Philips tremendous name in the industry as an innovator - did you know it was Philips who invented the CD? There were countless exhibits tracking through the evolution of the company with the various products bringing it all to life.
One part of the exhibition is particularly poignant for me. They've devoted a small section to Eddie Startz, presenter of the “Happy Station”. I came across this programme, broadcast by Radio Nederland when I first got hooked on short-wave radio in 1962. It has the honour of being the longest running short-wave radio programme, running from 1928 to 1995 – Eddie presented the show from its inception up to the early 70s. He was my radio “uncle” - I wouldn't mind betting there were thousands of other “nephews and nieces” of his all over the world. He was knocking on a bit when I was a listener from 1962-70, but he had that knack of bridging cultures, nationalities and age gaps. I wrote to him a few times and each time got a nice reply and a mention on his show. A genial host who was a great ambassador for his country and is responsible for introducing me to things Dutch and to the Netherlands, my favourite European country. A true gentleman and a radio legend.
I am so pleased to have seen this exhibition.
Then it was time to set the sat-nav up for Hilversum, the Dutch media city, some 60 miles away for the Radio Museum. By now, it was mid-afternoon and I was hungry and thirsty. I found the street where the museum was located but decided to postpone that – a food pit-stop being the priority. So I made my way towards the centre of the town, aimlessly driving around, not knowing where I was or what I was looking for. Eventually, found a supermarket-linked underground car park. I should have taken the sat-nav out of the car and use it as a hand-held navigation device, but, being a newbie, that idea didn't occur to me. More aimless walking, getting more hot, sweaty, hungry, thirsty and irritable, until I went the other way and stumbled on a pedestrianised area with loads of cafés. By now, exhaustion was leading to indecision and more aimless wandering around. Then I saw a place that grabbed my eye, so went inside, liked the look of the place and the food on the menu – I proceed to order to be told that the kitchen didn't open until 5pm. It was now 3:30! B*gg*r!
So, it was a matter of traipsing round some more. I'm outside a café reading the menu, when I'm accosted by a young waitress. Maybe she's taking pity on a weary traveller, maybe she just wants me to spend my money there, but who cares? She's very helpful, asking me what type of things I like to eat. I ask what she'd recommend on the menu – she points to some items under the heading “italiaanse bol”. She tells me it's a sort of bun with a filling and recommends a beef bol with a spicy sauce. Sounds good! Done! I go inside and park my weary bum, ordering a BIG iced tea with LOADS of ice. By the time the food has arrived, I've already shifted one iced tea and need another. What can I say about the food? Absolutely divine. Tender beef in a spicy sauce inside this bol with some melted cheese. Wanna know more about bols? It's not advocaat but a seasoned crusty bun with a tasty filling. Never seen anything like this over in the UK, but next time you're in the Netherlands, go for it. Yummy, Yummy, Yummy!
Then, it's back to the car to find the Radio (Broadcasting) Museum. Well, this must rank as one of the most frustrating hours I have ever spent. Drove up and down the street it was supposed to be on, then I find numbers 121—131 are down this narrow drive. At the end, there are half a dozen buildings. No-one knows anything about the place. I rapidly run out of time and, in the end, give it up as a bad job. I am so disappointed as this was supposed to house broadcasting equipment from the very early days in the 1920s to the present day, (Postscript, looking this up further on the net, there are three different addresses listed on various websites – I guess the answer is to do your homework more thoroughly and maybe use the VVV – the Dutch Tourist Board).
By now, I am wiped out and decide to make my tracks towards the final destination of the day, the old Radio Veronica studios, now home to Hotel Lapershoek. I punch the details into the sat-nav and after driving what seemed like ages, the system tells me that I have reached my destination. Only problem is that there is nothing I recognise. Mind you, the one and only time I was there was in September 1973 with my best friend, Peter, when we visited the studios. I conclude I must have missed it and decide to turn around when it's safe – ah, there's a round about ahead, I'll turn round that. Hey!!!! Bingo!! There it is, on the corner. I have to say that I still don't recognise it, but it's definitely the place from photos I've seen on the net.
“Heb je en kamer voor eeen persoon?” (Have you a room for one). “Ja” is the answer. It's a top notch hotel - Hotel Lapershoek, so the tariff at €110 exclusive doesn't surprise me. Media City Hilversum as a location must also bump up the prices, as this is clearly a major conference location with a special block at the back of the hotel. On a nostalgic kick, I tell the receptionist about my previous visit to the place – yes, she knows about Radio Veronica, but tells me that she wasn't even born in 1973, LOL. The room is nice and comfortable, facing the road roundabout. Wi-fi is free downstairs in the lobby, but €15.95 in your room. A rip off really, but blow it, nothing like the convenience of the room, plus the laptop will need charging.
After freshening up, it's out for a meal – more of that later – then back to the room about 11ish to unwind and attack the internet!;-))))) After a while, I look at my watch and realise it's 12:45 and the bar shuts at 1:00. I bomb downstairs to find the liughts down low as the bar staff are having a drink. One of them tells me they're closed - “no bl**dy way you're closed at €110 a night” is the thought whizzing around my head. I tell him it says the bar closes at 1 and it's only 12:45. He realises his bluff is busted and asks for my order. I decide to continue my nostalgia kick by ordering a bacardi and coke - I'm told I'll have to drink it in my room. Well, that was my plan anyway. I retire back upstairs and toast my absent friend, Peter – how I wish I could tell him about me staying in Veronica's studios. We were oddballs together in life, hard duty anoraks - radio, music, films, photography, folk music, Scotland. We shared those interests. Alas, Peter died from cancer in 2001, aged 51 – we'd known each other for forty years from our start at Grammar School, even though we were never in the same class. Peter, this to you. Hardly a day goes by without me thinking of you. Wish you were here sharing these moments with me.
Alan in Hilversum reporting for Radio Veronica “een-negen-twee, goed idee” (192, good idea) – that was the station's strapline in the 60s, the reference to 192 being their wavelength.
Thursday 10 September 2009
Hans across the sea
In September 1973, my late best friend, Peter Barber and I went across the sea, not to meet Hans, but to do a tour of things Dutch and Offshore. At that time, the Dutch offshore stations were at the top of their game.
Caroline had returned on-air from the “Mi Amigo” playing album material. Radio Veronica was still there - founded in 1959 by a group of radio manufacturers to boost sales of radios, the station started broadcasting regularly the following year and had over the years become a much loved part of the Dutch radio scene. This was despite the fact that the Dutch Government would not give them a licence to broadcast from land. And the “new kid” on the block, RNI (Radio Northsea International) was by this time pretty much established too, broadcasting in Dutch in the daytime and English at night.
After a couple of tough years medically, earlier this year I had angioplasty which has given me a new lease of life. It prompted me to revisit the old trip as much as was possible and do some other things too. Such as spending a few days in Belgium doing the tourist bit in Bruges and Ghent, but also taking the opportunity to take in a Popcorn party.
So I booked the ferry, got the car serviced and started mapping out rough plans of things to see and do. I suppose I'm the original “Mr Lastminute,com”, not helped by a car problem that was stubbornly avoiding diagnosis by the garage. On the day of the evening ferry crossing from Hull to Rotterdam, I'd done so much running around that I needed three showers at various times of the day, just to cleanse the sweat – that was actually rounded off by a fourth shower on board the ferry. I always shower every day but this was a new record for me.
The sailing was due from Hull at 21:00 hours with check-in an hour beforehand – I'd bombed the 102 miles across the M62, stopping only for a bite to eat at an indifferent M&S Service Station and getting to my destination with only 20 minutes to spare! Phew!
The ferry, “Pride of Rotterdam” was humongous – there's a good write up of it at Pride of Rotterdam! It's the biggest ship I've ever seen and apparently one of the largest cruise ships in the world, over 8,800 tons. Such was the size of it, you could barely detect any movement at sea.
Once on board and after my fourth shower of the day, it was a matter of exploring the joys of Satellite broadband on board, "BECAUSE I CAN";-) To accompany me, a HUGE cuppa tea – thee sort that has a handle either side – and a slab of cake. I AM on holiday after all! ;-) . Now the reception staff were less than clued up about the Wi-fi (it's little things in training that let the side down), so I wasn't given clear instructions as to where on board it was accessible. Then I had problems getting the system to accept the username/password I'd purchased. Eventually, that got sorted out with the kind help of a nice Dutch lady member of staff and I was online. She compliments me on my Dutch accent, not a trace of English, she says. Asking me how I learned my basic Dutch (my words), I tell her about listening to “Dutch By Radio” on Radio Nederland as a kid, then the offshore stations, Radio Noordzee and Radio Veronica, in the seventies. Inwardly, I chuckle as I recall the young Polish lady (who worked at my local chemist's for about 3 or 4 years until last December) telling me she'd never heard Polish spoken before with a North of England accent! How was I to know, I just speak it and don't hear it through other people's ears!
Back to the internet connection, it wasn't that fast, but it was there and usable, which was more than could be said for the passenger next to me, swearing under his breath. The session gave me the chance to make final decisions as to what I'd be doing the next day. I also did a bit of housekeeping accessing my own computer. Ain't that brill? I'm not addicted, not addicted, not addicted.
After all that, I forget about the bar closing for a night cap - it's 2am and high time for bed, especially taking into account the prospect of a 6 o'clock start the “following day”. But not so fast, it's not my day for problems with technology letting me down as the magnetic door key won't work. Must have been the bank card in my wallet screwing it up – must check my bank balance, maybe some money got transferred from the purser's staff account into mine, then again, pigs might fly!
At reception, a Dutch passenger is also having problems getting into his room – he reckons that his room-mate has got lucky and pulled, locking him out while he did the Brazilian hump in the cabin. My new found friend was starting to imagine both of us locked out all night. He was even speculating being moved to a spare room. “Do you snore?” he asks. “Ever heard a Jumbo jet taking off?” is my reply. Eventually, one of the security staff makes me a new key and even escorts me to my room to check it works fine. I leave my Dutch friend to face whatever is awaiting him in his room with security. My security man tells me “it's been one of those nights”,but reassuringly adds, “thank God, people have a sense of humour as it's the funny moments that make it worthwhile”. He's come to this job after a lifetime in the Police, hopefully this has some of benefit missing in the world outside and is missing some of the hassles the Police have to deal with routinely. I struggle to get to sleep, but, after a while do drop off , the night punctuated by some bizarre dreams.
Alan on board "MS Pride of Rotterdam", 8th September 2009
Caroline had returned on-air from the “Mi Amigo” playing album material. Radio Veronica was still there - founded in 1959 by a group of radio manufacturers to boost sales of radios, the station started broadcasting regularly the following year and had over the years become a much loved part of the Dutch radio scene. This was despite the fact that the Dutch Government would not give them a licence to broadcast from land. And the “new kid” on the block, RNI (Radio Northsea International) was by this time pretty much established too, broadcasting in Dutch in the daytime and English at night.
After a couple of tough years medically, earlier this year I had angioplasty which has given me a new lease of life. It prompted me to revisit the old trip as much as was possible and do some other things too. Such as spending a few days in Belgium doing the tourist bit in Bruges and Ghent, but also taking the opportunity to take in a Popcorn party.
So I booked the ferry, got the car serviced and started mapping out rough plans of things to see and do. I suppose I'm the original “Mr Lastminute,com”, not helped by a car problem that was stubbornly avoiding diagnosis by the garage. On the day of the evening ferry crossing from Hull to Rotterdam, I'd done so much running around that I needed three showers at various times of the day, just to cleanse the sweat – that was actually rounded off by a fourth shower on board the ferry. I always shower every day but this was a new record for me.
The sailing was due from Hull at 21:00 hours with check-in an hour beforehand – I'd bombed the 102 miles across the M62, stopping only for a bite to eat at an indifferent M&S Service Station and getting to my destination with only 20 minutes to spare! Phew!
The ferry, “Pride of Rotterdam” was humongous – there's a good write up of it at Pride of Rotterdam! It's the biggest ship I've ever seen and apparently one of the largest cruise ships in the world, over 8,800 tons. Such was the size of it, you could barely detect any movement at sea.
Once on board and after my fourth shower of the day, it was a matter of exploring the joys of Satellite broadband on board, "BECAUSE I CAN";-) To accompany me, a HUGE cuppa tea – thee sort that has a handle either side – and a slab of cake. I AM on holiday after all! ;-) . Now the reception staff were less than clued up about the Wi-fi (it's little things in training that let the side down), so I wasn't given clear instructions as to where on board it was accessible. Then I had problems getting the system to accept the username/password I'd purchased. Eventually, that got sorted out with the kind help of a nice Dutch lady member of staff and I was online. She compliments me on my Dutch accent, not a trace of English, she says. Asking me how I learned my basic Dutch (my words), I tell her about listening to “Dutch By Radio” on Radio Nederland as a kid, then the offshore stations, Radio Noordzee and Radio Veronica, in the seventies. Inwardly, I chuckle as I recall the young Polish lady (who worked at my local chemist's for about 3 or 4 years until last December) telling me she'd never heard Polish spoken before with a North of England accent! How was I to know, I just speak it and don't hear it through other people's ears!
Back to the internet connection, it wasn't that fast, but it was there and usable, which was more than could be said for the passenger next to me, swearing under his breath. The session gave me the chance to make final decisions as to what I'd be doing the next day. I also did a bit of housekeeping accessing my own computer. Ain't that brill? I'm not addicted, not addicted, not addicted.
After all that, I forget about the bar closing for a night cap - it's 2am and high time for bed, especially taking into account the prospect of a 6 o'clock start the “following day”. But not so fast, it's not my day for problems with technology letting me down as the magnetic door key won't work. Must have been the bank card in my wallet screwing it up – must check my bank balance, maybe some money got transferred from the purser's staff account into mine, then again, pigs might fly!
At reception, a Dutch passenger is also having problems getting into his room – he reckons that his room-mate has got lucky and pulled, locking him out while he did the Brazilian hump in the cabin. My new found friend was starting to imagine both of us locked out all night. He was even speculating being moved to a spare room. “Do you snore?” he asks. “Ever heard a Jumbo jet taking off?” is my reply. Eventually, one of the security staff makes me a new key and even escorts me to my room to check it works fine. I leave my Dutch friend to face whatever is awaiting him in his room with security. My security man tells me “it's been one of those nights”,but reassuringly adds, “thank God, people have a sense of humour as it's the funny moments that make it worthwhile”. He's come to this job after a lifetime in the Police, hopefully this has some of benefit missing in the world outside and is missing some of the hassles the Police have to deal with routinely. I struggle to get to sleep, but, after a while do drop off , the night punctuated by some bizarre dreams.
Alan on board "MS Pride of Rotterdam", 8th September 2009
Wednesday 9 September 2009
Because I Can
Not too long ago, someone said to me “I'm doing this because I can” - well, that statement resonated with this self-confessed techno-geek! You see, my formative years in the 50s were inspired by what was on the pages of my favourite comic, “The Eagle”. Science fiction was the thing of dreams and space travel was one of those dreams, yet to become a reality. Gradually, those dreams started to materialise. The first satellite into space “Sputnick”, the first cosmonaut (as the Russians called them), Yuri Gagarin, and the first telecommunications satellite to link both sides of the Atlantic by television, Telstar, were just three dreams that became a reality.
In 15 months time, I will celebrate the 40th anniversary of joining the Computer Industry as a Commissioning Engineer for ICL (International Computers Ltd). I was just a rookie engineer, not really knowing too much of what was going on on the systems I worked on – at the time, it was Britain's largest commercial computer, the 1906A/S, each system costing around £2-3 million way back in the early 1970s!
Since those days, computers have got smaller and faster to a level that couldn't be imagined then. We used to joke “ICL is expanding and moving into smaller premises”. What I did know then was that computers should be available to all and be capable of being used by all, without needing an engineering or IT degree. We're pretty much at that stage these days, so let me share some of the things I'm doing computer-wise and mix them up with some aspects of my holidays.
A little while ago, I found this wonderful program called LogMeIn - basically this lets you log into your computer from anywhere in the world that's got an internet connection. Once you've logged in, you're watching the screen as if you were at your computer at home. Well, recently, I had an insurance policy that matured, so I thought, “I'll get myself a laptop” and I can take it with me on my holiday. That way, I can log into the computer that picks up the e-mails and I can scan the ones that interest me, reply to the ones that need a response (and ignore the rest for now) “BECAUSE I CAN”.
Those of you who know me well will know I'm into Belgian Popcorn music and various other 60s-related music genres. I download a quite a few shows regularly from the internet. Well, a couple of months back I found this online service that would do this automatically for me – all I do is “set the timer” with the various details and when the show's finished, go online and download the completed programme to my computer. Now, with the “LogMeIn” service, I can pick it up and download it to my home computer or even the laptop, if I want to. Sounds good and I do it “BECAUSE I CAN”.
A couple of years ago, I got this marvellous Freeview Video Recorder – a Topfield TF5800, or “Toppy”, as they're known to their owners. What sold me on this make is that you can connect it to your PC using a USB cable. That way, you can transfer the files containing the recorded programmes, edit them, if need be and then burn them onto DVD. They've got a flexibility that other makes don't have – you can customise them to do things that YOU find useful, by writing TAPs (Topfield Application Programmes). There's a whole body of people writing these TAPs, all over the world and you can install whatever TAPs suit your fancy. Get the picture by now that I'm a geek? I liked my Toppy so much, I got another for my computer room upstairs. The only problem is that the one downstairs is continually running at 90-95% full. Well now, I can stream off the programmes from the Toppy onto my computer thus keeping the Toppy free from the risk of hitting its storage limit. I do it, yes, you've guess “BECAUSE I CAN”. The only thing we can't do currently is actually view the Toppy screen from your “remote computer”. The Freeview EPG works like a Radio Times for the next 7 days, which is kind of a pity if you're away for longer. Wouldn't it be nice to set a programme to record while you're away on your holidays, irrespective of when the programme airs?
Ah well, that's on my wish list – I would like to do it “BECAUSE I CAN”, but I can't – YET!
Alan
In 15 months time, I will celebrate the 40th anniversary of joining the Computer Industry as a Commissioning Engineer for ICL (International Computers Ltd). I was just a rookie engineer, not really knowing too much of what was going on on the systems I worked on – at the time, it was Britain's largest commercial computer, the 1906A/S, each system costing around £2-3 million way back in the early 1970s!
Since those days, computers have got smaller and faster to a level that couldn't be imagined then. We used to joke “ICL is expanding and moving into smaller premises”. What I did know then was that computers should be available to all and be capable of being used by all, without needing an engineering or IT degree. We're pretty much at that stage these days, so let me share some of the things I'm doing computer-wise and mix them up with some aspects of my holidays.
A little while ago, I found this wonderful program called LogMeIn - basically this lets you log into your computer from anywhere in the world that's got an internet connection. Once you've logged in, you're watching the screen as if you were at your computer at home. Well, recently, I had an insurance policy that matured, so I thought, “I'll get myself a laptop” and I can take it with me on my holiday. That way, I can log into the computer that picks up the e-mails and I can scan the ones that interest me, reply to the ones that need a response (and ignore the rest for now) “BECAUSE I CAN”.
Those of you who know me well will know I'm into Belgian Popcorn music and various other 60s-related music genres. I download a quite a few shows regularly from the internet. Well, a couple of months back I found this online service that would do this automatically for me – all I do is “set the timer” with the various details and when the show's finished, go online and download the completed programme to my computer. Now, with the “LogMeIn” service, I can pick it up and download it to my home computer or even the laptop, if I want to. Sounds good and I do it “BECAUSE I CAN”.
A couple of years ago, I got this marvellous Freeview Video Recorder – a Topfield TF5800, or “Toppy”, as they're known to their owners. What sold me on this make is that you can connect it to your PC using a USB cable. That way, you can transfer the files containing the recorded programmes, edit them, if need be and then burn them onto DVD. They've got a flexibility that other makes don't have – you can customise them to do things that YOU find useful, by writing TAPs (Topfield Application Programmes). There's a whole body of people writing these TAPs, all over the world and you can install whatever TAPs suit your fancy. Get the picture by now that I'm a geek? I liked my Toppy so much, I got another for my computer room upstairs. The only problem is that the one downstairs is continually running at 90-95% full. Well now, I can stream off the programmes from the Toppy onto my computer thus keeping the Toppy free from the risk of hitting its storage limit. I do it, yes, you've guess “BECAUSE I CAN”. The only thing we can't do currently is actually view the Toppy screen from your “remote computer”. The Freeview EPG works like a Radio Times for the next 7 days, which is kind of a pity if you're away for longer. Wouldn't it be nice to set a programme to record while you're away on your holidays, irrespective of when the programme airs?
Ah well, that's on my wish list – I would like to do it “BECAUSE I CAN”, but I can't – YET!
Alan
Sunday 30 August 2009
Simon Dee RIP
Simon Dee has died from bone cancer at the age of 74.
Simon's was the first voice to be heard on Radio Caroline over the Easter Weekend of 1964. For me, he epitomised the "Swinging Sixties" sticking two fingers up at the establishment. About a year later, he jumped ship and joined the BBC, presenting the Light Programme's "Mid Day Spin".
He really hit the big time with his BBC TV show "Dee TIme" which was one of the most popular pop-music based TV shows of its time, commanding huge audience figures. The opening announcement, "It's Siiiiiiimon Dee" became one of the 60s catchphrases. He stayed with BBC TV for two years. After contract negotiations broke down when he demanded an increase in his fees and the BBC refused, he moved to London Weekend Television. Unfortunately, he lost out in a political battle with David Frost, whose show followed Simon's - Frost was a shareholder in LWT and felt his programme, which had a similar format to Simon's, would suffer. Exit Simon Dee. His career never recovered.
But for Offshore radio fans, he will be remembered fondly as the man who fronted Caroline's airwaves in the early days.
BBC obituary
Wikipedia
Cyril Nicholas Henty-Dodd, known as Simon Dee, born 28th July 1935, died 29 August 2009. RIP Simon.
Simon's was the first voice to be heard on Radio Caroline over the Easter Weekend of 1964. For me, he epitomised the "Swinging Sixties" sticking two fingers up at the establishment. About a year later, he jumped ship and joined the BBC, presenting the Light Programme's "Mid Day Spin".
He really hit the big time with his BBC TV show "Dee TIme" which was one of the most popular pop-music based TV shows of its time, commanding huge audience figures. The opening announcement, "It's Siiiiiiimon Dee" became one of the 60s catchphrases. He stayed with BBC TV for two years. After contract negotiations broke down when he demanded an increase in his fees and the BBC refused, he moved to London Weekend Television. Unfortunately, he lost out in a political battle with David Frost, whose show followed Simon's - Frost was a shareholder in LWT and felt his programme, which had a similar format to Simon's, would suffer. Exit Simon Dee. His career never recovered.
But for Offshore radio fans, he will be remembered fondly as the man who fronted Caroline's airwaves in the early days.
BBC obituary
Wikipedia
Cyril Nicholas Henty-Dodd, known as Simon Dee, born 28th July 1935, died 29 August 2009. RIP Simon.
Friday 28 August 2009
Offshore August
August is a month of great significance for Offshore radio fans in Europe. This year, August 14th marked the 42nd anniversary of the Marine Offences Act in the UK, and in a few days' time, August 31st will be the 35th Anniversary of the Dutch equivalent. Those Acts made it illegal to advertise, work for and suppy the Offshore stations and, effectively meant the end of an era for both countries, even though offshore radio did continue in a much reduced form.
It's been a tremendous month for re-living those memories as veronica192.nl run by the Veronica Foundation "Stichting Norderney" have been running special archive programmes to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the founding of Radio Veronica. We're currently racing towards the back end of this special programming as the webstream plays the whole of the final week of programmes broadcast by Veronica from sea in August 1974.
I recall those final few hours very well. My best friend, Peter Barber and I drove down to Great Yarmouth and holed up inside a hotel armed with radios and tape recorders determined to capture as much of those final moments as we could.
Veronica's programmes were punctuated with an announcement at the top of every hour... "Nog 77 uur... Nog 76 uur... Nog 75 uur " (only 77 hours left, only 76 hours left, only 75 hours left"). It was heady stuff, especially in the Netherlands where, in 14 years, Veronica had become a much loved part of the furniture. I was more of an RNI fan, so I probably didn't really appreciate how Veronica was viewed in the Netherlands. Listening to the archive programmes 35 years down the line, I realise I didn't give due credit to Veronica, the programming was top notch and covered a much wider "family-oriented" spread than RNI's, which was more pop-oriented, but then I was just a youngster in my twenties.
So, if you get a chance, do listen to the webstream as programmes reach a climax in the re-broadcasting of Veronica's Final Hour on Monday 31st August 1600-1700 BST (1700-1800 CET). I remember, all too well, as the programming closed with Rob Out announcing "Part of the democracy in the Netherlands is dying with the closure of Radio Veronica and that is a tragedy for the country" - this was followed by the Dutch National Anthem and a Veronica jingle. In the middle of the jingle, the transmitter carrier was cut and Veronica was silenced forever. I wasn't alone in shedding a tear.
The programme schedule is available on-line.
As if that wasn't enough, I've just read that Surfradio.eu will be doing a similar thing for RNI (Radio Northsea International) which also closed down on 31st August 1974.
For two days, commencing Sunday 30th August, you will be able to hear the final programmes of RNI. Surfradio will replay the original programmes as broadcast on Friday, August 30th. 1974, between 1100-2300 BST (1200-2400 CET) - this will feature the close down of the International/English service of RNI.
On Monday 31st August, Surfradio will give a complete replay of programming from 31st August 1974 between 0800-1900 GMT (0900-2000 CET) when the station closed down forever. During the period 1200-1400 BST (13.00-1500) you can hear the final two hours of the International Shortwave service of RNI.
Again, I recall those final hours of RNI. I felt the closure of the Dutch Service was particularly poignant as it ended with a jingle of Loe van der Goot repeating "Radio Noordzee, Radio Noordzee, Radio Noordzee," and superimposed over this were the sounds of waves, getting louder and louder, until they drowned out the announcement. Again, the carrier was cut prematurely and RNI died forever.
I'd been a big fan of RNi right from the start in 1970 when I heard Roger Day's taped test transmission announcements. RNI had been through a troubled life - in 1970, the ill-fated move to the UK coastline brought a ferocious response from Labour Government of the day. For weeks, the programmes were jammed - normally an act I associate with totalitarian Communist Governments tryng to stop free speech during the Cold War. In the end, RNI conceded defeat and limped back to it's home off the coast of Scheveningen, near The Hague in the Netherlands - but not before a General Election brought about a surprise change of Government. The vote had been extended from 21 to 18 and I was one of millions of newly enfranchised voters (I was just a few months from my 21st birthday).
RNI was running out of money, having been unable to secure advertising and in September 1970, reached a deal with the Veronica organisation who had paid a million guilders to the owners of RNI, in return for the station going off-air.
A few months later, early in 1971, that agreement was shattered when the owners regained control of the RNI ship "Mebo 2" and came back on air, initially with just English programmes and a few weeks later with a daytime Dutch Service and English programming in the International Service in the evenings.
During that period, RNI thrived and had great stability producing some superb programming, the Dutch programmes largely being recorded on land. Faves of mine in the early days were Joost den Draaier, the madcap Dutch DJ "Joost with the most off the Dutch coast", who had been so successful on Veronica in the 60s and Ferry Maat, whose soul-oriented programming became a big hit with me and with countless other listeners. Other favourites on the Dutch Service were Leo van der Goot and Hans ten Hooge who presented Driemaster, an afternoon show live from the Mebo 2. As regards the English service, notable faves of mine were Don Allen, Brian Mackenzie and Graham Gill, who introduced his programmes singing over the B side instrumental of Junior Walker's Way Back Home, "Well I come from Australia, that's where I come from.."
I absolutely adored RNI and most of my listening hours during that period were to RNI, whether it was the Dutch or English Service. The music was brilliant and the delivery was fast-paced. For me, it was the best station ever. Nothing beats it. My love of the Netherlands and things Dutch was largely shaped by RNI.
Enjoy the final hours and relive them online with surfradio.eu.
It's been a tremendous month for re-living those memories as veronica192.nl run by the Veronica Foundation "Stichting Norderney" have been running special archive programmes to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the founding of Radio Veronica. We're currently racing towards the back end of this special programming as the webstream plays the whole of the final week of programmes broadcast by Veronica from sea in August 1974.
I recall those final few hours very well. My best friend, Peter Barber and I drove down to Great Yarmouth and holed up inside a hotel armed with radios and tape recorders determined to capture as much of those final moments as we could.
Veronica's programmes were punctuated with an announcement at the top of every hour... "Nog 77 uur... Nog 76 uur... Nog 75 uur " (only 77 hours left, only 76 hours left, only 75 hours left"). It was heady stuff, especially in the Netherlands where, in 14 years, Veronica had become a much loved part of the furniture. I was more of an RNI fan, so I probably didn't really appreciate how Veronica was viewed in the Netherlands. Listening to the archive programmes 35 years down the line, I realise I didn't give due credit to Veronica, the programming was top notch and covered a much wider "family-oriented" spread than RNI's, which was more pop-oriented, but then I was just a youngster in my twenties.
So, if you get a chance, do listen to the webstream as programmes reach a climax in the re-broadcasting of Veronica's Final Hour on Monday 31st August 1600-1700 BST (1700-1800 CET). I remember, all too well, as the programming closed with Rob Out announcing "Part of the democracy in the Netherlands is dying with the closure of Radio Veronica and that is a tragedy for the country" - this was followed by the Dutch National Anthem and a Veronica jingle. In the middle of the jingle, the transmitter carrier was cut and Veronica was silenced forever. I wasn't alone in shedding a tear.
The programme schedule is available on-line.
As if that wasn't enough, I've just read that Surfradio.eu will be doing a similar thing for RNI (Radio Northsea International) which also closed down on 31st August 1974.
For two days, commencing Sunday 30th August, you will be able to hear the final programmes of RNI. Surfradio will replay the original programmes as broadcast on Friday, August 30th. 1974, between 1100-2300 BST (1200-2400 CET) - this will feature the close down of the International/English service of RNI.
On Monday 31st August, Surfradio will give a complete replay of programming from 31st August 1974 between 0800-1900 GMT (0900-2000 CET) when the station closed down forever. During the period 1200-1400 BST (13.00-1500) you can hear the final two hours of the International Shortwave service of RNI.
Again, I recall those final hours of RNI. I felt the closure of the Dutch Service was particularly poignant as it ended with a jingle of Loe van der Goot repeating "Radio Noordzee, Radio Noordzee, Radio Noordzee," and superimposed over this were the sounds of waves, getting louder and louder, until they drowned out the announcement. Again, the carrier was cut prematurely and RNI died forever.
I'd been a big fan of RNi right from the start in 1970 when I heard Roger Day's taped test transmission announcements. RNI had been through a troubled life - in 1970, the ill-fated move to the UK coastline brought a ferocious response from Labour Government of the day. For weeks, the programmes were jammed - normally an act I associate with totalitarian Communist Governments tryng to stop free speech during the Cold War. In the end, RNI conceded defeat and limped back to it's home off the coast of Scheveningen, near The Hague in the Netherlands - but not before a General Election brought about a surprise change of Government. The vote had been extended from 21 to 18 and I was one of millions of newly enfranchised voters (I was just a few months from my 21st birthday).
RNI was running out of money, having been unable to secure advertising and in September 1970, reached a deal with the Veronica organisation who had paid a million guilders to the owners of RNI, in return for the station going off-air.
A few months later, early in 1971, that agreement was shattered when the owners regained control of the RNI ship "Mebo 2" and came back on air, initially with just English programmes and a few weeks later with a daytime Dutch Service and English programming in the International Service in the evenings.
During that period, RNI thrived and had great stability producing some superb programming, the Dutch programmes largely being recorded on land. Faves of mine in the early days were Joost den Draaier, the madcap Dutch DJ "Joost with the most off the Dutch coast", who had been so successful on Veronica in the 60s and Ferry Maat, whose soul-oriented programming became a big hit with me and with countless other listeners. Other favourites on the Dutch Service were Leo van der Goot and Hans ten Hooge who presented Driemaster, an afternoon show live from the Mebo 2. As regards the English service, notable faves of mine were Don Allen, Brian Mackenzie and Graham Gill, who introduced his programmes singing over the B side instrumental of Junior Walker's Way Back Home, "Well I come from Australia, that's where I come from.."
I absolutely adored RNI and most of my listening hours during that period were to RNI, whether it was the Dutch or English Service. The music was brilliant and the delivery was fast-paced. For me, it was the best station ever. Nothing beats it. My love of the Netherlands and things Dutch was largely shaped by RNI.
Enjoy the final hours and relive them online with surfradio.eu.
Wednesday 26 August 2009
RIP - Ellie Greenwich and Larry Knechtel
I'm really sad tonight. I came home to find that songwritter Ellie Greeenwich died earlier today. On checking some of my mailing lists for the first time for a few days, I also learned of the death last week of another musician, Larry Knechtel. Interestingly enough, the careers of both artists were linked. Both were artists whose work moved me, and, as far as I'm concerned, that's what music is all about.
Ellie Greenwich
Looking at Ellie's life first, she was one of the first songwriters I ever heard about as a young teenager starting to buy records in the early sixties. Her songwriting credits, jointly with her then husband, Jeff Barry, and sometimes, Phil Spector, read like a catalogue of some of the greatest pop records ever written. Can you believe this list:
Ronettes' "Be My Baby" and "Baby I Love You,"
Crystals' "Then He Kissed Me" and "Da Do Ron Ron,"
Dixie Cups' "Chapel of Love,"
Manfred Mann's "Do Wah Diddy,"
Ike and Tina Turner's "River Deep Mountain High,"
Leslie Gore's "Maybe I Know",
Tommy James & The Shondells' "Hanky Panky,"
Shangri-Las' "Leader of the Pack," "Out in the Streets" and "Train from Kansas City."
Utterly unbelievable. And it didn't end there - in early 1966, Ellie and Jeff were responsiblle for providing Neil Diamond with his first major break, forming a joint publishing company with him and producing his earliest hits, such as "Solitary Man," "Cherry Cherry" and "I'll Come Running."
Ellie did some recordings of her own material, indeed a few of her tracks are revered on the Northern Soul circuit - although she didn't achieve commercial success as a solo artist, she will be remembered as one of the Teen Queens of Pop, during the era when the Brill Building produced such superb songwriters as Gerry Goffin and Carole King, Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, Neil Sedaka and Howard Greenfield - the only duo missing in that list is Jeff Barry and Ellie Greenwich. It was an era when life was simpler and emotions displayed basically and honestly. Ellie was a prime shaker and mover in those innocent times.
Eleanor Louise Greenwich, known as Ellie Greenwich, born October 23, 1940, Brooklyn, New York. Died August 26, 2009. RIP dear Ellie.
Larry Knechtel
Larry's name first came to my attention when listening to the title track of Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel's classic 1970 album "Bridge Over Troubled Water." Reading the album cover, I realised that it was his fingers that played piano on that track and that deservedly won him a Grammy.
In those pre-internet days, what I hadn't appreciated was that Larry had been on the scene for a number of years, most recently being a member of that elite group of LA session musicians known as the "Wrecking Crew". They provided the backing tracks for the major pop names of the 60s - the Monkees, Mamas and Papas, Bobby Vee, Byrds, Doors, Partridge Family, Carpenters and, of course, Simon and Garfunkel. When Brian Wilson was writing, recording and producing the 1966 Beach Boys magnum opus album "Pet Sounds," Larry played the Hammond B-3 organ. He was on the sessions for probably the best-ever pop Christmas album, Phil Spector's "A Christmas Gift For You", released in late 1963, on such classic tracks as "Frosty The Snowman" (Darlene Love), "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" and "Sleigh Ride" (Ronettes) and "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" (Crystals).
I next noticed Larry when Bread started having hits in the early 70s. He performed keyboards and bass on their first two albums, "Baby I'm A Want You" and "Guitar Man". Remember that fabulour guitar solo in "Guitar Man"? Well, that was Larry again.
For me, his greatest achievement was playing piano on Art Garfunkel's 1973 solo album "Angel Clare". The track that stands out for me is the Jimmy Webb song "All I Know". I once heard a
piece of music described 
as "achingly beautiful" - so beautiful that it just tugs at your heart strings and makes the tears flow helplessly through its sheer beauty. "All I Know" is such a song, that performance is, without a shadow of a doubt "achingly beautiful". I'm not too embarrassed to admit that the artistry and delicacy of the piano work in that track have moved me to tears on more than one occasion.
Lawrence William Knechtel, known as Larry Knechtel, born August 4, 1940, Bell, California. Died, August 20, 2009. RIP Larry.
Ellie Greenwich
Looking at Ellie's life first, she was one of the first songwriters I ever heard about as a young teenager starting to buy records in the early sixties. Her songwriting credits, jointly with her then husband, Jeff Barry, and sometimes, Phil Spector, read like a catalogue of some of the greatest pop records ever written. Can you believe this list:
Ronettes' "Be My Baby" and "Baby I Love You,"
Crystals' "Then He Kissed Me" and "Da Do Ron Ron,"
Dixie Cups' "Chapel of Love,"
Manfred Mann's "Do Wah Diddy,"
Ike and Tina Turner's "River Deep Mountain High,"
Leslie Gore's "Maybe I Know",
Tommy James & The Shondells' "Hanky Panky,"
Shangri-Las' "Leader of the Pack," "Out in the Streets" and "Train from Kansas City."
Utterly unbelievable. And it didn't end there - in early 1966, Ellie and Jeff were responsiblle for providing Neil Diamond with his first major break, forming a joint publishing company with him and producing his earliest hits, such as "Solitary Man," "Cherry Cherry" and "I'll Come Running."
Ellie did some recordings of her own material, indeed a few of her tracks are revered on the Northern Soul circuit - although she didn't achieve commercial success as a solo artist, she will be remembered as one of the Teen Queens of Pop, during the era when the Brill Building produced such superb songwriters as Gerry Goffin and Carole King, Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, Neil Sedaka and Howard Greenfield - the only duo missing in that list is Jeff Barry and Ellie Greenwich. It was an era when life was simpler and emotions displayed basically and honestly. Ellie was a prime shaker and mover in those innocent times.
Eleanor Louise Greenwich, known as Ellie Greenwich, born October 23, 1940, Brooklyn, New York. Died August 26, 2009. RIP dear Ellie.
Larry Knechtel
Larry's name first came to my attention when listening to the title track of Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel's classic 1970 album "Bridge Over Troubled Water." Reading the album cover, I realised that it was his fingers that played piano on that track and that deservedly won him a Grammy.
In those pre-internet days, what I hadn't appreciated was that Larry had been on the scene for a number of years, most recently being a member of that elite group of LA session musicians known as the "Wrecking Crew". They provided the backing tracks for the major pop names of the 60s - the Monkees, Mamas and Papas, Bobby Vee, Byrds, Doors, Partridge Family, Carpenters and, of course, Simon and Garfunkel. When Brian Wilson was writing, recording and producing the 1966 Beach Boys magnum opus album "Pet Sounds," Larry played the Hammond B-3 organ. He was on the sessions for probably the best-ever pop Christmas album, Phil Spector's "A Christmas Gift For You", released in late 1963, on such classic tracks as "Frosty The Snowman" (Darlene Love), "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" and "Sleigh Ride" (Ronettes) and "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" (Crystals).
I next noticed Larry when Bread started having hits in the early 70s. He performed keyboards and bass on their first two albums, "Baby I'm A Want You" and "Guitar Man". Remember that fabulour guitar solo in "Guitar Man"? Well, that was Larry again.
For me, his greatest achievement was playing piano on Art Garfunkel's 1973 solo album "Angel Clare". The track that stands out for me is the Jimmy Webb song "All I Know". I once heard a
piece of music described as "achingly beautiful" - so beautiful that it just tugs at your heart strings and makes the tears flow helplessly through its sheer beauty. "All I Know" is such a song, that performance is, without a shadow of a doubt "achingly beautiful". I'm not too embarrassed to admit that the artistry and delicacy of the piano work in that track have moved me to tears on more than one occasion.Lawrence William Knechtel, known as Larry Knechtel, born August 4, 1940, Bell, California. Died, August 20, 2009. RIP Larry.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
