Tag Archives: Super Furry Animals

Rocks In The Attic #729: Super Furry Animals – ‘SFA At The BBC’ (2018)

RITA#729The Super Furries have finally managed to do what every other British rock band of the last fifty years has done: released an album of their BBC sessions. Still, while it may seem like an establishment move, their execution of the release is very much in line with what you may expect from such a madcap band.

Released in limited numbers by Strangetown Records, and through pledgemusic.com, the packaging is just awesome. The 4xLP box-set (£85) I managed to secure was initially available as a run of 400, while an even-more limited 5xLP set was available in a run of just 100. Thankfully, this was sold out in seconds – I wouldn’t have been happy with paying a further £115 for three additional tracks. Buyer’s remorse is a very real thing in the world of record collecting.

RITA#729bThe outer-box and individual record sleeves take their design from the Golden Retriever Yeti stage-suits that the band wore on stage, with a lock of the stage-suit hair included in a hand-numbered envelope within. The 5xLP set goes one further and includes some of the Yeti hair actually pressed into the fifth disc. I guess that’s where the extra £115 went.

Despite selling out within minutes, Strangetown Records announced a second pressing of a further 500 copies of the 4xLP set. This led to a lot of complaints on social media, from buyers who were understandably a little miffed at paying for something that turned out not to be as limited as they were originally led to believe. Without apologising, Strangetown issued a response:

It has come to our attention that there needs to be clarity on the 2nd press of the SFA at the BBC box set. There is no difference between the first and second editions so if anyone is unhappy at the thought of owning a boxset that isn’t ltd to 400 copies then we are happy to issue a refund.

While I’m not too precious about owning something that exists in limited numbers or not, it does annoy me that they didn’t press more copies to begin with. There’s obviously a demand for it. They could have pressed thousands and still probably sold out; and pressing in smaller numbers just adds to the horribly negative ‘have / have not’ climate of record collecting. It’s also annoying to shell out for it in the run up to Christmas, when you think that hesitation will be punished.

The eight BBC sessions presented here take place between 1996 and 2001, covering the period between Fuzzy Logic and Rings Around The World, and were taken from a mixture of Steve Lamaq and Jo Whiley’s Evening Sessions, and sessions recorded for Mark Radcliff and John Peel. Not a band known for doing covers, it’s a rare treat to hear them covering a fairly respectable version of the Beach Boys’ Warmth Of The Sun, with this song chosen as they’re one of the only bands that they could all agree on.

The eighth and final side comes from Peel Acres itself, the Suffolk home of John Peel and his wife. As somebody whose musical interests were as weird and wide-ranging as the Super Furries, it’s fitting that Peel’s Brummie drawl is the last voice you hear after the final song:

If you come back again, which would obviously be wonderful if you did, we’ll move the football machine, and er, so there’s a bit more room. That would be handy, wouldn’t it, if we were to do that? Or perhaps we’d build an extension. <sings> BUILD AN EXTENSION! Er, but thanks very much for coming anyway, it’s been a real treat. All the best.

Hit: Something For The Weekend

Hidden Gem: Some Things Come From Nothing

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Rocks In The Attic #716: Matt Berry – ‘Television Themes’ (2018)

RITA#716.jpgForget next month’s reissue of the Beatles’ White Album. Forget the new Chic record and the new Muse record. Forget that new box-set of unreleased Tom Petty recordings. Forget that super limited edition live box set of the Super Furry Animals that’s currently on its way to me. Forget it all. This is my most anticipated release of 2018.

Matt Berry is just a genius. Plain and simple. And I’ve never seen him in anything bad.

From the moment I first saw him, as Dr. Lucien Sanchez in Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace, through The IT Crowd (“JEN!”) and Toast Of London, he’s always been a joy to voice, and more importantly, a joy to hear.

This LP – signed by the man himself – is a reasonably faithful burst through British television themes of the ‘70s and ‘80s performed by Berry and his band, the Maypoles.

I just hope there’ll be a follow-up, as it’s such a rich source of material. This LP definitely brought back a few memories.

“Yes, I can hear you, Clem Fandango…”

Hit: Doctor Who

Hidden Gem: Sorry

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Rocks In The Attic #594: Manic Street Preachers – ‘Postcards From A Young Man’ (2010)

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I’m pretty sure the Manics have been making the same album over and over again since – at least – This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours. The first four albums all sounded different than the ones that went before them, for better or for worse, but from album number five they seemed to reach a level of complacency that has also seen them become darlings of BBC’s Radio Two.

The finger pointing usually goes to the disappearance of Richey Edwards – what band wouldn’t be affected by this? – and I find myself blaming his absence like everybody else. To be fair, I haven’t heard 2009’s Journal For Plague Lovers, the record written using posthumous lyrics by Edwards. I want it to be great, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to ever hear that record, just in case it’s terrible. It’s the same fear that’s kept me from watching the DVD of To Catch A Thief that I bought 15 years ago, because it’s the only film from Hitchcock’s golden period of the 1950s that I haven’t seen.

The one thing in the last couple of years that really killed the Manics for me was seeing the music video for their song Together Stronger. Subtitled ‘(C’Mon Wales)’, this was the official song of the Wales football team for the 2016 European Championships. What were once angry young men…

The Super Furry Animals’ unofficial Bing Bong was a better song anyway…

Hit: (It’s Not War) Just The End Of Love

Hidden Gem: Auto-Intoxication

Rocks In The Attic #500: Manic Street Preachers – ‘The Holy Bible’ (1995)

RITA#500Part I: A Search

When I started this blog back in April 2012, I never believed I would own a copy of my favourite album, the Manic Street Preachers’ peerless classic The Holy Bible, on standard black vinyl. It just seemed like it would never happen. On its release in 1995, it only saw a picture disc release on vinyl. And while I have that beautiful piece of wax, it might be nice to look at but it’s a dog to listen to. The only thing worse would be a flexi-disc – and I have that too: NME’s 7” Verses From The Holy Bible.

The album’s tenth anniversary came and went in 2005, but saw no vinyl release – just an interesting and very much welcomed CD / DVD box set, including the very interesting American mix of the album. Things started looking up – finally – in 2015 when the band released a twentieth anniversary box set, which included four CDs of material, a book, and that all-elusive black vinyl. I wavered though. Of course I wanted that slab of vinyl; I just didn’t really want the rest of the set. CD box sets tend to gather dust in my house, and once I’ve listened to all the bonus material, they just get pushed to the back of a shelf and never taken out again. I then found out that the vinyl record housed the four CDs in little pockets on its sleeve. Screw that – my plans of taking the vinyl album out to put with the rest of my MSP vinyl collection were dashed. So I continued to wait…

I waited through all the album’s twentieth anniversary celebrations in 2015.  I waited patiently. I waited while I heard the news that the band were going to play the album in its entirety at some live shows in the UK. After seven years living on the other side of the world, here was something that finally made me regret leaving the UK in the first place. Only the amazing 2012 London Olympics had prompted the same feelings. The reasonable part of me knew I was being silly, but the unreasonable part of me wanted to travel back in time to tear up my immigration documents.

It was nice to see the album’s appearance on last year’s Record Store Day list of exclusive vinyl releases. But it was just a picture disc again – two actually – one for the UK mix of the album and one for the US mix. Well, that was something, at least (and I picked those up in no time). But still no standalone black vinyl.

Then in October or November of 2015, I noticed that Amazon was listing a pre-order of the vinyl record – as a standalone release – for the end of December. No details, just a vague description: “vinyl” and “discs = 1”. I was sceptical. I had pre-ordered it before from Amazon, and for some reason the release didn’t happen; my order at that time was ultimately cancelled. Surely the same thing would happen here. Perhaps it was a nasty joke by some Amazon employee, maybe a God-botherer annoyed at the album’s appropriation of the holiest book around.

But then it turned up, the first piece of vinyl to land in my mailbox in 2016. A beautiful piece of black vinyl. No box set. No fancy release. Just a single disc in a minimalist package. No tracklisting on the rear cover; just a photo of the band and a quote by Octave Mirbeau. No lyric sheet on the inside; just an inner sleeve with a CCCP design on one side, and a photo of the band on the other side, overlaid with a quote by Solomon Northup (he of Twelve Years A Slave fame).

It was finally here.

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Part II: An Introduction

It was hearing Faster that started it all. Up to that point, I hadn’t noticed the Manics. I had definitely taken a dislike to their name though. Manic Street Preachers? How pretentious! What does that even mean?

It’s dangerous when you haven’t heard any music by a band, and the only thing you have to go on is their name. If the name sounds cool, then you’d be forgiven for expecting the band to be cool. If the name sounds unbelievably pretentious, well…

So I bought a compilation called Danger Zone during my second year at University. I’d heard some of the tracks before, but mostly the CD introduced me to a lot of the rockier indie bands I had avoided up to that point. It was the Manics’ Faster that really got my attention. It was like nothing I’d heard before – edgy, off-kilter, the sound of inertia committed to tape – and with lyrics name-checking Norman Mailer, Henry Miller, Sylvia Plath and Harold Pinter. Rock songs weren’t supposed to mention writers and poets, and as I was currently studying English literature, they sounded like the kind of lyrics I should probably be listening to. I needed all the academic help I could get.

The other thing that grabbed me about the song was the production. The first few lines with James Dean Bradfield’s vocals switching between a reverb and a clean sound was awesome, especially through a pair of headphones when you can really hear the difference. And guitar-wise, it was refreshing to hear a heap of effects that I just hadn’t heard before in my diet of Aerosmith, AC/DC, and the like.

I rushed out and bought The Holy Bible on CD, expecting to find more of the same. On first listen, I was disappointed. Faster was clearly the best song on the album, but what the hell was all this other stuff? Anorexia, prostitution, the holocaust, mass murderers, American politics, right-wing totalitarianism; to say that it’s a serious album would be a grave understatement.

A casual listener might have been put off by such content, but at that time I had the time and the inclination to fully digest myself in an album, to immerse myself in it until I knew it backwards and could form a valid opinion of it.

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Part III: An Obsession

Everyday from that point onwards, for maybe six months or more, The Holy Bible would be on my MiniDisc player (the highly unfashionable pre-cursor to the iPod). I’d listen to it on the long walk into University, sometimes finding myself listening to Archives Of Pain, a song about serial killers, whilst walking through the red-light district where Yorkshire Ripper Peter Sutcliffe picked up some of his victims.

I’d listen to it between lectures, as I wandered the streets of Huddersfield to kill time. Then I’d listen to it again as I took the same long walk home. The only albums I’d share in my musical diet were the Manics’ earlier albums, Generation Terrorists and Gold Against The Soul. They were good, but they weren’t in the same class as The Holy Bible. I’d listen to them to try and understand their follow-up album; how had this band arrived at producing such a unique piece of art?

Posters of the Holy Bible adorned my bedroom walls, and I sought out everything connected to the album. In particular, in those dark days before the advent of YouTube, I went to great lengths to see a performance of Faster on BBC’s Top Of The Pops – a performance that at the time of broadcast saw a record number of complaints (over 25,000). The reason? Bradfield’s black balaclava (with ‘James’ scrawled on the front of it) and the rest of the band’s military garb prompted comparisons with the IRA. Viewed now, it looks very tame but the troubles were in full swing at the time so it’s not hard to understand how the Mary Whitehouses of the UK were horrified.

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My girlfriend at the time wore a handmade necklace adorned with a Holy Bible lyric – I know I believe in nothing but it is my nothing, from Faster. I loved it so much she made me one as a gift, featuring another of my favourite lyrics from the album – Why do anything when you can forget everything?, from This Is Yesterday. I wore it every day until it split and the many lettered beads it was made of spilled all over the floor.

RITA#500cPart IV: An Understanding

To fully appreciate what the NME would ultimately call ‘a vile record’, it’s important to provide some context on how these four individuals came to record the album, and it’s impossible not to view the record without considering the unfortunate events that followed during its promotion.

As a band, the Manics are easily divisible into two camps. First, there are the musical writers of the band, vocalist / guitarist James Dean Bradfield and his drumming cousin, Sean Moore. They’re complimented by the lyricists of the group, guitarist Richey Edwards and bass player Nicky Wire.

The way that they approach songwriting is also fairly unique. An existing set of lyrics by Edwards or Wire (or both) is crowbarred into a piece of music written independently by Bradfield or Moore (or both). This is why the band’s lyrics sound strangely wrapped around the music. They don’t think twice about starting a line (or even a single word) at the end of a bar of music, and finishing it on the next bar. Effectively they’re fitting a poem onto a piece of music which might not necessarily have the same metre.

This is why I have major problems deciphering their lyrics. For a while, I though the chorus of their Masses Against The Classes single was ‘Grandma Says, Against Her Glasses’. Talk about mondegreens; I could write my own MSP lyric sheets and they would be filled with the most unintelligible gibberish. I’d have more success deciphering the Super Furry Animals’ welsh lyrics (who might very well be singing ‘Ysbeidiau Heulog’ on Mwng’s song of the same name, but I’ve always heard it as ‘a spidey-eye halo’).

To record their third album, the band decamped back to Wales, to Sound Space Studios, a small studio in Cardiff. Their first two albums had been recorded in London and Oxfordshire respectively, and their last album, Gold Against The Soul, had a hollowness and a commercial sheen they were keen not to repeat.

Manics biographer Simon Price describes The Holy Bible as ‘the sound of a group in extremis, at crisis point, hurtling towards a private armageddon.’ This sums up the album perfectly, but could also be used to describe Richey Edwards himself. Of their first five albums, this is clearly the most ‘Richey’ in tone, and Nicky Wire has confirmed that the lyrics are “30 per cent me, 70 per cent Richey”.

Five months following the release of the album, and on the eve of flying out to tour the record in America, Richey disappeared. Echoing the suicide of Ian Curtis in 1980 – similarly on the eve of Joy Division touring America – this was the culmination of Edward’s deteriorating mental state.

Part V: A Disappearance

Edwards and Bradfield were staying at the Embassy Hotel in West London. They were due to fly out to the U.S.A. in the morning, for a week of interviews to promote the album and the upcoming tour. As they arrived at the hotel in the evening, Bradfield played a demo of Small Black Flowers That Grow in the Sky, a song with lyrics written by Edwards that would later appear on the band’s ‘comeback’ album Everything Must Go. Richey loved it. In the morning, Richey didn’t show in the lobby at the agreed time.

When Bradfield asked the hotel porter to open Edwards’ room, they found a box wrapped up in paper featuring literary quotes and images, addressed to his girlfriend. Inside the box was an assortment of books and videos. His full suitcase of clothes, toiletries and medication was also found.

The ensuing police investigation found that Richey had driven back to his flat in Cardiff that morning. Here, they found his passport, which he had had with him in London, his remaining medication and his credit card.

Aside from uncomfirmed sightings of Richey in Newport, he had completely vanished. Sixteen days later, his car was found abandoned in the car park of the Severn View motorway services in Aust, close to the English side of the Severn Bridge.

It was impossible to identify how long the car had been parked there, but the battery was dead and it appeared that he’d been sleeping in it, playing cassette tapes though the car stereo.

Despite numerous unconfirmed sightings early on in places as far afield as Goa, Fuerteventura and Lanzarote, to this day Edwards is still missing / presumed dead – the Lord Lucan of pop music. In 2002 his family were given the option to declare him legally dead. They chose not to, and he remained a missing person until 2008 when he was officially presumed dead.

The proximity to the bridge – a suicide spot, as most large bridges are – served as a bookend to the situation to some. Many presumed he had taken his own life, but a body was never found. How horrible. It’s one thing for a band member to kill themselves – as had happened to Nirvana the year before – but for a band member to disappear, to have questions but no answers, must be considerably more torturous.

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Part VI: An Appreciation

The wise people know. You’ll hear them every now and then, in the toilet of a club, or walking in a mall. All of a sudden, your ears will prick up because you hear the word ‘Manics’ spoken by others; the Cocktail Party Phenomenon in action. If you can eavesdrop further, they’ll be debating which is the best Manics album. The one that’s heard The Holy Bible will be strenuously putting forward an argument that’s it’s better than all the others. The other person, the one who’s not heard The Holy Bible, will be saying something else. But they’ll be wrong of course.

Over time my tastes have changed. I’m not as avid a supporter of the band as I once was. I still follow them, but the standard of their post-Holy Bible output has been patchy to say the least. I’m still smarting over them (or more correctly, their record company) for putting out Know Your Enemy as a single disc of vinyl, despite its 75 minute running time.

The other week, I heard the Manics’ song backing the Wales football team in the 2016 European Championship. I nearly vomited, it was so bad. The Super Furry Animals’ song was much better, just proving that it’s not a missing band member that changes a band beyond comprehension, it’s the band becoming popular, moving into the mainstream, and falling back on tried and tested songwriting formulas that turns them into the opposite of what they started out as.

In 2007, I saw the Manics at Glastonbury; my last Glastonbury festival before I left the UK. I wasn’t excited as we were walking to the stage; instead I was going to see them on auto-pilot, out of a weird sense of duty. But halfway through the opening song, You Love Us, I suddenly remembered what a big fan of the band I was and as a result, I couldn’t stop smiling.

That must have been the fourth or fifth time I had seen the band play, and I noticed that they had added a second guitarist to their touring band. Up to this point they had been doing fine as a three-piece, but now it seemed like they were finally saying goodbye to Richey by filling his part in the band. The new addition to the band stood at the back in the shadows, while stage-right remained empty, as I believe it does to this day, waiting for Richey to return.

Hit: Faster


Hidden Gem: This Is Yesterday


Note – In the writing of this post, I’m indebted to Simon Price’s wonderful Manics biography Everything (A Book About Manic Street Preachers) (Virgin Books, 1999) which helped a great deal, particularly with its in-depth report of the police investigation into Richey Edwards’ disappearance. I’ve also recently discovered Andy Johnson’s great blog Manic Street Preachers – A Critical Discography, a great repository for MSP fans, and well worth checking out.

Rocks In The Attic #353: Suzanne Vega – ‘Suzanne Vega’ (1985)

RITA#353Suzanne Vega has to be one of my favourite memories from my first Glastonbury in 1999, probably one of my favourite memories from all of my trips to the festival.

On the Friday night, our circle of friends had finally all found each other – this was just before mobile phones became ubiquitous, so we had spent all the time on the site up to that point simply looking out for each other. We finally all met up near the Other Stage just after the Super Furry Animals’ set. From that point we at least knew where each other was camping, so we had a vague idea of where we might find each other.

Late in the afternoon on the Sunday, slightly fatigued by watching too many bands I walked over to find Paul and Kaj’s tent over in the field overlooking the Pyramid Stage. I actually walked past Lenny Kravitz playing the Pyramid Stage – something I really regret, as I’m probably never going to get chance to see him play again.

I finally found their tent – they were inside playing Top Trumps. Without any firm plans of my own, I agreed to get some food with Paul and finish the festival off by seeing Suzanne Vega headline the Acoustic Tent.

I didn’t really know anything by Vega at this point – other than the radio-friendly singles like Luca and Marlene On The Wall – so I was effectively a blank slate. She walked on stage to a huge cheer, and played the whole set on an acoustic guitar, flanked only by a lone bassist. She didn’t wear a bullet-proof vest this time though – 10 years earlier, she became the first female headliner of the festival, dressed in a bullet-proof vest as she (and her bass player) had received death threats.

To say that the audience was appreciative that night is an understatement. I’m sure the choice of artist helped, but the mood in the tent was just really chilled out, and it was a great way to wind down the festival. In all my repeat visits to the festival, I don’t think I ever enjoyed a Sunday night headliner as much.

Some years I missed the headliners altogether, and just went back to my tent to sleep. That’s another source of regret, when I missed Muse’s Sunday night headlining slot in 2004. When the rest of my friends returned to out campsite – friends who weren’t Muse fans, like I was – and told me how good it was, I couldn’t stop kicking myself. The show was so good – apparently – that even the drummer’s father had a heart attack!

Hit: Marlene On The Wall

Hidden Gem: Cracking

Rocks In The Attic #269: Tame Impala – ‘Lonerism’ (2012)

RITA#269I heard Tame Impala’s Elephant earlier this year on a compilation CD given away free with a rock magazine. I liked it immediately – my song of the year, hands down. What a groove – like the Super Furry Animals doing a T. Rex cover of the Dr. Who theme, with John Lennon on vocals.

I bought the album that weekend (I can’t remember the last time I did that on the strength of hearing just one song) and it became an instant favourite on the turntable. In fact the album was the soundtrack of my trip down to Dunedin to see Aerosmith play in April. It’s funny how albums do that, especially new albums. I remember when I used to go on holiday with my parents – begrudgingly of course – in my early teens. I would buy a new album just before the holiday, and it would always weld itself into the fabric of my memories of the trip.

The rest of Lonerism isn’t as focused as Elephant. I’m not entirely sure what genre of music the whole album could be classified under; although the music press is keen on pigeon-holing them as a psychedelic rock band. I’m not so sure. It doesn’t sound a million miles away from the likes of Super Furry Animals, but it’s more laid-back than that. Kevin Parker, the man behind the music, has heard a Floyd album or two in his time, that’s for sure.

Hit: Elephant

Hidden Gem: Keep On Lying

Rocks In The Attic #260: The Eagles – ‘Hotel California’ (1976)

RITA#260Until very recently I wouldn’t have known who The Eagles were if I bumped into them on the street. Quite what they would be doing walking around East Auckland is beside the point, but the fact is I’ve been living inside a bubble. I really don’t know why, but given that they are one of the world’s biggest rock bands, I wouldn’t know them from Adam.

Sure, I’ve seen the music video to Hotel California, and so I know that the drummer sings that one; and I know that the Super Furry Animals sold a tank – purchased to promote their debut album on the festival circuit – to said drummer, Don Henley; and I know that Glenn Frey and Joe Walsh have each had relatively successful solo careers – but again, I couldn’t describe either guy other than that fact that they both have faces.

I’ve even seen an Eagles concert on TV – a rerun of The Old Grey Whistle Test – with a pre-Hotel California version of the band playing through their early hits; but again, their very absence of familiarity has clouded my memory and so all I can remember is a bunch of polite Americans playing some non-descript MOR. I’ve even read Barney Hoskyns’ book Hotel California, which covers the formation of The Eagles (amongst other things), but I’m still none the wiser.

So for some reason, even though I consider myself well-read in terms of musical history, and I’ve learnt the proper guitar parts to Hotel California (with a capo at the seventh fret), I’ve remained ignorant to who they actually are – until very recently.

A couple of weeks ago I watched the History Of The Eagles documentary on TV. Strangely enough, the film doesn’t really give a glimpse of the band at their heyday – it kicks off with the Hell Freezes Over reunion tour, and takes that chapter in their career as the jumping off point, occasionally looking back to the ’70s from time to time.

Joe Walsh is immediately lovable – a teddy-bear of a drunk who now looks more like the sort of old man with jam-jar glasses you’d expect to see sat on a porch rocking-chair in a trailer park. Don Felder is equally non-threatening – a quiet soul, happy to be playing guitar to adoring fans. The real threat seems to come from the band’s two chief songwriters, guitarist Glenn Frey and drummer Don Henley. It’s very clear that they call the shots, and without them there wouldn’t be such a thing as The Eagles.

In one cringe-inducing moment Glenn Frey, speaking directly to camera, recounts – almost proudly – the conversation that led to Don Felder leaving the band: “I said ‘If we’re going back on tour, I’m getting more money than you.’” Hmm.

Felder (and Walsh for that matter) both agreed to terms that would give a higher proportion of profits to Frey and Henley. Eventually, the relationship soured to such a point that Felder left the band and was replaced by another guitarist for touring duties.

This wouldn’t be so strange if Felder was just a guitarist without any input into the band’s songs. But Felder brought the band their best-known song – a demo tape he brought along to a recording session contained the original instrumental idea for Hotel California – so for me, he’s just integral as Frey, Henley or Walsh.

Hotel California really is a fantastic song, and well worthy of the plaudits it regularly receives as the best guitar-based rock song, or the best guitar solo, etc. For a long, long time I tried to ignore the genius of the guitar-parts, instead preferring Jimmy Page’s solo in Stairway To Heaven, but I always find something new in Hotel California every time I hear it – it’s just magical. However, heard alongside the rest of their material (except maybe Life In The Fast Lane or Victim Of Love), the song sticks out like a sore thumb, more in line with something you might expect from the twin lead-guitar attack of Thin Lizzy.

I’ve never been an avid listener of lyrics, but they’re so ‘front and centre’ in the song, that it’s not hard to hear them. One aspect of the lyrics had always slightly annoyed me though – and I’m glad I’m not the only person to pick this up…

In a 2009 interview, Plain Dealer music critic John Soeder asked Don Henley about the lyrics: “On Hotel California, you sing: ‘So I called up the captain / ‘Please bring me my wine’ / He said, ‘We haven’t had that spirit here since 1969.’’ I realise I’m probably not the first to bring this to your attention, but wine isn’t a spirit. Wine is fermented; spirits are distilled. Do you regret that lyric?”

“Thanks for the tutorial,” Heney replied in a self-important and humourless tone he displays all the way through the History Of The Eagles documentary. “And no, you’re not the first to bring this to my attention – and you’re not the first to completely misinterpret the lyric and miss the metaphor. Believe me, I’ve consumed enough alcoholic beverages in my time to know how they are made and what the proper nomenclature is. But that line in the song has little or nothing to do with alcoholic beverages. It’s a socio-political statement. My only regret would be having to explain it in detail to you, which would defeat the purpose of using literary devices in songwriting and lower the discussion to some silly and irrelevant argument about chemical processes.”

It might be hard, but going forward I’ll still try my best to enjoy Hotel California, ignoring the fact that Glenn Frey and Don Henley are seemingly such terrible human beings.

Hit: Hotel California

Hidden Gem: Victim Of Love