Shine On: The trials of tributes

It was the days before decimalisation. I know this because it cost fourteen shillings, an astonishingly small amount even for what must have been either 1969 or 1970 and given the fact that they were already massive. They had embarked on a tour which took in some small college venues, and the prices reflected the fact. For fourteen bob at Farnborough Technical College, in whatever year it was, a young teenager and his mates got to see them. And to hear them, Azimuth Co-ordinator and all. They were of course Pink Floyd.

Around this time, the 14 or 15-year-old teenager got to see the Floyd twice for free. One occasion was in Hyde Park. The other was at the BBC's Paris Studios in Regent Street. John Peel walked along the queue outside, stopped to talk briefly. How many heroes could a teenager deal with on one evening. The Floyd premiered "Atom Heart Mother". Live on radio. They flunked the opening and had to start again.

Getting tickets for this latter performance was a random affair. You applied for any session. It just so happened that it was the Floyd. When the tickets arrived in the post, it was the nearest you got in those pre-interactive days to the "OMG, I don't know what to say" moments of Radio One on-air competitions to get tickets for the Big Weekend and such like: to see and meet, perhaps, One Direction.

By a twist of fate, these two worlds - old and new - have collided in their tribute form. Out of the blue, the Floyd - in the form of Minorca's The Other Side as part of their "Shine On Tour 2015" - will be turning up in the car park at Alcúdia's Hidropark on Friday, a peculiar twist in itself, given the similarity of Hyde and Hidro parks. Meanwhile, and close by, One Direction (the tribute version) will continue to smash the Delfin Azul on what now must be considered the farewell (possibly) tour. 

It's not easy being a tribute act if the original disintegrates or ceases to be. When Zayn left, there was no escaping the fact that five needed to become four. It was the same when Jason walked out on Take That. In the pursuit of authenticity, the Oranges had to be crushed.

There is no such similar necessity with Pink Floyd. They ceased to be years ago. One of them is not of this Earth any longer (two if you include Syd), The Other Side have no need for pretence. They are a show. A tribute, yes, but an impersonation most definitely not.

It is this - impersonation - where the tribute edges blur. There are acts which, while clearly tributes for one thing or another, don't set out to impersonate. They are shows in their own right. Abba Angels, for instance. You would never have got Agnetha cracking jokes during an Abba set. Then there are those which do, well, perhaps take things a little too seriously. I once fell foul of a Take That Gary for having committed to print the suggestion that they should team up with the Robbie who was on the same benefit event bill and re-form. The Robbie seemed more than happy with the idea. The Gary, less so.

There again, it was understandable. The potential to mock - and this hadn't been such an attempt - is too simple. But if mocking occurs, it fails to take account of the hard work and professionalism of many a trib act. There are many good acts knocking around Mallorca. They are entertainers, the providers of shows. They are not the absurdity of the playback, the cheap miming option that has got entertainment a bad name.

The tribs are very much a feature of a Mallorcan summer. It wouldn't be quite the same without them. Of course, not everyone appreciates them, but when there exists a volume of work that is as well known as, for example Abba, and packaged professionally into a specific show, then what's there not to like?

This all said, it can depend on the volume of work and that part of it which forms the show, which brings me back to Pink Floyd. The Other Side's promotion is full of allusion to comfortably numb, to shine on. The name itself is an indication. "Dark Side Of The Moon" was an enormous commercial success, but it represented the transition from weird and wonderful Floyd to discernibly rock group Floyd. Will The Other Side engage in half-hour improvisations of "Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun"? I somewhat doubt it. There are the pre-Dark Side and post-Dark Side camps. I'm firmly in the former.

Nevertheless, there will be plenty who don't take such a fundamentalist view, and rightly so. Tributes, of whatever type, members departing or members passed away, are shows. For enjoyment. Shine on.

What's Going On: Tribute acts

For the tribute act there are certain truisms of the art which, according to how many can be said to apply, will tend to determine the success or otherwise of the act. It does help to begin with if the trib act can sing, unless he or she is on the lowest rung of all tourist resort entertainment - the playback rung. Secondly, having a recognisable body of work is essential; recognisable preferably to all age groups, thus ensuring fun (possibly) for all the family.

Less essential but handy is that the trib act looks vaguely like his or her subject. Sometimes non-lookaliking can be compensated for with the judicious use of props. Get a blonde wig, for example, and an Agnetha is Abba-ed up; a full set, and Benny's your uncle. Very occasionally the lookaliking is so real that it can offer someone like the truly remarkable Rud Stewart; he not only looks more like Rod than Rod, he even sounds more like Rod than Rod.

The most tributed of all acts is Elvis. For the Elvises there are additional benefits, such as the stage gestures and vocal idiosyncrasies that allow the trib to become like an all-round song and dance man. The Elvises also have an advantage in that the younger generation know the Elvis oeuvre inside out; and they know this thanks to the sheer number of Elvises rather than their ever having actually heard an Elvis record.

Elvis is hugely worthy of tribute, and it is this - whether the subject is genuinely worthy - that draws into question the suitability of some subjects for tributing and asks another as to why certain artists are not tributed.

There is a distinction between artists of the past and those of the present or near present. Of those from the past, and from the early Elvis days of modern popular music up to around the start of the seventies, there were arguably only four acts to which one could assign the badge of true greatness: Elvis, The Beatles, Bob Dylan and The Beach Boys (Brian Wilson).

Of these, a tribute Dylan wouldn't exactly go down a storm one imagines at the evening entertainment in a Mallorcan hotel. The Beach Boys would probably be largely unknown to a younger audience, while the sheer complexity and precision of their harmonies would tend to preclude them as a suitable subject for the trib act for whom simplicity is preferable.

If greatness is a necessity for tributing, then Tamla Motown as a collective would also qualify. However, Motown didn't produce true individual greats; with one notable exception, and before Stevie Wonder and Michael Jackson went on to become true greats.

Forty years ago the greatest album ever made was released. It was a record that came completely out of the blue. It was unlike anything else; certainly anything else that Motown had put out. A black man's album, it wasn't black music per se; its messages and its musical styles resonated across cultures.

The "hey, what's happenin'?" chatter of Detroit Lions American footballers, the congas in an echo chamber and the sax at the start of Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On" introduced an album that totally changed the perception of Gaye himself, of Motown and of black commercial music. Motown, for all its success and for all that it was admired and was influential, was still looked upon as churning out formulaic pop, sanitised for a white audience.

Marvin Gaye made a musically original and brilliant album that combined protest against war, environmental damage and social injustice and which succeeded in suddenly making black music hip to those with all sorts of musical tastes. For example, a "progressive" music fan, one more inclined to searching for the meaning from a Pink Floyd record cover, could now openly admit to liking a Motown record.

But Marvin Gaye would never be the subject for a local trib act. Yet, in addition to "What's Going On", there was what came before and afterwards, while he suffered a fate that might in fact be another requirement for the trib act - an untimely and, in his case, violent end.

Trib acts are, for the most part, a bit of fun and a bit of froth. Not all, but most. True greatness isn't a pre-requisite. If it were, then Dylan, Brian Wilson and Marvin Gaye would find themselves being tributed rather than, let's say, Girls Aloud. Perhaps it's as well. The greatest tribute to the greatest album ever made is that no one in their right mind would even attempt to emulate it.



Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.

Back For Good: Tributes and charity

Which band or act did you see before they were famous? Want to know mine? There are a few. Genesis at an early-afternoon, Christmas-time gig at the Lyceum in London when I was barely a teenager. Graham Parker, an acquaintance from the south-west Surrey scene of the mid-seventies, of whom other alumni were Paul Weller and The Jam, remembered as the "Woking" boys and slagged off as a result with the puerile changing and addition of a letter or two, despite the dynamism of their performances that led up to "In The City".

Wind forward some years and to a different part of England, and it was Take That. Bradford, must have been 1990. It was at a club which, for the life of me, I can't remember the name of, despite having gone there regularly. It was a barn of a place, getting home from which, at weekends, was advisable before a certain time when some other boys, the bovver variety from Keighley, would turn up in search of the ritual bundle.

I can't say I remember much about them, Take That, that is. "Bunch of dancing boys" was probably my disparaging comment to my girlfriend who was rather more taken with them and rather more lustful than I was. Nevertheless, their appearance allowed me to adopt a sense of superiority when they made it big. "Oh yes, I saw them when ..." I go back a long way with Take That.

The band were in Alcúdia on Saturday. Not the Take That, but a make-believe one. Could it be magic? No, just a tribute act. "Just". Just a tribute act. It can sound as disparaging as I was in 1990. Another form of superiority can abound when it comes to tribs, a supercilious dismissal of the talent that many possess and pour out, as they did on the stage at Hidropark.

It had the atmosphere of an old Radio 1 roadshow. A fading sun and fading summer, down by the seaside with clouds scudding by, threatening rain. All that was missing was the Hairy Cornflake or ooh, Gary Davies. It had held a promise, I had hoped. Would Robbie perform with Take That? Forget all that reunion talk. It didn't happen. Robbie, appropriately enough breathing beery fumes over me, said it couldn't be worked out with the Gary. I couldn't figure out which one was the Gary, much as, in the absence of a blond one, I couldn't identify the Mark. But it didn't matter. Robbie. Rob Idol. Did we let him entertain us? He did. Supremely. So did Take That.

What was all this?

Putting this piece together, I googled Bradford and clubs, trying to jolt the memory for the name of that club. It didn't work, but by coincidence I found a reference to a party night at a club in Bradford's neighbour, Leeds. "Movimiento." A Latin night. Hidropark on Saturday was a benefit concert for the breast cancer charity, "Un Lazo en Movimiento". Sometimes, very good ideas come along, together with very good people who will make them happen. A benefit gig with trib acts is one such. From the despondency or desolation of being diagnosed with breast cancer, as the charity's founder was, to an afternoon in late September. Relighting fires that might otherwise have died in the ashes of this most shattering of diseases.

Abba, Elvis, The Beatles, Tom Jones; they were all there, along with Robbie and Take That. Tributes, a tribute to acts and others prepared to get off their backsides and do something. It could, of course, all sound a bit Radio 1-ish, as in the "charidee, mate" spoof of Smashie and Nicey. But no. Amidst the doom-laden self-pity of resorts in crisis, it is uplifting to know that humanity prevails. And fun. And that Take That and the charity's founder are back for good.


Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.

Imitation Of Life: Robbie and Take That

So Robbie is back with Take That. If art imitates life, then there needs to be some readjustment in trib world.

When I was putting together HOT!, one possible feature was on the local Robbie, Rob Idol. It didn't happen for reasons I can't be entirely sure of. But had it, a tack I had thought of taking was for Rob to actually be Robbie. It was perhaps as well it didn't happen as I might have lost my audience in a confusion of surrealism. Nevertheless, a question would have been about re-joining Take That. Now that Robbie, as opposed to Rob, has teamed up once more with G. Barlow et al, the possibilities for trib imitation of life are increased.

There is fundamentally something rather surreal about trib acts, but to have them mirror real life, as in Rob and the local Take That performing together, would be not only hugely entertaining it would also be hugely bizarre. They must do it. Or you would hope they would. Even now, local TV should be interviewing the reunited fivesome in broken English, and plans should be afoot for a grand reunion concert of the whole of an alternative Take That on Puerto Alcúdia's promenade. Have these people no imagination? Forget Michael Jackson and his story, forget some sappy alleged Beatles. Give us the reformed and totally tribute TT.

Imitation of life and strange juxtapositions. It goes back a long way. I was probably only six when I was introduced to how art can create the unexpected combination - if the TV Western could have been described as art. But the episode when Bronco Layne crossed over into an episode of "Tenderfoot" (or it might have been the other way round) had, I now appreciate, a profound influence. It has of course happened on many other occasions, such as Kirk and Picard together, but to a small child the insane notion of two cowboys from two cowboy series appearing opposite each other on a black and white screen with a bad signal was sufficient to inform him that normal rules don't always apply, that the strange can and should happen. Which is why the doppelgänger Robbie and Take That must perform together this summer. And, moreover, mean it.


A Load of Balls - On Water
And word up for Mark and Andrea and their Walk On Water Balls next to the Las Palmeras tennis centre in Puerto Alcúdia. This looks, and is, huge fun. The set-up at WOWB is rather different to what can also be experienced at hotel swimming-pools. Firstly, it is sheltered, which means there is no direct sun onto the über-PVC balls (I've forgotten what Mark said was the exact material). Secondly, it is open all day, so no restrictions to a couple of hours here or there.

It's all very safe, and the pool being shallow makes it doubly so. Five euros a roll, or however one wants to describe it. From midday to around 22:30.

But if you're looking for a bizarre angle in this, then think "The Prisoner", think Rover.

(In the photo: a couple of kids enjoying the water balls while Mark watches on.)


Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.

I Saw The Sign

The will it close, will it not close confusion continues regarding the frontline road from Llenaire into Puerto Pollensa. There was a letter to the "Ultima Hora" newspaper the other day about the projected closure and also about the new bypass. Unfortunately, it was in Catalan, but I get the gist. Lack of information as to the exact plans of the town hall, was the bypass really necessary; that sort of thing. It also mentions, as I pointed out a while back, that there is a sign at the roundabout as one comes from Alcúdia that directs traffic into the centre along the very road that is meant to be closed at some point. In other words, it doesn't direct traffic along the bypass, unless, that is, you want to go to Palma perhaps.

I have been along the bypass a few times now. It's a joy. There's hardly any other traffic. Of course there will be if the coast road is closed, but if it isn't, then the letter-writer's complaint as to the destruction of the area around Llenaire, brought about by the hugely expensive bypass, has some substance. As for that sign, a few days ago there was a sort of blue bin-liner affair attached to it with an arrow pointing towards the bypass. I presume that it wasn't official, and that some wag had put it there as a way of making a point to the town hall (or whoever is responsible for road signs). Even if the frontline remains open, why not send traffic along the bypass? You can get to the centre just as easily; more easily in fact. Anyway, this temporary bin-liner sign is no longer there, and just to emphasise how much the town hall recognises that everyone is still of course using the coast road, there is another sign, a damn great big one across the road that announces this weekend's fisherman's fair in Puerto Pollensa (see the WHAT'S ON BLOG - http://www.wotzupnorth.blogspot.com - for information).

They seem to have a bit of a problem with road signs here. The classic road sign that isn't a road sign by the Hiper supermarket in Puerto Pollensa is one of the finest examples. What it is, is a warning road sign, intended to tell you to get into lane for the real road sign at the lights some 100 metres further along - around a slight bend, so conveniently you can't actually see that there are other signs and a junction. What happens therefore is that the uninitiated slow down or stop, get confused, cause the driver behind to get mad, and then maybe proceed or go left or right, which is not what you should do.

Then there is another bypass. The one that goes at the back of Bellevue in Puerto Alcúdia. This road is similarly lightly used. It may take you out of your way, but in summer it is much quicker to use it than crawl along the carretera in order to get into the centre of the port or to go to Alcanada or the old town. The only problem is that the sign at the roundabout directs traffic to Palma and Sa Pobla, which is fair enough, but it neglects the bypass possibility. Moreover, at the next roundabout the sign for Palma directs you along the road to Sa Pobla, the old one by Albufera; the old one with that bridge where it is one-way traffic. What it does not do is direct you along the bypass to Palma, which is by far the simpler route. As one enters Alcúdia from the motorway, the bypass is similarly poorly signed. It says Can Picafort and Arta. Again, this is fair enough, but it fails to therefore inform the driver that this is the road for, for example, Hidropark and Bellevue, to say nothing of Playa de Muro. For the tourist especially, these signs are, shall we say, less than useful.


WHAT WAS YESTERDAY?
The day England became World Cup favourites? Bloody hot, the consequence of all that air being sucked in from Africa? Well, one of these. It was also the "day of the tourist". If you are a tourist, congratulations, you have a day named after you. It was Puerto Alcúdia's day of the tourist. Did anyone know? Anyway, there were sports, arroz brut (bet that went down well with the Bellevue crowd), and musical "spectaculars", among which was a performance by the omnipotent Beatles tribute - Beatlejuice. And they are omnipotent. Everywhere you go, these non-lookalikes are to be found. With the greatest respect to some friends with whom I spent an evening being serenaded over a meal by said Beatlejuice, I found them singularly underwhelming. They liked them. There again, I'm none too taken with most, if any, tributes. What do I know. There again, I'm not a tourist. Wasn't my day.


AND WHAT IS TODAY?
The day for a hangover after England's glorious victory? The anniversary of you know what? Both. It also marks a 600.

Mention of those signs by Hiper brings me to the fact that this entry is the 600th on the blog. One of the earliest entries spoke about these very signs. You won't find that entry any longer as I've started a process of deleting old archives. The blog's just got too big. Accordingly, the stuff for 2006 now starts in July of that year. Some of the old stuff may well be worth revisiting at some point and re-doing. Anyway, as this is number 600, I'd just like to say thanks to all of you who come here. I had never anticipated that making entries daily back in October last year would have had so much impact. I have had those who tell me they are "too addicted" to the blog or who look at the blog as the first thing once the computer has been powered up. It is quite nice to know that. It's also nice to get comments that the blog is "refreshing", "very good incisive stuff" and an "antidote to some other sites where the sun always shines on the sangria". So to all of you, once again, thanks a lot. I very much appreciate your time in both reading the blog and contacting me. Do keep sending your emails, comments, observations, disagreements, and answering the odd quiz question. Which brings me to ...


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Racing Cars (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7xEfNrXOLg). The vocals on the video are not very clear. Today's title - Swedish.

Oh, and today is also someone's birthday - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KAREN!

(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)

Andy, Are You Goofing On Elvis?

"Uh-huh-huh, I'm all shook up." No, I'm not. Me, definitely not. But many are. Take Mulligans in Puerto Pollensa. Three nights a week, Elvis live. One hell of an achievement after 31 years of being un-live. It must be all those heartbreak hotels with less than full occupancy. Call for Elvis, Robbie, Rod, Freddie, Abba, The Beatles. There are whole armies of Elvises. Or maybe armies is not the right collective noun; perhaps a Saturday-at-the-Lord's-test of Elvises or an in-ghetto of Elvises. Who knows. However the Elvises are collectivised, they have taken over. The pharmacies and Burger Kings are the graced lands of their plentifulness. So many bars, so many lonesome tonight. So many bars hoping Elvises will make them less lonesome tonight.

The bars are seeking solace in tribute acts to keep the tills rolling. All this retro, but amongst it nothing that even resembles summertime. 'Twas ever thus. The tribute act is the contemporary local manifestation of the Winter Gardens and pier shows. Tribute acts work well only insofar as they are recognisable and have a large body of work to draw upon which is also recognisable. You don't get too many Edison Lighthouse tributes for the simple reason that they only had one hit and are utterly unmemorable. The Elvis tribute is a kind of group bonding session. Anyone and everyone can do an Elvis because, like the Elvises themselves, they can impersonate someone impersonating Elvis. The Elvises may be little more than parodic stars in their eyes effectively goofing on Elvis, but chalk an Elvis appearance on the terrace board and in comes an audience of wannabes or really reckontheycouldbes. Familiarity breeds conceit; "I can do that - uh-huh-huh, I'm all shook up". The power of the tribute act stems from the security of mob karaoke.

But amongst the tributes there is no sense of summer. They fit with recognition but are misfits of the spirit of summer. There is only one act, that is not to be found, which would make for an appropriate summer tribute. Where are The Beach Boys? A whole body of work that even after the transformation of "Pet Sounds" continued to embody beach and sun, as typified by later stuff such as "Do It Again" and even the elegiac "Surf's Up". Perhaps those close harmonies are beyond the balladeering mechanicalness of Westlifes.

Am I goofing on Elvis? Nope. I'm surfing safari. Wouldn't it be nice? But if not a summer feel, then how about those of today's title? Tribute act. Imitation of life.


BULLFIGHT
There is a bullfight this afternoon starting at 18:00 in Alcúdia, a special one apparently, featuring one Juan Duque. No, I've never heard of him either. Depending where one sits, it costs up to 50 euros. I can't go, but I would like to as I mentioned some while ago in a piece about the bullfight. I've known about this event for some while. I thought long and hard about listing it on the WHAT'S ON BLOG but decided against doing so. Why? Perhaps I didn't wish to offend any sensibilities. If this was the case, it was a bad case of censorship. It was a mistake. People should have the option to go or not to go, whatever they may think of bullfighting. In future I shall be less sensitive.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - "Love Don't Live Here Anymore", Rose Royce (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imKKClp8FTk). Today's title - something lunar.

(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)