Music
Unpacking the singular mind of John Peel, song by song
By Joe GrossNov. 3, 2005
On Oct. 28, 2004, I noted in these pages the passing of British DJ John Peel, perhaps the most important figure in late 20th-century British pop radio.
For nearly 40 years, Peel's amazing program on Radio 1 broke underground bands from around the United Kingdom and the world. Often, Peel's imprimatur was enough to get the ball rolling on a group's career, as bands from T. Rex to Joy Division to the White Stripes were well aware.
The exclusive performances on his program, called "Peel Sessions," were hoarded and traded by serious fans the world over, and with the advent of the Internet, those who worshipped Peel from afar but never actually heard him live got to listen to him for the first time. He followed no ear but his own, and he was a tastemaker of the first order. He sure deserved British music paper NME's Godlike Genius award, which he received in 1994.
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It's easy to see why the late British DJ John Peel singled out singles from the White Stripes, the Undertones, the Yardbirds and MC5. Other choices are mysterious. • Click here to view Peel's single collection. |
Notably, there's very little of the noisy rock closely identified with Peel. His beloved Pavement is represented by their excellent second single, "Demolition Pilot J-7." The Buzzcocks' immortal "Ever Fallen in Love" is in there, and there are a whopping nine singles from the White Stripes. The late Austin noise rock band the Pocket Fishrmen should be pleased that "Yr Story"/"The Leader is Burning," its 1989 single on the boutique label Noiseville, is the sole representative of that sound and era.
But most of the singles are an eclectic mix of novelties, obscurities and classic tunes from the past 40 years — Peel was rootsier than many suspected.
One stumbles on five singles from rockabilly legend Charlie Feathers. There's some soul, classic (Sam and Dave's "I Can't Stand Up for Falling Down"/"Soothe Me") and not as classic (three singles from the underknown Eddie and Ernie). Lightnin' Hopkins' "Mojo Hand"/ "Glory Be." The only Beatles record is a weird, Russian three-song EP with "Come Together," "Something" and "Octopus's Garden."
And yet: the Quads? Paul Blake and The Blood Fire Posse? Mike Spencer and the Cannibals? These are not particularly well-known names; Peel's taste for the obscure remains intact.
Notably missing from the collection are several bands that Peel was known to adore. There's the Fall, the seemingly indestructible Manchester punk band whose nearly 30-year career owed a great deal to Peel's fandom. A terrific box set of their complete Peel Sessions was released this year.
So what does it mean? That Peel was fooling us all these years, the grandpa trying to stay hip when he'd rather be playing old rockabilly? Of course not. Clearly, he loved hearing things he never heard before and loved sharing them with as many people as possible.
Frankly, I have no idea why Peel separated out these 142 particular singles. Nobody seems to. Even his widow, Sheila Ravenscroft, was quoted as being a bit baffled by some of them. Perhaps her son's movie will shed some light.
But my guess — and this doesn't take a godlike genius — is that Peel attached a very specific moment to many of these tunes. Some could be shared with his adoring public (his all-time fave, the Undertones' "Teenage Kicks," for example). But some couldn't, because they simply wouldn't make sense to anyone else.
Corner any given American thirtysomething and he or she might be hard pressed to talk smack about such tunage as the Hooters' "And We Danced," Baltimora's "Tarzan Boy," A-Ha's (still totally jaw-dropping) "Take On Me," and a bunch of truly awful Starship songs.
We're not talking about ironic "Ooh, the '80s were so wacky and awful" distance; we're talking genuine emotional response. Why? Our middle school dances were lousy with these tunes.
But serious pop fandom, the kind Peel embodied, is about turning public pleasures into private obsessions.
We may never know what these songs meant to him, but because he liked them, I suspect they have plenty to tell the rest of us.
jgross@statesman.com; 912-5926
