Older readers will know that I like a pint of Guinness with a slug of champagne in of a New Year's Eve: it is the only time of year I drink this, but it is a tradition, and I stand by it. How fortunate then that the youngest daughter won a bottle of Moët on the tombola at the primary school Christmas Fair in late November, and not the box of rose-scented soaps right next to it. We have been keeping it safe ever since. I will have to get in there quick before Mrs H makes a dent in it, but this is a practice in which I am well-versed.
Some of you will be attending glittering social gatherings tonight, I have no doubt; others will muster in the local boozer. Young Drew is having a rockabilly night. It's a shame he doesn't live next door.
Will you be first footing? Or will someone first foot you? I can't really remember how this works, to be honest, but I know there's something involving lumps of coal.
Anyway.
Our occasional series of extended disco classics builds into a spectacular collection your whole family will enjoy.
One last time.
I shall require several beverages and a take away curry.
Happy New Year x
The Jacksons - 'Shake Your Body (Down To The Ground)' (12") (1978)
There's nothing worse than a Christmas song after Christmas, is there? Well, there are a few things obviously: famine, disease, serious injury, that sort of thing. But you get my point.
Hawley needs to come off the top.
Instead I would really like to post something from an album I discovered late this year, thanks to Colin, that I *heart* very much, but that's exactly the sort of thing likely to attract the unwanted attention of the copyright police. So let me just say (again) Warpaint - 'The Fool' - top record, if you like Tanya Donelly-esque woozy riffage, slightly opaque lyrics, that sort of thing.
And thank you Simon for the Rose Elinor Dougall tip, though I don't at the moment think there's anything else on the album quite as good as this...
I'm afraid I'll have to go now because I have a busy kitten on my desk who has just written rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr and then wswswswwwwwssssssss by standing on the keyboard.
See you back here tomorrow for a Last Post of the year.
Is this on TV somewhere over Christmas? It should be.
There comes a point, doesn't there, when even if you haven't got 'everything' your capacity for looking for it and/or your capacity to afford it just bloody runs out, and that is how it should be and that is fine.
I told them perishin' kids they'd catch a cold out there in the snow in inappropriate clothing and now we've all got the sniffles; the mother-in-law's due tomorrow and the place is a mess; we're going to be sleeping on that blow-up bed in the back room and I'm not convinced the pump's working neither.
None of this matters in the least, of course.
*
I can't believe we've almost come to the close of another blogging year. This has remained one of the happiest places in my world, thanks to you, the best commenters and nicest people on (must we call it?) the 'blogosphere'.
So I wish you all you wish yourselves for Christmas - and we're all old enough now to know that it's not about the material things.
Hug the ones you love and who love you forever and celebrate all that you have.
And well, OK, one material thing - always keep a cold one in the fridge x
Here's a sweet little new thing that last I heard was a contender for Radcliffe & Maconie's record of the week; on sale right now via iTunes and so not the sort of thing I would usually post, but since it's also on a festive CD free with this month's Mojo I figure what the hey.
Hannah Peel has a penchant for re-making 80s synth pop quirky-folk style with a music box. Here for example she rather pluckily takes on the Cocteau Twins 'Sugar Hiccup'... Good luck to her, eh?
I am having to trudge one last time into town today but am thereafter officially on my Christmas hols, all satsumas, Quality Street and the double issue Radio Times.
That churchiness in the Nick Cave is down to the organ I suppose, which is why it always reminds me of this, one of my very, very favourite things.
Cave's an Aussie rebel raised an Anglican and John Cale famously a son of the Welsh valleys where the Chapel cast thick shadows; ye amateur psychologists make of that what you will (Cale lyric: 'Nothing frightens me more/Than religion at my door'), I think I'll just (re)post this bloody lovely song, which as I have written here before seems to have nothing to do with the Dylan Thomas story, except for its title.
I'm playing Nick Cave's Boatman's Call a lot at the moment; its dark, churchy love songs seem so right for these short, pre-solstice days, and driving back from the Aged Ps last week I confess a few made me well up, a bit. The ice lacing the trees between Newbury and Swindon on the way down had cleared coming back to dull scrub again and it all whirred through my head, all of the things you'd expect, and a load of random nonsense besides.
I do not know a better opening line to a Track 1, Side 1 than 'I don't believe/In an interventionist God' and the words to this one, too, are - well, just perfect.
Up those stone steps I climb Hail this joyful day's return Into its great shadowed vault I go Hail the Pentecostal morn
The reading is from Luke 24 Where Christ returns to his loved ones I look at the stone apostles Think that it's alright for some
And I wish that I was made of stone So that I would not have to see A beauty impossible to define A beauty impossible to believe
A beauty impossible to endure The blood imparted in little steps The smell of you still on my hands As I bring the cup up to my lips
And no God up in the sky And no Devil beneath the sea Could do the job that you did baby Of bringing me to my knees
Outside I sit on the stone steps With nothing much to do Forlorn and exhausted, baby By the absence of you.
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - 'Brompton Oratory' (1997)
Yeah baby, back in the metropolis after two days in Devon with the Aged Ps, tapped out after nights of sleep interrupted by their nocturnal loo visits, the central heating on full blast and the like. I will bore you with the details and/or my melancholy thoughts on same another time.
For it is Friday.
And I shall require a beverage.
Jon Hendricks - 'Flat Foot Floogie' (1975)
Thanks to Darce for setting me off on a JH trail in the autumn x
I can't leave those spuds up here all Monday, it feels wrong.
Here's a little something that resulted from a cupboard rummage just the other day; a six minute long, trancey reinvention of a song from Republic by Dutch DJ/producer Paul Van Dyk - which I rather like.
I'm sorry. I've been too busy Tweeting about #uksnow to write a blog post - it's pathetic, it really is. And in other news I've had to computerise the mother-in-law's LP of The Very Best Of Manuel And His Music Of The Mountains since she no longer owns a record player. And Mrs H wants to get kittens. So as you can see, there have been many demands on my time.
I've gone on about all of my favourite snow records (Bon Iver, Aretha) here before, and I really do think it's still a bit early to post Low's 'Just Like Christmas' (even though it's not really a 'Christmas' record).
Can I offer you this as a sort of flip to Ms Ally's ?
Having built up to it nicely with a weekend of listening to Echo & The Bunnymen, the Teardrop Explodes, China Crisis and, er, Gerry & The Pacemakers, I have just ordered Paul Du Noyer's book about Liverpool music from Amazon Marketplace.
And if you hear faint crackles, you are hearing a hundred dodgy styluses in a hundred dodgy halls where I played this in my youth and they never failed to dance.
This song and Bettye Swann's 'Tell It Like It Is' are always connected in my mind since I first heard both on a Statesidecompilation I know I've mentioned here before.
Sweet Irma. Still going strong and 70 years young in Feb.
It'd be unexceptional sung by almost anybody else but Bettye's definitely one of my top five favourite singers, and don't ask me who the others are, but Frank and Marvin'd be in there for sure.
Bettye Swann - 'What Is My Life Coming To?' (1967)
Well, it's been a strange week, but one that seems at least for now to have ended a bit less grimly than it began.
We have kept that wolf from the door one more time - but we know he's still prowling out there, hungry, and the winter could be hard.
We best light a fire with the coal we have, eh?
-------
I'm afraid I've been a soft old Hector these last few days, flattened by some bug but working, worried about money and Mum, and only my faithful old musical friends Frank, Nat and Tom have fit my mood.
So this ain't no glitzy disco nor bassy funk (can I be excused?) ; but it is kinda Friday, if you think about it.
Leave the porch light on for me x
Tom Waits - 'I Can't Wait To Get Off Work (And See My Baby On Montgomery Avenue)' (1976)
A bunch of white Brummies singing in cod Jamaican accents notched up a number 25 hit with this Gus 'Space Oddity' Dudgeon-produced blue-eyed ska tune in 1968.
There's a rocking rhythm, pumping Hammond and brio in the brass.
Lovely mini-series over at Drew's on songs that sound like they're from soundtracks to 60s spy films. This really is, of course. It's a great one for playing in your head as you step suited and booted from the train arriving at Platform 17, in my experience.
Right, so. This lot have been lurking in comments, and on me iPo, for the best part of a week. And back in the day, the lead singer was lurking in Miss Ally's supermarket, apparently. Tchh. It wouldn't happen in Waitrose.
Anyway, let's let it all out, eh?
Which is your favourite?
I'm torn between The Orb's and the second part of the Two Parts, chiefly on account of Wobble.
Primal Scream - 'Higher Than The Sun' (American Spring Mix) (1991)
Primal Scream - 'Higher Than The Sun' (Higher Than The Orb) (1991)
Primal Scream - 'Higher Than The Sun (A Dub Symphony In Two Parts)' (1991)
It's all being re-released and re-toured*, blah, you knew that.
*which probably means I'll have to pull this in two days' time.