Well this one was as much a surprise to me as it may be to you. It certainly wasn’t on any plans, and somehow just seems to have snuck up on me and emerged, fully-formed, into the ukulele wild.
Obviously it’s not quite as innocent as that. I’d had on my notional “to do” list to look at Faces (not “The” Faces, as I’ve only just discovered) Ooh La La, a song I’d caught a couple of times and thought would make a great ukulele song. Turns out it does (and yes, before anybody says, I do know that that wasn’t originally sung by Rod, although he did record his own version some time later)
But in the process of checking it out and sorting out the song sheet, I ended up down a rabbit hole that I’d promised myself I might look at at some point, but had never really got around to. That being an exploration of Sir Roderick David Stewart’s early years. I’d been kind-of aware that there was riches in them there hills, riches that the caricature that he later became had done a lot to hide. Occasional tracks from that era had often struck me as being very good, but I’d never really dug beyond that, and certainly not into the Faces output. And so down I dove.
And I think it’s fair to say that treasures were unearthed – although I suspect that anybody who was around at the time might offer up a less-than-subtle “told you so”. Digging through those early 70s albums in particular, alongside the parallel career he was holding down with Ronnie Wood, Ronnie Lane and Co. in Faces, it’s clear that there was a definite purple patch going on here. As a songwriter, a singer, and interpreter of others songs, Rod could be a master.
Now I sometimes think that those artists with long careers have a distinct disadvantage – in the credibility stakes – of not dying young. Those that left early have the advantage – usually – of not being around to blight their copy book in middle and old age. I see that with bands (I’m pretty sure Simple Minds would be lionised if they fell apart after New Gold Dream) and Rod is a case-in-point as a solo artist. An unfortunate drinks and drugs overdose in the mid-70s and all those later embarrassments would never have been, would never have detracted from those earlier classics, and the oeuvre would be preserved and talked about in hushed tones.
So this isn’t a comprehensive collection. It’s 15 songs that I’ve deliberately kept focussed on the Seventies, so no room for quality later tunes like Forever Young, Young Turks or Downtown Train. But it does covers most of the Rod characters – the boozy rock and roller, the sensitive balladeer, the sleazy unreformed philander, the blues lover, the interpreter of others writing. As well as plenty of his solo material, there’s also a few Faces tunes, as well as a one off contribution he made to Australian band Python Lee Jackson.
There’s an argument to be made that Rock is dead. Certainly if you look at the charts, at what is popular, it’s been a very long time since there was anything approaching “Rock” hitting the peaks of popularity, and an even longer time since Rock music was the dominant popular music form.
Rock has arguably become a tired cliché, a historical curio that has had its time and should be left to lie in piece. And there is definitely some truth in all of that. And yet. And yet.
Whilst new, original rock music may not be the popular force it once was (but it is for sure still out there, still going, still evolving) the classic rock sounds show no sign of losing their grip on the public consciousness. “Classic” rock is music that is almost part of the our music DNA, songs that are timeless, ageless, have always been there (except clearly they haven’t!), and are etched in the permanent rock of ages. Whilst you can make the point that much of it is – in objective terms – faintly ridiculous, grown men (mostly) who should know better, adolescent posturing that has no place in today’s enlightened society, the reality is that for pure escapist thrills, for losing yourselves in fist-pumping, scream-at-the-top-of-your-lungs anthems and self-indulgent soloing, there is nothing to beat a great rock tune.
And so, ladies and gentlemen, I present you with 28 of said classics, to be played on your humble ukulele. From the late 60s to the late 80s, these songs span a period of time where the rock star was king and strode the earth as an unchalleged deity, where excess and indulgence was taken for granted, and where thumping great tunes high on testosterone (and other more dubious substances) were the order of the day. If you’re looking for subtlety, then look away now (with maybe one or two notable exceptions) – these are tunes that turn it up to 11 and beyond. From the genuine, 18-carat classics of Free, Bachman Turner Overdrive and Lynyrd Skynyrd, through to hard rock from the likes of Motorhead, Black Sabbath and AC/DC, the 80s hair rock of Bon Jovi, Kiss and Whitesnake, AOR US giants like Boston and REO Speedwagon, and even the space-rock of Hawkwind, there should be something here for everybody.
And whilst these are far and away for your stereotypical ukulele tunes – George Formby would probably be turning in his grave, and there ain’t no room for Five Foot Two, Eyes Of Blue here – these are, I believe, songs that adapt well to the four-string wonder. So give them a bash, and sing the out loud. Enjoy!
Oh, and here’s the full list of tunes, together with links to individual song sheets, if a whole book is too much for you:
There was a time when Disco was a dirty word. In fact, many said it sucked (more of that later). For a long time after it’s heyday, Disco was consigned to the land that taste forgot, a shorthand for 70s naffness, not to be taken seriously, in fact to be avoided at all costs. And yet – as so often happens with these things – time has rediscovered it. Unencumbered by memories, and unhindered by prejudices, a new audience of people too young to have been there first time around has embraced the relentless four-to-the-floor pulse, and in the process rehabilitated a music that always intended to be the sound of joy and freedom.
The roots of Disco music stem back to the late 60s, in some ways a rejection of the rock-ist (and its implicit rejection of black music) tendencies of the counter-culture, but also in may ways an extension of that culture. Born in the early 70s from an amalgam of mainly Afro-American dance rhythms – rhythm and blues, soul, funk, Motown – Disco emerged in the US as a largely underground scene, the preserve of black, Hispanic, Italian and gay communities, initially in private, invitation-only events in New York lofts. These events embraced many of the characteristics of the counter-culture – loud, overwhelming sound, free-form dancing, trippy lighting, colourful costumes, and the use of hallucinogenic drugs – and offered a uniting, liberating space where those participating – who were often the subject of various forms of discrimination – could celebrate and be free. Initially adopting a soundtrack that embraced the psychedelic soul of The Temptations and Curtis Mayfield, funk from the likes of Sly and the Family Stone and George Clinton, Motown, the lush Philly Soul sounds.
That original scene was a genuinely egalitarian community, where ones ethnicity, gender, sexuality or economic group were considered irrelevant, where the music and dancing were king, everybody at one to the insistent beat. It was this being lost to the music, and the inherent limitations of the 3 minute 7″ single, that drove early disc jockeys to extend songs by the use of two turntables and two copies of the same song – extending the tunes for as long as the audience could take it. Eventually record companies caught on to this and the extended 12″ single was born – higher quality sound and, most importantly, the opportunity for uninterrupted breaks on the dance floor.
As the popularity of these discos increased, so did the demand for new music to accompany it. Gradually music was being created that was aimed directly at these events, and the disco form started to take shape. Steady, four-to-the-floor drums, prominent and syncopated bass, “chicken scratch” rhythm guitars, horns, and lush strings were all prominent components of the disco sound, with lyrical themes that were strongly focussed on love and dancing.
As the decade progressed, Disco was increasingly going over-ground, and by the mid-70s it was starting to make its presence felt in the singles chart. The likes of Gloria Gaynor, Barry White, and KC and the Sunshine Band started having hits, and disco was establishing itself as a prominent part of the musical landscape. It’s worth recognising that Disco was always about the groove, the song, the tune, and never really succeeded as an album art-form. In the same vein, it was always about the record, the tune that rammed the dance floor, and as such did not have great truck with “stars” – more often there were anonymous, studio-based producers and session musicians behind these classic grooves. Very few real stars emerged from the Disco scene.
In 1977, however, an over-ground scene become all consuming. The film Saturday Night Fever was released, and suddenly disco was everywhere, a true global phenomenon. The soundtrack is one of the best selling albums ever, it reinvented the Bee Gees, and mainstreamed disco, moving it beyond the gay, black and Hispanic core audience to a decidedly white, heterosexual one. And suddenly the bandwagon was getting very full. Established artists started looking to Disco as a way of keeping current or rejuvenating their careers, resulting in artists as diverse as The Rolling Stones, Rod Stewart, Diana Ross, Queen and ELO adding disco to their palate.
As the decade drew to an end, artists such as Donna Summer, Chic and Sister Sledge were continuing to demonstrate their class, originality and talent, but the over-exposure Disco had wrought was provoking a back lash. At it’s most extreme this resulted in the Disco Sucks movement, and the infamous Disco Demolition Night in Chicago where a disc jockey (recently sacked from his radio station when the switched from a rock to disco format) encouraged attendees at a baseball game to bring along their disco records, where they would be summarily demolished. A huge cache of records were blown up at the event, a riot ensured and chaos broke out. An event that had huge racist and homophobic overtones was symptomatic of a wider tiring of discos all-pervasiveness, and within a 12 month disco was old hat. The decline was rapid, and many thought that disco was over – an extended fad that had blown itself out through excess and over-exposure.
But disco wouldn’t go away. Whilst the 80s and early 90s saw its music given short shrift, club culture, the rise of the DJ the producer were all threads set in train by disco. And the so-called nu-disco scene that emerged in the mid-to-late 90s saw disco gradually being rehabilitated, particularly in Europe where disco had particularly taken hold and had it’s own sub-scene. Now it feels that Disco is an established and accepted part of the music tapestry. And one whose golden years rightly are seen as a landscape strewn with classics.
Which leads us to this songbook. Disco for ukulele? Well, why not. At least let’s give it a go. I’ve compiled a set of 28 stone-cold classics that I think very well could work (and I hope to have an opportunity to try that out soon). I’ve veered towards songs that work as songs, rather than those that are pure groove. And have tried to keep them mostly playable. Obviously, with something like disco, rhythm is key, and so these may require something slightly more than down down-up up-down-up strumming pattern. But however you choose to play them, they should be played with a smile, a tap of the foot, and maybe a little wiggle of the hips! Enjoy!
From the off, let me be upfront. I don’t personally hold truck with the concept of guilty pleasures. I’m fully on board with New York Times journalist Jennifer Szalai, who wrote in The New Yorker that:
If you want to listen to Rihanna while reading the latest from Dean Koontz, just go ahead and do it. Don’t try to suggest you know better. Forget the pretense and get over yourself. You have nothing to lose but your guilt.
For me, good music is good music. Just because some critic or some friend somewhere may have judged something less worthy, less culturally edifying, less highbrow, less on-trend, doesn’t mean it is without merit. And certainly doesn’t mean that anyone should feel guilty about it. And I’m not talking in an ironic way either – if you enjoy it, then own it. The opinions of others shouldn’t have any bearing on it.
Having said all that, however, the phrase “Guilty Pleasures” is a useful shorthand for those songs which have, over the years, been somewhat denigrated and judged as somehow naff or unworthy, despite having accrued significant measures of popularity and commercial success. Often these are songs that have gone against the grain of contemporary trends, and yet have been embraced and loved – at the time, at least – by a significant group of off-trend, couldn’t-care-less punters. Sometimes these songs and artists have been re-evaluated in retrospect (Abba being a case in point), but often these songs end up languishing in a kind of artistic purgatory, forgotten and unloved.
All the songs in this collection are ones that have, at one time or another, fallen into these categories. Some have been, or are in the process of being, rehabilitated – the likes of Toto’s MOR classic Africa, Rick Astley’s Stock-Aitkin-Waterman stormer Never Gonna Give You Up, or Journey’s pop-rock barnstormer Don’t Stop Believin’ have all had their credibility restored of late (as an aside, I do find that the younger, Spotify generation have less hang-ups about these kind of things – maybe because they are distant from their origins and less likely to engage in “culture wars” – and are happy to just go with what they enjoy). Some – notably Bryan Hyland’s angsty, teenager-woe-is-me Sealed With A Kiss, or Terry Jack’s adaptation of Jacques Brel’s death ballad Le Moribond (Seasons In The Sun) – still seem to languish in the not-really-credible pile, despite both having been hits again when covered by others (Westlife and Jason Donavan respectively – OK, I can see why that might not have garnered them additional respect!). And some seem to languish still in relative obscurity – nobody is expecting a David Soul or Gilbert O’Sullivan revival any when soon.
But every song in this collection is one that I will argue strongly for. And every song in this collection is one that nobody should feel bad about singing – in fact many of these songs are, in my book, at least, the kind of song that just feels great being belted out – alone or in a group. These are pleasures that nobody should feel guilty about.
Our album / theme nights have been impacted by the strange circumstances we find ourselves in, and I’m really not sure when we’ll be doing another one. But I’m optimistic that we will, and trying to use the free time to build up a backlog of possibilities (hence the recent Synthpop and New Romantic songbook).
But I was thinking about what would be a good “goodbye to Coronavirus and all your restrictions” session. Doing an album of dystopian sci-fi (Ziggy Stardust, I’m thinking of you!) doesn’t feel like the kind of celebratory feel-good session that you’d want. But THIS does!
We did an Abba night a couple of years ago, and it was such fun. But there were a load of songs that we didn’t get round to, and so there is definitely mileage in a part 2, a “More Abba” session. But I thought it would be a good opportunity to revisit and update the songbook to add a few more songs – kind of “deep cuts”, particularly ones that – for many people – they will only have become aware of as a result of the Mamma Mia, Here We Go Again movie.
And so here it – an updated and extended version of the original songbook, with 7 new songs. The additions are:
Andante, Andante
Angel Eyes
I’ve Been Waiting For You
Our Last Summer
The Way Old Friends Do
When I Kissed The Teacher
Why Did It Have To Be Me?
And obviously all the other more well known songs are there as well. Enjoy!
Uke Tunes 