Okay. Let’s talk about Todd again. I don’t know how this person ever graced the Earth. We surely do not deserve him.
Some months ago, I thought Todd could not exceed Something/Anything. How wrong I was. Utopia is nothing short of an aural miracle. Such a density of ideas has seldom been seen or heard before. I have no superlatives in my vast arsenal which can adequately surmise the magnificence of this album.
From start to finish, Utopia did not falter. Peaking at #34 on the Pop Album chart, this seminal 1974 record sold very well. Please excuse my excitement. I was driving on the A42 on the way to Nottingham earlier and this album made me cry. Throughout my journey I would cry on a total of four occasions. This album is the stuff from which dreams are made.
In a way,
you are just a soldier of the mind
Utopia’s brilliance is pushed further when I discovered it was recorded live at The Secret Sound and The Fox Theater in Atlanta, Georgia, on April 25th, 1974. Todd Rundgren was 26 when he created and produced Utopia. Do I need to keep going? I must.
The first track; Utopia Theme, is shocking enough. Especially at the point where Todd himself walks on stage and the entire mood of the song pivots.
The Freak Parade is my second favourite track. Follow it as it gradually builds up the layers of sound; adding a previous melody to a new one, ending in a gorgeous club sandwich of sound. You’ll hear what I mean.
Freedom Fighters gives you a short break from lengthy songs to prepare you for what is coming. It’s in its own way a protest song. Maybe protesting the current popular thought. But the melody is unique and dreadfully catchy.
And the music plays forever
And it captures every ear
And the sound of barriers crashing down
Is the sweet harmony you hear
Finally, The Ikon is a strange yet striking 34(!) minute song. It venerates a mystical being called the Ikon which seems to open people’s minds when worshipped. I know it sounds trippy and you’re probably wondering what I imbibed, but I urge you to pay close attention to this song. It is replete with splendour and variety. Halfway through there is a brief pause where Todd plays bizarre percussion signalling the next step in the song. Listen once again how Rundgren uses techniques established in The Freak Parade. He once again introduces melodies but this time layers them in different combinations. Sometimes with or without ones previously introduced. It’s really quite a phenomenal experience.
Someone knows who you are
Someone watches over you
Someone knows how you feel
And someone feels the same
Floods of tears erupt when I hear those words.
I cannot impress upon you the scale of the contribution Utopia makes to progressive rock. Nor can I tell you of how profoundly it has affected me. I am in awe of Todd Rundgren. Utopia is a magnificent success.
After a fairly successful morning, I wandered the searing streets of Rome. I’d had a delightful meeting with my dear friend Ginebri at Roma Tre. He recommended that I visit the church of S. Cecilia. So off I went. I waited three years for the 23 bus to alight. Then my trotters took me to Trastervere. On my way to this marvellous area of Rome, I tried to stop at Santa Cecilia. Of course Google maps is not accustomed to small narrow streets and slightly unusual addresses. Hence I ended up in Ospedale S. Francesca Romana.
Along the garden and up the stairs, you’ll enter the chapel. Take note of the ornate tiles and charming marble altar. Further in you’ll come to a room filled with beds. This is the most accurate representaion of how the hospital functioned in times gone by.
Take note of the dusty tomes behind glass enclosures flanking each side of this hall. They contain fascinating information about the day to day running of this establishment.
Upstairs is a gallery full of information about the history of the museum. This is replete with sordid tales of papal preference and government intervention. I won’t recount the whole story for you here, it remains for you to find out about this wonderful place by yourselves on your next visit to Rome.
Perhaps my favourite part of this hidden museum is the 12th century church, which closes one’s visit. Look inside carefully and take note of the various artefacts denoting scenes of great importance to the life of this church. My personal favourite is found beneath the archway of the original entrance. A glorious ancient painted cross adorns the wall.
I hope you enjoy the benign majesty of this museum as much as I have.
My darling friend Livia saw that I was in dire straits at Piazza Trilussa. As it happened, I arrived at the lovely pizza pained by hunger and strife. Livia suggested I should walk a few minutes down the Tevere river and find Supplí. Now, I am not often excited by breaded rice and cheese, but Livia insisted this was the restaurant for me.
So off I went, not expecting too much. But boy was I wrong. Supplí conformed to my usual restaurant criteria. This is a tiny restaurant with no seats. Located in picturesque Trastevere, this little hidden eatery took me by surprise.
Looking left after entering will reveal a fine selection of fritti. The tin plate in the back with the fewest delicacies is the one you should be looking at. It contains the legendary supplí of its namesake. Below is a photograph of the earthly delights up close and relatively personal:
As you can see, there is no end to the delightful succulence of rice, tomato sauce and mozzarella. Apologies for sensationalising this desription, there really isn’t much one can say about a supplí. However, what followed can be elaborated upon.
Equally legendary was Supplí’s pizza selection, to the right of the entrance. Try the marinara and the cotto. They use something extraordinary on the marinara, the taste lingers and stays with you for many minutes after you have left.
Given the shocking amount of awards Supplí has won, one can imagine the quality of their foodstuffs. Note especially acclaim from Le Routard, a guide I have used on all too many of my trips aborad to find stunning suggestible gems everywhere I go.
It amazes me that I’ve not yet written about the delightful gem that is the Old Mill. My own local pub is not exactly suggestible so I shopped around for something more suitable.
Lo and behold, not ten minutes’ drive from my humble Canley abode lay the most superb riverside pub. Entering from the car park, one would not immediately assume that this pub is as splendid a jewel as it is. But once you pass through the doors prepare to be mesmerised. Dated wooden beams stretch out as far the eye can see. Seating on three levels of exquisitely kept original oak floors. And to top it all off, a magnificent beer garden.
The view from it is pictured below:
On my latest visit, when these illustrious photographs were taken; the full extent of the view was obscured by two Frenchmen. Now if you don’t know already, prepare yourselves for a wicked bombshell: I am not English. No let me perfectly clear; I was born in France to British and Italian parents. I since moved to England and gained the Holy British Citizenship. But some modicum of patriotism remained and I could not bear to disrupt my countrymen.
As you can see, even inadvertently, I have protected my fellow Frenchmen’s identities. Their English compatriots, however, did not fare so well.
Moving on, the Old Mill is a former watermill dating back to the 1600’s. It’s located on the river Sowe, which is tranquil at this point. While conversing about utterly compelling topics such as the Football World Cup, you’ll be regaled by the relaxing running river. The Sowe sets the scene for serene speech.
I’ve tried a few things on the menu now, and I can’t for the life of me find the photographs. But I am sure you’ll cope. If you have the strength to read this far, a socking revelation such as the one aforementioned should not shake you.
I thoroughly enjoyed my burger and the beautiful pork belly but the dish which really stood out for me culinarily was the chicken liver pate with homemade red onion relish. Every mouthful truly felt divine. I was bowled over. Empty plate. Not a spec left.
Did I mention the Old Mill doubles as a hotel? The above is not one of the rooms, however it forms part of the building and looks quite lovely to be honest.
So if you’re in Coventry and are tired of running from your life from a hooded menace, come down to the Old Mill. It is quaint; traditional and safe. I have never left without a smile on my face.
And above all, don’t forget to tell lovely Linda I say hello.
Something momentous happened this month. While making my decision about which album I should choose for the coveted spot of Album of the Month, I consulted my father. He agreed with my choice, almost immediately.
Readers, this is unprecedented. Our dear Paul quite nearly disowned me for heralding Youthquake. But he and I are both great fans of Thomas Dolby. His third studio album; Aliens Ate My Buick (1988) might well make Album of the Year.
But we are not here to speak about that, we are here to hear of The Flat Earth. What a masterful piece of music. I would go so far as to say it is a work of art. This album should be protected by UNESCO. I bought the vinyl before listening to the mp3, which is highly unusual for me. When I spoke to Ian at Vinyl Destination, I said “I shall have to buy this record”. He replied “I shall have to agree”. Little did Ian know, he would change my life in a delectably positive way.
When The Flat Earth was released in March 1984, no-one in the UK quite knew what to make of Dolby. And he delighted and perplexed his audience with a record that refused to fit into any pigeonhole whatsoever. (BBC 2009)
From the first note to the last, The Flat Earth is hugely significant. Below is the first track from this momentous album, and my favourite:
As you can hear, this is indeed a work of masterful art.
…the humanity of its creators shines through. (The Quietus 2009)
But the hits don’t stop there; each songs seems tailored to make you feel a throng of emotions. Mostly joy, but sometimes abject horror. This is the key to this album for me; listen carefully to the lyrics, (Screen Kiss is a good example) some of the subject matter might surprise you. I’m listening to White City now and I am in a state of pure bliss. Each stand of this song is brilliant. The strong notable baseline underpinning super synth; the slow crescendo expanding into a riveting rant criticising the banking system. Then the song expands into a government cocaine conspiracy.
Gorgeous transitions between songs also win me over. The chirping insects leading from the White City to Mulu The Rain Forrest and I scare myself. The album has a narrative quality which I have not seen since hearing Grace Jones’ Slave to The Rhythm. Cutting in lyrics in reverse and outtakes from interviews with Dolby make for hair raising listening. Trying to depict the splendour of this album in one light is difficult. I truly believe you’ll enjoy it.
In few words, this album is overwhelmingly superb. Give it a listen and let me know what you think. And remember:
The Earth can be any shape you want it, any shape at all.”
Picture the scene: it’s bank holiday Monday in early May. I find myself in Kenilworth revising by the lovely body of water in Abbey Fields Park. Trusts law is not the most interesting and I was somewhat disturbed by a family outnumbered by their mangy hounds in close proximity.
It was high time for a break. I go to a gardening shop and I ask Linda, the shopkeeper, where the locals drink their cider. Immediately she looks left and right, then whispers in my ear “The Old Bakery”.
Of course none of the preceding events were as dramatic as depicted. I’m just trying to hook you in so you find this description of an exceptional pub even more interesting. That was a half truth, there really was a family outnumbered by their dogs. They frightened me. I wanted to sit in nearby shade but their dogs started barking. I asked them whether it would disturb them if I sat within barking distance. All I got in response were a few primordial grunts. One of them managed, to my surprise, to produce a sentence: “who does he think he is?”. Thoroughly confused, my revision did not at all go well.
Two things became immediately apparent. The first was the litany of awards on the wall. This pub has won best pub in Warwickshire, although the co-owner intimated to me that the boundaries of the awarding body excluded Leamington Spa from their ‘Warwickshire region’.
Nonetheless, the second thing I notices was a resplendent blue carpet with matching chair covers. This is quite rare in pubs and certainly inspires confidence in the clientele. The hotel owners have enough confidence in their customers to not spill various extremely well kept beers all over the place. The Old Bakery must be a pub of exceptional repute. It is also famed for its daily homemade fresh food, which I have yet to sample.
It came as no surprise that this pub doubles as a fine hotel. Indeed this will be where I send my family when they come down to Warwick from Yorkshire for my graduation at the end of July.
The Old Bakery’s excellent location means my family will be ten minutes from my home in Canley. Thankfully I have an expansive driveway so finding room for three or four cars won’t be a problem. Why does this matter? Allow me to elucidate: no faffing around with the exhausting park and ride scheme the university utilises every year! While I admire the work which goes into this scheme and have indeed worked there myself on occasion, it is much easier for me to walk into university.
In summation, the Old Bakery is outstanding, not only for the quality of its ales and ciders but also for its location and fabulous hotel facilities. I recommend it highly.
