Strange/unexpected Moz references?

GirlAfraidWillNeverLearn

Nobody's Nothing
So were The Smiths the last ever band to play on The Tube?
The article makes it seem so, but that can't be right because The Smiths' performance was broadcast 10 April 1987 while the last Tube show aired 24 April.

According to this article Duran Duran were the last band to play on it.

 

Radis Noir

By the thrice-beshitten shroud of Lazarus
The article makes it seem so, but that can't be right because The Smiths' performance was broadcast 10 April 1987 while the last Tube show aired 24 April.

According to this article Duran Duran were the last band to play on it.

If you watch the video, Jools Holland does a spiel about this being the last link ever on the show and then kisses Paula Yates, as though it is indeed the last link of the final show.
 

GirlAfraidWillNeverLearn

Nobody's Nothing
The article makes it seem so, but that can't be right because The Smiths' performance was broadcast 10 April 1987 while the last Tube show aired 24 April.

According to this article Duran Duran were the last band to play on it.

Here's the complete final show.

The last band are The Cure performing Hot Hot Hot.


 
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GirlAfraidWillNeverLearn

Nobody's Nothing
Jools Holland isn't in the last episode, so far as I can see. Perhaps the April 10 edition was his last Tube?
Yep, that's what I'm thinking too.
The last band seem to have been The Cure.
Paula Yates' closing words ("You’re going to miss us when we’re gone.") were very nice (and she also looked very nice) and reminded me of certain lines used by somebody else decades later...
 
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Uncleskinny

It's all good
Subscriber
The 'groovy' incident explained his live absence I believe. Quite a hoo-ha at the time + resignation.
FWD.
This is frequently misquoted. I recalling seeing that trailer live, and what he said, after describing the upcoming show's contents, was "Be there, or be a completely ungroovy f***er", after which, Paula's head dropped, and they both knew, immediately, that it was over. There was an apology in the interstitial bits shortly after.
 

Mozmar

Well-Known Member
Yep, that's what I'm thinking too.
The last band seem to have been The Cure.
Paula Yates' closing words ("You’re going to miss us when we’re gone.") were very nice (and she also looked very nice) and reminded me of certain lines used by somebody else decades later...
Very nice
Very nice
But maybe in the next world
 

Famous when dead

Vulgarian
Moderator
This is frequently misquoted. I recalling seeing that trailer live, and what he said, after describing the upcoming show's contents, was "Be there, or be a completely ungroovy f***er", after which, Paula's head dropped, and they both knew, immediately, that it was over. There was an apology in the interstitial bits shortly after.
Was never a Jools as a presenter fan tbh. I believe I was more upset when there was a new Bungle suit/actor on Rainbow. I did religiously watch The Tube though - not only for The Smiths and it certainly did open my ears to a few bands.
Regards,
FWD.
 

Uncleskinny

It's all good
Subscriber
Was never a Jools as a presenter fan tbh. I believe I was more upset when there was a new Bungle suit/actor on Rainbow. I did religiously watch The Tube though - not only for The Smiths and it certainly did open my ears to a few bands.
Regards,
FWD.
Man, I remember that. Imagine thinking that it's just not the same Bungle - had he gone to the salon or summat?
 

Famous when dead

Vulgarian
Moderator
Found a digital version of the book Tony Visconti: The Autobiography (Bowie, Bolan and the Brooklyn Boy), this had very little attention here at the time - with a couple of sentences shared. As I couldn't find the energy to type it all out from the physical copy at the time, here's a copy of the full foreward by Morrissey via digital.

Many of the early records bearing Tony Visconti’s name made me eager to get out into the world—if only to agitate. In 1971-72 the mighty blaze of T.Rex singles were beyond price to me. They had all the immediate eager motion of pop records, but were also strangely reflective—a mad stew of Englishness and worldliness with Tony’s name on each side of the label. If you enjoyed the music of T.Rex it seemed to prove that you were someone. Here, it seemed, was Art in motion: guitar savagery chopping up the soundstage; pop with intellectual distinction, using full orchestra—if only for a mere twenty haughty seconds.
Making the T.Rex soundscape both fantastic and naturalistic was an abrasive clash of non-traditional routes to the pop conclusion. The wealth and detail and contrast of layered orchestration wrapped around the unravelled riddle of Marc Bolan’s poetry (well, let’s call it that) worked so well that Bolan stayed beside Tony almost until Bolan’s life ended with death. At its highest artistic peak, with the strange flood of ‘Telegram Sam’ and ‘Metal Guru’ we are assaulted by the musical equivalent of secret stairways and false walls, and something enters into me which I can barely fathom. I wanted pop music to be true, and it was with David Bowie’s LP The Man Who Sold the World, which enlivened 1972 as a forgotten reissue, edging up to #;26 in the British charts. It is a soft sound, with luxuriant confidence from Bowie, whose imagination was served by the Visconti methodology. Still, today, it stands as David Bowie’s best work. The first side, especially, is musical literacy delivered.
With Bowie, the tone and cadence are all there: no sentimentalism. The instrumental textures are wispy and often child-like; acoustic and recorder sounds of turn-of-the-’70s dropout London. The Bowie-Visconti vision is concentrated. A good producer gets at something in a singer (or musician) and Tony was there to nail the gift of Bowie just perfectly—making suffering sound like a superior condition—live this life or don’t live any. Listen to the album even now and you are right back there. The mavericks are those who liberate themselves, and Bowie and Visconti did so with The Man Who Sold the World… and we played our part by listening.
The Mael machinery of Sparks utilized Tony for their 1975 surgical offering, Indiscreet. The versifying of Ron Mael introduced a new style of pop poetry, and the scattershot pace of Russell Mael’s vocals sounded like someone running out of a burning house. Russell had been a T.Rex fan, and by 1975 it was Sparks themselves who were shaking public tastes. Indiscreet was their fifth album of great resonance, lunging to #18 in the chart. The sound of this album is so chaotic that it often seems to play for laughs. Either the Maels, or Tony Visconti, were asking: What can we show them that is new? From a tipsy teatime waltz to unstoppable violins, the pace pulverized the listener, and Russell’s mouth seemed unable to close. There are so many latitude and longitude instrumental textures that the masterstroke was just almost overcooked. Since Ron and Russell Mael were obviously insane, Tony could only have walked into this session armed with a swirl of guesswork. The disorder lay in the electronic savagery of the Maels, who had spent their early lives strapped to an iron bed. Pulling them back from the edge, Indiscreet (somehow a commercial venture) produced two riotously diverse hit singles.
The most important feature of recorded noise is the pleasure it can bring to the listener. Tony has always—somehow—been a part of my life, but I didn’t ever imagine that his success-ridden career would lead him to me, nor I to him, yet in 2005 we recorded Ringleader of the Tormentors in Rome. As a non-musician/ skimmer-scholar, I’ve always known what I wanted without always knowing how to get it. Many years on from the escapist spirits of Bolan and Bowie…it is still there…in the Visconti walk. An actor would be thrilled to discover a new expression for the camera, as Tony Visconti is delighted to ambush the end of a song with a new musical twist. He has astounding recall of whatever it is he’s just heard, and he can talk and listen at the same time. The point of a good recording is to make us more aware of ourselves—as singers or musicians, and Ringleader of the Tormentors stands as a joy greater than pleasure for me. In several countries across Europe…it zaps to #1.
Tony understands the code of music brilliantly, and he is not authoritarian in the patronizing way that so many producers who have left their fingerprints on the 1960s and 1970s are. He is persuasive without ever making you need to disembarrass yourself; his role is complicity. There are many respected bores of Tony’s generation, nursing memories and resentments and never letting the trapped listener forget—but Tony isn’t like that. He doesn’t pick over the Saxon remains of T.Rex; the time is always now. He is a noble example of the self-flogger who knows that the song doesn’t end just because it’s over. Musical notations are images, and the Visconti style is timeless and lionized and is therefore forevermore.
MORRISSEY
October 2006

Obviously, there's a lot of water under the bridge since publication, but the book is worth a read and there's quite a few Morrissey mentions circa Rome recordings.
PM->📖
Regards,
FWD.
 

Nerak

Reverse Ferret
MEAN!

Actually Morrissey is genuinely a pioneer of the body positive movement - or in his case the 'I hate the way I look so much what does it matter' movement.

And it's really not as bad as Sam Smith - who is 28.
 
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