Star Wars: farewell to Carrie and Kenny

Carrie Fisher's autograph, sent from Elstree Studios in 1979

Opening the garden gate on my way to work on Tuesday, my attention was drawn to something unusual. Two small party balloons were caught at the top of a power pole opposite. Fluttering in the thinnest of breeze, they were tethered by ribbon tails snagged on the wires.

As the two escaped balloons danced I inspected them from below and noticed they were decorated with Star Wars characters. When I returned home that evening the balloons had gone, and I was reflecting on the news that Carrie Fisher had died a few hours earlier.

During the past few days I've thought about Carrie, and also about Kenny Baker who passed away in August. They were the first movie stars to write their autograph for me when I was 12 years old, and many decades later were two of the three actors from Star Wars I was fortunate to encounter in person.

It was a long time ago - to be precise, 38 years ago - when I sent a letter to Elstree Studios, just outside London, and marked it for the attention of the film crew working on The Empire Strikes Back.  Enclosed within was my HMS Victory souvenir autograph book with its small coloured pages, a stamped self-addressed envelope, and a note requesting whoever dealt with the letter if they would be kind enough to ask any Star Wars actor if they would write an autograph. 

I waited in hope for the book to come back. One day it did. There was no note, just the book. Inside, two pages bore signatures, one was a boldly scrawled 'Kenny Baker, R2-D2 - Star Wars', the other was best wishes from Carrie Fisher.

Carrie's writing appeared understated, almost apologetic in its unflorished smallness, not even taking up half a page in the three-inch wide book. The hallmarks of her signature were there, the hooked 'c' and the quirky look of the double 'r', but it lacked the more flamboyant style she would adopt in later years. Beneath her name she sweetly added 'Princess Leia' in parenthesis, in case it might not be a given which character she played.

That unassuming approach was understandable. She was barely into her twenties, and lasting worldwide recognition was not assured for the Star Wars actors, despite the 1977 film smashing box office records. There was no guarantee the sequel then being filmed would live up to the success of its predecessor.

I was delighted with the autographs from two heroes of my favourite film. R2-D2, as operated by Kenny, was one of the movie's most iconic creations. While Carrie as Princess Leia was a strong, spirited heroine who led by example and fearlessly expressed herself when confronting arch-villans. But she also exhibited empathy and a deeply caring side, strikingly crystallised in Star Wars as Luke Skywalker reflected on the loss of Ben Kenobi - Leia was there comforting and reassuring. Faced with uncertainties or emotional jolts, she was the person you most wanted to have by your side.

Carrie became much more than the princess from Star Wars. In life, she displayed those same qualities of warmth, compassion and honesty, together with an admirable fearlessness and a sense of humour never dimmed even as she faced personal struggles, much of which is detailed in her autobiographical book Wishful Drinking.

Carrie Fisher and Richard Dreyfus in Bermuda, 2007

Many decades after receiving their autographs, I encountered Carrie and Kenny in person.

Carrie was first. She was on the jury panel of the Bermuda International Film Festival in 2007. In a contemporaneous account for Microdot News, a light-hearted newsletter I sent to friends and family at that time, I wrote:

Star Wars heroine Princess Leia, or more precisely actress Carrie Fisher, came to Bermuda for the film festival. She and Richard Dreyfus (Jaws, Close Encounters etc) were the star judges of the festival.

As a life-long fan of the original Star Wars trilogy this presented an opportunity I didn’t expect – to see a Star Wars legend. There was one small problem; I was scheduled to listen to a bunch of business-types froth at the mouth talking about internal audits at the same time that Fisher and Dreyfus were giving a free lunchtime chat 100 yards away. What to do? What to do? I know……Use the Force.

By bending the space-time continuum (I explained to my editor), I’d be able to duck into the film stars' lunchtime chit-chat for a few minutes before going to the 'not-to-be-missed' internal audit extravaganza over the road. It worked and I got to listen to a little of the talk, with Ms Fisher, now 50, bemoaning the fact that she doesn’t make a penny from all the Princess Leia action figures sold. I saw the two stars at the film festival wrap party and was amazed how small they both were (about 5ft 2in average) as they walked in front of me. Midway through the night as the party waned I left, only to bump into Dreyfus coming back down the corridor from his hotel room to the party having decided to give it another go.

Kenny Baker as R2-D2

Three years ago, while attending a film stars and astronauts event in London, Heather and I met Kenny and Dave Prowse (Darth Vader). We spoke with Kenny and his wife Valerie Gale a few times, and Kenny showed happy recognition whenever Bermuda was mentioned. I asked him if he had been approached to reprise his role in the-then upcoming Star Wars reboot The Force Awakens. He said he did not know about that, although as it transpired he was called up in a consultative capacity regarding R2-D2. It was his last film role.

During the past few days I have been contemplating Carrie's autograph from 38 years ago. To me it is less a piece of movie-related memorabilia, and more a representation of a moment in time. It symbolises kindness from a young actress leaving her teenage years behind, to a boy on the verge of becoming a teenager - a simple token of universal humanity shared between strangers along life's journey.

Farewell Carrie and Kenny, and thank you for the joy and happiness you gave to so many.

Carrie Fisher and Kenny Baker, as Princess Leia and R2-D2 in the first Star Wars film

Rogue One - a grimly great Star Wars tale

If you are looking for a 'soft and cuddly' Star Wars movie, then Rogue One is not the one you're looking for.

Expect hard edges and the grim realities of life under the Imperial boot in this tale about a group of unvarnished misfits willing to sacrifice everything to strike at the Galactic overlords.

With Rogue One, director Gareth Edwards takes the Star Wars story deep into the dim and dark territory that paid dividends for The Empire Strikes Back and made it the standout episode of the original trilogy.

Rogue One’s realism and its portrayal of the grey areas that exist between the light and dark of good and evil, give it a grown-up feel. There are enough nods in the direction of the main series to firmly anchor it within the Star Wars universe, but its self-contained story arc is not subservient to the Skywalker/Jedi/Force narrative of the main saga.

Felicity Jones, who plays the lead role, has tagged it as Star Wars 3.5, referring to the episodic nature of the film franchise, in which the original Star Wars is now known as Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope.

Chronologically, the events depicted in the film occur in the run-up to the original 1977 blockbuster, with Rogue One ending 10 minutes before the opening scene of A New Hope.

However, don't be put off if you are unfamiliar with the Star Wars saga, because a new viewer should be able to enjoy and follow this film without prior knowledge of either what came before or after, although they will miss out on a lot of symbolism and foreshadowing.

This is a standalone from the main series and is the first such departure. A further two standalones are planned, along with two more episodes in the main series.

Rogue One is a welcome return to gritty realism. It is self-contained with no obvious follow-on (aside from 1977's A New Hope). The characters are introduced, have their adventure and the tale concludes. Rogue One is decidedly dark and far from Disney-fied.

Bleak realism dominates. We see the struggle of the rebel alliance, and the wayward, raggle-taggle elements that are involved. Many of the locations are strikingly dimmer than we have come to expect in the Star Wars realm, including the opening scenes on a tundra-like world (filmed in Iceland). Darkly lit scenes add to a feeling of oppression, as does the nondescript clothing of the Rogue One team, which is a mass of blacks and grey. However, this compounds the already frustrating task of differentiating one character from another, as many lack distinguishing attributes and blend in as much of a muchness.

Jones stands out in her role as Jyn Erso, a plucky misfit. Sadly, her backstory is never divulged to the extent that it should have been, and consequently Erso lacks a truly engaging presence. This is not the fault of Jones, whose character portrayal lifts Erso above the band of rebellious cohorts.

There are other exceptions; droid K-2SO (played by Alan Tudyk) is a Star Wars classic, and the Jedi-like follower Chirrut Imwe (Donnie Yen) stands out, but the stronger sense of individuality and identity so masterfully achieved in the original trilogy is missing from Rogue One. Forest Whitaker is wasted in his small role. His character, Saw Gerrera, had scope to be a far more fascinating addition to the story.

As seems obligatory in movies today, the story rushes headlong towards the next development at the expense of allowing time for characters to grow and express themselves, or to reveal inner conflicts satisfactorily.

The grand battle in the final quarter of the movie will have its fans, but Star Wars cheapens itself by plumping for hefty war film stylistics. The original trilogy was all the better for relying on character development and interaction and less on half-an-hour runarounds with all guns blazing.

The fleeting return of three strong characters from the original movie (two through the wonders of digital technology), nicely ties Rogue One to the epic storyline to follow, and Edwards skillfully guides the film’s finale to the point where the 1977 classic lifts off.

Rogue One is a grown-up Star Wars adventure that entertains and delights. It succeeds in demonstrating the reality of a rebellion against evil overlords - the squalor and unglamorous realities of half-victories and sacrifices. A little more character focus, a little less wham-bam, and this could well have been a classic. As it is, Rogue One is a solid entry in the top four best Star Wars films.

The hurricane and the bee

The bee during the 'eye of the hurricane' interlude as Hurricane Nicole traversed the island

The night before Hurricane Nicole arrived I went outside onto the front porch to feel the fresh breeze blowing across Bermuda.

It was October 12, and by the following morning the island would be in the grips of the hurricane. Nicole was a Category 4 hurricane, although was to weaken to a powerful Cat 3 by the time she reached the island's shores.

From the light that shone through the open door behind me I spotted a shape on one side of the small wall that bounded the porch area. At first I guessed it was a tree frog, but on closer inspection I realised it was a bee. A bee that had perhaps lost its way, or run out of energy, and now was resting for the night far from the safety of its hive.

The bee was motionless, no doubt sleeping. As I went back indoors, I wondered if the insect would survive the night and find its way home before the storm hit.

The following morning, as hurricane winds started to build, I again checked how things were on the front porch. The wind was blowing from the east, which meant the porch was sheltered, providing a vantage point to watch the trees bending and the rain lashing. And there on the wall, although now perched on the flat top, was the bee. It was still motionless, but had moved during the night. For the time being it was protected from the ravages of the hurricane by the lee of the cottage, so long as it did not try to fly away.

The next time I checked was around midday as the eye of the hurricane passed over the island. During the eye the wind subsided; there was an hour or so of perfect, but slightly eerie stillness. The bee appeared to have survived the first half of the hurricane, but it was not moving.

I studied it for signs of life and concluded that it had perished after its night in the open, and its morning exposed to the elements of the hurricane. Then one of its small antenna moved a fraction. It was still alive, but must have been at its weakest. Could it be revived?

In a bid to assist, I mixed some water and a sugar cube in a cup to create a sweet liquid. Using a teaspoon I poured some of the liquid in front of the bee. The liquid quickly spread around on the surface of the wall, going around and beneath the bee.

Suddenly aware of the liquid, the insect started to move and drink the sweet solution.  The bee was no longer inanimate, it was walking around. Another small teaspoon of the sweet drink was poured on the wall, and again the bee responded to the helping of liquid energy.

I went indoors for a moment, and when I returned the bee had gone. It had flown away.

Would it now be able to complete its journey to the hive and safety before the second half of the hurricane? The eye of the storm moved away and the wind howled from the opposite direction. Had the bee still been on the porch it would not have survived the battering that came during the next few hours.

Now, many weeks later, as I walk through the garden I occasionally catch a glimpse of a bee or two, and I wonder if one of them might be the 'hurricane bee' that tenaciously held on during the storm.

BELOW: A short video of Hurricane Nicole, including the bee during the eye of the storm:

Love the song #2: Galway Girl

This is the second in an occasional series where I highlight a song that particularly inspires, uplifts or simply grabs me.

When it comes to an uplifting song, this version of Galway Girl, by Mundy with Sharon Shannon, takes some beating. From the first note to the last it has an infectious joy that touches the soul. Mundy's soaring vocals and mandolin playing are faultless. With the smiling Sharon Shannon, one of the most accomplished accordion players in the world, also on stage and driving the melody, you can't help but wish this performance would last forever.

The party atmosphere of the audience further enhances the life-affirming essence of the song, as does the stage full of performers and guests. And if you look closely, you'll catch a glimpse of Glen Hansard, singer with The Frames and star of the film Once, adding backing vocals.

Shannon was once a member of The Waterboys, playing on the 1990 album Room to Roam before enjoying considerable success as a solo artist. Her wonderful, instrumental debut album, Sharon Shannon, was released in 1991 and is the biggest-selling album of traditional Irish folk music.

As one commentator noted, this performance of Galway Girl should be essential daily viewing as it lifts the heart and the spirit.

Life's journey among the isles

A cairn on the abandoned island of Mingulay,. Beyond are the islands of Pabbay, Sanday, Vatersay and Barra.

BOOK REVIEW: My Journey by Elizabeth Campbell (Acair Books)

Elizabeth Campbell's autobiography

Although only 67 when she died, and having spent the majority of her days in one of the remotest parts of the British Isles, Elizabeth Campbell saw the world transformed during her lifetime.

Born in 1913, she grew up in a community where homes had bare dirt floors and where shoeless children were the norm. She witnessed the mixture of marvel and trepidation that greeted the appearance of the first car on the island of Barra, and she could recollect the famous shipwrecking of a cargo vessel loaded with whisky, as well as the arrival on the island of gramophones and finally electricity.

Campbell was a teacher all her life, mostly in Barra and Vatersay, but also in Glasgow.

She quietly lived most of her life in the Western Isles. In 1977, the year before she retired, she was bestowed the honour of MBE for services to the community of Vatersay, and she travelled to Buckingham Palace to receive the award from the Queen Mother.

In 1980 she completed writing her autobiography, Air Mo Chuairt [My Journey], in her native Gaelic. She died the following year. In 1982 the book was published. Now, 34 years on, an English translation has been released for the first time.

My Journey reveals what it was like to grow up and live on one of the islands of the Outer Hebrides. Campbell chronicles her life from childhood, when her father was away serving in the First World War, through her school years, the dances and ceilidhs, the weddings and how it was to walk the length of the island to reach the main town of Castlebay.

The shipwrecking of the SS Politician off the coast of the nearby island of Eriskay, an event later immortalised in the film Whisky Galore, is also recollected by Campbell, who was then in her late 20s.

She chose teaching as her profession and it was a career that lasted for 40 years.

In My Journey she does a tremendous job of creating a sense of place, setting and time, giving voice to her recollections in a natural, everyday manner. Indeed, reading the autobiography almost feels like being in Campbell’s company, sitting in her front room and listening to her stories.

Among the tales is an encounter with an elderly, former resident of Mingulay, the remote island to the south of Vatersay that was abandoned in 1912. Campbell does a fine job weaving in enlightening facts about the history of the islands, including stories of Mingulay.

Ruins at Uidh on Vatersay

My Journey takes readers back to a world far removed from the often frantic one of today. Community spirit was all encompassing, traditions were well observed, and even though worldly possessions were scant, the people were happy.

The children of the villages went barefoot, they had no choice. When new tackery boots arrived they would compete to see who could keep theirs in the best condition for the longest time. "Often a young girl would have them on a table beside her bed at night," writes Campbell in one of many touching vignettes that jump from the pages of My Journey.

The first car arrived in Barra in 1926, of which Campbell said: "People were truly amazed watching it (nearly lost the two eyes). If an old man or old woman was walking on the road, on seeing the car miles off they would dive off the road and run up on the hillside as fast as they could."

There are a few moments that are touched upon more than once, and therefore appear to carry extra poignancy for Campbell. One is the striking image of a boy declaring his independence from school life, in the days when children were allowed to leave school when they turned 14.

"One day a young 'hero' was fully ready to leave school the very day of his birthday," recollects Campbell. The bell rang and the schoolmaster called the boy to join the others inside the school grounds. "But instead the lad gave a speech informing the whole world that he was this day in a heaven of his own, free from all the restrictions that did not appeal to him. Thus he stood with one hand on his hip, the other raised upwards to the sky, and happy as one ever seen he bounded off over the hill of the bay. But that did him no harm. He got on well in the world, though his life was cut short. Each time I see that bridge, the memory of the 'Highland Fling' comes back to me."

Campbell's descriptive and highly accessible writing style is as much of a joy as the tales she relates. A good example is the story of George, who was the first to bring to Barra a gramophone player, complete with an elegant long horn.

"We thought the voice came from the next world! George used to take it on the rounds to each and every house in the village, and our group always followed him. Those who could not fit inside the house were like leftovers outside the door."

Later on we hear about that arrival of electricity in Barra in 1967, soon followed by television - or "the box".

Although there are moments when the book becomes almost a stream of conscience as anecdotes finish abruptly and a new thread is taken up, these instances are few and far between and hardly detract from the otherwise compelling narrative.

Kisimul Castle, in the harbour at Castlebay, Barra

During Campbell’s lifetime Gaelic was widely spoken across the Western Isles, but from an early age she was aware that it was viewed as "the language of the working people" in comparison to English. However, it is abundantly clear that Gaelic was, and is, one of the most important bonding elements within the island communities. And Campbell states her belief that even in the future native islanders "will allow no one under the sun to push Gaelic backwards out of the way".

Towards the end of the book, as she reflects on her life she wonders if the modern generation are as happy and fulfilled as she was in her youth.

"I don’t see young girls picking flowers as they did in my day. Neither do I hear young people complaining of lack of money. There is no word now of working hard all week to earn the shilling entrance fee for the dance. Everything is so easy for them, perhaps they are just as happy in their state as we were in our youth, but it is difficult to believe that," she writes

Though it was more than 50 years distant at the time she completed her autobiography, Campbell remembered the opening of the Northbay Hall in the late 1920s, and the first community dance held there and the happy steps and the noisy clatter on the floorboards.

Over the years there was plenty of joy and some hardships, but even the latter - such as clambering on hands and knees across rocks and seaweed to reach the little ferry that linked Barra and Vatersay - had an endearing edge.

My Journey is a pleasure to read with its vivid documentation of a world now mostly vanished, and is a reminder of how things once were, and how important it is to enjoy life’s journey through the good times, the hard times and all manifestations in between.

Air Mo Chuairt by Ealasaid Chaimbeul [My Journey by Elizabeth Campbell] is published by Stornaway-based Acair Books.

The first half of the new edition features the original Gaelic version. It is followed by a supporting English translation, compiled by another Barra native and teacher, Mary Flora Galbraith. Galbraith has done a sterling job bringing the book to a wider audience and preserving much of the flavour and quirks of the Gaelic original in the translated version, which includes numerous enlightening footnotes.

Love the song #1: Stronger - Kelly Clarkson

Kelly Clarkson in a video dance scene for 'Stronger'. Guitarist Cory Churko is just over her shoulder

This is the first in an occasional series where I'll highlight a song that particularly inspires, uplifts or simply grabs me. The tunes will appear in no particular order.

First up is Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You) by Kelly Clarkson. Although it was released five years ago, I only recently came across it for the first time when, by chance, I heard a snippet of it being played as incidental background music.

Kelly Clarkson was the first winner of the American Idol TV talent show in 2002, and despite some obstacles along the way she went on to forge herself a very successful career,

Stronger is an infectious, rock-anthem whirlwind. Clarkson's vocal delivery captures the empowering essence of the song's theme. Yes, the lyrics don't go deep, but then they don't have to. The message is simple, pretty much universally understood, and delivered with a stomping, punchy verve.

The song features some great guitar playing by Cory Churko, who is a mainstay of Clarkson's band and is also a key figure in Shania Twain's current backing band. Churko can be seen in the official video, both as a member of the band and in the flash mob dance scene led by Clarkson.

The video is as uplifting and fun as the song, with some great choreography for the aforementioned flash mob dance scene, which includes a few light-hearted kung fu fighting moves from Clarkson. The video is interspersed with clips submitted by fans doing their own dance interpretations of the song. Both as a song and video, Stronger is a feel-good wonder.

Here is the video:

Farewell to "Mr Happy Man"

Johnny Barnes with his statue on East Broadway.

Bermuda awoke on Saturday to the news that Johnny Barnes, "Mr Happy Man", had died at the age of 93.

For the last 30 years Mr Barnes has wished commuters a happy day, waving, blowing kisses and saying "I love you" as he stood next to the main roundabout junction leading into the capital city of Hamilton.

Since retiring from work, he has spent the last three decades getting up in the middle of the night to make his way to the roundabout by foot, in time to spread greetings of unconditional love to commuters.

It mattered not who you were, for Johnny the message was "one love". He'd wave, blow kisses and call out "I love you" continuously from 4am to 10am every weekday. He never missed a day, unless a hurricane was blowing or he was ill.

In fact, shortly after I arrived in Bermuda I saw the panic that gripped the community when Mr Barnes was not seen at his usual perch for three consecutive days. The radio chat shows were full of it, the phones at our newspaper office were ringing with concerned callers wanting to know where was Johnny.  As it turned out, it was one of the rare occasions when an illness prevented him performing his daily ritual. But he was back in place a few days later. Panic over!

It was in 1986 that Mr Barnes began his astonishing, virtually unbroken 30 years as an ambassador for love and happiness. However, he had been making occasional roadside gestures of goodwill to all-comers for many decades before, even as far back as the late 1940s when he worked on the now long-vanished Bermuda Railway.

In 1998 a bronze statue of Mr Barnes was created by artist Desmond Fountain and for the past almost 20 years has stood about 100 metres further along the East Broadway approach road. The statue wonderfully captures his open embrace for all.

With Mr Barnes at his greeting spot in 2009

When I first saw the statue I thought how unique, but remarkably fitting it was to have such an honor for a man who was very much still around and continuing to have an uplifting impact on people's lives. Of all the quirks of life in Bermuda, Johnny Barnes and his morning greetings was one that has always deeply resonated with me. And though the East Broadway roundabout has never been on my usual commute route, it always felt special when I did happen to pass through that way and received a fleeting greeting from Johnny.

I twice stopped to chat with Mr Barnes. His friendly, effervescence was infectious. On one of those occasions he handed me a postcard, featuring a photo of himself with the Desmond Fountain-created statue (pictured above), and a simple message on the back. It was a greeting card he handed to many people - islanders and visitors alike. The message read "Johnny Barnes. I love you. God bless you."

In 2011, American filmmaker Matt Morris made an award-winning 10-minute documentary about Mr Barnes, fittingly titled Mr Happy Man.

The following year, Mr Barnes fell at his regular spot. At almost 90, he struggled to get back on to his feet, and this incident led to calls from the public for a seat to be installed for the local legend. A tiny wooden bench, big enough for one, along with a wooden handrail were duly put in place for Mr Barnes.

As an example of the deep affection with which Mr Barnes was held by many a newspaper article in The Royal Gazette reporting the passing of Mr Barnes and featuring tributes, published on Saturday morning, had been "liked' almost 6,000 times on Facebook by Saturday evening.

Bermuda's Premier, Michael Dunkley, was quoted as saying Johnny Barnes was "a remarkable, original man whose life gave life to the love we all have in our hearts, and who, from his roundabout perch each morning, expressed that love to all who passed by — friend, acquaintance, stranger, it did not matter, because Johnny Barnes embraced the human race".

That loving embrace that Mr Barnes showed the world lives on. It is reflected in the statue on East Broadway, and in his own words as he explained to movie maker Mr Morris his reasons for engaging with people in the manner that he did. (see video below).

Farewell, Mr Happy Man.

Reflecting on Glastonbury Festival 1987

Tents at the Glastonbury Festival in June 1987. Some 60,000 (likely 100,000 unofficially) slept under canvas

Car henge - installation art in a field

No one said the Glastonbury Festival would be easy, but then no one had to. I was intent on experiencing the revered and much storied event, and if that meant hitch-hiking 100 miles with all I could carry crammed into a rucksack, so be it.

What lay ahead was an adventure I would not forget. It was 1987 and the Glastonbury Festival was about to undergo a watershed moment in its evolution. And by watershed I'm not referring to the "right on cue" deluge of rain that assisted in turning the fields into muddy quagmires, assisted by the trampling feet of the 60,000 official attendees and tens of thousands of gatecrashers and fence jumpers.

Actually, in the history of the Glastonbury Festival, 1987 was not one of the famed wash-out years, however, mud was a hazard thanks to at least one day of abundant "liquid sunshine".

In a few days' time Glastonbury Festival 2016 will get underway in Somerset, England, marking the 34th edition of the music and cultural gathering that has a history spanning 46 years. This made me reflect on my own Glastonbury experience, when I attended for the first (and so far only) time.

Accompanying these words are photographs I took at the festival, capturing elements of the travelling community, the music fans and alternative lifestyles that mingled, potpourri-style, like a lost in time, raggle-taggle nomadic tribe scattered across the fields of ancient Avalon.

In 1987 the festival was considered well-established, although looking back from the perspective of today it was still in its infancy, being held for only the 11th occasion.

One of the previous ten festivals had been an unplanned, spontaneous event in 1978 when a group of bedraggled New Age travellers, washed out on their annual summer solstice pilgrimage to Stonehenge, arrived at Glastonbury with the mistaken belief that a festival was going to take place. There had been two previous events, in 1970 and 1971, but then nothing. The travellers of '78 were given access to the old festival site. A makeshift stage was erected, and with power from a portable generator a headliner-free festival was held. The event lasted about two weeks, there was no admission fee, and it was attended by an estimated 500 people.

That unplanned festival resurrected interest in the Glastonbury Fayre - as it had been known in 1971 - and an official festival was organised in 1979. Since then the Glastonbury Festival has been held almost every year, except for a few sporadic 'fallow years' when it is given a miss to let organisers rest and allow the fields a chance to recover. The most recent fallow year was 2012.

Music could be found in every corner of the sprawling festival site in 1987

Back in 1987, unlike today, festival tickets did not sell out within an hour of going on sale. Most people would wait to see which artists were lined up before buying their tickets. For others, going to Glastonbury wasn't so much about the music but was a kind of right of passage, something that beckoned in their teenage years and early 20s - a milestone along the journey from youth to adult, and an opportunity to escape the humdrum of everyday life and experience a liberating, alternative freedom - albeit only for a matter of days. For me attending the festival was a bit of both.

Home comforts were forsaken. Although officially a three-day festival, most people arrived a day early and left a day after the music was over; sleeping in tents, come rain or shine. As noted, Glastonbury '87 had its day of deluge and muddy fields to squelch through. The toilets were little more than farmyard latrines, open to the sky and with the wind whistling around your feet.

Food supplies and provisions were carried onto the site (or in a vehicle if you were so lucky). On site there was freshly cooked food for sale, from burgers to vegetarian to exotic Asian dishes. Music played most of the day and night (and getting to sleep while an illegal sound system was pumping out a beat somewhere in the valleys was just one challenge of life in the festival's tent metropolis).

My clearest memories include Ben E King singing Stand by Me, and then saying that as John Lennon had once sung his song he would perform one of Lennon's. He then launched into a beautiful, soulful rendition of Imagine that floated across the sunny Somerset countryside.

Then there was Los Lobos with their infectious hit of the moment La Bamba - played twice for good measure. Another unexpected standout performance was the new-to-the-charts singing duo The Proclaimers, who delivered a sizzling set to delight the audience that sat on the grassy slopes in front of the Pyramid Stage to check out the day's opening act.

Robyn Hitchcock & The Egyptians, and Michelle Shocked, were two of the second stage performers I sought out, while the main stage headliners of New Order, Elvis Costello and Van Morrison all delivered memorable moments. New Order's Friday night slot included the first live performance of their future smash hit True Faith and was accompanied by a much-anticipated laser show. The laser show was inspired, heightening the feeling that the festival was being played out in a parallel reality.

In the distance is the main pyramid stage at the Glastonbury Festival, June 1987

The 1987 festival was a watershed moment in as much as it was the last time the festival was truly a self-policing, communal gathering of people from every strata of the wider community. It was an event held essentially outside the constraints of regular authority, looking after itself with its own security team. That's not to say there were not minor crimes on a yearly basis, but by 1987 the winds of change were blowing and the regular police force was invited to enter the sprawling site on an observer-only basis. From 1989 onwards (1988 was a fallow year) the regular police force has been part of the festival's security arrangements.

The festival has continued to change and evolve over the past 29 years. Today it attracts upwards of 160,000 people. It has a more corporate identity, through sponsorship and the structure of its organisation. And it enjoys almost saturation media coverage, including comprehensive televised coverage of performances. As for ticket prices, they have gone from around £30 to about £230 today.

As time has marched on the rough edges of the Glastonbury Festival have been smoothed. However, I'm sure it remains a vital and uplifting experience for those who attend, and is still significantly removed from regular day-to-day life, if perhaps to a less dramatic degree than it was once. And no doubt today's festival-goers will feel a pang of sadness when it is all over and it is time to leave the empty fields on Monday morning, having been immersed for many days in that alternative world where there was an overwhelming acceptance of and openness towards others, and where anything seemed possible. That's the magic of the Glastonbury Festival.

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Click below to watch a silent, super 8 home movie filmed at the Glastonbury Festival in 1987 showing the day to day activities of one group of friends at the event. I don't know who these people are, but this film nicely captures the reality of attending Glastonbury in the mid-1980s, and one of the group, seen on the thumbnail picture, is wearing a Robyn Hitchcock t-shirt identical to one I owned at the time.



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And click here for New Order's first live performance of True Faith, as heard at Glastonbury 1987. The video will automatically begin at the start of the song.

Happy music from the edge of the world

Call and Response in 2001, around the time of their eponymous album

Call and Response in the early 2000s. Their last show was in 2005

Little-known band Call and Response are now long gone as a musical unit, but the freshness and joy of their West Coast sound resonates today as it did at the turn of the millennium when it was recorded.

Their sparkling clean sound, driven by some of the sweetest melodies and harmonies to be found outside the 1960s has a timeless quality.

The band hailed from Santa Barbara, California, before making San Francisco their home. They were never signed by a major record label, but put out a number of recordings through independent labels. Their debut single, the delightful Rollarskate, was released in 2000. It was followed a year later by their first album, which was named after the band.

At the heart of their music was a collaborative approach to dreaming up catchy melodies, together with the use of some instruments that would have been considered retro even in 2000, and the projection of an unswerving sunny disposition that by all accounts reflected exactly who they were.

Organist and singer Carrie Clough and main keyboardist Simone Rubi were both classically trained. Also in the band was innovative guitarist Dan Judd, bassist Terri Loewenthal, and Jordan Dalrymple on drums. Most of the group could competently play a variety of instruments.

The guitar, bass and drums are often heard layering across one another and striking unexpected time signatures that give an otherwordly feel to the music. Add in vocal harmonies, together with a variety of Moog and analogue synthisisers and organs - including a wurlitzer - and you have the ingredients to make a West Coast sunshine sound with elements of pop, electronic and "bubblegum funk".

As for the happy vibe, that was explained by Rubi during an interview with the Tucson Weekly in November 2001. "You can hear a kind of longing in the songs, but then the lyrics are really happy. Especially at a time with all this hip-hop/metal stuff, it's so over the top it's almost obscene. So we were trying to bring back the idea of beautiful music again," she said.

It was while sitting in an independent, arthouse-type cinema in Santa Monica, California, that I first took notice of Call and Response. It was 2001, and I was waiting to see a movie in the Laemmle Monica Film Center on 2nd Street. At that time the theatre would play music during the pre-show wait, giving exposure to new, independently-released music.



The aforementioned Rollerskate and California Floating in Space were the two Call and Response tracks included in the pre-show loop. Both songs jumped out with their dreamy lightness and that puzzling mixture of new and retro sounds. Perhaps tellingly, I can no longer recall what film I had gone to watch that day, but those two songs left an impression, and in time I tried to track down information about the band.

Call and Response in concert

While the music of Call and Response was once difficult to find, happily it is now widely available for purchase and digital download. I highly recommend their first album, which drifts along with a freshness and joy, and a timeless mystique - music that belongs in the here and now, but references a soft focus mixture of fondly recalled yesteryears.

In a world that feels increasingly smaller due to faster and easier global travel and the instant connectedness of the internet, it is worth remembering a time only a few centuries ago when "old world" settlers first arrived in North America. The final frontier was the western horizon and the great unknown that lay beyond. Gradually the final frontier was pushed further westward until the Pacific Ocean was reached and the "new world" had been explored.

However it can be argued that California, at the western edge of continental USA, remains psychologically the edge of the world, a place where frontiers of innovation and thought continue to be pushed back - from the digital dynamism of Silicon Valley to the movie wonderland of Los Angeles.

Therefore, it is fitting that the music of Call and Response, which so transcends time and place, came from California's coastal fringe. It is indeed happy music from the edge of the world.

Click below to hear Call and Response's catchy The Fool



For further reading:
Call and Response at the SXSW festival in Austin, Texas, in 2001.
Pre-album release article (SF Weekly, January 2001)

Update (June 18, 2016): Below is what may be the only live performance of Call and Response on YouTube. It features a few short interviews with band members backstage, and wraps up with the band on stage playing Stars Have Eyes, a song from their debut album.

My UFO encounter (1978)

This artist's illustration is a good approximation of the
delta-configuration of lights seen in the Leicestershire
sky on the evening of October 23rd 1978

Many people have a UFO story somewhere in the lives. Mine dates back to 1978, and it remains one of the most widely-reported and still unexplained sightings over the skies of the English Midlands.

Although the event is now almost four decades in the past, this recollection is based on a journal piece I wrote during the 1990s.

In October 1978 I'd just started high school and lived in a village called Measham, on the fringe of the counties of Leicestershire and Staffordshire. Our house had a good-sized back garden and our neighbours, a couple called Jayne and Stuart, had two large dogs that were normally quite well behaved. One was a German Shepherd called Elsa, the other was called Jason.

The evening of October 23 was unusually warm, which meant a lot of people were outdoors. I was in the rear garden when a bright light caught my eye. It was in the night sky to the southeast, roughly where the town of Hinckley lay about 15 miles distant. At almost the same moment Stuart, who was sitting out in his garden, asked what was the unusually bright light in the sky.

Being relatively familiar with the night sky, and the appearance of Venus and Mars at dawn and dusk, I mentioned that it was probably Venus as it was quite bright, and said I'd fetch an old telescope - a slightly dented old mariner's eyepiece that was bulky and made of brass, but was still serviceable.

Looking through the telescope the object did not appear like Venus. Initially it had me thinking that maybe it was a hot air balloon lit from beneath by bright lights. Stuart tried the telescope and was no surer than I. By now his wife Jayne was in the garden and also remarked on the bright light.

Whatever it was, it seemed to be stationary over the Hinckley area. We continued to observe the light as it stayed stationary for what was at least 10 minutes, but could have been twice as long. Then it began to move again, towards our village. It followed a roughly diagonal path from southeast to northwest. As it moved closer the light increased in brightness and it began to appear as more than a single point of light.

With the benefit of the telescope I quickly made out at least three separate lights. But as it got closer there was no need to use the telescope, even with the naked eye it was clear the lights were aligned in a delta configuration; one at the front and two slightly off centre behind.

The object made no sound and moved smoothly and relatively slowly.

What added to the feeling that something wasn't right about these lights in the sky was the reaction of Jayne and Stuart's dogs, they were in the garden and started to bark loudly for no reason and became generally agitated, something which the couple found odd.

As the object got closer the brightness of the lights seemed to dim, but the delta formation remained. Even with the telescope trained on it, it was impossible to make out any structure beyond the three lights. The object glided almost directly overhead in total silence and continued on its way northwesterly in the direction of Castle Donington.

For the remainder of the evening I felt a strange uneasiness. The following morning on the school bus from Measham to Ibstock, many of the schoolkids were talking about seeing the strange lights in the sky.

That evening there was an article in the Leicester Mercury newspaper about a flood of calls to the police and other organisations from people in the Hinckley, Measham, and Ashby-de-la-Zouch area who wanted to know what the lights were.

The following day, in a second report, the same newspaper said that the number of callers had increased to more than 100 as more people reported seeing the same unusual lights in the sky. There was no explanation from the authorities, and traffic control at the East Midlands Airport, near Castle Donington, said they had no flights recorded at the time the lights were sighted.

To the best of my knowledge this widely reported UFO has never been explained. It occurred in 1978, the year the movies Star Wars and Close Encounters of the Third Kind arrived in UK cinemas, bringing a heightened awareness of space and the unknown; but even that trivia does not explain why so many people, across a wide geographical region, reported seeing the same delta-shaped, silent formation of lights. Nor does it explain why our neighbours' dogs became so agitated as the object came closer.

The Leicestershire UFO Research Society, in its contemporaneous report and subsequent follow-up interviews in the years immediately following the sighting, said: "we ... conclude our report by agreeing with the majority of the witnesses by stating that the October 23rd 1978 aerial object was indeed something out of the ordinary, and that it (or indeed they), cannot definitely be identified without, we believe, perhaps greater access to military flight records etc".

For further reading, the LUFO report: A true UFO? - The case of the silent Vulcan

Yoko's 'Thin Ice' beautifully revisited

In the video Yoko Ono walks through the rainy streets of New York in 1981

"And when our hearts return to ashes, it'll be just a story ...."

So sings Yoko Ono in Walking on Thin Ice, an extraordinary song that continues to works its magic in new ways some 36 years after it was recorded.

The latest orchestral remix by New York-based DJ Danny Tenaglia lays the song bare in a beautiful manner.

An accompanying short video using footage from 1981 further highlights the evocative nature of the track, and captures the absence in Ono's life following to death of her husband John Lennon a few months earlier.

The video of Ono walking alone through a grey, rainy day in New York City in 1981, shows a virtually deserted and unglamourous looking Times Square followed by contemplative images of Ono back at her apartment in The Dakota building, and sitting on a bench in Central Park where she and Lennon once took walks together.

Brooklyn-born Tenaglia has remixed this song before, taking it to the No.1 spot on the US Billboard Hot Dance Club Songs chart in 2003 and 2013. However, there is nothing dance-clubby about Walking on Thin Ice (Maestro Version) 2016. Instead, Tenaglia has delivered a hauntingly beautiful orchestral-led version that perfectly complements Ono's poignant lyrics.

In a previous blog I wrote about how this was the track Ono and Lennon were working on at the Record Plant recording studio on December 8, 1980. Lennon had said to Ono he was certain she had just recorded her first number one hit.

Walking on Thin Ice twice reached the Top 40 in the UK official record charts. The original recording did so in 1981, and Tenaglia's first remix matched that achievement in 2003.

Over the years there have been numerous re-recordings of the song by a variety of artists, together with remixes of the original track by a host of producers and DJs, including Tenaglia's two dance playlist topping versions. However, this 2016 mix adds a new dimension to enhance the track's timelessness.


Walking on Thin Ice (Maestro Version) 2016 appears on Ono's new album Yes, I'm a Witch Too. 

'Peace Walker' defies odds and follows its bliss

Chase Korte in a scene from Peace Walker

For almost ten years it has existed only as short, tantalising clips on YouTube. But Peace Walker has now been uploaded in full, and this unusual and remarkable documentary is a treasure to watch.

In many ways it has defied the odds to see the light of day. It was made on a shoestring budget and half the crew abandoned the project part way through. Six months after filming was completed its main star, Chase Korte, died at the age of 24 when the car he was driving was hit by a drink-driver.

Korte had previously appeared in a number of TV commercials and short films in the US, and as an extra in an Oliver Stone feature film.

Peace Walker was initially to be a hybrid film following one man's walk for peace from John O'Groats on the northeastern tip of Scotland, to Land's End in the southwest corner of England. The fictional side of the film was to feature Korte playing a character called Ray, who sets out on the 1,100-mile journey after his brother is killed in the conflict in Iraq. 'Ray' was to be the peace walker interacting with strangers along the way.

At the same time as filming the 'Ray' storyline, moviemaker Tara Golden would use a second camera to capture documentary footage of the journey.

It was an ambitious and unorthodox project. What's more, there was virtually no budget and the crew mostly relied on the goodwill of strangers for accommodation each night.

The four-person crew began filming in early June 2006. On the first day Golden, an Arizona-based independent director, injured her ankle after walking 18 miles with Korte. It had been her intention to walk the full distance from John O'Groats to Land's End, but following the advice of the others she put such ambitions aside - although things would later change.

The project was inspired by Mildred Lisette Norman, the original Peace Pilgrim who, in her mid-40s, started a peace walk in 1953 that lasted 28 years as she continuously walked back and forth across the US. She changed her name to Peace Pilgrim and vowed to "remain a wanderer until mankind has learned the way of peace - walking until given shelter and fasting until given food."

Chase Korte during the filming of Peace Walker

Crucial to the integrity of Golden’s Peace Walker project was to actually do the 1,100-mile hike. As Korte walked up to 20 miles a day, Golden and the two crew travelled in a rental vehicle, filming at strategic points. Beyond directing, Golden also had to secure accommodation each night for the crew either for free, like the original Peace Pilgrim, or at minimum cost.

Within a matter of days there was tension between Golden and cinematographer Mike Herd regarding the direction of the film. A few weeks later, when the crew reached Glasgow, Herd quit.

At this point I should mention another aspect of the Peace Walker project as it originally unfolded, and that was the daily online diary entries that Golden and Korte wrote separately. These candid and uncensored postings went onto a webpage and chartered the inner highs, lows and conflicts of the two as the journey progressed.

I first stumbled upon the Peace Walker project in late 2006 when I read these online journal entries [which are no longer accessible] and watched a clip of Peace Walker on YouTube. That short snippet was voted among the most inspiring videos to appear on the website during 2006, an accolade that garnered it more than one million views - which was a major achievement at the time on the fledgling YouTube site that had only gone live the year before.

After Herd quit the project, Golden, Korte and production assistant Danny Weiss sat in a city restaurant and discussed options for Peace Walker. The possibility of not going through with the walk brought a forthright reaction from Korte. He leapt to his feet and, before astonished diners, delivered his own impassioned ultimatum – having started the peace walk he was going to see it through regardless and would walk every step of the way. Although not seen in the documentary, the moment was captured in the contemporaneous Peace Walker diary, with Minnesota-born Korte writing:

The walk and the movie, in my mind, were inextricably bound up in each other. I said, "What’s the first thing we say when we tell people about the movie…we say it’s about an American who comes to the UK to hike 1,000 miles for peace. What’s the second thing we say?"

"He’s really doing the hike," Tara replied.

"That’s right. This isn’t just a movie. This IS a peace walk." At some point the whole thing turned into an Oscar scene. I was making an impassioned speech, standing up and yelling in the middle of the restaurant.

However, this was not enough to keep Weiss involved, and he decided to return to the States. The documentary features a scene filmed shortly after the implosion of the film crew, in which Golden and Korte decide to continue, albeit with a reframed project. Korte refers to it as "switching gears" and it now being a documentary about how they had tried to make the film, but had failed, but were going to do the peace walk anyway.

What went before was interesting enough, particularly a touching section featuring Korte walking through the Scottish landscape overlaid with the song 'Brother', a tribute written and performed many years later by his brother Joel Korte. However, the heart of Peace Walker comes in the remainder of the documentary as Korte and Golden tackle the last 700 miles. We see the dynamics of friendship and conflict; the trials and tribulations they face on the road, the places they go and the strangers they meet.

"Follow your bliss," Korte says at one point, quoting the words of Joseph Campbell, the American mythologist and writer. We get the sense Korte is truly following his bliss on the epic walk. "It comes down to love and fear," he muses. When asked if doing a peace walk is creating peace, he reflects, "Maybe it is creating some kind of inner peace."

Korte is happiest when he's away from the roads and traffic. He states that nature and countryside trails give energy, but the road drains it out of you. As he walks the coastal path in Devon and Cornwall on the final leg of the journey, he says, "I do have the best job in the world right now."

Chase Korte, right, walks with route advisor Don Dyer

Peace Walker could well have ended up as no more than a meandering but well-intentioned escapade. However, it provides some genuinely thought-provoking moments on the essence of peace - in all its facets - and builds to a climax as journey's end nears and Golden decides to resume walking. This decision creates a flashpoint between Korte and Golden. There is a conflict of expectations, and it is here that the documentary is most captivating.

Golden explains why she feels compelled to get back on the trail and cries, off camera, as she quietly works through her thoughts with Korte. Then, in a further moment of introspection, she gives voice to her feelings as she films her progress along the coastal path. "I think I'm going to hate this footage later," she comments.

Kudos to Golden for including the scene, along with other insightful moments from the final stages of the walk. For it is here, as the finish line at Land's End nears, that the life-affirming essence of Peace Walker shines through in unexpected ways.

Almost ten years after it was filmed, Peace Walker was released in seven segments on YouTube. Golden's decision to do so stemmed from the short film Faces of the Marchers - The Great March for Climate Action, about a march from California to Washington DC to raise awareness of climate change. She released that film in 2014. The people doing the trans-continental march reminded her of her own passion and hope to inspire people, reported Quo Vadis? - the journal of the Land's End John O'Groats Association.

Peace Walker ends with Golden and Korte reunited. It was February 10, 2007 and they had met to discuss the ongoing editing of the film. A few hours later Korte was killed as he was returning to his home in Los Angeles.

Korte's last words on-camera are poignant. Golden asks if he has any message for the viewers. He replies with a quote from the 1989 movie Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure.

"Be excellent to each other."

Novel 'Under 25' is gritty and delightful

BOOK REVIEW: Under 25 by Johanna Cordery

The cover of Under 25, a novel by Johanna Cordery

Starting with a forewarning of a tragic event involving a “young un”, Under 25 takes readers on a roller-coaster ride of emotions and suspense as they ponder who among the main characters might become the lost soul.

The ominous foreshadowing within the opening lines masterfully sets the scene for the engaging story that follows; a tale about the intertwined lives of a number of young people growing up in Yorkshire, England, during the 1980s.

With sensitivity, Cordery tackles the subjects of teenage love, pregnancy, dysfunctional families, betrayal and the spectre of young suicide.

At times the language is powerful, pulling no punches. And be warned that the well-crafted dialogue is written to reflect the linguistic quirks, nuances and characteristics of native Yorkshire speakers. This accent on authenticity is at the heart of Under 25’s gritty realism, which is also reflected in the descriptions of the homes and surroundings of the characters.

Ashley Shuttleworth is the key protagonist, and it is mainly through him that we see events unfold. However, Cordery’s engaging style also gives multi-person viewpoints that enlighten the story and add delightful depth along the way.

Under 25 is filled with twists and turns and unexpected developments. There are moments of humour (I laughed out loud many times), and scenes of agonising sadness.

Readers should prepare to become emotionally invested in the characters who are given space to develop and come alive.

When I first started reading Under 25, I was impressed with the realism of the settings. As the story progressed it was the suspense of wondering where everything would lead and where the answers would be found that kept me deeply engaged with this well-structured, fast-paced, dialogue-driven novel.

A refreshing new author has arrived on the scene. I look forward to reading the future works of Johanna Cordery.

Under 25 is available as a Kindle e-book from Amazon.


CLICK TO PLAY: A short promotional film for Under 25

Footnote: I attended college with author Johanna Cordery in the early to mid-1990s.